#Marble Honing & Polishing

[tilestate]

The Benefits of Calacatta Gold Polished Marble Tile

When it comes to adding elegance and timeless beauty to your home, few materials can rival the appeal of Calacatta Gold polished marble tile. Renowned for its luxurious appearance and versatility, Calacatta Gold has become a popular choice among homeowners, designers, and architects. In this article, we will explore the numerous benefits of using Calacatta Gold polished marble tile in your interior and exterior spaces.

1. Timeless Elegance

Calacatta Gold marble exudes a sense of timeless elegance that never goes out of style. Its distinct veining patterns, characterized by bold and dramatic gray or gold veining on a pristine white background, make it a top choice for those seeking a classic and sophisticated look. Whether used in traditional or contemporary settings, Calacatta Gold always delivers a touch of opulence.

2. Exceptional Aesthetics

The stunning aesthetics of Calacatta Gold polished marble tile can transform any space into a work of art. Its smooth, glossy finish adds a sense of luxury and grandeur to both floors and walls. Whether in a bathroom, kitchen, living room, or entryway, the reflective surface of the polished marble creates a luminous and open ambiance.

3. Versatile Design Options

Calacatta Gold polished marble tile offers an array of design possibilities. Its versatility allows it to complement a wide range of design styles, from minimalist and contemporary to traditional and ornate. You can use it for flooring, backsplashes, countertops, accent walls, or even as a striking fireplace surround. The options are limitless, and its adaptability ensures it seamlessly integrates into any design vision.

4. Natural Variability

One of the unique features of Calacatta Gold marble is its natural variability. Each slab is a work of art, with distinct veining patterns and color variations. This natural diversity means that your installation is one-of-a-kind, and no two projects will look exactly the same. The organic beauty of Calacatta Gold adds character and charm to your space.

5. Durability and Longevity

Marble is known for its durability, and Calacatta Gold is no exception. Properly sealed and cared for, this marble tile can withstand the test of time. It is resistant to scratches, chipping, and wear, making it an excellent choice for high-traffic areas. Regular maintenance will ensure that it retains its original sheen and beauty for generations to come.

6. Cool Underfoot

Calacatta Gold marble tile maintains a relatively cool temperature, which is especially appreciated in warmer climates. It can help keep the room comfortable even during hot summer months, making it an ideal choice for flooring in living spaces, kitchens, and bathrooms.

7. Increased Home Value

Investing in Calacatta Gold polished marble tile can significantly increase the value of your home. The sheer luxury and elegance it brings to your space can be a major selling point if you ever decide to put your property on the market. Potential buyers often appreciate the timeless beauty and long-term durability of Calacatta Gold marble.

8. Hygienic and Easy to Clean

Marble, when properly sealed, is a hygienic and easy-to-clean surface. It is non-porous, which means it won't harbor bacteria or allergens, making it a safe choice for areas where hygiene is crucial, such as kitchens and bathrooms. Regular cleaning with a mild detergent and water is usually all that's needed to maintain its pristine appearance.

9. Light Reflectivity

The polished finish of Calacatta Gold marble tile not only enhances its aesthetics but also contributes to its light reflectivity. The marble's smooth surface bounces natural and artificial light around the room, creating a brighter and more inviting space. This quality is particularly advantageous in smaller rooms or spaces with limited natural light.

10. Compatibility with Heating Systems

Calacatta Gold polished marble tile is an excellent choice for homes with radiant floor heating systems. It efficiently conducts and distributes heat, making it a comfortable and energy-efficient option for your flooring needs.

11. Classic Investment

Calacatta Gold marble is a classic investment that never goes out of style. Unlike trendy materials that can quickly become outdated, this marble's enduring beauty ensures that your investment remains relevant and attractive for years to come.

12. Natural and Environmentally Friendly

Marble is a natural stone, quarried from the earth. Its production involves minimal environmental impact compared to some synthetic materials. Additionally, because of its longevity, it doesn't need to be replaced as frequently as other flooring or wall covering options, reducing waste.

13. Ease of Repair

In the rare event of damage, such as a chipped corner or a small scratch, Calacatta Gold marble tile is relatively easy to repair. A professional stone restoration expert can restore the stone to its original condition, ensuring that your investment remains in impeccable shape.

14. Honed and Polished Finishes

Calacatta Gold marble comes in both honed and polished finishes. While the polished finish is known for its glossy appearance, the honed finish has a softer, matte look. This variety allows you to choose the finish that best suits your design preferences and practical needs.

15. Aesthetic Pairing with Various Colors

The neutral white and gray hues of Calacatta Gold marble make it an ideal pairing with a wide range of colors. Whether you prefer bold and contrasting shades or a monochromatic color scheme, this marble seamlessly integrates with your chosen palette, enhancing the overall aesthetics of your space.

16. Minimal Maintenance

With proper sealing and regular cleaning, Calacatta Gold polished marble tile requires minimal maintenance. It's a practical choice for those who want a luxurious appearance without the burden of intensive care routines.

17. Honoring Tradition

Calacatta Gold marble tile is associated with a rich history and cultural significance. It's been used for centuries in art, architecture, and design, and incorporating it into your space can be a way to honor and connect with this tradition.

18. Unique Applications

Beyond flooring and walls, Calacatta Gold marble tile can be used in unique applications, such as tabletops, bathroom vanities, and shelving. Its adaptability makes it a great choice for creative and customized design solutions.

19. Exceptional Value for Quality

While Calacatta Gold polished marble tile may come with a higher upfront cost, its exceptional quality and enduring beauty make it a valuable long-term investment. When considering its lifespan and the luxury it brings to your space, the value it offers becomes evident.

20. Exclusivity and Prestige

Calacatta Gold marble is associated with luxury and prestige. Using it in your home can create a sense of exclusivity and sophistication, elevating the overall atmosphere and ambiance.

In conclusion, Calacatta Gold polished marble tile is a material that transcends trends and stands the test of time. Its benefits range from aesthetics and versatility to durability and value, making it an exquisite choice for those who appreciate the finer things in life. When you choose Calacatta Gold, you're not just selecting a material; you're investing in a timeless, luxurious, and enduring legacy of beauty for your home.

[missdragonica]

3/4 Bath Bathroom in Charleston Example of a large trendy 3/4 brown tile and marble tile porcelain tile and beige floor bathroom design with raised-panel cabinets, beige cabinets, a one-piece toilet, beige walls, an undermount sink and granite countertops

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (4)

Transforming your bathroom into a luxurious retreat doesn't have to be daunting, especially with the timeless elegance of black marble. The deep, rich tones of black marble not only exude sophistication but also create a striking contrast that can elevate any space. In this blog post, we will explore the allure of a black marble bathroom, highlighting how this dramatic feature can infuse modern elegance into your home.

Black Marble Bathroom

The black marble bathroom is a stunning choice for those looking to create a sophisticated and luxurious space. This bold design element can transform an ordinary bathroom into an exquisite sanctuary. The rich tones and unique veining of black marble bring an air of elegance and style that is both timeless and contemporary.

When incorporating black marble into your bathroom, consider options such as black marble countertops, vanity tops, and even accent walls. The contrast against lighter colors can create a striking and dramatic effect, making your space feel more expansive and well-defined.

One of the key benefits of a black marble bathroom is its versatility. It pairs beautifully with a variety of materials, such as brushed gold or chrome fixtures, and complements different color palettes, from soft whites to vibrant jewel tones. This adaptability allows homeowners to personalize their space while maintaining a cohesive look.

There are various finishes available for black marble, each offering a unique aesthetic. A polished finish provides a sleek, glossy surface that reflects light beautifully, while a honed finish delivers a more understated, matte look that can soften the overall appearance of the bathroom.

Lighting plays a crucial role in showcasing the beauty of a black marble bathroom. Consider installing ambient lighting to highlight the natural veins and texture of the black marble. Additionally, task lighting around mirrors can enhance visibility and add warmth to the space.

To add depth and interest, incorporate other design elements that create contrast and texture. For example, pairing black marble with wooden accents can create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Textiles such as plush towels and bath mats in lighter shades can also soften the overall look.

With its rich aesthetic and timeless appeal, a black marble bathroom is more than just a design choice; it’s an opportunity to create a luxurious retreat in your home. Whether you’re planning a complete renovation or simply looking to refresh your existing space, integrating black marble can elevate your bathroom to new heights.

Modern Marble Bathroom

When it comes to designing a modern marble bathroom, the emphasis is on clean lines, minimalistic features, and the striking appeal of marble. This luxurious stone, often associated with opulence, can elevate your bathroom space into a sanctuary of relaxation.

One of the defining characteristics of a modern marble bathroom is the color palette. While many opt for classic whites and creams, darker shades like black or gray marble create a bold statement. Black marble, with its rich depth and unique veining, can transform traditional notions of bathroom design, making it a chic and contemporary choice.

A key feature in a modern marble bathroom is the seamless integration of marble into various elements, from countertops to flooring. Large format tiles have become increasingly popular, creating a sense of space and continuity. Pairing these tiles with elegant fixtures and understated accessories enhances the overall aesthetic without detracting from the beauty of the marble.

Vanities in a modern marble bathroom often showcase the stone’s natural patterns, turning functional furniture into a visual centerpiece. Choosing sleek hardware and soft-close drawers can maintain a streamlined look, while integrated lighting adds warmth and sophistication.

For those seeking to add a touch of personality, consider incorporating wood elements or contrasting materials like glass. These choices balance the heaviness of marble with lightness, making the bathroom feel both inviting and serene.

Incorporating plants or greenery can breathe life into the cool, polished surfaces of a modern marble bathroom. Strategic placement of greenery not only adds color but also promotes a calming environment.

Lastly, don’t forget about the practicality of maintaining your modern marble bathroom. While marble is undeniably glamorous, it requires regular sealing and care to keep it in pristine condition. Choosing the right products for cleaning and maintenance will ensure your marble retains its beauty for years to come.

Bathroom Marble Design

When it comes to creating a luxurious and sophisticated space, bathroom marble design stands out as an exceptional choice. Marble is known for its timeless beauty, variety, and ability to elevate the overall aesthetic of any bathroom. In this section, we will explore some key elements and ideas related to bathroom marble design.

Choosing the Right Marble

One of the first steps in bathroom marble design is selecting the right type of marble. From classic white Carrara to striking black marquina, the options are abundant. Each type of marble comes with its unique veining and color variations, allowing you to match the marble to your personal style. Consider how different marbles will interact with your bathroom's lighting and the overall color scheme to create the desired atmosphere.

Incorporating Patterns

Another exciting aspect of bathroom marble design is the ability to incorporate patterns. Marble can be cut and laid out in various patterns like herringbone, checkerboard, or even geometric shapes. These designs can add depth and interest to your bathroom, making it feel more dynamic and stylish.

Combining with Other Materials

To enhance your bathroom marble design, consider combining marble with other materials. Pairing marble with warm woods, sleek metals, or even vibrant tiles can create an intriguing contrast and elevate the space further. This combination can help to soften the look of marble, making it feel more inviting and less formal.

Accent Features

Incorporating marble accent features like vanity tops, shower surrounds, or even marble sinks can transform a standard bathroom into a luxurious retreat. These elements become focal points in the design, drawing attention and admiration. For a truly unique touch, consider custom marble pieces that reflect your style.

Maintenance and Care

While the beauty of marble is undeniable, it's important to consider its maintenance. Proper care, including regular sealing and careful cleaning, will keep your bathroom marble design looking pristine. Avoid harsh chemicals that can damage the stone, and always use coasters or mats to prevent stains and scratches.

In summary, bathroom marble design offers a wealth of possibilities to create a stunning and elegant space. With the right choices and careful planning, you can achieve a bathroom that embodies luxury and style.

[dilftaroooo]

a somewhat detailed gojo imagine because he looks like such a whore in that black compression shirt that I can't help myself

its suggestive but no smut. gn!reader is down bad and perverted. Gojo is also a gym bro

You've noticed something remarkable in Satoru that was too drastic to brush off. It's been plaguing your mind like a medieval peasant--infiltrating your system until you hack out opaque burgundy of sin, until your fingertips are dusted black with libidinous impulse, wanting to reach out for the angel with blue eyes so he can relieve you from your misery.

It's his physique, his muscular build. He's been working out more often than not. Honing the definition of his thick biceps and bulbous pecs whenever you accompany him in his deadlifting sessions at your university's gym.

His body is impeccable and you will never forget how his figure inevitably held you in a trance, still recalling the black compression shirt hugging his torso like second skin: the shiny polyester glazed under the gym's light as he maneuvered with grace yet handled the weights with ferocity, perfecting his form before engaging with the flatness of his core and bending over to lift the hefty object (you made sure to revel at how the roundness of his ass juts out in the gym's mirror) then straightening his legs.

Fattened snakes spiraled around the circumference of Satoru's arms. They throbbed hard at his tense posture while carrying the loaded barbell. The veins that trailed down his hands were defined. They looked phenomenal with his manicured nails--clipped, filed, and polished with a clear coating. He's painted evenly with sweat that makes his skin sparkle--a salty droplet making its way down the curve of his bunny-like nose resulting in him twitching it which funnily emphasizes the comparison. He's gorgeous in every way. Even the heavy smell of must that seeped through his pores felt poetic to you.

His breaths are ragged and uncontrolled. They're rapid, paired with clenched teeth to elicit a series of pained hisses. It's something you didn't bother to scowl him on because you're so busy ogling the rest of his body.

You remember taking a good look at his chest and my God--the tight shirt left little to the imagination as puffy areolas swell under compressed fabric, completely overriding the stiffness of his nipples. His pecs were ample and they poked out whorishly to whoever had eyes fortunate to witness. Lowering your stare, you relish at how his six-pack convulsed at the pressure, beautifully sculpted like every part of him. Continuing to decline your gaze, you've even been able to drool at the flaccid cock that was tucked away in his sweatpants. If only you weren't in a public space and confined to the 'childhood friend' label.

His body jittered lightly as he sensed the urge to let go and he did, the obnoxious slam of the weighted plates that collided with marble flooring could've been enough to scare you if you weren't so accustomed to the sound.

Satoru looks at your awaiting figure that sat on top of a bench across from him. He prohibits the sweat from rolling down his chiseled jawline by capturing it with a cool, damp washcloth you offered. His breathing becomes more relaxed with each inhale he takes and the blush that decorates his face begins to return back to his normal fair tone.

Narrowed eyes in addition to a confident sneer caught your sight and you smiled back due to how infectious it was.

"Wanna feel?" He points to his huge bicep. You couldn't resist the desire to give in and touch him. You reach out for the thick muscle and Satoru leans back to give you a worried look on his face. "Be careful, though. He likes to bite." He quipped, liking the way you chuckled at his silliness.

Once eager fingers grab ahold of him, you almost release a wanting mewl from your lips. You trace your fingertips along the lengthy stream of his veins, still marked in his sweat, but you couldn't care less. They look good, too good, and they look even better when Satoru playfully flexes his arm under your caresses. Azure eyes watch you under hooded lids as he drinks up your amazement, which undoubtedly boosts his swollen ego.

You move the army of digits down his forearm since that's where the map of his veins leads, so you follow its direction. Light, wispy, white hairs on his arm glow under artificial lighting, covering the limb with specks of stars.

Then you're met with his hand which was two times larger than your own, pinpointing the substantial difference in size. He's big. His fingers overrule yours by a mile along with his stature. The thoughts in your head swarm like locusts when coming to terms with the size difference that you don't even realize your palm connects with his as you daydream about the astonishing contrast. You're no longer just admiring his physical gains but rather how he can use those gains against you.

Satoru giggles under a hushed breath and he moves away from you to stand up to his staggering height. Grabbing his duffel bag before putting all the equipment he came to the gym with.

"Let's get going. 'M starting to get hungry and rush hour is about to hit. I'd hate to be in the middle of that." He chirps amidst scratching his belly. He looks over at you and you catch a tinge of something in his eyes, though you're not sure if it's what you think it is.

"And you staring me down like that is riling me up. Do remember that my ego is inflated as is, sugar. We don't need it to overpower me to the point where I'll end up doing something I won't have any regrets about."

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Love Flames

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Female OC

summary: Daemon Targaryen simply loves his wife.

Word count: 2,8K

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, movement restrain, slight body worship

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The morning sun bathed the chambers of the Red Keep in a warm, golden light. Marleina Harroway moved gracefully through the opulent halls, her footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble floors. The Red Keep, home to the Targaryen dynasty for generations, was a place steeped in history and power.

As she made her way toward the private chambers where her sons were receiving their lessons, Marleina couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the ancient fortress. The Red Keep had seen the rise and fall of kings and queens, and now it was her family's home.

Entering the room where Maester Elyas was instructing her three sons, Marleina's presence commanded attention. Aenys, Maegon, and Baelon, the Targaryen princes, looked up from their studies, their eyes brightening at the sight of their mother.

"Good morning, my lords," Marleina greeted them with a warm smile. Aenys, the eldest and the spitting image of his father Daemon, nodded respectfully. Maegon, with his dark hair and keen intellect, acknowledged her with a nod as well. Baelon, the youngest and most spirited of the three, practically bounced in his seat.

Maester Elyas bowed respectfully. "Lady Marleina, a pleasure, as always."

Marleina returned the gesture before focusing on her sons. "How are your studies progressing, my loves?"

Aenys spoke first, his voice steady and assured. "We are delving into the history of the Red Keep, Mother, and learning about the responsibilities that come with our lineage."

Marleina's violet eyes gleamed with pride. "A worthy subject, Aenys. The Red Keep is a symbol of our house's enduring strength and legacy."

Maegon chimed in, his analytical mind at work. "I find the intricacies of court politics intriguing, Mother. It's like a never-ending game of strategy."

She nodded approvingly. "Indeed, Maegon. Understanding the game is essential in the world we live in."

Finally, her gaze turned to Baelon, who was practically bursting with enthusiasm. "And you, Baelon?"

Baelon's eyes shone with excitement. "I want to ride dragons like Father one day!"

Marleina's heart warmed at her youngest son's dream. "One day, my sweet Baelon. But for now, remember that knowledge and wisdom are the true sources of power."

As Marleina watched her sons absorb the lessons imparted by Maester Elyas, she knew that their upbringing within the Red Keep would shape them into formidable leaders of House Targaryen. In the heart of the Red Keep, surrounded by history and tradition, her family's destiny was being forged.

Daemon Targaryen, her husband and their father, was a man of ambition and charisma, but it was the love and guidance they received from their mother that would prepare them for the challenges that lay ahead.

Marleina was determined to ensure that the Targaryen legacy endured, even within the formidable walls of the Red Keep.

After ensuring that her sons were settled into their lessons, Marleina decided to check on her husband, Daemon Targaryen. It was unusual for him to be absent from his morning training sessions with the sword. Daemon was known for his unwavering dedication to honing his combat skills, even in times of peace. His absence from their shared chamber was a rare occurrence.

As she approached the door to their private quarters within the Red Keep, Marleina's steps grew cautious. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. With a gentle push, she entered their chamber, her eyes immediately falling upon Daemon.

He sat by the window, bathed in the soft morning light, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city of King's Landing below. His usual armor and weapons were nowhere in sight. Instead, he wore a simple robe, and his long silver hair cascaded down his back in disarray.

"Daemon?" Marleina's voice was filled with concern as she approached him.

Daemon turned his head slowly, as if pulled from deep contemplation. His violet eyes, so like those of their sons, met hers, and there was a weariness in them that Marleina had rarely seen.

"Marleina," he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he rose to his feet. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek. "Is something troubling you, my love? You've missed your training this morning."

Daemon's shoulders slumped slightly, and he sighed. "I needed some time alone, to think."

Marleina studied her husband's face, her concern deepening. "About what?"

He hesitated, then took her hand in his. "About the future, Marleina. About the burden of our name and what it means for our sons."

Marleina knew that the weight of the Targaryen legacy was a heavy one. The realm was always watching, and the expectations placed upon their family were immense. But she had never seen Daemon so affected by it.

"Daemon," she said softly, "we will face whatever challenges come our way together. Our sons are strong and capable, and they have a mother and father who love them dearly."

Daemon nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "You're right, Marleina. I mustn't let my worries consume me. We have a duty to our house and our people."

Marleina leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "And we will fulfill that duty, my love, as we always have."

As they held each other close, Marleina couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of determination. The challenges of ruling the Seven Kingdoms as House Targaryen were formidable, but they had faced adversity before and emerged stronger.

Daemon being himself couldn't keep up the intimate image. His arms tightened around her waist pulling her closer to his body. Their marriage may have not been one of love in the beginning but now it surely was.

"Daemon" Marleina warned. Her words went straight over his head and captured her lips silencing her. His kisses were always rough and passionate.

"Shhh, dārilaros" Princess. Daemon shushed her. His calloused fingers slowly began undoing the bodice of her dress. Marleina ceased complaining, she never truly hated the idea of bedding him, even from their first night he showed her nothing but pleasure.

"I'll take good care of you, dārilaros" Daemon whispered against her ear. Marleina basically melted in between his arms at that point.

In minutes Daemon had her fully naked on their bed. His eyes wide and pupil blown with lust. Marleina guided his head closer to her, kissing him straight on the lips. Daemon moved his head down needing more than the taste of her lips.

Marleina's head fell back with pleasure when he took one of her nipples in his mouth. Daemon was anything but gentle, he was a monster in bed. His teeth sank into the flesh earning a cry of both pain and pleasure from Marleina. She enjoyed the pain he inflicted on her way too much.

Daemon pulled away from Marleina to watch her reaction. She had her eyes closed merely enjoying his touches. Daemon smirked and moved off the bed completely. Marleina whined disappointed with the lack of his touch.

Her eyes flew open when she felt him grab her wrist and tie something around it. She looked down to find a silk like rope in his hand. He raised his eyebrow when their eyes met. He held open his palm for her other hand.

"What are you doing?" She asked confused. Daemon wiggled his fingers asking silently for her other hand. She hesitantly gave him her other hand. He tied her wrist with the other one before raising them above her head.

She squealed in surprise. He tied the rope to the head board of the bed chuckling darkly at her reaction.

"Shhh sweet dārilaros" Daemon placed a finger on her lips. He pushed it into her mouth. Marleina sucked on his sole finger in her mouth. Daemon groaned at the feeling.

"Dirty girl, probably imagining my cock" Daemon smirked when she nodded her head. His cock twitched in his trouser. This woman was everything to him, she was his wife, she was the mother of his children, children he intend to have more of from her.

He moved to climb on top of her, slowly pressing kisses to her neck, teasing her. His lips trailed down, completely ignoring her breast much to her annoyance, she was just too sensitive there ever since she had their first child.

His lips continued their way down her navel, pushing her legs open Daemon wanted to dive right into her soaking cunt but held himself back. His lips littered the inside of her thighs with kisses, sucking and marking them, He wanted to devour her if possible.

"Daemon" Marleina cried, growing even more annoyed with his neglect.

"Patience sweet dārilaros, let me love you, let me love your body" Daemon placed a hand on her belly and pushed down when she attempted to push her hips in his face.

Daemon trailed kisses up from her knee to the corner of her lower lips. Marleina's breath got caught in her throat, heart beating faster with anticipation.

Daemon finally placed his lips on the area that was crying for his touch. A loud moan escaped Marleina's lips when his lips placed a small kiss to her pearl. He took it between his lips sucking gently, her whole body shook at the feeling.

"Taste so good" Daemon prasied. His tongue ran through her foold, maoning at the taste of her on his tongue. Marleina's back arched when his tongue pushed.

The feeling of his wet muscle teasing her inner walls sent shock waves through her body. She wanted to claw at her own flesh, she wanted to claw his flesh but she couldn't her hands were tied.

She tried to fight against the restrains, she wanted to escape. Her wrists began to hurt with each tug but to no use they wouldn't come out. He was a soldier, he knew how to make a good knot, one that would never unravel, he know how to restrain movement.

"Bad girl" Daemon delivered a quick slap to her pearl when she tried pushing her cunt closer to his face. Daemon's demeanour changed and he dived in with all he god.

"Fuck, your body is perfect" he whispered. Hand running up her side, feeling every curve, every extra layer of skin from each pregnancy. She was an angel, she was just perfect for him.

"Daemon, please" She pleaded, hips trying to rock into him. He climbed back up to lay on top of her.

"Shhh" Daemon nuzzled his nose against hers. She didn't notice him reaching down to grab himself. She didn't see him place his tip against her entrance, too deeply concentrated on the kisses he was placing on her neck.

Her shocked gasp tickled Daemon's lips from their closeness, the way her eyes widened was comical to Daemon who chuckled. The second he pushed his cock in, he pushed the entire thing, he just shoved it inside of her.

It was painful, painful as hell even with preparation, but Marleina loved pain, loved his pain. The mere move of him shoving himself inside of her sent her spireling down a hole of shakiness, her orgasm moving through her body along with her blood.

"So tight" Daemon's head fell back at the feeling of her walls contracting around him. Her legs rose to wrap around his hips, locking above his bottom pulling him even closer.

"So perfect, Daemon, so full" Marleina whimpered in his ear. Daemon with his face buried in the crook of her neck, hand trailing up to hold the knot he made around her wrists, the other hand holding her thigh in a bruising grip, began moving his hips.

No rocking, no gentle movement, straight to slamming into her. Her screams of his name echoed around the room bouncing against the walls in a race with his own groans and moans of pleasure.

"Daemon! Please please please, more" She cried. Daemon's finger hooked around the knot pulling at it releasing her wrists free. He wanted to feel pain, he wanted her to scratching, hold him and scream in his ear.

Hands free went straight to wrap around him, scratching down his back, definitely drawing blood. Daemon groaned in her ear at the feeling, he loved so much. His hips moving in a pace no one could imagine, she just felt so good around his cock.

"I'm coming" She warned. Daemon pulled away from her neck leaving behind bruises that she will surely be mad about once her head was clear again. He looked down at her face, eyes tightly closed hiding eyes rolled back, mouth open letting through screams of his name and warnings of her coming soon. Tears rolling down her cheeks he leaned down to kiss away loving the salty tang in his mouth from them.

"Come for me, come on my cock, let your perfect cunt come around me" Daemon sat up on his knees, hand on her hips raising them to the same level as his cock letting it reach new depth inside of her.

"Daemon!" She screamed, whole body going into another dimension, shaking and spasming in his arms.

"Fuck" Daemon groaned, her orgasm made her walls the tightest they could ever be. He felt his whole body going numb at the feeling, falling on top of her, balls deep inside letting his cum shoot deep inside of her painting her walls white.

"Fucking hell" She cried too oversensitive. Her hips squirming under him trying to get away from him but all the movement did was make her feel even more pleasure, pulling a quick second orgasm for herself without even meaning too.

Daemon chuckled pulling out of her gently and rolling to lay by her side, cock softening. She immediately rolled into his arms, head on his chest and arms circled around him, one leg draped around his waist. Daemon wrapped his arm around her, finger trailing down to her bottom giving it a quick squeeze before continuing down to her cunt, touching it from behind, feeling his spend leaking out of her and gathering some. She whimpered at the feeling of his fingers on her wiggling a little. Daemon pulled his fingers back up and shoved them in front of her face, she didn't waste a second to take them into her mouth sucking them like the good girl she was.

"Perfect wife" He praised, kissing her forehead gently. She giggled snuggling deeper into his embrace.

Nine months after that fateful night, the Red Keep was filled with the joyous cries of a newborn. Marleina had given birth to a daughter, and the entire Targaryen household celebrated the arrival of little Visenya. The baby girl was a bundle of energy and happiness from the moment she entered the world, her cries echoing through the castle like a song of hope.

In the chamber where Marleina held her daughter for the first time, Daemon stood by her side, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness. Aenys, Maegon, and Baelon gathered around, their faces filled with awe as they beheld their little sister.

"Her name suits her," Marleina whispered, her voice filled with affection as she gazed at the tiny girl in her arms. "Visenya, the princess of our hearts."

Aenys, being the eldest, was the first to reach out and gently stroke his sister's cheek. "She's beautiful, Mother."

Maegon nodded in agreement, his analytical mind already considering the implications of a sister in their lives. "What does this mean for our family, Mother?"

Marleina smiled at her sons, realizing that this new addition would indeed bring changes. "It means that you now have a sister to protect and cherish, just as you have each other."

Baelon, who had been eagerly waiting his turn, finally got a chance to hold Visenya. His eyes sparkled with delight as he cradled the baby in his arms. "I'll protect her with my sword when I'm older, just like Father."

Daemon knelt beside Baelon and ruffled his hair affectionately. "That's the spirit, my boy. But for now, you must protect her with your love."

Visenya, oblivious to the discussions about her future, continued to gurgle and coo, her tiny fingers reaching out to grasp at the world around her. In her presence, the worries and responsibilities of the realm faded away, leaving only the pure and unbridled love of a family united by a new life.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Visenya became the heart of the Red Keep. Her laughter echoed through the halls, and her siblings doted on her endlessly. Marleina and Daemon, despite the challenges of their position, found solace and joy in the innocence of their youngest child.

With Visenya's arrival, the Targaryen family was more complete than ever before. The boys, once an army of brothers, now had a little sister to protect and guide. The Red Keep, filled with history and tradition, had a new princess to grace its ancient halls.

[villain-enthusiast]

"I know what you are."

The hero froze, eyes widening ever so slightly—there and gone in a fraction of a second, but just enough to give everything away, to hand the villain the victory on a silver platter.

“No,” the hero finally breathed, fumbling for the right words. How? How did you figure it out?

The villain grinned, teeth bared triumphantly. “That’s right. I know your dirty little secret. I know what would happen if you took that bracelet off.” They nodded towards the engraved metal band circling the hero’s wrist, which the hero quickly jerked behind their back.

“You—,” the hero bit out, “you had no fucking right—,”

“I can do whatever I want, actually" the villain interrupted lazily, unbothered. “But it seems like you can’t.”

The hero tensed as the villain’s dark gaze raked over them, somehow degrading and reverent all at the same time, as if they were a piece of artwork to be studied, a finely polished marble statue, a honed weapon waiting to be used—

Everything suddenly clicked into place. “No.” The hero stumbled back, knees buckling.

The enclosed environment of the back alley. The dead end behind them. The lack of usual physicality from the villain other than to disarm them. They were a predator playing with their prey, waiting to pounce, to keep the hero all to themselves.

The villain stepped forward. The hero flinched back. “Stay away,” they spat. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” the villain teased, continuing their casual approach. “What will you do, hero?"

Nothing, I can't do anything. The hero hit the wall behind them. God, how could they have been so stupid? To believe the villain's letter, the threat that they were about to blow up a museum without even looking up the location of the meeting spot. The villain had anticipated that the hero's ego would get to them, that they wouldn't call for reinforcements or bring anything more than a gun, because even with the cuff on their skin—

"You thought you were safe," the villain said, as if they could read the hero's thoughts. They stopped a short arm's length away from them, just far enough to give the hero the false illusion that they had some semblance of control in this matter.

It was cruel. Wicked. The hero squeezed their eyes shut as undiluted power hurled through them, roaring in protest, stifled only by the carved mage runes around their wrist.

"Look at you," the villain murmured. The hero felt fingers curl around their throat, cold and possessive. Their hands clenched into fists at their sides.

They could fight back. They could shove the villain and run and get out of here—

"You're scared, aren't you?"

The hero's eyes snapped open as their breathing stuttered in answer, meeting the villain's assessing stare.

"So scared, of all that power." The villain's finger shifted under the hero's jaw, to their racing pulse. "Power that people would die for. Kill for. And you," the villain's hand tightened just slightly, "you suppress it and refuse to use it, because how could you? How could you be the very thing that you seek to destroy?"

The hero snarled, the sound not entirely human. "I said don't touch me!" They wrenched out of the villain's grasp, bolting down the alleyway in a desperate, mad dash for some kind of exit, anything—

The villain grabbed their wrist and pulled them back, pining their arm behind them and shoving them up against the wall.

The hero hissed between their teeth as their shoulder twisted at an uncomfortable angle. "I'm...I'm not yours," they gasped in between ragged pants. They strained against the villain. "I will never be yours. Will you just fuck off—,"

The villain yanked on their arm in warning and they shut up, grimacing.

"I don't want you, little hero." The villain words were a lethal caress in their ear. "I want what you have." Their hand trailed over the metal clamp on their wrist, and the hero felt howling magic shudder through them. "But most unfortunately for you, I can't just take it from you. So instead," the villain smiled again, stamping a seal on the hero's fate, "you're going to come with me."

The hero was only granted the courtesy of a shudder before the villain knocked them out cold.

[eunseoksimp]

Siren ; Lee Anton

Pairings: Obsessive!Anton x Femme Fatale!Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

Warnings: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, anton is low-key unhinged, death

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the heart of seoul, hidden away from the prying eyes of the common folk, lay seonghwa academy—a sanctuary for the elite. the school was a sprawling estate, its towering gates adorned with intricate gold designs, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that lay within. beyond the gates, the grounds stretched out in a lavish display of manicured gardens, where ancient cherry blossom trees stood sentinel, their delicate pink petals drifting like snowflakes in the gentle breeze.

the main building of the academy was a marvel of architecture, a blend of traditional korean aesthetics and modern grandeur. its walls were of pristine white stone, polished to a shine, with high windows that allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble floors.

inside, the halls were wide and lined with portraits of illustrious alumni, men and women who had gone on to shape the world, all of them linked by the common thread of privilege and power. the ceiling soared above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like a constellation of stars, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the room.

it was within these halls that you held court, like a queen surveying her kingdom. your presence was a force unto itself, commanding attention without a word, demanding devotion without a single gesture. you moved through the school like a wisp of smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore. wherever you went, a hush fell over those around you, as if the mere sight of you demanded reverence.

you were beautiful, but not in the way most people imagined when they thought of beauty. it wasn’t just your face, though that was a masterpiece in itself—high cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips that curled into a perfect bow. your skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth, with a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within, your hair, a cascade of black silk, framed a face so perfect it seemed almost unreal, like something crafted by the hands of a deity in a moment of unparalleled inspiration. your eyes, dark and mysterious, held a depth that could drown anyone who dared look too long into them, a dangerous promise hidden behind a veil of innocence.

but it was more than just your physical appearance. your beauty was a weapon, and you wielded it with precision. you were calculating, always two steps ahead, your mind a cold, sharp instrument honed to perfection. everything you did was for your own gain, every smile, every glance, every word spoken was a move in the intricate game you played. you took pleasure in your power, in the way others bent to your will without even realizing they were doing so.

and then there was your voice, soft and low, like velvet brushing against bare skin. when you spoke, people listened. they hung onto your every word, eager to please, desperate to be noticed by you.

boys fell over themselves trying to catch your attention, offering gifts, writing love letters, all in the vain hope that you might spare them a glance. you accepted their offerings with a smile that never reached your eyes, always taking, never giving. you played them like instruments, each one serving a purpose, whether it was to boost your social standing, to gain favors, or simply to amuse yourself. all blinded by the allure of being noticed by someone as unattainable as you were.

girls envied and admired you in equal measure, some even attempting to emulate your style, though none could quite capture the effortless elegance that came so naturally to you. they didn’t realize that what they saw was a facade, a carefully constructed image designed to elicit the desired response from those around you. you knew exactly how to dress, how to speak, how to act to keep them all under your thumb, to keep them guessing, to keep them wanting more.

among the crowd of admirers, anton was different.

anton was handsome, that much was undeniable. he had a certain ruggedness to him, a sharpness to his features that contrasted with the softness of yours. his hair, dark and thick, often fell across his forehead in a tousled mess that only seemed to enhance his brooding appeal. his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stood out against his tanned skin, giving him an intensity that could be felt even from a distance. he was tall and lean, his athletic build a testament to the hours he spent training on the field, every muscle in his body honed to perfection.

but where you were a beacon of light, drawing everyone towards you, anton was a shadow, always lurking at the edges, observing from afar. he was quiet, almost painfully so, his presence more of a whisper than a shout. while others jostled for your attention, anton remained on the periphery, content—or so it seemed—to watch you from a distance. his eyes followed you wherever you went, though he rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone.

his silence made him a mystery, one that no one seemed able to solve. he was a puzzle, each piece carefully guarded, revealing nothing of the whole. few knew anything about him beyond the superficial; he was good at sports, he was handsome, and he kept to himself. only a handful of people could claim to be his friends, and even they struggled to understand the depths of his thoughts.

where others saw an angel, he saw something more—a force of nature, a tempest that he wanted to be caught in, even if it meant his own destruction. his heart beat faster when you were near, the blood in his veins turning to fire as your scent—jasmine and something darker, something that whispered of forbidden things—wafted through the air.

his shyness was a curse in your presence. while others boldly approached you, offering gifts and compliments, anton remained in the background, his love for you a silent, burning thing that threatened to consume him. he longed to speak to you, to make you see him, truly see him, but the fear of rejection, of shattering the perfect image he had of her in his mind, kept him silent.

but you noticed him, of course. how could you not? unlike the others who fell over themselves to win your favor, anton presented a challenge. he was a puzzle you wanted to solve, not out of any genuine interest, but because you hated the idea that someone in your domain could remain untouched by your influence. there was something in the way he looked at you—intense, almost possessive—that sparked a flicker of interest, but more than that, it was the challenge that intrigued you. here was someone who didn’t play by your rules, and that was unacceptable.

one crisp autumn afternoon, as the sun bathed the campus in a warm, golden light, you were making your way across the courtyard. the air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves as they fell from the trees, carpeting the ground in shades of red and gold. your footsteps were almost silent against the cobblestones, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of students passing by.

ahead, you noticed anton standing with a small group of his friends. they were near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden below. though his friends were engaged in light conversation, anton seemed distant, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. it wasn’t until you were closer that his eyes snapped to you, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his features.

“here she comes,” one of anton’s friends, a tall boy with an easy smile, murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape your notice. “the ice queen herself.”

“more like a goddess,” another boy replied, his tone tinged with admiration. “she doesn’t even have to try, does she? it’s like she was born to make us all look bad.”

there was a low chuckle from the group, but anton remained silent, his eyes still fixed on you. you allowed a small, knowing smile to curve your lips, a smile that only deepened the allure you held over them. you knew the effect you had, and you reveled in it. but this smile wasn’t just for them—it was a calculated move, a test to see how anton would react.

as you walked past, you let your gaze flicker towards anton for just a moment, long enough to meet his eyes and see the way they darkened, the intensity of his stare like a physical touch. it was a brief exchange, but it was enough to tell you what you needed to know. he wasn’t immune to you. far from it. he was just better at hiding it.

“careful, anton,” one of his friends teased, noticing the exchange. “she’s not the kind of girl you want to mess with.”

anton finally tore his gaze away from you, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as he replied, his voice low and measured, “i’m not messing with her.”

his friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “so what’s the plan, then? you just going to keep watching her from afar? because if you ask me, she’s out of everyone’s league here. untouchable.”

anton didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering back to where you had just disappeared around the corner. when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that his friends had to lean in to catch the words.

“some things are worth waiting for,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet conviction that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“yeah, well, just be careful you don’t get burned,” the tall boy replied, though there was no real concern in his voice, only the easy camaraderie of someone who didn’t quite understand the depths of his friend’s obsession.

anton offered no reply, his thoughts already drifting back to you. his friends resumed their conversation, but he remained silent, his mind occupied with the image of your smile, the way it had seemed to linger on your lips just a moment too long, as if it had been meant for him alone.

later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the school grounds, you found yourself in the library. it was a vast room, lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books that spanned every subject imaginable. the scent of aged paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and the crispness of the autumn air that drifted in through the open windows.

you chose this place deliberately—your sanctuary, your throne room, where you could reign undisturbed. the library was usually deserted at this hour, a perfect place to think, to plot your next move. you moved gracefully through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as you walked, until you reached your usual spot, a secluded table tucked away in a corner, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

you settled into your seat, your back straight, your posture impeccable, as you opened a book—a volume on ancient strategies of war, a fitting choice given the games you played with those around you. but as you began to read, your thoughts kept drifting back to anton, to the way he had looked at you in the courtyard. there was something about him that you couldn’t quite place, something that made him stand out from the others. he was different, and that intrigued you.

you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound barely perceptible, but you were attuned to the slightest disturbance in your surroundings. you didn’t look up, though you knew who it was even before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. you continued reading, allowing him to come to you, your expression calm and unreadable.

“strange seeing you here twice in one day,” anton’s voice broke the silence, soft yet edged with something dark, something that hinted at the depths beneath his calm exterior.

you slowly raised your eyes from the book, fixing him with a cool, appraising gaze. “is it?”

he stood at the edge of your table, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused, as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your calm demeanor. he didn’t sit down, didn’t make any move to bridge the gap between you, and you respected that. it showed that he wasn’t like the others who would have rushed to fill the silence, eager to be close to you, to bask in your presence.

“you usually avoid places like this,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as though the library’s quiet demanded a softer tone.

you tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “and yet, here you are.”

anton didn’t respond immediately. his eyes flickered to the book in your hands, his expression thoughtful. “war strategies?” he observed, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “fitting.”

“for what?” you asked, your voice smooth, almost teasing, though there was a hint of steel beneath your words.

“for someone like you,” he replied, his tone flat, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. “someone who always seems to be a step ahead.”

you allowed a soft laugh to escape your lips, though it was devoid of any real warmth. “i find it useful to stay informed,” you said, closing the book with a decisive snap. “knowledge is power, after all.”

anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “and you enjoy having power, don’t you?”

you met his gaze, unflinching, your expression unreadable. “wouldn’t you?”

he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough. he understood, perhaps more than anyone else. in that moment, you saw a reflection of yourself in him—a hunger, a need to control, to dominate. it was rare to find someone who could match you in this way, and it made you wonder just how far you could push him before he would break.

“why are you here, anton?” you asked, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness. “surely you didn’t come all this way just to exchange pleasantries?”

anton took a step closer, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

“did you?” you replied, feigning surprise, though you were anything but. “and what is it that you want from me?”

he took another step closer, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to penetrate your carefully constructed facade. “you already know the answer to that.”

you leaned back in your chair, creating more distance between you, as if to remind him who was in control. “perhaps,” you said slowly, your voice laced with an almost cruel amusement. “but i want to hear you say it.”

anton’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his frustration. he wasn’t used to being played with, and it was clear that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power dynamic between you. but he held his ground, refusing to be the first to break.

“i want to understand you,” he said finally, the words heavy with meaning.

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. “understand me?” you echoed, your tone mocking. “how quaint. and why would you want that?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to see through your facade, to find the real person beneath the mask. “because you’re different from the others,” he said, his voice firm. “you don’t care about the things they care about. you’re not like them.”

you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression neutral. “you think you’re different too, don’t you?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “that’s why you’re drawn to me. you see something of yourself in me.”

anton didn’t deny it. instead, he straightened, putting more distance between you. “maybe,” he admitted, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he didn’t want to admit just how much you fascinated him.

you leaned forward, your eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of the game you were playing. “but here’s the thing, anton,” you said, your voice low and almost seductive. “just because we’re alike doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

anton’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “are you trying to warn me?”

you smiled then, a smile that held no warmth, no kindness. “no,” you said simply. “i’m just letting you know that you should be careful. you might think you understand me, but you don’t. and trying to get close to me, trying to figure me out, might not end the way you hope.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. anton’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head as he tried to decide his next move.

finally, he nodded, as if coming to some kind of internal decision. “i’ll take my chances,” he said, his voice calm, but with a resolve that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

you studied him for a long moment, weighing his words, considering your next move. and then, you smiled again, this time a real smile, one that hinted at something more, something dangerous. “good,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “i was hoping you would say that.”

anton didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. he wasn’t afraid of you, and that made him even more interesting. this was going to be fun.

without another word, you stood up, the movement smooth and controlled. you gathered your things, the book you hadn’t read and the bag you carried with you everywhere. you leaned slightly over the table, bringing your face closer to his, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"good luck, anton," you whispered, your voice low and intimate. "you’re going to need it."

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the echo of your parting words lingering in the air. as you left the library, you didn’t look back. you knew he was watching you, just as you knew he would continue to chase the idea of you, to try and uncover the truth you kept hidden behind layers of ice.

but in the end, it didn’t matter. you were always in control. anton might think he was playing the same game as you, but the truth was, he was just another piece on your board. and you? you were always several moves ahead.

the sun had set by the time you stepped outside, the evening air cool against your skin. the sky was a deep, inky blue, dotted with the first stars of the night. as you walked back to your dorm, your thoughts were already shifting to the next day, the next opportunity, the next move. anton was a distraction, an interesting one, but a distraction nonetheless. you had bigger plans, bigger goals, and you wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.

as the door to your dormitory closed behind you, you allowed yourself one last, fleeting thought of anton, of the way his eyes had burned with that cold fire, the way he had tried to match your coldness with his own. it was a futile effort, but it had been amusing, if only for a moment.

and then, with the finality of a chess player making the winning move, you pushed the thought from your mind, focusing instead on the game that truly mattered—the one where you were always the queen, and everyone else was just another pawn.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days began to blur into one another, the once vibrant tapestry of autumn fading into the cold, muted tones of winter. seonghwa academy, with all its grandeur and decadence, seemed almost timeless in its beauty, untouched by the passage of the seasons. the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, leaving the trees bare, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky like bony fingers. the manicured gardens were now coated in a thin layer of frost, a glittering veil that shimmered in the pale morning light.

you moved through the academy like a specter, your presence felt more than seen. the halls were your domain, each corridor a labyrinth where you pulled the strings, where every whisper, every glance was carefully orchestrated. the students, your pawns, fell in line, their lives intertwined with yours in ways they could never fully understand. you held court in the shadows, your influence seeping into every corner, every conversation.

anton was no exception. from the moment he had sought you out in the library, you had known he would be different, a challenge unlike the others. and challenges, you had learned, were meant to be conquered.

he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, his obsession growing with each passing day. it was subtle at first—an extra glance in your direction, a lingering look that held just a bit too long. but soon, it became something more, something palpable. you could feel his eyes on you even when you weren’t looking, could sense his presence lurking at the edge of your awareness like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

you began to toy with him, your moves calculated and deliberate, each interaction becoming a carefully orchestrated dance. the academy, a place of prestige and ambition, provided the perfect backdrop for your machinations. its grand halls and meticulously maintained gardens were a testament to the wealth and power of its patrons, and you knew how to navigate this world with ease.

your interactions with anton began innocently enough. it started with small things—catching his eye in the hallway and holding his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, brushing past him in the crowded corridors, your touch fleeting but deliberate. you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath hitched, the way his composure faltered ever so slightly. it was intoxicating, the power you held over him, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a look.

one evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall, you found yourself in the school’s music room, a place rarely visited by anyone outside of classes. the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the sconces on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the polished wood floors. the air was filled with the faint scent of old sheet music and the lingering notes of a piano that hadn’t been played in years.

you had come here to think, to plot your next move, but the silence was soon broken by the sound of the door creaking open. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel anton’s presence, the way the air seemed to thicken with his arrival.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice a soft whisper that barely disturbed the quiet.

“neither should you,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that hinted at the storm brewing beneath his surface.

you turned slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his with a cool, detached gaze. “i go where i please,” you said simply, as if that explained everything.

anton stepped further into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. he was dressed in the school’s uniform, but it seemed somehow more disheveled, the tie loosened, the shirt untucked at the edges, as if he had grown careless with his appearance. his hair was tousled, the dark strands falling into his eyes, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

“why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of desperation, as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check.

you tilted your head slightly, feigning ignorance. “doing what?”

anton’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took a step closer. “you know what,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “why are you playing with me?”

a smile ghosted across your lips, a smile devoid of any warmth, any humanity. “because i can,” you replied, your tone light, almost mocking. “because it amuses me.”

anton’s eyes darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer, deeper. “you think this is a game?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with barely restrained anger.

“everything is a game,” you said, your voice as cold and unfeeling as the snow falling outside. “and you’re just another piece on the board.”

he stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. there was a darkness in him, a darkness that mirrored your own, and for a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of recognition, of understanding. but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself of who you were, of what you were.

“i don’t want to be your pawn,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then don’t be,” you replied, your tone dismissive. “no one’s forcing you to play.”

but you both knew that wasn’t true. he was trapped, ensnared in a web of his own making, and there was no escape. not now. not ever.

anton took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. “what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you felt something stir within you, something you couldn’t quite identify. but then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating detachment that had always served you so well.

“i want to see how far you’ll go,” you said, your voice soft, almost seductive. “how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me.”

anton’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure. “and what if i’m not willing to give you what you want?” he asked, his voice challenging, daring you to push him further.

you smiled then, a smile that was all sharp edges and hidden dangers. “oh, anton,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “you will. you won’t be able to help yourself.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. and then, without warning, anton reached out, his hand gripping your wrist with a force that sent a shock of pain up your arm. his touch was cold, his fingers like iron bands that held you in place, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“don’t underestimate me,” anton said, his voice low, dangerous. “i’m not like the others. i won’t break for you.”

you met his gaze, your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, you saw the truth in his words. anton wasn’t like the others. he was stronger, more resilient, and that made him dangerous. but it also made the game more interesting, more challenging. and you had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“we’ll see,” you said, your voice steady, unyielding.

anton held your gaze for a moment longer, his grip on your wrist tightening before he finally let go. you watched him as he stepped back, his expression unreadable, the storm in his eyes raging just beneath the surface.

“this isn’t over,” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“no,” you replied, your tone calm, composed. “it’s just beginning.”

with that, anton turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips, your mind already working, already planning your next move.

the game was far from over, and you had no intention of losing. anton was a challenge, a puzzle that you were determined to solve, no matter what it took. and if you had to break him in the process, then so be it.

after all, in the end, there could only be one winner.

as the days passed, you continued to play your game, each move calculated, each interaction designed to push anton further, to test the limits of his obsession. you gave him tasks, small at first—bring you a book from the library, fetch you a drink from the cafeteria—but each one was a test, a way to gauge just how far he was willing to go for you.

and he did them all, without question, without hesitation. it was almost too easy, the way he bent to your will, the way he followed your every command. but there was something about the way he did it, the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes, that told you he wasn’t doing it out of fear, or even out of a desire to please you. no, there was something else driving him, something deeper, something darker.

you began to push him harder, your requests growing more demanding, more invasive. you asked him to skip classes for you, to lie to his friends, to steal things from the other students. and still, he did it all, without a word of protest, without a single sign of reluctance.

it was thrilling, the power you held over him, the way you could make him do anything with nothing more than a smile, a glance, a whispered word. but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you were acutely aware of, but chose to ignore. because the truth was, you weren’t sure how far anton would go, and that uncertainty, that unpredictability, was what made the game so intoxicating.

one night, as the winter winds howled outside, you found yourself alone in your room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. you were seated at your desk, a glass of wine in hand, when there was a knock at the door. you knew who it was before you even opened it.

anton stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. his clothes were disheveled, his hair even more tousled than usual, and there was a wildness in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

“come in,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the emotions swirling within you.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

“what do you want?” you asked, your tone cool, detached.

anton didn’t answer immediately. instead, he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his expression intense, almost desperate.

“i want you,” he said finally, his voice low, hoarse.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the admission catching you off guard. but you quickly recovered, your composure slipping back into place like a well-worn mask.

“you can’t have me,” you replied, your tone cold, unfeeling.

“i know,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but that doesn’t change anything.”

there was a moment of silence, the two of you standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing.

“why?” you asked, your voice soft, almost curious.

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them raging just beneath the surface. “because you make me feel alive,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “because i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you. you had always known that anton was different, that he would be a challenge, but you hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t expected to be confronted with his raw, unfiltered need for you.

“you’re a fool,” you said finally, your voice sharp, cutting.

anton flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space between you.

“maybe,” he said, his voice steady, determined. “but i’m your fool.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the sheer intensity of his devotion both exhilarating and terrifying. you had played this game a thousand times before, had manipulated countless others, but this—this was different. anton was different.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice low, warning.

anton’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “i know,” he said, his voice soft, resigned. “but i’m already too far gone to stop.”

and in that moment, you knew it was true. anton wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just another pawn on your board, another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored. he was something else, something more. and that realization sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

he hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted finally, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re all i think about.”

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle but possessive. “and what do you think about, anton?”

his breath hitched at your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “everything. your smile, your voice, the way you move. it’s driving me crazy.”

you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “is that so?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

he nodded, his eyes opening to meet yours. “yes. i can’t sleep, i can’t focus. all i want is to be near you, to make you happy.”

“then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go,” you said, your voice filled with a dangerous promise.

anton’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, there was no going back.

the game was no longer just a game. it was something more, something darker, something that could destroy you both. and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly alive.

as the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows on the walls, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint whisper of the wind.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the weeks that followed, your manipulation of anton became a carefully orchestrated dance, a twisted ballet where you led with a graceful, calculated precision, and anton followed, oblivious to the strings you pulled. each interaction was a deliberate step in this dark routine, with you guiding him ever deeper into the labyrinth of your control.

your tasks soon grew more intricate, more demanding. you asked him to dig up obscure references for your essays, to track down rare books that could only be found in forgotten corners of the city, to bring you your favorite coffee from a shop miles away from campus. each request was a thread in the web you wove around him, tightening your hold with every act of service.

anton never hesitated. his devotion to you was absolute, a blind, consuming need that drove him to fulfill your every whim without question. it was as if your presence had become a drug, one he couldn’t live without, and the more he did for you, the deeper his addiction grew. you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed.

as the days passed, you began to notice the subtle changes in him, changes that you observed with a detached amusement. anton’s once healthy frame grew gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out as he lost weight, the sharp angles of his bones more pronounced beneath his pale skin. dark circles formed under his eyes, a testament to the nights spent sleepless, his mind too consumed by thoughts of you to find rest.

his friends grew concerned, their worried glances and whispered questions following him wherever he went. “are you okay, anton?” they would ask, but he brushed them off with a forced smile, his thoughts always returning to you.

the sharp mind that had once been the pride of his teachers, the envy of his peers, now seemed solely focused on you, on the endless tasks and challenges you set before him. his world had shrunk, until it revolved around you alone.

one crisp afternoon, as the late sun cast a warm, golden hue over the campus, you decided it was time to push anton further. the chill in the air was sharp, a reminder of the winter, but inside the academy’s library, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books and the quiet hum of whispered conversations.

you found anton where you expected him, hunched over a thick volume of korean history, his eyes scanning the pages with a fervor that betrayed his exhaustion.

as you approached, he looked up, his gaze lighting up with that familiar, fervent intensity that had become so familiar to you. it was a look that both thrilled and repelled you, a reflection of the power you wielded over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice soft and sweet, a siren’s call that masked the sharpness of your intentions. “i need your help with something.”

he stood immediately, closing the book with a soft thud and giving you his full, undivided attention. “anything,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “there’s a fundraiser next week, and i need a partner for the opening dance. will you be my partner?”

his eyes widened in shock and elation, the emotions playing across his features like a silent movie. “of course,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “i’d be honored.”

“good,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction, enough to make his heart race. “meet me in the ballroom tonight at eight. we need to practice.”

that evening, the academy’s ballroom was a cathedral of opulence and grandeur. chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like glittering constellations, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the polished marble floor. the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of waxed wood, a testament to the academy’s commitment to luxury and tradition.

you arrived at eight sharp, your entrance a vision of calculated perfection. anton was already there, of course, nervously adjusting his tie as he waited for you. his breath caught as you stepped into the room, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound in the vast, echoing space.

you had chosen a gown of deep crimson, a shade that matched the dark currents of the game you played, the color of blood and desire. it flowed around you like liquid silk, the fabric clinging to your form before cascading to the floor in a pool of rich, dark red. your hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing your face, and a simple diamond necklace adorned your neck, glittering against your porcelain skin like a single drop of ice.

“you’re early,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if you hadn’t planned every detail of this encounter down to the second.

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” anton replied, his voice filled with a mix of awe and devotion that made your smile widen.

you crossed the room with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement designed to captivate. “shall we begin?” you asked, extending your hand to him, your fingers pale against the deep crimson of your gown.

he took your hand, his grip firm yet trembling slightly, the subtle tremor sending a shiver of satisfaction through you. you led him into the dance, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, a testament to the control you exerted over him. anton followed your lead with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you, as if the world beyond your shared steps had ceased to exist.

as the music swelled, you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’re doing well, anton,” you murmured, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “but you need to loosen up. let go of your fears.”

he nodded, his jaw clenching with determination, the tension in his body palpable beneath your touch. you could feel the rigid control he tried to maintain, the desperate need to please you, to be perfect for you. but you wanted more. you wanted to push him further, to see just how far he would go to prove his devotion.

“anton,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper, a breath of wind in the stillness of the ballroom. “do you trust me?”

his eyes widened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a tiny crack in the facade of his devotion. but then he nodded, his expression resolute, his voice unwavering. “yes,” he said, the word carrying the weight of a promise, a vow.

“good,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, a smile that was both a reward and a warning. “then close your eyes and follow my lead.”

he hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, his eyes fluttering shut, his trust in you absolute. with his eyes closed, anton’s other senses seemed to heighten, his body attuning to yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation. you could feel his breath quicken, the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like the rhythm of the music, a rhythm that echoed the pulse of your own power over him.

you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft caress, a velvet glove over a steel blade. “you’re mine, anton,” you whispered, the words wrapping around him like a chain. “you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

his breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of both fear and longing, and he nodded, his voice a ragged whisper, his will crumbling under the weight of your command. “yes.”

“good,” you murmured, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through you, a dark current that matched the crimson of your gown. “because i have another task for you.”

he opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperation that was almost tangible, a need that radiated from him like heat. “anything,” he said, his voice filled with a desperate longing, a need to prove himself worthy of your attention.

you smiled, a slow, predatory smile, the smile of a hunter who knows the prey is already ensnared. “i need you to find out everything you can about professor kim. i have reason to believe he’s hiding something, and i need to know what it is.”

anton’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them, a shadow of the man he was becoming under your influence. “i’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm, the resolve in his tone a reflection of the control you had over him.

you leaned back slightly, your smile widening, your satisfaction evident in the way your eyes glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. “i knew i could count on you, anton,” you said, your voice a soft purr, a reward for his obedience.

as the music came to an end, you stepped back, breaking the connection between you, your movements fluid, graceful, a dancer stepping away from a completed performance. anton stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, his mind consumed with thoughts of you.

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, your tone casual, as if you hadn’t just tightened the chains of his obsession, as if this were just another dance, another game.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “yes,” he replied, his voice steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of desperation, the need to please you, to be everything you wanted him to be.

you turned and walked away, your steps light and graceful, each movement a calculated display of control and power. behind you, anton remained standing in the middle of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, with the task you had given him. 

the game was progressing perfectly, each move bringing you closer to your goal, and you reveled in the power you held over him, in the knowledge that anton was yours, body and soul, and that you had no intention of letting him go.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the power dynamics between you and anton had shifted to an almost surreal degree. what began as a subtle manipulation had evolved into a full-blown psychological entanglement, a dangerous dance where you were the undisputed maestro, and anton, the eager but unwitting puppet. 

each interaction was a calculated move, each touch a deliberate action to tighten the threads of control around him. you reveled in the power you held, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a smile or a whispered command.

the academy’s sprawling grounds, with its grandiose architecture and serene gardens, became the stage for your most intricate schemes. the cherry blossoms in the garden, once a symbol of delicate beauty, now seemed to echo the treacherous nature of your relationship with anton. their petals floated down like fragments of innocence lost, each one a testament to the corruption blossoming between you.

one afternoon, you sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. its branches hung low, creating a curtain of green that shielded you from the prying eyes of others. anton approached with the usual mix of eagerness and trepidation, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on worshipful.

“anton,” you called softly, your voice a caress against the backdrop of the rustling leaves. “i need you to handle something for me.”

“of course,” he replied, his voice a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. he was so eager to please, so desperate for your approval, that it was almost painful to watch.

you leaned in slightly, letting the air between you become charged with unspoken expectations. “there’s a student, su-jin. she’s been trying to undermine me in class, and i need you to… persuade her to stop.”

anton’s face darkened at the mention of su-jin. you could see the conflict within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his desire to comply with your wishes. “what should I do?”

you allowed a slow, satisfied smile to creep across your lips. “find out what she’s planning, and if necessary, convince her to leave me alone. use whatever means you deem necessary.”

his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and determination. “you can count on me.”

as anton walked away, you could see the way his shoulders stiffened with resolve. it was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill of exerting such power over him, of watching him bend to your will, was intoxicating. you knew that anton’s obsession with you would lead him down a darker path, but you were content to watch the descent with a detached fascination.

anton’s mental state began to deteriorate as his obsession grew. he became increasingly paranoid, his thoughts consumed by the idea that no one else deserved your attention. his once bright eyes took on a haunted look, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a nervous restlessness. he started to isolate himself from friends, pushing them away with brusque words and averted gazes. his world had narrowed to a singular focus— you.

one evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo and the stars began to prick the velvet darkness, you were walking through the gardens again. anton followed a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on you like a shadow that never wavered. he had been quiet for days, his once vibrant conversations now reduced to terse, monosyllabic responses.

“anton,” you said, turning to face him as you paused near a fountain where the water gurgled softly, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound. “you’ve been so quiet lately. is everything alright?”

he looked up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anxiety and something darker— a possessive intensity that you noted with a hint of amusement. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly. “i’ve just been… focused.”

you could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle but unmistakable tension in the air. “focused on what?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground before meeting your eyes again. “on making sure that no one else gets in the way of what we have.”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “and what is it that we have, anton?”

he swallowed hard, his throat working as if the words were difficult to form. “i… i want to make sure you’re safe. that no one can harm you or distract you from… us.”

a shiver ran down your spine at the way he said “us,” the possessive undertone clear. you took a step closer, your eyes narrowing as you assessed his state of mind.

 “anton, you know i appreciate your loyalty. but remember, you’re here to support me, not to control the people around me.”

he nodded, but the look in his eyes betrayed a different reality. the shadow of his darker side was beginning to surface more frequently. it was in the way he would flinch if he saw you talking to another student, the way his hands would clench into fists when you mentioned someone else’s name.

like when you conversed with a fellow student, your laughter ringing out in the courtyard, you caught anton’s gaze from across the lawn. his face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and stormy. the sight sent a thrill of dark satisfaction through you. you knew that you were pushing him to the brink, but the control you had over him was intoxicating.

afterward, as you walked through the campus, you found anton waiting for you by a secluded alcove. his expression was a volatile mix of anger and desperation. 

“why were you talking to him?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

you stopped, turning to face him with a calm composure. “anton, it’s just a conversation. you have nothing to worry about.”

“nothing to worry about?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “i saw the way he looked at you. you were laughing with him, enjoying his attention. what about me?”

you took a deep breath, the thrill of his jealousy and anger washing over you like a wave. “anton, you need to calm down. you’re becoming irrational.”

“irrational?” he echoed, his voice trembling with a barely contained fury. “i’m trying to protect you! you don’t understand—”

“understand what?” you interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek. the touch was intended to soothe, but you could feel the tension beneath his skin. “anton, you’re losing control. you need to trust me.”

he flinched at your touch, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. his eyes were wild, and for a moment, you could see the extent of his obsession, the way it had twisted into something darker. 

“i don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t lose you.”

you drew back slightly, the thrill of his turmoil invigorating you. “anton, you’re not losing me. but you need to focus on what’s important.”

his eyes searched yours, desperation evident in every line of his face. “i’ll do anything,” he said, his voice cracking. “just tell me what to do.”

you smiled, a smile that was both reassuring and chilling. “just remember, anton, your loyalty is what matters most. don’t let your feelings get in the way.”

this only spurred anton’s behavior to become increasingly erratic. he would often have vivid fantasies about you, his mind concocting elaborate scenarios where you were entirely his and no one else could share in your attention. these fantasies grew darker and more obsessive, painting a picture of a world where you were trapped in his own twisted vision of devotion.

one night, as the moon cast a silver sheen across the academy grounds, anton sat alone in his dorm room, his thoughts racing. the walls seemed to close in around him, and the quiet of the night was punctuated only by the sound of his own uneven breathing. he had been unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic swirl of images and emotions.

he imagined you, alone and vulnerable, with him as your sole protector. in his fantasies, you were completely dependent on him, your every move dictated by his will. the images were vivid, almost tangible— you sitting by his side, your hand in his, your eyes locked with his as he whispered promises of eternal devotion. 

but these fantasies quickly twisted into darker visions, where he had to fight off other suitors with a ferocity that bordered on violence. in these dreams, he was ruthless, striking out with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him.

when he awoke, drenched in sweat, he could still feel the echoes of his dark fantasies, the haunting intensity of his own thoughts. he stared at the ceiling, his mind struggling to separate fantasy from reality. his heart pounded, the line between his desire and his actions becoming increasingly blurred.

the next day, when you encountered anton, his demeanor was a mask of calmness, but the turmoil beneath was palpable. he tried to hide his paranoia, but the tension in his posture and the shadow in his eyes spoke volumes. he watched you with a possessive gaze, his actions more calculated, his interactions with others strained.

“anton,” you said one afternoon as you found him standing near the fountain, his gaze following you intently. “is everything alright?”

he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “just… making sure everything is as it should be.”

you studied him, noting the way his eyes darted toward other students, the way his hands clenched into fists. you could feel the control you wielded over him, the way his obsession had morphed into something more dangerous. the thrill of manipulating him, of pushing him to the edge, was a dark pleasure you savored.

“anton,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “i need you to trust me. I don’t want to see you like this. It’s not healthy.”

his eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his facade. “i just… want to protect you,” he said, his voice a mixture of anguish and resolve.

you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “i know, and I appreciate it. but it’s creeping me out so i need you to stop, okay?”

he nodded, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the internal struggle he faced. you knew that his descent into obsession was far from over, and as you watched him walk away, you could almost feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on him.

the games you played were dangerous and morally ambiguous, but they had become a twisted form of entertainment for you. you had pushed anton to the brink, watching with a mix of thrill and detachment as he spiraled into obsession. the power you held over him was intoxicating, and though you knew the consequences of your actions, the pleasure of manipulation was too alluring to resist.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days continued to grow colder, the winter tightening its grip on seonghwa academy, transforming the once-golden landscape into a monochrome world of gray skies and snow-blanketed grounds. the chill seeped into the very bones of the school, into the ancient stone walls and the hearts of those within them, as if the academy itself were a living, breathing entity, feeding off the darkness that now hung heavy in the air.

you had been watching anton closely, more closely than ever, though you would never let him know it. there was a darkness in him that intrigued you, a shadow that had grown deeper, more pronounced since that night in your room. it was as if something had awakened in him, something raw and primal, and you could feel its presence lurking just beneath the surface of his carefully composed facade.

it had been a twisted tapestry of obsession, each thread woven with a careful hand, yet fraying at the edges with the weight of something darker. anton’s once-gentle demeanor, that quiet reserve you had once found so easy to manipulate, had slowly unraveled, revealing a shadowy core of obsession and fixation. what began as harmless devotion had curdled into something far more dangerous, an all-consuming fervor that twisted his thoughts and actions until they no longer resembled the man you had first ensnared.

the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like cracks in a fragile facade. at first, they were subtle—a lingering gaze that held too much intensity, an eagerness to please that bordered on desperation. his words, once soft and measured, began to carry an undercurrent of something sharper, a hint of possessiveness that set your instincts on edge. but these were easy to dismiss, easy to overlook in the grander scheme of your game.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, those cracks deepened, splitting wide to reveal the depths of his obsession. his once kind eyes now burned with a fervor that was both unsettling and relentless, like a predator stalking its prey. the change in him was gradual, a slow, insidious transformation that you hadn’t anticipated, until one day you realized that the man before you was no longer the same anton you had once so effortlessly controlled.

what had begun as a game of manipulation had now spiraled into something far more dangerous. you had been playing with fire, testing the limits of his devotion, pushing him further and further, and now, those flames were ready to consume everything in their path. the air around him seemed charged, like the tense silence before a storm, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you could sense the shift in him, the way his presence felt heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of his obsession had grown too large to contain.

but you didn’t question it. you didn’t need to. after all, whatever was driving anton, whatever darkness had taken root in his soul, it only served to deepen your control over him. and that was all that mattered.

it was a chilly evening, and the academy’s grand library, usually a sanctuary of quiet knowledge, felt different tonight. the air was thick with an unsettling tension. the shadows cast by the flickering lights danced ominously on the rows of ancient, leather-bound books. you had been here often, as much to avoid the prying eyes of others as to indulge in the hidden recesses of knowledge. tonight, however, your curiosity had led you down a path of discovery you hadn’t anticipated.

you were seated in a leather armchair near the back of the library, a book in hand, though your mind was far from the words on the page. instead, your thoughts were occupied by anton, by the strange, twisted game you had been playing with him, and by the gnawing curiosity that had begun to take hold of you.

it was then that you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. you could feel his presence, as you always could, a dark cloud that seemed to hang over him, shadowing his every step.

anton moved through the library with the same quiet grace that had always characterized him, but there was something different about him now, something that set your nerves on edge. you watched from the corner of your eye as he made his way toward the back of the library, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see.

as he drew closer, you noticed that his clothes were disheveled, more so than usual, his hair unkempt, the dark strands falling into his eyes in a way that only added to the air of disarray that clung to him. there was something in his eyes, too, something wild and untamed, a flicker of madness that sent a chill down your spine.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. you met his stare, your expression carefully composed, though you could feel the unease building in the pit of your stomach.

“anton,” you said, your voice calm, measured. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself under control. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

“i did something for you,” he said, his words clipped, precise.

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite the unease that was now thrumming through your veins. “oh?” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “and what might that be?”

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them growing more intense, more dangerous. he took a step closer, his hand reaching into his coat pocket, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

but then he pulled out a small, silver object, holding it out to you with a trembling hand. you looked at it, your heart skipping a beat as you realized what it was.

a locket. a delicate, ornate locket that you recognized immediately, because you had seen it around the neck of one of the students, a girl who had been the object of anton’s silent, simmering jealousy for weeks. she had been one of your pawns, someone you had used to stoke the fires of anton’s obsession, to push him further, to test the limits of his devotion to you.

and now, here it was, in his hand, the chain broken, the locket itself smeared with something dark, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“anton,” you said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a wild animal. “what did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked down at the locket, his expression unreadable, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“i did it for you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she was in the way. she was trying to take you from me.”

your heart began to pound in your chest, a cold, creeping dread settling over you. “what did you do, anton?” you repeated, your voice sharper now, more insistent.

anton’s eyes flashed with something dark, something twisted, and he took another step closer, the locket still dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.

“i made sure she couldn’t take you from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i made sure she would never come between us again.”

the realization hit you like a physical blow, the air leaving your lungs in a rush as the full extent of what anton had done sank in. the locket, the dark smears—blood, it was blood. he had killed her, that girl, that innocent pawn in your game, all because of his twisted, obsessive love for you.

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. and yet, even as the horror of it all settled over you, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, twisted thrill of excitement, of power.

anton had killed for you. he had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, all in your name. and in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely he had fallen under your spell.

but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you couldn’t ignore. anton was no longer just a pawn in your game. he was something else, something more dangerous, more unpredictable. and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you were to maintain your control over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, soothing, as if you were trying to calm a wild animal. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

he blinked, his expression faltering for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand your words. “but i did it for you,” he repeated, his voice desperate, pleading. “i did it because i love you.”

you felt a cold, bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, but you forced it down, knowing that now was not the time for mockery. anton was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something dark and terrible, and you needed to pull him back, to regain control before it was too late.

“love?” you said, your voice soft, almost mocking. “you think this is love, anton? what you’ve done, what you’ve become—this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

his eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something more dangerous.

“no,” he said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. “no, you’re wrong. you don’t understand. everything i’ve done, i’ve done for you. because i can’t live without you. because i need you.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to find the right words, the right approach to keep him from slipping further into the darkness. but even as you searched for a way to regain control, you could feel the situation spiraling out of your grasp, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“anton,” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “listen to me. you’ve gone too far. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

for a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. but then, slowly, something shifted in his eyes, something dark and twisted, something that made your blood run cold.

“unforgivable?” he echoed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but i did it for you. i did it because i love you. how can that be unforgivable?”

you shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. “love isn’t supposed to be like this, anton. it’s not supposed to be… destructive.”

his expression twisted into something ugly, something full of pain and anger. “you’re wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you’re wrong. love is everything. it’s all that matters. and i would do anything—anything—to keep you. to make you mine.”

there was a desperation in his voice, a wildness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had pushed him too far, had played your game too well, and now you were faced with the consequences of your own actions.

but even as the fear gripped you, there was a part of you, a dark, twisted part, that couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, a perverse satisfaction in knowing just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely you had broken him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “this has to stop. you have to let me go.”

his eyes flashed with something dark, something dangerous, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm with a grip that was almost painful.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. you belong to me.”

you felt a cold, creeping dread settle over you, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. anton wasn’t going to let you go. he was too far gone, too consumed by his obsession to see reason. and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm. “you need to let me go. this isn’t healthy. it’s not right.”

his grip on your arm tightened, his eyes blazing with a wild, desperate intensity. “i don’t care,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i don’t care if it’s not right. i don’t care if it’s not healthy. i need you. and i won’t let you go. not ever.”

the words hung in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, the finality of them sending a shiver down your spine. you had always known that anton was different, that he was dangerous, but now, faced with the full extent of his madness, you realized just how precarious your situation had become.

you were trapped, ensnared in the very web you had so carefully woven, and there was no way out. anton’s obsession had consumed him, had driven him to the edge of sanity, and now, there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “please. let me go.”

but he only shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening, his eyes wild and desperate. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. and i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. whatever it takes.”

the words sent a chill down your spine, the cold, creeping dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. anton had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, and there was no going back. the game was over, and you had lost.

and in that moment, you realized just how dangerous obsession could be, just how easily it could consume and destroy. anton had been your pawn, your plaything, but now, he was something else, something darker, something that could destroy you both.

and there was no escape.

“anton,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart pounding in your chest. “this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

but he only smiled, a twisted, broken smile that sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your arm like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“maybe,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but it’s our madness.”

and in that moment, you knew that there was no going back, no escape from the darkness that had consumed you both. anton had become something else, something more dangerous, more terrifying, and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

the snow continued to fall outside, the world outside the library quiet and still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. and in the silence, you could hear the faint whisper of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the pounding of your own heart, as you stood there, trapped in the darkness, with no way out.

and as the night closed in around you, you knew that this was only the beginning, the first step into a world of darkness and madness from which there would be no return. anton’s obsession had consumed him, and now, it would consume you both, dragging you down into the depths of despair, with no hope of escape.

and as you looked into anton’s eyes, those wild, desperate eyes that had once been so full of life, so full of promise, you knew that you had lost, that you had played your game too well, and now, you were paying the price.

the darkness had won.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

The Gold in the Flame (Burns Brighter Now)

For @nestaarcheronweek day 2: Sharp. Nesta had always been too sharp for their liking-- for her sister and Rhysand's Inner Circle. But during the Solstice celebrations at the Hewn City, Nesta dances with Eris in Feyre's place and learns that, perhaps, being sharp isn't always a bad thing. (Title taken from the Architects song Doomsday) (ao3)

It was just one more thing they had taken.

One more piece of herself given over, one more thing snatched away.

And as she stood at the base of her sister’s throne, Nesta Archeron could do nothing but watch as the dagger she had crafted was presented to another as a gift. As if it wasn’t hers, as if it never had been.

Given away— it was just… given away.

Nesta watched as Rhysand spun some pretty little lie about how he’d had it tucked away all this time, but Nesta could still feel the hilt of that dagger in her hand as she hammered the blade. She could feel the heat of the forge, the power running through her and into the steel, her body a conduit, singing as the edge honed itself beneath her fire.

Hers. It was hers, and yet it lay in the hands of another.

Rhysand steadily tapped his fingers against the curved arm of his throne, the only display of displeasure he would allow himself, it seemed. Each drum of his fingertips seemed to echo, to sound against all that rough-cut stone and polished marble, but as Eris took the box containing her dagger, Rhysand’s smile did not falter. It was all teeth and false pleasantries, and Nesta didn’t fail to notice that Eris did not bow before those midnight thrones. He didn’t do more than dip his chin, and Rhysand’s smile grew tighter.

Eris held the black box with the carved lid, cradling it between his pale, elegant fingers. His courtier’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing at the corners, as if whatever tale Rhysand had told, Eris didn’t buy it for a moment. 

Good, Nesta thought as she forced her eyes forward, feeling smothered by the rock as the Court of Nightmares pressed down upon her, heavy and oppressive. The fire in her chest was all but banked, all but reduced to ashes, and though she wanted to burn and burn and burn at the sight of the dagger she had made being plucked from her hands and handed to another…

She didn’t have it in her.

They had taken that, too.

As Eris and Rhysand bandied words, Nesta slid her eyes to her sister. Feyre rested a hand on her swollen belly, watching the exchange between the Lord of Night and the Prince of Autumn, but she did nothing - nothing - to take back the box that lay in Eris’ hands. 

He frowned once more as he glanced down at that night-dark box balanced in his fingers, as if he could sense the kernel of Nesta’s fire still breathing through the steel.

With a snap, he closed the lid of the box.

And standing in the black dress that they had told her to wear, keeping her face carefully blank, Nesta waited for Feyre to invite Eris to dance and offer him Nesta’s hand instead of her own.

Just as they had planned.

Just as they had decided, before even asking if she would take part in this little tableaux of false courtesy.  Rhysand wanted her to dance with Eris, to entice him and seduce him— to buy his loyalty, and even though the High Lord had posed it as a request, Nesta wasn’t stupid enough to believe she had any real choice in the matter. 

The only choices she’d ever been offered were entirely illusory, and now her sister and her brother-in-law wanted to dangle her in front of Eris like a shiny new toy, expecting her to move with the current, to let herself be pulled along in whichever direction they set.

Because they wanted her dull, like an old blade. All her edges worn to nothing, safe and soft and dull.

She knew that now— had known it since she first woke beneath a Night Court sky.

They wanted her to be more amicable.

More palatable.

More amenable.

But Nesta was not born to be dulled, to be muted. She was sharp, sharp enough to wound and draw blood, and in a cruel world she had only learned to be crueller, to keep her edges in order to keep her safe.

The dagger in Eris’ hands was proof enough of that.

As a bitter, familiar kind of indignation worked its way through Nesta’s veins, Feyre let her fingers drift across her stomach, lacing her fingers above the babe that endangered her life. Nesta felt her lips twitch downwards, felt anger threaten to bloom. Rhysand looked at Feyre’s crossed fingers, placing a hand of his own atop. Feyre said the words they had rehearsed - ordinarily I would ask you to dance but… my oldest sister will take my place - and Nesta felt the fire in her blood begin to wake.

Rhysand’s mask slipped.

For half a heartbeat he studied Eris with disdain, his tight smile falling away. Even had Feyre not been heavy with child, Nesta doubted the High Lord would ever have granted Eris a dance with her. After all, wasn’t it easier to throw Nesta to the wolves? Wouldn’t she always be the one they were willing to sacrifice? Hadn’t the war taught her that?

The Autumn Court heir tilted his head now, auburn hair shining in the low faelight as his gaze shifted to her. His lips were stained crimson from the wine, his dark eyes focused and sliding over the cut of the dress that dipped too far below her collarbone for comfort. His lips parted, revealing a hint of teeth, something sharp and predatory as he nodded briskly to Feyre and extended an arm.

Something in her shifted, turned as she stepped forward.

He was swathed in black too, looking just as fine and as elegant as she did, but Nesta wondered if he felt as out of place in the sea of black as she. If he was wearing the colour out of obligation too, rather than choice. As she took his arm, Eris flicked his eyes down to the cuff of his obsidian sleeve and with the slight downturn of his lips, she knew without question that the answer was yes.

And she didn’t know why, but that made something inside her continue to shift. She had been told to expect the worst from this dance, as if it were something to be endured and suffered, and yet as Eris winked at her, leading her to the dance floor, she felt a little piece of herself growing sharp again, like a blade against a whetstone. When the Autumn prince touched her, his skin brushing hers, Nesta felt the flames inside her jerk, startled into sudden, intense awareness— and that piece insider her grew bolder, grew larger.

Grew sharper.

***

The dance had a singular purpose. Nesta knew that.

Rhysand had been exceedingly clear about that. She was to dance with Eris, to blink and flirt and extend her hand and string him along with the rest of them. She was supposed to keep him on side, to offer herself up to him as a token.

She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it.

But there were drums and violins and music— loud, loud music that washed over her and oh, she had missed music. She had missed the chaos and the noise of a dance floor, missed the way the beat flowed through her like water. All those weeks spent locked away in the House of Wind had her reaching desperately for the melody now, wondering if they would have let her dance if she hadn’t been Eris’ lure for the night. She suspected not, and so she resolved to make the most of this, to throw herself into the fray and hope that Eris could keep up.

“I’m glad,” he said in a low voice, breaking the silence between them as he lifted an arm to spin her. He knew the steps to this dance as well as she did, and that made something like satisfaction slick through her. “That it was you your sister elected in her stead.”

Nesta blinked, a baleful smile rising to the lips Mor had insisted on painted red. “Oh?”

Eris didn’t take his eyes off her, his hand rounding her waist as the weight of his palm curved at her middle. She swore she could see fire dancing in his eyes, embers crackling as he pulled her closer to him. He lead the dance more easily than she’d expected, and it was a pleasant surprise— he was a better dancer than anyone she’d ever found herself partnered with, the first to ever equal her in skill. 

“Elain is sweet, I’m sure,” he shrugged, his feet moving effortlessly, smoothly in time with the drums. “But not half as interesting as you.”

“I could have your head for insulting my sister,” Nesta said dryly, but Eris’ face only split into a wicked grin, his fingers gripping her more firmly as the spark in his eyes grew more daring.

“I’m sure you could,” he answered lowly, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and he dragged his gaze over her neck, down her collarbone, following the low cut of the dress her sister had picked out. “But I meant no offence. Elain is simply too… delicate for me.”

Nesta’s eyes snapped to his, something between them growing tight, frantic and charged as she blinked. One of his hands slipped between hers as the dance shifted and Nesta took her earlier thought back— he didn’t know the steps as well as she did. He knew them better. Knew them intimately, and as his palm touched hers, she felt the flames inside her titter— stretching, bracing.

“And I’m not?” she challenged.

Those wine-dark lips pulled up at one corner. “No,” he answered in a voice filled to the brim with appreciation. “If there is one thing you are not, Nesta Archeron, it is delicate.”

He raised his hand, spinning her beneath the bridge formed of their arms, connected by their woven fingers. The curving of his lips wasn’t easy or free, but it was a smile nonetheless— one that was heavy and dark and held something like promise within. His auburn hair shifted over his shoulder as he moved, smooth and soft, and Nesta wondered suddenly what it would feel like to drag her fingers through those strands, to feel them slipping between her knuckles. The fire inside her was kindled, beginning to build, and as Eris reeled her back in, she felt something inside her resonate, like there was something familiar in the Autumn heir, something that called to her.

“I was always too… sharp for their liking,” Nesta said with a shrug, the words leaving her before she had time to think them through. 

Eris hummed as he drew her closer, and even though it was only because the steps demanded it - even though every other couple on that dance floor made of stone mirrored the move - Nesta couldn’t help but feel it was something more than a piece of choreography, more than a move he made just because he needed to. 

“I like sharp things,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck. “And don’t think I don’t know what this is— what Rhysand thinks he’s doing by offering you to me on a string. He thinks he’s subtle, but he’s not. So they offer me a blade, and a dance with you in the hope that I become just another one of those bowing before those thrones.” 

He nodded over her shoulder, dipping his chin as his mouth moved back to her ear, his voice low and dark and yet smooth, so smooth that it slipped across her senses, blending seamlessly with the way he moved, the way he turned her and spun her and brought her back to his chest.

“So my question is,” he continued as the steps moved along, grew faster and more insistent. “Who are they dulling you for?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asked, moving away as he raised their linked hands above her head once more, allowing her to spin once, twice. 

“Well, I assumed that all of this was an attempt at winning me over.” He nodded to the dress, to her painted lips. “And it’s so very close to working, pet, but it’s not you, is it? You forget that I was there at that High Lords meeting, when you reminded my father of what you can do with a blade. You’re not the type to bite your tongue and do as they bid. I like sharp things, and since their gift to me is a remarkably fine blade, I’d wager they know that all too well. So if they’re not dulling you for me, love, then who are they dulling you for?

Nesta huffed a breath, even as his words found their mark, hitting her square in the chest and making a hollow feeling spread behind her ribs.

“You think you know me so well,” she said blandly, blinking in disinterest as his lips moved closer, brushing the skin at her jaw as his breath danced across her neck.

“Better than you think.”

She was silent, feeling the hand at her waist steer her as she looked across the cavernous room and found her sister watching her, placed on that dark throne exactly where Rhysand wanted her. Nesta felt her mouth grow dry, felt the fire in her chest grow more insistent, ignited by the Autumn prince— stirred by him, his words.

And all she could think to say was—

“They offered you my blade.”

“Did they really?” Eris asked, his tone wickedly dark, sarcasm dripping so thick it was a wonder he could even lift his tongue. He added a mock gasp, a scandalised lift of his brows, and whatever reaction Nesta had been expecting… It wasn’t that.

“I know,” he continued with a low hum. “I could feel the flame in it. Feel you, like a fingerprint left behind in the steel.” He exhaled deeply, looking at her with a gaze so weighted Nesta didn’t know how to react. He had seen her, recognised a part of her in that dagger, even though they were hardly more than strangers. “It is magnificent.”

“Well,” she said tartly. “You’re welcome.” 

He tilted his head as they rounded one another, his hand lifting hers until it hung in the air between them, the back of her hand almost pressed against her cheek. 

“Oh, I haven’t decided if I’m going to accept it yet,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve half a mind to ask them for something else instead.”

“Like what?”

“You, pet.”

Nesta blinked. “Is that a proposal? Because if it is, it might just be the worst I’ve ever had.”

He smirked, moving her around the dance floor with steps so smooth and even that Nesta could hardly even tell he was leading, so effortless were his movements. “Have you had many, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Eris barked a laugh, one that seemed genuine despite the circumstances. It surprised her, and she felt a small smile tugging at her own lips as Eris cast her out to spin her again, his hand holding her steady as she lifted onto her tip-toes. After the third spin, she knew she ought to have come back down, be drawn back into his arms, but his fingers tightened around her own in a silent gesture that seemed to let her know, somehow, that if she wanted to spin more… 

He could take it.

He had her.

And when she was done, her head dizzied and her breath coming in gasps, she felt that smile on her face threaten to bloom. Eris smiled too, all teeth and wicked sin.

“Or I could take the dagger,” he said lightly, his hand finding a path back to her waist, his fingers rounding her until they brushed the bottom of her spine. “And give it back to you as a wedding gift.”

“You’re going to make a gift out of something that is rightfully mine?”

Eris smirked again, and the fire in Nesta’s chest grew hotter, embers surging. He winked, and Nesta wondered if he could sense it— if the fire in her called to the fire in him, if her silver flames and his golden ones were complementary to one another, like the finest of wines.

“Oh, no.” His eyes flicked up to the dais, to where Rhysand and her sister still sat watching, but Nesta found herself ignoring them, reducing them to little more than shadows at the corner of her eye. “I’ll give you anything you want. The dagger is merely a precursor.”

“I haven’t accepted you yet.”

“Ah, but you haven’t rejected me yet either,” Eris purred.

And for a moment there was silence between them, filled with nothing but the sound of the music. For a moment Nesta let herself dance, following the steps to the letter, but when Eris extended his arm, throwing her out for a spin that wasn’t planned and wasn’t scripted, she felt the breath lodge in her throat, a thrill crawling through her veins as he seemed to sense what she wanted, what she needed.

“Maybe I won’t,” she said idly as she spun. “Maybe the Autumn Court would suit me better than Night has.”

Eris grinned as he brought her back to him, both of his hands resting on her waist now. She placed hers lightly on his shoulders, feeling the fabric beneath her hands rich and thick. He hummed again, and this time she felt it rumble through his chest and into her own.

“Come and play with the other sharp things, pet,” he murmured. “The other creatures with fire in their blood.”

There was another pause, one where he looked down, taking in her dress crafted from midnight silk. His lip twisted, eyes narrowing, as though he longed to see her in something other than black. Nesta looked at his velvet jacket, how it swallowed the bright auburn of his hair, dulling it as much as it dulled her. She felt the crackle at her fingertips, felt her palms heat, and almost pulled away for fear of singing the ends of Eris’ hair.

Using one hand, Eris placed his long fingers atop hers, keeping her palm pressed against his shoulder.

“I could teach you to use it, you know,” he said. “Not hide it. Not suppress it. Harness it.”

As if to prove his point, he lifted his hand from atop hers and held it between them, in the inch of space between his body and hers. He twisted his fingers, conjuring a small flame that balanced in his palm and danced over his skin— a part of him, the heat licking over his knuckles and weaving between his fingers as he turned his hand in a single smooth movement.

The fire in Nesta’s own blood continued to rise, as if his was calling to her, coaxing something deep inside her to answer. Her embers awakened fully as Eris’ flame played between his fingers, and she felt it, the silver flames cracking an eye open in the darkness, in the void within her chest.

“They’re afraid of you pet,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Of what you could do. That’s why they’ve kept you hidden away. Why they insist you fight with blades and fists instead of what you already have.”

He laughed— an incredulous, bitter sound as he tilted his head, letting his small flame climb all the way to the tips of his fingers. Nesta didn’t know how Eris knew about the training, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t quite care, not when she could feel the heat building in her veins, and for the first time she didn’t try to push it down, didn’t try to swallow it to her own destruction.

“You don’t need to be taught to fight like an Illyrian,” he continued, lips tugging downwards with disapproval. “You have fire. It could make you formidable, could bring them to their knees and they know it.”

He reached out to brush his warm fingers against her cheek, but that flame still burned, and as the fire kissed her skin… Nesta expected to feel a burn, a sharp bite of pain. But she felt nothing but warmth, easy and pleasant, and Eris smirked in approval as his flame met her skin.

“Fire doesn’t bend to darkness, pet. It swallows it.”

Nesta was silent, noting how their steps had slowed. They were only barely dancing now, with her hands on his shoulders and one of his at her middle, swaying her in time to the music, but Nesta’s heart was pounding, burning, a heat spreading through her that promised her she’d never feel the cold again.

“Your power is unrivalled,” Eris murmured now, extinguishing the flame dancing on his fingers and brushing his warm hand against her cheek once more. “I can sense it. My flames can sense it. Don’t you see? Can’t you feel it?”

He tilted his head like a wicked, wicked fox— but Nesta didn’t feel like a rabbit, not even when his lips curved into a smile that was all teeth. No, Nesta felt the fire beneath her flesh answering his call, and thought of how his flames hadn’t burned her. 

And she could— she could feel the warmth of his hand against her, burning, and beneath it she could feel the fire in his blood blazing like hers. Like calls to like, Feyre sometimes said, and Nesta understood it now, feeling the echo of her power thrumming between them, finding a twin inside the fae who used fire to crown his fingertips.

“Well,” she said after a long, long moment. “Perhaps I will accept your offer.”

“Of training or of marriage?” he asked with a quirk of an eyebrow, another kick of his lips up into a devious, delectable smirk.

Nesta shrugged as she glanced towards that dais. To her sister and her brother-in-law and the warrior they wanted her to dull herself for. She swallowed, knowing somehow that no matter what she did, it would never be enough. She was too sharp, too mercurial, too fiery to slide easily amongst them. And as Eris spun her out once more, she felt the weight of a decision settle in her chest, welcomed by the flame that had taken up residence there.

And when he brought her back, as the music died at last, Nesta leaned close to the fae made of fire and heat and smoke and said,

“Take me back to Autumn with you.”

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Hi, do you still take x reader requests?? If you do, I was wanting a Phantom x reader/Y/N (she/they pronouns) and maybe Y/N got kidnapped by a rival being and he shows up rescue Y/N? Possessive Phantom is one of my favorite ideas, and he’s barely, just barely by a thread holding back from going full on eldritch being on the kidnappers + the rival. Maybe Phantom comforts Y/N afterwards too?

Call me Cos :D (for anon, I’ll be space anon if that isn’t taken)

Well, I do so love my body horror, so I'll admit that I kinda went further than that "just barely by a thread" part. . .

(This is based on a set of headcanons I posted a while ago; go here if you'd like to see them.)

Sorry this took so long, but it's finally finished! I hope you enjoy it!

(Trigger Warnings: violence, body horror, eyes, teeth, mentions of snakes, mentions of insects, implied kidnapping, implied illegal business, talk of death/dying, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

___

“I’m really not sure what you’re hoping to gain from this,” you announced, resting your cheek against one hand as you looked out at the world through the bars of the cage. 

Your captor—an admittedly stunning woman with a halo of crystals orbiting around the golden points of a crown protruding from her silvery hair—hummed thoughtfully.

“Not too much, if I’m being honest,” she answered with a dismissive shrug.

You quirked a brow, straightening your back a little. It was difficult to look her in the eyes; they glowed with undeniable power. The most piercing, dangerous, otherworldly shade of blue you’d ever seen. 

Your brain was begging you to focus on something else. Anything else, really. The room outside your cage was extravagant, boasting marble floors and looming pillars and filigree carvings on the walls. Everything was inlaid with blue gemstones in some way. Even your cage, nestled in the corner, was polished and decorated to perfection.  

But you still made a valiant attempt to keep eye-contact. You couldn’t just let her think you were some shrinking violet. 

“Then why did you bring me here in the first place? Why did you bother to just wait in my mirror until I finally got home?”

The Multiverse Monarch took a few steps closer to further scrutinize you. 

“Why does anyone do anything?” She responded. “Why do you mortals insist on making sacrifices, traveling to places you’ve never seen before, crossing bridges that don’t even exist yet?”

“Because we’ll eventually get paid for it,” you replied. “Or, we all hope to, at least.” 

Monarch blinked, a small snicker forcing its way through her teeth. She quickly shook her head, engaging in the rolling-your-eyes-with-your-whole-body gesture. 

“Because it’s there,” she stated in the most matter-of-fact tone you’d ever heard. “Because it’s just something to do. Something to temporarily keep your little lives from continuing to be mundane as fuck.”

You hummed at the explanation. There was definitely some truth to it, but you thrived on sarcasm. You couldn’t help that; it was a survival mechanism. “I feel like doing any kind of business with Phantom already pretty far from ‘mundane as fuck.’ I almost ended up being one of his contractors when we first met, and now look where I stand with him.”  

Monarch tilted her head to the side, folding her arms across her chest. “That kind of thing happens with a lot of dealmakers and potential clients. Much more frequently than you’d think. Don’t feel special.”

“I never said I felt special,” you argued. And now it was your turn to smirk, since it was so obvious that you and Monarch were now thinking the same thing. 

Phantom was many, many things. And one of them was, so simply, shady as they came. However, he could also be honest when the mood suited him. 

When the two of you had first met, he’d seen you as just another soul with enough potential and enough need of supernatural assistance to be considered for his collection. You, on the other hand, had long-since honed your instincts to sense ulterior motives. And at that point in time, you’d been, for lack of a better word, tired. 

Before that point, you’d been stepped on and laughed at and criticized so. Many. Damn. Times. 

You’d gotten tired of that. 

You’d gotten tired of trying so hard and putting out so much and only getting a few breadcrumbs here and there to show for it. 

You’d gotten so tired that it was miracle you’d even bothered to read Phantom’s contract in its entirety. 

And even with the potential consequences literally written down right in front of you. . .you’d been tired enough to not care.

So what if your soul became the property of an eldritch abomination?

At least you’d get some time to finally enjoy a few things before that. 

You’re not sure what Phantom saw in your tiredness. Hell, you’d flat-out asked him before, and he hadn’t been able to give you a clear answer himself. But that was just it: he’d seen something that he wanted to keep. Not just for his collection, but. . .

Well, Phantom had been quiet for most of that particular meeting, mainly relying on his elevator pitch for small talk as you read through the requirements and expectations. When you took hold on his feather quill, he went silent. He’d stayed silent as you hesitated. You’d felt his eyes boring holes through your skull. And just as you were about to sign your name on the dotted line, Phantom had yanked the contract away, insisting that he needed to make a few updates to it. 

The rest, as they say, is history.

“Plus,” you added. “I’ve heard all about the spats the two of you have gotten into. And when you combine those with the business angle of things. . .I mean, I’m not sure what to call it, but it’s still not mundane at all. Isn’t that enough?”

“You’ve only heard about those spats from his perspective,” Monarch snarked. Insanity glinted in her eyes. A buzzing, humming, keening music suddenly stabbed its way into your ears, and you finally had to look away from her, ducking your head and kneading at your temples. 

More footsteps clicked closer, and a cold hand was suddenly grasping your chin, slowly forcing you to look back up. 

Her eyes. . .they looked even less human than before. Now they were compound, seeming to shudder in their sockets as that frightening blue light glowed brighter and brighter. 

A pair of long, sinuous antennae now protruded from her forehead, covered in a network of crystalline veins. They reached down to lightly tap against your scalp, making that unearthly music reverberate in your skull. 

“And enough is ภєשєг єภ๏ยﻮђ,” she concluded, allowing you to catch a glimpse of something shuffling about between the rows of her teeth. “ภєשєг ђคร ๒єєภ, ภєשєг ฬเɭɭ ๒є.”

“MONARCH!” A familiar voice suddenly shouted from somewhere outside of the throne room. . .or, it had to be outside the throne room, at least. But then, that voice shouldn’t have been echoing and bouncing around the corners with such violence. “I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Not if it was a human’s voice, that is. 

And that’s why you immediately recognized it. You’d been hearing it almost every day for a good couple years now, after all.

You’d been waiting to hear it today.

“I know you know,” Monarch called back, only slightly raising her own tone as a smirk played at her lips. She released her grip on your chin, strolling away from your cage to settle down onto her throne. “That’s what makes this kind of stuff so fun.”

What sounded like a Category 5 earthquake slammed against the towering side-by-side doors that waited across the room. The thunderous sound was followed by a cacophony of screeching, like razor-sharp claws being dragged across ornate wood and stone.

“Well, if we’re going with that logic,” Phantom seethed from wherever he was, “then you also know that if you don’t bring [Y/N] out here right now, I swear I’ll 𐍂𐍊Ƥ 𐍈𐍁𐨠 𐌴𐌰ζ𐌷 𐍈𐍆 𐌸𐍈𐍁𐍂 𐐎𐍊𐍀𐌾Ⲋ 𐍈𐍀𐌴-𐌱𐌸-𐍈𐍀𐌴!"

Phantom’s pitch seemed to warp like metal, now twisting and rattling in the air. It gave the impression of a hissing, growling, churning well; like he was speaking through multiple people—or multiple monsters, really—at once.

“And I’ll just grow replacements for them,” Monarch replied, examining her fingernails, looking extremely cool and collected someone who was facing promises of dismemberment. “If you’re gonna threaten me, then maybe aim for something that’ll be more difficult to recover.” 

Another shockwave pounded against the doors from the other side. The entire room shook; you could feel the floor vibrating through your shoes for a long moment. 

Phantom’s voice hummed, shifting from ferocious anger to vicious mockery in a heartbeat. “Like those clones of yours?”

You craned your neck to glance at Monarch through the cage’s bars. You had to bite down a chuckle at the way she stiffened; if there was one thing you and Phantom had bonded over, it was the art of schadenfreude. 

“My clones are scattered across the multiverse,” Monarch contended. “It would take you at least six-thousand-nine-hundred years for you to find all of them!”

She let out an icy snicker that made your spine want to crawl its way out of your back and go somewhere a little more quiet. “ץ๏ย’гє คɭгєค๔ץ ђคɭŦ-รєภเɭє; รђ๏ยɭ๔ภ’Շ ๒є Շ๏๏ ɭ๏ภﻮ ๒єŦ๏гє ץ๏ย’гє คɭɭ Շђє ฬคץ Շђєгє.” 

“Oh, now you’re in for it,” you murmured. Though the speculation was mainly to yourself, you had no doubts that your captor could hear you.

An animalistic roar echoed through the walls, and the doors shook in their frame yet again. This time, the boom was accentuated by the undeniable call of something shattering. 

“𐍊 ꡕ𐌰𐌸 𐌱𐌴 𐐎𐌴ࠋࠋ-𐍈ⱱ𐌴𐍂 𐌰 𐨠𐌷𐍈𐍁Ⲋ𐌰𐍀Ɗ, 𐌱𐍁𐨠 𐍊 𐌰ꡕ 𐍀𐍈𐨠 Ⲋ𐌴𐍀𐍊ࠋ𐌴!”

The latest tremor lingered, not just fading away like the last two strikes. You subconsciously held onto the bars in a white-knuckled grip.

Phantom knew you were here; he wouldn’t make Monarch’s entire palace collapse if it meant the risk of you getting crushed in the rubble. Despite your trust in him, your instincts were on still fire now, screaming that the floor was absolutely going to cave in beneath you at any second.

Phantom spoke up again, dripping with surreal danger. “What about all the souls you’ve gathered? What if I set my sights on those, Moth? They aren’t exactly easy to replace. We both now that better than anyone.”

Monarch stood on her throne, her movement too fluid and quick to be natural. The entire lower-half of her face seemed to have eroded away. Smooth, human-esquse flesh had been replaced by the mandibles you’d seen earlier. They shuddered and snapped, making an odd, almost musical chittering noise.

And right above them. . .her eyes. . .

Her eyes had grown disturbingly wide, rolling around in her head as each of the hexagonal units adorning either of them reflected everything around her. You could see yourself in the corner of them. She was still watching you as much as she was watching Phantom through the doors. 

Her antennae now almost resembled crooked swords, twitching so violently that it was a wonder how her crown stayed in place. 

The lights of the room flickered, growing dark and insidious. The temperature automatically dropped through several degrees; goosebumps prickled over every square-inch of your skin. Your senses were so shocked by the change that you almost didn’t notice the awful chorus of stretching and tearing that coiled through the room. 

By the time you finally looked back at Monarch, you choked on air. 

Her fair skin and silvery locks had just finished practically ripping themselves apart to make way for. . .not bones, perse. An exoskeleton: a shining, jagged, horrific carapace that looked like it was molded from liquefied diamonds. 

The woman was gone.

An enormous insectoid monster stood in her place. 

It was like nothing you’d ever seen before (which was saying something, since you’d seen quite a lot thanks to your relationship with Phantom). 

As though you were looking at the impossible result of a mythical threesome between a primordial praying mantis, spider, and butterfly.  

Far, far too many long, spindly, dagger-like legs and clutching, serrated claws to count. 

At the center of them all was a glowing abdomen that trembled with every breath Monarch took. It ended in a glittering stinger that would make even the world’s sharpest harpoon look like a toothpick. 

Her mandibles were now large enough to easily decapitate you with one bite. Each time they moved, an otherworldly chittering rhythm leaked out.

Four billowing wings as vast and blue as a trench in the ocean, covered in organized lines of piercing eye-spots.

No. . .those weren’t spots. 

Honest-to-fucking-goodness eyes.

And they were still keeping some focus on you. 

Monarch snarled. Against all odds, her voice remained soft. When it mixed with that chittering, however, the sound felt like needles. “ץ๏ย ๔๏ภ'Շ ђคשє Շђє ภєгשє.”

And with that, the doors finally buckled, flying off their hinges to embed themselves in the walls. 

A haze of heat and terrifying energy swept into the room, followed an instant later by another abomination. 

Despite the anxiety prying at your ribs, you still managed to smile. You even felt butterflies in your stomach.

Phantom was here. He’d come to take you back home.

At first, he seemed to be a sentient, slow-moving tornado of smoke. With your personal experience, you knew that he was simply wearing that fog sort of like a cloak. 

As more and more of his true form rippled into the throne room, as all the smoke sliced around him, you could easily see the shapes of bones that all fit together to form a colossal serpentine skeleton. 

A vast array of organs writhed further inside the seemingly endless ribcage, glowing similarly to the embers at the bottom of a firepit. 

That glow had absolutely nothing on Phantom’s eyes, however. 

Then again, you weren’t sure if you could really call them eyes. 

The sockets in his triangle-shaped head emitted spiraling plumes of fire. Beneath them, a maw filled to the brim with serrated fangs; the largest ones dripped with luminescent venom that sizzled as it hit the marble floors. A long, forked black tongue flicked in and out between all those teeth like a party favor. 

So, in short: the richest, purest form of nightmare fuel for anyone with ophidiophobia. . .well, almost. Two arms (only two at the moment. You knew more could be summoned and then retracted at a second’s notice) jutted out from his sides, each ending in a clutch of five talons.

And there was something peculiar pinched between two of those talons. 

“𐨠𐍂𐌸 ꡕ𐌴,” Phantom hissed as he raised his arm to show it off. 

It was spherical in shape, almost looking like one of those pretty glass marbles that always seemed to be in antique stores for whatever reason. 

But you knew better. 

The longer you started at it, the more it seemed to bounce—no, to pulse in the air. It gleamed with a soft, warm, colorful light. A living light. 

That was someone’s soul. 

You’d seen Phantom handling souls before, but those all had been his (technically) legal property, having been signed over to him by his clients. 

Judging by the way Monarch screamed as Phantom tossed it for his other talons to catch, this one had to be part of her collection. 

“𐍊𐨠'Ⲋ 𐍂𐌴𐌰ࠋࠋ𐌸 Ⲋ𐍊ꡕƤࠋ𐌴, ꡕ𐍈𐨠𐌷. . .” Phantom put a little more pressure on the soul in his grasp. It responded via turning a darker shade, almost partially deflating like a smoker’s lung. “𐌸𐍈𐍁 𐨠𐌰𐌺𐌴 Ⲋ𐍈ꡕ𐌴𐨠𐌷𐍊𐍀𐌾 𐍆𐍂𐍈ꡕ ꡕ𐌴, 𐌰𐍀Ɗ 𐍊 𐨠𐌰𐌺𐌴 Ⲋ𐍈ꡕ𐌴𐨠𐌷𐍊𐍀𐌾 𐍆𐍂𐍈ꡕ 𐌸𐍈𐍁.”

Monarch bristled. For a brief, horrible moment, you worried that she would reach over and clamp the cage to crush it around you like a soda can. 

You’d heard stories of her power. As far as you knew, she was one of few beings strong enough to have a stalemate with Phantom. 

The two of them stared at one another for what felt like hours. 

“คภ๔ ץ๏ย คɭฬคץร รคץ ՇђคՇ ๏Շђєг קє๏קɭє ςคภ'Շ Շคкє ן๏кєร,” Monarch accused, clicking her mandibles. She then let out an acidic sigh. “Ŧเภє. ﻮเשє ՇђคՇ ๏ภє ๒คςк Շ๏ ๓є, คภ๔ ץ๏ย ςคภ ђคשє ץ๏ยгร.”

“𐍀𐍈,” Phantom snapped. “𐌸𐍈𐍁 𐌾𐍊ⱱ𐌴 𐨠𐌷𐌴ꡕ 𐌱𐌰ζ𐌺 𐍆𐍊𐍂Ⲋ𐨠.”

Monarch hissed, leaning back, tensing up.

“How about you both move at the same time?” You called out, having finally reclaimed your voice. 

Both of the crimes against nature swiveled their heads in your direction. One part of you instinctually wanted to curl into a ball. The other part stood firm. 

No matter how terrifying Phantom was, no matter how much of a psychological hurdle it always was for you to see him in his true form like this. . .you still knew that he cared about you. He just wanted to keep you safe, to have you stay by his side. Once you were with him again, everything would be fine. 

He and Monarch side-eyed each other. 

One of Monarch’s legs reached over, clutching at the door to the cage. Simultaneously, Phantom pushed his talons, the soul still in his grasp, toward his rival. 

Then, less than a second later, they moved in tandem. 

As Phantom passed that unfortunate soul back to its owner, there was suddenly a gaping hole in the middle of the bars. You sprinted out and across the throne room, just barely managing to not trip over that long blue carpet. 

Phantom met you halfway, one clutch of talons hovering behind you, gently pushing you to stand closer to him. He lowered his skull, angling it to keep his fangs away as you leaned against him, stretching your arms in an awkward attempt to hug him.

“Շђєгє, รєє? ՇђคՇ ฬครภ'Շ ร๏ ђคг๔,” Monarch piped back up. You didn’t look at her, but you could guess at the snide grin slowly-but-surely spreading over her mandibles. Was this part of the adrenaline rush, or. . .whatever she’d been after? “คɭฬคץร ฬเՇђ Շђє ๔гค๓คՇเςร.” 

“𐌸𐍈𐍁'𐍂𐌴 𐍈𐍀𐌴 𐨠𐍈 𐍆𐍁ζ𐌺𐍊𐍀𐌾  𐨠𐌰ࠋ𐌺,” Phantom growled, holding you closer. You could see his horrific excuse for a heart thrashing and shifting through various colors unlike any you’d ever seen on Earth. “𐍊'ꡕ 𐌾𐍈𐍀𐍀𐌰 𐍂𐌴ꡕ𐌴ꡕ𐌱𐌴𐍂 𐨠𐌷𐍊Ⲋ 𐐎𐌷𐌴𐍀 𐍈𐍁𐍂 𐍀𐌴𑀌𐨠 ꡕ𐌴𐌴𐨠𐍊𐍀𐌾 ζ𐍈ꡕ𐌴Ⲋ 𐌰𐍂𐍈𐍁𐍀Ɗ. ʝ𐍁Ⲋ𐨠  𐨠𐌷𐍊𐍀𐌺 𐌰𐌱𐍈𐍁𐨠 𐨠𐌷𐌰𐨠."

[stillness-in-green]

Himura Rising

A short ficlet based on a quip made by @codenamesazanka about the Himura family staking out a returning claim to power and influence in the BNHA sequel that deserves to happen because there's no indication that anything the kids are doing is going to change enough on a systemic level to avoid the need for it. The Himura are back and they are a problem.

(Specifically, right now, they're Geten's problem.)

The prison had managed to hold him by removing ice from the area.  He couldn’t sense so much as a single ice pack squirreled away in some break room in his range, and his League neighbor’s marbles didn’t keep things in stasis, so even if Compress hadn’t been—as he’d said with a twist of harrowed rue—thoroughly searched before dumping him in the next cell over, all that would have been left of any ice he’d captured by the time Geten asked would be room temperature water anyway.

He’d been so sure that, somewhere on the journey to his next prison, they’d be bound to pass something—a gas station, a convenience store, a block of homes with personal refrigerators inside, anything.  And they did, he could sense that much, but the IV drip his captors kept him on for the entire drive left the ice they passed out of his reach—he might as well have tried pulling stars from the sky.  The drugs made him useless and lax, darkness washing over and away from his awareness like he was standing barefoot in surf, feeling the waves rolling over his ankles and receding.  The voices of his new custodians, when he registered them at all, were a slurry of bright-edged nonsense, their faces pale, smudgy halos against the transport truck’s bare metal walls.

Smell came back first.  Wood polish, he recognized, but not the floral scent.

Next was the sensation of weight: his body stretched out on its back over some surface much softer than the thin prison mat, a sheet pulled up to the base of his sternum, his arms—suppression restraints still fixing his wrists in place—resting over the cloth.

…And ice.  Not just in his meta-ability’s range, but in arm’s reach.  Right in the room, right beside him!

Idiot, it’s a trap!  He already knew it in the moment he extended his power towards the glass, but the instinct was overpowering, inevitable as his next heartbeat.  He’d been starved of the use of his meta-ability for three months, longer than he could ever, in his entire life, remember going without it; the sudden presence of ice electrified, his meta-ability seizing his entire body taut with its demand.

His eyes shot open and he jerked up in the bed—the glass had shattered the instant he’d become aware of it, and there was no hiding that with closed eyes and even breathing.  He didn’t stop to look around, take in the room, or focus on anything except the white-haired figure throwing their hand towards the flash-freeze starburst of ice, its surface studded with glass shards, flashing meteor-swift across the distance between them and Geten.

It swerved at the last second, just enough for the jailer to duck forward, their own meta-ability far too weak to overcome Geten’s long-honed control.  As the ice plunged forward again, their other hand slapped down on the low table they’d been sitting beside, and argh—

The electricity was true this time, ripping a high scream of frustration out from Geten’s clenched teeth as he dropped back onto the bed.  The suppression cuffs pulsed with it once, then a second time, and after the third he lost the count of it until it stopped, leaving him panting guttural sounds through his wracked throat as he shivered and twitched.

His new warden, pocketing the control to the restraints as they approached, shook their head as they met Geten’s glare with a gray-eyed stare of their—her—own.

“They told us you were strong, but—how impressive,” the woman said, tucking back a lock of long white hair that had fallen out of place in her earlier dive.  “I’ll tell Father we’re going to have to be extra careful with you.”

Geten snarled wordlessly at her, at the expression of mingled pity and condescension he remembered from having to train and fight for years until he’d beaten it out of the eyes of those who thought he was unfit to be at Re-Destro’s side.

“Katayuki Shouto,” the woman said.  “My name is Himura Setsuna.  Welcome home.”

-----------------------------------------

Overly Detailed Notes For This <1000 Words Ficlet:

Geten knows from the beginning where he's headed—it's why he realizes the ice water was a trap—but he's staunchly against viewing anyone but Re-Destro and the MLA as his family, thinking of the Himura household only as his next prison.    

The family got custody of him by making the argument that he is a poor, groomed child, brainwashed by the cult that kidnapped him as a child. This story makes Geten want to chew through concrete, but no one is asking for his opinion at this time.    

Katayuki refers to snow with a crust of ice frozen on time; the kata means strict, hard, tough, which I liked for the suggestion of rigidity that makes Geten's family shatter when the main line gives up on its prior way of life.    

Shouto here uses a different pair of kanji than Todoroki Shouto's—聖徒. This would normally be read as Seito, meaning “saint,” but an alternate reading for the first kanji, gives you Shouto instead, and I think it's extremely funny for Dabi to be beset on all sides by Shoutos.    

Setsuna is simply a reading of 雪, snow, with the feminine -na attached.    

Setsuna is, tentatively, Rei's father's older sister, Dabi and company's great aunt. Unable to inherit the house/family head position because of patriarchal inheritance customs, she was married off once but then divorced when she was found to be infertile. She's pretty bitter about all this, and is making the best of it by seizing all the control she can as the person who does most of the day-to-day work of carrying out the incredibly decrepit Himura patriarch's will.    

The family is probably also trying to figure out how to bring Rei back into the fold, too, for whatever nefarious purpose they're gathering family members. Geten might even meet some long-lost family of his own! (This will not go well for anyone involved.)

[tilestate]

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[theflashdriver]

Treasury (A Silvaze Fanfic)

Blaze had never thought the marble floor of the palace could cause her so much anxiety. After sneaking past maids pushing trollies, misdirecting butlers with platters and stumping guards armed with spears, reaching the foot of the castle's deepest set of stairs had brought her to a complete stop. Of course the corridors where she had encountered everyone else had been plushly carpeted. Now a flat labyrinth of hard gleaming white stone, polished within an inch of its life, lay before her.

She'd almost drowned in an endless squall of meetings before this, having been tempest tossed from one curious party to another and endured an endless spray of pointless conversation. Everything that had transpired was framed as being for her enjoyment and benefit; even if, in reality, it was for the sake of public spectacle. More meetings would surely come later; she had to claim this scant moment before it was snatched away from her.

The guardian heaved a sigh, shifting back to sit at the bottom of the staircase. She shed her heels but knew better than to leave them behind, instead hooking a pair of her fingers into them. Her first step onto the cold floor sent a shiver down her spine but no sound accompanied the sensation. The cat's frozen heart began to beat once more as she resumed her fleet-footed stride, senses honed to their limits. If she was found down here her purpose would surely be questioned. If the wrong person found her, they'd know exactly what the cat had been scheming.

There was no reason for anyone else to be down here but Blaze wasn't going to take any chances. Well, no reason for anyone except for the sole person she was intent on meeting with.

A set of engagement rings, accidentally and coincidentally exchanged mere moments apart, were the catalyst for Blaze's current busyness. While there was nary a day that the cat wasn't swept off her feet, be it travelling from island to island to hear the whims of her people or fighting to defend her home, the past weeks had come with a new type of burden. A more... personal burden.

The pyrokinetic lingered before a turn in the corridor, ears spiked high as she listened for signs of life. She did feel rather foolish; she hadn't snuck around like this since she was a child, attempting to evade Gardon and the other palace staff. Back then she'd overthought all they were thinking; she'd hidden and listened, imagining awful things they might say about her. Now but one topic seemed to hang on their lips, day in and day out. A royal wedding was on the horizon. Her wedding.

Comfortable now that no one was down the hallway, the soon to be queen took the turn and indeed found herself alone. She strode partway down the hall before quickly turning back, no one was following her. She hadn't heard footsteps but she had to be certain. They weren't going to be interrupted, not this time.

Blaze stalked further down the hall, tension still hanging in the air taught enough to strangle her with each step. She felt foolish, sneaking shoeless through the depths of her own castle, but there truly was no other way. Slipping from her kingdom to another point in spacetime was fun for the occasional date, but their recent announcement had put them under even heavier scrutiny. After all, if the royal couple were seen slipping away or went missing the scandal would spread across the islands faster than any ship could carry it. No, they had to remain here, their presence had to be accounted for.

At the same time however, being sighted together now led to torrid tales both hanging on the lips of her people and spread through uncouth tabloids. They couldn't leave the palace grounds without staring into a camera lens; some journalists had been so bold as to sneak into the royal gardens. No, their only option was to retreat indoors and ideally outwith the gaze of windows... but that came with its own set of issues.

As long as Blaze was present within the palace, she was needed. Lately, every waking moment not spent managing some issue within her kingdom was instead allocated to the endless globe of fuss that came with planning the royal wedding. An endless parade of wedding dresses, seating arrangements, musicians, florists and so much more were visiting and vying for every spare second of her time. The only moments she'd managed to steal a glance, let alone a touch, from Silver had been in the presence of such overdramatic wedding planners. Not to mention; the increased boldness of journalists and potential for gossip had left her bedchamber off limits to him and his to her.

Today though, Blaze had finally dared to harness her royal sway. She'd had to be subtle, act in a manner that wouldn't in itself spike hearsay or concern, and yet would allow them the sweet privacy they'd sought for almost a month now. It had been so simple, a request of works suggested in order to train the soon to be prince consort. One of her scheduled tasks was set to lead him down here, into the castle depths.

Blaze hesitated before a set of great stone double doors, wreathed in thick black metal which was all part of a single grand locking mechanism. Six distinct keyholes were scattered across the jagged and yet floral lattice of metalwork, intended to confuse any would-be bandit that somehow crept this deep into the castle. A trio of overlong keys were drawn from her pocket; she crouched to insert one near the bottom right door hinge while a second fit a latch near the bottom of the left door. The third was even more tricky than those two- Blaze slid back a brick three paces right of the doorway to reveal the third working keyhole. One by one they were turned, and then each key was removed in sequence.

Like vines pulled apart, the metalwork bent all on its own, unravelling to reveal the split between the two doors. The moment the lock came to a standstill Blaze placed both hands against the stone and began to gently push. Once there was scarcely enough space, the feline angled her body to slip through rather than risk the whining of metal or scraping of stone across the floor. The instant she was inside, she turned to put her shoulders and palms against the half open entryway and reseal it. Her toes curled as the fresh cacophony of metal reknitting itself sounded to her backside, again her ears spiked high.

No footsteps sounded against the marble floor. Once again silence had claimed all. Well, almost all. One rodent was stirring in the chamber before her, it was just a matter of finding him...

Before Blaze lay the royal treasury in all its shining gaudiness. While the Sol Emeralds were kept sealed away in the Crystal Caves, the traditional wealth of the monarchy lay beneath the palace itself. Garish suits of armour set upon posed mannequins, golden hilted falchions with shining silver blades, great bronze busts of her ancestors, paintings of the islands they ruled over, and thrones so numerous one would think them common folding chairs. That wasn't to mention the less assuming chests stuffed to burst with jewellery, unworn for at least a century, and ornate wooden closets filled with equally untouched clothing.

The cat set her shoes down to the left of the door and loosed her long coat to land atop them. She'd dared to break formality beneath that jacket, instead wearing one of the less formal pieces Amy had bought for her as an engagement gift; a metallic silver top with the word Queen emblazoned on the front of it in a graffiti style font. It certainly wasn't the type of clothing she'd select for herself, her stomach had turned upon first sighting it, but she wanted to break away from the endlessly ceremonial front she'd had to put on for weeks at this point. It was garish and juvenile, but it'd helped to prepare her for this moment.

She stretched as she strode deeper into the room, trying to loosen up. It didn't take long for her to see the first signs of him; not his body but the glow of cyan above. Passing beyond a wardrobe, Blaze caught sight of cutlery cascading through the air in a slow arch. Whenever a piece of silverware reached the apex of the curve one of three different cloths, themself floating under psychic control, would polish it until it shone before floating down.

Recognising where Silver actually proved to be more difficult. He wasn't simply standing beneath his work. It took the cat identifying an errant quill and foot, poking out from opposite ends of a high backed throne, to locate him. It was a wonder that he hadn't heard her enter; he truly did dedicate himself to whatever task he was set, no matter how mundane. Then again, he was plainly lounging atop a historic artefact of the royal line... if anyone else had found him then he'd have received an earful. Perhaps he still would...

The soon to be queen silently closed the gap to her almost prince, observing his work from behind the chair. By the looks of it he'd been working down here for a while; all manner of metal objects, ranging from weapons to coinage to statuettes, were sitting in a shining pile to the right of him. He'd certainly done enough to earn a moment of respite. Not that she was going to give it to him.

She stepped out from behind the throne, knocking his boot from the throne's armrest with her thigh as she swivelled around to stand in front of him.

"Blaze!" She immediately caught the excitement in his eyes, it was more than enough to distract her from the clattering of disused valuables behind her, "S-Sorry, I-

She swept in without hesitation, capturing his lips in her own. The taste of apple was both obvious and familiar to her- almost as familiar as the sensation of him overeagerly attempting to return her efforts only to find himself quickly cowed. He was soft and rugged in equal measure; capable of pushing back but quicker to melt beneath her touch. She had him wound around her finger tight enough to charm him into acting but, for now at least, she wanted control.

The cat reached for his chest, only to find that her hand didn't fall upon fluff as she'd expected. Fabric was in the way; she'd been too swept up by the sight of his face to even consider what he was wearing. Frustration irked her brow, what garb dared put itself in her way?

The feline kept her hand on his chest, pinning him in place as she pulled back from the kiss. For a moment she was again captured by his gaze, the longing in his eyes was almost strong enough to pull her back in. To take something she knew was so strong and reduce it to being cute; there was a thrill that came with that ability, an excitement Blaze was certain would never grow dull.

Despite that truth, when the cat's gaze fell to the obscuring fabric on Silver's chest, her frown only grew harsher.

"Silver," Her brow arched.

"Y-Yes?" He gasped.

"Silver," She repeated.

"Yes, Blaze?" She'd missed his voice so much.

"Where did you get such a ridiculous shirt?" Blaze dared to ask.

Barely reaching down to the hedgehog's midriff was a simple black t-shirt with just as plain white lettering. Two simple words were bluntly stated on the fabric, positioned almost perfectly to obscure his chest fur and only his chest fur. Trophy Husband.

"You don't like it?" He seemed genuinely surprised, "Amy got it for me, it was an engagement gift."

"Of course she did," The cat rolled her eyes; the pink hedgehog would surely have loved to see them both in these ludicrous tops.

Now Blaze would make sure that she never would.

Sharp predator eyes swept over the hedgehog more thoroughly now, sizing him up lest any other surprises could get in her way. Her gaze lingered on his left hand, specifically the fourth finger on that hand. She had placed a ring there some time ago now- a golden band encircled with red gemstones. Blaze had never much enjoyed her own royal title, but that of prince consort had an undeniably humorous undercurrent. It suggested he was hers to do with as she pleased, just like all of the other trinkets in this room. That thought fuelled the cat's cunning.

Blaze snatched his left hand up in hers and entwined their fingers, forcing it up above his head and against the plush of the chair's backrest. The cat forced herself in closer, feeling the knee of her leggings rub against the seat as she pushed in to leave no separation between them. She stared into his eyes, awaiting his next move. When he tried to close the distance between them she kept her weight on his chest.

"W-What are you doing?" He asked, as if he didn't know.

"The queen should be free to arrange the treasury however she desires..." Her hand slipped beneath the foolish top as she leaned closer still, nuzzling into his shoulder, "The silverware comes under that purview..." She felt him shudder as her lips grazed the side of his neck, "Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," He whelped.

"Good," She praised him with the faintest of kisses, "Now, just what should I do with this trophy of a husband?"

The pyrokinetic felt the time traveller's body stiffen. At first she hesitated, wanting to leave him hanging in anticipation before her next strike, but then a snort breached the air. He was trying to fight it, trying to smother his nature, but there was no hiding it. The hedgehog was laughing.

Unable to contain her smirk, Blaze shifted to his ear and spoke in as serious a tone as she could muster, "Do you find something amusing?" He was wriggling beneath her, "N-No, I-

"I don't believe I gave this trophy permission to laugh," She recounted. "You just," She pushed down on his chest, ensuring he could not see her grin,"You sounded so serious," Silver panted, "And your fur, it's tickling-

"I may choose to tickle you if I so desire," She insisted into his ear, tail twisting against her back, "That does not mean I grant you permission to laugh..." He'd just about fully regained control of himself, she couldn't allow that, "I suppose I'll have to shut you up directly."

Her lips reclaimed his, pushing his head deeper into the chair. With each passing second her grasp on him sunk deeper. She didn't have to hold his hand for it to stay pinned above his head; soon her touch swept down to claim his quills and shift his head to deepen the kiss. Feeling him push and ply for more only served to encourage the cat to further smother him; feeling him struggle to assert what little control he had only to fall short beneath her time and time again. He was still so delicate, so gentle with her even when she opted to act so domineering.

It was only when breath became a barrier that the cat broke their lips' embrace and again buried her head against his neck. It'd been so long since she'd lingered by him long enough to catch his smell; that of outdoors from his time spent wandering and the fruit he partook in much too often. To hear and feel his heartbeat thudding as he gasped for breath; to know he was not only alive but here with her. Set to spend his life by her side...

"Not to say I'm not enjoying this but, um," His hands finally dared to move, settling on her back, "S-Should we maybe talk about how things are going to change in the next couple of months? I still don't really know what being a prince actually means," He was struggling to meet her eye, "Well, I know what it literally means but-

"I suppose I'll allow you to ask a few questions," The cat pushed her lips to his again, savouring one more kiss, "But you'd better not waste my precious time. You're not royalty yet after all."

She shifted to no longer lean over him, instead sitting within the to-be prince's lap with her legs kicked over the armrest. She had left him a bit of a mess, quills flopped to the left side and his crop top pushed up to the point of unreadability, but it was as she had decreed. This trophy was hers to do with as she pleased.

"Do you think I'll make a good prince?" Those words stole the humour from Blaze's mind, her gaze hardened, "Genuinely, don't lie to make me feel comfortable. I need to know."

She looked deep into his eyes, plainly catching his hesitation.

"You've been thinking about this often," She mused rather than answer, "For how long?"

"It's been on my mind for a couple of weeks now," He confessed, "You've been busy, I didn't want to bother you. We've had so little time alone together recently that I-

Her palm found his lips, fingers coiled around to cover his face. The cat did hesitate, her gaze faltered. It took her settling upon the right words to steel herself and meet his eyes once more.

"First of all, I think you will do wonderfully Silver," She stressed, "But I'm sorry that we didn't have this conversation sooner. We surely should have, perhaps even before becoming engaged..."

He took her hand in hers, their rings brushed.

"I've realised I don't really know what I'm meant to do once I'm a prince," His honesty was heart wrenching, "I can fight to defend the islands, but there's more to ruling than that," He was expressing feelings she too had experienced all too often, "I've only really helped people by fighting for them. I'm not much of a... diplomat."

"Well, you've got a better temperament for diplomacy than me, even if you lack the scrutiny that's typically required," She honestly responded before pushing herself, "I don't think anyone can truly suit this position, there are no ideal monarchs. I've certainly never felt comfortable with my role."

"I guess, at least we'll be uncomfortable together?" He grimaced, "But you do a great job, you've had a lifetime of learning in the role, I've just..." Silver rummaged his mind for the right words, "Fought. I've been fighting for my entire life."

"It's not going to be an easy change, you're wise enough to recognise that much. But I'll be by your side through it all, like I always have been," She insisted, "If you make a misstep I'll be there to catch you, just as you've always been there to catch me in a more literal sense. I promise," Her shoulder met with his, "We agreed never to part again, that's what engagement symbolises. Never alone again, set to carry all of our burdens together."

"But what will those burdens be? How should I prepare for them?" He asked, panic still plain in his tongue, "I don't want to slow you down, there's already more than enough pressure on-

"Silver," She cut him off, brow hardened, "Your presence could never make things more difficult for me, regardless of what you think. Just having you by my side whittles away life's toils," A sigh slipped past her lips, "As for what specifically you will do, our roles have a rather broad remit..."

"Just give me some sort of target. If I have something to focus on, something to obsess over, you know I'll get it done," Blaze went quiet once more, searching for words, but he filled the void, "You know, when you set those trials for me today, I thought that might be what was set for my future. Doing simple jobs around the palace rather than helping you directly," He confessed, "It'd probably take the rest of your rule for me to properly clean all this..."

"Well, ignoring your shirt, at the very least, you do look like you belong in here," The cat professed, her brows softening again, "But, you don't look bad on a throne either." "Will I be staying here for the remainder of your rule then?" He questioned, less than seriously, "Endlessly polishing spoons so that you can surprise me at any given moment?" "Perhaps," The cat hummed, again burying her head against his neck, "Although, it seems a waste not to put such a wonderful trinket on full display..." Her fingers brushed against his ring, "As long as everyone knows who you belong to, I suppose I can allow others to stare. A mix of public and private display seems best for this trophy."

Again her lips arrived on his neck, but this time she allowed a hint of fang to slip through. With each kiss she snuck further along his jawline, taking her sweet time on the path to his lips. She lingered before that final stopping place, waiting until his patience wore out and his eyes reopened.

"So disobedient," She purred, "So naive."

Lips collided with a rumbling fervour, making up for more than their share of lost time. It was admittedly difficult to come up with an answer that would soothe him while her heart was pounding at triple speed and her mind was endlessly sparking in pursuit of pleasure. Fingers again started to hitch against fabric, Blaze heard her own purrs fill the air.

She was finally about to consider switching places, offering her trophy a chance to prove its worth and claim a position for himself, when her ears shot up straight. Her back arched as she pulled her lips from his; she completely froze and her rumbling ceased. When Silver went to speak her hand found his mouth once more; a quiet cacophony of clicks was sounding from the far side of the room. The great sealed door was reopening...

Someone else was about to enter the treasury!

Blaze shot to her feet, her eyes fell upon the dazed hedgehog slouched in the throne. Her gaze flashed across their surroundings; the floor was still littered with silverware the hedgehog had dropped, but the other ornamental pieces would provide them cover at least for a moment. He could be seen here, he was scheduled to do this work, but what would the intruder think of her? Who could possibly be walking in on them now? How long had she spent down here, basking in his company?

The psychic seemed to have realised what was panicking her; he rose to his feet just as she had, "Do you want to hide?"

The cat answered his whisper, "I think that would be wise, I'm not meant to be here..."

He snatched up her hand but didn't pull her far, casting his eyes across a trio of old wooden closets. With a wave of his hand all three swung open, revealing a variety of anachronistic dresses in varying states of decay. With a second gesture clothes from one of the cabinets emerged to arrange themselves across the other two, leaving a fully empty space.

"I'll put it all back later, get in there," He instructed, taking control after being beneath her this whole time, "I'll get rid of whoever it is, they've almost certainly come looking for you rather than me."

Blaze stepped into the wood cabinet, but hesitated on the threshold. She turned back to the hedgehog, reached to his chest, and in one swift movement pulled the crop top over the hedgehog's head. She muted the look of surprise in his eyes by reaching out with her free hand and sorting his quills.

"I can't do anything about your blushing, but I can at least make you look a little more proper," She quickly fussed before pulling back, beginning to close the door, "Do what you can to get them to leave, go with them to look for me if you have to. I'll sneak out a few minutes after thing have cleared."

As the closet door shut Blaze heard the sound of psychic whirring; the hedgehog was plainly setting more of a scene and tidying up in advance of the intruder's arrival. Beneath that din Blaze couldn't hear the newcomer's footsteps but, eventually, Silver's noise quieted. With no way to see in this tiny space, the cat could only press her ear to the doorway.

"...but have you seen her majesty?" A clear voice sounded, one of the butlers, "I believe she's resting between meetings at the moment but another florist has appeared, interested in offering their services for your upcoming wedding." "Oh, um," His acting was already off to a poor start "No, I've just been down here, doing the work she assigned me."

"Ah yes; some simple duties to get you more accustomed to royal life," The posh sounding servant exclaimed, "I must say, I spent a few hours in this room myself tending to the heirlooms. I do have some recommendations if you'd lend your ear? There are..."

This could go on for a while; thankfully the worker's own longing to explain the mundane was keeping Silver from over-speaking. He was surely being bored to death but he could handle that. If things went on like this then the visitor would catch themself sooner or later, notice they were wasting time here rather than seeking her, and resume the search elsewhere. They'd leave soon enough of their own accord.

Realisation struck the cat, bringing with it a wave of panic. For all of her sneaking, despite the luck she'd scored ducking into the wardrobe, she'd made a blatant misstep. Her jacket, not to mention her shoes beneath them, were piled by the door. The butler seemed not to have noticed the garments upon entering, but when he returned to the door he'd surely see them!

"When it comes to the older golden works a delicate hand is absolutely necessary. I've found the certain cleaning products tend to take the shine off of..." The koala was still prattling on, she had an opportunity!

But she was trapped, they were surely just beyond the closet doorway and she had no idea what direction the butler was looking. She could emerge only to immediately step into their eyeline or be totally free to creep around and to the pile... perhaps even out of the treasury itself. But that wasn't a solution, just a poor option, there had to be another way.

The cat turned, feeling along the wall at the back of the dresser. Not only was it a valued heirloom of generations long passed, it was too well made to quietly break off or through. Singing a hole certainly wasn't an option either, both the smell and the historic value lost would be too great. Admittedly, if she didn't care for it she wasn't sure why anyone else in the kingdom would, but that wasn't the point!

"Actually, I do have a few questions," Silver's voice stirred the cat from her panic, she turned back to the entryway, "Would you mind joining me over by the armour?"

What was he doing? It wasn't as if he knew she'd abandoned her clothes and was searching for an out... granted, he probably presumed she'd had shoes on before coming here? Did he genuinely want tips on polishing armour? Surely not.

Blaze waited until the footsteps had moved beyond earshot and words were no longer clearly audible. She gently pushed the left door ajar, just wide enough to gaze out and confirm they weren't standing immediately in front of the door. It was possible that the box's entryway was still within view, but she was willing to trade potentially being caught for animmanent certainty.

The door was quietly shut behind her; the princess' ears once again spiked high but now her body was hunched to crouch low, hoping to harness the relics littering the space as a thorough form of cover. She weaved deeper into obscurity as she made for the doorway, avoiding the most direct routes for fear of falling into obvious view. She spun over chests, beneath hanging tapestries and around a standing army of overdressed mannequins.

By the time she'd snuck her way back to the treasury's entrance she was panicking that the intruder would be on their way back too. Her clothes were bundled beneath her arm, she threw her eyes around the room but thankfully found no stares returned. For a moment she debated fully fleeing but quickly decided the locking mechanism's clicks would draw too much attention. No, she had to return to hiding... but there was little need to return to where she'd been before.

Blaze put her back to the left wall but kept low, edging her way around with baited breath. She slipped closer upon becoming aligned with a set of eight hanging tapestries, decorated with golden and red patterning; depicting all manner of historic regal insignia ranging from great golden wings to glowing flames and feline faces of times long past. With her body behind the fabric wall she felt more than comfortable. At the sound of passing footsteps she could so easily round to-

The sound of voices snatched the pyrokinetic's attention. She didn't dare step through the cover she'd secured, now entirely blind to their positioning on the other side, but she couldn't help listening. Though it at first sounded about how she'd expected, with Silver being talked through the steps of dismantling and repairing aged armour, she couldn't help but notice how quiet the hedgehog was being. For what felt like minutes the attendant babbled away, had the hedgehog really been curious about doing this job better?

"Hey, um," Silver finally piped up, "You should tell that florist to make an appointment and come back later," The words seem to almost burst from his throat, he immediately began to ramble, "Blaze has been swept off of her feet lately; she normally is with royal duties, now she has our wedding planning on top of that. If now is meant to be a break for her then she absolutely needs it. I know she has been doing this her whole life, but if she works too hard now she'll struggle later," Silence filled the air for a moment, Blaze thought she heard the fellow begin to speak but Silver cut him off, "I know I'm not the prince yet, so I can't take burdens from her directly, but it's always been my job to look out for her. If this can wait then she should be allowed to rest."

The guardian was stunned, realisations flashed through her mind. He'd been trying to get her out of earshot, trying to make sure he could make this insistence without her emerging and insisting otherwise. Concern for her, their lack of rendezvous and the extremes she'd gone to in order to meet him today, had plainly pushed him into acting. How long had this all been weighing on his mind? Had he done this before? Had he tried to?

"I suppose you would be in the best position to know her needs," The servant admitted, "But are you certain she could not spare-

"I'm certain," Silver cut the butler off, "I don't know where she is, but I'm sure she's hiding in the hopes of getting just a few minutes rest. Just getting into that position will have already stolen time from her break this afternoon."

"That is assuming she is hiding in the first place," The intruder pushed back.

"You'd never get her to admit it if she was. She'd happily take to the work the moment she heard there was a visitor," Silver retaliated, "But I'm telling you, she needs to rest just like any other person. She's strong and smart and..." The hedgehog seemed to catch himself, she could imagine his hands flailing, "She's a lot of wonderful things, but she's a person just like the rest of us. Everyone needs rest."

The conversation grew quieter and scanter, Blaze was tempted to step closer only to then hear the sound of footsteps passing. Clicking soon followed that movement, the sounds of the great door's mechanism shifting, followed by the great shifting of stone and then its resealing. Were they alone again, or had Silver been the one to leave? What had happened in their quieter conversation?

She dared to peek beyond the over-expensive curtains only to sight a cyan hue and hint of white quill moving away from her. A smirk crossed her lips as she stepped out from behind cover, leaving her clothes behind again but keeping a stolenpiece with her. For the third time today her senses heightened, the cat found herself walking on her tiptoes as she again rounded by the heirlooms and relics of her kingdom. Her eyes locked upon a set of wild white quills arriving before a familiar piece of furnishing.

"The coast is clear," She heard him call out, opening a closet, "Did she slip away when I was-

For the second time today, the cat snuck up on her companion. Her right hand found his waist as she moved to stand beside him. As expected, he was staring into a thoroughly empty closet. Well, she was too.

"Perusing the royal treasury?" She let her head tilt to reach his shoulder, "I wonder what you're looking for..."

"Something important," It'd taken him too long to come up with that, but now his arm was around her waist too.

"Wouldn't happen to be this, would it?" She held up the shirt Amy had given him, the word trophy husband was plainly within her grasp.

"Not quite," He picked up the shirt regardless, slinging it over his shoulder, "This however..."

His right hand found her left, his fingers slipped to fill the gaps between hers. She rolled her eyes at his corny display, but squeezed his hand in return. His lips topped her forehead as her tail joined her arm in curling around him.

"I will admit, that was all quite professionally handled," Blaze almost complimented, "You were quite close to princely, almost there."

"What?" He blinked as he started to blush again, "Oh, I take it you heard all that then..."

"Only the good parts," Blaze insisted, rising to her tiptoes to rival his height, "Though I'd have liked to hear some more compliments."

"Those I can provide," Now they were forehead to forehead, lips so dangerously close, "But, I'm sorry I tried to hide what I was doing from you."

"You did," She pushed her nose to his, allowing lips to shift closer still, "Why?"

"Why? Well, um," She closed her eyes as he started to panic, "I got the feeling if you heard me trying to stop you working, you'd just insist on working harder?" She could feel him fidgeting, "You've done that before."

"That doesn't sound like a compliment to me..." He squirmed even more at those words.

"Y-You're right about that, but I feel like I need to explain," He took a step back and her eyes opened, meeting with a serious yellow stare, "I did it because I don't really know what my job here is going to be like, or what a prince consort really is, but I know what I want to do. It's what I've always done," She felt his grasp on her tighten further, "I make sure you're okay. That comes first, always."

"Silver," He was only getting more sentimental with age, he truly was growing into his role, "Well, I suppose that's not too far from the title's literal meaning."

"This is what I'll do, from now on and forever," She could feel herself growing more flushed, he always had been too blunt, "Even if that means tricking others; I'll dedicate myself to keeping you as comfortable as possible. That should be my job, nothing else."

"You're so naive," Despite feeling like she was burning up, a wiry smile lingered on her lips, "But I like the sound of that," She could permit his foolishness, at least for a little while longer, "Why don't you show me?"

She slithered from his grasp but kept hold of his hand, set to lead him back to the throne they'd shared. The soon to be queen would be claiming the seat this time. After all, he'd said it himself, it was important that she rest during her rare breaks.

[deepseacolors]

@spr-ingo May, Day... 3??: Alternator/X-ING

...I'm not great at, uh. Time management. Whoops!

Even though it's late, I still wanted to get this out before the last event day of the last event month. I have a couple other incomplete pieces from earlier days that I might like to polish up and post sometime, but this one is the MOST complete of the batch. (And, at over 3,000 words, it is without contest the longest thing I have EVER written at this point. Fun fact!)

This one is, um. A little strange. After playing the Alone inthe Dark remake, I just got a hankering for a survival/psychological/cosmic horror AU. Emmet was originally going to be the protag of this AU, but isn't it this Ingo's event? He should get the dubious honor of survival horror protag status. I think he wears it pretty well, personally.

Warnings: Some unreliable narrator, memory issues, something approaching a panic attack toward the end. Things lurking in the dark.

While nothing bad really happens in this one, it does very vaguely reference bad things (parental death, familial estrangement) happening in the past. Additionally, it takes a pretty sharp tonal shift about halfway through.

I personally don't think it's all that bad, but if you're not good with spooky stuff, best be cautious.

--

The river sparkles cheerfully in the bright midday sun, and Ingo has half a mind to curse it.

There’s no way he can cross this unaided. Even if Ingo were able to swim, and even if he didn’t already know for certain that some of the—creatures residing in this place could swim like Sharpedo, the river is much too wide. Ingo would exhaust himself before making it halfway.

And he is already much too familiar with the sensation of drowning.

When he gets his brother out of this place and brings him home, Ingo vows that he’ll never step foot near another body of water deeper than a bathtub for as long as he lives.

But for now… Ingo eyes that incongruent tower looming over the trees past the river.

Specifically, he examines the great emblem carved on it’s wall, glittering like gold against bright marble finish.

Digging through his coat pocket, Ingo pulls his brother’s notebook from the leather satchel he procured to try and protect it from the elements. Despite his best efforts, however, the pages are already becoming warped and filthy from the damp conditions and constant handling.

As delicately as he can, Ingo flips through the pages, searching for something he had seen during a previous examination, and… ah, there.

It’s not a perfect replica—Emmet, for all his attention to detail, has apparently never seen fit to hone the delicate hand needed for artistry—but it is close enough that Ingo can tell that this is a sketch of the selfsame sigil that stares at him from atop that bizarre, lopsided structure.

Has Emmet been there? Or has he simply seen this mark elsewhere, and recorded it for future reference?

...Is he there now?

Ingo scans the rest of the page in case there are further clues, but he knows better by now than to get his hopes up. Indeed, the only writing that seems to pertain specifically to that mark is a single word in Emmet’s even writing:

‘Pale’

He stoppers the groan before it can leave his chest, and instead pinches the bridge of his nose.

Inscrutable as always, brother.

(“I took these notes for myself,” Emmet had said once upon a time, years and forever ago. “They do not need more detail. I know what they mean.”

Ingo had draped himself partway over the edge of his bed, putting his head level with his brother’s. Emmet himself had his back propped against the foot of the bed, and leaned back enough to meet his eyes.

They had been nothing more than schoolchildren discussing their studies, not aware of the tragedies looming in their near future, and Ingo had taken flipping through Emmet’s school notes while Emmet played with Litwick.

“I know, Emmet,” Ingo had sighed, allowing Tynamo to gently press against his cheek. The offered comfort was appreciated, even if the uncontrolled static would wind up making his hair stand on end again. “I was simply hoping that your notes might elucidate the subject better than our instructor, is all.”

Emmet took the book from his brother, but didn’t put it away. Instead, he opened it to his notes from the lesson earlier that day and holds it up so they both could see.

“So show me what you do not know,” he said, grinning. “I will help you understand. Because we are--”)

“--a two-car train,” Ingo murmurs.

In the present, Ingo blinks away the memory and shakes his head. Disorienting as they are, he’s starting to get used to these flashbacks. He’s still on the fence as to whether that’s a good thing or not.

(It’s normal to forget portions of your childhood as you age. The way the human brain develops makes it inevitable. This world, bordering dreams and reality, just seem to draw those forgotten things out.

...So why does it still feel like he’s missing too much?)

Exhaling slowly from his nose, he takes a moment to recenter himself. Inscrutable or not, the emblem on that tower is the closest thing he has to a clue at this juncture, and he means to pursue it.

Which means he must reroute until he finds the line that will take him there.

--

The stairs groan and creak ominously with every step downward.

There are no lights in the stairwell; no candles, no lamps, and certainly no light bulbs (though the small boathouse is so old and unmaintained that Ingo doubts any of the wiring would have survived anyhow). The gloom is suffocating; the darkness almost a solid thing, boring down on him.

Ingo is grateful, then, for the lantern he found earlier today. Rusted and damaged it may be, the lilac flame flickering inside the faded bulb remind him that he is not alone here. Even if his trusted Lampent can’t physically follow him through the doorways leading to this world, the pale light she granted still continues to guide him.

Water suddenly trickles down from the ceiling, and he jerks the lantern away from it.

...Still, strong as she is, Lampent can’t keep a damp wick lit. Even in this odd dreamworld, that law of physics remains intact.

They’ve learned that the hard way already.

Bringing the lantern closer to himself, he continues his trek down.

In any other circumstance, Ingo is sure that would not be here. He would have taken one look at the rickety, broken-down stone-and-wood boathouse, with it’s unserviced motorboat and the crooked, oddly-placed basement door, and he surely would have turned around and gone home. It spits in the face of every safety standard he’s ever held himself to.

Nothing in this world is safe. Hostile creatures—neither human nor Pokemon, but something altogether alien—stalk him at every turn. The architecture is incomprehensible and prone to unexpected failure. Every time Ingo feels he can relax, something terrible springs from the shadows, claws aimed for his throat.

But Emmet is here, somewhere. His notes, otherwise sparse or filled with shorthand Ingo cannot understand, are meticulously dated. And they indicate that he has been coming to and from this world for nearly a year.

(Ingo never knew. Emmet never mentioned it. There was never even a hint in the letters he sent, until the one that incited Ingo’s sudden visit.

Did he think Ingo wouldn’t have believed him?)

(Would Ingo have believed him?)

A stair creaks sharply in protest, and he startles so badly that he almost loses balance.

Focus. This is no place to get lost in thoughts.

Any questions he has can be saved for if—for when he finds Emmet and convinces him to leave this wretched place.

And to do that, he needs to get the boat operational.

And for that, he needs gasoline.

Or an oar, at least.

The basement should hold something of use.

--

After five minutes of descent, Ingo decides it might be better to simply try and steer the boat with a large branch or something. He turns around and begins to climb up the way he came.

--

After ten minutes of ascent, Ingo’s lungs start to burn. The stale air here is near-suffocating.

He is not going to reach the top, it seems. Not yet, at any rate.

He tamps down the anxiety bubbling in his chest, turns around, and descends again.

The stairs creak and groan.

--

After an unknown amount of time descending, Ingo’s mind starts to wander.

Whatever could Emmet want in this wretched place? Ingo knows better than to assume that his brother is able to move easily through this world; though he had fewer scrapes and bruises than Ingo surely sports, there were plenty enough the last time they’d met to indicate that Emmet hasn’t exactly been waltzing through unhindered.

But every time Ingo tried reason with him, it was the same:

“Go home, Ingo.”

“Everything will be fine, Ingo.”

“Hurry and go home.”

“I have to do something first. And then I will write you. Okay? So you can leave. I will see you later.”

But even if his memories have faded, rusted away, Ingo can still tell when his brother is lying to him.

Ingo had begged, demanded, pleaded for Emmet to just speak to him. Let him help, if nothing else, so they can go home together.

And Emmet had hesitated, long enough that Ingo started to think that he had finally talked sense into his wayward twin.

But instead he had turned away. “It is better that you do not know,” he had said, so softly that Ingo could barely hear him.

He had looked exhausted, bone-weary. Like he’d lived a thousand lives in the decade they’d been apart.

And that…

(“Sometimes,” Mother’s voice sounds tired, heavy, “not knowing is better.”

He remembers, suddenly, sitting one the large old couch in the drawing room with Mother and Emmet; Ingo cuddled up to her left side, Emmet leaning against her right.

It had been a stormy summer day, the rain splattering loudly against the windows and the wind howling like a thing bereaved, but Ingo paid it little mind. He was simply thrilled that his mother was not only in high enough spirits to entertain them, but had sought them out for play multiple times that week.

Perhaps, he thought, this meant that Mother’s health was improving! She had promised ages ago that she would take him and Emmet on a train to see the countryside someday, but her weak heart kept her housebound anymore. The only time she left the house these days was to see some doctor or another. It must have been very dull for her, but she never complained. At least, never in earshot of the twins.

Looking back on it in the present, Ingo will also recall the way she would furtively glance at the doors and windows and sometimes speak in hushed voices, as if she feared being caught doing something bad and getting reprimanded.

By who, Ingo could not guess. Father had been away on business for much of the month, and was not due to return for another week. Though there was a nurse who stopped by to help Mother with her medicine, it was only for a half-hour during the morning. For much of the day, the three of them and their were alone in the house.

Certainly, it was only the three of them.

There were creaking floorboards and doors that opened by themselves, inexplicable chills and strange whispering noises from just outside the door; but it was just the old house settling. Father said It had been in his family for generations, and thus wear and tear is only natural.

And when one feels eyes watching unseen, or an ice-cold hand gripping one’s shoulder when there was no one else around, well, it was only childish imagination running wild. One must be mature about these things, Ingo.

Certainly.

At Mother’s words, both Ingo and Emmet had frowned.

“… I do not understand, Mother,” Ingo had said. “In what situation would having less knowledge be beneficial? That sounds counterproductive.”

Across Mother’s lap, Emmet nodded emphatically.

From what little he remembers of their childhood, Ingo knows that both he and Emmet had been what one might describe as precocious. No problem can remain unsolved if one used proper application of strategy, and the twins excelled at sussing out and utilizing all knowledge at their disposal for creative problem solving. Though there had been times where Father or their instructors became irritated with where their wits took them, their intelligence had always been highly praised.

It seemed odd for an adult to advocate for less education.

Mother herself seemed to tense for a moment, before plastering on her practiced smile.

“Well…” she said slowly, “sometimes things are—scary. Or sad.” She hesitates, as if struggling to articulate her thoughts. “Or… perhaps, too much. Too—big.”

Her hand combed through Ingo’s hair, working out the tangles, and Ingo almost wanted to stop discussing this. To just quietly agree and move on to talk about better things, like the books he and Emmet got for their birthday, or the Cottonee they had found in the garden earlier that week.

But it sat wrong with Ingo. A look over at Emmet, with his furrowed brow, told him that his twin felt the same.

Mother seemed to realize this. With a sigh, she leaned backward, bringing the twins with her.

“You’re right, Deerling,” she said slowly. “Most of the time, it’s good to study up and be smart about things. But…”

She started scratching lightly at Emmet’s head as she thought, and he relaxed further in her hold.

“… Sometimes, things just aren’t our business,” she settles on. “Sometimes… looking too hard at something will—will make it know you’re there. Looking at it.” She failed to suppress a shudder. “And then it will…” her voice becomes a haunted whisper, “it will start looking at you. And then it won’t ever stop.”

Ingo’s voice wavered in his attempt to match her low tone, “Do you mean… something bad?”

She tightens her hold on the twins. “Something dangerous,” she hissed.

And he didn’t understand. Father had said that Mother sometimes got dreams and reality confused, but she sounded so certain of what she ways saying. More certain than anyone had ever been of anything.

Ingo glanced again over at Emmet. His brother seemed to be thinking very hard.

After another heavy silence, Mother spoke again. “That’s why you need to be careful, okay? Our family… It’s easier for us to—to see dangerous things. And to be seen by them.”

She sat up, tapping her boys cheeks to make sure they are looking at her. Her face was like stone.

“So promise Mama, okay? Promise me that if you—if you see something that feels dangerous and scary,” her hands start to tremble, “promise me that you’ll close your eyes. Don’t look.” She grips their shoulders. “Whatever happens, just walk away and don’t think about it. Okay?”

And her gaze was heavy, and it felt like this was the most important promise he’d ever make to her, so he nodded. “I promise, Mother,” he said, voice barely audible for once.

She nods in approval, and turns her stony gaze to her youngest. “Emmet?”

Emmet hesitated.

She shook his shoulder. “Emmet,” she said, her voice low; and in that moment she was almost scarier than their Uncle’s dragons.

After a few long, tense moments, Emmet looked up at mother.

He said: “But why?”)

----

Ingo misses the next step.

Falls.

He curls up, trying to protect his head and neck with his unoccupied arm. Tries to get his legs under him, tries to break his fall—this stairwell has already gone on endlessly, the longer he falls the more at risk he is of further injury, he can’t—

He hits the water at the bottom with a splash.

For a split second, he panics, only barely able to keep himself from gasping in the stale, stagnant water covering his head. He holds the lantern above him, can’t let her go out, he can’t function in the pitch-black nothing of this pit alone without a light--

And then he pushes himself up, sitting in a soaked heap in a pool of water less than two feet deep.

But why, but why, but why? What could be worse than this? Than not knowing?

Floundering in the dark, with a light that struggles to shine more than a few feet ahead, violence and cruelty biting his heels at all times.

His heart is pounding, beating at his eardrums as he trembles and shakes with force from the ice still rushing through his veins. His arm still stiffly holds the lantern above his head because he cannot risk losing her light to the dirty water surrounding him.

It’s better not to know, they say, but all Ingo wants is to know, why? What did mother see? What does Emmet know?

The still silence of the room he landed in is broken by small splashes of water and ragged gasps that Ingo cannot control.

What makes Emmet so afraid that he cannot bear to even imagine sharing his burden with his own twin? The one who was once his closest friend, his most trusted confidant? What could be so terrible?

What is he missing--?

A dozen steps up the stairway behind him, the stairs groan and creak.

Ingo freezes. Holds his breath. Listens.

Footsteps, so delicate and light that they are almost drowned out by the protesting wood, are getting closer. A fluttering buzz, like an insect’s wings, drift down from the dark.

Those are not the even, measured steps of his brother. They are not the calculated, cautious steps of the detective that accompanied him here.

Ingo stands, slowly, holding his lantern toward the stairs. It rattles with the force of his shaking.

He knows those steps.

He does not know those steps.

But he knows them. He knows them, and he needs to go, to go, to go, before--

Just outside the range of the lantern, a shadow flickers in the stairwell.

And Ingo suddenly believes that, if he stays, if he waits for that entity reach the landing, he can know.

He can know what it was that crushed his mother under it’s weight until she could live with it no longer. He can know what it is that changed his brother so drastically after her death, that wore him down to the thin specter that greeted him in that dismal study just this morning.

But what would it cost?

A small polished shoe breaches the light. The buzzing vibrates against his eardrums.

(He needs to find Emmet. Nothing else matters.)

Ingo stumbles backwards, the water hindering his movement, before turning and running the opposite direction.

He has no way of quantifying the amount of time he spends running other than the burning of his lungs and the weakness of his legs, but some indeterminable time later, he bursts through a door and is immediately blinded by a searing light.

It catches him off guard, and he trips, scraping his hand and knees against wet stones and sand. The lantern clatters against the ground.

He has the presence of mind, still, to reach behind him and slam the door closed. Scooting back until his back is pressed against it, holding it shut, he tries utilize his hearing while his eyes adjust.

Running water. Wind blowing and rustling… leaves?

Ingo blinks his eyes open.

Though he has no memory climbing any stairs in his mad escape, he has somehow made it back to surface level. He is sitting next to the river that started this whole mess.

Across the river from where he sits stands a rickety stone-and-wood boathouse, an unmaintained motor boat tied to it’s dock.

Behind the small shack he rests against, there is a thick and uninviting forest.

And, less than a mile deep into those woods… a marble and gold tower looms over the treeline, bearing a familiar emblem.

… One small blessing, at least: he won’t have to put his faith in that rotted little boat.

Still breathing heavy, Ingo slumps against the door and covers his eyes.

A brief layover. That’s all he needs. Just… a few moments.

Then it will be time to depart once again.

[prvtocol]

@commandsir : ( Ashoka Tano as Ashla Terrik ) : whatever you're about to do, don't do it. | meme tag ✿

The Coruscant headquarters of the Imperial Bank is as grandiose as one expects and as sterile and protected as a grand vault should be. But the stormtroopers standing as sentinels and aligning the grounds like armed columns are blissfully forgotten in one of the inner sanctums — a retreat for employees to loiter on break and enjoy the decorative foliage and artificial sunlight. 

At a small round table adorned as a few others with a white marble chess board at its center, the loan manager sits across from the new hire, Ashla Terrik. As fingers pinch the cool top of one of the pawns, her hesitance, betrayed by biting her lower lip, is cheekily called out by Ashla.

“Oh. You’re going to make me double-think, are you?” Retort is drawled in pure amusement before touch retreats from the pawn to reconsider her strategy (if she even has one). Sans a competitive bone in her body, Brianne never takes these games too seriously — though she tries for the sake of being a good sport. “Oh bother. We’ll just do that then.” A different pawn is slid diagonally instead.

“So.” Forthcoming inquiry comes amid leaning back in her chair, regaining the honed rigidity of her posture. Small hands refold elegantly in her lap; the polished decorum of her upper-class upbringing. Despite the gloss, her manner of engagement is utterly sincere. “How is it going so far? And be honest. When I started I was overwhelmed, to say the least.” 

[myrontile]

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