#the calligraphy says butterfly!

[suns-diary]

mum didnt believe that my branding is sun. she just doesnt get it

[dulcesiabits]

immortality's end, p.2.

summary: Jing Yuan is gone, and you are alone. How do you live with that?

notes: .7k words, drabbles, first part (recommended you read this first), angst, introspection, JY is dead, this is about grief and the aftermath of the previous part

iv.

It is at times like this that you are made acutely aware of the space that Jing Yuan once occupied. 

With a sharp clatter, the wooden sword flies out of Yanqing’s hands, spinning across the dust of the training grounds. Your own sword is tucked under his chin, scraping against his throat as the boy swallows. 

“Sloppy,” you chide. “Yanqing, this isn’t like you. Just because you’ve mastered more advanced techniques doesn’t mean you can shirk the basics.” 

Yanqing lowers his eyes to the ground, hands clenched. “I understand, shifu.” 

“If you understand, then you understand that I will not spar with you after today.” The blade dips, and Yanqing’s head snaps up, his mouth already parted to protest. “For now, you will return to practice swings, a hundred of each different form.” 

“Shifu! That’s what recruits do. I—” 

“And you fought like a recruit today,” you say sternly. “Poor posture. Waste of movement. No precision or awareness of where your sword should be.” 

Yanqing grits his teeth, clamping down on the arguments you know he wants to make. “I… I understand.” 

“You’re talented, Yanqing, but talent is wasted without training and diligence. I expect more from you.” 

A beat of silence. And then, ever so softly, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, Yanqing says, “If you... if you expect great things from me, then why didn’t you… why didn’t you let me strike down the general?” 

His words pin you down, trap you in a way you can’t escape. 

If Jing Yuan was here. If Jing Yuan was here, he would know what to say. If Jing Yuan was here, you would not have this conversation at all. 

It was Jing Yuan who was good with children, not you. Jing Yuan, with his silver tongue and clever words, who indulged Yanqing despite your scoldings that he should be more strict with the boy. 

When Yanqing first came under your tutelage, you both decided the disciple would be jointly taught. Jing Yuan taught Yanqing xiangqi, and you taught him calligraphy. Music. Hunting. Not just how to fight, but how to survive. How to live. How to appreciate the world around him. 

Because Jing Yuan’s blood stained your sword, your heart, and it would never wash away. You would have to learn how to live with this grief, this death of your other self, wrought by your own hands. 

Yanqing knew how to be strong. But did he know how to live with what came after? 

But in front of Yanqing, the words fail you. 

“Yanqing,” you say instead. “Why do you take up the sword? For glory? To become stronger? Or just because you can?” You throw down your wooden blade, and it lands at his feet. “I take up arms to protect. To protect the people of Xianzhou, and to protect the ones I love. That is what guides me. Practice your forms. Our lesson ends here for today.” 

You leave, and pretend not to notice when Yanqing wipes the back of his eyes with his sleeve. 

Were you doing the right thing? Were you being too harsh? Too soft? 

Yuan’er, you don’t know how to do this alone.

v.

It was said that when you were born, no one knew why you kept crying. Like you were mourning, the doctor whispered. Like you carried some memory of your past life, and it left you inconsolable. 

It wasn’t until you met Jing Yuan, still just a toddler himself, with only a few years on your paltry months, that you ceased your endless tears. 

They said the two of you were inseparable as children after that. That you were always running after him, and Jing Yuan was always waiting for you to catch up. One chubby hand in another. You braided his hair, clumsy efforts that Jing Yuan wore proudly. He saved all the best snacks for you, crumbly pastries and soft buns. 

Even as adults, it was hard to find one without the other. Jing Yuan, the other half of your soul. Who was more of you than you yourself were. You had been born for him.

“Don’t you ever get jealous of him?” someone asked you once. “He became arbitrator-general over you.” 

It was a ridiculous question, even then. Would the hand get jealous of the foot? Would the eye envy the ear?

You two were greater than the sum of your parts. Whatever you felt for him was unspeakable. No words existed yet to capture it. 

He is yours. You are his. In this life, and all the lives to come after.

[because-she-goes]

the truman show

warnings: this is my first time writing smut so please be gentle! anyways 18+, swearing, choking, vulgar language, dom!matty, biting, spitting, praise kink, voyeurism, male solo masturbation, oral (female receiving). Enjoy!

Itwas late. The room was humid, sticky and littered with bodies. Not an inch of space to move. Bass thumped over the speakers and the taste of shitty tequila rested on the tip of her tongue. Why did they have to bring her here, she was perfectly okay at home with her cat - infact she had planned to cozy up with some wine, take out chinese food and binge Love Island for the hundredth time. A true night in - bliss. The only issue was that it was her 28th birthday and her friends insisted on bringing her to a club to “let loose” as they said over the text thread the previous evening. She debated whether or not she could feasibly sneak out without them knowing - saying she had food poisoning or suddenly had to take Frankie out for her nightly stroll. Deciding on just going for a smoke break and sticking around, she maneuvered her way through the swarm of drunk people. She was nowhere near as drunk as her friends, let alone the people she was bumping into. Not liking the feeling of being blacked out and out of control.

Cold air cooling her as she opened the large door, she grabbed a pack of Newports from her clutch and the lighter her Mom had gotten her one year with her initial engraved on it in beautiful calligraphy. It is then, she notices the feeling of being watched. Fear crawling up her spine, she takes a shaky breath deciding to look around for the other presence looming over her.

She spots a figure in the shadowy alleyway not to far from her. It strolls towards her - like a lion stalking a gazelle careful to not move too quick and spook it away. The figure moves menacingly.

“Now, what is a pretty thing like you doing all out here alone in the cold, hmm?” A man’s voice reaches her ears. Still not able to make out a face, she is cemented in her spot. Paralyzed - she doesn’t know if it is in fear or a twisted curiosity to see what he looks like.

Salt and pepper curls are the first thing she notices. Then a jet black cashmere sweater revealing the inner portion of his collarbones and neck, stretching over his shoulders and biceps and then coming to a halt at his wrists. Scanning down his waist, she sees grey pinstripe pants and beaten loafers. All in all, he is easily, without contest the most alluring man she has ever seen.

Like a moth to a flame, she walks to him, meeting him in the middle. Remembering he asked her a question, she coughs and says “Its my birthday, 28 to be precise. My friends dragged me here.” She nervously explains, butterflies filling her belly and bottom lip pulled a little between her teeth - a nervous tick she’s had since elementary school apparently.

“Lovely. You look absolutely ravishing by the way.” He smirks, eyeing her slowly, making a point to stop at her lips. She was wearing whatever her friends decided to pick for her, choosing to pick her battles and go along with this whole charade. Her friends had found a leather jacket wrap dress hidden in the depths, tag still attached to the collar. It had fit her like a glove when they forced her to try it. Hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck, gold delicate jewelry sprinkled across her arms, collarbone and neck. “You look good enough to eat.” He remarks under his breath, taking the hem of the dress and rubbing it between his fingers - admiring her choice of fabric. “Afraid to say though I forgot a light, would you be kind enough Darling?” He asks, eyes burning into her soul, unflinching. Her skin feels like it is on fire, flames dancing up her neck and licking at her cheeks. She gives him the cold lighter, his thumb brushes over the engraving and he gives her another look.

“Y/N, my mum had it made for me last christmas.” She explains quickly.

“Beautiful. I’m Matty by the way, but you can call me Truman, baby.” He states, cigarette cherry illuminating his gorgeous features, leaving her breathless. With a puff, he hands back the lighter and occupies the spot in-front of her. Her thighs clench over the thought of him moaning her name.

“Now, love. Hows about we go back to mine after we finish our smoke, I have some wine and I can order a pizza if you’re hungry?” He suggests, trying to hide how desperate he is to wrap his hand around her pretty neck and make her squirm. He coughs, composing himself. If he lets his mind wander like that, they won’t even make it to his door.

“Okay, sure. I would just have to let my friends know that I left, I’ll text them now.” Pulling up the text thread, she types “mission get laid is a go.” and clicks send, hoping to god he didn’t see that. He did, smirking at how innocent she is - notifying her friends and ensuring they knew she was safe…. or at-least as safe as she can be while also being with him.

The pair make their way to his house, silent on the cab ride. His hand makes its way to her thighs and creeps up, hiking the hem of her skirt up higher and higher. He then feels it - the lace of her underwear. He breathes out, reeling himself in again. He’ll let loose once he’s got her to himself, for now he’ll just tease. Expert fingers dance along the edge of the delicate fabric, slowly but confidently. She mutters an “oh fuck” under her breath, hips relaxing forward towards the hand.

He then makes his way to the center of the fabric, feeling a damp spot. Oh jesus christ, could she get any better. He leans over and whispers just quiet enough for the driver to not hear, but loud enough for her ears to be consumed by his voice. “Now tell me, baby, who got you soaking through your panties hmmm? Wanna be a good girl for me, yeah? Oh thats it baby, keep it together angel then you’re all mine.” He taunts. She whimpers. His fingers now teasing her clit in tight circles above the fabric, lace adding a sensation she’s never felt before.

“Yes, gonna be your best girl, Truman.” Remembering the name he gave her at the club, he moans in her ear. Both of their hearts beating in sync. Her chest heaves, breathing shakily as she tries to not get so worked up by his tone and filthy mouth. “Good girl, almost home baby” He praises, pulling his hand away from the lace. His eyes alight with lust. She shivers at the loss of contact, now on a razor’s edge.

The driver finally pulls up Matty’s driveway and as soon as the car drives away, he pulls her into him. Giving the back of her dress a firm pat, her legs wrap around his waist. He gets the key in and unlocks the house smoothly. He kisses her messily, teeth gnashing at points. “Fuck baby, you’re so reactive, so eager. Want me baby?” His voice piercing her ears. She gives a quick nod. “No angel, wanna hear you say it. How do you want me baby?” He prompts, needing the sound of her innocent mouth speaking pure filth to hit him.

“Truman, I n-need you please. Don’t torture me baby, just wanna make you feel good. Wanna be so good for you, Truman.” She pleads into his neck. Walking up the steps and into the large main bedroom, he drops her onto the bed roughly. She props herself onto her shoulders, making certain her chest pushes out to him. Needing him everywhere.

“Music? Drink?” He directs towards her, walking to the record player and pouring himself a glass of brown liquor.

“Drink would be nice, wine?” Holding out her hands for a glass. He goes and gets the bottle he keeps for times like these. Leaving her for a moment, her breathing now settles. She can’t believe what she is doing. Letting a man she met not even 3 hours ago, take her home and tease her in the car on the way here. She blushes.

Coming back, he pours her the red wine in her glass and flicks the record player on - “Sunshine of your love” by Cream. Perfect, he thinks.

Standing in front of her, he downs his glass and places the cup on his bedside table. She downs her win with a grimace, placing the glass next to his. Hands moving toward his belt, he swiftly undoes the latch and zipper combo on the pants. Her mouth watering. She is in a trance at this point, he devilishly smirks. Pulling his pants off and throwing them in a corner, he starts to palm himself. “Like what ya see, honey? Want me to make you happy? Gonna be a good girl for me baby? So sweet giving me your lighter earlier. So innocent and cute. Soaking your pretty panties for me. Adorable.” He mocks her, now taking his dick out of his boxers and smearing the precum across himself, moaning her name softly. She drools. He spits roughly into his hand, her mind feels like TV static. His head throws back as he moans, hand pumping slowly over himself. “God, yeah thats it baby. Just like that, so good.” He moans, knowing he is being cruel to his guest and frankly not caring.

“Please let me touch you, baby. Need you so bad. Bet I’d feel better than your ha-“ She tries to tease back at him, but before the words can even leave her mouth his other hand grabs her by the throat and he looms over her darkly. “What the fuck did you say to me? I get to decide when to use you, doll. For now, you sit still like a good little slut for me, yeah?.” Releasing her, he spits on himself again and jerks quicker. More roughly, swearing with each pull. Her thighs squeeze and a whimper threatens to leave her throat. “Thats the fucking shit baby, oh what a good girl you are being so still for me. Like a goddamn statue you are. So fucking perfect and obedient. So sweet for me.” He praises, watching her squirm a little. She sits on her hands, trying to create any sort of friction she can. She may as well be dripping for him. “Gonna devour you baby, you wont even remember your name. All you’ll be able to say is Truman. What a cute little slut you’ll be moaning for me hmm?” She shivers once more, less this time not wanting to upset him. She notices he’s getting sloppier and faster with his hands, her mouth drops open, allowing him to cum in it if he so chooses. “Good girl, giving me your sweet mouth. So considerate fuck. So sweet baby. Fuck baby, ready?” He double checks. Nodding, he unloads down her tongue, she swallows cleanly, not a drop going to waste. She shows him, leaning down he kisses her and whispers a “good fucking girl swallowing me, baby” in her ear. He nips at her ear lobe and jaw as he comes back up, she melts.

“Been so patient for me, honey. Bet youve soaked all the way to the sheets by now. Tsk tsk tsk, im sorry honey. Gonna take care of you, okay?” He undoes her dress in a single motion, body revealing itself to him. The first thing he spots is her lacy pink thong, the second being the lack of bra. “So sweet, baby. Oh you look so perfect for me. Gonna be good for me? And how naughty of you, not wearing a bra baby… want all those men in that club to see your tits, princess?” He asks before kneeling before her. “No, sir. Only you, Truman. Only wanted you to see. Wanna be so good for you.” She mumbles to him.

“Awwe how cute are you when you’re flustered.” He says pulling the lace to the side and her hips closer to the edge of the bed. He rubs his hands op her calves then on her thighs, wrapping in ward pulling her legs apart. She is shimmering in front of him, truly appetizing in every way. He licks his lips, twisting his tongue around the outside of her and taking sudden swipes in towards her center. She yelps. Teasing her even more, he places kisses to her inner thighs and in a line from her clit all the way to her center. Her head is thrown into a dizzying spiral once he finally swipes across her. “Feels so good, Truman oh my god. Feels like heaven, baby.” He moans into her with delight, getting off on the fact that she’s enjoying this just as much as him.

“Tastes like watermelon candy baby, my god. So good for me, so perfect and sweet. All mine baby, all fucking mine.” He groans wickedly, biting her thighs. She moans, the praise making her more and more turned on with each sentence. She feels like she could explode. Tongue gliding across her beautifully, his curls popping out from her thighs. “Gonna cum baby, need to cum so bad.” She warns him. He stops abruptly.

Taking a lap around the room, catching his breath. “You only cum when I say you can, got it!” His eyes like wildfires now staring at her heaving body. He demands, voice booming around the house. “Yes, sir. Yes, Truman.” She obeys. Following his every command like gospel. She thinks she would kill for him if he asked her. Be the Bonnie to his Clyde. Her eyes swimming with want, hunger and lust.

“Atta fucking girl!” He pounces back to her, giving her throat one more tight squeeze before resuming the oral like he never stopped. A lightning bolt goes through her at the sudden restart. Her legs shake, his hands grabbing them tighter, holding them still. One hand droops over the thigh to her clit and teases as he continues to eat her alive. Somehow, she feels the pleasure increase 100 fold. “Good girl, baby, knew you’d love that pretty clit getting some attention.” He says into her thigh. The other hand reaches to her chest and meanly twists her nipple, she screams. He smirks into her, finally getting the sound he has been awaiting all night. “So fucking responsive, so good baby. Close yet?” He checks.

She nods then realizes he can’t see her. “Yes, Truman! So fucking close for you, wanna come all over your tongue! God this feels so fucking good!!” She screams quickly, pleasure starting to burn at her insides. Threatening to come undone he feels her clench around his touch and clit twitch under his fingers. “Cum for me baby. Be Truman’s good fucking girl and come all over my tongue, angel. So fucking filthy and perfect for me baby. I fucking love hearing you.” He steadies her legs as she tries to clamp on his head. She wales. Her wetness covering his face with a magnificent sheen. “So fucking good, baby.”

He mutters one final time before standing up and walking to his bathroom. Grabbing wipes and filling his empty glass with some water, he cleans her up and has her drink. Wiping his own face with a wipe and cleaning his hands he comforts her noticing she had gone quiet and shy. “Good job baby, so perfect for me. I had such a nice time. You sound so pretty for me. Want a bath or have a cuddle and go to bed hmm?” He asks, kneeling in-front of her again, eyes now soft and warm. No trace of the man who was grabbing her throat and yelling a few moments ago. She decides on a nice long bath to unwind, he orders some pizza for delivery while she bathes figuring she didn’t eat at the club. They spend the rest of the night, kissing and talking about their lives. Whispering sweet nothings to each other. Wrapped in sheets, comfortably. A complete opposite picture to the two people leaving the club earlier that night. Before she falls asleep in his wonderfully soft bed, she hears him whisper a “Happy Birthday, Baby.” and he kisses her forehead.

[wutheringskies]

If you don't mind, can I ask something from MDZS? What do you think are Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic? Sorry if you've answered these questions before.....

Hi, anon! Sure, you can ask. I love asks. It's fun to think about MDZS .

Wei Wuxian:

Strength: I think his most important strength is his ingenuity, like this guy will use all that is near and available to him, to serve his purpose. He's really flexible, and can adapt easily, even his manner of speaking varies greatly; when he's angry, it becomes so cold and formal, yet, he can speak so cutely as well. There's this line in the book - "if he were poor, he could sleep under a tree. If he were rich, he could sleep in a mansion." He's so dauntless and I love that. Another major strength of his is his true empathy; even in the pits of hell, he made friends with the ghosts. The scene where he kisses the skeletal arm? Amazing. There are so many more strengths honestly; the way he is confident about his abilities, the way he will do the right thing even knowing that he would not be rewarded or thanked; he doesn't force debts onto others for his offered kindness; doesn't hold resentment; forgives the wrongs against him and is really, really smart.

Weakness: too good for this world. Joking. But I do think all of his weaknesses come from being a gem among the hay - too righteous, too kind, too good, unable to abandon those he cares about, willing to shoulder all sorts of burdens and some assholes just keep on adding more. not the type to complain or talk about his true feelings; too dismissive of his own emotions; moves on with the next thing a little too quickly; if he doesn't want to face something, HE WILL FORGET IT. He plays off so much shit; there are layers to his narration. You need to look really closely to find out what really hurts him or how he feels. He's like a damn butterfly fluttering around the main essence of things when it is about his feelings, his thoughts etc.

Lan Wangji:

Strength: His own righteousness and moral code that makes him take punishment even when it's not his fault; that makes him injure 33 clan elders and return later for punishment, that makes him traverse the world for 10 years, helping every minor cause. Even Wei Wuxian is bored on their 'going where the chaos is' (but of course, he will go). He is also the same, wishing to just stand by Wei Wuxian. He doesn't need a relationship, doesn't need thanks or apologies. Secondly, his dependability - he has honed his skills to a level of near-perfection, whether it be the art of the sword, cultivation, calligraphy, sex, etc - a very methodical approach. Also, his true empathy; how he is so soft at heart, like a young boy. Pure-hearted, wielding his sword with mercy. So, he's able to empathize with people and understand each of their circumstances while still making the righteous and most reasonable calls. One of his major strengths is also in his attitude towards things. He doesn't get worked up when people insult him (Wen Chao scolding him during Qishan Wen Indoctrination after the Wen burnt his clan and yet, he still didn't respond to the provocations.) He keeps his mind especially calm, and open, and doesn't draw conclusions until there is valid evidence (the only person who makes him lose his cool is WWX.)

Weaknesses: Suppresses his desires, wants and humane needs a lot; struggles to communicate what he truly wishes to say; stubborn to no end, unrelenting; unable to handle much teasing, mutilated trees and kicks rocks, struggles sharing his thoughts or doesn't wish to share them lmao.

I've written a post about what I like about their dynamic before; here it is !

[hotpinkboots]

HIIIII GIRL, before i request I just wanna say I adore ur writing so muchhhhhh its so cuteee hhh 💖 💖 💖

anyway some rouxls x gender neutral reader fluff for me and my my content deprived brothers?

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~𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖝𝖑𝖘 𝕶𝖆𝖆𝖗𝖉 x Reader Fluff Headcanons~

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DARLING DID YOU READ MY MIND I WAS GOING TO WRITE SOME ROUXLS TODAY AND NOW I HAVE THE PERFECT EXCUSE TO DO SO BECAUSE IT WAS REQUESTED OF ME :D

Thank you so much, I always get all giggly when people compliment my writing 😭 THANK YOUUUU

Rouxls is criminally underrated. I'm madly in love with him 😩

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖝𝖑𝖘 𝕶𝖆𝖆𝖗𝖉

★★★★

~First things first, I HIGHLY doubt he has that annoying voice that some people headcanon him to have....I definitely think his voice is far more deep and charming.

~He is such a FLIRT, though he would get very flustered and splutter if you flirted back.

~But when he gets over it, his ego is boosted even more because of what you said.

~He prefers you to not touch his hair...but sometimes he'll let you. And he might find he enjoys it! But he's still not going to let you touch it unless you throw a fit about it >:)

~His hair is the softest thing on the PLANET it's smooth and silkyyyyy 💜💜💜

~He has so many ridiculous nicknames for you.

~"Ah-ha! Mine own flower! How nice it is to seeth thee! How gorgeous thou art!"

~I don't translate Shakespeare I just write it >;))) MWAHAHA

~He'll call you his butterfly, his beloved, his sweetest of all the peas, and of course he'll call you a worm if you decide to "bug" him.

~Has a ton of monologues memorized to tell you how much he loves you.

~He likes to write poems for you!! In his glorious fancy calligraphy, of course. They're always so heartfelt and romantic.

~Rouxls is so fun to annoy, too. You've been chased out of his shop multiple times.

~He secretly finds it so endearing. You keep him on his toes.

~Keep in mind that he and Lancer are a two in one package! You'll get to entertain Lancer- actually, he entertains you, is more like it. Lancer's a funny little pumpkin with lots of tricks up his sleeve.

~Rouxls is going to force you to dance with him, by the by.

~He's a stupid pretty boy and is quite clumsy, so you're constantly trying to help him make better puzzles (then he takes credit for what you did)

~He IS taller than you. This man is 9 feet tall, an absolute unit. So, unfortunately, you could be the tallest person ever and he would still see you as short.

~So, along with all those funny endearing nicknames he has for you, he also calls you:

~an ant

~And he sometimes feels like being ornery, so he'll lean down so he can "hear you speak" and look at you.

~"Doest this offendeth thee? How humiliating for thee, yond thou art so small I cannot heareth thy voice upon mine own ears speaking to me. Ant! Thou art an ant to me. Speaketh up, ant, so i can heareth thy w'rds!"

~He won't shut up about you being an ant, now.

~Rouxls likes to kiss your hand! And would quite possibly curl up and die on the spot if you kissed his.

~He's a gentleman when he's not teasing you.

~You can always get back at him for teasing you, since he's pretty easy to tease, as well.

~Speaking in terrible Shakespeare to make fun of him or using your finger to boing that extra piece of skin that attaches his lips will offend the HELL out of him.

~Hollers at you and smacks you with a broom.

~"Why, thoust bite-sized monster- GAH! BEGONE, ANT!"

~You both are absolute menaces to society and it's the best relationship that's ever existed

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I LOVE HIM SO MUCH OH MY GODJDIFKSJDJKWN

Also, thank you for telling me the gender preference thingy, people don't really tell me so I just have to guess LOL. Much appreciated, ant!

Fangamer make a Rouxls plush please

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Rouxls/Masterlist (Scroll Down For The Masterlist)!

see what I did there

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Join my Chat/Roleplay Server! Here, you'll get updates on my videogame/fanfiction, make friends, and meet new roleplay buddies!:

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~Love, PinkBoots

[alastairstom]

Butterflies, Part II

Based on this beautiful art by @hanelizabeth, a continuation of yesterday's story.

---

Cordelia did not wear her butterfly dress again for another week. But on the day of the Institute's spring ball, when James had gone to help his parents prepare several hours too early, he left a note behind for her.

It sat on their bed with a small, delicate blue carnation to its side. DAISY was written on the envelope in loopy lettering, and when she opened it, she was surprised to see that James had been practicing his calligraphy.

My Daisy, though you look stunning in everything you wear, and though I would love you quite well even if you appeared at the ball in a burlap sack, I would very much like to see you in your butterfly dress again. Would you consider wearing it for me? In exchange, I will pocket some extra raspberry tarts from the refreshments table just for you. -J

Cordelia felt rather silly for smiling to herself as widely as she did. Who was she to resist such a request?

-

That night, Cordelia walked alongside Anna and Ari into the Institute ball. They had helped her get ready, and Ari had praised the delicate skirt of her butterfly dress liberally. Anna had simply nodded her approval, and Cordelia was left to guess at her thoughts.

But all thoughts of the friends who had vanished onto the dance floor dissipated the moment that James walked in.

Cordelia sucked in a breath, for it was her turn to feel the wind knocked from her lungs. Because in the doorway was James, wearing an outfit that must have been tailor-made to match her own.

His black pants and white button-down were neutral colors, but his waistcoat stood out among everyone else on the dance floor and its outskirts. It was the same lovely sky-blue as her dress, and the butterfly print made her believe that it was cut from the same fabric as her skirts.

She had never seen James in something so delicate. It provided such a stark contrast with the smoldering determination in his resplendent golden gaze.

Those eyes met hers, only hers, only ever hers.

"Dance with me?" He said as he approached, and she giggled as he pulled her onto the dance floor.

-

Three sets later, they were still twirling. "You are going to be scolded awfully," Cordelia told James with an impish grin. "It is in poor form to dance more than a single set with your wife, I hear. And here we have danced three in a row."

James grinned. "That is truly too bad for everyone else, as I plan to dance every set with my wife. Social convention is overrated when it means that I have to waltz with Rosamund Wentworth or... well, any woman who is not you."

"Oh?" She grinned. "Is that why you had that specifically made to match my dress?"

"Certainly," James said. "Anna helped me identify the fabric. She agonized over its source for hours and deeply lamented that Matthew was not here to instantly tell her where it had come from."

"And she took you to the tailor?"

"Well, no. I went to the tailor today while she distracted you."

They spun in a circle in time with the music, then, and Cordelia laughed. "It appears that I underestimated your determination to show the Clave that we are a set."

"Certainly," James agreed. "They must all know that if we were children's dolls, or salt-and-pepper shakers, that we would be packaged in one box. A unit."

"The true meaning of marriage: becoming salt-and-pepper shakers," Cordelia agreed. "You are the salt."

James kissed her nose. "If you say so."

The music shifted - a new set was upon them, a waltz. So James pulled Cordelia in close, and she rested her head against his chest. The butterflies in her skirt moved into her belly, and their wings fluttered as James kissed her temple and wove his hands around her waist. "See?" He asked. "Would I truly dance such a set with another woman?"

"I should hope not," Cordelia said. "I would step on your foot."

James chuckled. "I would expect no different," he said, his heart pounding against his new suit as Cordelia listened to its rhythm.

[nanowrimo]

So You Didn’t Hit Your Word Count… Did You Have Fun?

Sometimes we don’t reach our word count goal. And that’s okay! Longtime NaNo participant Michael Chatfield has a few words of advice on how the most important part of writing is the journey itself. There’s a regular responses to missing your word count— “I’ll just increase how much I write tomorrow, I’ll spread it over the remaining days!”

If that works for you— go for it!

If that doesn’t and you’re starting to beat yourself up about not hitting those numerical milestones and your obstacles are starting to look like blockades, this might be for you. My limited nuggets of wisdom I can give you on the all fearing word count.

I’m going to talk a little about passion, some about joy and a lot about how while numbers are great— they are not the be all-end all of writing. Showing up, getting lost inyour world, exploring it everyday and putting in the time is the win. Sometimes that results in words, we hope, but sometimes that means we don’t hit the numbers we want to.

Many times when we don’t hit that all important word count, there comes a sinking feeling. You may say to yourself something like — “I’m slipping”, “I’m behind”, “It’s going to be so hard to catch up”, “I’m failing!”. These are all a variation of “I didn’t get x words today so I’m losing”.

Woah— wait, you’re losing? You’re falling behind? Let me steal some words and heavily paraphrase what I heard fellow writer Elana Johnson say. Writing is like climbing a mountain, we’re each going up it on our own path in our own way. When we take a pause we feel like we’re slipping down the mountain. That’s just plain ridiculous, you climbed up to this point.

You’re HERE!

Take a look around. Your love for an idea, for a group of characters has led to this point. Draw from the excitement, that passion that got you here.

Get excited by that next scene that’s bursting to come forward, that next juicy tidbit you see ahead that opens a pit in your stomach, or fills it with butterflies!

Are you chasing numbers, or are you chasing those feelings, those scenes and parts that send a thrill through your mind and out into the world?

Ground yourself in where you are, just like a trek up a mountain, rarely do you do it in one damn bound.

You walk, take a break, take in the view, study the path behind, the path ahead. Maybe you want to be at a higher place than where you are right now.

Okay, totally fine, hell maybe you want to charge all the way up to that next lookout perch. Or maybe you didn’t move at all, you just took in the view.

That’s totally fine too, you didn’t start falling off it (base jumping is a whole different exercise).

Here’s a couple of thoughts/rut busters to think of:

If you’re stuck on something you need to do but having such a damn hell of a time doing it: Write a note. Dump all the information you have on this part. Now move onto the next thing after this.

When you have momentum use it, when you start seeing a scene coming together, start writing on it.

Write how you want to write. Some go from beginning to end, some write in chunks and fill it in, some use pen, keyboard or speech. Others hangout with friends, discuss a topic and write it all down. How do you want to record your stories? Do that. If you don’t know, then explore! Try out the most romantically writerly things you can think of like writing in calligraphy, on a typewriter, or with a cup of something. Picture how you think an author writes, try it out.

Writing your thoughts out can be a great help and allow you to go from writing out where the story is going to putting down the words that will get it there. Give thinking and thoughts space too. We often think it a waste of time or “doing nothing”.

I heard this from Neil Gaiman first and several other writers since. When writing, I can write or do nothing. Give writing the time it deserves and fully devote yourself to enjoying that time. Sometimes doing nothing is amazing. It’s known to cause thinking and boredom, which has been linked to increased creativity and energy.

You decide if you win or lose. If you show up, write, think, and be bored, you’ll honestly be surprised with the results. You win by living in your passion, you win by having fun. Don’t try to define failure, recognize when you’re having fun instead.

After all, writing is the author’s adventure.

Have fun, Michael Chatfield (Like all advice, it is only as useful as you find it. If this doesn’t gel with you, don’t worry, this wasn’t for you, there might be other advice that helps! Writing is your journey, find the information that works for you.)

Michael Chatfield is an international bestseller who likes to create character-driven stories set in fact-paced worlds. His main genres are Fantasy, Science Fiction, and LitRPG, but he enjoys adding enough realism to make the stories leap off the page. His book, Connection Unknown, can be found here.

Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash

[melpomaen]

Blorbo ask game!

Template: X

Pick your favorite blorbo and answer the questions below, then pass it on. Just a little fun and games here and/or can be used for character building: 

The blorbo this time is Figwit (Maenod / Melpomaen). He's bad at picking favorites so prepare for non answers.

What is your blorbo’s: 

1. Favorite season?

The summer. He finds the winter beautiful but he stands up to heat better than the cold.

2. Favorite Food?

He's fond of sweet things, cakes and fruit chief among them. I think his favorite fruit is blackberry.

3. Favorite plant or herb?

He's got a list. The entire viola genus. Violas, violets, pansies. They're all wonderful. The multicolored yellow and purple ones are his favorite.

Violas in Snow 22218-290 by Kathy Whipple Wong+

Dandelions and orchids remind him of his parents (Glorfindel and Erestor, respectively). He's also fond of roses, lavender, and forget-me-nots.

4. Favorite person/being?

It's hard for him to pick one person. But in the timelines where he marries, probably whoever he marries.

5. Favorite place?

In general: libraries, gardens, and close to his loved ones. Geographically: Imladris will always have a special place in his heart. He is absolutely enchanted by the Shire and skirts around Aragorn's ban on entry to it by outsiders by making Sam's acquaintance.

6. Favorite animal?

His horse. Additionally, any horse he ever has or will lay eyes on. Loves his horses. He's very anxious about their care when he goes abroad and prefers to tend to them himself. He also likes butterflies and moths.

7. Favorite drink?

Dandelion tea.

8. Favorite hobby/activity?

He'd probably say something different each time you ask. Calligraphy, translation, transcription, reading, text restoration and preservation, and research are all things he does regularly both at request and for enjoyment. He also enjoys horseback riding and traveling with his friends or family.

9. Do they like to read? If so, favorite genre?

He loves to read. Texts on language and culture, especially if they're either ancient or very current, are his favorite.

10. Do they like to dance?

Yes. 

11. What is their favorite room in the house?

Elrond's house: it's a toss up between his own and the library. Glorfindel and Erestor's cottage: the main room In most other places it's usually the library or archives or other equivalent.

12. Favorite place to travel to?

Fuck if he knows. Lothlorien, for many years. However, when he travels somewhere new, it usually becomes his new favorite place to travel to for a while unless he's found himself there under spectacularly poor circumstances.

13. Who is their best friend?

Erestor is his closest family member and Lindir is his closest friend, though Lindir also operates as family to him.

14. Favorite bioregion?

Out of practicality, more temperate regions are easier for him to handle. Harsher ones are more of challenge but he still enjoys them.

15. Choose one for them: wine, beer, cider, hard liquor, or none?

Cider. As sweet and least alcoholic as possible.

Tagged by: @parma-formenorion Also, you're it, again.

Tagging: @elithilanor and anyone who's interested

[blakegopnik]

THE FRIDAY PIC is back in the saddle after a July vacation ... that included a trip London and a visit to the show of Warhol fabrics and garments now at the Fashion and Textile Museum.

The exhibition included this dress, made from a fabric designed by Warhol in the mid-1950s, and it came with a wall-text commenting on how the pattern must have been inspired by displays of mounted butterflies from the 18th or 19th centuries, and how that pattern seems to have been "a particularly happy expression of well-being for Warhol."

But I'd bet anything that the pattern was based on pinned butterflies that Warhol would have seen much more recently, in the 1930s in Pittsburgh in the Carnegie museum's natural history displays. And I think that pattern may just have had an almost political meaning for him.

The curator of those displays was an eminent White Russian lepidopterist named Andrey Avinoff, who was possibly the most openly gay man in Pittsburgh, caricatured as a "butterfly" in a local newspaper. (See the image at the end of this post.) So I think Warhol's butterfly pattern invoked that history, and was one of many examples of a gay man taking on mainstream society's homophobic stereotypes and slurs, as a way of resisting them.

I'd love to read a serious study of how mid-century gay culture used feminine signifiers — butterflies, flowers, pastel pinks, curlicued calligraphy — to assert itself in, and against, a society that billed gay men as fluttering pansies. Warhol would have to be Exhibit A.

Around the time of his butterfly fabric, Warhol did a self-portrait drawing of himself as a butterfly child, with a text that read: “Here is Andy at the age of two—Looking wistfully at you—He has wings like a butterfly—And if you ask the reason why—He will say: I’m a butterfly you see—Won’t you come and fly with me.”

[8thhousegoth]

BATTLEVOID out April 12th.

The title BATTLEVOID is a metaphor for the psychological consequences of growing up with the unacknowledged trauma of parental alienation and abandonment. Having your mind invaded by technology and control only to discover the true rage and hurt that you were trained to hide all of these years. I made this painting last year, added some butterflies, and recently the calligraphy-stylized Irken text saying BATTLEVOID for my single cover.

Pre-save here.

For more of my music visit here.

[eagle-writes]

In case you still need a prompt (and aren't swamped yet) : "Which was quite nice for the butterflies, for now they got pie, too."

And can I just say that your calligraphy is really pretty? Because it is!

“Which was quite nice for the butterflies, for now they got pie, too”

PIE FOR EVERYONE!!!

Also: thank you!! 🥹

[starsfic]

The Storybook

Happy birthday to @vegalocity! I love your Red Groom AU and this idea popped to mind for a late birthday gift. Hope you like it!

“But tonight was theirs. And though struggles were certainly on their way, all in all, their lives were finally on the path to be together. And to live happily ever after-”

“What are you working on?” The man sitting at the desk yelped, glancing over his shoulder. His husband was sitting up, brow raised at the late hour. “It’s nearly midnight, Noodle Boy. Is she keeping you up?”

No. The small dumpling growing in his womb, swelling his stomach with the late stages of pregnancy, had been quiet tonight. At first, Qi Xiaotian had thought he was expecting a little boy but Sandy had taken one look at him. “It’s a girl,” he said, right then and there, and he had sounded so convinced that Xiaotian had to agree.

“Nah, I think she’s asleep,” Xiaotian said with a smile to his stomach. “I’m just working on something.”

“Can’t it wait?” Red said, getting out of bed to head over to the desk. He laid a kiss upon Xiaotian’s brow before gently plucking the brush from his hand and setting it down. “You know what Sun said, you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but,” He had kept this project secret from his prince, claiming it was a gift for their daughter. But, really, it was for him and Red. Xiaotian pulled his hand away, revealing the book. Simply painted on there was the title: The Red Groom. “It’s done.”

Red raised a brow. Glancing at Xiaotian, as if to ask permission, he plucked up the book and opened it. It had been a challenge to make it without arising worry, not to say learning how to butterfly bind and get his supplies while a doting husband tended to him.

But it was worth it, to see Red’s eyes widen in realization as he read the words in careful calligraphy and the first beautiful picture- a familiar redhead, glaring up at a man in simple dress and offering noodles with a bright grin. It was their first meeting, recreated in vivid color.

“Is this...?”

“Yep,” Xiaotian said, watching the sparks zip and zap across those red curls. Based on those, he was willing to guess Red liked it. “What do you think? A nice storybook for Baby-”

“I love you.” Red’s eyes were gleaming with tears and joy. He leaned forward, gently pushing some hair out of his face, now not caring about the late hour. “And we are going to read this book so much to her she’s gonna be sick of it.”

Xiaotian smiled, unable to help saying his own way of love, before Red kissed him.

“As you wish.”

[milkstoner]

journal entry for today,

My prose reads like thousands of little ribbons unraveling so very sweetly. Every thought is something smooth; if you dipped your fingers into them, they would ripple iridescent. This morning, on my way to university, I took a look at the grass, which was vibrant green, and I marveled at each little sparkle pearling on each little strand, like beads of blue morning sunlight. This is where the divine sleeps. Holy water. I crack my fingers, I render them supple. I remember my mother saying the most beautiful hands she had seen belonged to one of her children, me; I remember my siblings’ cousin telling me I got my hands from who he believes is my grandmother. I remember, when my mother told me my father was somebody I never knew, asking her about my hands, where they come from, and she told me they came from her. My height comes from my father. My hair comes from my father. My eyes come from my father. My lack of soul comes from winter.

Judith declared that God manifested Himself through her hands, the hands of a woman.

My fingers are always so cold and stiff and trembling. They crave gentleness, warmth. They are repulsed by unwanted touch. My fingers are sacred. When I offer my hands, I offer one of the layers of my intimacy. It is a gift. I want to present my hands, give them up to be caressed and admired. A kiss on the knuckles, easing into trust. I want to hold with this subtle tenderness, this supple caress, because I want to hold much sweeter than I behold. I want someone to take notice, how the moon-kissed sunlight shines so bright on my hands and renders them translucent. How my touch is fleeting, how it carries my calligraphy, my craft, my muscle memory, and how it writes itself on its most longed for surface, a loved one’s skin, like my prose, like thousands of little ribbons unraveling. so very sweetly. How water drops from my nails after washing. This is where the divine sleeps. Holy water. Counterculture—it’s contradictory.

I went to day camp at the museum when I was thirteen, obsessed with Lana Del Rey and Marina and the Diamonds. There was a bitchy little gay boy who hated on everybody; he said of me that all he liked were my hands. An odd but still cherished backhanded compliment. From May of 2022 through June of 2023, I slept next to a lonely and miserable man to whom I offered my hands; he rejected them on account that they were cold. The temperature of his body was always so warm and welcoming, but his spirit and muscles recoiled from my touch. I stuck my hands between my thighs.

All that emits light is holy, and all that takes on a circular shape is mystical. I own forty CD’s. I especially like eating from a bowl. My favourite metro station is Peel, with all of its circular ceramics by Jean-Paul Mousseau embedded into the walls and floating floors. Witches work best in circles because women’s histories operate in cycles. Circular shapes are infinite. Women summon from them. The moon is eternal. Street lights are her daughters. Grapes are the sweetest fruits, blueberries are angels. Ladybugs are feyries, and those who carry exactly seven dots wear the burden of Mary’s sorrows. Eyes own, seize, and possess. They are simultaneously window and mirror, a paradox. A classmate of mine told me my eyes were baroque. My eyes are empty. There is only one path, and it leads to the ferris wheel.

I always watch my step, and I’ve just seen a butterfly resting on the sidewalk; I kneeled right then and there, because catching such an ephemeral creature immobile is the rarest experience. Lace fabric is a pastiche of the wings of a butterfly; it tries to replicate the delicately carved veils and their perpetual apotheosis; what it can’t emulate is the hypostasis, that of weightlessness. This butterfly, she was beautiful, showing off her wings for me and letting me take note of the purple bleeding into orange, which reminded me of myself, and of October by James Tissot, which hangs on a lilac wall at the museum. It reminded me, also, of the leaves turning copper; as she lay there, shining her brightest, iridescent, waiting for someone to step on her, she served as a memento mori. Nature morte.

[kiaramonroe]

— &&  if you’re hearing ELEANOR RIGBY by THE BEATLES playing, you have to know KIARA ZHAO-MONROE (she/her; cis female) is near by! the 24 year old POET has been in denver for, like, 2 ½ YEARS. they’re known to be quite NON COMMITTAL, but being CHARASMATIC seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble CHASE SUI WONDERS. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those BLOOMNG BUTTERFLYWEED, HAIR HALF FALLING FROM A BUN, OLD PARCHMENT, THROWING A DIABOLO INTO THE AIR, LATE NIGHT LATTE vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the UNIVERSITY long enough!

check out her stats and info below !!

stats

full name: kiara zhao-monroe nickname(s): ki, kiki, kia age: 24 date of birth: the twenty first of october zodiac sign: libra place of birth: corpus christi, texas gender: female sexual orientation: bisexual religion: taoism occupation: student, art gallery tour guide at L'ARTE DISTRICT language(s) spoken: english, mandarin, minor cantonese, minor spanish pet(s): gecko financial status: upper middle class (with a trust from her father that she atp refuses to touch) tattoos: none at the moment positive traits: creative, punctual, charismatic, and well-spoken negative traits: arrogant, intense, noncommittal and superstitious goals/desires: to help the environment, to do good and take care of her mother, to be a published author fears: family: only child, grew up with her mother lea, no contact with her bio father, close to a couple of cousins and tia angie (her father’s ex wife) hobbies: hiking, writing, cooking, environmental conservation quirks: humming, mimicking sayings and accents, refusal to call her mother or elders their first name likes: music, corduroy, the ocean, calligraphy dislikes: littering, bad singing, dishonesty, public proposals myers-briggs: ENFP-A temperament: phlegmatic

bio

tw: mentions of parental infidelity

kiara was born in a small apartment above a take out restaurant, but when she was 3 years old, her father gave her mother a large sum of money to basically absolve his parental responsibilty. they moved from their tiny apartment to a large house with an even larger yard and kiana was able to take part in any hobby, any skill, any trip she wanted to be apart of. at the time, it was a tough ajustment but they were better off without her bio dad and she was able to fully embrace her mother’s family, both by blood and by love.

spending her childhood and teen years running around a large astate, identifing butterflies and flowers and walsting around their local art gallery, imagining the history behind each piece (the real history be damned), kiara became close with her cousins and also the adults in her life. she seemed so mature and smart at such a young age. she was involved in environmental conservation, planting trees and removing local invasive species. kiara values nature and wants to keep her impact on the world on a positive note.

using the library computer, she looked her father up and found out that a) she had been born when he was still married to his ex-wfie, her mother’s now close friend and b) he had remarried and basically replaced her and her mother with a new little family. if she disliked him for his absent role in her life before, these feelings only hightened after seeing this online.

after highschool, she had graduated with high enough marks to get a partial scholarship to many of the colleges she had applied to. kiara decided to go to Columbia University and graduaded with an MFA in Creative Writing. Now, looking to further her writing career and her education experience, she applied for a Masters program at the University of Denver. she wanted some place away from home but with something familar and knowing her old family friend was living here was the perfect amount of freedom and support she needed.

headcannons/fun facts about kiara! 

she loves poetry, especially structured poetry! she loves learning about history, languages, art.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

we can potentially add a second to any of these if we really feel one of these connections!!

friendship  ✨ 

first friend in denver

best friends

good influence

bad influence

confidants

ride or die

sibling friendship (like an older/younger sibling relationship)

model / photographer (either or)

coworker (at the art gallery)

friendzoned

breakfast club (total opposites but wind up bonding anyways)

drunk friends, aka two people who do not spend time together sober but get along only when drunk

secret friends, aka friends who do not hang around in the public eye as their family or friends may not get along

enemies to friends

wingmen

current romance ✨ 

flirtationship

blind date

possible match, aka someone who friends think is perfect for each other and they’re being set up together

unrequited crush

previously friendzoned

one leads the other on

mutual crushes

mouse and cat (they just keep chasing each other but nothing really happens)

breakfast club (total opposites)

past romance ✨ 

exes that ended on good terms 

exes with lingering feelings 

casual relationships ✨ 

study buddie

neighbours on good/bad terms

roommates

an artist’s muse

professional relations, e.g. a boss, professor, or other work relations

have mutual friends but don’t get along

co-workers

rivals, direct opposition.

negative influence

m

family ✨ 

family friend / 2nd mom - angie

close cousins

family friends

estranged half-siblings

long lost half sibling

[rosietrace]

Mercury Menodora

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

“It may look like a peaceful safe haven, but once you're in the lion's den, there's no way out.”

— Mercury Menodora

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General Information

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Full Name — Mercury Menodora Ludwig Von Monarch

↳ Mercury: Meaning to trade or wages in Latin, taken from the Roman God of trade, merchants, and messenger of the Gods of the same name. It also happens to be the name of a metallic chemical element.

↳ Menodora: Of Greek origin, meaning ‘gift of the moon’.

↳ Ludwig: Taken from the Germanic name ‘Hludwig’, meaning Famous in battle.

↳ Von: A term used in the German language as a nobiliary particle indicating a noble patrilineality.

↳ Monarch: A term used to refer to the sovereign head of state, while also used to refer to a large migratory orange and black butterfly that mainly occurs in North America.

Japanese ver. — マーキュリー メノドラ ルートヴィヒ フォン モナーク

Romaji ver. — Mākyurī Rūtovihi Fon Monāku

Twisted from: Vidia

❐ — Vidia (Tinkerbell/ティンカーベル)

V/A(日本語): Tetsuya Kakihara(柿原徹也)

↳ Voices Wanderer, Genshin Impact

V/A(英語/EN): Patrick Pedraza

↳ Voices Wanderer, Genshin Impact

Age: 16

Birthday: December 17th

Horoscope: Capricorn ♑

Species: Wind Faerie

Height: 154 cm

Hair color: Purplish Blue

Eye color: Light Blue

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/They

Sexuality: Aromantic

Dominant hand: Right

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Extra Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Homeland: Shaftlands, 「 Northern Region 」

『 Family:

Yona Von Monarch Rhys (Aunt/Legal Guardian)

Minami Rhys (Uncle/Legal Guardian)

Kiara Rhys (In-law)

Victoria Shard (Cousin) 』

Dormitory: Bystro Letyuschiy

School Year: 1st Year

Class: 1-A(seat no. 17)

Club: Spelldrive Committee

Best class(es): Physical Education, Navigation

Worst class(es): Water Dancing

Like(s): His family, Spelldrive, combat training, lockets, fashion, gossip, calligraphy, lounging around, reading, spending time with friends

Dislike(s): “Gossip”, loud noises, arguments of any kind, Camilla's singing, Grimhilde, failure, abandonment

Hobbies: Reading, playing spelldrive, combat training, gossiping with Watatsumi and Ivy /hj, combat critique

Talent(s): Calligraphy, bilingualism, physical strength, flexibility, combat critique, navigation

Flaw(s): Judgmental, resentful, easy to annoy, condescending, overprotective, ignorant of the impact his words bring, afraid of change

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

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Personality

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Mercury… Sweet boy, when he wants to be.

He's considered one of the best students in Bystro Letyuschiy, in spite of the obvious fact that he's only a first year. Many in the staff — and student body — see potential in him.

Mercury grew up believing that he had to live up to certain expectations from other people. He resents the outlook most of his family shares, and tends to keep his distance when it comes to most of them.

Only ever agreeing to Scepter Hall to start his life anew, Mercury tries to not sound as judgmental when it comes to the people around him…. And fails. The boy can't keep his mouth shut, he has an opinion and he can't help but want those around him to know it.

Unfortunately, the result is him being completely ignorant of the impact of what he's saying has on other people. His words, his tone, down to the way he conveys it through his body language — It has an impact on other people that he's yet to properly realize.

He loves and cares for the people in his life, truly, but that often comes off as overprotectiveness on his end. Despite his wish for a change in his life, it seems Mercury's afraid of going about that change.

He's not heartless. At the end of the day, he's yet to have truly discovered the kind of person he is — and what people genuinely think of him.

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

Unique Magic: Faster than sound (音よりも速く)

◊ Allows its user to move faster than the speed of sound. How this ability operates goes as follows;

The user builds up a good portion of their magical energy on a certain part of their body — eventually channeling that mana and using it to increase their typical speed.

The effects of the ability will last for as long as the user can manage their mana. Once that portion of mana has been depleted of usage, the user will return to their normal speed of movement.

Albeit with the limitation of falling unconscious if they ever tried overexerting themselves.

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

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Thoughts on them

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“Oh, don't you nary a peep about my nephew. He means well, truly, he does. Alas… Well, you'll figure it out eventually.”

— Yona Von Monarch Rhys, Mercury's Aunt

“I didn't realize he was so…. Honest? Is that the right word? I'll admit, his words cut through me for quite some time since we first met. Yona said that he's warmed up to me since then, but I'm not so sure anymore.”

— Minami Rhys, Mercury's Uncle

†•°•══════ஓ๑「✦」๑ஓ══════•°•†

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Additional Trivia

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✑ Main Theme: Deviltown by Cavetown

✑ Backstory: 『 The Finer things in Life 』

✑ OC Playlist: TBA

༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ.ㅤ⋆ㅤ↛　❝🦋❞

◊ Mercury has a soft spot for certain people in his life. He doesn't like to admit it openly, but he's particularly softer around the following individuals:

↳ Yona Von Monarch Rhys, who raised him ever since his parents ‘disappeared’

↳ Watatsumi Kiyomizu, one of the first friends Mercury made in SHI (belongs to @jasdiary!)

↳ Kiara Rhys, his in-law that he grew up with after Yona and her brother got married

↳ Meryl Hollow, the daughter of his school's headmistress who he wants to protect the innocence of

◊ Mercury likes to make it known in SHI that he doesn't really like to associate much with the Shards. He loves his distant relatives, but his knee jerk reaction when they do something moderately messed up is 😬

◊ He spent a lot of time with Kiara and his cousins growing up, as Yona didn't want him to grow up alone.

↳ He only really maintains contact with them just to receive important news.

◊ Mercury claims to dislike gossip, but c'mon. He's had his moments, and every once in a while, he likes to gossip with Watatsumi and Ivy.

↳ Before coming to SHI, he also liked listening to the gossip Camilla had acquired!

◊ Literally can't stand Sinan. Great Sevens, it always feels like a bloodbath every time Sinan annoyed Mercury a little too much.

◊ Unintentionally took up the unofficial occupation as Meryl's babysitter. Eclair noticed the attachment her daughter had to Mercury, and took it upon herself to appoint him as her ‘unofficial’ babysitter.

◊ Mercury owns a locket — that he doesn't wear in public — that contains a picture of him and Yona when he was 2 years old. (He thinks he was an ugly baby, but finds the photo to be nostalgic and endearing)

◊ Mercury is fluent in English and German!

↳ Victoria was appointed by Yona to be the one who taught him the language at a relatively young age.

◊ Always brings a pair of soundproof earplugs. You never know, he could encounter a singer that's just as bad as his cousin! /hj

◊ More or less owns a mini library in his dorm room. When Watatsumi first visited for a sleepover, she was genuinely surprised to see the number of paranormal romance novels on the shelves! (Mercury refuses to openly admit he unironically likes the genre)

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Appearance

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Mercury's Tags

#mercury von monarch • #『 mercury 💜 』

#mercury menodora (lore)

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[dreamingsushi]

The Longest Promise - Episode 11

Well hello and welcome back to this drama. We have already been through a quarter of all of this story, so I guess it's about time things start moving right? Hopefully, it won't go too bad from now on, but I expect still a lot of drama. After all, this is a Chinese one, it's bound to happen sometime.

Zhu Yan uses her wish to brush Shi Ying's hair. While doing so, she plucks a strand of his, to fulfill her promise to Qing Gang. Obviously, Shi Ying noticed and tells her to hand back the hair. However, for once, she's rather smart and tricks him into giving back a different comb than the one she used to brush his hair, so it's probably a strand of hers. Then Qing Gang comes to ask for the hair and she gives it to him. And THEN she realizes that a dude unfamiliar with poison, asking for a strand of hair to increase his power is definitely sus. Was kind of about time you doubted him. She sneaks upon him and notices that he's comparing the hair with a paint brush, meant for calligraphy. She confronts him for using her and takes the brush away to tell Shi Ying. Upon learning that she was acting like this only to get his hair for Qing Gang, Shi Ying gets mad. He almost slips and let her know that he cares for her, but smoothly passes it as since it's his first becoming a master, he wants to do well and cares for all of his disciples. He reassures her that this won't harm him. Yeah no. It's too late. The Qing will know he's still alive.

Shi Ying confronts Qing Gang and they fight. He's definitely not a match for him though and is defeated. Then we learn that he bears the bad poison from the Qing clan and if he doesn't fulfill his mission to transfer it to Shi Ying, he'll die. Shi Ying takes it on himself willfully. He pretends that he's fine and can suppress the poison with his cultivation. Qing Gang thanks him for his mercy and promise not to leak away his real identity.

However, Shi Ying isn't faring well. Zhu Yan comes back and sees how bad of a state he's in. Shi Ying lies that Qing Gang didn't have any ill intentions and that he took the poison from him, but he's not aware that he's not doing well. Zhu Yan has an idea to suppress the poison and save Shi Ying. She has him grab onto the lamp like she did a while ago and the butterflies attacking solve the problem. And I see you, Xuelu, lurking around. This is going to be again the tragic story of a too ambitious lady. She reminds me of Zuo Qingluan in Dance of the Phoenix.

Xuelu manages to figure out Shi Ying's real identity and she reports to Da Siming that everything's alright with Qing Gang now and that Shi Ying vanquished the poison. She doesn't mention that Zhu Yan was there to help. I don't know if she wants to help her or not... I don't think she's evil, it's more that she's not the official daughter so she might have had a lot of resentment.

In class, they have to make bracelets with some spiritual flowers. The next day, Shi Ying will elect which one's the best, to give them a reward. He decides to go along with Zhu Yan's one, because even though he was so cold and mean towards her, she still kept believing in him. Chongming fears she has too much power over him, even though he says he won't keep her in Jiuyi mountain once the month is over. So he feeds him a fruit that is supposed to prevent him to be attracted to women. There was a warning on the spell, but I couldn't completely read it, it went too fast. I guess we'll know soon enough. The next morning, everybody is extremely shocked to see that Shi Ying's wearing Zhu Yan's bracelet.

And that completes this episode. I guess the main lead is slowly getting a little smarter. She's still dumb, but it's better. I can't believe how naive she is though. Hopefully the trope of the naive female lead is going to die someday soon.