#Tower of Babbling Silver

[breadbduck]

so far, this is as much as I have for a type of map of the city. the main tower is supposed to be bigger, not everything is really drawn to size

would this technically count towards spoilers?

[nejackdaw]

(Abandoned) WIP Wednesday

So I never actually finished this (or wrote the things meant to come after,) but I still like it so I figured I'd post it. Ra'zhirr was from my last rp file, he's a MASSIVE khajit (to me, not that ingame models agree,) escaped gladiator (which is why he was caught at the border,) and WAS going to be Harbinger but I decided it would make more since if the Companions just. Shattered. After the truth came out. Cause half of them already had issues with the Circle, then come to find out it's some exclusive werewolf club? Nah, they're out.

Anyway I put off ever actually starting the main questline til after doing the Companions bc that progression made more sense to me, so I just pretended the whole "hey can I talk to you about the whole dragon thing, go talk to Farengar" thing didn't happen, you know, to some rando walking through the door the Jarl doesn't even know.

Also this post was partially just so I could tag @incorrectskyrimquotes in wip Wednesday. Hiii :) no pressure <3

At the Turn of the Season

He hadn't expected to return to the great hall, to climb those steps misted by the waterfalls of Whiterun and feel the heavy doors beneath his hands once again. All things considered, it was a decent enough day to be summoned: without heavy winds the sun was warm, and his feet had nowhere else to be.

Not now that the Companions had nearly unanimously agreed to disband, fractured by the truth of Hircine’s blood and the realization they'd been lied to. They will do well enough, Ra'zhirr told himself as he crossed the threshold. There's nothing more for it.

The hall was as grand as he remembered, dark browns and gentle yellows and tall, looming beams leading to the balconies. Quiet conversation stopped as he closed the door behind him and the guards posted nearby both nodded, then relaxed, resuming their quiet chatter as he stepped away. Something so massive should give him pause, he thought idly; something so empty should feel wrong. Large and empty rarely went well together, but the welcoming air and decor set him at ease once again as he mounted the steps.

He'd received summons the night before, sitting idly on the steps to Jorrvaskr. The agreement had just been reached, and most had been quick to gather their things and depart. Some still lingered, and it was for their sake, he'd told himself, that he yet remained. Stars had been shining when a woman approached with a message, armor shining new and untattered as she said the Jarl wished to see him the following morning.

So here he was, drifting the same as the rest of them, following whatever voice next called. The fire blazed in its recess, chasing away the darkness and the cold, and he and the Jarl locked eyes through floating embers.

The hall was empty, Ra’zhirr noted, and the surrounding doors closed. His chest hollowed with a dread he kept firmly from showing as he halted before the steps to the throne, bowing his head as was expected.

Grey-green eyes swept over him for a moment. “I hear you were to be Harbinger,” Balgruuf greeted quietly. His posture was straighter than it had been last time: he sat regally in his chair, looking down, and this, too, stirred dread in him.

“A decision has been reached,” Ra'zhirr replied. “The Companions are to be no more.”

“Daedra worship is not permitted. Doubly so within the city.”

Ah. The Jarl's voice was hard, a threatening warning that spoke ill. Of course the secret had gotten out: anyone who'd heard of the Silver Hand could guess at why they'd attacked the longhouse, killed the Harbinger and maimed who they could before being slaughtered. Word had, however, been quickly contained–warriors were those who would recognize the signs, and warriors would obey the demands of Balgruuf and the guard–but whispers reach far. It had not been an easy trip for those who had left the city gates, whether they'd possessed the blood or not.

I am within rights to have you all hunted down and jailed,” Balgruuf continued.

Ra'zhirr met his gaze head-on, saying nothing for a few moments in favor of looking him closely over. He understood suddenly why the hall was empty; he understood the steel in the man's tone was poorly crafted. “You complained not when they protected your city. Complain not now that they drift.”

Regal shoulders lowered, relieved at the civility of the response. “Aye.” Exhaustion darkened fine features, then, emphasized the shadows under his eyes as he leaned himself against the armrest, duty-bound warning administered. “Aye,” the Jarl whispered. “But I did not call you here for that.” He held no animosity towards the men and women who had defended his city and people, had no desire to dirty their legacy. Let them leave, he thought again. For all they have done, just let them leave. There are worse things at hand. His eyes met again with his company's, ice cold and hardened and watchful. “For you, who have witnessed the massacre at Helgen and survived, I have a request.”

“This one is listening.” It was easier to listen, easier to breathe, now that Ra'zhirr knew there was no risk of needing to cut down the Jarl and flee. He kills glady, perhaps, but Balgruuf seemed a decent enough man. It would have been a shame, he admitted to himself as he relaxed. The smoke reached him here and burned his nose, but the sensation kept him here, in the moment. He enjoyed the way the firelight danced off of gleaming metal and gems and the golden silk of the other man's robe as he watched his throat work, looking for words. “Speak plainly.”

“A Jarl does not usually find himself being ordered,” Balgruuf deflected, weary amusement in his voice as he settled comfortably in his chair. “Very well. You know more than most what these dragons are capable of. And I do mean dragons, plural. That beast you encountered is far from the only one I have heard tale of.” There was urgency in his voice, a plea for his audience to grasp the gravity. “There's not much we mortal men can do to stop them,” he said, “no deep wound we can cause with blades and arrows. My court wizard Farengar has been fond of reminding me of late.”

Balgruuf’s lips pressed together as he glared sidelong at the closed doors off to the side, irritated and unsure. “He's fond of the damn things–or at least, the idea of them. I've set him to working on finding a way to drive them away since you first came here from Riverwood, but now he says an informant of his has come up with something that may be truly helpful to our cause.” His gaze darted away from the doors, to the spit above the fire to the floor between his boots and finally to Ra’zhirr’s eyes. Thinking. “This brings us to my request. Speak to Farengar and go where he guides–I’m certain he'll tell you more than me. I know what he seeks is hidden in a crypt somewhere, but that is all I could gleam from him. He insists he won't bore me with the details, insolent man he is,” the Jarl muttered. “Though perhaps you could tell me in one minute what would take him many. He will not share all the details with me, but I suppose as long as you get this done, that will hardly matter.”

[k3n-dyll]

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika, dom!Ambessa, rough sex, porn with zero plot, oral (r!receving), strap usage, strap sucking/face fucking, spit, squirting, spit roasting Word Count: 898

Notes ☆ this is just a sleepy, disgustingly horny, rant, man. Like, more so than usual.

Sevika practically holds you down with her body, mech arm caught tight around your torso as her flesh palm paws and squeezes at your tits, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. She's enjoying the view more than she'd ever admit out loud, silver eyes fixated on the other woman that's had her head snug between your legs for what at this point feels like fucking hours. Neither of you can seem to take your eyes off of the way Ambessa's scarred back and broad shoulders move as she forces you to keep still for her, the same large hands that so gently caress your face and hold you close any other time now locked in a vice grip against your thighs, sure to leave bruises against the soft skin.

The noises coming from her sucking and lapping at your cunt are bordering on obnoxious, the amount of time you've been pushed over the edge with her mouth alone having landed you sitting in a wet spot of a collection of your own squirt and her saliva. The overstimulation has reduced you into a babbling, trembling little mess, and yet neither of them have had their fill yet.

"I c-can't, I can't..." You slur, both women letting out amused huffs of laughter at your pathetic attempt to speak. Dumbly, you think that Ambessa pulling away and Sevika's grip on your body loosening means that you finally get a little bit of a break, your sigh of relief getting cut short by Sevika's voice as she whispers into your ear.

"You're not done, doll. Hands and knees." Her coaxing is gentle, her hands keeping you steady as you switch positions with the elegance of a newborn calf. It'd be humiliating if your brain hadn't been rendered so useless, eyes half-lidded as you watch Ambessa's tear-blurred form tower over you, a hand coming to grip your chin.

"Such a pretty thing you are. You've got a little more in you, don't you angel?" Ambessa's sultry tone fills your ears, a dopey grin crossing your features at the praise as you give an equally lazy nod. Gently, she presses the red silicone hanging from her hips against your mouth, seeking permission for entrance. "Good, girl. Open that pretty mouth for me"

Your jaw slacks almost immediately, a low hum of approval escaping the woman in front of you, her murmured praises and the feeling of her hand gently palming the back of your head distracting you from the girth stuffing your jaws. Distracting you from what's happening behind you as well.

You get little warning - the bed slightly sinking in from behind and the cool touch of a metal hand against the plush of your hip before you start to feel Sevika pushing her own strap inside of you. A choked yelp of surprise escaping you at the feeling, your body tensing up.

"Uh-uh, relax... that's it, just breathe baby.." Sevika purrs, leaning down and peppering wet kisses along the arch of your back to ease your tension, though she doesnt stop her advances, each shallow pump of her hips stretching you further.

They give you grace, letting you adjust, kissing and marking you as you settle around them but the gentle front doesn't last long. Sevika can't stop herself from slamming into you from behind, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, her own pussy dripping against the harness at the sight of the white ring forming at the base of her cock.

Each thrust from behind forces Ambessa's strap down your throat, every gag forced from you sending strings of saliva pooling from behind your lips and onto your chin, your neck, the bed...

"You're such a fucking mess, look at that.." Ambessa chuckles as she watches you struggle to take her in your mouth, enjoying how eager you are to please, even if it turns you into well...this. She rewards your eagerness by pulling out of your mouth, barely letting you get down a few much-needed gulps of air before she's shifted the harness down off of her hips, instead shoving your face flush between her thighs, letting you taste her.

Your breathlessness doesn't stop you from lapping at her like a woman starved, fingers curling into the sheets as you do your best to focus on the task at hand without succumbing to the intensity of Sevika's sloppy pounding from behind. Their grunts and overlapping praises drown out all thought, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shaking and twitching as you're split between the two. The only warning you're able to give before your climax ultimately rips through your body is a couple of muffled, loud whines.

Your head falls from Ambessa's grip, the woman letting you breathe as you cum, Sevika's hips just barely slowing as you finally let go, too enthralled in the way you squirt around her, the liquid wetting both your and her lower halves.

"Gonna have so much to clean up when we're finished with this one - fuck" Sevika boasts, letting her human palm land on your ass with a thwack. Ambessa just chuckles, her palm lightly patting the side of your face to keep you grounded in reality.

"You'll get to rest that pretty head in a little while, angel..." She coos. "But we're not quite done yet..."

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @glass-apothecary, @cobraisveryhorny - Wanna be tagged?

We're gonna pretend I tagged the correct ppl the first time, 'kay? <3

[taw-k]

Home videos of Thor and loki

A video of Frigga knowingly walking in on baby Loki stuffing his face with jam from a ceramic jar in the private kitchen (he looks like the peanut butter baby)

Thor doing his "warrior scream" at the Midgardian age of 8, which is just a loud, high pitched scream. Loki doing the same as a toddler and falling backwards from his own effort.

Lokis first day in the snow. Thor is throwing snowballs. He hands baby Loki a snowball and he tries to eat it. Frigga has to keep a keen eye on Loki because he keeps falling head first into the snow, trying to eat it. Baby Loki loves the snow... For some reason...

Little Thor running around with a bucket on his head (his "warrior helmet").

Young Thor playing as a valkyrie

Thor climbing rocks, trees, palace columns, anything he can find.

Loki copying Frigga by "reading" his favourite book (he was running his finger along the lines of text and babbling)

Young Thor on the verge of tears after getting a scrape but trying not to show it until Loki toddles up to him and points at his scrape saying "uh oh. Owch. For owch" and giving him a band-aid (he tries very hard to not get it to stick to his own fingers.)

Frigga stubbing her toe on a door and and Thor proceeding to kick the door as hard as he can to defend his mother.

Tween Loki jumping around excitedly about learning magic from a new teacher.

Something similar to that one video where a boy is meeting his baby sister for the first time and she's buddled up and the boy says "she has no arms" ���

Food fight.

Little Thor standing in the middle of a large table with a cup of orange juice happily joining cups with a group of renowned older warriors (he's part of the team too)

Thor and Loki in a flower picking competition for Frigga

Thor teaching Loki to build blocks. Loki cries everytime his tower gets knocked over.

Thor trying to play with Loki with their silver feathered and gold horned helmets on. Loki's is too heavy and he falls back and cries. Thor can't see out of his.

[justbelievinginmagic]

BEWITCHED - part 1: we're not in munchkinland anymore.

pairing(s): witch!seonghwa x witch!reader ft. honjoong & san. mini-series summary: all your life you've had this spark - a touch of magic to your heart. as a munchkinlander, it was both a blessing and a curse. after all, two horrible witches had ruled over the land - all your life you had been asked: would you be a good witch or a bad witch? you wanted to be a good witch. and, finally, you would be! the day arrived; you were going to shiz university, the most-esteemed magical college in oz! you were prepared to work hard and make your dreams come true. but when you stumble upon cold bullies and an even colder sorcerer-in-training named park seonghwa who seemed to captivate you at every turn, will you be able to achieve your magical goals or will you fall under his spell? warnings/tags: inspired by the musical and movie adaptation of wicked, magical college AU, wizard of oz AU, set at shiz university, fem!reader, 3rd person POV, use of YN, set after a divergent-wicked timeline (where the wizard or a wizard still rules), magic, angst, some bullying, oz references and lore, use of ozian vernacular, nervousness, second-hand embarrassment, mentions of panties/corset, name calling. let me know if there are more tags needed. word count: ~4.5k

It had been known throughout Oz, for as long as the Time Dragon Clock tick-tocked, that the only place to become a grand sorcerer was Shiz University. Established, expensive, and exclusivatory, the university was known throughout the land as the cradle to success. Anyone who wanted to be anything went there – or to the Wizard to have their heart’s desire granted. But, of course, a meeting with the Wizard was rare. So, the only other option to success was hard work. Work hard to one day get to Shiz University.

Staring up at the ancient buildings of Shiz, YN couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration. She had made it. Spiraling towers, open-air patios, water canals weaving in and out of the architecture, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t in Munchkinland anymore.

A shoulder bumped into her, making her huff and stumble over the aged tiles. She righted herself with a small huff, a familiar zing in her chest making her pause and take a deep breath. That was the last thing she needed to happen. The bustling crowds of students surrounded her like a sea. Some in the perfectly-pressed navy-blue jackets and horizontal-striped uniform dresses of Shiz with the silver-stitched emblem proud across their chest. Others were like her, dressed in their best-to-impress as they entered the grand corridors of Shiz as a new student. It reminded her of stories of masquerades in grand ballrooms – their outfits were all so different and extravagant. Pinks of the lightest shades, deep-rubied vermillion, bright yellows, all in the strangest textures and designs. Far different from her own dress fabric but never the less fantasticamagical!

YN felt out of place like a lost air balloon amongst the clouds. Clinging to her luggage case, she took a tentative step away from the open-air waterfront. As she moved ever forward into the college, she realized just how different everything was here. The air was cool and humid; the sound of sea-salt water trickling between the canal-filled paths babbled; there was the smell of fresh-Ozma petals blooming on the large leaf-pads floating across the shimmering water. It was really nothing like Munchkinland, and its sprawling country-sides. There was no smell of Ozwheat-ground bread, of fresh upturned soil, fragrant tulips in every shade of the rainbow, or the towering blossom stalks of sweet-flowers.

It was strange.

Swallowing, she hugged her brown suitcase closer and continued to walk further into Shiz. The honey-soft yellow of the buildings was complimented by a once-royal, now-pastel blue in the awnings and in delicate hand-painted décor across the buildings. Sunshine flickered past the shingled rooftops to cast the center of Shiz in a golden glow. It was beautiful. A different beautiful than what she was used to, but an optimistic jingle in her heart said she could like it here.

Another person pushed past her purposely, and this time it sent her tumbling to the ground. A laughter grumbled from the crowd, surprised but cruel. A mean-looking girl with a pointy nose laughed as she crowed out, “Watch where you are going, little farm girl!”

“She’s used to being that low to the ground I bet,” another encouraged with a sneer.

YN’s face crumbled at the words. Eyes burning before her face flushed. All her things toppled across the bustling court-yard – her books scattered, her dresses tumbled, her keepsakes rolled. Her suitcase had broken open. The clasp was worn and old compared to the new fancy luggage the rich (but mostly their entourage) toted along, but she didn’t think it was that old.

Embarrassment burned more fervently than that spark in her chest. Her focus to split between the pain of in her knees, the hurt from their words, and the panic of needing to grab her things now.

YN didn’t understand their uttertodious rudeness. She wasn’t the first nor the last to attend Shiz as a Munchkinlander. She hadn’t expected the dirty looks, the cruel laughs, the cold whispers, the foul name-calling. How did they even know she was of Munchkinland? She wasn’t of Munckinland holy blood. She was no Eminent, nor of the upper-class. She was just… YN. Was that so offending? Was it her dress? Was that what they were whispering about behind their hands and falling into giggles? Was it hideoteous compared to the swankified fabrics of the upper-class? She didn’t think so. She had put on her prettiest – a dirndl-esque dress of a deep sapphire. Hand-embroidered vibrant poppies, delicate milk-flowers, and candy-chrysanthemums decorated the hem and décolletage. Fresh flowers decorated her pig-tailed hair; some had begun to wilt in the change of temperature, but they still were prettied pastel yellows, blues, and pinks.  Some of those petals now rested on the ground from her fall, crumpled.

She felt the burn flare like embers fanned by a wind. Her book pages rattled in a nonexistent wind unnoticed by the snickering students. Behind her, a man’s voice cleared itself, baritone and rumbly.

“Are you alright?” He asked beside her.

Oh, his voice so melodic it reminded her of the Lullaby League singers that would pass through Munchkinland during the holidays. It reminded her of honey being poured over fresh-bread, of warm summer nights in the fields, of a bed waiting for her to curl up in.  

Looking up at him, her breath was stolen. YN swore for a moment she saw a star, a wizard, a sorcerer, an otherworldly being. There, haloed in the light of the afternoon sun, was a man with hair as light as milk-flowers and a nose carved by an artist. His shapely lips pursed in a thoughtful yet neutral pout; his eyes were a dark shade of fresh-soil. And somehow, they twinkled with stars.

Or maybe her eyes were filled with hearts. She blinked. YN had never seen someone so beautiful. The burning spark in her chest faded with awe.

His hand outstretched to her after a moment.

“Are you okay?” he repeated, bleached brow raising faintly.

There was another blink of her pretty eyes before she was shaken from her stupor.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she insisted as she took his hand.

With ease, she was tugged to her feet. “Thank you,” she whispered, pink cheeked.

The figure was tall especially so with his heeled boots. His presence was one she imagined only the Wizard to embody. Peace, stoniness, wisdom. He struck her with wonder. His gaze flickered from her, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips disappearing at the sight of her dresses tumbling away, her books’ pages fluttering in the wind, and, mortifyingly, her panties tumbling from her luggage.

“Um,” he cleared his throat, chin nodding in their direction.

Red cheeked and mortified, she went to grab the frilly underthings before sliding to her knees once more to catch all of her belongings from blowing away. Laughter rang out as students rushed around her things. Someone stepped on her leatherbound book of the History of Shiz.

Her savior, her star, hadn’t bent at the knee to help. He simply watched on, glancing at the student who was cackling at the Munchkinlander’s humiliation.

“Seonghwa!” A cry from the side caught her attention as a red-haired man, shorter than the white-haired star that had helped her, rushed forward. His arm slung over the taller’s shoulders - despite their size differences. Seonghwa bent at the knee for him, letting the red-head adjust him ‘til he was comfortable half leaning on his counterpart.

“Your Highness,” Seonghwa replied.

Highness! Her face only seemed to grow hotter and hotter. She knew Shiz had the rich and royal but she didn’t expect to a royal highness to be watching her gather her intimates and shove them into her luggage today. If her face could burn any hotter, she’d be a furnace.

“Here.” A stray hand held out a blue nightgown her way, and she grabbed it with only the quickest glance.

Sweet Oz, was this entire school flooded with beauty? A strong-shouldered man in decorated regalia was kneeling down to offer more of her items her way. He had collected a handful in his arms - a book, another nightgown, her corset! Grabbing it quick, she thanked him under her breath as she pushed everything into her bag messily.

“Making the ladies swoon and lose their panties already?” the red-haired man teased.

The burn in her chest returned almost as if it could incinerate her away ‘til she was nothing but dust. She wished she could disappear. She didn’t even notice her fingertips fading away, disappearing as she accepted another book from the handsome knight. They sparkled a ghastly transparent shape, almost like she was part ghost. San’s eyes lingered on her hands for a moment, eyes widening. She didn’t even notice that as she shoved a balled-up sweater into the bag.

“She stumbled and fell on her own,” Seonghwa commented. His tone felt cooler than before, almost defensive.

“I was tripped,” she muttered under her breath as she placed the last of her things in her bag.

With the last thing safely tucked away and her bag firmly shut, the broad-shouldered man gave her a soft smile, charmingly so, before he rose and returned to the Star named Seonghwa and his Highness.

“No harm in swooning anyone; stop acting like it’s some scandalacious thing,” the red-head chuckled as he peered down at the Munchkinland woman. His hand rose to tilt his rose-tinted glasses down the fine bridge of his nose.

He winked at her, and her face nearly matched his crimson locks.

“We aren’t here to swoon, Prince Hongjoong. We are here to—”

“Study, yeah, yeah. You okay, miss?” This Prince Hongjoong’s smile, or well, smirk was deadly. Playful, seductive, charming, all wrapped up in one.

“She’s from Munchkinland; I’m sure she’s familiar with being in the dirt,” someone said from the crowd.

Snorts and giggles erupted around. It made her ears burn as she finally stood back on her own two feet, with no help from the strange trio in front of her. The only reassurance was that they didn’t laugh, well, much. Hongjoong giggled out a high-pitched thing as San whispered in his ear. It didn’t feel cruel, more jovial, but still her ego was bruised.

They were laughing at her.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, trying to cling to her words’ truth as tightly as she clung to her luggage.

Water-chimes rang out; hummingbirds playing them to the tune of the Shiz University alma mater. Everyone’s heads turned; some exclamations of excitement rang out.

“Orientation time,” she heard a girl from behind her say. “We have to get a good seat, c’mon.” A trio of girls pushed past and soon everyone was heading in the direction of the quad.

Orientation… so that’s what those bells were all about. It felt so utterly strange to not know. Everything was so different here, no bell towers here. Everyone seemed to know what things were – even something as simple as orientation’s starting call. But with that, her disturberanceand bullies left in a herd of Ozians scrambling to the main courtyard of Shiz.

She sighed out watching their attentions shift. Like she was nothing but an ant. Momentary entertainment before they casted her aside. She didn’t know it was going to be like this when she left home. Humiliating. Teasing. They weren’t children – why did they act so childish?

After working hard in her classes, after studying day-in-day-out, after facing endless scribing of papers, and even after facing nay-sayers who would taunt her with the words, “are you a good witch or a bad witch?,” she made it here. And she wasn’t going to let some rich-snobs make her feel lesser. So, what she didn’t have money or status? So what she came from Munchkinland? She was going to make it for herself – live an Ozian dream.

Munchkins were simple-folk – small-minded some would say, but not her. No, she believed they were clever. Innovative. They were responsible for feeding Oz; they were the Ozwheat Bread Basket of the lands; their rainbow-tulips techni-colored Oz! That had to stand for something. She was something.

She deserved to be here. She made it. She did it. She was equal.

The burning flame in her chest eased as she reminded herself this, sighing out as color flooded back to her fingertips.

Following after the crowd, she noticed that the trio stayed near her. Hongjoong’s stance was lazy, half leaning on Seonghwa who stood tall as ever, towering over both him and the strong-shouldered man who had helped her.

None were in the standard uniform – did that mean they were freshman like her? The Prince’s attire wasn’t exactly sloppy but mismatched. Dark velveteen pants hugged his legs tight. Laced up black boots with far too many laces climbed up his calves. He wore an ivory-white button up with far too many buttons, far too unbuttoned to be appropriate. A cream suit-jacket-esque sweater rested overtop that. The pattern on it held delicate handstitched purple-flowers… maybe gillyflowers? Was he from Gillikin Country? Regardless, he wore a strand of pearls around his throat, haphazardly. His rose-tinted glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a large oversized blue suede fedora hat hid most of his vermillion hair.

Meanwhile, the two accompanying him wore more uniformed outfits. The broad-shouldered one wore a black-suited ensemble with golden embellishments. A cape draped over his shoulder in deep purple. The one who she thought came from a Star had all white linens on, sharp shouldered and corseted tight around his already lean waist. They looked more royal than the so-called prince.

“You’re staring,” Seonghwa stated, blankly.

His gaze caught hers solidly. His gaze was all-consuming. Like he could see right through her. Read her thoughts. Great Oz… she was both intimidated and intrigued by him. He felt magnetic. Her stomach clenched. He tilted his head.

“Sorry,” she blushed.

“Again.” he added, brow twitching into a sharp raise.

His expression made her feel little, like he was throwing her back to the floor metaphorically. Because, he just had to point out that he noticed her staring earlier. He probably thought she was a creep or some dumb farmgirl like the students cajoled.

“Sorry… again.” she said, finally glancing away from him and walking towards an empty spot on a bench instead. She shifted to hold her suitcase in her arms, hugging it close to her chest. The spark twinkled and she didn’t notice aura she put off. A physical manifestation of her magic. It was a gentle aura; something that was more felt and less seen. It felt like dark clouds were hovering around her. A bubble to keep her safe and hidden, subconsciously.

He didn’t stop looking at her still. She knew because she snuck a quick glance and, when their eyes met in that flash, her cheeks matched the red poppies on her dress. The one with the cape chuckled; his eyes flashing to meet hers once more with a playful gleam. He was laughing at her. Sitting down in an empty spot on a bench, she turned her face away to look down the row of students seated next to her. She offered a soft smile about to introduce herself to the one beside her before one after one they scooted away. Glancing at her like she was the plague. “She’s the Munchkin girl; no, no, she’s not of any royal blood – shes just a charity case – maybe she—” Gossip trickled out as the other students sitting there shifted and moved until she was the only one sitting there. An outcast.  

What in Oz was this place?! She knew it was exclusivatory but not like this. So hateful. She wrapped her arms around her suitcase. Her chin rested on top of it as she looked around, making sure not to look at Seonghwa… A third scolding? From him? She’d rather melt into a puddle.

Once everyone had been seated, there was a great hum of a tune – the same alma mater that had twinkled out in chimes to summon them. Some students sang out with pride, knowing every word despite it being their first day. She knew it too; she had read it in her history book. But she refused to embarrass herself anymore today. If she could get through orientation without drawing anymore attention to herself, YN would be content.

Her spark kept a small bubble around her as if telling the world to not disturb her. She heard someone murmur something about, “do you see that odd shimmer around the new girl?”

As if not everyone was new… she pressed her chin into her arms firmer. Orientation and then she can get settled and try to start tomorrow on a better foot.

“Welcome students!” cried out a fancy-looking woman approaching the podium. Her dress was swirling with ancient blue magic; her hat a sharp point upon her head. A sorceress, no, a Witch! YN’s eyes perked up and she gazed up at the Witch in wonder. A real-life witch… a Good Witch of the North! How oztastic.

“Welcome, welcome to Shiz University. I am Madame Ozma, Headmistress here. Whether you are here to study logic, literature, or linguification, I know I speak for my fellow faculty members when I say we have nothing but the highest hopes for… some of you,” it was said in jest and a chuckle waved through the crowd.

“While all subjects are valued here at Shiz, I do want to bring some attention to two very lucky, very talented students that will be joining my sorcery seminar this semester. As you all know – sorcery is the life blood of Oz, and it’s a blessing and duty to cultivate any magic talent that shows itself. As rare as it is. It’s been decades since there have been two students studying sorcery concurrently. Their powers brought into a new age – as we all know.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Everyone knew of the Wicked Witch and Glinda the Good.

“Such a gift should be celebrated.” Ozma exclaimed out. “Uplifted. Guided towards the Light”

There was a scattering of applause. Her cheeks were burning red once more. Her head tilted downwards. The letter hadn’t mentioned this. Good Oz, she wanted to hide.

“Please rise, Miss YN of Munchkinland.”

A silence washed over the crowd in shock. All eyes snapped to her. Hongjoong let out a laugh in the silence, the sound bursting forth from his chest without a care. Blink, blink, blink; she felt like she was an art display of exhibition. Could she just ignore it? What would happen if she didn’t stand? No one really knew if she was YN after all?

“Don’t be shy.” The Headmistress encouraged.

Oh, Great Oz… With poppy-tinted ears, she slowly stood, ruby-cheeked and tight-smiled. That feeling of magic tingled in her chest, fluttering as her anxiety grew. It wanted to burst out – protect her from the murmur that rose through the students. Gossip rolled in wave as they leaned into one another. Whispering what? She didn’t want to know.

“Thank you, dearie. And, rise Sir Seonghwa of Gillikin Country.” She beamed out, encouraging a round of applause once more.  

YN’s gaze flashed to where Seonghwa rose as well, waving polite and light. Unlike her, he held such an elegance she didn’t have. Of course, he had magic! Of course, he was a Knight! She was sure he could control it better than she could ever control her wild thing of a magic spark. And now they were going to have private lessons together? After his friends made fun of her? After school-wide ridicule? After he reprimanded her for staring! She wanted to crawl into a corn field and rot.

“Our two sorcerers-in-training,” she declared over polite clapping. “We will be seeing lots and lots of each other.” Madame Ozma promised her and Seonghwa before nodding and allowing them to sit. The Headmistress beamed at the students before shifting her attention to another professor who began to prattle about dormitories, their roommates, and where the halls were located.

Sitting down quick, she wished she could just sink into the ground. How was she going to stand being around him? She blushed if he even so looked at her. How would she focus?

-

Once orientation ended, it was like a stampede. The students shuffled and hustled around her, rushing towards the many faculty who were handing out keys to their dormitories and pointing on grand scrolls and proclaiming, “Yes, yes, Ms. Gale, you are in the North Dormitory. No, you can’t trade roommates. Yes, its permanent.” Overlapping and overwhelming, the world of Shiz was back in swing – the orientation a flurry of too many moments and moving bodies.

YN stayed on the outskirts of the chaos, peering through a navy sea of uniforms to peer up at the many scrolls, listing out name after name. She’s already embarrassed herself enough for today; she’ll wait ‘til the crowd dispersed she decided.

“There must have been a miscommunication,” she heard Seonghwa’s smooth voice like a siren’s call. She couldn’t help but have her eyes flicker towards him. How could she hear him so well? It was like her body was already in tune with him – he was so far away and yet she could pick him out of a crowd. He was a beautiful flower surrounded by weeds.

Seonghwa’s face was crinkled, divine confusion making his upturned brows

“This isn’t right,” he continued, raising a polite hand towards a faculty member. “The Gillikin Prince requested a private apartment – for himself, Sir Choi San, and myself. But I only see his Highness and San listed.”

“Name?” the bunny-faculty member chirped out.

“Park Seonghwa,” he told him.

There was a shuffling of papers, the rabbit-professor humming and bumbling.

“Ah, yes, yes,” the rabbit nodded, his mouth chittering a bit as he chewed on the edge of his pen. “I see – no, no mix up, Sir Seonghwa. Thank you.”

“Where is my dormitory then?” Seonghwa snapped, his tone sharp and authoritarian before he swallowed and followed it up with a soft ‘please’.

“With Miss YN, of course,” It wasn’t the rabbit-professor who spoke but the nearby Headmistress. She walked forward; the rabbit-professor bowed in her direction and Seonghwa followed suit, bowing his head politely.

“YN, dear,” Madame Ozma called, “Join us.”

Seonghwa’s gaze turned and met hers – because, of course, like two magnets their eyes found one another immediately. It felt like she was caught staring for the third time. Bumbling, YN nodded and stood with her suitcase, walking forward.

“Yes, Madame,” she called, curtsying and bowing and rushing forward to the Headmistress. “Honor to meet you.”

“What do you mean I am rooming with Miss YN?” Seonghwa redirected.

Nearby, she heard Hongjoong giggled out manically. “This is perfect,” the red-head commented.

“Hush, your Highness,” Seonghwa scolded over his shoulder with ease, not even glancing at the Prince. Too natural, too routine, like he knew where the Prince was at all times without even looking his way. The Prince still giggled, and surprisingly San joined him in his mischievousness.

“Yes, Seonghwa, you will be sharing an apartment with YN,” the Headmistress confirmed, her head nodding towards the Munchkinlander. “I thought that was made clear to you through our letters?”

Seonghwa’s head turned, almost like an owl, to stare down the chortling Royal and the smirking San.

“I must’ve missed that letter,” he replied slowly.

“As did I,” YN piped up. “I never received anything besides – well, besides entry into the school and your approval of joining the seminar.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” the Madame apologized, squeezing the arm of YN. “I will inquire my office about correspondence throughout Oz and where there were any mishaps.”

She nodded lightly before glancing towards Seonghwa who seemed so indifferent to her as he turned back to face the Headmistress. Like a statue, his facial features had settled into a calm, neutral glaze.

“However, I must apologize; there are not two room available for you both. There is only one apartment closest to my offices – I want to have myself available to you both as often as possible. Magical growth doesn’t happen overnight nor does it follow any class schedule,” she chuckled lightly. “The apartment is up to standards, one of the best if I do say so myself.”

The two sorcerers-in-training spoke over one another next.

“I don’t doubt that,” YN replied.

“It’s not about that!” Seonghwa exclaimed.

They locked gazes once more. The man swallowed, his Adam's apple jittering, before looking away forcibly.

Her face fell visibly. Was he so… disgustified by her that he couldn't even share a space with her? She was an adult. She wouldn’t be dirty or disrespectful as a roommate. She'd leave him be but with how he was acting - it was as if she was some lowly creature. He didnt even care if the apartment was the nicest ones on campus! She could only imagine its history and beauty and yet... he was acting so adamant.

“I am here as protection for his Highness,” Seonghwa stated whole-heartedly. “First-and-foremost.”

“I understand,” the Headmistress asserted. “His Highness, Prince Kim Hongjoong has written me most ardently over the summer requesting for his apartment to be furnished only for two – him and Sir Choi. He expressed his full support to your studies.”

At the new information, there was a flicker of dust whirling off of the sorcerer's bare skin; his honey skin glimmering as magic oozed from him. He rolled his tongue over his teeth before Seonghwa finally let out a huff of frustration. His perfect mask fell as he gritted his teeth.

“And I do,” Hongjoong drawled from behind them. He took a step forward, red glasses pushed into his hair as he looked at his friend earnestly. “Hwa, you’ve protected me your entire life – its time for your talent to grow.” It was said genuinely but Seonghwa’s anger, no matter how small buzzed and bubbled in the air. She could see his hair rise with static electricity just faintly. His magic was so reactive… just like hers.

She had never met another wizard or witch; only read about them. And to see his magic surging in a near invisible dust-like ember around him, the little tells of its reactions on his body, it felt like for once she had someone who would understand her.

If only he didn't despise her.

“There are no curfews,” the Headmistress reminded. “If you wish to stay at his Highness’ suite, no one will stop you. But I’m sorry; there are no other official accommodations I can provide.”

Seonghwa took in a deep breath through his nose before offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Headmistress. Thank you for the clarification. I’m sure me and YN will – we'll be fine. We will find a solution.” He stumbled over the right word.

She felt like he was already planning to sneak out of their dorm or distance himself from her as soon as the Headmistress floated away. He hadnt looked at her since she joined them.

“Very good. That's what I like to hear - my two sorcerers working together” The Headmistress beamed. Her magic blared out in a whirl of golden light with her happiness, looking like a living candle for a moment. “I do look forward to our lessons, but for now… welcome to Shiz.”

Yeah, what a welcome.

[nargacuga-tamer8000]

Okay here's a really wholesome one: the player/hunter asking Erik to get married/be life partners 🥺 (I just wanna put him in a lil jar with holes in the lid and keep him forever he's my favorite special guy! 😂) <3 woodworks

Awwww yeah! I'm a sucker for wholesome domestic stuff like this❤️ omg same tho, he honestly wouldn't mind XD Forgive me, I got carried away with this story after visiting the Grand Hub

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

Of Marriage and Bird Gods

Your partner, Erik the eccentric biologist, hears of a giant downy crake that lives near Suja. While he has bird god on his brain, you have something else entirely on yours.

You really should’ve known something was up when Erik barged into your tent at Scarlet Forest base camp with that wild look in his light green eyes—the one he usually reserves for “urgent biologist business.”

“There’s a giant Downy Crake in the cliffs of the Grand Hub!” he declared, silver hair slightly frizzed, papers flying from his notebook like they’d had enough of his nonsense. “A gigantic, possibly ancient mega-crake! Local hunters call it ‘The Gigacrake!’ We have to go. For science.”

You blinked up from your half-packed rucksack, halfway through wrapping up your whetstones. “Is this like that time you made me bait a Conagalala with pickled mushrooms because you thought they could develop 'refined preferences'?”

“This is completely different,” he huffed, cheeks slightly red under his freckles. “The Gigacrake gives people gifts. It’s like... a benevolent feathered deity. I need to document this!”

You sighed and gave a wry smile. “So, this is a romantic getaway now?”

“Sure. With birds.”

Traveling to the Grand Hub from Scarlet Forest felt like entering a whole new world. The peaks shimmered with sun-touched snow, the air buzzed with activity, and the towering hall sparkled with festive lanterns from the Blossomdance Festival.

Erik didn’t even make it ten steps inside before sprinting off toward the cliffside platforms with a spyglass.

“Wait here! Or, you know, join me. This thing only emerges at dusk according to folklore, so we have time for observational sketches, nest analysis, ambient feather collection—”

You let him babble while you quietly followed, watching his excitement. There was something endlessly endearing about how the self-declared “serious biologist” got excited over a big fuzzy chicken hiding in a cliff.

Eventually, you both settled on a high terrace where the Gigacrake was said to perch. You ended up sprawled on a picnic blanket while Erik obsessively adjusted his notes. At one point he shoved a feather he’d found into your hair and muttered, “Scientific flair,” like it was a completely rational thing to do.

As the stars rose and the Diva’s voice echoed across the Grand Hub, everything softened. The sky turned a velvety indigo, the blossoms overhead shimmered in the lantern light, and Erik finally—finally—stopped talking about bird gods.

He sat beside you now, warm against your side, his silver hair catching the lamplight, freckles like stardust across his nose. The music wrapped around you both like a promise.

You glanced over, catching him gazing at you instead of his notes for once. “So,” you said, soft but clear over the gentle rise of the Diva’s voice, “If we ever got married... what would our wedding theme be? Something to do with those Temnocerans you love so much.”

Erik blinked. Once. Twice.

“...What?” His voice cracked just a little.

You smirked, letting the silence stretch before leaning your head on his shoulder. “I mean it. I love you, Erik. I want to be with you. Maybe... marry you. If you want that too.”

He was completely still, only the tips of his ears turning a deep, telltale red.

Then: “Oh—oh, wow. Are you... are you proposing? Because I’m supposed to prepare a speech and possibly design matching cloaks. And... I should have brought something. A ring. A talon. Something shiny!”

You laughed, breathless, as he started rummaging through his bag.

“No, no—it doesn’t need to be perfect. It’s already perfect. Just say yes.”

Erik looked at you, really looked at you, with that soft, stargazing wonder he usually reserved for rare creatures and constellations.

“Yes,” he said. “Absolutely yes. I’ll marry you. We can honeymoon in the Coral Highlands—track reef-back wyverns—name our future Palicos after famous ancient scholars—”

You kissed him before he could spiral again, lips against his, warm and steady.

The Diva’s final note lingered in the air like a blessing, and somewhere high above, feathers drifted gently from the cliffs.

Whether it was from the Gigacrake or just the wind, neither of you really cared anymore.

[haunted4kent]

" blood struck. " t. todoroki

✧˚ · . 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 ; wield the sword, seek vengeance, and watch it turn to ash beneath his blade.

word count ; 2.5k

a/n ; i havent written like this in a HOT minute, but i hope you enjoy <33 dis so random and i just want to be evil and give a super sloppy villain creation 4 dabs with sword like action lol

A villain killer. Instead of being quote “heroic”, taking down a common thug for robberies and sending them off to jail to rot.  You were infamous for killing villains, the evilest people on the heights of wanted lists. You believed their evil deeds were only atoneable by death.

The death of your best friend made you this way, twisted the word “hero”.

Being a hero was putting an end to the evil, right? So why attempt to salvage the unsalvageable?

How could a hero who believed in the “ideal” heroic ways been what he was? Be so thirsty to surpass that in the process, have been the reason your best friend was engulfed by his power? 

You knew you were a hero, you were the ideal hero. You removed the gunk and nasty build-up that was sitting for long enough. You were cleaning the filth bit by bit.

Your identity has become one of Japan's largest mysteries.

“WHO IS KILLING VILLAINS?”

“WHICH HERO WILL BE ABLE TO TAKE DOWN THIS DISHONORABLE HUMAN?!”

Even the public wanted you dead, can't they see that they aren't looking into the details enough? They want you dead for killing the evil and don't see how they are protesting against the salvation of Japan. It was a hero that made you “evil.”

Dishonorable? 

You have had to mourn since you were 13 years old. Mourn a hero’s wrongdoing, Endeavor’s wrongdoing.

The League of Villains, although you didn't support the “prestigious” UA High. The attempt to harm children was enough for you to take action, and with enough investigation, you found a pinpoint location. 

8 elite villains and you promised yourself you'd rid the world of. You wanted them to fear the sight of your eyes, you didn't care if they wanted to rid All Might, you wanted to be an issue that lingered in the back of their minds. 

“WHAT IF THEY COME FOR US.” 

The night was foggy, and you stood crouched atop the first tower of the large mansion-like residence. Smoke floods out of the chimney fogging the glow the moon provided, and the little light from down below. 

It reminded you of the small fires he’d light at night to keep you warm. So proud that that had become an easy task. So glad that you were proud of even that,

The only villains you considered a real threat were the silver-haired man and the samurai. Which could go against your power, but with your lifelong experience, you saw no real problem.

5 of the core group had stepped outside in the courtyard of the home, which was listed as abandoned and vacant online. There was no sight of the leader or the man who wielded a katana. It was time to make a move.

You quickly scaled down the brick tower, your sword shrieking against the cobblestone.

Quickly a man began to panic, babbling on to himself like a maniac. Pathetic. Their attacks as a whole aren't impressive, considering the lack of response they have, or coordination. 

Easily taken down and put unconscious with a blunt strike to the head. However, you came across some trouble with clustering and having to use kicks or elbows to get them from surrounding you.

As they lay unconscious, the part that you found easy came. To stomp off the filth with the sharp end of your wielded weapon.

In the silence, cries muffled from what felt like afar, and you take in that the man who began to panic wasn't lying before you. The cries triggered your brain, nobody had ever gotten away, let alone run far enough to cry. 

Your mind plays the day you watched your young tears hit the black ash on the ground beneath you. When everyone tried to find him.  You were scared and wanted to run away too.

Sekoto Peak was a place of anguish. 

Were you feeling sentimental because you had to worry about another samurai? Did it remind you of him?

The harrowing clank of your boot hitting the cobble echoed in your ears, his arms covering the area of his torn mask before he released to look up at you. You felt different, the tears in his eyes, the true fear of death.

Is this how Touya felt when he panicked to attempt to extinguish his body?

You swing the blunt end of your sword into his temple, watching the man lightly bleed from the head. You stand still, pulling your hood from your head.

“Heh.”

A long rasp shatters the silence, and the swipe of your left blade strikes through the air.

You can't lose that katana.

A cold point pushes into your jugular, and panic surges through your blood. Your sword lifts instinctively and stops abruptly at the sight before you. Those eyes, they run you cold. Those eyes, you remember them.  

“Dad’s always with Shoto. I want him to come to Sekoto to see how my flames have improved. He set this fire under me and now that he can't put it out he's upset? He’s being cruel to me, he always has been. Thank you so much for coming up with me Y/n, I just don't know how to feel.”

Touya Todoroki stands before you in the flesh.

"You carry my blade?" He tilts his head at you, a boyish grin sitting plastered upon his skin. You drown in the depth of his eyes, like an ocean that has swept you up in an instant.

You feel the strain of your own eyes, if you blink, could he disappear from before you? Your heart twists at the sight of him, charred. You struggle to choke out the name. "Touya."

“Nuh, not anymore.” The grin that spreads across him is chilling, a splatter of blood sitting upon your face. He’s killed you without pushing the sword into your throat.

“I'm surprised you knew. Not even my damned brother did.” His voice is conflicting with your mind, it is trying to piece together the Touya you knew 11 years ago with the one that stands before you.

"I know, pretty disgusting."

He smiles, the cape that drapes your back is set ablaze and in a quick movement you rip it from your back, watching the blue-soaked cloak be consumed by his flame. In the process, he has slit the belt on your waist with one slick slash.

“What are you doing." It stings, stop it. No. Your tears have only been shed at the hands of Touya, his death. His flames became your tears the day he died, and they burn.

“You don't think I looked into you the moment I woke up? There was nothing, nothing!” You can only kneel before him in the state you're in. The reason you kill is because of him, and he has been alive. "You moved away, you weren't online, you had no fucking record!" He was acting like a maniac, crazed like you've never seen.

He continues on, even swinging his blade around carelessly. “Until I saw you sitting in Sekoto, visiting it like I was stuck beneath the ground and needed saving. I knew you were the only person who remembered “Touya Todoroki.”, and I had to wipe that name from the earth. Like shit stuck to the bottom of my shoe.” 

Your vocal cords are engulfed by the sting of tears and he steps forward, letting his sword shriek by his side. 

The cold metal settles at the bottom of your chin. 

You can't rid of the expression on your face and he's thrilled. “Then after not seeing you for years, a woman starts killing villains out of the blue. It was a goddamn mystery.”

The focus you had on the world has become impaired, you can hear your heartbeat in your chest. He doesn't care about you anymore, does he? Why do you want to feel his heartbeat, tear his heart from his chest, make sure he is real?

“Those eyes, you should know I'd know those eyes anywhere. All I needed was one glance, and I knew your every motive. They glew in vengeance, like my power carried on in them. You thought I was weak too, and you tried to cover up your evil deeds with the excuse that my death was my father's fault!” He cackled.

“That’s- that's not it Touya.” You've been lighten ablaze, and your tears uncontrollably fall and stain the cobble.

“Is that it? Anger, anger that I caused has fueled this monster before me?” A low chuckle falls from his lips, one that is filled with disappointment compared to the hysteric hiccups of laughter he was just sputtering out.

“Stop. Enough- I’ve had enough.”

His sword tilts your chin back up. “Now you've had enough? After you've mourned it's become enough!?” His voice rises, and your fists clench.

Your teeth grind together like bone, bone that can be snapped with a hit that lands hard enough. His bone will crumble like ash.

“Get up and stop me from killing you Y/n.” 

Your bones crack wrapping the blade of the sword, and you swing it into his blade, knocking it from beneath your chin.

“You should never hold the sword by its blade.” His swing sparks with your sword, and you freeze, before rolling to get to your feet.  You hate the fucking cold. Why are you so cold?

 “Just move, goddammit move!” You thought. 

You knew you were better than this, you just needed to move your arms. 

Another swing was speeding towards you, and your sword lifted to defend it. The moment the two swords collided, you felt you were present again. 

“You have to recognize your own body, if you don't, it'll never have time to know what your opponent is going to do next. You’ll be too busy figuring yourself out.” 

His words of the past conflicted with your every move. You automatically swing your blade downward, but he catches it. “I taught you that move you idiot!” You continue to struggle to land a hit, you have a specialty in mobility, but his work with a sword is unmatched. Until he leaves his chest open, you shove your forearm into his chest, and in his fall his blade slices into your arm.

You bleed over the cobblestone, and he is already getting up off his knees. Stumbling back your blood dripping blends with the scene of your tears when you stood in the ash of Sekoto.

“I was asleep for 3 years and you still haven't improved a bit! All that time, and you've still disappointed me. What potential will you reach if you can't land a blow!” His taunts pushed you further.

Rip his heart from his chest, you need to know he's real.

Your body pushes itself forward, leaping up. His sword tries to fly up into your leg, but your boot kicks it, landing your knee straight into the crevice of his neck.

You roll off after he hits the ground, and you're cold again when you see his cheek is falling apart. His eyes are filled with blood.

“You're a lunatic. Who are you!” You plead, why does he want to hurt you? The adrenaline is dying down and you're beginning to feel the depth of your injury. 

“Don’t pity me. You've always had that shitty savior complex. That's why you became what you became right? To prove that people that my father saved are supposed to be killed because he didn't even want to save me?” His hand twitches out in blue flames, and your body throws itself away before the burst flies up to where you were kneeling.

“You excelled! If anything, when he knew I couldn't be a hero he thought to even offer you training!” His charred laughs came breathless as he picked himself back up, through the smoke, the side of his face was streaked with blood. He drops the blade, letting it clank.

Your breath breaks and your voice cracks, a mixture of tears and screeched shouts come from your throat. 

“Why would you ever want to make that sick man proud Touya?! He created children to surpass a hero he himself couldn't! Why would you ever want to make that proud!” 

“You don't get it!” He shouts. “He lit that goddamn fire beneath me!” He’s slipping, struggling to lift his body as his flames grow stronger around his body.

“Maybe we can be heroes together! We can save people and be the best. That's all I've ever wanted, and I want you by my side.”

“If you can't even save yourself! How the hell are you going to save others!” He chokes out. The courtyard is filled with the glow of his flames, he's trying to pick himself up, but his body is ready to embrace death. He finally crawls completely defenseless towards you, dropping his heat-stricken body in your arms, his head rests upon you.

A large blast fields your vision, and you let it engulf you.

You were always consumed by Touya Todoroki’s flame.

“The katana is a blade to be held only by those with potential.”

His hair was so white, his arm burned just at the skin, his tummy with peeling skin. That's the Touya you remember, and the one you'll die remembering.

“Y/n.” You felt empty, he had taken off the charred mask from your face. The pressure on your arm was uncomfortable, but it was wrapped well, it didn't sting. His fingers run warm against your forearm that lays off the couch.

You're constantly homesick, and it's been that way since he died. Since that boy died, your blood has run cold, and you have become who you hated the most. You became a killer. You became his killer by ideal, kill those who are not worthy enough for you.

“Open your eyes.” It came more sternly than your name, and when you did, he was sitting in front of the couch you had been lying on.

At 20, you gave up looking. You had to believe that Touya was dead. He had been turned to ash and he was no phoenix that would rise from the ashes. You picked up your sword again and went to do what you believed in, a belief his flame created. What that death turned you into. At 21, you were already widespread.

“I'm sorry Touya.” The tears were already warm down your face, and the dried blood on his soaked the new streaks that fell.

You no longer had purpose to wield a sword, or to consider yourself a samurai when he was around. You were just you, and he was him.

He lifts from the floor, his blood-ridden face being the first thing you notice before it's his eyes, So struck. You push yourself up and his hand wraps around your torso.

"Damn you, I waited so long."

You were no longer a hero. You sought revenge alongside him, and he did rise from the ashes, he rose as an inferno.

© haunted4kent 2024.

[emilykaldwen]

Title: Moonshadow Ship: Jacaerys x Helaena WC: 859 Rating: Gen Summary: Jace and Helaena tell stories beneath the light of the moon. Written for the @hotd-bigbang prompt: Moon Notes: Many many thanks to @acrossthesestars for her beta powers and helping me find the jace and helaena pictures and to @selfproclaimedunicorn reassuring me it wasn't terrible to begin with. this story isn't specifically related to any of my other projects, but you are welcome to consider it part of Maiden canon, or for last year's entry, The Lighting of the Blaze

The pair of them sat atop Visenya’s tower - the tallest in the Holdfast. Jace’s heart jumped into his throat when Helaena had clambered upon the red ledge, the wind catching at her silver hair, her laughter dancing on the breeze.

“You’ll fall,” he told her, but followed, as he always did, to perch beside her. The height was dizzying in a way that flying did not quite catch. He thought it was, perhaps, because there was no safety of his dragon beneath him. Just stone, warm from the day’s sun and his own practiced balance to be safe.

He tangled his fingers through Helaena’s, not for a moment thinking that he’d be able to pull her back should she fall. No, instead he would fall with her. She had woken up, frantic and tearful, and found her way to his rooms a night not so long ago, gasping as she crawled into bed with him. 

“I fell I fell I lost my wings I lost them they were taken I fell I fell.” 

Helaena had babbled those words over and over until his neck and nightshirt were soaked with her tears and he had to keep her sobs muffled lest one of the guards hear and discover them.

Her fingers were delicate, deceptively fragile when he knew how strong her grip was; how those very fingers could turn to claws just as they could stroke gently down the line of his spine.

“The Red Priest in the market told a story,” she whispered now, months later, far less frightened than before. The night was bright; the moon hung heavy and round in the sky, the blanket of twinkling stars so beautiful and wondrous, streaked with distant clouds that caught the light.He felt so small beneath the expanse. “He said that Azor Ahai thrust his sword into the breast of his wife, Nissa Nissa, and her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the moon.”

“I don’t see a crack,” Jace mused, his gaze searching across the bright shine of it. Dark blotches, certainly, but no tell-tale crack of an egg. “That’s a cruel way to treat the woman he loved the most in the world.”

“Are you saying you would not use my soul and blood to forge a great blade that would save the world?” Helaena laughed, her breath warm against his ear as the stone was warm beneath him. Jace squeezed her hand and her fingers tightened around his, reassuring. “There’s another story. There were two moons, my maid told me. One wandered too close to the sun and cracked open, birthing the dragons.”

“One of my grandfather’s crewmen told me a tale from Volantis.” It was Jace’s turn now. “That a shepherd approached the only dragon, to tame it by feeding him sheep. They would meet beneath the light of the moon.”

“In the night?” Helaena asked, a curious furrow to her brow that he brushed a kiss against to smooth. “But why is the shepherd visiting a dragon at night?”

“Because she was watching the flock to protect them from wolves,” he told her, tracking along the pictures in the sky, seeking out the fish, the lion, the hunter. “A dragon, she thought, would surely be the finest protector of her flock, for what wolf or thief would dare rouse the anger of the dragon.” She hummed softly but did not interrupt, her fingers playing with his. “Each night she came, feeding him one of the sheep to sate his hunger, so he might trust her, and eventually the shepherd lay with the dragon. The moons turned and the shepherd gave birth to more dragons.”

Helaena’s teeth scraped against her lower lip. “So the shepherd lay with the dragon and the dragon… fit?”

He snorted. “She was a very special woman.”

She shivered, giggling. “So the shepherd lay with the dragon. There were no other dragons?”

“I guess not. That’s what the story says: it was the only dragon. And that’s how the other dragons came to be, I suppose.”

“They do say that Old Valyria was founded by sheep herders,” Helaena mused. He felt her carefully shift to rest her chin upon his shoulder, and Jace turned his head slightly to brush his nose against hers. She smelled of citrus, of lemon balm and mint. “Kivio biantys,” she murmured. 

His cheeks turned red, his heart stuttering at the whisper. Promised shepherd, caretaker of the soul. Soulmates, as the Westerosi called it. His mouth went dry, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Did you dream this?” he asked, the Valyrian he’d learned from the cradle rolling off his tongue, the accent of his mother, of Laenor, of his grandmother coating the words. It was warm, different from the elegant polish of Helaena’s maester taught tongue. Sometimes he felt they should exchange how they sounded, to match their insides.

“Daor.” She blinked, soft and slow, matching lavender gaze reflecting the shine of stars, the pierce of moonglow that caught on her hair and Jace thought she was otherworldly with it - the woman of the tale he’d spun for her. “I just know it.”

[str4ngr]

golden syrup [ john price ]

i had a vision, i also want money

cw: suggestive [not any nicer than with könig] , foul language, age difference [hes like 40 or smth], objectification?, typical confusing sugar daddy behavior, toxic relationship, fem! reader.

Sugar Daddy! Price, always buys you chocolates when he gets back from work, no matter how much you complain about it being unhealthy or bad for you it is, he just holds your waist and whispers in his gruff voice, "I love you."

Sugar Daddy! Price, who buys you a pretty dress for each military ball, amused by your adorable shyness, clinging to his arm as your hips sway besides his, the bespoke dress making you irresistible to look at. Luckily, the Captain is intimidating enough to glare down any pathetic, greedy man away.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who is too focused and stressed by work to realize how needy for him you are. Even when you stand beside his desk. Confused by all the military mumbo jumbo, you simply rubbing your knee against his thigh, leaning down to smell his hair, as you trace your hands across his shoulder, looking for him to turn his focus. But he doesn't, simply handing you his black card and shooing you with his hand, making you pout, pulling on his sleeve, but he doesn't turn. You were his relief, not his lover.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who comes out of his office in fury, a mess made by someone or another, as he grasps your arm, ignoring the pout the sat on your pretty plush lips from earlier, yanked you over to the nearest surface, bending you over as he practically tears your clothes off, letting you moan into his hair and neck as his lips taste your sweet skin.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who loves to take you on dates, loves when you prance in front of him in the clothes you're trying on, loves to buy you every piece of clothing you fawn over, let alone glance at, loves when you let him tease your clit in the dressing room of a lingerie shop.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always buys you pretty jewelry with any diamond, gold, silver, or gem that you want. His favorite pieces being first, the diamond medallion he gifted you the first day he fucked you, and the second, being the thin, delicate anklet with his name, adoring the way it dangled over his shoulders every night, kissing the hot metal to soothe you as his he fucks you dumb.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always sends you more money than you two agreed on, knowing you'll never deny him. Always has an extra band ready for you, a, as he liked to call it, "little" reward for the times he liked to make his little sugar baby into a sobbing mess.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who couldn't fathom the bubbling venom growing in the pit of his stomach, watching you laugh and giggle with another man, knowing exactly the name of this bitterness, refusing to summon the devil. He rushes towards you, towering over you as he looks as both you, and the man he recognized to be a new recruit. "Not for much longer." He thought to himself, grabbing your hand slowly, his movements controlled as his fingers constricted around your wrist like a snake. Lucky for you, his extra band came in handy.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who was merciless that night, not to be confused with his usual roughness, adoring the blush that adorned your round ass, the flesh burning from the searing hot strikes of his hand, each movement after the next making your mind melt, your little messy cunt squeezing desperately for him. He laughed, laughed at the way you squirmed, laughed at how you reacted when he teased you, he was laughing at you, his cute little stress reliever.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who never pulls out, "might as well get my moneys worth, yeah, little girl?" treating your shoulder like a jawbreaker as he bites down, teeth sinking into you plush skin, ensure that pathetic recruit would never dare to lift his eyes again. The smell of his intoxicating cologne, combined with the smell of the cigarette still lit in his left hand, making you only mildly capable of babbling his name as he buries himself within you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

this was so exhausting to write but it was soo worth it.

also i cant be the only one that thinks price lowkey looks like a puppy, yk? i think its the mustache.

directory

[bedtime-broadcast]

Why do i have a bad feeling about this....? Especially with him not telling them where they are going....

Why could a sinner in hell even go for a vacation?

The path wound like a story through the towering forest, blanketed in silver mist. The trees whispered old songs in rustling leaves, each one older than any Overlord. Strange mushrooms pulsed gently at the base of twisted trunks, casting soft glows in blues and greens. The only sound was the creaking of the stroller wheels over cobbled stones and the quiet hum of Alastor’s voice.

Alastor: *low and gentle, to Calliope* Well now, my little dear… welcome to Verdant Hollow. Isn’t it lovely? *inhales deeply* You can smell the silence.

Calliope: *coos softly, wide-eyed at the dancing lights and fuzzy-winged moths fluttering by*

They passed by tall silhouettes of villagers—strange folk wrapped in vintage fabrics, layered lace and moss-colored shawls. One bowed his head. Another nodded without a word. No one stared. No one asked questions.

Ahead, at the edge of a small clearing bathed in the dim glow of mushroom lanterns, stood a timber cabin with curved thatching and a mossy stone chimney. It looked like it had grown from the ground itself.

Standing just outside the cabin was a towering figure: feathers like dying embers, golden-tipped, wings folded close. His eyes burned like coals beneath a bone-white mask shaped like a phoenix’s beak.

Decarabia.

Prince of the Hollow.

A noble Ars Goetia with the body of a flame-touched bird and the voice of a furnace.

Decarabia: *arms folded, voice deep, ember-crackled* You're late. I was beginning to think the forest ate you.

Alastor: *grinning, one hand on Calliope’s stroller* Ha! Not even the trees would dare chew me. Besides, I come bearing good company.

He gestures proudly to Calliope, who waves at the tall phoenix-man with a delighted squeak.

Decarabia: *softens slightly* Hm. So this is the infamous Calliope. *he kneels, one fiery talon gently touching the brim of her sunhat* You’re safer here than anywhere else in Hell, little one.

Alastor: This is exactly what I need! Solitude. Quiet.

Decarabia: *turns toward the cabin, beckoning with a flick of a feathered hand* The cabin’s stocked. No radios, no visitors, no prying eyes. The woods will protect you *pauses* And you owe me nothing, Alastor. Not for this.

Alastor: *genuinely touched, but hides it with a grin* How terribly unlike you, Decarabia. Sentiment suits you poorly.

Decarabia: *smirking as he walks away* And yet, here I am. Enjoy your peace, old friend.

The firebird disappears into the mist as the trees whisper in his wake.

Inside the Cabin

It’s quaint. Warm. The walls smell of cedar and old books. A kettle hums softly on the stove. Wildflowers bloom from cracked jars, and a blanket of stars peeks through the skylight.

Alastor takes off his jacket before he picks Calliope up and sets her gently on the woven rug. She giggles and crawls toward a plush fox doll resting by the hearth.

Alastor: *sinking into the armchair with a groan* Well, my darling… here we are. The first quiet in months.

He leans his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Alastor: Let’s just… be, for a while.

Calliope babbles, picking up the fox plush and happily exploring the new area while Alastor’s shadow watched over her.

[balinsbestie]

First kiss (elf!reader)

The fire crackled low in the heart of the camp, its glow barely stretching to the edges of the forest. Thorin’s Company had settled for the night, their laughter and chatter dwindling as one by one they drifted off to sleep. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of moss and woodsmoke, and for the first time in days, there was a sense of calm. 

Dwalin sat apart from the others, sharpening his axe with slow, deliberate strokes. The familiar rhythm usually settled his thoughts, but tonight it failed him. His gaze kept drifting to her—Lyra, the elven healer who had reluctantly joined their company weeks ago. Though an elf, she was unlike the lofty, distant sort he had encountered in Rivendell. She was practical, sharp-tongued, and entirely too stubborn for her own good. 

And Mahal help him, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

Lyra was perched on a fallen log, carefully tending to her satchel of herbs. The firelight danced across her features, softening the sharp angles of her face. Her movements were efficient, precise, and utterly captivating. Dwalin frowned at his axe, scolding himself for the hundredth time. She was an elf, for Durin’s sake. He had no business feeling... whatever it was he felt. 

“Dwalin,” her voice broke through his thoughts, calm and steady as always. “Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or will you help me?” 

He glanced up, startled. She was standing now, her satchel slung over one shoulder, her piercing eyes fixed on him. 

“What do ye need?” he asked, trying to keep his tone gruff. He sheathed his axe and rose to his feet, towering over her as he approached. 

“I need someone who knows this forest,” she said, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “I’m looking for a particular herb that only grows near water. Will you come?” 

Dwalin hesitated, glancing at the camp where the others were already snoring or huddled in their bedrolls. Then he nodded. “Aye, I’ll come.” 

She smiled faintly, a rare thing, and turned to lead him into the trees. 

The forest was silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves. They walked side by side, her steps light and silent, his heavy boots crunching against the earth. Dwalin kept his hand near the hilt of his weapon, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. 

“So,” she said after a while, breaking the silence. “Why do you avoid me?” 

“I don’t avoid ye,” he replied quickly, a little too quickly. 

She gave him a sidelong glance, her lips twitching with amusement. “You’re a terrible liar, Master Dwarf.” 

Dwalin grunted, unsure how to respond. He didn’t avoid her, not really. It was more that... well, he didn’t know how to act around her. She made him feel unbalanced, uncertain—things he wasn’t used to feeling. 

They reached a small clearing, where moonlight pooled like silver water. A narrow stream babbled softly nearby, its banks lined with delicate white flowers. 

“That’s what I’m looking for,” Lyra said, kneeling to gather the blossoms. Her hands were quick but careful, her touch so gentle it made Dwalin’s chest ache. 

He watched her in silence, his fists clenching and unclenching. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say? That he thought of her every time they crossed swords in practice? That her voice lingered in his mind long after she spoke? 

Lyra finished her task and straightened, her hands full of the tiny flowers. She turned to him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen it. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said. “More than usual.” 

Dwalin shifted uncomfortably, his hand brushing the handle of his axe. “I don’t have much to say.” 

She stepped closer, tilting her head as she studied him. “That’s not true. You have plenty to say. You just choose not to.” 

He froze as she reached up, her fingers brushing against the edge of his beard. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt through him, as if the earth had shifted beneath his feet. 

“Lyra,” he said, his voice low and rough. “What are ye doing?” 

She hesitated, her hand lingering for a moment before falling to her side. “You don’t need to keep your guard up with me, Dwalin,” she said softly. “I know you’re not as gruff as you pretend to be.” 

He huffed a quiet laugh, more out of nerves than anything. “I’ve a reputation to keep.” 

“And a heart beneath it,” she murmured, stepping even closer. Her gaze met his, steady and unflinching. “I see it, even if you don’t want me to.” 

Dwalin swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. She was so close now that he could feel the warmth of her breath, smell the faint, earthy scent of her herbs. Without thinking, he reached up, his hand brushing against her cheek. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was tentative, almost questioning. 

Dwalin froze, his breath catching. Then his hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her back, his roughness tempered by a surprising gentleness. Her lips were soft, her touch light, and for the first time in years, he felt utterly vulnerable—and utterly alive. 

When they pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining. She smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made his heart clench. 

“Not so gruff after all,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Don’t let the others hear ye say that,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she replied, her hand lingering on his arm. 

As they made their way back to camp, the night felt warmer, the stars brighter. For once, Dwalin didn’t care about his reputation, his stoicism, or the teasing that would surely come from the others. 

All he cared about was the elf walking beside him—and the unexpected, wonderful spark she had lit in his heart. 

[bonefall]

Do you think the Rogue of Rot could be depicted as the clan version of a manticore? The human head could be him trying to change to speak to humans again (whether it works or not changing each version) and the tail could be a curse of StarClan for abandoning cats by furthering his new monster-like appearance, scaring most humans away as well, except for the ones that also want to hurt cats according to legend.

I’m just a sucker for manticores since my cat is named Manticore and thought making the Rogue of Rot an actual monster instead of some guy TM would scare kits more.

[ID: What We Do In The Shadows man with the face of a cat meme]

Makes perfect sense to me that the Rogue of Rot has changed into some sort of mythical beast over the years, sure! It's good to pad out the roster of special monsters in their stories.

It can't be a 1:1 of a manticore though, I am committed to never having exact matches of human stories. So for example, Clan Culture has a "Tower of Babel" type story, but it's still totally unique from the Bible. They can have their own vampire (creature that feeds on blood or life force), but it isn't warded by silver and garlic or turn into a bat. Make sense?

SO the Rogue of Rot can't have a scorpion's tail. They don't have scorpions (the closest thing to one is an earwig or a Devil's Coachman), and I don't want to Just Make Manticores by finding a way to translate the tail.

If anything, he might just not have one. Since tails are important to communication, it's fallen off entirely.

Keeping the face of a man in some way-- some tellings make it just look uncanny, others give him the exact face of a man

He can't speak as a trait, anything he tries to say comes out as babble.

Usually the rogue is red, but his color is quite versatile. It can look like anyone-- even someone you love.

[candy616]

Soap proposes to You 💖 (AI ASMR)

Johnny is a sincere, earnest and passionate hothead. He always acts immediately. But for this? He'll wait patiently. Because he wants the moment to be absolutely perfect. For you, his love, his light, his true home. He'll take you to Scotland, obviously...

A land alive with breathtaking beauty, it seemed as if nature itself conspired to create the perfect backdrop for his heartfelt declaration of love.

Venturing deep into the Scottish Highlands, where time seemed to stand still and whispers of ancient secrets danced upon the breeze, Johnny guided you through a path less traveled. Towering mountains, their majestic peaks piercing the heavens, stood as sentinels of nature's grandeur, while babbling brooks murmured enchanting melodies, their crystal-clear waters cascading over smooth stones with gentle grace.

The fragrance of heather kissed the air, its delicate scent mingling with the earthy aroma of damp moss beneath your feet. Soft mists weaved through the rolling hills, lending an ethereal quality to the landscape. It was as if the very essence of Scotland longed to bear witness to the profound bond between Johnny and You.

For this moment, Johnny found the ring that would embody the essence of your love. A magical slender band of silver, gracefully crafted, holds an ethereal, iridescent gemstone nestled in its embrace. The gem, resplendent with hues of blues and greens, shimmers and dances in the light, mirroring the dazzling beauty of the Scottish landscape. With its timeless elegance and mysterious allure, the ring will be a symbol of your boundless love, an enchantment to be cherished for eternity.

He takes your hands in his, looks at you with all his heart in his eyes and says:

Transcript:

Ah, love, ye ken I've nae been one tae open up me heart easily. But by the grace o' God, ye've found yer way in and captured me soul. Ye've shown me love knows nae bounds, and I cannae imagine a life without ye in it. In this bonnie moment, as the sun sets o'er the Highland hills, I kneel afore ye, humbled by yer fierce beauty and strength. Ye're me rock, me compass, and me safe harbor. Together, we've battled through fire and darkness, and emerged stronger than ever. Ye're me equal, and so, I staun' here before ye, humbly askin' the biggest question of me life. Will ye be me partner, me lover, and me ain true, through thick and thin? Will ye join me on this grand adventure, hand in hand, for all the days o' our lives? Ye bring light and joy tae me every day, and I cannae wait to build a future filled with love and laughter. So, wi' all me heart, I ask ye, will ye dae me the honor o' marryin' me? To embark on a journey filled wi' love and devotion, till the end o' our days?

Fer me luv @bellgraves💕

[bitemevanitas]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 & 𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝖺��𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗑 𝖥!𝖮𝖢

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝖮𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝖥𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 (idfk?)

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾, 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼, 𝗂'𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾 𝗂 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌...

The Jardin des Merveilles had never felt so suffocating.

Inside the towering greenhouse of Madame Bellefeuille, the air was heavy with moisture and thick with the scent of blooming stargazer lillies and damp earth.

Somewhere nearby, the soft babbling of a brook echoed through the dense foliage, along with the faint rustle of leaves shifting in the warm night breeze.

The greenery stretched so high that the glass ceiling above was almost invisible, nearly lost beneath a tangle of exotic fronds and vines.

Only the moon managed to slip its light through the cracks, casting silver streaks along the narrow stone path.

Vanitas tilted his head back for a second, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, as he lazily took in the scenery. Pretty place. A little eerie at night, though. Too quiet.

His gaze then flickered toward Marceline, who was walking just a step ahead of him.

She had led him here, unknowingly, of course. He hadn’t meant to follow at first, but when he saw her slip away from the Bal Masqué without a word, he simply couldn’t help himself.

It wouldn’t do if she got ahead of him and Noé on the recent murder case, would it?

That was his excuse, at least.

Her footsteps were light on the stone path, but her shoulders were rigid. Something was off.

"If you actually managed to acquire useful information, the least you could do is let me in on the secret," he drawled, stepping closer.

She merely ignored him, eyes flickering from side to side, as though searching for something invisible in the air.

Undeterred, he pressed on.

"Oh, don’t be like that," he sighed dramatically. "Honestly, I should be insulted. Haven’t we known each other long enough for you to—"

Marceline stopped so suddenly that Vanitas nearly ran into her.

She turned sharply, one hand reaching toward his sleeve as if she meant to shake some sense into him. But neither of them noticed the low set of stairs along the path until it was too late.

Their feet slipped at the same time—Vanitas' boot skidding against the slick stone, Marceline’s heel catching at the wrong angle. A sharp intake of breath. A loss of balance.

And then—

Crash.

Vanitas promptly landed hard on his back with a breathless oof.

Marceline landed on top of him.

It happened so fast that, for a second, neither of them moved.

The warmth of his body pressed into hers as her palms flattened against the floor on either side of his waist. Their faces hovered mere inches apart, too close.

Vanitas blinked up at her, ready with a cheeky quip. Then—

He saw her eye.

Marceline’s breath came shallow, pupils blown wide. Her gaze flickered, neck, collar, jaw,.before she suddenly stiffened, shaking her head.

Her fingers twitched against the stone floor as she moved to push herself away, muscles tensed like she had been caught in some unforgivable act. "Forgive me—"

She barely shifted an inch before Vanitas’ arms locked around her waist.

It wasn’t planned, nor was it smart.

Marceline froze.

Their faces were even closer now, so close that the warmth of her breath ghosted across his lips. His own pulse was thrumming, loud enough that he was sure she could hear it.

Vanitas said nothing for a long moment, watching as her expression shifted, from confusion to something dangerously close to flustered.

Her fingers curled against his chest. Her lashes lowered, gaze flickering anywhere but his face.

She could easily overpower him if she wanted. He knew that.

"...Vanitas," she murmured.

He should let her go.

Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, low and smooth,

"Bite me."

The effect was instantaneous.

Marceline shuddered, her fingers tugging at his collar, almost violently. Her breath hitched, and then—

Her fangs sank into his skin.

Vanitas inhaled sharply, his hands tightening at her waist. The sting, the warmth, the rush, it was intoxicating.

.

.

.

This is not really a spoiler for my fanfic of any sort, nor is it relevant - apart from names and locations, because I wrote this small scene a while back and don't have any use for it anymore シ︎

...to be cringe is to be free, or whatever~

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

[suitov]

As I caught sight of a famous figure beneath the marble ballroom arches, my foot caught on one of the Oriental carpets and I went flying with my silver tray of British canapés! The tray clattered on the ballroom tiles, drawing everybody's disgusted stares. I caught the head servant scowling deservedly at me, being far too restrained to give me the public beating I deserved! Another servant who wasn't so inept quickly whisked away the mess, leaving me to wobble to my feet and dust off my Victorian waistcoat and trousers and bow tie.

Only then did I dare an audacious second glance at the celebrity whose incredible manly beauty had distracted me, which isn't to say my worthless display of impropriety was the slightest amount his fault! He seemed to tower a head above the rest of the Victorian elite at the ball. He wore the most fabulously expensive, yet understated in a humble sense, black suit with coat tails and a Victorian top hat. As usual, he was surrounded by adoring celebrities: the world-famous soprano Madame Opera, the railroad baron Sir Steamfield Richmoney who could afford a whole country, the notable and heroic lady spy Violine Violets, Janemily Oceans the inventor of the ladies' Victorian bathing machine, and even Crystal Billiam the wildly popular medium who was the talk of English London high society!!

But even among all these elites, Lord Prince Fides Germen the most elite of them all was looking..... AT ME!!!

*Fides' POV*

I had just watched an ordinary and very pathetic servant fall and drop the expensive Victorian watermelon wedges on the floor. How disgusting, I thought, then I thought he would do for my evening's entertainment. Because even though I was surrounded by my rightful associates, the elites of society's hope, that itself was the problem when it came to my nocturnal tastes! For I was simply TOO dominant that I could never indulge my tastes with my peers. They were all almost as exalted as me! What I needed was an inferior, the scum of London's society, someone who I could punish and discipline, bending him to my indomitable will! Someone like... Lio Dippergate!!!

*Lio's POV*

I couldn't believe my eyes as Lord Prince Fides Germen strode dominantly over to me! I went into a panic and started babbling apologies. "This humble servant is very sorry, Germen-sama, for disrupting your evening with such an unsightly mishap! Please punish me however you see fit, or if you prefer, I shall remove myself from your sight at once!"

"I'll take the first option," he said decisively!! "and the second. Remove yourself up to my bedroom in the Victorian Palace Hotel and await me there where I will decide how you're to be punished."

I couldn't believe my ears! "Yes, your majesty, at once," I told Germen with a humble bow. Up close like this, his jaw was chiselled in stone, his light brown hair formed a crown of fierce spikes and his grey-brown eyes were filled with dark desire and dominance. It made my knees, already forming bruises from the marble floor, feel weak and yet eager for me to be on them. When he did me the undeserved honour of breathing near me, he smelled like English cologne and expensive English champagne. I wanted to serve him as much of it as he could drink (the champagne, not the cologne) for what was I to such a god but someone born to serve him?

Naegi gave me a final lingering look up and down before he turned and strode masculinely back to the adoring opera singer and all the other women (and..... men???) who immediately crowded around the lord prince to bask in his hope.

I stood for a disobediently long moment on my shaking legs and then, with a last shy glance at the incredibly sexy and handsome Fides Germen, I went and left the ball and ran to his hotel room as he'd commanded and let myself in with the staff key!!!

Look up what Victorian hotels were like

[teecupangel]

In the enchanted realm of the fae, where magic danced through every leaf and blossom, there lived a gentle and whimsical fae. With her iridescent wings shimmering in the sunlight, the fae possessed a gift for words, her thoughts flowing like a babbling brook.

One serene morning, as the fae sat beneath a sprawling oak tree, she felt an overwhelming desire to connect with distant lands and kindred spirits beyond her realm. Inspired by the fluttering butterflies and the whispers of the wind, she decided to write a letter, pouring her ethereal essence onto the delicate parchment.

The fae's letter was a tapestry of dreams, enchantment, and heartfelt wishes. It carried the magic of the fae and the essence of her longing to connect with others. With great care, she folded the letter and sealed it with a single silver dewdrop, a symbol of her hope and longing.

Now, she needed a trusted courier who could carry her precious message to a distant post office, a place where it would begin its journey to lands far beyond her reach. She sought out a nimble and dependable squirrel, known for his quick feet and unwavering dedication.

The squirrel, with his bushy tail and bright eyes, listened intently to the fae's request. He understood the importance of her letter, and he agreed to take on the role of the courier, knowing that his mission would carry the hopes and dreams of the fae to distant realms.

With the letter securely tucked away in a small pouch tied around his neck, the pair set off on their adventure. The squirrel skillfully navigated the forest, his paws swiftly carrying him through thick undergrowth and across babbling brooks.

Days turned into weeks as he ventured into unfamiliar lands, following winding paths and crossing expansive meadows. He encountered towering mountains and serene valleys, each landscape more breathtaking than the last. Along the way, he encountered other creatures, each one marveling at the magical letter he carried.

Finally, the squirrel arrived at a bustling post office in a distant land, a place where letters from far and wide converged. With a confident smile and a sense of accomplishment, he handed the fae's letter to the diligent postal workers, explaining its importance and the enchantment it carried.

The postal workers, recognizing the significance of her letter, handled it with reverence and care. They pledged to ensure its safe delivery, knowing that it held the dreams and aspirations of the fae. With their assistance, the letter would soon embark on its journey, traversing lands and oceans to reach its destined recipient.

As the squirrel bid farewell to the post office, a feeling of fulfillment filled his tiny heart. He had played a part in connecting distant souls, weaving threads of magic and kinship across realms. With a sense of pride, he returned to the fae, sharing tales of his adventures and the joy it brought him to deliver.

Curious the squirrel asked what was written and the fae replied: "Desmond becomes a ghost after the solar flare and gets sent back in time with a doll for some reason and because he's becoming unstable possesses the doll so now everyone thinks the doll is haunted by a demon because of all the pranks he did, and no matter what they do to destroy it, he always comes back unscathed. (he just fixes the doll lol)"

Their small town only had him as the courier and, most of the time, he would receive packages sent by the children (well they were adults now) who left their peaceful little town.

Then the alchemist arrived and set up their little atelier on a small hill next to the town. And the packages and messages meant for their little town grew.

He didn’t mind.

The alchemist usually kept to themselves but, if he timed his delivery well, the alchemist will give him tea and maybe some sweets as he waits for the daily mails the alchemist always requested to be delivered.

He especially liked the tea the alchemist made using moonflowers from the nearby lake early this year. They were small white flowers that only bloomed during night time and would wither once the sun was up. He didn’t even know how the alchemist could have dried the leaves before it withered but, considering no one in town really knew how alchemy worked, well… he supposed the alchemist was able to make tea leaves out of moonflowers thanks to alchemy.

He had finished delivering today’s mails so he was on his way to get the packages the villagers wished to send out. As usual, his cart was pretty much empty as he slowly made his way to the atelier.

The sun was just about to set when he reached the atelier and he stopped when he saw the clay golem take water from the well before it entered the atelier while the alchemist watched it with that little frown of theirs that usually meant they were thinking of something that needs to be optimized or another.

“That one ‘bout ready to be shipped then?” He asked curiously, having seen the clay golem walking around the atelier a week or so now.

“Not yet. Still have to rebuild it.” The alchemist answered as they turned to face him, “Come on in. I’m still finishing my last request for the day. I made tea.”

The courier perked up.

He hoped it was moonflower tea but he wouldn’t mind if it was the usual hibiscus tea that the alchemist seemed to prefer. He placed his empty cart out of the way so it wouldn’t block the road.

Even though he was pretty sure that he was the only one who used this road anyway.

He entered the small atelier and looked around. It looked the same as usual. That device that the alchemist calls an ‘item rebuilt’ device held some kind of wood carving of an eagle of some kind. He had probably seen the alchemist request him to peddle similar carvings to the Archives about 24 times now. And it seemed he would be peddling another one next week as well.

He sat on the small dining table and waited as the alchemist poured him a cup of tea.

The last time he tried to pour himself a cup, the teapot bit his finger, so he decided to not touch anything unless the alchemist handed it to him.

His face brightened when he smelled moonflowers and asked, “Made another batch?”

“Just a small one.” The alchemist replied with a shrug, “Figured I’d treat myself.”

They were about to say something but the small cauldron let out a poof of colorful smoke and they said instead, “Take your time. I’ll just prepare the daily mails now.”

The courier nodded as he took a sip of the moonflower tea, watching the alchemist take out what seemed to be some kind of doll out of the small cauldron.

Huh.

He wondered what the story behind that one would be this time.

============== Actual Answer to the Ask ==============

… so… before anything else, I did base the idea of an alchemist working on an atelier from the Atelier series (because I was playing Ryza when I first got your ask) and they have this reoccurring character named Pamela who is actually a ghost… that haunts a teddy bear… Because of how we set up this ask and answer portion, I am immediately thinking of Desmond as Pamela which is funny because Pamela usually looks like these:

So now I’m just imagining Desmond as a ghost wearing an Assassin outfit that feels more gothic and fluffy? Like a mix of Ezio’s mentor robes and Evie’s Master Assassin robes but more flowy so his clothes would float whenever he appears like an actual ghost.

My initial idea was to keep the doll as a white teddy bear with a red ribbon the same color as Altaïr’s sash but let’s up the creepy factor. The doll looks exactly like Desmond in his ghost outfit but seemed to be made of fabric instead of porcelain or wood. It’s super weird because this doll? It never gets dirty. No matter where it’s been thrown or even when it was thrown in a fire, the damn thing still stays as pristine as always regardless of what happens to it.

Now, since we sent Desmond back in time, this does mean that we have an option of Desmond either haunting the Templars or the Assassins.

Honestly?

I think it would be funny if Desmond is haunting the Assassins XD

Altaïr:

Umar actually finds the doll in one of the bureaus, slumped over and looking quite pathetic. When he asks where the doll came from, no one can answer him and the Rafiq guessed one of the novices bought it for a girl or something but he got rejected. Sounds convoluted for Umar but if no one’s claiming it, can he take it? The Rafiq goes sure and Umar gives the doll to Altaïr as a sorta present as well as an apology because he couldn’t get Altaïr any other toy. Altaïr loves it because it’s so soft and pretty.

When Umar dies, Altaïr hugs the doll as he cries himself to sleep and he feels a gentle hand caress his hair. He falls asleep feeling a warm presence that he thought might be Umar.

When Ahmad tried to open the door to Altaïr’s room to ask forgiveness, he is unable to do anything because he felt a cold presence in the room, glaring down at him. The force is so strong that he lost all strength and fell on his knees crying as he begged forgiveness from Umar’s ghost. He still kills himself but his crying caused enough noise that nearby Assassins went to check it out and saw him do it.

The shouting coming outside woke Altaïr up but he hears a voice tell him to go back to sleep so he does.

Altaïr only heard the rumors that Ahmad had killed himself in front of their room but he didn’t actually see it. Al Mualim was never able to snuff out that rumor and Abbas hears of it as a child as well. This only made him hate Altaïr because he believes his father dying is Altaïr’s fault. (Which is really him being unable to cope with his father’s death and his father’s decision to die instead of living to stay with his son)

The doll stays in Altaïr’s room and Abbas likes to insult Altaïr for having it but Altaïr ignores him which only angers Abbas.

Assassins patrolling at night swears they see a ghostly apparition floating around. Altaïr’s floor has the most sighting but the mentor’s offices seemed to be the ones to have the most activity.

Mostly… everything looked off? Nothing is missing at all but it all looks off.

Desmond has been slowly moving everything an inch to the left.

Ezio:

Ezio finds the doll in the Sanctuary, slumped down near the bars of Altaïr’s statue. He tried to give it to Claudia who glared at him as she asked if Ezio remembered how old she was right now. Ezio just backed away from the room and made a tactical retreat.

In the end, he leaves the doll next to Petruccio’s box of feathers and asked the doll to keep his mother company.

The maids start hearing whispers coming from Maria Auditore’s room but they assumed it was the madame talking to herself.

Which only worried Claudia even more so she keeps an ear out for it.

When she heard the whispers, she runs as fast as she can to her mother’s room because she swears she heard two voices.

When she gets there, it’s only Maria Auditore in the room, holding the doll in her hands as she tells it stories about her children when they were young. Claudia doublechecks the room but there’s nothing there.

The next time Ezio returns to the Villa, Claudia tells him that his gift was slightly helping their mother. She was talking now but she… she keeps talking to the doll like it was a real person. She talks to everyone else but she keeps insisting on having afternoon tea with the doll and the maids are ordered to give the doll a teacup as well.

Mario thinks that this is some kind of coping mechanism for Maria. That she might have had a similar looking doll as a child and her broken mind had latched on to it. Right now, it was safer to let Maria do as she likes. If she starts doing something dangerous, that’s when they should take the doll. Otherwise, they risk breaking Maria even further if they take the doll now.

When Ezio visits Maria, Maria smiles at him and tells him to join their tea party. “Oh, Ezio, come join us. Desmond always love hearing stories about you.”

After Ezio’s meeting with Minerva, he wonders… if his mother knew who this ‘Desmond’ was…

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

Ratonhnhaké:ton finds the doll underneath the bed of the room Achilles gave him in the homestead. By then, he knew Achilles had a child who died and assumed that the doll was the child’s. He placed it inside a drawer he wasn’t using before leaving.

When he returns to the manor, the doll was sitting on top of the small bedside table in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s room and Ratonhnhaké:ton just assumed Achilles placed it there. He ignored it because he knows how much of a sore subject the death of his family is. He didn’t even realize that Achilles would have never entered his room without permission.

Achilles is the one who ‘feels’ Desmond the most. Mostly, he would see a ghostly figure leave the manor or enter it, hearing the creaking of the floorboard and even the ceiling.

He ignores all of it because… he actually believes it’s the ghost of one of his apprentices. With the small glimpses he saw of it, he believes it might be Hope and he believes this is another punishment.

Desmond doesn’t really play pranks on Achilles unless Ratonhnhaké:ton leaves the homestead after he has an argument with Achilles.

Because of this, Achilles believes that Hope is chastising him for being too hard on Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Desmond has noooo idea who Hope is but it makes Achilles more open to his ‘suggestions’ so… well… it might sound bad but he doesn’t mind pretending to be another ghost.

Achilles and Desmond usually play chess but Desmond only moves his pieces when there’s no one around.

The people of the homestead believe that the manor has a ghost living in it but it’s a benevolent one.

Other possible haunting locations:

The captain cabin of Aquila, Jackdaw and Morrigan (the doll was already there when they got the ships)

The train hideout in London

Café Théâtre in Paris

If you want ghost!Desmond to haunt the Farm, child!Desmond could find it under his bed

(ngl, this made me both think about my idea for a fanfic where Desmond is an alchemist with the setting of an Atelier game AND gave me an idea of Desmond actually replacing Pamela as the doll ghost when he gets kicked into one of the Atelier games… I wanna go for the Dusk Trilogy since she didn’t appear there at all and I think he’ll be a good friend to Ayesha. Plus, Atelier games are such chill games it would be a vacation for Desmond.)