#wisp in the tempest

[julibellule]

Wisp in the Tempest

Aziraphale ♡ Crowley • 17k • Rated.M

This is a test. A trial sent by God. He must not fail—not this time. He can’t bend the rules again. Not after everything. Not after Heaven's last warning.

The abyss of despair swallows his selfish, aching desire to rush to Crowley’s side. To cradle their child. To witness the miracle they created out of impossible love.

An angel. And a demon.

He presses his palm to his heart, a grounding gesture to keep him from falling apart. He chose redemption. But still, deep inside, something begins to crack.

-Chap.03 - Into the Prayers-

Read on my AO3

[prettycalla]

|| sonitus ||

Pairing: Caracalla/Reader

Summary: You have a little habit that you try to keep hidden. Caracalla is able to draw it out of you. (Request prompt)

Word count: 1k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, established relationship, reader verbally stims through humming, Caracalla is mesmerised by it, no use of Y/N.

(As a neurodivergent, I loved writing this! I wanted to do so much more with it, but alas, the writer's block is digging its claws in once again.)

Masterlist || Taglist

It is a strange sound that draws Caracalla’s attention. A short hum, then silence falls once more.

He strains his ears, trying to understand what it is.

It is no animal that he has heard before. Perhaps it is a bird in the gardens that he does not know of.

There it is again. That short humming sound. It is not a song, rather a pleasant-sounding beat of a sound.

Unable to concentrate, he rises to his feet to follow the sound, until he finds himself in the imperial gardens. The sun has long since passed its zenith; Apollo leaving a hazy warmth in his wake.

The gardens are deserted, save for the occasional butterfly and small bird that pass him by. And yet the sound persists - a short, gentle hum. A wisp of a sound held briefly aloft in the still summer air.

Caracalla makes an attempt to echo the sound. He is meet with only silence. Then-

There it is again, as if in response. He tries again, and again it is echoed back to him. He moves across the gardens as he continues, growing giddy as he chases the sound growing ever closer, until finally-

“Carissima,” he calls, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze falls upon your form.

You look up at him with a gentle smile. He finds you resting on the grass by the garden fountain, your arms draped across the cool stone as you drag your fingertips gently through the water.

“Caracalla,” you reply warmly.

You cannot help but notice his flushed cheeks, his shallow breaths.

“Are you quite alright?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

Caracalla looks around him.

“Do you hear it?” he asks in turn.

Your brows knit together in a confused frown.

“Hear what?”

Again, Caracalla looks around.

“There is a noise,” he explains. “You do not hear it?”

You rouse yourself from where you sit, making a conscious effort to listen for this noise that is vexing your husband so.

You are met with silence.

Frustrated, Caracalla echoes the noise from before. Then-

“It is you,” he announces brightly, eagerly clasping his hands close to his chest.

You blink up at him. “I…I suppose it was,” you reply after a moment.

Caracalla looks at you, perplexed.

“You look as though you were unaware,” he says.

He is right, you were unaware. In the lazy haze of the afternoon, you had not realised that your little habit had slipped out of you.

It is not something that you have ever been able to name. A strange thing that has followed you from a very young age. For fear of ridicule, you have tried to keep it secreted away, but there are times when it slips out of you, unbidden, as it has now. Sometimes it is a pleasant feeling that draws it from you; sometimes it helps to soothe your rising nerves. You do not know why it comes to you, but it is there all the same.

Caracalla sits by you on the grass, his legs tucked underneath him as he leans on the stone of the fountain. He hums again, and as if on cue, you echo it back to him. Caracalla smiles widely at you, his eyes bright with excitement. You find your cheeks flushing, far beyond the waning heat of the passing day.

"Why do you smile at me so?" you ask, unable to hide the embarrassment that lurks in your words.

"It is as if I have charmed a beautiful creature to sing for me," he replies, almost breathlessly.

Caracalla has never been one to think before he speaks, particularly with you. He is honest without hesitation, regardless of what it is that he needs to say. He is like a breath of fresh air, even if sometimes it can quickly become a raging tempest.

You find yourself averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze.

"It is a silly thing," you say softly, dismissively.

Caracalla shakes his head, the little gold earring he wears jingling lightly as he does.

"I will not sit here and allow you to call yourself such things," he says vehemently.

He places a hand under your chin, gently forcing you to look at him again. You do so reluctantly.

"There is nothing at all silly about you, carissima," he murmurs, with such sincerity that you feel your eyes well with tears.

"I do not understand why I am compelled to do it," you tell him. "It has always eluded me, this strangeness."

Caracalla rubs at your cheek gently with his thumb, as if to soothe you.

"It does not matter," he replies. "I do not find it strange."

And you know from the earnest expression on his face that he speaks the truth. Caracalla himself has always been different - it was what drew you to him to begin with. He has a view of the world around him so unlike everyone else. Never before have you been able to express yourself so openly, so wholly. He does not try to understand you, does not force himself to make sense of you, rather there is an unspoken understanding that seems to exist between the two of you; an invisible line that runs from him to you.

He is like no one you have ever encountered.

A mischievous smile spreads across his face as he hums the little sound again, and you cannot help your own smile as you echo him.

It may seem like such a small thing to someone unknowing, but to you, this is another little barrier of yours that Caracalla has unwittingly and clumsily torn down. How you adore him for it.

He delights in trying to draw more sounds from you, and while you may still initially shy away from his attempts, you cannot deny the comfort it brings to have this little part of you so wholly accepted and loved by someone you love so much in return.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @lover-rep-fanfic @punkrockmlchael @x-vadon

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[deafeningladyruins]

BLOOD TIES

In the quaint, brooding town of Wisborg, where shadows seemed to linger a moment longer and whispers of old secrets wove through the cobblestone streets, there lived a young woman named Eliza. She was a figure out of place, her heart and soul akin to a gothic novel, filled with yearning and an inexplicable attraction to the macabre. Her life, shrouded in a melancholic solitude, found an unexpected tether in Count Orlok, the mysterious nobleman whose presence exuded an aura of both dread and fascination.

One evening, as the moon cast its silvery, spectral glow over the town, Eliza made her way to the castle that loomed ominously over Wisborg. The chill of her rare illness had been creeping more persistently through her veins, and she knew she needed to confide in Orlok, the only soul who seemed to understand the dark recesses of her heart.

As she entered the grand, shadow-laden hall, her eyes met Orlok’s, filled with an intense, inscrutable depth. He stood like a figure from an ancient tragedy, his gaze penetrating yet tender.

"Eliza," he intoned softly, his voice a melodious whisper that echoed through the vast, empty space. "What burdens your soul?"

Eliza, her heart thrumming with a blend of fear and desperate hope, drew a shaky breath. "Count Orlok, I am afflicted with a rare and insidious disease of the blood. The physicians offer no hope, and I fear my time is slipping away like sand through an hourglass."

A shadow passed over Orlok’s gaunt, pallid face, and he stepped closer, his very presence a strange comfort in the cold expanse. "Tell me more," he urged, his voice a mix of sorrow and fierce determination.

Eliza recounted her condition, her voice a fragile wisp in the dimly lit hall. She spoke of the constant weariness, the relentless pain, and the creeping despair that had become her unwelcome companion. Orlok listened with rapt attention, his eyes never wavering from her face. When she finished, he took her hand in his, his touch cool but steadying.

"Eliza," he said, his voice imbued with a deep, unearthly resolve. "I will not allow you to fade into the abyss. There exists a way to save you, but it demands a grave sacrifice."

Eliza’s heart raced, a tumult of hope and terror. "What do you mean?"

Orlok’s gaze intensified, his eyes gleaming with a fervent light. "I can bestow upon you my blood. It will purge your affliction, yet it will bind you to me for eternity. You will become like me, a dweller of the night, forsaking the warmth of the sun."

Eliza’s mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. The thought of becoming a vampire, a creature of darkness, filled her with dread, but the alternative—a slow, inevitable death—was far more harrowing. She looked into Orlok’s eyes, seeing the profound love and torment that lay within. He was offering her life, albeit a life steeped in shadows.

"I accept," she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with a steely resolve. "I desire to live, and to remain by your side."

Orlok’s eyes softened, and he drew her into a gentle, yet firm embrace. "You are courageous, Eliza. Together, we shall navigate the darkness."

That night, Orlok guided Eliza to a hidden chamber deep within the labyrinthine castle. The room was a sanctuary of ancient relics and arcane symbols, a testament to Orlok’s enduring existence. In the center, an ornate bed draped in crimson silk awaited, its presence both inviting and foreboding.

"Lie down," Orlok instructed, his voice a mellifluous command that brooked no disobedience.

Eliza complied, her heart a symphony of anticipation and fear. Orlok knelt beside her, his eyes a complex tapestry of sorrow and adoration. He leaned closer, his breath a cool caress against her skin.

"This will only be a moment’s pain," he murmured, before sinking his fangs into her chest, near her heart.

Eliza gasped as a sharp pain lanced through her, followed swiftly by a tidal wave of warmth and a dizzying euphoria. She felt her mortal life ebbing away, supplanted by a powerful, vibrant force. Orlok’s blood coursed through her, healing and transforming her, binding her to him in a union of eternal night.

When Eliza awoke, she was reborn. An ethereal strength surged through her, her senses heightened to an almost painful clarity. Orlok stood beside her, his eyes alight with pride and an unwavering devotion.

"Welcome to your new existence, Eliza," he intoned, his voice a symphony of emotion. "You are no longer constrained by the ephemeral bounds of mortality."

Eliza rose, feeling the newfound power pulsing through her veins, the clarity of her thoughts a stark contrast to her former weakness. She looked upon Orlok with a gaze filled with profound gratitude and burgeoning love. "Thank you, Orlok. I am ready to embrace this new life, to face whatever darkness lies ahead, with you."

As the first tendrils of dawn began to creep across the sky, Orlok took Eliza’s hand and led her to a secluded alcove, away from the impending sunlight. They sat together in the penumbral stillness, their connection now an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of shared sacrifice and enduring love. Eliza knew her life had irrevocably changed, but with Orlok beside her, she was prepared to embrace the eternal night and the boundless mysteries it promised.

In the dim light, Orlok leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of their shared destiny, of the love that had blossomed in the shadows and would endure through the ages. As their lips parted, Eliza felt a profound sense of belonging, knowing that she and Orlok were bound together, forever entwined in the darkness.

———

Good evening everyone, I just saw Nosferatu so I got an idea for this little story, hope you guys like it and feel free to give me ideas.

[radiance1]

Master List

King of the Blob Ghosts - Mostly flavor text where Danny is the only king of the Blob ghosts. Au not tied in with Ghost King or Ghost Prince hc unless specified.

Goo Dragon - An au where Danny is a goo dragon made entirely of ectoplasm!

Blind King - Danny is blinded by the portal incident, gets adopted by blob ghosts, and then falls into DC and ices over an entire section of a city.

Infinity Prince and the Dark Escapee - Where Danny gets prince training and then has to hunt down Dark Danny because he escaped.(Small thanks to @starlightcat04 and @lauwftzee3542 for ze name)

Cat Familia - Where Danny gets turned into a cat by pissing off a wizard, and accidentally adopts various cats in Gotham!

Tempest - Danny owns a ship called Tempest that he created that he uses to sail through time. Then he accidentally jumps timestreams.

Moth - Where Danny is de-aged and is a moth boy.

Moth - But with Killer Moth.

Eastern Dragon - Danny is the ghost prince and can turn into an eastern dragon.

Cuddly Apocalypse - Teddy Bear Danny au meets one Dark Danny.

Interdimensional Mini Occult Detective - De-aged Tucker gets thrown to another dimension after getting caught lacking by the magical government branch he was looking into.

Herald of Seasons - Danny obtains the ability to guide the seasons when he was split off from .Phantom while still having Vortex's powers

Vortex's lil guy - Soulless Danny gets taken by Vortex and is his little guy.

??? - Phantom causes a ruckus in DC after getting into it and him and Danny fight or something.

Sold to the devil? Nah, sold to the bear - Constantine sells his soul to the Ghost Prince, and is then turned into a baby sitter by the Ghost King.

Demon and Wraith - Demon twins au where both of them are dancers.

Sun and Moon - Based on an older au where Danny and Vlad were deities.

Successor in training - Ghost King Danny except he isn't and Pariah is his mentor.

Just Monika - DDLC is installed on Tucker's PDA somehow and he dates Monika.

Subject M-0001 - Monika hacks into Mount Justice.

Subject Omega - Danny's most perfect clone protects the ruins of Amity Park.

Medic - Danny be a doctor in Gotham.

??? - Pariah Dark just disappears and it's left to Danny and Vlad to find him.

Eastern Dragon and Phoenix au - Mostly a cosmetic au, where Danny is an Eastern Dragon and Vlad is a Pheonix.

Ghost King/Ghost Prince and Duke of the Ghost Zone - Mostly just flavor text really, Danny is usually more Ghost Prince than King and Vlad is the Duke.

Phoenix King Vlad - Exactly as it says, Vlad is either one of or the king of phoenixes

Kawmi? - Where Vlad and Danny get transformed into magical jewelry that allows others to use their powers.

Fountain Dragon - Danny drops in the Wayne Manor Fountain.

Will of the Wisp - Where Danny gets turned into a tiny whisp because of one of his parents inventions.

??? - Jack gets thrown to the DC dimension alongside Danny and made a coffin for Danny to sleep in during ze day.

??? - The Ghost King gets summoned to DC and wages war, but the Ghost Prince stops said war and gets a date out of it.

Teddy Bear Danny - Another cosmetic au where Danny get turned into a stuffed teddy bear in his accident, he was holding onto one before it happened. He's also in ranges of 5-10 here.

Ghost King at birth, Farmer at heart - Mostly cosmetic au where Pariah Dark, if he weren't the ghost king, would be a farmer and he has an intense love for horses.

Farmer with quite the ghostly (and kingly) secret - Pariah Dark disguises himself as a human and moves into Smallville, has a hard time interacting with humans and humaning as a whole.

Life hanging by tape and sheer will - Where Tucker gets yeeted to the DC dimension.

Dream pals? Dream pals! - Younger Danny and pre-Batman Bruce meet each other through a dream, unfortunately when Danny experienced his accident that connection was shut down.

Bakery and a masquerading demon? - Vlad owns a bakery, Constantine is a regular who holds suspicions that Vlad may or may not be a demon.

Gift in the arms of tragedy - Danny becomes Vlad's ward after the Nasty Burger explosion, only to then become adopted when he was turned into an eight-year-old not even a week later.

??? - Danny and Vlad get turned into kids by Clockwork and placed in the DC dimension because Clockwork thought it was funny. Danny decides to use Vlad to not get adopted.

The key(s) to Doomsday - Danny gets de-aged by Clockwork when going to visit Pariah in the human world, gets summoned, and meets Raven.

Alicorn parole - Pariah gets released from his eternal rest with the sole condition that he's to be watched over by Clockwork. The Ancient of War then decides to combine two mythical beasts and shaped himself into an alicorn, Clockwork followed and then they met Billy Batson.

Ferret Danny - Danny is a ferret. That's it.

Witch - Sam is a witch.

Dead eyed Doctor - Danny, the son of Talia Al Ghul and Jack Fenton, trained under Vlad Masters and became a doctor.

Shadow Twin? Shadow Twin. - Danny dies and reincarnates as the son of Talia Al Ghul, the younger brother and twin of Damian Wayne and son of Batman. Only to then be killed immediately after because he was born with a birth defect, thus becoming a shadow creature that follows Damian around.

Match and Danny - Danny reincarnates into the body of a clone of Superman and Wonder Woman, steals Match and then becomes Metropolis cryptids. Also check out this fic it's great!!!!!

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood Season 1 Masterlist

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Updates every Friday: A work in progress

Chapter 1: A prophecy foretold Chapter 2: Fireflies and Funerals Chapter 3: A debt made Chapter 4: The Arrival Chapter 5: The girl who leaves, the Woman whom returns Chapter 6: The unholiness of burning Chapter 7: Gossip and Needlepoint Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans Chapter 9: The Feast Chapter 10: Beware the Blood Red Roses Thorns

Chapter 11: Words of a Scandal Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies Chapter 13: On Your Knees Chapter 14: From the Shadows Chapter 15: White Poppies Chapter 16: The Tourney; The Joust Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee Chapter 18: Ruination Chapter 19: Tea & Charity

Chapter 20: Sympathies for Maegor the Cruel Chapter 21: Moon Flower Chapter 22: The Ugly Seat Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame Chapter 24: The Boy With the Stars Chapter 25: The Seafarer Chapter 26: Dragonstone Chapter 27: Betrothal Chapter 28: The Sting of Bitter Betrayal Chapter 29: Little Nightshade

Chapter 30: In That House On Top Of The Rock Chapter 31: The Stranger's Company Chapter 32: The Hunt Chapter 33: Brōzi, riña hen narys Chapter 34: There's no measure 'within reason' for women Chapter 35: Pulling the Strings Chapter 36: Boris Baratheon Chapter 37: The Image of a son Chapter 38: Wine and Company Chapter 39: Once in Ivory, to the sound of bells

Chapter 40: Trapped like a Fox Chapter 41: The illusion of choice Chapter 42: Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer Chapter 43: The Depravity of Desire Chapter 44: Think of the Stars Chapter 45: Blood in the Water Chapter 46: The Boundaries of a Winged Pig Chapter 47: The Vigil of the Old Gods Chapter 48: The Stag that Rages Chapter 49: The Stag hunts the Stag

Chapter 50: The Performance of Grief Chapter 51: Once in front of the fire, two become one Chapter 52: The Funeral of Boris Baratheon Chapter 53: The Hunger of Man Chapter 54: The Funeral Procession Chapter 55: Keeping Alliances Chapter 56: Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt Chapter 57: Wisps of Smoke Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens Chapter 59: A Claim of Bastardry

Chapter 60: The Last Supper Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence Chapter 62: Waves Chapter 63: In the Eye of the Father Chapter 64: The End of a Noose Chapter 65: A Fool with a Fool's Honor Chapter 66: The Son of Duty Chapter 67: The Daughter of Insolence Chapter 68: The Tempest of a Woman Chapter 69: Birds in a Cage

Chapter 70: The Beast Beneath the Boards Chapter 71: The Tower of the Hand Chapter 72: Ill Tidings Chapter 73: A Woman's War Chapter 74: Salt and Smoke Chapter 75: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 1 Chapter 76: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 2 Chapter 77: Haunted By The Daylight Chapter 78: A Boy And His Dragon Chapter 79: Vengeance Hungers

Chapter 80: The Bloody Hand of Dread Chapter 81: The Fool That Loved You Chapter 82: The Coward's Heart Chapter 83: The Death of A Son Chapter 84: A Sister's Rage Chapter 85: The Red Dress Chapter 86: A Vow of Fire and Blood Chapter 87: The Sworn Shield or The Boy Chapter 88: Cursed Child Chapter 89: Byka Ābrazȳrys

Chapter 90: The Mother's Prayer Chapter 91: The Favor of the Smallfolk Chapter 92: A Mother's Search Chapter 93: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green I Chapter 94: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green II Chapter 95: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green III Chapter 96: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green IV Chapter 97: Etched in Flesh Chapter 98: Think of Home

[jadegretz]

In the shadowed alleys of a city that glittered with neon lights but pulsed with darkness beneath the surface, Raven moved with an elegance that belied the chaos swirling around her. Cloaked in a deep indigo cape that fluttered like the wings of a raven taking flight, she traversed the urban jungle with a purpose known only to her. Every footstep was a whisper in the night, her presence more felt than seen, a harbinger of hope for some and dread for others. People spoke of her not just as a superhero but as an enigma, a force of nature who danced on the edges of fate itself.

Tonight, though, an ominous weight hung in the air, heavier than the fog that rolled in from the nearby river. The streets felt charged, alive with anticipation, as though the city itself knew that something monumental was about to unfold. Raven could sense the shift, her instincts heightened. She had faced countless foes, each one an embodiment of darkness, yet the uneasiness that gnawed at her this time was different. An echo; an unfamiliar voice weaving through the tendrils of night, awakening her senses, warning her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shriek—piercing, raw, a sound that clawed at the fabric of her very being. Without hesitation, she soared upwards, her cape billowing around her like a protective shell. As she ascended, she caught sight of the source of the scream: a figure cloaked in shadows battling against a group of terrified civilians. Instinct took over; she swooped down, the wind whistling past her ears, as she prepared to intervene.

Yet as she landed, she was struck by an unearthly silence. The chaos she had anticipated morphed into a surreal tableau of frozen time. People stood motionless, their expressions etched in fear, eyes wide as they gazed into nothingness but with a palpable tension hanging in the air. Only the cloaked figure, surrounded by wisps of darkness that seemed to defy reality, moved—slowly, deliberately.

“Raven,” the figure intoned, voice melodious yet chilling, echoing with a power that seemed to rise from the very fabric of the universe. “You’ve arrived just in time.”

Raven narrowed her eyes, fueled by confusion and defiance. “Who are you?” she demanded, the resolve in her voice contradicting the uncertainty she felt inside.

“Call me Destinor,” the figure replied, an enigmatic smile spreading across their shadowy visage. “I have come to offer you a gift—a chance to rewrite your story.”

An icy shiver crept down her spine. “I don’t want your gifts. I forge my own path.”

Destinor tilted their head, as if savoring the assertion. “Do you truly believe that, Raven? The path you walk is woven into the tapestry of fate. Your story, like all stories, has been penned long before you ever took your first breath.”

Raven felt a surge of anger rise within her, a fierce flame ignited by the suggestion that her life was merely a handful of threads laboriously knit together by some unseen creator. “I am no puppet to be pulled along by destiny’s strings! I carve my own way in this life.”

“Do you?” Destinor stepped closer, shadows writhing around them like serpents. “You’ve battled monsters and demons, saved lives, yet here you stand, confronted by the very essence of inevitability. Tonight, I challenge you, Raven. Defy the predetermined outcomes, or embrace the chaos I offer.”

In that moment, the world seemed to unfurl around her like an origami nightmare. The cityscape melted into a haze of shadows and memories, each fragment a different possibility branching off from Raven’s past, her future; shifting, swirling like smoke in a violent tempest. Each twist and turn bore echoes of choices made, opportunities lost, paths not taken, and with them, the weight of potential consequences loomed heavy.

Raven steadied herself, centering her thoughts. “I will not play your game,” she declared, her voice steady against the chaotic symphony mingling in the background. “I will use my own strength to confront whatever lies ahead.”

At her defiance, Destinor’s laughter rang out—a sound both melodic and unsettling, reverberating through the air with a dissonance that sent shivers racing down her spine. “Strength? It lacks depth in the face of destiny. What boundless power you could possess if you simply relinquished control!”

Reality warped around Raven, thrusting her into a series of nightmarish visions. She saw herself, fractured and broken, as countless versions flickered through her mind—each one bearing scars …(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[hyvyinjie]

𓂃ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒂༄˖°

ᴄᴀᴍᴀʀᴀᴅᴇʀɪᴇ | ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪꜱᴇ

ᴍ! ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ! x ɢɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆｡ ✧° ☁︎ come be lonely with me ✧˖°.

𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹, a shadow that lingers long after the sun has set.

how curious that something so jagged and raw can be the only companion that remains.

'are you okay? '

a query like a wisp of smoke from a forgotten altar; bewitchingly deciptive, answered by a mirrored gilded lie—a guise that conceals the soul’s deepest lament, like a siren's song cloaking hidden depths.

are you okay?

of course you are.

even as the cold rain—an icy deluge that seeps into your very marrow pours. the unyielding cascade chilling you to the bone.

of course you're okay.

in a reality alive with fleeting visages and laughter like the songs of ancient bards, why does the heart still bear the burden of solitude?

people flit like restless shades, phantoms that never truly pierce the essence of your soul, leaving behind the bittersweet ache of a connection unformed.

it feels like a movie, doesn’t it?

a grand performance where you are but a spectator, watching your own life unfold on a stage where you aren’t the protagonist in your own tale.

'it'll get better!' they chirp, voices bright as the sun, yet their words seem hollow, echoing in the cavern of your heart.

but did they ever consider if it was advice you truly crave?

of course.

...not.

what you seek is a stillness, a presence that holds space for your unspoken truths.

someone who listens, even in silence.

someone like a scroll of old; their pages turned with unguarded ease, revealing tales laid bare for you to read.

'i love you.'

'i care about you.'

such phrases, tossed around like autumn leaves slowly losing their weight in the wind.

just because they slip from the tongue, do they resonate with the mind? the heart? the soul?

perhaps they do—but will one act on them when the tempest of need rages the fiercest?

the brutal truth is, the chance that words blossom into action is as rare as finding a rose in a desert.

yet, when one hurls, 'I hate you.' you feel the sting of authenticity in those words, a far more potent rawness louder than any hollow praise of love.

drip.

drip.

drip.

Is it really the rain that falls, or are those the tears you didn't know you were shedding?—

wait—you’re..crying?

the hand that reaches to brush your cheek feels like a mirage, a distant echo of touch, as if you are caressing a specter, even while knowing it is real.

'why the tears?'

ask that question, and though you don’t have the words, the tears continue to flow, a silent rebellion against a world that insists you should stay strong.

even more perplexing is the emptiness that accompanies your sorrow.

why does even crying feel so void of meaning?

"guess we're both hiding in the rain."

the effort to engage, especially with a stranger—feels monumental, leaving you unmoved, eyes cast downward, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

everything feels exhausting.

yet, it’s clear he stands with you. and regardless of the umbrella in his hand, he never once offered shelter to himself or to you.

amidst the howling winds of a titanic uproar; a mere shadow of the inner maelstrom that echoed the battles of gods—you both stood, steadfast warriors against the squall’s wrath.

his gaze is drawn upwards, rapt in the skies as if searching for answers among the clouds—while yours remains tethered to the ground, too heavy to lift.

thunder rumbles, a low growl in the distance.

but it feels..strangely comforting now.

the stranger offers no more than his initial greeting—was it even a greeting?—and the silence stretches between you like a vast ocean.

you are two strays, wandering adrift in a deluge.

lonely together.

♡ ˚ · . 良い一日をお過ごしください、愛 !

[starrylanex]

Hi! how are you? I discovered your profile recently and saw that you said that you needed a few followers to reach 200! Congratulations you deserve it! ❤️ Obviously I already started following you.

I saw your requests are open and well, I don't know if you like it, but I need soft things in my life lol, so I was thinking about district4!reader (I mean, not a game winner) taking care of finnick when is sick or when he feels insecure (you know, because of that whole capitol thing), he deserves to be cared for and loved 🫶🏻

HEALING HEARTS

PAIRING - finnick odair x district4!reader

SUMMARY - you tend finnick back to the health

WC - 800

EXTRA - mentions of cold, fever, and the sickness, mentions of the capitols ways with finnick, but fluff all the way

NOTES - hi angel, thanks for the follow i really really appreciate it:)) i hope this is what you were looking for, enjoy!

PS. - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point it out:))

—

the cold, dreary days of district 4 often cast a somber shadow over its residents, but none felt it more deeply than finnick odair. the once dazzling victor now bore the weight of his past like a heavy cloak, his radiant smile dimmed by the ghosts that haunted him. vut amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of light, warmth and love in the form of you, his companion and confidante.

it was on one such bleak day that finnick found himself bedridden, a fever raging through his body like a tempest. you entered his modest home, a home that was gifted to him by the capitol, armed with bundles of blankets and vials of herbal remedies, ready to tend to him with unwavering care and devotion.

"finnick," you murmured softly, your voice a soothing melody in the silence of the room. "i'm here. let me take care of you."

as finnick lay in bed, his brow furrowed with discomfort, you wasted no time in springing into action. with gentle hands and a heart full of compassion, you set about tending to him with unwavering care.

first, you gathered an assortment of blankets, and with gentle hands, you layered them over his trembling form to ward off the chill that had settled in his bones. you tucked the blankets around him snugly, ensuring he was cocooned in warmth and comfort. finnick's eyes fluttered open, weary and vulnerable, but there was a flicker of gratitude in their depths—a silent acknowledgment of the solace you brought him in his darkest hours.

next, you brewed a pot of steaming hot tea, selecting herbs known for their soothing properties to help alleviate his symptoms. the fragrant aroma of the tea filled the room, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, easing the tension that had settled in his shoulders.

with a soft smile, you pressed a warm cup of tea into finnick's hands, urging him to take small sips as you sat by his side, offering words of comfort and reassurance. you watched as he drank, the steam rising from the cup in gentle wisps, the warmth seeping into his tired body.

as the tea worked its magic, soothing finnick's aches and pains, you turned your attention to nourishing his body. you prepared a simple yet hearty meal, selecting ingredients with care and attention to ensure they would be both nutritious and delicious.

you chopped vegetables with practiced precision, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board a soothing melody in the quiet of the room. the savory aroma of the food filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the tea, and finnick's appetite stirred at the tantalizing scent.

with a soft smile, you plated the meal and set it before finnick, encouraging him to eat slowly and savor each bite. you watched as he ate, the weariness in his eyes gradually giving way to a glimmer of vitality as he savored the nourishing meal.

but it wasn't just the physical care you provided that comforted finnick—it was the warmth of your presence, the softness of your touch, the unwavering devotion in your eyes. you stayed by his side throughout the long hours of the day and into the night, offering solace and support in the face of his illness.

as the days passed, you remained faithfully by finnick's side, administering medicine and comfort in equal measure. you read to him, sang him lullabies, and held him close when the nightmares came, a steady anchor amidst the turbulent sea of his memories.

but it wasn't just physical ailments that plagued finnick; it was the lingering scars of his past, etched deep into his soul by the capitol's cruel hands. he often spoke of his struggles, his fears, and his insecurities, laying bare his fragile heart for you to mend.

"you deserve so much better," he whispered one night, his voice raw with emotion. "you shouldn't have to waste your love on someone like me."

but you shook your head, your eyes brimming with unwavering determination. "finnick, you are worthy of love," you insisted, your words a steadfast declaration of truth. "you are strong, and brave, and resilient. and you deserve to be cared for and cherished, just as much as anyone else."

and in that moment, finnick saw himself reflected in your eyes—the man he could be, not the broken shell of who he once was. he saw hope, and light, and love, shining bright amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

as finnick's fever broke and his strength returned, so too did his spirit, rekindled by the warmth of your love. and though the scars of his past would always linger, for in your arms, he found solace, and in your heart, he found home.

[pupsmailbox]

DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES︰ abbie. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. agatha. alexis. almond. alora. andy. angaline. angie. annabelle. anne. annie. antoinette. apricot. ash. aspen. aui. ava. babette. babydoll. barbie. beau. bella. bellamy. belle. bells. bibi. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. bonnie. boo. bram. button. buttons. cadel. carmilla. carrie. catherine. charlie. charlott. charlotte. charolotte. chus. colere. commedia. concealesse. cypress. dahlia. dawn. dearesse. dearie. deimora. desdemona. doey. doll. dollace. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollface. dolli. dollia. dolliae. dolliana. dollie. dollina. dolline. dollita. dolllet. dollni. dollsine. dolly. dollyne. dolseki. dottie. dwollie. dwolline. eeria. elissar. eliza. elodie. emily. emmie. evelyn. everly. eveyln. faith. felicity. figurina. frill. frillace. frillae. frilleine. frillesse. frillette. frillita. frilly. ginevra. gladys. grace. gracelyn. gregory. gwenivive. haunt. hauntique. hushed. hushie. iraia. iresse. islanne. jane. jinx. joujou. julie. juniper. kiva. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. laciene. laciette. lain. laintess. lakka. lala. lalki. lanie. lelita. lillith. lilly. lilo. lily. littlita. lolttie. lorelei. lovelace. lovey. lovie. luci. lyalka. lydia. lyra. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. margaux. mari. maria. marianette. marianne. maribel. marie. marin. marinletta. marinlita. marion. marioneta. marionette. marionne. marisol. marotte. marrionette. mary. marybelle. maryjane. maskie. max. melodie. melody. mika. millie. minuette. misky. misty. molly. moonie. morgaña. muriel. muñeca. mwahs. nabelle. nappi. nellie. nemesis. nene. neni. nimbus. nina. nola. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. patch. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. pochi. poe. poppet. poppy. porce. porcelae. porcelain. porcelainette. porcelainne. porcelette. porcelina. porceline. porcelline. pupella. pupetta. puppetesse. puppetina. puppetlita. puppetta. puppette. puzzle. quietesse. quinn. ragdoll. ranoia. ravanche. raven. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rosetta. rosette. rubella. ruby. salem. sasha. satin. savi. scarlet. scarlett. sebastian. secrette. sew. sewine. sewline. shatter. shine. shush. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. soriv. spirit. sprout. statuette. stichina. stitches. suni. surri. sweeheart. sweetie. sweetine. teerlita. tempest. thalia. thorn. thredette. tibo. toyelle. toyine. ulysses. vanessa. vee. vera. veralice. vintage. viola. violet. vivian. vivienne. william. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS︰ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. an/antique. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bae/bell. ball/joint. balljoint/balljoint. balljoint/balljointed. bell/bell. berserk/berserk. bisque/bisque. bjd/bjd. bla/black. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. boo/boo. bow/bow. button/button. che/che. cheer/cheer. chey/chem. cloth/cloth. conceal/concealed. contain/contained. control/control. coquette/coquette. cracked/cracked. crae/crack. cre/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. cute/cute. da/dark. dea/dead. dea/dearie. dea/death. dead/dead. dear/dear. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. despair/despair. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolljoint/dolljoint. dolly/dolly. dress/dress. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. fab/ric. fabric/fabric. fair/fair. fi/figure. fig/figure. fragile/fragile. friendly/friendly. frill/fill. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glaze/glaze. glo/gloomy. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. haunt/haunt. hwe/hwm. hx/hxm. hy/hym. h♡/h♡m. ix/ix. joi/joint. joint/joint. joy/joy. keep/quiet. ki/kill. kyu/kyu. la/lace. lace/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/lovely. lovely/lovelie. mad/mad. mae/mae. mar/marionette. marionette/marionette. mi/mier. mim/mimic. ny/nym. ol/old. pale/pale. patch/patch. patchwork/patchwork. petite/petite. phan/phantom. pink/pink. play/play. play/plaything. play/playtime. play/thing. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pretty/pretty. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. puppeteer/puppeteer. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rod/rod. ruffle/ruffle. scary/scary. secret/secret. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shadow/shadow. shey/shem. shi/shift. shush/hush. shwe/shwer. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh♡/h♡r. silk/silk. slee/sleep. smile/smile. sock/sock. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. stitch/stitch. stri/string. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdoll. sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. tae/teer. tea/teatime. tea/time. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. th♡y/th♡m. ti/ny. to/toy. tomb/tomb. toy/toy. trick/trick. unca/uncanny. vin/vintage. vintage/vintage. wan/wander. withheld/withhold. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. 🎀. 👗. 🧦. 🧵. 🧸.

[cryptidclaw]

Whisperingclan Yr. 2 Designs pt. 1

This is a follow up to the Year 2 Lineup!

Designs pt. 2 | Designs pt. 3

This will include the designs and blurbs (notable actions and relationships) for the leadership, healers and warriors of the clan!

This Year's Actions: Had Creekslip attack Butterflyfreckle as punishment for being pregnant with outsider kits; Gave birth to her and Blizzardchase's own first litter (Rain, Hail, Sleet and Snow); Took on her daughter Snowpaw as her apprentice (maybe bec she looks the most like her??); Got herself and Snowpaw into a fight with a large dog, getting Snow injured; Got herself injured in a border skirmish; At the end of the year her mate had their second litter, a single male kit named Peakkit!

Notable Relationships: Still REALLY loves and trusts her mate Blizzardchase; has strong trust for Creekslip and that's it, she just knows Creek will do whatever she says; her favorite daughter is Rainpaw, probably bec the takes after Tempest in motives and personality; her least favorite daughter is Snowpaw, she actually has some dislike for her... what a GREAT mom; annnd Hailstripe, is Tempest's second fave daughter which explains why she made her a warrior early.

This Year's Actions: Attacked Butterflyfreckle on Tempeststar's orders to punish her for being pregnant with outsider kits; Was made deputy after Blizzardchase's retirement (Tempeststar knows that Creek will follow her every command); Received Partridgepaw as an apprentice.

Notable Relationships: Has some romantic like for the Healer Bramblespeck; Has started to befriend Wisp the Healer who joined the clan this year; has some platonic like, respect and trust for her apprentice Partridepaw.

This Year's Actions: She has done nothing, unproblematic queen.

Notable Relationships: Dislikes Snowpaw a bit, probably bec she had to deal with Snow in the healer den for a while (Snow is very bratty); Has some dislike for Tempeststar... fucking fair; most friendly with Skipspot.

This Year's Actions: Received Rainpaw as her apprentice.

Notable Relationships: Has big feelings for Tempeststar, some romantic like and platonic love in the green??? Tempeststar gives ZERO shits but they are friends ig?? Tempest has some platonic like back; Returns Creekslip's crush a bit; besides Tempest, she is closest to Frostfleck.

This Year's Actions: He joined the clan as a healer, we always need more of those lol

Notable Relationships: Closest to Creekslip (though hasnt been around long enough for that to be close friends); Has a little dislike for Blizzardshase, Rainpaw, and Frostfleck??

This Year's Actions: Was born alongside her 3 sisters (Hail, Sleet, and Snow); Became a Healer apprentice and was apprenticed to Bramblespeck; Got frostbite in the winter and still hasnt fully healed; her little brother Peakkit was born at the end of the year.

Notable Relationships: REALLY loves her mom Tempeststar, they have a strong bond; has some dislike for her mom Blizzardchase?? their platonic like has gone down to??; used to be closest to Snowpaw but is now closer to Sleetpaw; has very little like for Hailstripe; Dislikes Bramblespeck (her mentor) probably bec she has a crush on her MOM; and is starting to grow a crush on Partridgepaw~

This Year's Actions: Disappeared for a few days and came back with a collar; took on Rattlepaw as an apprentice after the death of Weedpatch (her prev. mentor).

Notable Relationships: Has a crush on Bramblespeck, and strong platonic like for her; also close to Sunmane.

This Year's Actions: Joined the clan as a warrior.

Notable Relationships: closest to Skipspot but still pretty low like bar; dislikes Creekslip.

This Year's Actions: Joined the clan after the death of her son Weedpatch to be there for her daughter Rattlepaw

Little backstory: Was a kittypet before joining the clan; her sister joined Roaringclan and bec of this Celeste hung around the clans a lot; Sired Weedpatch with a Roaringclan warrior and her sister had Jaggedheart around the same time; Weed and Jagged then left with the other founders to become Whisperingclan; Celeste didnt come around Roaringclan as much and instead searched for her son; Sired Rattle with another kittypet and raised her alongside them; found out where Weed was and told Rattle about it; Rattle ended up leaving for Whisperinclan, wanting to be a warrior; Celeste would travel to meet her kits at the border once a moon; found out Weed died and decided she needed to join to be there for Rattlepaw. I love her.

Notable Relationships: strong platonic love for Rattlepaw (and Weedpatch as well but he dead)

This Year's Actions: Received Sleetpaw as an apprentice. (oh also I've decided he's a transmasc lesbian)

Notable Relationships: has a big romantic and platonic like for Sunmane, Sun is his (MARRIED) best friend; slight dislike for Rattlepaw??? what did she do??; slight like and dislike for Sleetpaw???

This Year's Actions: announced she was expecting kits with an outsider; was attacked by Creekslip under Tempeststar's orders as punishment; had a litter of three (Partridge, Gull, and Heron); Heronkit died at 4 moons due to kittencough (he was actually accidentally taken too soon by Starclan, Whispering cave shit); was assigned Hailpaw as an apprentice; Gullpaw died due to kittencough one moon after becoming an apprentice; Some how after ALL of this she trained Hail so good she was made a warrior a moon early.

Notable Relationships: Strong platonic like for her daughter Partridgepaw; likes AND dislikes several cats equally??? (Sunmane, Creekslip; Tempeststar-fair, and Snowpaw); dislikes Rainpaw and Wisp, also Chivekit a bit??? HES A BABY??; has like very few friends/ platonic like, she is going through some shit.

This Year's Actions: announced she was having kits with her mate Sunmane; had a litter of 4 kits (Hickory, Oak, Comfrey and Chive); Oakkit died on the same moon of mysterious causes (Whispering Cave fuckery)

Notable Relationships: BIG platonic and romantic love for her mate Sunmane; also loves her kits; very close to her prev. mentor Blizzardchase; she is also good friends with Bramblespeck and Frostfleck; slight dislike and like for Creekslip.

This Year's Actions: her mate Mossleaf announced she was having kits; Recieved Gullpaw as an apprentice, but he died a moon after; her mate had a litter of 4 kits (Hickory, Oak, Comfrey and Chive); Oakkit died on the same moon of mysterious causes (Whispering Cave fuckery).

Notable Relationships: REALLY REALLY loves (romantically and platonically) her mate Mossleaf; loves her babies; has slight returned feelings for Skipspot though nowhere near her love for Mossleaf, she is also best friends with Skipspot; platonically likes Tempeststar, Blizzardchase and Creekslip (she is very brainwashed i guess)

This Year's Actions: Was born alongside her 3 sisters (Rain, Sleet, and Snow); Became a warrior apprentice and was apprenticed to Butterflyfreckle; became a warrior a moon early; her little brother Peakkit was born at the end of the year.

Notable Relationships: likes her parents but its gone down since kit hood; best friends with her sister Sleetpaw, doesn't really care for her other sisters much (they are not very nice, so fair.); has grown a slight crush on Rattlepaw~

....

Notes/ comentary:

Bramblespeck WHY??? Frost and Creek have a crush on her and Bramble is like in love with Tempeststar??? what is going on???

Im very exited about the prospect of the apprentice crushes growing, they are so cute <3

Skipspot is kinda old compared to Sunmane but if they become a polycule then i'm chill with it, its cute.

I NEED a mediator so i can get Butterflyfreckle some friends... also she needs a therapist and a mediator is the closest thing she can get.

[julibellule]

Wisp in the Tempest

Aziraphale ♡ Crowley • 17k • Rated.M

And then—through the storm of Aziraphale's sorrow—a voice. Soft. Unmistakable. It cuts through the silence like a shaft of moonlight.

"Frar car, has ti ruaus en tia olma?"

The concern in Frar Clement’s voice cuts through Aziraphale’s turmoil like a bell through fog. The Sursilvan words are lost beneath the tide of grief and prayer, but the tone—warm, steady, unmistakably kind—is enough to steady him.

A hand, strong yet gentle, reaches out and closes around his arm, guiding him up from the floor. Aziraphale’s knees creak as he rises, unsteady, his breath still hitching in his throat.

Frar Clement's gaze drifts to the desk, where cocoa stains bloom across the manuscript like bruises on old parchment. He says nothing of the mess—makes no mention of the tears still glistening on Aziraphale’s cheeks.

Instead, he offers a quiet, reassuring smile and wordlessly begins to mop the spill with a cloth drawn from his sleeve. Each movement is deliberate, careful, as if even this small act of cleaning could mend something deeper.

"Brother Aziraphale," Clement murmurs, the words soft as a benediction, "there’s no need to fret your soul so much over such a little mess."

The simplicity of it—the kindness—lands like balm on Aziraphale’s raw spirit.

Clement’s movements are quiet, efficient. For a moment, they anchor him, tethering him to the small, sacred ordinariness of the world around him.

The scent of warm cocoa, the creak of wood, the hush of rain beyond the window—all of it rises to meet him again.

And for a flicker of time, the storm inside him stills.

-Chap.03 - Into the Prayers-

Read on my AO3

[acronym-chaos]

The Creaking (Minecraft) ID Pack

[PT: The Creaking (Minecraft) ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Arbor, Bark, Blight, Bloom, Bramble, Crowley, Dread, Drift, Duskwood, Ebon, Elowen, Fern, Fog, Glade, Gloom, Grimwood, Grove, Hallow, Hollow, Lament, Lichen, Mirk, Morgana, Moss, Murk, Pine, Raven, Root, Ruin, Shade, Shadow, Silence, Somber, Sylvan, Tempest, Thistle, Thorn, Vine, Whisper, Willow, Wisp, Wood, Wraith, Wren

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Bark / Bar / Barks, Creak / Creaks / Creaks, Cree / Creep / Creeps, Da / Dar / Dark, De / Dec / Decay, Ga / Gar / Garden, Gloom / Glooms / Glooms, Lurk / Lurks / Lurks, Mo / Moss / Moss, Ni / Nigh / Night, Pale / Pales / Pales, Ro / Rot / Rots, Sta / Stals / Stalk, Still / Stills / Stills, Timb / Ber / Bers [Timber], Twi / Twig / Twigs, Wood / Woods / Woods

Titles

[PT: Titles].

[Pronoun] Who Lurks Unseen, [Pronoun] Who Moves When Not Watched, The Echo Crackling in the Darkness, The Entity of the Pale Woods, The Haunting Presence, The Mystery of the Pale Garden, The One Bound to the Heart, The One Guarding the Creaking Heart, The One Who Spawns at Night, The Silent Stalker, The Wraith of the Woods

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by anon!

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive

[yuutaok]

₊˚⊹ ☾ “Before Dawn” - Vampire! Yuuta Okkotsu

Your discomfort always welled up when Yuuta vanished. Often, he'd be absent for what seemed like an eternity, embarking on journeys to address matters he insisted were his alone to resolve, urging you not to worry. Before he left, he'd promise with a tender kiss that he would always make it back to you. "With patience," he'd say, "I'll be with you before you even have a chance to miss me."

₊˚⊹ ☾ Content Warning: 18+, MDNI (minors do not interact), afab!reader, blood, possessiveness, codependent relationship, biting, unprotected sex, riding, creampies

₊˚⊹ ☾ A/N: Truly self indulgent! I channeled every ounce of vampire media I consumed as a kid. This ended up more tame than I originally thought it would be, but it was still so fun! Happy October!

But you always did. You always missed him.

It scared you more than anything to imagine that, for some unknown reason, he might just fade away. You'd always feared that when the sun rose, he would be gone. That he would no longer be the solace you could sink into, but merely flesh and bones turning into ash and dust slipping through your fingers.

When you first met him, you recalled the night being so cold with no moonlight. A storm raged outside, heavy snow wisping through the air. You were lost, not just in that storm, but in life. Your boots crunched in the snow, each step feeling heavier and heavier. At some point, you thought that perhaps you could lay down and just let the storm consume you, a more graceful surrender than fighting tooth and nail through a tempest that threatened to engulf you. Maybe it would wash away the jet-black feeling in your heart. You were ready to accept your untimely fate until Yuuta appeared.

From that day forward, you no longer believed in God, but in him.

You often wondered if you meant as much to him as he meant to you. How much space did you occupy in his head?

He'd catch you staring at him sometimes, his eyes filled with sadness, knowing that your thoughts had drifted into those realms of uncertainty. "I cherish every moment with you," he'd say, pulling you close, "You have all of my thoughts, my heart, and my eternity."

One night, as the clock's hands ticked closer to dawn, the front door creaked open, and Yuuta stumbled into the dimly lit room, his face bloodied, his clothes torn, and his dark blue eyes filled with pain. You rushed to his side, panic overtaking you.

"Yuuta, what happened?" you asked, your voice trembling with fear.

He smiled weakly, his sharp fangs glistening under the soft light. "I ran into some trouble, my love. But I'll be alright."

You helped him to a chair, concern etched on your face as you examined his injuries. As you cleaned the blood from his face and tended to his wounds, your heart ached at the thought of losing him. It was nights like these that reminded you of the danger that always lurked in the shadows.

Yuuta leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I promise, I'll always come back to you, no matter what."

As you continued to clean Yuuta's wounds, your worry for him only grew.

With trembling hands, you asked, "Yuuta, do you need anything else? Anything I can do to help?"

He looked into your eyes, his dark blue gaze unwavering. "There is one thing, love," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. "I need to feed. The injuries have drained me, I'm sorry.
"

You shook your head, "Mm- Don't be sorry. I'd do anything to help you feel better." Vampires needed blood to heal and rejuvenate. In your heart, you had always been willing to offer him anything, even your own life's essence if it meant keeping him by your side.

Without hesitation, you offered your wrist, the blood in your veins surging with the rush of anticipation. Yuuta took your offered arm gently, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His lips brushed against your skin, his fangs lightly grazing your pulse point, creating a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. The moment his fangs pierced your flesh, an electrifying connection surged between you two, a sensation that transcended any other physical feeling.

Your breath quickened as you felt his cool lips pressing against your skin, his rhythmic feeding becoming an intoxicating dance between you and him. In the darkness of the room, time seemed to stand still, and the line between pleasure and pain blurred.

The possession Yuuta had towards you, your body, your mind, and your soul, only ever intensified when you shared your blood with him. He drank from you not only to heal but to reinforce the bond between you, to make sure you belonged to him and only him. You knew he'd never let you go, that you were now a part of him in a way that no one else could ever be.

As he fed, you couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of fear and desire, of being utterly vulnerable yet safe in his arms. In those moments, as he clung to you, you realized that this was the price of love.

When Yuuta finally withdrew, his eyes met yours, and a possessive, almost predatory hunger lingered in his gaze. He kissed the wound on your wrist gently, sealing it with a mix of reverence and possessiveness.

"I love you more than anything in this world," he murmured, his voice husky and filled with longing, "and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

As Yuuta pulled away from your wrist, you felt a rush of emotions flooding your senses. Your fingers, still trembling from the sensation, reached for his face, guiding it towards yours. You pressed your lips to his, tasting a mixture of your own blood on his mouth.

The kiss was fierce and hungry, worry and tension moving its way to the back of your mind as you melted into your Yuuta. You moaned softly as Yuuta's fangs brushed against the softness of your plump lips. Yuuta's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and his tongue entwined with yours in a dance that made heat flood into the pit of your core.

Breaking the kiss, you looked deep into Yuuta's eyes, your voice a breathless whisper, "I'm yours, completely. Possess me, claim me, as I've claimed your heart. I love you"

A growl of desire rumbled deep in Yuuta's chest, and his hands moved over your body with a possessive urgency. His lips found your neck, and he planted hungry kisses along your skin, his fangs grazing your pulse point with a teasing edge that sent shivers down your spine.

"I've always been yours," Yuuta confessed, his voice filled with a possessive longing. "Every part of me belongs to you ,from the outermost layer of my skin to the profound depths of my very bones, it's yours."

His words only fueled your desire, and you pulled him closer, feeling the cool of his skin against yours. Your breath quickened as he began to remove your clothing, every touch filled with a fierce passion that left no room for doubt.

Yuuta carefully slipped off your panties, experienced fingers moving between the wet of your lips to toy with your sensitive clit. Your breath hitched as his digits slipped inside of your sopping, Yuuta's gaze hungry as he watched you take his digits. He worked to stretch you out, nice and wet for his cock. It had been a while since you two were intimate, and he wanted to take care that you were just perfect for him.

You moaned as you felt his digits curling and pumping inside of you, closing your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You rutted your hips against his hand, Yuuta chuckling at how desperate and touch-starved you were for him. The tightness in your gut grew but before you could climax Yuuta quickly pulled his hand away, much to your dismay. You whined but Yuuta hushed you, "Be good." You nodded.

Yuuta pulled you down for another dizzying kiss, moving his hands to free the hardness from his pants. His member sprung out, his slit leaky with a bead of precum rolling down his shaft. Your mouth watered as he ushered your hips over his length, his thumbs pressing bruises into your sides as his tip kissed the wetness of your cunt. You sucked in a breath as he guided you down his cock, there still being a stretch despite how much Yuuta had tried to prep you.

Your breath hitched and your toes curled as your thighs lowered into Yuuta’s lap. Your nails dug crescents into Yuuta’s shoulders until finally you sat situated on your beloved’s length.

Yuuta sighed against the crevice of your neck, using every ounce of his strength to be delicate for you. He fought against the deep insatiable desire to pound your brains out and abuse your pussy until you could scream nothing else but his name over and over again.

That, he decided, would come later.

Instead, he gently lifted you up and down, up and down, making sure his tip fully kissed deep inside of you. You two began a slow and sensual pace, bucking his hips into your cunt as you twitched and tightened around him. He felt so thick inside of you, filling you up so perfectly.

You sighed at the intimacy, happy to be in Yuuta’s arms. He was happy to be in yours, too. You two kissed, licking into each other’s mouths as you rutted down onto his length.

Yuuta groaned against your mouth, nipping his fangs on your lips as your pace became more messy, more wrecked as his cock continued to hit deep into your core. The taste of iron danced on your tongue, blood smearing across your lips.

“Fuck,” Yuuta whispers, “You are so perfect for me, my darling girl, I’ll give you the world.” He hissed as he pounded harder and faster into you, dragging your hips and making you bounce relentlessly onto his length.

You sobbed out, seeing stars as he fucked into you. Your thighs shook and your toes curled as you clung onto Yuuta, letting him fuck so deep into you. “Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta,” you chanted, like a prayer, “I’ll keep you forever.”

And with that you felt the tightness coil in your stomach, “O-oh I’m cumming, Yuu! Please, I’m gonna cum,” you cried. Yuuta smiled, thrusting harder into you, “My cute girl, cum for me,” and so you did.

You sobbed into Yuuta’s neck as he continued to pound into you, fucking you stupid. Your eyes rolled back as you creamed yourself on his cock. Your darling Yuu was not far behind, “-m cumming, fuck, you’re mine” he groaned. His nails dug into your skin, crimson dripping from your hips as he bucked his hips into your messy cunt. He leaned over your neck to take a final bite out of you before spilling his hot seed into you, lapping his tongue across your marked skin.

You sleepily hung on as Yuuta finished, eyes heavy and body sore from the night’s activities. Yuuta let you rest for a moment before he lifted you up and carried you to your shared bed, cleaning you gently with a warm cloth and making sure to rid you of spit, blood and cum as sleep washed over your eyelids.

As the night turned into dawn, you clung onto each other, the room bathed in the soft, silvery light of early morning. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, and you could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The world faded away as you drifted off to sleep, leaving only the two of you, entwined and inseparable.

[w0efulboopsoul]

Cara Witnesses the Wrath of a Living God

Today, I stood as a silent witness to a moment both breathtaking and tragic—a failed attempt to bond with a dragon. The air thrummed with tension as the would-be rider, his voice quivering with a fragile blend of hope and dread, faced the young Golden Solaris Swift named Solara. Her radiant golden scales shimmered like living flames under the sunlight, each facet catching the rays and dancing with fiery brilliance. "Solara! Havestis! Solara! Havestis!" he pleaded, the Asterian command for "obey" ringing out in the stillness, a desperate cry for a connection that hovered just beyond his grasp.

Solara answered with a cry that split the air—a metallic, piercing shriek, sharp as a blade and rich with the resonance of molten gold. It shimmered with an unearthly energy, a sound so pure it seemed to glow, sending a chill of awe and terror through all who heard it. The Asterian handlers froze, their breaths catching as an icy dread coiled around their hearts. They knew that sound heralded a storm—an eruption of draconic fury that could unleash chaos upon them all. A heavy silence descended, thick with the weight of their fear.

From the shadowed edge of the platform, Solara emerged like a radiant phantom. Her scales, a stunning gold, refracted the dim light into a dazzling display, her serpentine body stretching over 35 feet long, her wings unfurling to a majestic 60-foot span. She glided forward with lethal grace, a predator cloaked in jewel-like armor that gleamed as if the midday sun had spilled across a treasury of gems. Her eyes blazed a fierce emerald green, slit pupils narrowing with a simmering irritability sparked by the mere utterance of her name—a warning of the tempest brewing within.

Her long neck, a cascade of shimmering scales, flowed with serpentine elegance as she approached the rider’s platform, tapering to an angular snout that radiated both beauty and menace. Crowning her head were horns—elegant yet deadly—rising just above her piercing eyes. They arched backward in a perfect, sinuous curve, three feet of slender, bronze-gold majesty, their spiraled ridges glinting like polished metal. Her crest flared as she moved, a fan of golden spines woven with an iridescent membrane, igniting a halo of light around her head that crowned her with an aura of divine regality.

Solara’s head pressed against the platform, a fortress of molten gold that seemed to sear the air itself. The rider gaped, astonishment washing over him as he whispered, "I’ve done it—I’ve tamed this mighty beast!" His words dripped with pride, a spark that ignited Solara’s disdain. Her irritability roared to life, a tempest of impatience churning within her. With a sudden, furious lash of her neck, she struck the platform, the crash resounding like thunder. The young man stumbled, his confidence shattering into trembling fear beneath her imperious glare.

Stubborn as unyielding stone, irritable as a chained wildfire, arrogant as a monarch on a gilded throne, impatient as a striking serpent, and vain as a star preening in the night—Solara was the embodiment of her kind. Golden Solaris Swifts despised wasted time, but what they loathed even more was the hubris of those who dared assume mastery over them. Her neck whipped again, a menacing rumble growling from her chest, shaking the ground beneath our feet. She reared high, her emerald-green eyes—now ablaze with regal scorn—fixing on him, a silent challenge burning in their depths: “Is that so?”

Before the handlers could react, her jaws tore open, a cavern of incandescent fury, gold and shadow swirling within. Out roared her Fyrak—dragon fire, a molten torrent of blinding gold that devoured the air with its ferocity. The rider vanished in an instant, consumed by the searing blaze, his fleeting form reduced to a scatter of brittle cinders and a wisp of ash drifting on the wind—a mere echo erased by the relentless, wrathful glory of Solara’s divine inferno.

[a-syrns-call]

Hello Syrn, I hope you are well!!

Here to learn about Oshun via the Headcanon ask game 👀

Curious about any or all of these: ★ ♡ ☯

Hi @pmpmyread ! I'm great thank you so much for asking ( in multiple ways lol) !

Romantic headcanon - Steam

Oshun is shipped with Messmer the Impaler cause Imma cheese ball for an opposites attract trope. 

Messmer’s fire melts through Oshun’s icy exterior, his touch igniting something beneath her cool façade. He is heat and hunger, a searing presence against her wintry calm.  Oshun does not retreat—she meets his fire with frost and defiance, daring him to consume her. And he does.

Their passion is a clash of elements, a volatile meeting of heat and cold that stirs the air between them like a gathering storm. His fingers burn where they trace her skin, and her breath leaves frost on his, the sharp contrast drawing them ever closer. 

Yet - there is balance. Messmer’s fire does not scorch her, nor does Oshun’s frost snuff him out. Instead, they fuel each other, heat meeting ice in a tempest. And when the storm settles, their closeness invites something else—warmth.

Curled together, fire and ice, they summon a different kind of storm. The heat of his body against hers sends wisps of steam curling into the air, the damp warmth wrapping around them as an unspoken testament to their chaos. His heat radiating through her like a quiet ember, while her cool presence tempers his fire, easing him into something softer. 

Sad headcanon

I got a few! But I’ll stick with a more internal one.

Oshun isn’t used to being alone. No matter how composed she appears, no matter how much control she wields over herself and her surroundings, she has never existed in solitude. There was always her sister, Styx, with whom she’d kept the balance. There were always her naiads, singing softly along the river’s edge, and her sirens, their haunting voices carried by the wind. The river was never quiet, never empty—because her purpose was to protect it.

Even when she ventured into the Lands Between to halt Marika’s spread, she did not go alone. One of her dearest naiads and two of her sirens accompanied her, unwilling to let their queen face such a force alone. Their presence was a comfort, a reminder that even in unfamiliar waters, she was not untethered.

But the task turned merciless. Her naiad and sirens had no place in a land that sought to unmake them. Oshun, understanding this, ensured their safe return before turning back to finish what she had started. She sent them home with her trident—a promise that she would follow soon.

Now, in a land that does not belong to her, without the constant hum of her river or the voices of her kin, silence presses in. And for the first time, she is truly alone.

Likes/Dislikes

Likes!

Flowers and Plants: Her Garden, of course

Swimming: She's a Siren 

Singing: Siren activities

The thrill of the battle: Ares taught her how to fight at a young age when he was sent to her garden as punishment by Zeus

Sweets/Desserts: Sugar is the key to Oshun’s heart.

Dislikes!

Zeus’ Antics in Her Garden:  his habit of hiding lovers in her garden and trying to seduce her naiads is a headache

Dry, Harsh Climates: She thrives in Lush environments. In a desert, she’d probably complain about the air feeling “dead.”

Overly bitter flavors: At least give her honey with her tea

Clothes That Are Too Restrictive : flowing garments that allow movement and breathability

People not listening to her advice: She doesn’t give warnings or guidance lightly. And she doesn’t like repeating herself.