#Perfect Jewel For Every Tradition

[reallyromealone]

Title: fate

Fandom: jjk

Characters: Gojo, original character for plot purposes

Fic type: story

Pairings: Gojo x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, angst, soulmate, Gojo is a jerk, slow burn

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

There was no space for weakness amongst sorcerer's, no space for mistakes and no space to be anything less than perfect.

He had always heard of his fiance, Gojo Satoru... The god amongst sorcerer's...

Though he never met the Alpha, the high and mighty sorcerer never bothered meeting the diamond of the (lastname) clan and did everything he wanted and everyone he wanted while (name) was expected to wait.

The only reason they were fiance's is because of stupid blood work, the two having extreme compatibility and thus an engagement... The Alpha apparently became a teacher.

(Name) Always stood out with people, clothes traditional and expensive as students gawked at the Royal looking omega with two S rank sorcerer's beside him as security and a calm yet serious expression on his face, he was rarely called here... Hell he wasn't even allowed to attend due to being the fiance of Gojo, the Alpha barring it.

That always made (name) laugh, couldn't meet his omega even once and downright ignored him but controlled every aspect.

"You will be expected to marry within the next month, you're both 19 and twenty and after the wedding we expect pups within the first year" Gojo sat beside him, legs spread out and sitting casual as if he didn't make them wait an hour for him to arrive. (Name) Didn't know what to do with the Alpha beside him, (name) expected to wear scent patches at all times and a collar but Gojo had his scent out and proud, it was almost suffocating.

The concept of marrying such an asshole... (Name) Didn't want that.

He didn't want to live a life being this fuckers baby machine.

So, a week after... He left.

Took the jewelry gifted to him by people wanting his hand or favor, once people learned who he was it was like floodgates opened and (name) just kept the expensive jewelry in a box... Now they served a purpose.

That was one year ago, now 20 and across the country away from Tokyo and away from... Him.

(Name) Lived in a farm house on a coastal village, trading his traditional clothes for t-shirts and cardigans, simple trousers and sneakers, all things he never wore before living on his own. The two was nice, the Omega had more money than god with the jewels he sold and worked part time at the small hobby shop in town, the elderly alpha woman introducing him to many hobbies.

For the first time, (name) felt calm.

His shoulders never tensed anymore.

But he knew to never eat his guard down.

(Name) Didn't keep much tech, he didn't really use it back in Tokyo so it didn't appeal to him but he did keep a radio and a small tv in the corner, his boss giving him her old dvd player and (name) would borrow movies from the library, catching up on things he missed.

Currently he was watching a drama as he crocheted another blanket for his nest, humming softly to himself as rain patterned outside against his roof and the smell of his food cooking in the oven.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was confused as he stood up, walking to the door and carefully he cracked the door open just a sliver when he smelt it... Pine and peppermint. The smell of Gojo Satoru.

"You are a very hard person to find, surprisingly" Gojo said as he pushed the door open, the smell of distress and anxiety filling the small space as the sorcerer walked in "cute place, not what I would have expected from the (last name)s clans little gem" his voice condescending as he looked around at the little decorations and such.

"I'm not going back" (name) hissed as he stepped away whenever Gojo got closer "im not being some daycare for your pups while you go sleep around japan!" Gojo wore his eye mask though even with that he could feel the glare, the man was done with this.

"So you're going to play farm boy here? We both know you're not even remotely cut out for that" Gojo taunted and (name) glared at him "you know nothing about me! I know you never opened that stupid packet about me! I was expected to give everything to you but you couldn't even muster up talking to me! You treated me like I didn't exist!" (Name) Yelled angrily, all the years of anger and resentment boiling over "you don't get to want me now, I don't care if we are fated or whatever! You are a jackass!" (Name) Felt the air knocked out of him as he was pushed against a wall, the infinity making him feel like the other was pressing against him as he realized that gojos mask was no longer present, piercing blue eyes staring down at him.

"Do you think I was happy with the elders deciding that I was going to marry some prissy Omega? That suddenly I was expected to play house with someone I didn't know!" He growled and (name) wasn't backing down despite the pharamones and pressure "you didn't even try and get to know me! You didn't want me!"

"Well I'm here now, aren't I !"

" A little late, don't you think!"

"God you're annoying!"

"Back at you"

This was not the Omega Gojo remembered, the poised and refined Omega who poured tea and wore pretty clothes was replaced by an angry man in comfy clothes and a heated glare and an attitude "we are literally bound by fate and we can't even hold a conversation without arguing" Gojo found the situation weirdly funny as (name) looked at him with a mix of annoyance and disgust as the sound of his timer went off and (name) managed to get away to go take his food out the oven.

Gojo followed the other and looked at the food, it looked really good "you know how to cook?"

"I was literally trained to be the perfect house wife" (name) said bluntly as the sound of a stomach growling caught both of their attention and Gojo looked at the other and (name) sighed "I literally can't make you leave" he hissed as he grabbed another plate.

Dinner was tense as (name) ate, reading his book as he did so as Gojo took the time to inspect his surroundings "it's like an old persons house, do you even have a computer?"

"Don't know how to use one, don't need it" (name) said as he took a bite of his food and Gojo looked surprised at his words "you grew up with cast wealth, how do you not?" He didn't believe it at all as (name) set his book down "an Omega and an alpha live different lives, you were given more freedoms then myself... You got to attend school and make friends and I was raised to be the perfect mate and technology wasn't deemed important to know compared to the art of tea pouring" he said simply as he looked into the others eyes "I have spent this year learning everything i was deprived of, I lived in Tokyo yet I had never seen it outside my escape"

If it was tense before then it was suffocating now, Gojo never considered these things.

He never once considered the life his fiance was living, having always been told he was living the perfect life of luxury and frankly assumed he was some spoiled Omega.

"I would have shown you..." Gojo started, guilt bubbling in him, "oh? You would have spared me time? Between your whores?" (Name) Tilted his head curiously and Gojo felt a headache form "I hear everything you know? From my maids... They always told me I should be lucky that I'm fated to you" (name) looked away and continued eating, book abandoned beside him as the smell of fury radiated from the Omega, Gojo sighing as he took a bite of his food. The food was phenomenal, seasoned perfectly and not one thing not amazing about it but he didn't comment "we can sort these things out when we go home" Gojo said finally, they would get everything in order when they returned home.

"I am home, I have no intentions of going anywhere with you" (name) said stiffly as he stood with an empty plate.

"Well, tough" Gojo said tired as he followed the Omega around the small farm house, cozy and warm "you're my Omega and I'm tired of this"

"Was I your omega when you screwed across the land?" (Name) Glared at him, he didn't care who he was or what strength he possessed... He was tired of everyone making choices for him! "You can go back to whatever life you had before, say I died or something... I know that there's countless omegas dying for a chance to be your fiance"

"Well if you're not going with me, in not going anywhere" Gojo said simply as he walked to the small couch and plopped down "you're like a child" (name) glared, wasn't even like he could go out, the rain so heavy.

"I'm going to bed" (name) grumbled as he went to his bedroom, Gojo getting up to follow but (name) slammed the door in his face.

This was going to be annoying, Gojo could feel it.

Come morning, (name) wore a loose shirt and sweatpants as he made himself his morning drink and stared at his mug sleepily as Gojo watched from the livingroom curiously, the other rubbed his eyes sleepily as calm and sweet pharamones filled the space. Gojo realized that this was the first time he could smell the others pharamones and not smell distress.

He never smelt anything so wonderful.

(Name) Set a mug of tea, brewed perfectly "how did..." "We were both given packets about one another, you pretended I didn't exist remember?"

Gojo had a feeling (name) wasn't going to let go of that anytime soon.

Gojo followed (name) around all day, when the Omega walked down the path towards the village "you really live out in the middle of nowhere" Gojo commented as they walked along the tree lined path, (name) holding a few bags "you know in Tokyo, I could have food delivered to us right?" Gojo remarked and (name) just ignored him, at least the Alpha had the sense to wear sunglasses instead of his mask so he didn't look insane "there's barely a connection out here" the Alpha remarked, (name) knew what he was doing and it wasn't working.

The villagers looked confused as (name) had a towering alpha follow him, the omega shopping as if he wasn't even there "(name)!" A couple kids ran up to the Omega who looked down curiously "what is it little ones?" (Name) Asked softly as the youngest clung to his leg, a little pup with wide eyes and a sweet smile "play with us!" One of the kids said excitedly and (name) smiled "maybe later little ones, I have errands I have to do" (name) ushered the children towards the small park area, Gojo watching the scene curiously.

"So why did you come looking for me? I thought you would have been elated at my sudden leaving" (name) asked as they walked home, Gojo forcing the other to let him hold the bags "my alpha... It practically destroyed half the estate when it found out you left... Geto ripped me a new one"

"So you had an epiphany and came here acting like everything would be fine" (name) said with a sigh and Gojo shrugged "I mean yeah" "and what? Expect me to be like 'oh thank you alpha! You're so kind and didn't make me feel worthless and your actions didn't cause me verbal and emotional abuse from my family!' been going to therapy and the therapist says you suck" (name) was way snarkier than Gojo thought he would be, he liked that his omega wasn't weak "I spent a year being on my own and doing what makes me happy, I don't want you messing that up"

"What do you even do out here?" Gojo asked and (name) shrugged "I have a part time job and I'm an active member of the community, no stress of either of our families... Everything is good"

"What would it take for you to come back?" Gojo asked "money? I can make sure you have everything you need"

"I don't want money, I don't want that stuff... I'm not marrying someone who doesn't love me and I don't love in turn"

Gojo spent the night thinking about it, while his omega slept peacefully in the other room and pulled out his phone to text Geto... He wasn't sure what to do.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forbidden affair.

Pairing: Toji fushiguro x chubby reader.

Warning: Cheating, Toxic love affair, Jealousy, Gaslighting, Pregnancy, Arguments, Possessive Toji, Passionate sex, fingering, Oral (Fem), Pregnancy sex, Breastfeeding, wall sex, Ausgt.

Summary: it was supposed to be the same, help a happy couple, help create their future but one look in his eyes and you were doomed.

A/n: Fanart, not mine.

Verdant, like glistening emeralds, was a dangerous temptation, such desire, was the telltale of your doom. Sounds of impatient foot-tapping still rings in your ear each time you think of him.

The words of the doctor and his wife faded once you glazed upon him, what a bewitching beauty. Onyx hair, like that of coal, hangs in front of those green memorizing jewels that he was fortunate to call his a build that heavyweights envy and strive for and a scar down the right side of his lip. He was beautiful.

You moved in a couple of weeks after of course once the doctor had confirmed you were with child. The house was pretty and traditional, even cozy. Many mornings were spent cocking your breakfast and bitterly listening to Kimkio's sobs of pleasure as Toji no doubt showed no mercy on his small wife and you could not help but be envious of her luck, happiness, looks, and otherwise perfect life.

Each time they came out of their room to eat she'd always smile so sweetly and greet you while she barely stood straight you had to push those petty feelings down and smile. So stuck in pretending to be nice you failed to notice the animalistic, want glint Toji's glaze as he skillfully watches you move around, without seeming he wasn't paying attention to you at all, a perk from his job if you will. You were delectable, simply pretty there was something gorgeous about your portly form, the small jiggle of your breasts, stomach, and thighs that drove him crazy with want and Toji fushiguro always got what he wanted, rather if people liked it or not.

You groaned and walked to the kitchen with items that would surely be on your craving wants.

"you're home." Toji hiccuped, taking a swig of Asahi Super Dry and leaning against the wall. "Tojj are you drunk?" you frowned, and stopped putting away the groceries. " 'm not." he slurred which answered that question. "Come on, let's get you to bed." you shook your head and strolled to him. Surprisingly he didn't put up a fight as you took his hand and led the way to his bed. "there you go." you smiled gently, moving a lock of hair away from his closed lids. You couldn't help but wonder if he did this every time Kimiko left on a business trip.

You gasped when a firm griped your wrist once you stood up and pulled you onto Toji, who quickly pinned you to the bed he bed "Where ya goin'?" toji slurred, pushing both your wrists to the mattress and weaved in between your legs. Your heart skips a beat, Toji was as handsome as he always was. His bedroom prasine orbs held lust you haven't seen before and his ebony hair acted like a curtain more that he leaned closer to your lips "Well?". "I-I thought you were asleep." you stuttered, heart racing inside your ears.

No words were exchanged but the pressing of lips, and the swirling of tongues wasn't far behind, his kisses were mind-numbing, and a lingering pleasure. Blurrs of clothes being taken off and thrown impatiently barely registered within the carnal lust. His hips rocked against your ass, thrusting his cock into your tight, slick, and saliva-covered cunt "Damn fuckin' perfect thighs." Toji groaned, his grip on your jiggling thighs tightening "And this stomach." Toji growled as he dragged his tongue up your bouncing pudgy belly to your breasts. "just my type." he slurred with hooded eyes, sucking and licking your nipple, his hand rolling the other between his thick digits. You gasped, his strong arms grabbed hold of your middle and pulled you onto his lap as he sat back "Gonna ride me yeah?" Toji's words spread a fire through your core "You can do it pretty girl." He cooed, his hands now holding your rear. Kissing him passionately, you lifted your hips before completely slamming down his member "Goddamn pretty girl." Toji choked out and used your ass as leverage to pump into you from below, every push in and out you felt each vein, his bulbous tip hit your cervix and gspot in one that made your toes curl as he fucked you like it was the end of the world. The squelching of the pairing of your soaked cunt and his glistening cock was inching your climax closer, causing your poor pussy to pulse "Cum, fuckin' come on this fat cock!" Toji growled, attacking your neck with kisses. "Fuck!" you screamed, your hips stuttering from your overwhelming orgasm.

Toji groaned, pouring his seed within your clamped pussy, milking his balls dry. Gently Toji laid you back on the bed and pulled out, chuckling at your tired whine as he did and pulled you into his warm embrace, his chest supporting your head, his arm snuggling you into his side "Sleep," he mumbled into your hair "I'll be here." your soft sores followed and a sinister smirk graced his lips, damn he should make a career in acting.

"She's my wife! Just because 'm fuckin' you, doesn't mean you're special!" Toji got into your face "Get that through that thick skull" he said harshly as he tapped your head with two of his fingers. You glared at him and slapped his digits away "Fuck off prick." you hissed and walked into the bathroom. "Don't walk away f'me." Toji spat and grabbed your arm, his hold was hard, so rough you knew a bruise would arise. "I do whatever I want to do. Why don't you find a whore to fuck!" you yelled, yanking and failing to free your trapped arm. "Maybe I fuckin' will." Toji growled, letting go of your forearm and walked away.

The slamming of the front door, informed you he truly left.

You sank onto the toilet as silent tears began to fall that soon turned into sobs. Maybe you deserved this, nothing good comes from falling for a married man, especially a man like Toji but you delused that he was different..he was so sweet to you after that night, and the continuous nights that followed now you see you were just a fool.

Days passed and he hadn't returned. Sleeping became more hard to come by, so used to his body next to you as you slept and craving came like a hurricane.

The baby however continues to grow, and the baby bump finally more noticeable past your rotund stomach. TV played some trashy show in which you barely paid any attention as you scooped more of the chocolate ice cream and swallowed it from the spoon. 'I hate him. I hate him. I hat-' your bitter thoughts stopped abruptly, quickly you paused the show and pushed yourself off the loveseat as the sound of a door being unlocked.

"Toj-Oh Mrs. Fushiguro, Welcome home!" you greet her feigning cheerfulness. "I'm glad to be back," Kimiko smiled and put her shoes, coat, and bag in their respective places "How are you, and the baby?" she asked, laying her hands on your baby bump. "We're good." you forced a smile, feeling all but comfortable by her touch. "Where's Toji by the way? I didn't see his car in the driveway" she questioned and took her hands off your stomach. "Oh, he left to hang out with a friend for a while. Don't know when he'll be back," you replied. "Okay..."Kimiko trailed off, a look akin to anger on her pretty pale face.

Toji still hasn't returned, and it's been a week. You could barely stand being in the same room as Kimiko, the remainder that you had fucked her husband more than once hit hard so you tried to get out as much as you could that's when you met Aoto, a sweet and considerate man that you quickly became friends. Today you both decided to go to a popular cafe, the weather was warm and sunny, the perfect day to sit outside. You laughed at a joke that Aoto said, and in the corner of your eyes you noticed a man coming your way, he seemed angry.

"Who's this?" Toji spat, glaring at the small man, a glint brimmed with murderous intent. "Oh, umm this is Aoto Tanaka, my friend," you piped nervously, Toji didn't even look at you. "Who do you think you are?" Toki questioned, placing his hands on the table and leaning closer to Aoto's face "Ya want to fuck her huh?" Toji accused. "W-what? No! It's not like that!" Aoto tried to plead his case as he looked anywhere besides You and Toji. "Bullshit," Toji growled and picked up your friend by his shirt and throw him to the hard concrete. Your eyes widened in horror, you were unable to move as you watched Toji drop to his knees on top of Aoto and punch him in the face, the blow causing blood to flow out of his nose, Toji continued to bash Aoto.

The screams around you broke you from your state and you hurried to try to help, "Toji, Stop!" you cried as you tugged at his arm, "Please, you're scaring me!". Toji breathed heavily and stood up, "She's mine, bitch." Toji spat on Aoto's face for good measure and grabbed your arm, and your purse pulled you along. "Why the fuck did ya let some bitch close to you!" Toji pushed you into an ally way and trapped you against the brick wall, making you drop said purse. "You're mine.". "I'm nobody's to own! I'm my own person!" you hissed and attempted to wiggle free. "Like hell!" you flinched as he yelled, a sharp pain in your stomach caused you to hold your baby bump and almost fall, luckily Toji quickly caught you. "Baby?!" Toji shook you as you gained and lost consciousness.

Groaning you opened your eyes, the sound of peeping and a sterile smell surrounded you. "Oh, honey you're awake." a woman, who you assumed was your assigned was designated nurse. "How long was I out?" you asked, your voice raspy, a groan followed after as a strong headache rang through.

"A week," she replied as she checked your vitals, "Your baby boy is just fine, congratulations by the way." She turned around and smiled, her hand resting on yours, "If you wish in a few hours you can go home, do you have a ride?" you shook your head. "Oh," She frowned "Well then don't worry, we can call a taxi to take you home," she reassured, patting your hand, and left the room to continue her job. You were released three hours later, the ride home was silent, a true blessing. Once he pulled up the driveway, you thanked the driver and got out, your purse on your shoulder, and keys in hand. You have never been so grateful to be home, by yourself than you are now,.

Walking inside you placed your keys on the rack, take off your shoes, and throw your purse onto the couch as you walk past the furniture and to your bedroom, plopping down on the soft bed, "Fuck me." you groaned, you were being so foolish, nothing good came from fucking married men yet something about Toji was addicting, enchanting.

You need a few days by yourself.

That didn't even last two days, you already texted Kimiko about wanting some time alone, and she immediately texted, a little hesitant and worried, although she still understood your point and said that if you needed anything to let hurt know. However, Toji didn't, on the second day heavy, rapid knocks sang within your house, yelling and shouting following suit, it went on for hours before he gave up and went home, the third day he continued to disturb the neighborly peace, and you continued to ignore him. In time he stopped bothering you and you took that as a chance to get out for fresh air and a snack.

You smiled as you waved at a friendly neighbor and unlocked the door, the house was dark except for a dimly lit light that shined from the living room, which was on when you left. Your breath hitched as you moved as silently as you could to your kitchen and grabbed a knife from the wood block, slowly you approached the living room, hiding behind the hall wall, and peaked over the wall.

"Good, you're home," Toji said nonchalantly, his head resting against his knock as his ankle lay on his thigh as he sat on your loveseat. "What are you doing here?" your eyebrows frowned as watched as he got up from the loveseat and woke backward when he began to stroll towards you. "You've been ignoring me, what other way to get ya attention?" Toji griped your jaw in his hand once he backed you against the wall, his other running up and down your tubby sides. "You.." you trailed off as his hand slid down your stomach into your pants and underwear, his fingers parting your folds and rubbing your slit. "you what? Why don't you let me take care of ya huh? Let me make it up to you." Toji whispers before licking your neck, nipping, and suckin', as his digits now rolls your nub between them. "Please," you begged even though everything told you not to let him. You mewled, Toji's kiss muffed every whimper and moan, he slipped his finger in your slimy, stick opening, his palm jerking up your clit. Your juices overflowed his hand, no part of his hand wasn't coated in your slick.

Toji away from your heat kiss, a sting of saliva snapped as he pulled away, "You're mine, you fuckin' got me" Toji snarled and lifted you into his capable arms when you simply nodded, eyes glossed over with lust and followed your directions to your bedroom. You let a loud whoa as he pushed you upon the wall, and sat you down to tear your pants and everything with it, "You got me fucked up, thinkin' you ain't mine." his eyes a darker green than before, working off his clothes he slaps your one of thick thighs, you knew what that meant and you spread them.

"You'll always be and don't forget it." he said as he picked you up, his cock lay heavy upon your sticky folds "Do you understand?" he glared at you. "Yes! Yes, please!" you cried "Want you bad! Fuck me!" you whined, bucking your hips, his dick sliding up your lips as you did so. "alright I tortured you enough." Toji smirked smugly, without any shame. His fat cockhead jabbed into your pussy, not hard to hurt but it certainly made your eyes roll," Feel good baby?" Toji cooed mockingly. You open your mouth to reply, and the only thing that leaves your lips is a yelp as he tore through your last remaining clothing, he begins to suckie on your nipple drawing your warm breast milk, gulping down heaps of it as his cock rolled and pounded your cunt, "Damn the kid is lucky." Toji slurred as his rhythm sped up. Your eyes closed from the pleasure as your form buzzed, every part felt hot. Your eyes snapped open as a gasp was heard that wasn't from you, right there in the door frames was Kimiko, a hand over her mouth as she looked on the way Toji became one with you, tears that sat borderline of her orbs.

Toji slowed to a stop, his dick still lodged within your walls as he looked over his shoulder, his expression falling when he saw his wife. Without thinking he let you go, your body hit the floor, and a sharp pain shocked your body however before you could ask for help, Toji ran after Kimiko. You gritted your teeth as you crawled to your unlocked door and knocked over your purse rack, searching for your phone hectically and called 119, you waited as you felt like you were growing underwater "Hello, how may I help you?" a kind-sounding woman asked. "I'm pregnant a-and I fall. Please help me!" you said shakily. "Okay, ma'am im tracking your phone and the paramedics will be there soon. Just stay with me," she spoke as you heard fast typing on a keyboard, her calm voice helped lessen your fear. However, it was too hard to stay awoke and you gave into unconsciousness.

You jolted up from the piercing cry of a baby. Your baby was okay, you smiled as the doctors lifted him in the air, he looked exactly like his father, and you thought they would immediately lay him on your chest instead they handed your baby boy, Kimkio and Toji walked into the delivery room. Happy smiles on their faces as they strolled towards the door. "N-no, wait!" you choked out, tears falling freely down your cheeks as the nurse attended to you.

You were doomed from the start.

@yeonieess ,@archiviste0o0 , @xxmaddhatter39xx ,@hachrinnen, @tojishugetiddies ,@wrldtups ,@bblkesh, @ilovekeiarah, @tepes-wife ,@444ctrl ,@tqd4455 @myst

A/n: sorry my beautiful doves, midway I had lost motivation and I wanted to work on another things but I didn't want to not post it. So here it is, I hope you enjoyed it.

[separatist-apologist]

What are your favorite monster fics? I’ve read all of yours and you have left me craving it.

You can't go wrong with any of these, and they are also my personal favorites:

On Waves of Blue by @kingofsummer93 [elucien]

Elain is bored of her mind-numbingly dull life as Princess of Mushroom Kingdom. The only excitement she's ever known is the threat of the great fire-breathing King Koopa, intent on making her his bride.

Is it so wrong, then, that she doesn't fear his return?

To Tango With The Devil by @iambutmortal [feysand]

For two years, Feyre’s been obsessed with the demon statue in the church. It haunts her dreams, even on the eve of her wedding. To bad the statue’s just as obsessed with her.

Bow Down by @shadowisles-writes [elucien]

When one of Elain's rituals releases more magic than usual, a much bigger demon than what she has ever protected herself against comes to her door. No amount of hidden traps and talismans can protect her from what he wants to take.

My Heart of Stone by @c-e-d-dreamer [nessian]

“Why do you run from me, my mate?” the gargoyle asks, tilting his head and sending his dark hair cascading over one shoulder.

Nesta feels hysterical, fear rising like bile in the back of her throat, but somehow she’s able to choke out the words, “what did you just call me?”

Howl by @iftheshoef1tz [azris]

When Azriel suspects that werewolves are behind the disappearance of his brother, he turns to the only werewolf expert he knows. Unfortunately for Azriel, Eris might be the werewolf he's been looking for.

Smite My Enemies by @abraxos-and-ataraxia [nessian]

Nesta summons a creature to obliterate her enemies, but quickly finds another use for the demon that appears.

A Woman So Heartless by @velidewrites [nessian]

When the Goddess of the Underworld grants a mortal General an extended stay in the land of the living, she doesn’t expect him to come back with another deal — one she has no idea will ruin her life forever.

Bejeweled by @thesistersarcheron [feysand]

Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines dripping in ceremonial jewels while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him.

He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him.

Meet Me In The Woods by @paranoidbagel [feysand]

Returning to the ancient forests surrounding his ancestral home in the Scottish highlands, Rhys quickly discovers how the hunter becomes the hunted when a bloodthirsty Scottish faerie turns her ravenous sights on him.

The Music of the Night by @the-lonelybarricade [feysand]

It's Feyre's first year as an elligible maiden for the village reaping. In order to escape the chance of being chosen, Feyre rushes into a marriage with Lord Tamlin. She is terrified on her wedding night, but foruntately she is spared from consumating her marriage when she is pulled into a strange, erotic dream with an enchanting creature.

Paint It Red by @moodymelanist [nessian]

Nesta Archeron has been thirsting for revenge against Tomas Mandray since a fatal encounter in November 1940. When he suddenly reappears decades later, she finally has the perfect opportunity to make him pay for what he’s done. Her only problem? She and her friends aren’t powerful enough to take Tomas and his lackeys down on their own…

Cassian Valladares is the deadliest vampire hunter Windhaven has seen in a generation. When Nesta approaches him with a plan to kill her ex-fiancé, he’s initially hesitant – he wants nothing to do with leeches, especially one who almost got him killed. But as the bodies start piling up, Cassian and his brothers are forced to reconsider…

Will Nesta and Cassian be able to put aside their differences long enough to work together? Or will they find themselves consumed by something else entirely?

Crow Song by @damedechance [gwynriel]

Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

What The Shadows Hide by @shadowsxgwynriel [gwynriel]

When Gwyn goes out on the night of Calanmai to search for a missing priestess, she’ll soon find out that something lurks in the shadows...

[writingwenches]

Rhaenyra’s Daughter OC

drabble summary: first look at my new OC, I wanted to create a daughter for Rhaenyra who is staunchly team green. She got away from me a bit. I tried to embody a daughter that was opposite of Rhaenyra in every way, while also still being exactly like her. She believes herself to be Laenor’s only true born daughter, I didn’t explicitly state her parentage, but I’ll leave it up to yall to figure it out. She’s still very new in my head, so more to come from her in the future!

contains: traditional medieval sentiments, religious worship, pure female rage, “thanks! I hate her!”

drabble wc: ~1k

please note: this character is not meant to “make fun of” other people’s Rhaenyra’s daughter OC, I chose the name Aemma because I haven’t seen it used before, so no one gets the wrong ideas.

I don’t have a specific planned romance for her yet, so feel free to send in requests and ideas for her!

Read her debut in her own chapter one

On the day of her birth, King Viserys was the first to speak his daughter’s name, as a gift to the woman he loved. He had informed his small council when the news of a healthy female babe came to them, that the babe was to be called Princess Aemma Targaryen. 

Queen Alicent, debilitated from her labors, spent the days following the birth with her mind controlled by milk of the poppy. Her seventeenth nameday came and went. She couldn’t be sure, as her mind frolicked with the dancers painted on her chamber walls, but Alicent did not recall the kitchens preparing her traditional cinnamon cake to mark the celebration. 

Queen Alicent first heard the babe’s name from her father, the Hand of the King. And right then, her recovery ended. 

Princess Helaena Targaryen was announced at court that every afternoon, with the king’s approval or presence.

It was not long after that Princess Rhaenyra was in need of a name for her own healthy baby girl, and Aemma seemed fitting. 

Princess Aemma Valyarion was born the Realm’s Delight. Aemma was perfection personified from the moment she was born, two moons early, but weighing more than any of the king’s children. Disregarding the Maester’s astrological based predictions of the birth, it was foretold that the babe would be of sturdy health, and her favorite thing to do was scream. 

It was not something she would grow out of. 

The princess’s hair was her greatest treasure. Pale white, with flecks of silver under the sun, she had grown down to her hips. Each night, requiring two maids to brush it to her satisfaction. She did not appreciate inefficiency, only inspecting after twenty additional brush strokes. 

Gifts from her grandsire birthed her collection. The elder captain enjoyed Aemma’s excitement with every exotic trinket she returned with, as his wife and daughter had grown tiered of his absence. Her favorite treasures were the princess’s vast collection of combs and brushes from around the known world. She had comb made of a single jewel from the mines of Casterly Rock, a comb of pure frozen fire from the markets of Asshai, the small folk call it dragon glass, and her most prized possession, a brush that is said to be made of hair and human bone from north of the Wall. 

Every night she would pick her two tools, one for each maid, as a sort of prayer for the next days blessings. Her mother hadn’t ever understood her obsessions. 

Her mother never understood anything. 

Aemma screamed. Rhaenyra screamed back. A chair is thrown from her balcony and Queen Alicent enters the young girl’s room without introduction. Aemma cried and threw herself at the Queen’s mercy. 

“I simply suggested,” her mother started, “that we visit the dragon pit so that we might––“ 

“You wish to sabotage any chance I have of ever finding a husband!” Aemma’s words bit like the heat of dragon fire grazing skin. “No man shall have me if I stink of dragon!”

High Valyrian was out of the question, why speak the language of a civilization not competent enough to remain living amongst some ‘falling volcanic ash’, Aemma believed that the gods only act their vengeance on those who deserve his wrath. If one never sins, one will always be kept in the favor of the gods.  

Her mother spoke blasphemous contradictions, always downplaying the gods judgement. 

“We of Old Valyrian were only saved from Doom by the grace of the Seven,” Aemma’s hands rose in praise, “and we must honor them in the way that they demand.” Her daily trips to the Great Sept surpassed that of the most pious at court. 

At the mere suggestion, from Rhaenyra, for Aemma to spent time away from her constant, quiet, contemplation, the young princess would drop to her knees while loudly begging the gods forgiveness of her mother’s trespass. Her hands rose to the ceiling, her calls shouted to their exhalation, to cover the heretical words of her mother. 

Rhaenyra eventually gave up, and allowed the girl to do as she pleased. Aemma’s eyes were shut closed for her endless prayers before meals, her calls were loud enough to cover the rest of them picking at their plates. 

“May my every action be guided by your grace, and let me praise your name with all my actions.” 

Sometimes, Rhaenyra thought her daughter was doing these things simply to irritate her mother. Laenor, her father, thought she was simply fascinating. 

Aemma believed in eternal damnation, neither her parents knew where the thought had stemmed from. She was still a child, in her nursery room, when she told of dreams from the eternal burn of dragon fire that awaits those that displease the gods. Not even the Septas could talk the girl from her heading. She viewed her life as a test, and she would not allow herself to fail it. 

Of course, Princess Aemma Targaryen was not going to become a dirty, old, Septa, she was born with a grander purpose. She knew she was to be a mother from her playing with dolls. She knew she was to be a great mother one day. 

Something that she knew her own mother was not. 

Before Aemma was old enough to understand, she could read it on the faces of those at court, there was something wrong. The Queen had never spoken ill of her mother in her presence, but Aemma suspected she had always just finished speaking before the young girl was close enough to hear. 

The young princess had told Aegon they were to be wed before he was ten, she told him he was expected to begin praying with her, to better prepare his soul for the gods final judgement. He detested the idea to such extent, that he leaned into her anger at his every lewd and wanton act. 

Aegon would not make a proper husband, she would need to find her own. Aemond could be a proper match, as he still did not have a dragon. 

Aemond would sometimes hear her screams marking another spat with her mother from the training yard. He supposed their children would grow strong, and she did not have the look of a bastard that marked her brothers. Still, he did not like the idea of more unity with that family. 

It was not Aemma’s words that haunted Aemond from the night be lost his eye, it was the imagined droves of ladies at court that said the same. 

Aemma shouted at her child brother, Lucerys, from her place at the Queen’s side, “I can not marry him now that he has one eye!” 

author’s note: THANKS for reading! And if you need a terrible older sister in your fic, feel free to use her! Make sure to tag me so I can watch her path of destruction! I don’t have a specific planned romance for her yet, so feel free to send in requests and ideas for her! I had a LOT of fun writing her religiously, without leaning on common christian-centric phrases.

fic universe: Aemond x Peasant OC

tags: @targaryenswhxre (I hope you enjoy!)

[the-desilittle-bird]

Can u do a pt. 2 of the fic whit female Lucerys Velaryon? It would be wonderful see a description of their wedding nights (smut pls if u feel comfortable, if not avoid ❤️❤️

AN- This is the first time I am writing smut so pardon me if it's not upto the mark. Also, I went quite filthy I guess but it's Aemond we are talking about...

Being Rhaenyra's Daughter and Having to Marry Aemond...

Part 1

Warning- Smut [Non-con to Dub-con, Fingering (fem!receiving), Breeding Kink, Pinning, Loss of Virginity, Choking, Dirty Talking!], Forced marriage.

GIF Credits to @terendelev

You woke up with sore muscles and to a strange chamber. The bed was fluffy and soft; pillows fluffed and cozy.

What caught your eyes was the colour green; everything from the bedsheets to the curtains and the few tapestries which depicted Aegon the Conqueror and his wives.

The panic was setting in your bone and before you could do anything, the door opened and in came the Green Queen. Alicent Hightower.

"I am so glad that you are awake, my dear."

The panic turned into anger which soon turned into desperation of freedom when she decided to speak again.

"The Small Council has decided that it shall be perfect to marry you to Aemond; to try and unite your family with ours."

Only three days later, you were sat on the vanity; being pampered by the handmaidens, decked in dozens of jewel and hidden behind the silks of green.

The marriage took place in the throne room, with all the houses favoring the Greens present.

Otto Hightower escorted you, walking you down the aisle, to the boy you had once maimed.

Only then you were regretting not slashing both of his eyes.

But it was too late.

The marriage took place as is accepted in the Seven; instead of the traditional Valyrian marriage sealed in blood and fire.

But you were glad it happened that way.

Because a marriage in the Seven can be annulled.

"I am his and he is mine, until the end of his days."

No body but Aemond noticed the modulation in your vow.

The feast following it was small.

And it ended with Aegon drunkenly announcing the start of Bedding Ceremony.

"No man shall touch my wife except for me."

You were escorted to your new chambers by your new husband.

Once inside, the seriousness of the matter heightened until his fingers found the lace holding your dress together.

You had squealed, trying to escape the tight grip of his hand on your waist as he unlaced her dress.

"I am not going to bed you!"

"No one asks for your permission."

Once in your chemise, you were thrown on the bed, with his weight caging you between him and the bed.

You tried to push him away but his hand quickly found yours, pinning you down either your hands above you.

His empty hand raised your chemise to your waist, revealing your lower body to his prying eyes.

Long fingers found your core, a long stroke evoking a sharp breath and a choked gasp.

"Stop!"

"If I did, then the deed would be even more painful."

Rubbing the center of your pleasure, unwantingly moans escaped your throat, pleasing Aemond a lot.

His finger dipped inside you, burying it in your heat and stretching your tight hole.

"Relax yourself and you might like it as well."

As much as you wanted to remain unfazed, it was hard with a burning pleasure coiling inside your lower stomach.

The add of his second finger burned, his thumb continously rubbing her clit; pulling out moan with every single thrust of his fingers.

You came on his fingers; ashamed of yourself.

And then, you saw Aemond undress himself; a perfect chance to run if you used your agility

But the immense pleasure left your body exhausted and granted your lower body inability to walk.

The struggle returned to your body when you realized what was to happen.

And noticing it, Aemond's one hand pined you to the bed with a hand around your throat, which applied enough pressure to cut of half of your breathing; getting rid of his breeches quickly.

Your body tensed as the pain coursed through your veins, only for you to realize that the true torture has just began.

He was big and hard to accommodate.

"You are mine now."

Your virginal blood coated his cock; forever spoiling you for any other lord.

His thrusts were slow and calculated at the start and quite uncomfortable for you.

But soon the pain turned into pleasure and moans spilled from your lips before you could catch them.

And Gods! Did your husband had a dirty mouth.

"I will make you mine. Spoil you for any lord."

"My sweet little whore, aren't you like your mother. So wet, even for your enemy."

"What would your family say when they see you, carrying my child."

"Gods, you are so tight for me. Just perfect. And how beautiful, befit for a prince like me."

His fingers balled in your brown hair, pulling them ever so slightly as he forced you to look him in his eye.

The eyepatch wasn't present and you were met with the glistening sapphire.

His lips groaned and grunted near your ears, speaking filthy words which only seemed to turn you on.

"I will spill in your sweet cunt."

"You will give me heirs and let me fucj you as I see fit."

"I will make such a good whore of you that your mother would be proud of you."

That night when the boy was done, you were barely able to speak and a limp in your walk for the entire week that followed.

And soon enough, you were indeed with a child.

[haesunflower]

written in the stars | zhang hao royalty au

☆ chapter 2 here ☆

genre: angst, romance

pairing: reader (afab) x zhang hao

about/tags: in which zhang hao is a crown prince, and you are not the princess he's arranged to marry (1.9k words)

royalty au, arranged marriage (not to reader), love at first sight, i'm in a bridgerton mood that's why i wrote this

The palace is buzzing, and you’ve never seen it so busy. The servants seem to multiply as they make haste with the preparations. All the curtains have been drawn back, and the palace gleams in natural sunlight. The hallways smell of fresh flowers, and the floors are newly polished; you can almost see your reflection. Faintly, you can hear the footmen yelling, signaling the arrival of the royal heir of the neighboring country.  

While they were only arriving on a formality, these occasions are naturally celebrated extravagantly. No expense spared in public appearances, dinner parties, and tournaments. After all, it is only once where a soon-to-be-king is able to visit the home of his queen-to-be. Then, she is whisked away from her roots, to start a new life elsewhere. 

How wonderful, a royal wedding is to take place soon.

But not yours. 

Despite what people may think, you enjoy not being the eldest daughter of the family. You didn’t get all the attention from male suitors in soirees, you weren’t gifted the finest jewels, nor were you surrounded by a flock of ladies at all times. It’s liberating, you think. 

Your sister didn’t even have much of a say when it came to her marriage preparations. With the diligence of a dutiful princess, she complied and obliged to the plans of your parents. You couldn’t imagine living a life like that, being told that a certain path was your destiny. You certainly did not envy the life of the eldest princess. 

You contemplate moving from your spot to greet the esteemed guest, but it is decided for you when a butterfly lands on your shoulder. You gently place your finger near its legs, hoping it will latch on for you to get a closer look. Instead, it flutters away.

Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow it – all the way to the edge of the garden. 

To your surprise, it lands on the shoulder of a man. All you know of him is that he’s dressed in a cream ensemble. Engrossed in his conversation with your father, he clearly doesn’t notice the delicate creature on his shoulder. 

“Ah y/n darling, you’re here. Say hello to his highness” your father, who probably spots you staring, introduces you to the man. 

You curtsy, “good afternoon, your grace. Welcome to Astoria” 

Returning the greeting, he bows gently, then takes your hand where he places a small kiss from his lips. While a traditional greeting amongst royals, it was an act you weren’t used to receiving. When you both look up and meet his eyes for the first time, you’re suddenly met with jealousy – “a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, princess”

And for the first time in your life, you wish you were your sister. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

When you show him around your palace, as your father instructed, he greets your staff warmly. He asks you questions about your people, your customs, and your culture. He listens intently, watching you greatly elaborate about the place you call home. While you  talk his ear off, he takes slow strides to also appreciate the art, the flowers, and the instruments that play the most beautiful melodies. When you near the quartet, he  fixates specifically on the violin, watching it be played with such admiration. 

“Do you fancy the violin, your grace?” you ask. 

“I find it the most beautiful, do you not? An extremely difficult instrument to learn, but when mastered, elicits music fit for the angels.” 

He thanks the violinist and commends him for his talent, before you both continue with the palace tour. 

Sensitive, gentle, and kind – Prince Zhang Hao is every bit the person that is perfect to rule a kingdom.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

At dinnertime, you try to focus on your meal. Instead, you watch the prince enjoy the company of your sister. They’re both smiling as they engage in small conversation, you can’t tell what it’s about, but he looks charmed. As they all always are, you think.  

When you turn your attention elsewhere, Hao finds himself looking at you. In a brief moment of distraction, he watched you bring the wine to your lips, slightly staining it a deep burgundy. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

It’s a bright summer afternoon, and the light from outside refracts beautifully against the stained glass windows. Being trained in arts, music, and sciences – your favorite place in the whole world had to be the royal library. So you find yourself here often, reading a book, studying maps of the stars, or much like today, practicing the violin. 

When you finish the song, you hear applause, and you’re shocked to see the prince. “I didn’t take you for a violinist, princess”. His body leaning against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed against his chest. Without the prying eyes of the servants, nor the pressures of royals, he seems relaxed. 

You gently place the violin back in its case, and look over your shoulder. “Am I good enough to elicit music fit for angels, you reckon?” He smiles, remembering the comment he made a few days before. 

“I wouldn’t have applauded you if you weren’t, I’m quite an honest man you know.” You chuckle, “and indeed you are, your grace.” 

“You can just call me Hao.” 

And while you are taken aback, you humor him anyway. “Okay, Hao – may I ask why you’re holed up here with me at the royal library? Shouldn’t you be with her royal highness today to greet the public?”

“Your sister is currently busy meeting the designer for her gown, so I decided to find something else to keep me occupied.” he walks nearer to you, hands behind his back. 

Boldly, you respond with “well, you have the pleasure of my company now”. He comes face to face with you when he says:

“Indeed I do, princess y/n.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

Over the next few weeks, Hao has joined you at the library in the early mornings. While the rest of his day is spent fulfilling the duties of a visiting prince, the start of his day is reserved for you.

You get to know each other better through the study of geography, as he tells you about the places he’s visited on your maps. You tell him how certain stars align to form different constellations, and how the night sky might have been decorated differently on your birthdays. You learn that he speaks multiple languages, after he helps you transcribe the ancient texts from the east. 

He speaks gently, yet with conviction. He smiles softly when you call his name, and approaches you in a gentle manner. He is also patient, when you are slow to understand him. He looks into your eyes intently while you tell stories, and you feel that his gaze might burn holes into your existence. His touch, gentle, when he guides you on the piano. And when challenged by you, plays the violin equally as beautifully. 

Among other thoughts, you’re happy to know your sister will marry a good man. 

“I have to go now, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You smile at him warmly, “like always, Hao.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

But he didn't arrive the next day, nor any day after that. Instead, his time has been given to your sister, who has requested to have morning tea with him daily. You don’t fault him, it’s his duty as a fiance. And perhaps time away from him is good. 

So when you find him gazing out at the same balcony of the library, you are surprised. 

“Y/N, what do the stars say tonight?” you look up at the sky, and then at him. He’s leaning against the railing, propped up against his elbows. Facing you, you fear that his height will cause him to fall backwards.

“Difficult to say with all the clouds, there barely are any.” As if to confirm your analysis, he too looks up at the sky. 

“So what brings you here, hao?” you ask as you make your way over next to him. You look up once again, hoping to find what he is looking for. 

“I wanted to spend my last night here to gaze at the Astoria stars you tell me about.” Right. His last day here. You don’t know when he’ll return, and if they will at all. But tomorrow he leaves with your sister to his country, Mariposa. The next time you see him will be at his wedding. 

“It’s a shame, maybe you should visit more often then”. You huff out, half jokingly because you know that’ll never happen.

“Yeah, maybe I should…” Hao trails off and watches you turn around to lean toward the balcony instead. Your face is resting on your hand, and you’re looking out into the garden hoping to be graced by the illumination of the fireflies. The moonlight hits your face, and hao studies the way your eyelashes flutter and how your breathing rises and falls. 

You can feel him staring. "You need to stop doing that, Hao"

"And what am I doing?" you look at him, and you don’t know if he’s feigning innocence or is completely ignorant. His eyebrows are raised, and you suppose it’s the former when he raises his hands up in surrender jokingly. 

Your face breaks into a smile, then a giggle. He likes the way your lips pull into a tight line before it gives up, and you convulse into laughter. He thinks it’s cute, the way you try to hold it in at first.  

So he too, feels the need to hold you responsible when he says  "and you princess, need to stop smiling at me like that”

Your smile falters, and then he clears his throat. You both break away from your gaze, and look straight ahead. Into the garden, where the fireflies are starting to show themselves. But the air is so silent, you can hear your own heartbeat. 

Then Hao asks a dangerous question, “do you think that would be so terrible? to look at you the way I do, and to enjoy the allure of your smile?”. He looks at you expectantly, hoping you understand what he feels for you with that question alone.

"Would that be so terrible?" you repeat his words, also questioning yourself. You want to think it over, but you know the answer. “Yes, yes it would hao. Because you are betrothed to my sister.”

The silence of the air is this time, welcome. 

Seemingly unafraid, he asks another question – “do you think maybe this is what is written in the stars for us? To be condemned by duty?” he doesn't need to expound for you to understand what he means. 

You sigh sadly, “it appears to be that way…your grace.” He feels the boundary that you’ve effectively placed. The use of the royal title, a reminder of why he has come to Astoria in the first place. 

You don’t look at him as you say goodbye to him one last time. You walk away from the ledge, and as he grabs your wrist to hold you from leaving, you try to release it. 

“Let’s not, your grace. It’s easier this way. Please.” His heart shatters at your words. So he lets you leave. He doesn’t know that there are tears running from your eyes, and that you fear you’ll change your mind if you take one look at his face. 

That night as he lay in bed he cursed his birth order, and so did you. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

As you watch them leave the following morning by the steps of the palace entrance, the same butterfly makes its way to you. It lands on your glove, and as you raise your arm to take a closer look – it flies away, towards the prince’s carriage.

You don’t follow it this time. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

✩ chapter 2, chapter 3✩

A/N: First of all, I wanna apologize to anon because there is no fluff ending shfbhsbfj I just feel like it didn't fit the royalty vibe

This is also my first take on a non-idol universe! Hope you guys liked it and i'm hoping to hear what you guys think hehe

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

✎ mobile masterlist

✉︎ request/send me feedback or a reaction!

[simcaistk]

Château Orange [CC FREE]

Château Orange has always been an important hub for the community, especially cherished by older generations. Offering comprehensive medical assistance for all ages, our clinic never stops ensuring the well-being of every resident. The city's culinary landscape is enriched by the Asian restaurant, inviting diners to embark on a gastronomic journey to the Far East. Meanwhile, the local jeweler's exquisite craftsmanship provides an opportunity to own or gift a piece of timeless elegance, perfect for commemorating personal milestones such as the recognition of talent and hard work at the esteemed ballet school. It's a place where tradition meets ambition, and care intertwines with culture.

A rowhouse with a clinic and a small lab, jewelry store, Asian restaurant, and a ballet school. This building was inspired by a tenement house in Poznań, Poland.

Preparing this clinic was more fun that I initially thought, even without any CC! It was so difficult to fit this staircase but after many manoeuvres I'm finally done. Happy Simming!

Recommended to be used with similar lots such as The Time Leader, Nabokova Bakery, Freedomland, Les Grâces Rouges, Idylla Apartments, Heart Angle Apartments, or Papillon Corner.

Download here. The download link is on Sim File Share. It is advisable to use CleanInstaller. Value: §290,799

More pics and aerial view under the cut.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance knows the tradition. And as much as he often rolls his eyes about doing things just because “that’s how it’s always been done”, there are some things about it he really loves. Someone on their knees, in front of friends and family in some beautiful location, asking you to give them the honour of marrying you?

Absolutely fuckin’ dreamy. Lance would love that shit. He would be unashamedly riding that attention high for years. He used to daydream about it, to; talking to his siblings when they were up late, painting their nails and talking shit about whomever for fun. He knows he’s definitely explained ad nauseam his preference for a pretty diamond ring placed on his finger to the backdrop of the sun setting on the waves.

But, as it always does, life does not go according to plan.

His faceless daydreams were only fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with them — fantasies are fun, and can even be a basis for reality — they just didn’t match up with where he ended up! At no point in his life could he ever have expected to fall so deeply in love with the man he’d sworn so vehemently to hate. At no point could he ever have predicted being swept up into a war beyond his greatest comprehension with that man at his side, or to lead a war with that man. He could never have predicted the softness that would bloom between them, the gentle moments that would be just as frequent as the intense competitions.

Honestly, he never could have predicted Keith. Who could have? Keith is… he’s just so much. Of everything. There’s not a single thing he does that he doesn’t do with his whole heart and soul. He cares so deeply and intensely; his love is so all-encompassing… sometimes Lance lies in bed and is rendered breathless by the force of it; of him. He can scarcely believe that he is so lucky, that the universe aligned so carefully, that he has the chance to love Keith and be loved by Keith, in every day and in every way.

It’s a lot. It’s everything, really.

And so that’s why it has to be perfect. Away with the small crowd of friends and family, with the public space and pomp and circumstance — as much as Keith loves their family, and loves indulging Lance (seriously. What Keith wouldn’t do to make Lance happy… it makes Lance giddy just to remember it. He is so, so fucking lucky. He scored), Lance knows he values his privacy. Hell, it took nearly an entire year for anyone else to know that they were dating. Not because Keith was ashamed of him, or because either of them were afraid, but because Keith kind of likes to keep things to himself. He likes it when it’s just him and Lance, when they have inside jokes and secrets and moments that are just theirs.

Lance likes it too, frankly. Plus, there was nothing funnier than the pure outrage on all of their friends’ faces when they realised they’d been blind to Keith and Lance for eleven whole months. Truly a moment Lance has cherished.

All this to say that Lance has been preparing to finally ask Keith to be his husband. He’s told no one — not even Hunk — but several weeks ago he measured Keith’s ring size as he slept, and worked carefully with a jeweller to design something he knew Keith would love. That was the easy part. The harder part has been carving out the right time in both of their schedules; a time when they can give each other their full attention for long enough that Lance can do the asking and then have some time after for… ahem, celebrating.

(Lance has been looking forward to that part especially.)

But finally all the stars aligned — the two of them had a week off after spending three months on a Balmera with restoration efforts — and Lance can put his plan into motion.

The first thing he does is send Keith on some random errands. That buys him a few hours to set up the alcove by their front door — a collage of pictures of them over the years, pinned artfully to the wall; bundles of Keith’s favourite flowers, poppies and California lilies and sunflowers and desert roses; and perhaps most ostentatiously, a goofy banner that Lance hand-painted with the magic question. Is it elegant? Not really. A little tacky? Possibly.

But although Keith would rather surgically remove his tongue than admit it, he eats this shit up. He grew up with Shiro, for Christ’s sake. The man as watched every romcom ever made, and loves them all to pieces. Lance has watched 10 Things I Hate About You with him more times than he can physically count.

Once he’s satisfied with how the alcove is set up, he digs the velvet box out of its hiding place, tucking it carefully into his jeans pocket and settling into the truck to go pick up Keith.

If Lance was following his daydreams, they’d both be dolled up to the nines and heading to some fancy restaurant. Instead, Lance is wearing his dark red shirt that he knows makes Keith cross-eyed and his good jeans that make his legs look long. He knows that Keith is wearing his favourite flannel and his rattiest pair of converse, which Lance has had to literally patch back together because Keith refuses to throw the damn things out.

It fits better, somehow.

“Where are we headed, Casanova?” Keith asks, after trying (and failing) to convince Lance to let him drive. (As if. It’s Lance’s turn. The schedule says so and everything.)

“Surprise,” Lance says vaguely. He glances as surreptitiously as possible into the backseat, making sure that he did, in fact, remember to pack the food and the blankets.

(He did. He has also checked fourteen billion times. He is, although he knows it’s silly, the slightest bit nervous, apparently.)

“C’mon,” Keith prods, sliding a free hand into Lance’s hand. “Can’t I get a hint, baby? Just a little bit?”

“I am trying to drive. Keep that shit up and we’re gonna crash, you walking distraction.”

Keith laughs — cackles, really — but pulls his hand away.

“Loser. If I drove, you could distract me all you wanted and we’d still be fine.”

Lance reaches over blindly to grab Keith’s hand back, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the tops of his knuckles.

“Not a chance, babe.”

———

When they finally make it to their destination (after an hour of Keith complaining about the drive, trying to convince Lance to tell him where they’re going, and switching through every available radio station twelve thousand times before he’s satisfied), Lance throws the truck in park and practically sprints to open Keith’s door before he has the chance.

“Dork,” Keith teases, flicking him on the nose as he hops out.

Lance grins. “You love it.”

“You’ll never prove it.” He takes Lance’s offered hand, then looks around. “Where are we?”

Lance hums, carefully swinging the backpack he brought over his shoulders and tugging Keith away from the truck.

“Well, you see, my boyfriend is this massive nerd,” he starts playfully. Keith rolls his eyes, grinning.

“Nerd, you say, as if you don’t have alphabetized samples of cool rocks from every planet we’ve ever been on.”

Lance ignores the jab, plowing right on. “And because he is this massive nerd, I figured he would appreciate frolicking through the desert until we come to a decent spot, then eating this dope ass dinner I made for us —” he pats the backpack — “while watching the meteor shower that’s supposed to be visible tonight.” He grins widely at Keith’s excited gasp. “I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before a million times, but I thought it’d be nice.”

Keith says nothing, using their joined hands to yank Lance towards him and kiss him soundly.

“Sounds good to me,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Lance’s lips, his jaw, his throat.

“Keith,” Lance says, breathless. Like everything with them, this has rapidly escalated off-course.

Why are they like this, again?

“We’ve got an itinerary, babe, we’ve gotta — oh, God, do that again.”

He feels Keith’s smirk against the hollow of his throat. “Wouldn’t be the first time we messed our plans in favour of the truck bed, sugar.”

“Itinerary,” Lance tries again, weakly.

“Truck’s right there,” Keith reiterates.

Lance has a lot of discipline, okay?

But Keith is convincing. He knows exactly which buttons of Lance’s to press.

And, if Lance is being entirely honest, he loves indulging Keith as much as Keith loves indulging him.

———

Their food goes cold.

“This is your fault,” Lance says, pointing a fork at the perpetrator in question. “I had this hot and ready to eat, and you stubbornly decided to be a distraction, you dick.”

Keith is entirely unapologetic.

“There was something else that was hot and ready for me to eat,” he says, looking pointedly at Lance’s ass and grinning wolfishly.

Lance smacks the shit out of him with a pillow.

“You are a dog!”

He’s laughing, though, as he says it, so it doesn’t quite have the desired effect. Keith has no qualms with teasing him right back, either, both of them spending as much time eating as they do roasting each other.

God, Lance cannot wait to put a ring on this bitch. The meteor shower better hurry the fuck up so Lance can take them home and get down on one knee, already.

As soon as Lance thinks it, Keith gasps, grabbing Lance’s arms and pointing at the sky.

“Look! It’s starting!”

It’s slow going, at first, barely one flash of light every five minutes, but eventually shooting stars are racing through the sky as thousands of rocks burn to nothing in Earth’s atmosphere.

Lance nudges Keith’s side. “Bet you’re wishing that Hunk brings another dozen eggs to the next diplomatic meeting to throw at people when they say stupid things.”

“There’s no way you knew that!” Keith protests immediately. “I must have spoken out loud!”

“Nope! I just know you, baby.”

“Well, I bet you wished that Allura and Veronica will finally kiss this month so you win the betting pool!”

They spend the rest of the meteor shower like that — frantically shouting out what they think the other wished after each star that shoots by. They’re both right a good half of the time, too.

It makes something warm and fiery ignite in Lance’s belly, to have someone who knows him so deeply. Without even talking about it.

It’s the best thing Lance could possibly wish for.

———

By the time the meteor shower ends, they’ve eaten their food, and it’s something like three in the morning. Keith yawns every few minutes, and doesn’t even bother with the radio on the way home, simply resting his head on the window and closing his eyes for a while. He doesn’t fall asleep — his hand is tangled with Lance’s, and his thumb runs constant lines over the backs of his knuckles — but he’s too tired to be fully awake, either.

Not Lance. Lance feels like he’s buzzing, the breeze from his cracked-open window the only thing keeping him from going supernova. He’s so excited he can barely breathe.

When they finally get home, Lance rushes again to open Keith’s door, who grins tiredly at him and presses a kiss to his cheek before following him inside. Lance takes a deep breath before opening the door, stepping quickly to the alcove and grabbing the ring from his pocket as Keith walks in.

Aaaannd… right past him.

Lance’s jaw drops. Keith is so tired he doesn’t even notice the newly decorated alcove, or even Lance — he simply walks to the kitchen with their picnic supplies. Lance hears him hum as he starts to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher, their leftovers in the fridge.

“Lance, babe,” he calls, “do you care if I eat the last of the pan frito? It’s better fresh.”

Lance glances down at the ring. He barely holds himself back from cackling with laughter, because of course Keith is so distracted that he didn’t even notice Lance down on one knee.

“How about you come in here for a second, first?” Lance responds, voice shaking with amusement.

“What? No, come here if you want some! I’ll share, but I just mopped the floor yesterday, I don’t want to get crumbs all over it.”

“Keith,” Lance tries again, “come here for a goddamn second, will ya?”

“Alright, Jesus,” Keith grumbles. In what Lance assumes to be spite, he takes a couple minutes, before he finally turns the corner and sees Lance for the first time.

His freezes, the dishtowel he was carrying flutters to the ground.

“L-Lance? What’s going — what —”

“I have a question for you, sweetheart,” Lance says. He grins teasingly. “Would’ve asked earlier, but you walked right by me.”

“Oh my God.”

“You paying attention, now?”

“Oh my God!”

Before Lance can blink, Keith rushes forward, tackling Lance to the ground and pressing kisses all over his face; anywhere he can reach.

“Yes! Yes! Yes —”

Lance sets the ring in his lap so he can grab Keith’s frantic, fluttering hands.

“I haven’t even asked yet, babe.”

“Well, get to it!”

Lance snorts, but complies. “Keith Kogane,” he says, smile softening and gaze steady. “Will you marry me?”

Keith laughs, holding his left hand out to Lance, his right hand wiping the tears that have dropped down his cheeks.

“Yes, Lance McClain, I will marry you,” he chokes out. Lance grins brightly as he slides the ring up Keith’s fourth finger. The second the ring is in place, Keith smashes their mouths together, knocking Lance flat on his back.

He doesn’t mind.

It’s way better than a traditional proposal, anyway.

———

based on this video (ninth slide)

[readychilledwine]

For Richer or Poor

Summary - Rhiannon and Rhys struggle with finding each other the perfect solstice gift

Warnings - smut, angst, virginity loss

A/n- this started as angst and fluff and kind of took on a mind of its own.. I apologize for the delay on getting it posted. Miss Sophia has had a mind of her own the past couple days so I've been a little busy forgetting to queue things ❤️ baby daddy's scheduling is now back in place, though.

Peep Requiem for a Dream here

“I don't understand why you are putting so much pressure on one gift,” Azriel stroked Rhiannon's back as she cried. “Rhys loves you, not any materialistic thing you could buy him.” Rhiannon broke down again, back shaking with each heavy sob.

That was the issue. She could not buy him anything. When her father had thrown her to Azriel's feet and abandoned her with her older Brother, he had left her with nothing but the clothing on her bloodied back.

She had no money.

No title.

Nothing she could gift Rhysand for their first Solstice together.

She couldn't even bake him anything nor cook him a dinner. Not unless the two young fae wanted to undergo a Mating Ceremony.

She had little to offer him while he gave her the world. Constsntly showering Her in gifts from Velaris and any court his father would force him to visit.

From teas and treats to lavish clothing, Rhiannon had it all, but she never had the ability to pay it back.

Rhys and his mother walked the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He was carrying the many bags she had accumulated as she shopped for him, Cassian, Azriel, his sister, and now Rhiannon.

Rhys was struggling with gifts for the latter. He had spoiled Rhiannon so much over the past year, and he was lost in what to get the female he'd hand the world.

“What about just something simple? A necklace? A bracelette?” His mother wrapped a Hand around his bicep. “She enjoys blankets. Perhaps a soft new blanket.”

Rhys stared straight ahead. “Nothing says I love you and want to spend the rest of my days with you like a shitty last minute blanket, mother.” He sighed, knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing his father would have his head.

He allowed his mom to pull him into the finest jeweler in the market. “Just do it, Rhysand. We will hide it until we can't anymore.”

Rhys held Rhiannon tight that night. Refusing to let Her go near the small tree his mother was placing presents under. They had been friends for 4 years now, knew they were mates for one year, and had spent that year courting. They had done nothing more but laid in his bed together, kissing and her hands slightly exploring at times while his roamed every inch of her frame like he was making a map.

He had never pushed her into sex, never asked for more than just her love and kisses, but he knew that small box under the tree would change everything. She had wanted to wait for marriage, a tradition drilled into her head through years of beatings from her step mother and Father.

And now, in just 12 short hours, after his Mother, Azriel, and Cassian left for the party being thrown in the Mead Hall, Rhysand would be asking her for her hand.

He placed a few soft kisses along her neck, smiling as she snuggled in closer to him with a small twitch of her lips. Just a few more hours, he told himself.

Solstice morning was filled with laughter and joy. The males having partook in yet another snowball fight as Rhiannon spent the morning in the kitchen helping with what little she could without triggering a mating frenzy.

She, Azriel, and Cassian had exchanged their homemade gifts without the presence of the High Lord's family, the three of them tucked into the boy's room as they exchanged homemade treats. They all couldn't afford much, so these small things had become their tradition. Something they could gather ingredients and supplies for a fairly cheap and make with love and effort.

They did the same for Rhysand's family, showing their gratitude for his mother's choice to pull the three of them into their home. Azriel and Cassian traded gifts with Rhysand while Rhiannon had to wait.

Anxiousness Had set into the pit of her stomach as she got dressed this morning. Rhysand's mother had taken gentle care, braiding her long dark hair, making sure her nails were trimmed and clean, that her hands were oiled and moisturized.

She had ensured Rhiannon had been gifted a fine set of oils and lotions along with a pretty lacy outfit she had hand made for “when the time felt right.”

The evening came quickly, prompting Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand's mother to leave the cabin, heading to the Mead Hall for celebrations and leaving the two mates completely alone.

Rhys had her between his legs, Tucked into his chest tight and placing small kisses along her temple and hairline. “I'm sorry I'm keeping you away from the camp party,” Rhys tilted her head up. “I just wanted time alone with you.”

Rhiannon smiled softly. “If you think I'd rather spend a single moment in that hall with those males, you truly underestimate my love for you.”

“I thought we could talk about that,” Rhysand began softly. “About love and us.” Rhys sat her up, hiding the small black box behind him. “You know I love you, right?”

The falling look on her face had Rhysand back pedaling Watching in horror as she moved away from him and sat down in the opposite couch.

He moved to her instantly, grabbing her soft small hands. “I already fucked that up,” he muttered taking a deep breath. “What I mean is, I do love you, and I hope I have made that clear and obvious.”

He took a deep breath, pausing to kiss her left hand. “I have loved you long before the Bond snapped, and I would love you regardless of it being in place. From the moment Azriel carried you in the doorway begging mother for help, I felt drawn to you.”

Another long pause came as he kissed each knuckle on her hand. “I knew I loved you the moment you took down a male, not knowing he was one of Devlon's bastard Sons and beat the shit out of him for grabbing you. I knew I loved you when I pulled you off of him and went back to fight. I knew I loved you as you sat holding Ice to your lip getting lectured by mother and simply said, “let the camp lord know I'll do it again.” I knew I loved you because of your spark, your fight.”

Rhiannon looked away, hiding her amusement. “So you knew You loved me when it turned out I was violent.”

“You are a violent, murderous, little creature,” Rhysand purred softly, trying to hide the lust in his tone. “And I stupidly love every single ounce of it. I love your eyes when you see something that makes you happy. I love how you pout when I don't give you whatever you want-”

“I do not pout,” Rhys smirked at her, thumb going to her pouty bottom lip.

“Oh yes you do, Darling.” He kissed her gently. “I want to spend my life with you. Learning all the other things I can love. Growing to love the things I already do more.”

Before Rhiannon could respond and process what was happening, Rhys was on one knee before her, an open ring box in hand. “It would be a long engagement, Rhiannon Darling, but will you marry me?”

All she could do was nod, crying as she threw herself Into his arms, holding him tight. “I presume that is a yes?”

Rhiannon nodded before pulling him to her and kissing him deeply. It did not take long for that kiss to become more passionate. Rhys was on top of her in an instant, resting between her legs as they wrapped around his waist, hairs tangling into her long dark hair.

Her own hands found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them quickly and pushing it down his shoulders. Once the material was no longer there, Rhiannon began to run her hands over every exposed piece of skin. Nails and fingertips gently brushing some areas while other areas were squeezed.

The second those legs, those damned legs, wrapped around his waist, Rhys knew her intentions. He pulled apart from her, almost chuckled as she whined softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathy as she tried to get him closer, nodding eagerly in confirmation.

Rhys got off the couch, lifting her With him as he did and carried her to her room. “I refuse to let your first time be on a couch instead of a bed,” he laid her down, smiling ferally as he did.

It was teasingly slow, removing her from her clothing, smiling as she laid Naked below him, dark hair spread out around her head like a halo. “So beautiful, darling.” Rhys placed soft kisses along her jawline, whispering to her as his fingers trailed every curve.

Her skin was on fire from every pass, every gentle caress, every touch she'd never experienced before. The second his tongue flicked Her nipple, a whine she'd never heard from herself tumbled from plush parted lips. “So sensitive,” Rhys muttered before licking and sucking her breast while his hand played with the other one. Once he was satisfied, he freed her nipple with a soft pop Before switching sides.

Rhiannons' back arched more cries falling from her lips as her hands tangled in his soft hair. “Please,” she whimpered, thighs clenching together as wetness and heat pooled between them. “Rhysand, please.”

He tutted her softly, mouth returning to hers. “You'll take what I give you, when I give it to you,” another harsher kiss had her whimpering. “Understood, darling?”

“Yes, husband,” the word spurred something primal in Rhysand. Eyes going dark with lust and need.

Since that bond had snapped, all he had wanted was to be hers, for her to be his in return, and now he was taking it. He was stealing this opportunity. Rhys kissed down her body again, growling when he finally hit her core. “So fucking pretty.”

He gave her no warning, diving into her cunt like a man starved. Rhiannon quickly became a mess of moans and cries. The foreign feeling he was bringing her was unmatched to anything she had made herself feel before.

She knew Rhysand was a talented lover, having laid in bed late at night hearing him with the few females he would bring home before they had gotten together, before the Bond snapped, but this was unimaginable.

It was messy. Tongue spreading and taking slick as he lapped at her entrance and clit.

It was hot. Sweat forming on both of their bodies as the room grew warmer and warmer, as panting took the place of stable breaths.

It was raw passion. Each lick, nudge, moan a measurement moment. Each tightening of her core, of her stomach twisting causing more drive as she pushed it down the bond to him.

It took minutes that felt like seconds for her to fall apart on his tongue, that coil snapping as she screamed his name and stars took place of her vision.

Rhys kissed her clit before moving back up her body, hand replacing his tongue and fingers running through her folds. “You taste divine,” his lips found hers, tongue going into her mouth to share his new favorite wine with her. “I could spend days between your beautiful thighs, Rhiannon.”

He was distracting her, praising Her with soft kisses and words. When he finally felt his finger was wet enough, he slowly pushed it in, watching her face as her breath hitched and eyes rolled back.

“Relax, little mate,” he whispered. “I have you.” He moved agonizingly slow, forehead resting On hers as her breathing picked up again. He smiled as her walls relaxed, Welcoming his finger deeper into her warmth. “There we go. Doing such a good job, darling.”

Rhiannon had her eyes locked shut, mouth opened to a soft o as she felt that coil begin to wind itself up again. She could feel Rhysand's eyes on her, his spare hand tracing her cheekbone As a second finger entered her, stretching her out more to prepare her for him.

Rhys seemed to be on a mission. His fingers were curling, scissoring, searching. It was obvious when he found what he was looking for. He watched as his mate took a deep breath, back arched again, and then a Loud moan of his name fell from swollen lips. He felt his stomach stirring with male pride as he Began to aim over and over for that same spot, feeling wave after wave of her arousal and pleasure shooting down the bond.

He had her pulled apart within seconds again. The pride of it all shot straight to his ego.

His beautiful little mate.

Folding for him Over and over again.

Rhys kissed her deeply, deciding she was ready and pulled his fingers out. “Last Chance to tell me to stop, Rhiannon.” Rhys' forehead found hers again, going into her mind to find any doubt. Instead he found love, contentment, need, lust. Her thoughts were clouded and occupied by him. His scent, his intelligence, his voice. His own clothes were long forgotten, slick soaked hand moving to coat himself before lining up with her. “Tell me it hurts and we stop.” She nodded, hands going to his biceps as her hazel eyes met his.

Rhys pushed in slowly, watching her like a hawk. Her nails dug into his arms, almost spurring him on As she whimpered softly underneath him. He stopped as she tensed up, gently stroking her hair, “You have to relax, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” Rhiannon, done with teasing and wanting this part over With, wrapped her legs Around his waist, forcing him in deeper with a gasp. Rhys growled, burying his head into her neck as his self control slowly began to disappear. He pushed in the rest of the way, groaning as her soft walls hugged him.

They sat like that for a few seconds, allowing her to relax further, to adapt to the intrusion. “Rhys, please,” she begged. “Gods please move.” He was lost in the haze of her, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and setting a soft rhythm. Their hands found each other, fingers lacing together as he made love to her, hitting that perfect spot every time he reentered her body. “I love you,” he whispered and smiled as she said it back.

“Faster,” she panted. Rhys felt his smile go feral. His speed picked up, watching as her breasts bounced. His free hand found her hip, squeezing the side of her ass as he took her.

Their joint pleasure was building quickly as they freely sent it to each other down the bond. Rhys could feel himself nearing that edge and brought his fingers to her clit. “Need you to cum, Rhi,” he almost begged her for it. His Fingers began to circle that bud, watching through heavy eyes as she began chanting his name over and over again, walls fluttering and clenching around him. “Need to feel you fall apart on my cock, little wife.”

That word.

That precious word.

The word that made this all okay in her mind was her undoing.

The idea of being his wife. His mate. His everything.

She shattered around him, crying for him and screaming his name as she came. She saw the heavens behind her eyes as she pulled him closer, mind lost in the feeling of him, the smell of him, the need for him.

Rhys tumbled over the edge seconds later, moaning her name loudly as did.

The room that had previously echoed with the sound of her slick, skin making contact, of their moans was now silent. Breathing the only thing indicating life was still there. Rhys pulled Out of her slowly, picking her up the second he was stable on his own feet and carrying her to the bathroom.

He bathed her as she slept in his arms, his own mind still processing that this had finally happened.

She woke up the next morning, ring on her finger to the sound of Cassian egging on a fight. Rolling her eyes, Rhiannon left her bed, Walking to the kitchen and joining Rhysand's mother at the table for coffee. “How long?” She asked.

Amara looked at Rhys and Azriel, watching as the shadowsinger landed another punch. “About 10 minutes. Should be done soon. Let's talk wedding dresses.”

Rhiannon smiled, leaning her head on Amara’s shoulder. “Happy solstice, mom.”

“Happy solstice, Rhi.”

[lizzybeth1986]

Laylat al-Henna

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kiara Theron x Hana Lee

Word Count: 1, 882 words

Summary: It's the night before Kiara and Hana's wedding! What fun things do Kiara's cousins from Fes have in store for their henna night?

A/N: You'll find details and visuals on the fashion and henna designs (as well as faceclaims for the OCs!) in this post.

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 1: Culture, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW/LGBTQ Archive, @choicespride as well even though it may be a bit early for the pride event.

It is tradition - Kiara has been told over and over, wedding after wedding, from the time she was twelve - for a woman to have her bridegroom's name hidden in the designs of her henna.

Their families back in Fes would make a game of it on their wedding night; the groom could touch his bride only when he found his name, tiny and dark and perfect - leaving the most beautiful stain on her palms.

At least four (well...three, really) of those cousins had giggled over how it all went down at their own wedding nights. Nour's henna had her husband's name written in extremely small print, squirreled away among a row of curls. Imane's flowed along the curves of a large, floral paisley. Nissrine's husband was rumoured to have taken hours searching for his name in her henna and poor Fatimazahra's collapsed into an eight-hour slumber before he could even truly try.

All four of them laughed even harder when they were told that Kiara would be marrying a woman.

At first Kiara assumed it had to be the fun of celebrating two brides rather than just one. Double the joy, double the dancing, double the bridal henna!

Should've known better, Kiara mutters to herself as her eyes search frantically for telltale signs of calligraphy along the darkened vines on Hana's palm.

She almost lets out a triumphant yell when she catches a lovingly inscribed kaaf, deceptively mirroring the vines. That's before she realises the other four letters are scattered in Arabic all over Hana's palm.

Kiara purses her lips, immensely annoyed. Why did she think this to be so romantic in the first place?

"Oh!" Hana whispers in delight, "Look! I've found mine." Her finger lightly traces the soft skin underneath Kiara's little finger, caressing the spot where her own name is inscribed, in Mandarin....as a whole word. Her eyes sparkle in childlike glee.

Kiara manages to catche an alif peeking out from behind a flower on the soft skin just below Hana's thumb. She lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head.

Perhaps she should thank every deity of every faith that her parents' gave her a name as short as Kiara. Imagine her plight if it had been as long as Fatimazahra's, zut alors.

"My darling cousins," she says, her eyes still roaming over Hana's palms. Now...now she understands all those hearty cackles Nour seemed to be making, at the idea of arranging a henna party for two women. "Elles me conduiront à ma tombe!"

--

Every woman at the henna party in Castelserraillan that night shared very knowing grins as Kiara and Hana entered - completely blissed out, skin dewy and aglow, a mixture of a french lavender scent and the earthy aroma of ghassoul clay emanating from their bodies.

They'd been brought into the hall like princesses of old, carried in jewelled palanquins, dressed in caftans and takchitas whose golden threads reflected the soft light of the hall, the candles that seemed to receive their own henna treatment in tones of pink, purple and rose gold, and their light glowed softly in trays of pure gold.

Having experienced the joys of the pre-henna night hammam baths themselves, most of Kiara's aunts and cousins could tell how good the treatments must have been within the first ten minutes of a bride entering the ceremony.

Beneath her golden veil, Kiara's eyes roamed around the hall, in awe of the sheer love and detail that must have gone into planning this party alone. Both women being daughters to a multitude of cultures meant that Kiara and Hana had to pay their respects to several of their homes - Bethulia. Castelserraillan. Udvada. Orleans. Fes. Shanghai. Cordonia. - in different ceremonies, and include a multitude of relatives.

Which meant that Kiara's aunts and cousins knew this night was their moment to shine.

Hana was whisked to another corner of the room before Kiara could even get a chance to speak to her - a bevy of ladies already surrounding her to fulfill requests, give her mint tea, admire the henna's artist's craft or just for a small chat. Anything and everything Hana wanted. Tonight (and this was exactly how Kiara wanted it) Hana was going to be treated like a queen.

From under her lashes, Kiara sneaked a look at Hana. The woman she would call her wife tomorrow. Listening, nodding, her silken brown hair catching the glow of the lights as she threw her head back at a joke her aunt Hala said.

"If you stare any harder you'll bore a hole in the wall behind her," Nissrine came to her, grinning as she followed Kiara's gaze. She looked around the hall, slightly doubtful. "How did we do?"

Kiara laughed, placing her free hand on her cousin's arm, reassuring her with the word they would all use to describe something as beautiful. "Zwina."

Fatimazahra - who had been minding the caterers this whole time - seemed to appear out of nowhere, chukling. "Tomorrow is her wedding night. Of course everything will be zwina. The macroute will be zwina, her henna will be zwina, her wife will be the most zwina."

Kiara moved her gaze from Hana to her own palms, admiring the naqasha's speed and precision. The henna felt cool on her left palm, the designs on her arms already beginning to dry a little and the paste itself smelling pleasant and earthy - the way real henna should.

The naqasha - an experienced henna artist from their hometown whose team had become popular among the family circles for their vast knowledge of different henna styles (Indian, Pakistani, Khaleeji, Fassi, Marrakechi, Meknessi, Saharawi - you name it) - had finished making a beautiful dome at the centre of Kiara's palm, and was now referring to a tiny piece of paper Imane seemed to have given her before carefully writing out Méihuā - the name Hana's paternal family often used for her - in Hànzì script.

Kiara smiles mistily as she watches Soraya, the naqasha, labour over each character of the script, making sure she never got a single line or slant wrong. Hana often told her that that name reminded her of happier times, far more than her own birth name did. It meant plum blossom - the flower that grew fragrant and resilient in the snow, China's national flower. Her Năinai's favourite flower.

And over the past year...she'd begun to answer to it a little more too.

Kiara mouthed a silent "thank you" to Imane as she sauntered to her side, looking very pleased with herself.

"Wonderful work, Soraya," she patted the naqasha lightly on her shoulder, "What oils did you add in the henna paste this time?"

"Tea tree, geranium and lavender," Soraya said, smiling, "She can hold her hands in front of some herbal incense later. A lovely rich colour and the scent will be incredible."

"Ohhh...what a deep stain it'll leave behind when the henna comes off!" Imane looked back at Kiara, winking. "Remember what our aunts used to tell us, Kiara? The darker the stain of the henna, the deeper the essence of his love. Or her's, in this case."

Kiara was grateful for her golden veil as heat creeped up her neck. Maman loved that adage, ever since her own wedding where - if Kiara's aunts were to be believed - her henna deepened to a dark, rich brown without even holding her hands to a brazier like everyone else did.

Kiara always liked to call herself a practical woman. But this didn't stop her from dreaming of showing Hana her palms, rich and deep brown from both henna and their love.

"Is Hana liking her designs?" Kiara asked Imane.

"Iyyeh," Imane nodded. "Soraya's girls have really outdone themselves. Indian designs are usually very elaborate, but Hana wanted something simple, a little floral."

She gave Kiara a wolfish grin, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I think you're going to love it."

Kiara narrowed her eyes at Imane. She knew that look. It was the kind she would give all her cousins when, as children, she was about to do skin her knees climbing the branches of a fig tree.

Kiara was going to open her mouth to ask what Imane had in mind, when the low, deep strains of the guembri rang throughout the room.

It was Nissrine's younger sister Nour, closing her eyes in reverence and plucking the strings of the family guembri - a legacy from her father, a renowned Gnawa master himself. The guembri had been in the family for generations, itself decorated with henna patterns so intricate it would amaze even the best of naqashas.

As the women in her family got up to dance to "Toura Toura", a song Kiara would listen to and relish in 12 hour lilas every year in Fes (singing in Bambara - a language neither she nor her cousins truly understood but loved to hear), she found herself somehow dancing next to the woman she had been craving to see for the last few hours.

"Well, hello there," Kiara said, sneaking a kiss to Hana's cheek.

Hana giggled. "Fancy running into you."

They danced until their feet were sore, until their eyes begged for sleep, until their henna dried - leaving behind a stain that was a deep, dark, rich brown.

--

"They did that on purpose!" Kiara huffs, ten minutes after she has triumphantly shown Hana the final letter - the rāy curling at the base of her wrist. "They were planning to annoy and vex me this entire time. If they were here right now I'd tell them to go cook themselves an egg."

For all her grumbling, however, Kiara was quite overjoyed. She had hoped that her extended family in Fes would adore Hana just as much as she did, that they would love her and pamper her silly. They went above and beyond; they made Hana's first real experience of Morocco practically unforgettable.

It was. In every sense of the word. Even if that involved secretly pulling Kiara's leg.

Hana pouts, her fingers still tracing the name on Kiara's palm. "I wish they scattered letters for me too. Seems like more of a challenge." She shifts a little more into Kiara's arms, turning her gaze to her own palms. "Not that I don't love your henna already. It's gorgeous; look at these curls in the center! They remind me of a compass rose."

Hana runs her fingers purposefully along the length of Kiara's body. She presses five tiny kisses along her face.

"A kiss for each letter," she hums happily against Kiara's skin, "A just reward for your hard work."

Laughter bubbles in Kiara's throat. "Only five?"

"Kiara Yasmine Thorne," Hana's voice takes on a raspy, sultry quality, "Don't be greedy."

"Ma moitie," she whispers back, "I believe tonight's the one night when greed is allowed."

Hana bites her lower lip to stem her own laughter, then lets her lips roam free over Kiara's face.

"Fine, then," Hana huffs in mock-petulance, only too happy to go along with the joke, "Eighteen kisses it is."

Kiara buries her hands in Hana's hair as she breathes in the fragrance from between her shoulder and neck. "I won't mind if you give me more...but alright. Eighteen's a start."

Translation -

Darija:

Kaaf (ك), yaa (ي), alif (ا)(twice), rāy (ر) are the isolated letters that - I think - will form Kiara's name in Arabic. I believe that it may look somewhat like this (كيارا) when written as one word, but the letters are meant to be scattered around Hana's henna just to tease Kiara.

Ghassoul/Rhassoul clay - a type of clay that some people use as a cosmetic product for their skin and hair. It’s a brown clay only found in a valley in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. The term “rhassoul” comes from an Arabic word that means “to wash.” Typically used in hammam baths.

Zwina - a compliment, literal meaning is beautiful or good.

Macroute - a diamond shaped sweet cookie filled with dates and nuts or almond paste.

Naqasha - Henna artist

Guembri - a three stringed skin-covered bass plucked lute used by the Gnawa people

Lila - a rich ceremony in the Gnawa community, of song, music, dance, costume, and incense that takes place over the course of an entire night, ending around dawn. Learn more here.

Toura Toura - Popular Gnawa song. Here is a version by Innov Gnawa.

French:

zut alors - an expression of annoyance, like saying "darn!" or "damn!", mostly used in non-serious instances.

Elles me conduiront à ma tombe! - They will lead me to my grave!

Va te faire cuire un œuf! - Literally, "go cook yourself an egg!". An expression of annoyance, similar to "go take a hike!" or "leave me alone!"

[ladychota]

Masked Love

Pairing - Loki x Female Reader

Warnings - None, just fluff really (but lmk if you want me to add something)

Summary - You attend an Asgardian masquerade ball and meet a man who immediately piques your interest.

Word Count - 1.2k

Masterlist

The mask lies heavy on your face, its feathers tickling your temples and the jewels irritating your skin. You wish for nothing more than to take it off, but what's the point in a masquerade ball if you don't wear a mask? 

Besides, you're rather looking forward to the anonymity. Being able to go to a royal ball without fear of being judged for your social class or looked down upon for your family's status.

Your heels clack against the marble floors, each tile polished so much you can see your face in them. Your dress follows you like a loyal dog, the hem brushing your ankles delicately. The hallways are lit by hundreds of thousands of candles - some wall mounted, others hanging from the ceiling in stunning chandeliers; all emit a warm, welcoming glow. Guards stand both sides of every doorway, a spear clutched tightly in one hand while the other holds a round shield embellished with the Asgardian crest.

You hurry past them, excitement bubbling inside you as you walk through the huge, golden doors into the ballroom.

It's filled to the brim with people, each and every one of them in glittering ballgowns or slim, satin pieces; fine tuxedoes or traditional Asgardian robes. The room is alive with chattering and drinking, the air filled with the melodic sounds of laughter intertwining with music.

Walking down the stairs, you can't seem to take your eyes off the scene: it's picturesque, to say the least. You wander over to the side, watching as couples move to the centre of the ballroom, the orchestra beginning to play.

It feels magical.

You sigh and tear yourself away, heading towards the buffet as you wonder when you'll get a chance to do that. Perhaps you should go speak to someone, ask if they'd give you a dance. But, then again, you're not sure if you could deal with the rejection.

The buffet table is huge and filled to the brim with delicacies and foods you've never before seen. You're slightly overwhelmed at the choice, not sure what you should try and what you should ignore.

But then something catches your eye. Correction: someone.

A little ways across the table, a man stands holding some sort of half-eaten tart, his piercing green eyes set on you. Although, he doesn't look at you in a way that suggests he means harm; it's more of a soft look. You offer him a smile and continue searching the table, attempting to find something that looks tasty.

Your eyes - for some reason - land on the man again, your cheeks heating up at the realisation he's still looking right back at you. He points to his tart then brings a hand to his mouth, making the motion of a chef's kiss. You can't help the grin that plasters itself on your face.

Scanning the table once more, you spot something that looks rather like the pastry he's holding. You lift it up, point at it and tilt your head slightly, silently asking if it's the right one. He nods.

You take a bite, your eyes widening at how tasty it is. It's sweet, but not so sweet that it's sickly. The pastry is buttery and flaky and perfect in every way. The man grins as you nod in agreement.

The music stops and everyone starts to clap; you quickly finish the pastry and join in, listening to someone announcing the next dance. In your distracted state of trying to peer over the heads of way too many people to see if anything interesting has happened, you lose sight of the man.

You turn around, searching for him; perhaps he hasn't gone far. Perhaps, if you find him, you could talk to him properly. Or perhaps he's gone to dance with his partner. You sigh, but jump when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Apologies, I did not intend to scare you, my lady," Your eyes meet with the piercing green ones you'd been searching for, his thin lips curved into a soft smile. He wears a plain, black, satin mask and green robes decorated with gold. His hair is long and midnight black; you can't see his face but you're already swept away at how stunning he is.

"Do not fret, I was merely distracted," You smile. "Oh, and thank you for the recommendation. It really was delicious,"

"It's no problem at all, they just so happen to be my favourite,"

The announcer once more signals the end of the dance and the beginning of a new one, inviting people to the centre of the ballroom.

The man grins, holding out a single hand and bowing slightly. "Would you care to have this dance, my lady?"

Your stomach flips and your heart flutters as you slide your hand hesitantly into his. His hold is gentle as he leads you to the centre of the ballroom, sliding his arm around your waist.

The music begins and you're whisked around the ballroom, your skirt swirling around your ankles and your body pressed flush against his. You seem to lose track of your surroundings as you step in time to the music, falling head over heels into his beautiful green eyes.

His moves are graceful yet precise, his grip firm as he sweeps you to the floor and back up to your feet. Your breath comes in short, quiet, unbelieving gasps, a smile seeming to be permanently stuck to your face.

The dance finishes far too quickly for your liking, the last note of the music playing as you sweep into a final, deep curtsy. Applause erupts around you, bringing you back to reality as you stand and take the man's hand once more. He pulls you in close, whispering in your ear:

"How would you feel about going to the gardens?"

He pulls away as you murmur: "I'd like that,"

He smiles and pulls you from the ballroom, weaving through the crowd and taking you into the moonlit gardens. 

As soon as you come to a stop, a single note of laughter falls from your lips. "That was the best thing I've ever done, thank you,"

"No, thank you, my lady. It truly was wonderful," He replies, his hand still clutching yours.

You smile at each other for a moment, butterfly wings tickling your insides.

"Say, I never caught your name," He acknowledges, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it softly.

"Well, would that not defeat the point of a masquerade?" You answer, feeling your cheeks beginning to burn from his gesture. "But, if you must know, it's Y/n,"

"Y/n... a pretty name for a pretty woman. I am Loki, it's lovely to meet you,"

"And you also, Loki,"

He reaches up and brushes a hair behind your ear. He cups your cheek and leans in, stopping only a breath away from your face.

"May I?" He murmurs.

"You may,"

At your words, he finally closes the gap, pressing the sweetest of kisses to your lips. Just like the dance, it ends much too soon.

His demeanour seems to change as his eyes land on something behind you. You turn around to see a muscular man with blonde hair beckoning him over.

"I fear I must go," He sighs, seeming to sag. "Though I wish to never leave you,"

You smile, brushing a hand across his face. "It's alright. Go, we shall see each other again,"

Loki takes a breath, looking between you and the man before his face lights up. "Do you know of Stargazing Hill?"

"Of course,"

"May I meet you there tomorrow at sundown?"

Your grin grows wider - if that is even possible. "I'd love that,"

"Me too," He chuckles softly.

"But no masks, alright?"

Loki nods. "I look forward to seeing you fully, my beautiful lady."

[brandwhorestarscream]

Imperial harem au

so how does the first meeting between starscream and his harem go?

Simple: it doesn't 🤭

Starscream is very against the idea and is definitely dragging his feet. Usually he thrives on attention, and you'd think he'd be all over the idea of schmoozing with a bunch of wealthy and well-bred beauties desperately clamoring for his attention and trying to seduce him.

But no. Starscream may be a narcissistic and he does love attention, but this Starscream is incredibly young compared to the one we know in canon. He's fresh out of school, has just graduated with his first degree. The closest thing he's ever had to a real relationship is Skyfire, and that whole thing is messy, to say the least, due to Vosian politics. He's not in any rush to give himself to anyone, not only because he's young and inexperienced and wants to be strategic about it, but because it feels so completely objectifying. Dehumanizing, if you will. One of those concubines is going to be his future trine mate, whether he likes it or not, and he's dreading it. He doesn't know these people. He can't stand the idea of spending the rest of his life tied to a couple strangers that will only be using him for the position of royalty for the rest of his life. And he has to touch them to do it? No thank you. This Starscream is so wet behind the ears and has been so dedicated to his studies he's not even had his first time yet. He wants it to happen naturally, wants it to be with someone that'll make it feel good physically and emotionally.

So, he's not exactly jumping for joy when the day comes for the ceremony to be performed, to welcome the contenders into the palace. His parents go all out, naturally: though they may be of higher rank, they're still greeting and welcoming a bunch of very important young lords and ladies as their extended guests, and the last thing they want to do is insult their families and cause turmoil. The professions are grand, palace gates and courtyard decorated with finery and dazzling lights and jewels as each one arrives, all dolled up in the finest paint and polish with an entourage of attendants handpicked from their less fortunate relatives, being led by the head trine of their aerie coming to present them.

Starscream is naturally posted with the Winglord and his trine as the offerings arrive; each and every one is clearly well loved and doted on, soft and lovely faces, plenty of jewelry and ceremonial glyphs, grace incarnate as they approach. Upon each of their forehelms they're marked with the titles they have been awarded, traditionally indicating which house they hail from. The Peaceful, Vigorous, Wise, Protective, and Gilded Consorts. The final one is the only one he pays any attention to, presented from the noble house second only in power to his own. The beloved grandson of the House of Commerce's matriarch is covered helm to thrusters in metallic golden glyphs, draped in golden chains and golden bracelets. The other concubines have their glyphs done in traditional black or white. It's quite a statement, and is rife with cheek. He sparkles and shines so brilliantly it's hard to look at him, and it's a clear statement to everyone: he's the favorite to win.

Thundercracker himself has a deadpan look on his face, optics blank and laser focused straight ahead of him, expression cold and unwavering and perfect like a lovingly sculpted statue. He's the very picture of icy cold arrogance and class, and even without his parents' say-so Starscream knows he should probably be one of the two he chooses. His House has the economy in the palm of their hand, after all, and own over half the city's assets and housing. Grand Matriarch Permafrost deeply adores him, her favorite grandchild of all, and to snub them would not bode well.

Following the welcome ceremony where he says all of but six words, "I thank you for your presence.", the concubines are taken to the inner palace's courtyard to settle in and be assigned their pavillions. Traditionally at this point the prince would go survey the goods one on one, but Starscream couldn't care less. He doesn't want to go. The sooner he sets foot in there the sooner he'll have to start performing nightly duties, and he's quietly dreading it. Being with another person seems like such a big deal and he feels vaguely nauseous at having to be touched by someone he barely knows.

He avoids it as long as he can, squirreling himself away in inconspicuous library wings to study law or mathematics or anything, really, so long as no one can say he's wasting time. He is, mind you, but at least he's doing something productive. A unique brand of procrastination, to be sure 🤭 this goes on for exactly a decacycle (10 days), before the Winglord steps in. Sternly telling him that he has to actually go see his concubines, and while a vorn may sound like a long time, conceptions can be finicky. If he wants to get to know them better before bedding them, that's fine, but in that case he needs to actually make an effort to familiarize himself. A new private rule is implemented: he has to go see each of the concubines at least once a decacycle: that's 5 days out of every 10 that he has to go visit the inner palace, effectively immediately. He's less than thrilled.

He has no idea which one to visit first, so leaves it up to chance. Tosses all five names into a random generator and decides whichever one it spits out, that's who he's going to see

...

I have already decided who he's going to visit first and the drama that ensues 🤭 any guesses owo

[ginjones]

Dreamling for the Holidays! Happy whatever you celebrate Everyone!

Christmas shopping, for Hob at least, is now a relaxed affair. It starts on the first Saturday of September, when damp leaves flutter in their burnished hues, and finishes in the zephyrs grey gales of November. This year, gift buying is punctuated with a stroll through Hyde Park, then coffee with Sarah and Marlow the dog; a brief scoot to the New Inn to fix rotas, then back to the flat for dinner and scotch and Byron’s Hebrew Melodies- ‘She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies’.

Christmas shopping is categorically not the cataclysmic disaster it was two years ago when, only a month into his fledgling power as Hope of the endless, he had naively sauntered down Oxford Street in December and was immediately bombarded with the hopes and wishes of several thousand people. From a cursory glance at their aura-space, it became clear that the majority were hellbent on receiving the most expensive version of whatever had piqued their Pavlovian response. It was all a bit sad really. A hopeful celebration reduced to consumer fodder.

 In the thrum of the crowded street, Hob had found himself omitting a quiet, internal light which searched vacantly for direction. It found none. Pulled between his function to obey the will of the people and disinclined to offer his gift to the undeserving, he had panicked, abandoned his shopping, and ran to the marginal safety of the nearest pub.

It was an experience not worth repeating.

He had seen Dream in these recent months. Usually on gilded evenings where they would walk the hillocks of Hamstead Heath, their pathway illuminated in the jewelling light of early autumn. They would talk about Hope and how Hob was feeling and Dream, in his somnolent tones would tell him stories about the heavy burden of purpose; the arduous confines of duty. Then, when Hob would place an arm around his shoulder and sigh warmly, when he would send a little of his hope out into the world around them, Dream would smile at the change in the air and talk about presence and creation and magic. And everything, once more, would seem like a gift.

It was on one of these walks that he got the idea, and the signature white box was the easiest to find.

He had found it on Ebay of all places. It wasn’t as expensive as he had imagined but expense, of course, had not been the point. The gift itself, had been harder to track down. He had found it at last in a rundown antique shop near Columbia Road. A tiny little thing, mottled with the faint impressions of distant fingerprints, its paintwork faded, its silver motif browning with age. He held it up to the light and every one of its stories solidified and sang out. It was perfect. In pencil drawn font, the price read £12.

The shop owner, Sebastian Rossi, had not been home to visit his sister in 8 years. She grew tomatoes in her garden and played backgammon on Sundays and called Sebastian ‘piccolo leone’ even after all these years. Hob smiled at Sebastian and gave him £50.

He had hidden the gift in his flat for weeks on the off-chance Dream might make a surprise visit. He did in fact, several times, and Hob had been mindful to divert his attentions away from the little white box and the gift it contained. Hob had found, much to his chagrin, that his daydreams were still very much on display despite his ascension to endless. It was however, much easier now to simply hope them away, when Hob could physically see the threads of thought forming. Pass a hand over the opalescent swirl and sweep it gently from the air, fold it up and tuck the remnants away in his pocket.

Gift giving was not a tradition when he was growing up. Gifts, or any items not made for the sheer purpose of living and surviving, were few and far between. Instead, gifts came in the form of the first blush of springtime, when winter frost melted, and wild garlic bloomed. Or in the first mouthfuls of summer fruits and plentiful game, that made children plumper and bellies full.

Between 1851 and 1858 Hob, fresh off a successful investment in Singer sewing machines, had rented a house in Regent’s Park and employed the services of two maids. He had enjoyed treating them to the fancier linens when Boxing Day came around and would dutifully send out for orders of pink lace and taffeta.

And now here it was finally. Christmas Eve 2022 and Dream was sitting in the warm light of his living room, the only entity in existence who could make a battered couch look like a regal throne. They had spent the last few hours curled up together, reading silently. Dream, a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Hob, The Black Tudors by Miranda Kaufmann.  It was a pastime they had both come to enjoy, especially as Hob’s power blossomed and their thoughts could interlink in a stream of words, allusion and metaphor. It was like reading two books at once although at first, the whole concept had been baffling. As the last page was turned, Hob placed the book down and went to fetch the gift from the cupboard in the kitchen. Returning back, he placed the little white box in Dream’s hands and curled up next to him.

“That’s for you.” Hob said, draping an arm over Dream’s shoulders and pulling him in closer.  “It’s just a little thing. I know you don’t celebrate Christmas or Yule or whatever, but I just thought you deserved something. So…”

“A gift for me?” Dream answered, in a soft tone that sounded like the ebb of the sea on a clear, crisp day. His finger traced over the golden embossment on the top of the box. “Pandora” he continued; confusion etched on his features for the briefest of seconds before Dream’s face lit up from within at the story beginning to form. He looked back to Hob and then, in a display of feigned dramatics, opened the box tentatively and peered inside. With careful movements, as if what lay inside was as precious as hope itself, Dream picked up the little dove ornament with its decorative band of silver stars and laid it gently in the palm of his hand.

“Got it in an antique shop.” Hob said “Like I said, it’s just a silly little thing but it’s supposed to represent…”

“You,” replied Dream in wonderment.  “The only thing that remained in Pandora’s box…”

“Was Hope.” Hob finished, smiling.  “The silver stars are you though. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, the…being I’m becoming without your guidance.”

They were quiet for several moments. Dream had closed the box carefully, almost reverently, and held it along with the ornament tight to his chest. The world outside would tell its own stories in the pale moonlight of Winter. December skies are often clear and somewhere, in the unfathomable stretch of night, mortal men would glimpse the celestial journey of a shooting star.

“It is perfect.” Said Dream.

I am too busy now to write much so I just wanted to go out with a bang and dedicate this to @moorishflower and @landwriter who are leagues above me in ability and storytelling. Thank you for all the amazing content that has inspired me to work harder and write better! x

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

Day 5: Shapeshifter & Masquerade

A marriage of Spring and Autumn

(super original title, I know 😎)

@tamlinweek

Her mother told her that a masquerade ball was to be held, in honour of the marriage between Spring and Autumn. Tamlin could have laughed at the irony. So it was to be a night of secrets and lies. How fitting.

She had never thought of her shapeshifting powers as a curse, as something she would ever come to hate. But now she was trapped in her own skin, forced to remain Still when it was in her veins, her very nature to move and shift and change.

And now the day had arrived at last, where she would meet her husband to be for the very first time.

She had been shaken awake by Lady Titania at the crack of dawn to begin preparations. Still too fuzzy from sleep to argue, Tamlin had allowed herself to be moved about like a doll for her maids to paint her face and style her hair just so. Her mother’s constant needling in the background had done nothing to help her already sour mood.

Then came her gown. Length upon length of pale green spider-silk, gathered at her waist in rippling folds with hundreds of delicate, pink roses stitched all across the gown. The bodice itself was sleeveless, held up at her shoulders with delicate, twisting thorns. A chest of jewelled flowers in every hue rested on the table; heirlooms from her grandmother who had lovingly planted and nurtured the delicate blooms herself. One by one, her mother pinned them into her hair until she wore a glittering crown, perfectly befitting a demure lady of Spring.

Lady Titania squeezed her shoulders, smiling happily, “There. You look beautiful, Tamlin. If only you could wear a smile along with your gown.”

She looked up from her clasped hands, meeting her mother’s gaze in the mirror before pasting on her most saccharine smile.

Her mother tsked at her, “Your father has gone to great lengths to arrange this marriage, it would do you some good to be happy about it. The Lordling Eris is of an age to you, I’d thought you’d be happy about that.”

Her mother’s dismissive tone stoked the fire burning low in her belly, and she whirled in her seat. “It’s not his age that I’m concerned about, mother! It is this!” her hands clenched into fists, “You want to sell me into a lie! Do you even care about what I want?! What I feel?! How could you let father do this to me?! How could you let this ha-”

Faster than she could blink, her mother slapped her soundly across the cheek, then took hold of her arm and squeezed hard, pulling her upwards til they were face to face.

“Selfish, ungrateful child! You stop this right now! This marriage will do great things for our Court, for our family. The Autumn Court is traditional, still stuck in the old ways.  I will not have you jeopardise this, do you understand?” her mother shook her arm, “Do you understand?!”

All Tamlin could do was nod, her blood pounding between her ears, cheeks hot, eyes prickling.

Her mother sighed, her voice softening. “Perhaps in time, when the Lord Eris has grown to favour you more, when you have attended to him as a good, faithful wife should, you may be able to shift more freely. But for now, you must remain as you are, yes, petal?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good. Now the mask.”

It was a thing of beauty. Gold filigree in twisting patterns of thorns, dotted with delicate roses pieced together with tiny ruby fragments. It fitted perfectly to her face.

In the mirror her mother smiled.

“Perfect.”

<><><><> 

She forced her hands to lay flat on her lap as she watched the partygoers wander around the ballroom. From atop her seat on the curtained dais, Tamlin could see everything.

Her parents had truly outdone themselves. The ballroom was glowing with fae-light, garlands of flowers strewn from wall to wall. The room glittered with magic, and the air was sweet and heady with the smell of perfumed wine. She couldn’t remember a time where the room had been as full of life, so loud and magnetic. She must have sat there for hours, watching as the guests trickled in.

Finally, with a great fanfare, the Autumn delegation arrived. The High Lord Beron, his wife the Lady Freya, and their eldest son, her future husband. Lord Eris.

Where Spring Court males tended to be more powerfully built, with strong legs and thicker chests, the males of the Autumn Court were slender and lean. It was almost comical how small Lord Beron looked standing next to her father, High Lord Oberon; particularly when his cruelty was so well known. Each of the Autumn Court family were dressed in deep red velvet, three dark figures in a room full of light. Tamlin's nails bit painfully into the palms of her hands.

Her parents greeted the Autumn Court with bows and curtsies, welcoming them to Rosehall. Then they were turning towards her, their tilted faces obscured by bronze masks.

It was time.

She rose from her seat and parted the thin, gauzy curtain, descending the dais to greet her future husband. She kept her gaze locked on the floor the entire time. Her one last act of defiance before her parents. Eris bowed as she reached him.

“Lady Tamlin.”

“Lord Eris.”

She raised her head from her curtsy and was momentarily stunned.

Vivid eyes of pure sunlight gazed at her through a mask of bronze oak leaves. His hair, red as a flame hung in soft waves to just below his chin, accentuating the sharp features that were so prominent within the Autumn family. His lips curled into a smile as he offered her his hand.

“Shall we?”

Letting her skirt fall to the ground, she laid her hand in his and he kissed her knuckles, his soft lips lingering on her skin. They made their way onto the dance floor and took their positions. Eris dropped his other hand to her waist, squeezing lightly. Grudgingly, she placed her hand on his shoulder and flexed her fingers. Cauldron boil, but his shoulders were broad. She could feel him staring at her in her periphery, and she forced her fingers to still against the luxurious fabric.

The orchestra began and then they were moving, spinning across the floor. One full circle, then a second. The party goers became a colourful smear against the golden walls of the ballroom.

Eris lowered his head to her ear.

“You look lovely tonight.”

She ignored him.

“Does the lady not approve of my choice in words? Shall I say… Resplendent? Decadent? Glorious?”

Tamlin sent him a look, “There’s no need for flattery, my lord. We are to be married within the week.”

“I don’t waste time with flattery.”

“Then you are jesting me, and I despise that all the more.” She snapped.

“I speak the truth.”

She scoffed. Irritating bastard.

He grasped her hand firmly as he spun her in a perfect arc, then pulled her back to his side.

Her skin tingled where his arm encircled her, and she imagined that his fingers were scorching holes through the silk of her dress, branding her with his fire. He met her hard stare with a look of quiet consideration.

They had come to a stop on the floor and all of a sudden she could feel each coil of muscle in her body, stretched taut like the strings of her fiddle. Begging for release.

He waited there, his arms wrapped around her. Behind them, the orchestra played on.

“What in the Seven Courts are you-”

“I mean it, Lady Tamlin,” his voice was warm in her ear, “I am many things, but I will never tell you a lie.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, focused on the feeling of his warm hand on her tingling fingers, then she finally tilted her head up to look him in the eyes.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

He smiled, teeth gleaming. “I never learned how.”

 He squeezed her hand, then they were once more moving across the floor. She kept her gaze locked on the gilded walls of the room, chasing down her skittering heart. Tamlin was determined not to meet Eris’s gaze for longer than was necessary. Besides, the weight of the flowers in her hair took a constant toll on her concentration as she strained to keep the damned things from flying off of her head at every spin.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“What?”

“You were scowling most splendidly. I hope your anger isn’t aimed at me.”

“No,” she replied briskly, “What would I have to be angry about after all? It couldn’t be at the fact that I’ve heard the tales of your father’s cruelty, of your Court’s cruelty, and now you, his oldest son, wants my hand in marriage. Tell me, are you to be as cruel as your father is, or will you be a different beast completely? I am to be taken away from my home, away from everything I have ever known and forced to play your pretty little wife for the remainder of my days.” Her last words came out in a vicious hiss.

They whirled around to face each other. Her fingers held onto his arm with a deathly grip as he dipped her low. She glared up at Eris. He was not smiling now.

“Is that enough reason for you, my Lord?”

“I see.”

He fell silent then, and they continued their dance.

Turn and turn around the floor, and neither of them spoke a word.

Her blood pounded in her ears, and she felt as if the breath had been stolen from her lungs. It had felt wonderful to speak so freely. But in the time it took to make one more rotation around the floor, a chill began to seize her spine. Tamlin could almost hear her mother’s voice in her ear.

Stupid girl, allowing your temper to rule your tongue! If you feared his anger before, you have only stoked the flames higher with your thoughtless words!

Round and round her thoughts went, until she was almost completely ready to spout whatever apologies were necessary to avoid the possible torture in her future.

“Forgive me, Lady Tamlin. I had not realised how you might feel about this situation.”

“I’m… sorry?”

 “You have every reason to have fears and reservations about this marriage. I am sure that if I were in your position, I would have some as well.”

Eris squeezed her hand, his voice lowering, “I can only offer you a promise.”

“A promise? What kind?”

“I promise you that we will enter this marriage as equals. You are to be mine, and I will be entirely yours. You will have nothing to fear from me, I swear, Tamlin. If you wish to return home to Spring someday, it will be granted.”

For a long while, she could only stare at him. He was not at all what she had been expecting. She had entered this ballroom hoping that her husband wouldn’t be a cruel brute with a penchant for torture and had come out more than surprised. Coming back to herself, she realised that she had been silent for quite some time, and Eris had dropped his gaze to the ballroom floor.

“You’re not who I thought you’d be,” she said at last.

He tilted his head. “And what were you expecting?”

“I was expecting a beast.”

His eyes twinkled and she couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Oh?”

“Yes. A great hairy beast, with a dripping mouth full of blood and ugly, vicious teeth.”

He tossed his head back in a chuckle, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you so.”

Her heart pounded wildly, “You are forgiven.”

The orchestra began the final strains of the dance.

“You’re not at all what I expected either, Tamlin.”

“Dare I find out?”

“I must admit, when my parents informed me of this proposal, I hadn’t expected much. ‘A daughter of Spring’, I thought. ‘How dull’. But you,”

She moved her hands to his shoulders as he moved to take her waist, and in a single motion he was lifting her high in a half circle.

Magic pulsed through his fingertips into her skin with each burning touch. His eyes were pure light, focussed solely on her. Tamlin's fingers tightened on his shoulders as he finally set her back down, his hands hesitant to leave her waist.

“You’re bright and wild, and angry and witty. You… You have bewitched me entirely.”

Her breaths quickened, “Eris.”

Behind them, the orchestra played the final note with a flourish.

His face broke out into a devilish smile as he leaned down to kiss her hand.

“Until the wedding, Tamlin.”

Then he was gone, fading away into the bustling crowd now stepping onto the dancefloor.

Her heat beat a furious rhythm in her chest, mind devoid of all thought save for the feeling of his lips on her skin.

[writerbuddha]

Just a question. I want to make a fic about the first Jedi and his disciples before Disney gets the drop on me. I'm only familar with disney canon. What miracles are associated with the buddha and the bodhissatva and what way can I characterize the philosophy of the force in buddhist terms?

The basic idea was that the first Jedi is basically a wandering Gautama Buddha and his disciples were basically the Eight Bodhisattva. Manjushri is known for his kindness and wisdom. Guanyin is kind and compassionate. Vajrapani is strength and protection incarnate. Maitreya is prophesized to bring balance to the force. Ksitigarbha swore to save everyone in the galaxy no matter how evil and no matter what it costs her and I don't really know much about the rest. Might even toss some characters like Sun Wukong and other buddhist associated characters.

The intent is to make the first jedi a real larger than life figure. God's amongst mortals who would make any other force user look like a joke. Yet also make them suprisingly human in that the first jedi just wants to help people and comfort them and doesn't want to use such powers in the first place for violence.

I also want to play around with the first sith and portray them as Eldritch abominations and monsters who feed of the weak and oppressed. Maybe they would be the Mara analogue in this telling.

Oh, this is intriguing! I love this concept!

Buddhism and Miracles

The Buddhist view on miracles, wonders, magic, superhuman powers is a quite complex one. There is a threefold distinction of Buddhism: the Buddhist science of the mind, Buddhist philosophy and Buddhist religion. The miracles of Gautama Buddha are belonging to the realm of Buddhist religion: it is proposed that through mental training one can achieve miraculous powers, as the basis of "miracles" is perfect control over one's own mind, like goldsmiths making the gold pure and workable, so they can use it to create wonderous things. The Buddha was reportedly manifested the ability to walk on water, to read other people's minds, to fly through air, to heal the wounded with his will, or growing a tree full of flowers and jewels out of his toothpick, calming down a raging elephant that attacked the village he visited, and so on. However, such miracles are all subordinate to the one true, genuinely miraculous power that one must strive for: the ability to guide people according to their mental development, for their own good, using suitable methods to fit these people.

It must be noted that in Buddhist mythology, miraculous powers are regarded as potential off-shoots of practice. Through mental training, one can develop the capacity to concentrate the power of the mind. But it's crucial to understand that in Buddhist thought, these abilities aren't dependent on the cultivation of wisdom and compassion: in stories, it's not just possible, but actually quite common for someone to gain such powers without any significant, or even meaningful spiritual and psychological progress. For this reason, the Buddhist view on these miraculous powers - should they exist at all - is that if you have them, that's a sign that you're making progress, but you mustn't brag about or reveal them, unless it's absolutely necessary. And unless you're fully awakened, these supernormal powers have a way of engendering supernormal defilements. The Buddha, like most most spiritual or religious teachers of the East, warned against those individuals who display miracles to attract people to their traditions, because there is a good chance that they're tricksters led by greed, or that their holiness is on shaky grounds.

The wholesome and unwholesome use of miracles

There is a story about the fifteen days of the miracles demonstrated by the Buddha, all performed in response to the relentless claims of six ascetics who claimed, the teachings of the Buddha are invalid, as they possess mystic powers far grater than him. The Buddha outdid every single miracles the ascetics were able to produce. Since such display of special powers was done in order to arouse or strengthen faith - which is, in Buddhism, refers to trust or confidence in the Buddha's path of practice and one's own potential for enlightenment - the performance of the fifteen miracles was a wholesome act. And likewise, there's the story of Khema: she was a young, extraordinarily beautiful queen, who was clinging on physical beauty. When she met the Buddha, he was able to read her mind, and he manifested a time-lapse of a young and even more beautiful woman, aging it to middle age, old age, very old age, then to dust. As a result, Khema realized the true, impermanent nature of the object of her attachment. This is another example for the wholesome use of miracles.

In Star Wars, this can be likened to Master Yoda using the Force in Episode V to rise Luke Skywalker's x-wing out of the swamp: this "miracle" was demonstrated to arouse trust and confidence in Jedi teachings and in his apprentice's own potential to become a Jedi. You can see that Jedi Knights are demonstrating their abilities only "for knowledge and defense" as Yoda said.

When it comes to unwholesome uses of miracles, we have the story of Pindola Bharadwaja, who was one of the Buddha's first disciples. It's said that one day, a wealthy merchant, who didn't believe in the existence of the extraordinary powers of holy men, challenged them: he suspended a beautiful and expensive sandalwood alms bowl from the top of a really high bamboo pole, and said, the master who can get it down, can keep it. Pindola Bharadwaja, who progressed very fast in his mental training, and attained several miraculous powers as a result, stepped forward. He rose into the air easily and took the bowl. The people were in awe, but their excitement alerted the Buddha who arrived to the scene. He broke the bowl into pieces and said, he is very displeased by the public display of such miracles, likening it to prostitution that is done for the sake of cheap delights.

That's because this miracle wasn't performed to benefit others, it didn't arouse trust or confidence in the Buddhist path and in one's own potential for enlightenment. It was done to impress and to show off, thus, it was distasteful. In Star Wars, this can be compared to Anakin Skywalker using the Force in Episode II to fly a fruit through air in order to impress Padmé - he even admits, "If Master Obi-Wan caught me doing this, he'd be very grumpy."

Bodhisattvas

Bodhisattva can mean anyone who vows to become enlightened in order to relieve the suffering of all beings, but there are also celestial Bodhisattvas, who are realized beings, inspired by the wish to attain complete enlightenment, and have vowed to be reborn in the world to help all living beings. They're deity-like beings, however, it should be noted that these Bodhisattvas are representing our potentials.

Guanyin - or Avalokitesvara or Chenrezig - is enlightened compassion, Vajrapani is the powerful energy of enlightenment that can be utilized to do many good things, Manjushri is the enlightened wisdom. I think the most important ability that these Bodhisattvas are said to possess, is that they're able manifest themselves in hundreds or even thousands of bodies simultaneously.

In this essay of mine, I examined Jedi teachings and how the Force works - these are, on the fundamental level, identical to Buddhist philosophy. I hope it will help:

Māra and the Dark Side of the Force

In Buddhism, although Māra is depicted as a god or demon, he is an aspect of the mind and the heart: the inner experience of all forms of attachment, greed, hatred, and delusion, everything that interferes with and puts to an end our spiritual practice. His "armies" are sensual desire, discontent, hunger and thirst, craving, laziness, fear, indecisive wavering (doubt), restlessness, longing for the transitory things in life (gain, praise, honor, and fame), and praising oneself and belittling others. His three "daughters" are thirst, delight and desire.

When Māra is discussed as an external being, he is said to reside in the highest heavenly realms of cyclic existence, thus, he enjoys long life, power, privileges and pleasures. But it must be noted that he is, like any other being, subjected to Karma, birth and death, and there are stories that gave a closure to him as an external entity: he ends up being a Buddhist himself. So, if you wish to draw an analogy with Māra in a complex and intriguing story you draw up, I suggest to use the Son as his Star Wars counterpart. He embodies the dark side of the Force, but he is also the mosaic of the light side and the dark side just like all living beings in George Lucas' Star Wars universe.

The story of Devadatta as a potential inspiration

If you would like to use Buddhist stories as inspiration for the Sith, I recommend you the story of Devadatta, the Buddha's enemy. In the Theravada tradition, Devadatta, who was one of the disciples of the Buddha, attained several miraculous powers through mental training, but no wisdom and compassion. His miracles convinced a crown prince, Ajatasattu, that he is a great teacher. But Devadatta became obsessed with his own skills and sought fame and power, declaring, he should be the one who leads the Order of Buddhists and not the Buddha. Even though his miraculous powers began to fade as his mind became clouded by such afflictions, he started to preach his own teachings, claiming, they're from the Buddha himself.

The Buddha warned him that he is on the path of self-destruction but Devadatta was relentless. Long story short, he was so consumed by greed that he eventually convinced prince Ajatasattu to kill his father, the king, and usurp the throne, while he assassinates the Buddha. As an attempt, he unleashed a raging elephant, but it was calmed by the loving-kindness of the Buddha, and his other attempts failed as well. Although Ajatasattu took the throne, the public was so resented of Devadatta that he was forced to withdraw his support. After this, he tried to cause a schism in the Order, but his followers were won over by the Buddha. Devadatta eventually died of sickness, his bad mental state supposedly ate into his physical health, however, in his final moments, he realized his mistakes.

The story of Devadatta, in my opinion, is an ideal inspiration for the first Sith, if we go with the notion that the Sith were Force-sensitives who left the Jedi Order. This is in Disney canon, I think. If we go with the fact that according to George Lucas, the Sith ruled the known universe before they destroyed themselves, we have a more complex situation, because that would imply that the first Jedi started out as a Sith apprentice or a Sith Lord, like Gautama Buddha started out as a prince living in luxury, and not a great spiritual teacher, or that the Sith were able to gain control over the galaxy, like Darth Sidious did, with the difference that there wasn't an Emperor, but many warring Sith Lords who all sought to rule the whole galaxy.

[serene-sun]

The Emeritus bloodline, and the devils

Chapter 4b of my series 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘

TW: mention of dead baby, details of murdur and sacrifice, mention of genitals and rapists

ENGLISH ISNT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

One of the oldest families in history, a bloodline said to have sprouted like a rose bush in the pull of blood under the divine crucifixion. The satanic church, the base of all Emeritus life, was essential to the family.

PaPa Emeritus, an unholy heir whom would soon sit upon the thrown of the beast. An old family, with old beliefs, rituals, traditions and heritage could never be forgotten…rather their message of sin was delivered through touch…or music. When a son is born, he is to reign as papa of the church. He will dedicate his life to his religion and people, and will be given a prime mover to gift the dark lord a new leader. 

Ghouls, devils, demons, which ever word you wish to call them, will be summoned amongst a pentagram to be dragged up form the fiery pits of hell by a mysterious masked mistress who remains anonymous. Devils that grew wild ideals were summoned at the birth of a son, The job of the ghoul is to work for their lord through the Emeritus family. Ghouls are feral and unruly creatures, to prevent the murdur or outrageous acts taking place by these inferno creatures, a bond would be put upon them. This bond is an ancient blood ritual, the papa will sacrifice a number of humans equivalent to the number of ghouls needed. An offering will be burned with the person during the sacrifice to bring upon a trait. For example, pure white rabbits symbolize innocence, charcoal will signal fire and wrath. The death of a virgin is key if you desire a new ghoul, a fresh soul tainted with the black oil of baphomets lair. 

The Emeritus blood is pure and sacred, as it shares half of what blood fills the fallen angel lucifer. Satans blood runs through this bloodline as they continue his work in a world he sees unfit. Creatures such as demons, vampires, strigoi, beasts and other entities share only little of his blood. This placed all Emeritus’s higher than any creature. 

The family has a dominate trait of each sin, every drop of emeritus blood swallows whole any normal traits. Emeritus DNA being much more powerful than an average humans.

With the chance of the lord, a daughter has only been born once, and she remains in exile ever since her mysterious death. 

There are many spirits special to this story, but there is the devil who brings the ghouls out of the pits of hell and into the cold human world.

Ajatar, one of the highest ranking devils.

A tall and curved woman, described only to be perfect. Her long black hair that curls at the end like wispy smoke. It is said that her eyes remain covered as they hold the final rays of heaven from the exile of Lucifer. A golden enchantment, that if you look into, you will be dragged away by hell hounds and locked away forever. Her pale skin is dressed in the finest of jeweled clothes, and a mask that covers her face. Her sword, long and sharp, carved from molten lava, slits the throat of any whom lie. She was created out of broken glass, molded together to kill man. She roams in the night, searching for men who are unworthy of life. Ajatar seduced them, humiliates them, and finishes it with a messy murdur. Some call her the karma god, or the revenge goddess. But most summon her to bring death or destruction upon someone. Often seen roaming the halls of the satanic temple, in her arms a bloodied still-born, skin as white as snow, for which she laments, constantly searching for an able womb to bestow her child upon.Others suggest she is seen slitting the throats of men in the halls, and dragging their nude bodies into the woods to be eaten by wolves. There have even been reports of her slicing the genitals of the filthy men, who fall guilty to rape and assault, and sewing them into clothes for the rich.

Ajater is known to push the lust in women over the precipice