#shiny silk eye masks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintttajx · 3 months

Text

Phantom Of The Sea

THE ONLY DAUGHTER OF POSEIDON AND Aphrodite was Sierra. She inherited her mother’s ethereal beauty and as her father was the God of Sea, she could live in the deepest ocean there is. She was a product of mistakes and everyone in Olympus knew that. It may be one of the reasons why the Olympians look at her differently. None of the children wanted to make friends with her, and almost all her life she was treated miserably. But the Goddess of Warfare was the only soul who had a soft heart and kindness to the poor child. So as Sierra grew, she was clandestinely taught how to fight. She grew to be a brave lady with an astonishing beauty you can not deny. She was so beautiful that her mother, the Goddess of beauty and love, discovered a covetous jealousy that possessed her to banish her own daughter from her palace and sent her to her father to live in the sea. Sierra left Olympus with her heart filled with anger, hatred, and rage built ever since she was a child.

In her life under the deepest and darkest sea, she found light in her enchanting voice and grace. At one point, she discovered that the sound and sight of her can seduce mortals, men, women, and… Gods. Ever since she was a child, she was clueless about what she was given to rule, what she was destined to be a God of, but now in her new home, her lustrous scales gave her an idea. She was the Goddess of Sirens.

Her heart was painted in anger and it pushed her to use her assets to seduce mortals who dared to sail, bring them to her cave, and decide their time of death. This continued for almost an eternity, thousands of humans tried to find and catch the infamous killer of the sea but none of them succeeded in passing her deceitful seducing mirage.

One morning, in one of her favorite islands where no one lives but silence, her paradise, where she goes to pass the time, had a living breathing mortal out of nowhere. The stranger was a rugged man in a veil. His mask seemed to be a skull of a being. And this awakened Sierra’s interest. It paused her plans to make that man her meal. From the corner of the island where she wouldn’t be seen by the young man, she eyed him in serenity. She watched how he walked by the shore in the morning and witnessed his sailing whenever the sunset. Her former annoyance of him vanished, whereupon the peacefulness of the island remained even with his presence.

One afternoon, Sierra’s curiosity got the best of her, and entertained the idea of approaching the boy’s boat without him looking. Her sneaking exposed her to silver and brass apparatus. Her attention was focused on a piece of silverware with four pointed edges. In a quick move, she swam deep with the material in hand. Back in her cave, after staring for hours at it, she ended up using it to untangle her silk hair. Meanwhile, the young man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why the calm water moved, but his focus was quickly diverted to his missing fork.

The next day when he sailed, his fork came back out of nowhere with shiny pearls. Confusion built in his mind as he set them aside. Several exchanges of the moon and sun passed and their dance continued in its own rhythm. In every missing silver, comes back with newfound pearls. Whenever it was time to close the day, there was a mortal and a goddess watching without knowing the other knew about their presence.

He could afford to build a castle with the amount of pearls he earned, he thought. At long last, he then decided to wait and catch the thief and returner of his belongings.

He kept an eye on his ship and the body of water as the sun ended its reign, and by the time daylight covered the scene, the fairest woman he had ever laid his sight on made an appearance that surprised both companies. Their opposite-tinted orbs met. Once she realized that he saw her, she vanished out of thin air. She went back to her pitch-black nature. While he tried to chase her with his eyes, his confusion unfortunately froze him in his spot and he did nothing but let and watch her leave.

The young man’s night became devoted to debating and thinking about whether it was a mermaid he saw. If he was in fact correct, he would be rewarded by the King if he ever brought them into their hands. The night went by and afterglow arrived once again, he found himself in his usual spot waiting for the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Meanwhile, Sierra purposely showed up, she was testing what would be the mortal’s reaction to her presence. If he dares to make the wrong move, then there would be a siren singing that night.

But silence joined salt air when they finally saw each other. Their eyes lingered on one another until the young man decided to shatter the deafening silence between them.

"When shall you be returning my silverware, fair lady?”

The masculine man’s first words to her left her dazed. She could sense no fear as he stared directly at her radiant orbs and it only blossomed her curiosity of the man. When the fair lady did not respond, he tried once again.

“Are you heedless that thy actions as stealing are pondered as a crime you shall be responsible for?”

Her eyebrows lifted at his statement, and she enchanted him by simply speaking.

“I committed no crime when I intended to restore your taken treasure, and in truth, gave back more than I took.”

“Capturing an object that is not thy possession without permission is known as stealing which is a crime.”

The young man noticed that her eyes were focused on his neck, where his pendant of identification hangs from his service as a remarkable knight lieutenant for the King. When she pointed at it, he immediately disapproved by shaking his head.

“I vow to return your fortune.” She swears.

“I’m afraid that's not happening.” He declines.

“I advise you to trade it for gold.”

“You heard me the first time, my lady.”

“Sierra.” She received only a hum of acknowledgment from the young man. “And you are..?”

“Ghost.” He made her smile. And all of a sudden he couldn’t look away from her blinding beauty.

“You are a mortal named ‘Ghost’?” He confirmed with a nod as she released a contagious laugh.

Ever since the mortal and the goddess met, they didn’t realize that they deliberately pledged time to spend together to capture the last gasp of beauty before the death of the day perpetually.

Sierra even sang for Ghost once without any incantation and what he could only utter was,

“You are a Goddess I would worship for eternity, Sierra.”

While she only responded with a mischievous sly grin.

Like a usual afternoon, Sierra and Ghost were letting one another read chapters of their life.

“Ghost.. Was the designated name for me when I performed my duties as a Lieutenant for the King.”

“Lieutenant.. Ghost?” She fathomed in fascination. “If so.. Then ’Ghost’ is not your true name?”

He hummed to confirm. That had put a frown on her face when she perceived the truth of the lack of trust he had for her by the simplicity of giving his birth name. Ghost took notice of her sudden silence, therefore, he tried to check up on her, but she was quicker to notice that he saw what was happening with her thus she proceeded to speak before him to cut him off.

“Oh, I nearly forgot to caution you to be careful..there is a forthcoming storm.”

His brows knitted at her change of topic. “It shall be as you say.” She nodded at his response. And when she prepared to swim away, he tried to stop her.

“Am I bound to hope that we shall meet again?”

“Fate shall know… Ghost.”

She purposely weighed his name before vanishing to the depths of sea.

When the moon wielded the night, Sierra’s oath came to life. Gigantic waves dominated the sea, heavy drops of rain demolished, and it was pure rage the wind and lighting proclaimed. Inside his sanctuary, there was no distress, no terror of the storm from Ghost but worry for the lady who was recently trapped in his labyrinth. He was worried for the mermaid who lived below the light and kept him on the edge of his seat the whole night. But the reign of moon finally ended yet all he could think about was her safety, her situation, if she was harmed or hopefully spent the night safely.

Soon the king of light rose from the horizon, chirps of birds echoed along the calm wind and the sea was now at ease. A quiet knock came from the door. He was puzzled as he reached to open the entrance and see whoever was at the other side.

The ground caught his jaw when the door gave sight of the Goddess on the other side. A captivating heavenly beauty stood familiar by heart, covered in peplos.

He was speechless, left in shock. He couldn’t believe a Goddess was standing right in front of his eyes. Luckily, a skull and clothing hid his face from the world.

“Pleasant morning, Ghost. I only arrived as I wish to be aware of your condition after the storm.”

Her soothing tone comforted the harmonic morning and it brought him back to reality. He came back to his senses when he realized it was Sierra who was the stunning ethereal lady standing in front of him.

“Sierra..”

“Ghost? Are you well?” She was starting to worry about his lack of response.

“Sierra.. How are you with feet? I was secured the whole night. I am grateful that you care. You are the one who shall be questioned of their well-being. Do come in.” He widened the space for her to enter.

“My pleasure. It is not necessary for you to worry about my health. I have experienced an even more terrible life in Olympus.”

“I guess so.. –Olympus?”

Sierra’s eyes widened when she realized what she had shared.

“I only casted my feet to know if you are well. Are you confident that you are?”

“You endangered yourself due to my being? Sierra, you are clueless of what you are doing. You shall come as I will take you back to your home.”

“You are home.”

“Stop being oblivious, Sierra. You would not desire to be with me, for I am not a nobleman.”

“I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

“I have taken hundreds of lives with my bare hands, Sierra.”

“I am aware. You are the Lieutenant for your King, did you not say?”

“Exactly.”

“Therefore?”

“You are the definition of pure and noble, Sierra. Your flawless skin.. your angelic eyes I could not find myself to look away from.. your luscious tail. In truth, you define perfection.”

“I have not heard of your true name nor have I seen the magnificent mortal behind the mask, Ghost. Thus, same as me, you have not dived into my pool of sins for you to be definite of my genuine self.”

“I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

When Ghost threw her own words at her, she couldn't hold it anymore.

“I behold such a fact that you are aware of my great love and care for you, Ghost. May whoever or whatever you have done.” Sierra held back tears before abandoning him speechless. And it was too late when he tried to run after her.

Days elapsed and Ghost sailed consistently to try and catch Sierra by the nightfall, the time of day they usually meet, hoping to ask for her forgiveness. But days evolved into weeks and it was beginning to feel as if there was no existence of the mermaid at all.

A mermaid who woke his long dead heart.

He was filled with great sorrow and regret in the days when there were no signs of Sierra.

Until one night, a miracle knocked on his door and made his heart beat crazy in hope of seeing Sierra once he opened the door. Heaven and earth entwined him when a different face of a goddess faced him.

“Are you the mortal known as ‘Ghost’?” Authority and bravery would be sensed on her tone of speaking.

“I am.” He responded.

“If you without a doubt care about the Goddess of Sirens, you are to come with me right this moment.”

“In what reasons would I care about the Goddess of Sirens?” Even if Ghost thought he had an idea who the lady was talking about, he didn't make it obvious.

“For the Goddess of Sirens who ruled the Sea is named.. Sierra.”

It was as if he was poured down with cold water with what he heard that he couldn't speak.

“You are nothing but a fool if you weren't aware of this truth. Cease this nonsense right this instance and save the Goddess from the verdict of Zeus.”

Athena made the former soldier do as told with her commanding tone. Ghost wasn't sure how they arrived at the sacred mountain of Olympus, but he was certain that it was Gods and Goddesses daggering him with looks full of judgment and studying his existence as if he wasn't meant to be there. And they were correct, he was just a mortal who had no right to be in the same place or even breathe the same air as God. But he did not have any time nor intended to self-pity, for this once caused him the sole reason of his being. Or in simpler words, the love of his life. The only soul who was ready to accept and love him for whoever or whatever he had done.

Proud yet emotionless was the face carved behind the mask of Ghost. He followed right behind Athena who stood and bowed to show respect to the throne of Zeus. One gesture of Zeus and Athena vanished from her position and stepped aside, leaving the center of attention to the only mortal in the room. Zeus flashed a taunting smirk when the mortal in front of him did not dare to break the eye contact it held with a God.

“A foolish and impudent mortal is the one you bring to save the Goddess of Sirens from death, Athena?!” He yelled, howled, and tore the noises they caused that made the whole stadium sit in silence.

Meanwhile, the Goddess of Warfare reacted as if she heard nothing, as if she wasn't yelled at by the God of all, she remained cold and unmoved while staring at nothing. Ghost had the exact same posture except his eyes widened when he took notice of the use of the word death in the same sentence with Sierra.

“Death.. ?” He could not hold back anymore and started asking, he badly wanted to know her situation. Is she okay? Has she eaten yet? Where was she? Is she in the middle of the sea waiting for him to sail? How he wished that their condition would always be as it was.

“Precisely. The daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite shall be punished for unjust killings of thousands of mortals! men.. women.. And demigods.”

Ghost knew that taking one’s life is vile, wrong, evil. But he couldn’t force to stop the smile that was forming on his lips when he knew that the woman who owned his heart was the same as he was. Morally corrupt, rotten soul, sinful and ungodly, a killer. They were fit for each other.

“Yet.. the judgment can still be revoked..” All of a sudden, Ghost found a shed of light for just a split second when Zeus continued.

“If only she were to marry me.”

His closed fist tightened its grip on nothing when he heard those words. His anger boiled when he heard the condition of Sierra’s freedom from death. She was his. He would never let death nor any God or mortal take her away.

“Bring her out!” He demanded.

“Fool! And who did you think you are for anyone here to follow!?”

“Bring Sierra out!” The mortal wasn’t moved one bit and even had a higher tone in speaking to a god.

“Mortal!” Athena called out to Ghost to scold him for disrespecting.

The mocking laugh Zeus released thundered the entire domain as he gestured to one of the knights.

“You’re brave, Lieutenant.” An insulting smirk appeared on his lips while he sneered at Ghost, “I'll give you that.” obviously wanting him to know that he knew who he was.

“Summon the Goddess.” Zeus commanded calmly which the knights obeyed immediately. A few tense minutes went by and the sound of chains hitting the ground was starting to sound close by. Then the knights appeared surrounding the most beautiful goddess in the room. But there was something off with her. She looked lifeless. And as if a dog whose owner did not want her to bark, she had a dog muzzle. His heart of stone tore into a million pieces at the scene. He fought the urge to run and rip the rope securing her wrists and feet and pull her to his embrace.

But he became a statue as he took in her condition. She was pale, hollow-cheeked, as if she was starving for weeks. They forcedly sat her beside Zeus’ throne, as if she was the reigning Queen.

“Sierra..” He whispered weakly.

She slowly brought her gaze up to find the source of that familiar voice and found his warm eyes staring back at her. The eyes that calm her system down. She couldn’t do anything but squirm and persist to be free from being restrained. Her radiant eyes moistened from tears that begged to fall when she saw him. Weak and faint cries were heard from Sierra.

Ghost wasn’t able to hold it together anymore when her cries reached his ears. He tried to run to her, but the alert knights held and forced him down before he caught the throne.

“You stop this instance you imbeciles! You! Mortal! If you, as you claim, care for the Goddess, I challenge you to prove it right this moment.” One flick of his hand and one of the chevaliers threw Ghost away and a sword at him. He wholeheartedly accepted the challenge.

Sierra became undone at the scene in front of her. She was nervous, scared, and at the same time impressed at the mad skills Ghost was showing as he defended and slayed the knights of gods. There was fire in his eyes, igniting him to win. But the battle wasn’t fair and square, Zeus was tiring him out by sending more and more warriors with each knight he slayed. Sierra kept squirming in her seat as she witnessed the unfair battle before flinching when she felt a hand land on her shoulder.

Ghost was well aware of Zeus’ intentions, he was purposely exhausting him so he would give up, but no matter how many stabs or bruises he received, giving up would never cross his mind knowing the price it pays.

Each swish of sword and duck of his, he sensed where the other was if it was nowhere near his sight. As he jabbed the steel into the man’s chest breaking through its skin and sinking into its bones, it was too late to duck from the stab that was coming from behind, but before a blade passed through him, a dead body dropped behind him instead, at the same time when the one in front his face dropped dead. When he turned around, he saw Sierra with a sword slightly gasping for air, his saviour from the traitor enemy. She ran to help him as soon as Athena untied her.

“Ghost..” She whispered breathlessly. Just a few more steps and they were finally able to feel another’s embrace. At the drop of the armor, Sierra locked his neck around her arms while Ghost secured her waist in his arms.

“I love you, Sierra. I am such a fool, please, I need you to forgive—”

“Shh.. shh.. I know, my only. I know. And I love you too, I love you so much.”

“Fools!” At the same time as Zeus let out a scream, the arrow came free and landed on the back of the mortal.

Sierra froze on her spot as she slowly processed what just happened. Ghost’s blooded body fell on the ground but she immediately tried to catch his head.

“No.. no.. this.. This is not possible. This can not be.. no.. ”

She couldn’t control the tears that were falling from her eyes. All the anger that burned inside her for centuries was turning into pure pain and sorrow.

“Ghost.. Don’t.. Please.. Don’t leave me.. I beg of you.. Don’t.”

Ghost weakly tried to reach his balaclava to let the Goddess know his genuine self. While Sierra was as seen as if she saw an angel, a handsome hunk angel. Even if he was painted in blood, and deep scars, it didn’t manage to lessen his striking beauty. From his brilliant eyes, sharp nose, and jaw, she was falling for him all over again.

“You are the most handsome mortal I sang for.”

“You are the most beautiful goddess I fought for.”

At the same time a smile appeared on Sierra’s lips was the escape of tears and a cough of blood from Ghost.

“Oh, Ghost. No.. shh.. no.. my ghost.."

“Simon.” Simon corrected. “Simon is my true name, my only.”

“Simon..” Sierra repeated in fascination. “I love you, Simon. I do.”

She left a kiss on his forehead as Simon left his last words before his last breath.

“For eternity, even at the last gasp of sun, I can only witness beauty when I’m with you.”

Each corner of the stadium was filled with Sierra’s screeching scream when Ghost officially caught his last breath. Her pain and grief were painfully evident in her yells and her cries. Every god and goddess watched her scream in pain. Her agony maimed everyone who heard her howl on the whole mountain of sacredness.

Yet no matter what the two of them went through that day, she was still served with death on the same day and neither of her parents defended or sought to comfort her. No one ever did except for the mortal who lay lifeless next to her.

From that day on, the cry and screams of agony of the siren echoed eternally at the depths of the sea, and anyone who came across, anyone unfortunate enough to hear it, was never found.

And that became the birth of the phantom of the sea.

100 notes · View notes

bee-ina-boat · 4 months

Text

heres a collection of concept art for the rest of the entities for the mythos au!! if you're wondering where the eye is, they've been drawn already!

they are all FAR from done. keep in mind these are all just my initial concepts and i plan to do in-depth design sheets as i go to explore their designs more.

IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS ON HOW TO IMPROVE THESE DESIGNS PLEASE THROW EM AT ME- MY ANON IS OPEN AND I READ TAGS I DONT CARE JUST!!!! GIMME!!!!!

(also au context: the magnus mythos is an au where the entities are all gods, similar to various religious mythology, rather than paranormal entities that feed on fear)

design thoughts for each of them under the cut

The Web - God of Fate (she/it): im pretty happy with her design atm, shes meant to be a half spider half woman thing and i love that for her. shes probably the one ive thought the most on so far given her importance to the story. i want her to wear silks and shiny silver jewelry that just sparkles like wet spiderwebs do, not sure if im gonna keep the veil?

The Dark - God of the Dark (she/he/it): probably my weakest concept at the moment. it doesnt do the dark any justice. i mean i like the cloak idea but i want them to be very tendrilly, all consuming, shadowy, but i dont know how to properly portray them :/

The Desolation - God of Destruction and Fire (they/it): i have a neat vision for them! i want them to be made of coal and ash and smoke, to be burning and glowing on the inside, and their body is decorated with melted wax to look like clothes. not quiiiiiite sure about how their melty candle dress is now? i want it to be less constrictive

The Stranger - God of the Unknown and the Whimsical (he/she/they/it): it's meant to be this. weird wirey creature hidden behind masks and a lot of fabrics, like the framework of a poseable plush doll? i like the way the masks look but im not so sure about the body.

The Vast - God of the Above (she/he/they/it): im not so sure about his design at all im gonna be real. i want them to look like the atmosphere and be covered in clouds and have mountains for feet and an ocean cape but i feel like it might be a bit?? idk??? im just not that happy with it :/

The End - God of Death and Time (they/it): ugh i love this concept sm, making death read as less scary and more divine is so fun. theyre based on a seraphim and a sand timer,

The Buried - God of the Underneath (she/he/they/it): ANOTHER OF MY FAVORITES!!!! i love them. theyre inspired by hermit crabs!! and they have silver chains holding their shell to them. they look so endearing with their lil lopsided eyes ;; <3

The Flesh - God of the Body and Meat (she/he/they/it): i have so many ideas for the flesh y'all- im very excited to do a concept sheet for them. theyre meant to have no skin, just exposed bone and muscle, large limbs, hooves, exposed heart underneath a ribcage, teeth that close around their abdomen. white bandages that wrap around like clothes. a teeth/horn crown? i dont quite know whether to go for a more animalistic look or a more human one? like- theres so many ways to go with him idek!!!

The Hunt - God of Predators and Pride (they/it): see, i like this design but i feel like its too werewolf like? yknow? thats cool!! but itreads more monster to me than God :/

The Corruption - God of Nature, Rot, and Disease (she/they/it): i love this weird bug thing. this one i was really inspired for (mostly because. corruption aligned. so obviously im gonna think about this one alot) theyre this weird bug thing, the veil is inspired by the one from the art on the wiki! i want to maybe make them a bit more gross and weird because nature is like that sometimes, a moot on tiktok suggested that i add animal bones!! and i think thats SO smart im absolutely going too

The Spiral - God of the Incomprehensible (it/its): this weirdo is so hard to pin down istg. i imagine them as this spiral thing. body is kindof liquidy, arms are spindly and long, multiple shifting faces, overall just constantly changing and moving and like!!! how am i meant to draw that??? when my brain cant even wrap my head around what its supposed to look like yknow??? bruh jrdbhgfjdldgfh- that being said i think the main problem with the design is that it just gives me too many Michael vibes!!! is it the hair? the arms? its probably both.

The Lonely - God of Solitude and the Self (they/it): i like what this one has going so far! theyve got fog hair, fog tears, their body is meant to be splotchy like turquoise marble, i vibe with it so hard. not so sure what to do with their outfit tho :/

The Slaughter - God of War (he/they/it): another one of my more stronger designs i think! centaur with weapons sticking into them, face concealed, medieval armor and antlers- it vibes

the extinction isnt drawn because i literally have no idea what they should look like aside from color palette-

once again any and all suggestions will be taken!!!! i need ideas!!! plese!!!!

140 notes · View notes

strawhatsoraya · 2 years

Note

Hi! I love your work and I hope you'll having a great day! I saw you don't have any request for Eustass Kid so i want to ask for some ^^ Could you do headcanon about him falling in love with someone totally opposite to him (shy, endearing, petite, VERY polite...) It can be sfw or nsfw, whatever you want ^^

Hello! Thank you for the compliment and request! I have come back from the dead lmao sort of and have your request. I have some headcanons and a smutty little drabble for you! 😏😏 You did say it could be either or. I know it took me forever, and hope you get to come back to read your request. I hope you're doing well, Nonnie, wherever you are <3

content warnings: nsfw, fem!reader, vaginal penetration, a little short smutty drabble, nothing intense but not for kiddies *wags finger* go away, shoo, if you're under 18.

stubborn eustass kid would never admit it. he’d rather chew on screws, and bolts. he’d rather staple scraps of leather to his skin, repeatedly, than to admit how soft you’ve made him.

after all, stubborn eustass kid has a reputation to protect. he can’t openly admit that he finds your shy personality interesting. there’s nothing more that he likes than to see you squirm. whether it’s sadism, or something else, he’s not sure but he likes to pretend he’s trying to find the answers when he runs his calloused palms up the back of your thighs.

you put up a good show–blushing profusely, stuttering and refusing to meet his gaze as your eyes brim with unshed tears. kid eats it all up with sharp teeth, a smile so annoyingly genuine, he wishes he could rip his own mouth apart. it isn’t until you’re almost sobbing, forcing yourself to demand decorum from him that he lets you go. after all: the fun is in the chase.

eustass kid is a wolf wearing little red’s hood–one he’s shred to bits and put pins through. he prowls after you throughout the ship, laughing at your extremely polite good mornings and goodbyes. he reminds you to call him kid over and over again–none of this captain bullshit. If anything just to see you blush, if anything because he wants to hear how his name would roll off your tongue–so he can remember it later as he lays tangled in bed sheets, body slick with his sweat, furiously pumping his fist over his cock.

You’re putty in his hands–a medium he is not used to working with. He’s used to the cold of the steel pressing into the skin of his palm, the sharp edges of scrap metal–jagged, and rusting. You were soft under his fingertips; silk and ribbons. Your touch was even softer. You moan when he rolls his hips against yours, his mouth pressed flush against the side of your neck. Your hands are ghosts, trailing over the rippling muscles of his back, casting demons aside from a single touch.

When you whisper his name between soft little pants, his thick cock buried in you, he feels exonerated.

He never thought he’d feel this way about someone like you; gentile, soft spoken, saccharine you–you who has rotten his teeth, and his bloodstream. He murmurs your name as he digs his large fingers into your hair, grips fistfuls of it to pull your head back. You gasp as he bites up the column of your neck. He loves to hear you moan, loves it when you say his name and demand more of it; his kisses, his touch.

You still ask for more, when he angles his hips, when he slaps his hips against yours until bruising. He loves to see you fall apart underneath him, to see your perfect mask of innocence fall away and reveal the dark shard of yourself. Your hips pick up the pace, desperately moving against his, as if he couldn’t be deep enough.

“You love it, don’t you?” he groans, looking down at you with heavy lidded eyes. His lips are shiny with saliva, teeth marks in crescent shape decorate his neck and shoulders. “Having my cock buried so deep in you, you can’t even think?” He leans forward to press his forehead against yours. His hips never stop, furiously slapping into you, the sounds of your squelching pussy all the fuel he needs to keep going. “Can you even talk, sweetheart?”

You mumble something unintelligible. He laughs, not sure it was even remotely close to any language he knew. Kid slides his hand over your face, and lets it rest at the base of your neck, as he watches you squirm underneath him. You bite your lip as you moan, pupils blown wide. His fingers wrap around your neck as he squeezes.

“That’s okay, though,” he drawls out of the corner of his crooked smile. His heavy balls slap against your ass. The lewd sounds echoes in the room, grounding you to this moment. “You’re still my sweet girl. All mine to fuck.”

#eustass kid x reader #eustass kid headcanons #one piece headcanons #one piece hcs #eustass kid smut #kid x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid x you #kid x you #kid x y/n

712 notes · View notes

whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 8 months

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxi, ao3)

Chapter twenty-one: The human queens arrive for their second meeting with the inner circle. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

(AN: I'll be taking a teensy break from this fic for the next few weeks to focus on Nessian Week stuff! But when we get back... shits about to hit the fan)

The first time Nesta Archeron had found fae beneath her father’s roof, there had been ice on the roads.

Snow had lain thick on the ground, and the night had been dark and depthless— the height of winter. Such a stark contrast, she thought now, as she glanced out of the receiving room window and found the trees bordering the Archeron estate blooming. Fallen pink flowers littered the lawn, scattered across the meticulously clipped grass, and the air outside was laden with the promise of spring, balmy and fresh.

How much had changed with the seasons, she thought as she Elain waited in silence.

From winter to spring— how much had changed.

That first time, that first night, she had taken a seat at her father’s dining table and felt her blood run cold— had beheld Feyre’s newly pointed ears and felt her heart stop dead in her chest. Nesta had been empty, then. Hollow, like there was no space inside her for anything but anger and grief and bitterness. But when Feyre had gone out into the forest the morning after and been attacked by a creature from above the wall…

He’d seen her.

Cassian had seen her, cut through all of the lies to find the truth beneath, and even as they spat and scowled at one another… Nesta had stood by those same windows, looking out to that same tree line, and found herself asking for his name. And against all her better judgement, against everything she knew was proper, she had let him in. Let him ease his way into her heart.

How much had changed, indeed.

Wryly now, she smiled to herself, smoothing a hand down her skirts as she waited for the knock at the door. It came soon after - a brisk knock, Feyre’s knock, echoing through the halls - and as Elain departed in a whisper of silk and perfume to see their sister and her friends inside, Nesta looked once more to the blossom trees swaying gently in the breeze outside. When those branches were bare again, she mused, how much more would have changed? Would war have been and gone, by the time autumn ran its fingers through the forest? Would she watch the seasons change from above the wall, with Cassian by her side? Or would the winter snow settle over nothing but the ruins war left behind, ash and dust in the soil?

“Nesta!”

Feyre’s voice shattered the silence, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as she stepped into the receiving room ahead of the rest. Nesta turned from the window to find her youngest sister standing before her, a glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they had met. There was a quiet joy in her voice, and something… different about her. Something that seemed… new, like some patina had fallen away to reveal something shiny beneath. She was practically glowing with contentment, a crown of golden feathers sitting atop her gently curling hair.

“It’s good to see you,” she continued softly, her voice smooth, assured in a way Nesta hadn’t heard before— like Feyre was suddenly more certain of her place in this world. “You’re well?”

Nesta blinked, masking her surprise as she nodded. Rhysand appeared beside her sister, an easy kind of smile on his face as his fingers intertwined with Feyre’s, the tattoos swirling over her fingers so similar to the ones that peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket, cuffed at his wrists. His violet eyes were sparkling, and atop his raven hair sat his own crown, the twin to her sister’s, and as Nesta looked to Feyre once more—

She knew about the bond, Nesta realised.

The High Lord had told her at last, it seemed, and as Feyre smiled brightly at the Lord of Night, she dipped her head before taking a step back, letting him lead her to the circle of chairs Elain had set out before the fireplace. Nesta looked at the way Rhysand held Feyre’s hand, the way he saw her into her own chair before sinking into his own. The way their hands separated for just a moment as they settled, before he reached back across the space between them and linked their fingers together again.

Some kind of envy flickered in Nesta’s gut, but she forced it down as she remained in her spot by the window, the exact same spot she’d occupied the last time the queens had visited.

Azriel entered next, giving her a brief hello, Nesta before scanning the room and checking the windows. The blue-siphoned warrior nodded once to Rhysand - some kind of confirmation, she supposed - before immediately taking up the same place by the door he’d had last time, too. Morrigan was close on his heels, the blonde slipping through the door with a box in her hands. Her grip was tight around its base, and dimly Nesta wondered if that box contained the proof that queens had asked for, if that was why Rhysand’s cousin carried it so carefully, but it didn’t matter— ruby siphons gleamed in the doorway, and Nesta’s thoughts were cut short, abandoned entirely as an all too familiar silhouette appeared from the hallway.

In the distance Nesta heard the sound of Elain locking the front door, the slide of the deadbolt across, but it was quiet, muted, as if every one of Nesta’s senses had shut down. Her heart had simply given up and stopped beating— but when Cassian’s gaze snapped to hers across the room, when he canted his head an inch to the side and gave her a small, crooked smile…

The air between them went taut, damn near trembling, and she wondered if the others could sense it— if it felt that way for them, too. Did they feel the way the space between them seemed to vibrate? Or was it just her world that had stopped spinning the moment he’d crossed that threshold?

The late morning sun drifted lazily across his face, dancing across the scar cutting through his eyebrow and glinting off the earring he wore, and Nesta worked to keep her face blank, even as her eyes dropped to his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips at her neck. Her heartbeat kicked, ratcheted, drawn to him like something fundamental, some base instinct that had her feeling comforted by the sight of those wings, tucked close to his spine as he stepped through the receiving room door.

She’d been horrified by those wings, once.

Now she looked at them and remembered only the way he’d shuddered when she’d dragged her finger along the membrane, soft and smooth beneath her touch.

Illyrians don’t let just anybody touch their wings.

With effort she took a breath, blinking away the memory of that night, the way the lightning had lit the stable up in silver as she lay pressed against his bare chest, her hands wandering, tracing his tattoos as his palms skated over her waist, his touch a brand as she gave him a piece of her soul and he gave her a piece of his in return.

It speaks to trust and devotion.

Gods— she had missed him. Every second they’d been apart had felt protracted, indeterminable, and now he was here, striding into her father’s largest sitting room so easily, so casually, like he hadn’t called her his the last time they’d been together. Like they hadn’t danced on an abandoned dock beneath a sky littered with falling stars.

She glanced to the space opposite Azriel, on the other side of that door. It was where Cassian had stood last time, and the spot she expected him to fill now, but he didn’t even look in that direction. No— he only strode purposefully across the floor and took up a spot right beside her, so close they could almost touch.

“Hello, Nes,” Cassian whispered.

In his habitual leathers, he turned his face an inch to the side, just enough to give her an irreverent, entirely disarming grin. Nesta blinked. Whilst she didn’t think there was anybody left in that damned room that didn’t have at least a suspicion that there was something going on between them, it hadn’t ever been acknowledged out loud. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to be, either, and yet here he was, standing right next to her as though this were the only place in the world that made sense. His arms hung at his sides, fingers inches from the hilt of the dagger at his thigh. He faced forwards, casting an assessing eye over the Archeron sitting room, but Nesta caught the sidelong glance he gave her, dragging his eyes from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes and all the way back up again. It burned— her skin burned beneath his gaze, and as his bottom lip found a home between his teeth, as his eyes still roamed, blatant, over every inch of her, Nesta felt every single nerve she possessed suddenly ignite, like she was nothing but touchpaper beneath his flame.

When she hissed, Cassian smirked.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded, and oh, how different those words sounded now.

It had been the first thing she had ever said to him, a question spat over a dining table, and it felt distant now, so long ago it might as well have been another life. She hadn’t known his touch then, or his smile, or his laugh. She felt a blush crawl over her throat, rising to her cheeks as she held his attention, rapt. His eyes darkened as he took in that spread of colour, a muscle feathering in his jaw as his gaze turned languid.

“Nothing princess,” he hummed in answer, his voice dipping low, a brush of velvet against her skin. “Just admiring…”

His eyes wandered to her neck, following the curve of her collarbone before sliding to her chest. Lower— he dragged his eyes over every single inch of her, pausing at her waist, her hips. Nesta felt her heartbeat stutter and climb, and a smirk tugged at the edges of his lips - those damned lips - as if he could hear the way it pounded, for him and him alone. His teeth sunk once more into his bottom lip, and Nesta tried hard not to think about those teeth grazing her neck, how it felt when he bit into her lip instead of his own. She hissed again, and his eyes danced as they flicked up to her face, lingering on her mouth for far too long, as if he were thinking the same damn thing.

“…the scenery,” he finished, his voice a low murmur.

He nodded to the window at her back, to the trees in bloom along the edges of the estate. Nesta scowled, but Cassian seemed to be suppressing a laugh, his lips pressed tight together as his eyes glittered with mirth.

“Stupid bat,” she muttered, and his expression turned to one of unparalleled delight, unfettered joy lighting up his entire stupid face as that stupid smirk grew even wider. Nesta huffed.

“Is that all you’ve got, sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You like it when I call you sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression, but—“

“You did, princess.” Cassian smirked, folding his arms casually across his chest. “You can’t lie to me. I can hear the way your heart skips.”

Nesta turned her head to look at him, eyes wide. He smirked still, and even though they spoke in whispers, her eyes went to Elain standing only a few feet away, to Feyre sitting by the fireplace, speaking in quiet murmurs with Rhysand, Mor beside them, dark box still held tight in her hands. Cassian quirked an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side.

“I hate you,” Nesta murmured.

Cassian grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Across the room, Rhysand cleared his throat. He shot Cassian a sharp look, an almost imperceptible shake of the head. It had Cassian lifting his chin and straightening his shoulders, settling back into his role as General rather than the rake who seemed to enjoy flirting with her more than anything in the world. He turned his attention back to the room at large, one hand coming to rest idly on the hilt of his dagger, his wrist at the pommel.

But he spared her one last glance, one last look, and his hazel eyes were soft when he met hers, filled with a kind of affection Nesta had never found anywhere else.

“Later,” he whispered softly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Before she could answer the clock chimed noon, and on the other side of the room, Azriel’s stance mirrored Cassian’s, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger too. But before his fingers had finished curling around it in preparation…

The queens arrived.

***

Only two this time— only two of them had bothered to turn up.

The eldest queen and the youngest, one with skin like aged paper and one with hair like spun gold, stood in the middle of her father’s sitting room, two guards each flanking them. Rhysand rose from his chair.

“We appreciate you taking the time to see us again,” he began, his voice smooth, courteous.

The eldest queen only sneered and turned her eyes to the window, finding Nesta standing before it. Just as Cassian had, the queen raked her gaze over Nesta’s entire form, but where Cassian had had a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips, the queen’s face held only disdain.

“After the insult we received last time,” she said, her lip curling, “we debated for many days about whether or not we should return.” Her eyes narrowed. “Three of us found the insult to be unforgivable.”

She waved a hand to the empty space at her side, at the absence of the others. Nesta glowered, and at her side Cassian shifted closer, the edge of his wing brushing her shoulder as he adjusted his stance, so slowly, so smoothly, it was almost imperceptible. His hand wasn’t just brushing his dagger now. His fingers had closed definitively around the hilt, his eyes no longer straying or alight with mischief. He was focused now, all terrifying force and brutal strength.

“If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I’d say you’re all in for quite a shock when war comes,” Feyre said mildly.

The eldest queen huffed, indignant, and it was the golden queen who tilted her head, sending waves tumbling over her shoulder. Her eyes had fixed on Feyre’s hand joined with Rhysand’s.

“So he won your heart after all, Cursebreaker,” she said idly.

Feyre’s expression flattened, her eyes shuttering. “I don’t think it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our peoples.”

“Our people?” the queen asked, raising a brow. “Our people do not invoke a Cauldron. Our people do not have magic.” She shrugged. “The way I see it, there is your people— and ours. You are little better than the Children of the Blessed.” She waved a hand, lowering herself into one of the chairs Elain had set out. Her eyes moved over Rhysand, from the crown balanced on his brow and over to Azriel by the door. She took in the spread of him, his wings, before blinking mildly and looking, finally, to Cassian. She noted the way his wings spread, the way he seemed to be drawn to Nesta as if pulled by an invisible thread. Her eyes dropped to his fingers, still tight around his blade.

“What does happen to them when they cross the wall?” she asked slowly, her voice soft but in no way gentle. “Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever?”

Cassian snarled softly, a low rumble in his chest as he drew another half-inch closer to Nesta. She didn’t know whether it was something deliberate or some innate draw that kept him drifting towards her, because he didn’t look at her. He kept his brutal gaze locked on the queen who pursed her lips in distaste.

The eldest queen rolled her eyes. She nodded at Mor, seated in the chair beside Rhysand, golden hair shining and her dress a deep red. The queen nodded to the black box Mor carried.

“Is that the proof we asked for?” the queen asked.

Mor’s face was unreadable, the nod she gave so small it seemed she resented it. Nesta looked to Feyre, whose face had turned ashen, fraught, all trace of her earlier happiness vanished. Her eyes were wide, and as she leaned forward in her chair, her hand slipped free of Rhysand’s.

“Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions?” she said, and Nesta wondered if anybody else caught the desperation in her tone. “Does my sisters’ presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring on my sister’s finger, and yet she stands with us.”

Elain shifted on her feet, the iron ring on her finger dark against her pale skin, but she kept her head high as the gaze of both queens shifted to her, studying her as though she were a curiosity to be leered at. It made Nesta bristle, the way they cast their eyes over her sister, faces lined with disdain.

“I would say that it is proof only of her idiocy,” the golden one said flatly, “to be engaged to a fae-hating man… and to risk the match by associating with you.”

Her lip curled with contempt, her voice dripping with condescension, and as the queen’s eyes drifted back to the ring on Elain’s finger, Nesta felt the last fragile thread of her patience simply… snap.

“Do not,” she spat, “judge what you know nothing about.”

The golden one looked like she was about to laugh. “The viper speaks again.” She shifted her eyes to Feyre, tsking lightly. “Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.”

Cassian snarled— and there he was, her fearsome general, the man who had ended lives with his bare hands, staring down a queen like he’d love nothing more than to feel her blood dripping through his fingers. He angled himself in front of Nesta, using an arm to push her behind him. Nesta scowled, and looking around the edge of his wing she saw the eldest queen frown, saw the golden one raise an eyebrow, and saw Feyre turn her eyes to Rhysand in barely disguised shock.

But if Cassian noticed - if he cared - he gave no indication.

“She has more of a right than any to be here,” he said darkly, his voice a low, menacing thrum, every word clipped. “This is her father’s house, and she has risked far more for this war than you.”

Nesta took a step to the side, rounding his wings in order to see his face, but Cassian didn’t look at her. He only glared at the queens, coldly furious, and Nesta had never seen him so incensed. Fury burned behind those eyes, and it was as though she could hear his heartbeat hammering, as though she felt every single pulse of his anger.

“You’ll speak to her with the respect she deserves, or you won’t speak at all.”

His words rang with a threat, stone-cold and not at all idle, and it didn’t scare her. Perhaps it should have, but it didn’t. Rhysand only looked at Cassian sharply, violet eyes alight with warning.

The golden queen glared right back, but before she could say another word, the eldest queen huffed loudly.

“We came here for one thing and one thing only,” she said, cutting through it all. She waved at the box in Mor’s hand. “Show us the proof we asked for before we change our minds entirely.”

Rhys nodded, and Mor flipped the silver latch on the box she carried. Inside was a glimmering silver orb, glittering like starlight had been trapped inside. Nestled in black velvet it shone, and Nesta might have thought it beautiful had Mor’s face not been so grave. Had Rhysand and Feyre not gone utterly quiet. Cassian was silent too as he took a step to the side, back to his original spot, but tension still lined every inch of him, agitation laid thick on his frame. It was almost as if he didn’t trust himself not to reach for that blade and cut out the queen’s tongue. His lips were pressed tight together, his fists were clenched, and it was for her, Nesta knew. All of it— for her.

It was a feeling so foreign, so unfamiliar, that she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

For her, he’d damn any hope of diplomacy, risk Rhysand’s wrath. All for her.

At last his eyes slid to her, and Nesta watched as all that tension simply… melted. He let out a breath that soothed all those jagged edges, and his fists unclenched. He offered her a tiny smile, the barest tip of his lips, as Mor lifted the orb from its wrappings, her eyes turning distant and chilled, thrumming with a kind of power Nesta didn’t know how to name. It made her hair stand on end, a shiver running down her spine as the blonde waved a hand over the shining surface of the orb before setting it down on the floor.

A cloud of light and colour seeped from it like a dense fog before settling an inch above the fibres of the rug their father had imported from the continent. Nesta watched in disbelief as a river materialised on the ground— the river where she’d watched the stars be mirrored as they fell to earth. She gasped, and Elain did too, rocking back on her heels as the scene continued to emerge. Suddenly Nesta could see the mountains that surrounded the city in the distance, and a cloudless sky above a line of brightly coloured shops on the riverfront. The sun was shining, and it was a place of colour and life, exactly as Cassian had once described.

Nesta tore her eyes away from the magic hanging thick in the air, her gaze flitting to the warrior by her side. He was facing forward, eyes on the queens, not on the cityscape on the floor, but he shifted just a little, just enough to let his little finger brush the side of her hand. Elain took a step forward, eyes wide, entranced, and all eyes were on that city conjured from light and mist, a mirage on the receiving room floor.

In the silence, Cassian brushed the side of her hand once more, more determined this time. With the rest of the room distracted he took her hand, fingers weaving through hers as his palm slid home, holding her tightly as that foreign city sprawled across her father’s carpet. An inexplicable feeling of rightness spread through her at that stolen touch, and her grip tightened as the city on the rug shifted, the vantage point turning to the mountains that cradled the city. She watched a distant sun shine lazily over distant streets, and she squeezed his hand so hard she might have worried he’d bruise, but—

He only squeezed back, a silent display of comfort. Of support and solidarity.

Then the illusion on the rug shattered— and Cassian’s hand slipped from hers as Nesta pulled away. Her heart ached, but as Elain took a step back, as Feyre raised her eyes and Mor returned the orb to its box and fastened the lid, Nesta clasped her hands before her, like Cassian’s touch hadn’t been there at all.

“That is Velaris,” Rhysand said. “For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumours, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the war— only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne.”

Nesta could think of nothing else except that Cassian hadn’t kept it a secret from her, even when he should have.

The queens shared a look, and for one moment - one achingly hopeful moment - Nesta was certain they would grant them the aid they needed. Just one moment— one that seemed to hold the fate of them all suspended.

And then the eldest queen’s eyes turned cold.

“We will consider,” she said mildly.

“There is no time to consider,” Mor retorted, her voice tight, surprised.

Even Rhysand blinked. “Do you not understand the risks you’re taking?” he asked, his brows furrowing over violet eyes. “This alliance is for the good of all of us—”

The queen let out a derisive snort. “Did you think we would be moved by your letter? Your plea?”

A cruel kind of smile curved her lips, and when she nodded to one of the guards at her back, he moved to pull something from his pocket. In a heartbeat Cassian had half-drawn his dagger. But it was a letter— a small square of paper, a dark Night Court seal broken on the edge. Cassian didn’t remove his fingers from the hilt, though, and the tension only continued to mount, becoming suffocating. Nesta knew she wasn’t the only one caught between fury and shock.

“I write to you,” the queen read, her tone grimly gleeful, “not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people—to help save my own…” She tossed the letter onto the table sitting between the chairs. “Who is to say this is not all some grand manipulation?”

The breath left Nesta in a sharp, aching gasp as the queen with the golden hair lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an idle, laconic shrug. The silence was thick and suffocating, a shroud, and Nesta knew every ounce of shock and anger that was storming through her veins was replicated within every one of them in that room. Mor’s face had gone white, and Feyre’s lips were parted in an expression of bleak, despairing surprise. Even Rhysand didn’t bother to mask his shock, and he too was silent as if he didn’t know what to say. Nesta looked across the room and found Azriel’s eyes hard and cold, and by her side Cassian was gripping his dagger so hard his knuckles had turned white. His wings twitched, and she could swear she could hear his heart hammering— or was that just hers?

“What?” Mor said at last, aghast.

The golden queen sneered. “Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe—”

“Fools,” Nesta spat, interrupting the queen in a voice that burst from her chest, strained and trembling. “Arrogant, stupid fools.”

Without thought, she took a step forward.

Elain reached for her, grasping, her fingers grazing the back of Nesta’s hand— but Nesta pulled herself free, her eyes widening as she kept her gaze fixed on those two queens, content to sentence them all to death. She took another step forward, slow and purposeful, and this time Cassian moved too. But unlike Elain, Cassian didn’t pull Nesta back. No— he took that step with her.

Nesta clenched her teeth, curled her hands into fists by her sides. “Give them the book.”

Her voice echoed in the silence, and in the quiet she could hear the clock ticking in the corner, every second a brutal reminder that time was of the essence, and without that book they were all of them doomed. The steady swing of the pendulum had her heart thundering, every infinitesimal shift of the minute hand her fear deepening. There was no time— no second option, no other hope.

“Give them the book.”

The eldest queen leaned forward in her seat. “No.”

Nesta felt Cassian beside her, knew without looking that his eyes were on the guards, hand on his blade lest any of them - any of them - take so much as a step towards her.

“There are innocent people here,” Nesta said, trying to keep her voice steady and failing when she thought of the destruction waiting for them— when she thought of the harm that could come to Elain, to all the people she’d ever met. “Give us a fighting chance— give my sister the book.”

The queen sighed, but the look she sent Nesta’s way was filled with contempt. Her dark eyes were unforgiving, the slant to her mouth almost cruel as, warily, she waved a hand.

“An evacuation might be possible—”

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta interjected, her voice, her strength beginning to waver. “I calculated the numbers— you’d need an armada, and you expect me to believe that whilst you’re readying for war, you will spare us so many?” She shook her head. “No— you’d leave us stranded here.”

The queen blinked passively, and then shifted that dark gaze to Cassian, standing so close to Nesta that she could feel his warmth. The queen looked at that barely-there gap between them and raised an eyebrow.

“Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea.”

Cassian snarled again, the sound of it low and vicious and rumbling through Nesta’s chest. His teeth were bared, eyes alight with fury, and as one of the human guards lifted his blade half from its sheath, Cassian smiled— a terrifying, coldly violent and ferocious grin that had the blood draining from the guard’s face. Cassian’s wings flared, the siphon on his chest pulsing and casting crimson light across his leathers, and Nesta could almost feel his rage, that absolute unending fury as the queen turned her gaze back to her, looking at her as though her life were nothing— meant nothing.

“Please,” Nesta said at last, the word sticking in her throat. Across the room, Feyre’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t let us face this alone.”

Tears burned in her eyes, and she wanted to be mortified— but she was too angry, too terrified of what would happen once those queens left. She didn’t let her eyes stray from those two sovereigns sitting in her father’s chairs, wondering how cold they must be, how heartless, to so willingly leave them to die. Her breath shook, her tears threatening to fall, and—

A warm hand suddenly encased hers, and her view of the queens was cut off by large, membranous wings as Cassian rounded her, stepping before her.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

“I told you once before that I’d find a way to keep you safe,” he said, and his voice wasn’t quiet. It was as though he’d forgotten where they were— who surrounded them. When he looked at her like that - like she was the only thing in the world that mattered - Nesta found herself almost forgetting too. “I’ll protect this house and your people with everything I have,” he vowed.

Another tear fell, and Cassian reached up to wipe it away. His fingers didn’t leave her face— he cupped her cheek, his thumb drifting across her cheekbone. Her heart was beating so hard it almost hurt, and her ribs were aching as though something was squeezing, constricting them. Cassian dipped his head, the tip of his nose brushing her forehead, and his voice slipped lower, deeper, weighted with an absolute kind of conviction.

“If anybody touches you,” he swore, “I’ll be the one to start this fucking war.”

Nesta was silent, feeling his thumb brushing across her skin as the heel of his palm rested against the corner of her mouth. His fingertips curled around her jaw, and for a long moment they stood there, neither speaking nor moving. Nesta looked into his hazel eyes and found certainty there, bald honesty and raw emotion that had her wanting to sob, to fall to her knees. He held her there, his promise lingering in the air and stretching between them.

It was Mor who broke the silence.

“Is it money you’re after?” she demanded of the queens. “Name your price, then.”

Her voice shattered something, breaking whatever spell Nesta had been under, and Cassian’s hand fell away from her face. Her cheek was cold in the wake of his touch, and Nesta cleared her throat and took a step back, but Cassian didn’t step away. He stood closer now, closer than before, his wing extending behind her shoulder and curling slightly around her arm.

It was a touch Nesta would never have allowed before— one she would have scorned and pushed away, but—

She needed him. More than ever, she needed him.

“We will return to deliberate,” the golden queen said as Nesta felt her heart sink.

Mor practically snarled. “You’re already going to say no.”

The queen shrugged. “Perhaps.”

And then— in a moment they were gone, just like that. Nesta felt the little kernel of hope she’d harboured crumble, and as her eyes remained fixed on the empty spot where the queens had stood, she willed herself not to cry— not to fall apart.

But when Rhysand rose from his chair, there was curiosity in his eyes, not disappointment. His violet gaze was trained on the chair that the golden queen had sat in, and his lips parted as he ducked, picking up a box that had been hidden, tucked away behind the queen’s skirts. Feyre’s eyes widened as he retrieved it, a soft gasp leaving her as Rhysand lifted the lid.

“Is that—“ Feyre began, her words cut off as Rhysand lifted a book out of the box. It was old, bound in leather, with a bronze clasp, and with the sigh of relief that came from Mor - with the way Feyre reached for the box with her mouth hanging open - Nesta supposed this was the book, the one they needed. Her mouth went dry, and even though she realised that perhaps they weren’t doomed just yet after all, something about the book in Rhysand’s hand made her skin erupt in goosebumps, a chill crawling down her spine.

There was something wrong with it, something unnatural.

Rhysand laid the book back in the box, closing the lid with a snap. When he looked up, he turned to Elain and met her eye before looking to Nesta.

“It’s your choice,” he said, “whether you wish to remain here or come with us. Should you wish to come with us, I’d suggest packing now.”

Nesta looked to Elain. Her sister twisted the ring on her finger, her eyes cast downwards, and as Cassian’s wing remained spread at her back, Nesta said, quietly, “It’s up to you.”

Elain brushed a thumb over her engagement ring. “I can’t,” she whispered. She looked up— first to Nesta, then to Feyre, her widened eyes containing a multitude of emotions, all of them akin to sorrow. “I can’t.”

Nesta nodded. She didn’t look to see Cassian's face, but she didn’t need to. She could practically feel the tension in every line of his body, so close it was to hers. He was wound as tight as a bow string, ready to snap.

“I’ll have men stationed here,” he said firmly, and this time Nesta did look to him, finding his eyes fixed on Rhysand— calculating and methodical, a General’s stare. “They can be here within the hour to protect both this house and—“ he paused, eyes flicking down to Nesta, “—your husband’s.”

His voice dipped as he said the word husband, his lip curling incrementally.

“They’ll be glamoured. You won’t see them, but I’ll have them at the perimeter at all hours. If you change your mind,” he continued, face tightening as though he hoped more than anything that she would change her mind, “all you need to do is announce that you want to cross the wall. They’ll hear you.”

Elain’s eyes hadn’t moved from her wedding ring, but she murmured a soft, “Thank you.”

Nesta said nothing.

There was nothing left for her to say, anyway.

Rhysand cleared his throat. “We should get back,” he said, just a shade too gently. He looked to Feyre, extending a hand before turning to her sisters. “My home is your home,” he added, eyes moving over Elain and shifting to Nesta as Feyre’s fingers settled between his. “Its doors are always open to you.”

His fingers squeezed Feyre’s, and Nesta’s eyes tracked the movement. Her heart tugged painfully, and all she could think was—

“That’s why you painted stars on your drawer.”

Feyre nodded, giving Nesta a smile that seemed far too melancholy, far too close to tears.

“I wish we had more time,” she said, her voice swollen with regret. “I wish I could—“

“Go,” Elain said, lifting her head at last and stepping forward. She reached out to clasp Feyre’s free hand between both of her palms and, bravely, Elain smiled. “Go. It’s alright. We’ll be fine.”

Feyre loosed a breath, and Nesta wondered whether she had seen the way Elain’s hands trembled just a little, if she noticed the shadows beneath their sister’s eyes. She must have, Nesta thought, because suddenly Feyre pulled away from Rhysand completely, drawing nearer to Elain and keeping her hand firmly in Elain’s grasp.

“Come and find me,” Feyre said softly. “If it gets too much, if you don’t feel safe— come and find me.”

Elain only nodded, and Feyre’s gaze shifted to Nesta. Gods, there was so much that was fraught between them, so much that was frayed and so much that still hurt, but... They were sisters, and none of it much mattered now, not as Feyre gave Nesta a weak smile, and Nesta dipped her chin in a small nod. Perhaps she might have stepped forward. Perhaps she might have pulled the pair of them into an embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a hug, the three of them, and Nesta might remedied that then and there, but… Rhysand placed a hand on Feyre’s shoulder, and for the first time Nesta saw him hesitate.

“We need to get back,” he said slowly, and Nesta didn’t think she imagined the way his voice had dropped lower, turning apologetic, almost sorrowful. Feyre turned to him, and the way he looked at her...

It made Nesta’s heart ache.

He looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky, like she was the reason the sun broke over the horizon every morning. Rhysand looked at Feyre the way Cassian looked at her, and suddenly Nesta couldn’t bear the thought of them leaving. Nesta wanted to grab Cassian’s hand and never let go, wanted to ask him to stay, to not go where she couldn’t follow.

But…

Feyre pulled away from Elain, one last rueful smile playing across her lips. After a murmured command and a sharp nod from Rhysand, Azriel disappeared into his shadows. He didn’t offer them a goodbye, but the Shadowsinger gave Nesta a brief nod before darkness claimed him, engulfed him entirely.

After the last meeting, Elain had insisted that they stay for tea, but there was none of that now, only movement as Feyre took the box containing the book they had needed from Rhysand’s smooth hands, looking down at it with a stony expression flitting across her face.

Mor made a start for the front door— to be polite, Nesta supposed. They would exit through the door rather than vanishing into nothing like Azriel and the queens. Rhysand gripped Feyre’s hand once more, and as they made their goodbyes, Nesta remained rooted to the spot, and Elain stood in her place before the window, hands clasped before her. Mor was waiting already by the front door, and as Rhysand and Feyre departed, Nesta turned to look over her shoulder, looking at the warrior who seemed unable to move, unable to step away, as if aware, somehow, that the moment he did - the second he left this room - there was no going back.

It was the point of no return, some final threshold being crossed.

A shiver ran down Nesta’s spine. As soon as Cassian left this house, she knew he would be going to prepare for war. She’d known it before, of course. Known for weeks - months - that war was coming, but it had only ever been an abstract concept before, and now it felt more real than ever— closer than ever.

Cassian rounded her, just as he had when she’d stood up to the queens, and reached for her, grasping for her hand.

“Nes,” he began, breathing her name as his eyes searched her face, roaming across her jaw, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose. He met her gaze, that burning hazel pinning her in place. He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to get stuck on his tongue, tangled in his throat. He swallowed, fingers twining around hers as he tried again. “I—“

“Cass,” Rhys called from the hallway. “We need to go.”

Cassian’s eyes turned fraught, and he looked more torn than Nesta had ever seen. She wasn’t used to it, seeing him like this. He was so confident, so arrogant, that when he stumbled over his words and looked at her like he couldn’t find a way to express whatever it was he wanted to say… Nesta felt her heart swell, straining uncomfortably behind her ribs as her hand gripped his to the point of pain.

Don’t leave, she wanted to say.

His other hand went to her wrist, lightly tracing the string of the bracelet he’d given her, the pad of his finger gliding across her pulse. He offered her a small smile, a gentle curve of his lips.

“I have to tell you,” he said softly, and Nesta’s heart thumped. “Before I go, I have to tell you.”

She wasn’t breathing, wasn’t thinking. His thumb still circled her wrist, his other hand still gripping her so tightly it was like he resented letting her go. And Nesta knew what it was he was about to say, felt the words because they were lingering on her own tongue, swelling in her own chest.

“I—“

“Cass.”

In the doorway, Rhysand scowled. Cassian swore soundly as he whipped his head to face his High Lord, and Rhys had the good grace to cringe a little, to look somewhat chastened, but he didn’t back away.

“We need to go,” he said again, but there was softness there that hadn’t been there before, that Nesta hadn’t ever heard from him before.

Cassian’s fingers unwound from hers, his hand rising to lay a palm flat against her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger as he eked it out, as though trying to wring from this moment every single second he could. Nesta’s heart hammered against her ribs, rioting in her chest, and as her eyes closed she laid a palm flat against Cassian’s chest, his lips still at her brow. She could feel his heart— felt every lurching beat of it as they stood there, neither of them able to pull away.

“I’ll see you soon princess,” he said at last, lifting his face from hers, and Nesta knew with certainty that that wasn’t what he’d planned to say at all.

It wasn’t a goodbye— but gods, it felt like one. It felt like she was at the edge of a cliff, a breath from tumbling over, and the only thing in the world that could save her was him, those hazel eyes and that arrogant smile, and he was pulling back, pulling away, leaving her to tip over that edge and come crashing down alone.

With Rhysand waiting at the door, Cassian dragged himself away, leaving Nesta standing there, with nothing but the fading warmth left behind from his hand on her cheek.

Come back, she wanted to say. Come back and tell me that you love me.

He didn’t.

He reached Rhysand and looked back, a thousand things left unsaid. It hurt— Nesta couldn’t understand why, but it hurt, watching him leave without knowing when she would see him again.

“Soon,” he whispered— and then he was gone, down the hallway and out of the door, winnowed away before Nesta could so much as take another breath.

Suddenly she felt cold.

“Please stay,” Elain said quickly, and when Nesta turned to her, she found her sister still standing in the same spot by the window, practically shaking, like she’d only just been holding it together, and with Feyre had departed all the strength she’d had left.

“Please,” she said, lurching forwards and gripping Nesta’s wrist, her fingers closing right over Cassian’s bracelet. “Please. I don’t— I don’t want to be alone.”

Nesta nodded. “Of course—“

“I’m still dreaming of her Nesta,” Elain cut in, her voice strained. “Clare, poor Clare. Every night, I see her in my dreams and I—“

“It’s alright,” Nesta said, before Elain could devolve any further into hysteria. “I’ll stay. I’ll tell Tomas that you’re ill and need me with you.” She felt Elain’s hand tremble, but didn’t pull back. All she could do was repeat herself, hoping it might ease the worst of Elain’s fears.

“I’ll stay,” Nesta said again. “I’ll stay.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

82 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 10 months

Note

Good morning!

For writing Wednesday: The spiral labyrinth holds events (or rituals) that require the presence of all high warlocks and their consorts. Magnus getting Alec magically/physically ready

so this is part of the spoils of war and Magnus is going to bind Alec to him as a magical consort in the way of warlocks and the labyrinth

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

“Is this really necessary?” Alexander asks and Magnus smirks, because Alexander still avoids asking questions but this one was asked without hesitation and is almost… snarky.

Magnus likes it and he holds out a hand, raising a brow demandingly and Alexander goes so far as to sigh, sulking at him with just the slightest pout of his plush mouth. It tempts Magnus too much and instead finishing dressing him, Magnus pulls his boy to him. Alexander resists for only a moment — the instinct of battle still not yet coaxed from him — and then willingly submits.

Alexander tastes like moonlilies and Magnus’ own magic and he whimpers when Magnus bites his lower lip. Magnus knew that Alexander was temptation incarnate, but he didn’t realize that once he started to get comfortable, that he’d see glimpses of the truth.

Alexander is a brat.

A stubborn, delicious, tempting and incredibly subdued brat.

Which means that if Magnus wants to gentle him, he first has to find out how the clave tried to break Alexander and fix it.

Magnus pulls away and then — because the shiny bruise of Alexander’s mouth is irresistible — claims another taste.

“Was the clave sincere in their treaty?” Magnus asks mockingly when he finally pulls himself away.

“Of course.” Alexander rasps out, voice so wrecked from such a little kiss that Magnus is tempted to rip it from him completely with his own mouth.

“Then yes, darling. This is necessary.” Magnus trails his gaze down Alexander’s body and the loose, dark blue pants he’s wearing. It’s the color of magic and warlocks and Magnus licks his lips, greedy but reminding himself that it’s not yet time. “The clave didn’t change any of the concessions I demanded, only the language. They call you my spouse, but gave you to me a hostage. I intend to fulfill the actual contract, Alexander. Which means that you are my husband, my consort, a new prince of Edom.” Magnus croons when Alexander’s eyes widen and Magnus just lets his magic caress Alexander’s jaw, flames on his palm as he cups his boy’s face. “It means treasure, that you are mine.”

Alexander still seems to think it a ruse, no matter how many times Magnus has told him so.

That will change tonight, when Alexander is bound to him with magic in a way that will be undeniable.

Magnus summons an outer robe, helping Alexander into the thin layer of abyssal silk that is the same shimmering twist of blue and then he pauses, admiring the image of his boy.

Alexander is draped in blue and his face dusted with gold and painted with magic in a gorgeous and hidden array. Magnus smudged the dust of gold on his lips so he rubs his thumb over them — spreading gold freshly across his boy’s mouth.

Alexander makes a noise of protest but otherwise stays still.

“There we are.” Magnus murmurs and he lets his fingers dance across Alexander’s face, “my beautiful boy.”

Alexander’s lips twitch, as if he’s hiding how pleased he is by the compliment and Magnus smirks even as he summons the final pieces. Alexander is draped in layers of silk and lace so delicate that they were spun with Magnus’ own magic. Each piece creates a layer, a warning and a declaration of just who Alexander belongs to.

The last piece isn’t necessary, but Magnus isn’t about to show Alexander off completely to all those around him. It’s the first time Alexander has reached out to touch him without any influence and Magnus bites back a scowl that his boy is tightly gripping Magnus’ wrist, not wanting him to continue.

“Magnus—” there is a breathless plea, a desperate warning and Magnus understands.

“Oh lovely, this isn’t to keep you from seeing. Magnus promises as he lifts the mask up. “This is to keep others from seeing you. This face—” and Magnus gives a lustful sigh, “why on earth would I ever want to share it? You’ll be able to see just fine.”

Alexander’s grip loosens but his fingers tremble against Magnus’ pulse and he doesn’t pull away, even as he lets Magnus move their hands up and he gently lets magic wrap the mask and headpiece around Alexander.

It will be light enough that it won’t bother his boy and well, if Magnus is using one of the corrupted nephilim relics he has in Edom, then all the better.

Alexander will barely be able to be seen and while everyone knows his identity, it’s the principle of the thing. Rarely are the consorts of powerful warlocks made known to the rest of the world, not even in the Labyrinth. Bringing a consort is enough of a show of respect and power but each consort is guarded viciously, including any morsel of information regarding them.

The world knows that Alexander belongs to him, but that doesn’t mean Magnus is willing to let them look at his boy.

There is no need for a collar but Magnus picks one to match the mask, though he doesn’t add a leash. The outfit and his magic will be enough that Alexander won’t be able to step more than a few feet away and Magnus plans to have a hand on him at all times anyway.

Alexander’s said nothing, no protest and no admission that he can see and Magnus wishes he had more time, but he’s already spent enough of it distracted by Alexander.

the specific mask magnus is using here because he likes to flaunt that he has a winged nephilim as his consort

the sword in the center is actually a replica of the soulsword because again, its a corrupted nephilim relic from when they more intense had formalities and ceremonies

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #spoils of war #malec #shadwhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood

72 notes · View notes

anonomi · 6 months

Text

thinking about the dichotomy between spy and pyro.

Italian leather shoes against mud stained rubber. Sleek, fancy cotton clothes next to kevlar stained with grease, sweat, and dried blood. The handle of an axe, slowly splintering with use, lying beside a freshly cleaned balisong. The scent of gasoline and floral perfume, cool cologne. A cigarette next to a pilot light. Dark reflective lenses, meeting his eyes through curls of cigarette smoke. Squeaky, shiny gloves and soft calfskin together. Big zippers and silk ties.

The whistles that tumble through a cartridge and the lips curving round their own filter. Laughter muffled under their masks. wrapped presents and handmade drawings.

#spy x pyro #pyrospy #french toast #tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #these two together make me lose control #nomi writes

34 notes · View notes

gerardspuppy · 1 year

Text

Thoughts on the Valar and Maiar and their styles from someone who knows nothing about fashion beyond "diy everything".

Manwe and Varda - All white, very swoopy very fine fabrics, sometimes translucent, often skin tight with flowy skirts or sleeves. Not the most practical or comfortable looking but beautiful, white corsets and tiaras, lots of white glitter absolutely everywhere, on clothes, makeup, skin, hair, etc. Mostly minimalistic silver jewelry. White feathers appear a lot. (Wearing all white also helps to cover up the presence of bird shit on your clothes but they would never say this out loud).

Aule and Yavanna - Full on hippie look, bright colors and messy patterns, chunky jewelry with various wooden beads or gemstones, patterned headbands, large loose pants and shirts, lots of organic looking designs, goggles with tinted lenses, messy hair, usually done up in Maiar of Aule and loose in Maiar of Yavanna. Maiar of Aule also switch to leather work clothes and metal welding masks in the forges when required.

Orome and Vana - Who needs clothes anyway?? Lots of animal pelts flung hastily on, various pigments (blood) used as war paint like makeup, but otherwise not much in the way of style. Very practical clothing is favored, stuff which is loose, blends in with the forest, and is easy to move around in. They often wear animal masks carved out of wood with designs painted on.

Irmo and Este - Pastel colors, poppies are very popular both as crowns or as designs, dreamy, hazy patterns often depicting moths or owls, thick veils and shawls, long night gown like robes, bare feet or comfortable slippers, iridescent colors, pale pinks and oranges like sunsets, hazy greys, blanket like capes with moths wings on them.

Namo and Vaire - Black so dark you can't make out form, long veils that you can see nothing through, low hoods, no jewellery, no visible faces or hair or skin, dark silk gloves that are incredibly soft and make you want to take their hand, dark slippers that make no sound, the occasional glimpse of smokey breaths from behind the veil, no patterns, utter emptiness. Vaire weaves their clothes out of darkness and death itself.

Nienna - Extremely simple, drab clothing and colors, lots of greys and browns and dark greens, translucent veils which are often the only decorated part of the outfit and have patterns of weeping eyes or bones on them, thick comforting fabrics, often with hoods, the Maiar are always ready to shrug off a layer of their clothes to give to any who need it more.

Tulkas and Nessa - Clothes that lend themselves well to movement, whether that be dancing or fighting. Lots of bright reds and warm colors, often no shirts with loose pants, or close fitted sleeveless shirts. Many belts and loops to hang ribbons or weapons or maybe both from. Armored masks are often seen, in the shape of a deer to honor Nessa. Colorful ribbons and small metal charms for luck are braided into the hair.

Ulmo - Very few clothes but most are made out of dead sea animals. Skin tight suits of seal skin, shiny objects and seabird feathers as jewellery to attract fish, glittery body paint swirled around to mimic the shapes in seashells. Fish scales are sometimes stuck to the body or to clothing. Any fabrics used are rough and stiff to survive prolonged salt and sun exposure, and are thick enough to withstand stings from any sea animals. Sea urchin spines are stuck onto clothes as defense, and the most fierce Maiar have the fins and spines of dead lionfish stuck to their clothes, kept alive and potent through magic (mishaps and accidents happen much more frequently than anyone wants to admit). Extremely bright colors in everything that they wear, often for non everyday wear clothes many colorful frills and tendrils are attached to mimic the looks of certain fish and sea slugs.

Melkor - The original punk rocker of Arda. All black clothes, often form fitting, leather gloves and straps, silver or black jewellery everywhere, especially rings and piercings, teased gothic hair, masks with horrifying blank expressions and horns protruding out of them, heavy gothic or death metal makeup, metal spikes absolutely everywhere, thick heavy duty boots. Very gruesome designs often depicting severed bodyparts, bodies deformed through torture, and rotting bones. Parts of bodies are often mummified and used as accessories, especially hands, eyes, or entire heads.

Bonus third age Sauron because he was practically a Vala in his own right by then and Mordor followed his look - Steampunk, grotesque rotting bodies held together by beautifully polished metal parts, metal armor hammered into the very flesh of soldiers, lots of golds and reds, gold piercings and rings (hah), bodies half split open and their whirring mechanical insides visible through the flesh, steam rising from every surface, elegant, tight fitting black fabrics with red and gold accents.

86 notes · View notes

violettduchess · 2 years

Note

Happy Equinox Violet! May I shamelessly request Gilbert + 14 + autumn angst please?

A/N: Here you go! A masquerade ball. A moonlit garden. You got the works!

Gilbert x f!reader

Spicy Angst

Word Count: 2538

Now or never.

A breath escapes your body as you smooth your hands down the embellished bodice of your ballgown. The beads of iridescent white feel like smooth pebbles under your trembling fingertips. You reach up, nerves electric, adjusting the half-mask of freshwater pearls and soft, snow-colored feathers. The band tied behind your head is the softest of silk, the same moon-white as your gown.

Before you, the heavy double doors stand like stalwart guardians of a paradise just within your grasp, if you are willing to take that step and enter. You see the soft, warm glow from underneath, tempting, cloying.

Swan princess, indeed, you think as you steel yourself. A swan is graceful, elegant, poised. You feel anything but as you reach forward, your gloved fingers curving over the golden handle of the ballroom door.

Now or never, you tell yourself again over the thunder of your heartbeat.

You pull down the handle.

Now or never.

And step inside.

Now.

Breathless. Weightless. Free.

You spin around the polished wooden floor, lighter than air, brighter than starshine. All your fears vanished the moment you entered and saw the wonder that the ballroom held within its ornate walls. Sparkling champagne in long, crystal flutes. A dazzling chandelier, larger than any you have ever seen, ever read about, throwing beads of rainbow-colored light across the expanse of the room. And the people! Men in silk waistcoats, rich velvet brocade, golden buttons, shiny shoes. Women in gowns of all colors and shapes. A sea of jeweled purples and pinks and blues. Pastels that shimmer like the inside of oyster shells. And everywhere, masks. Some as simple as a strip of silk, some towering headpieces, dripping with gems and feathers and other extravagant accessories. The crowning glory: an entire wall of gilded mirrors reflecting back the grandiose glamor of it all.

As you twirl from partner to partner, song to song, you truly feel like the swan your costume represents. Beautiful, nimble, charming. You can feel the caress of eyes on you, the weight of them through their masks as you dance by. Never before have you felt so desirable.

The music comes to an end and you bow deeply to your current partner, a tall gentleman with a waistcoat of the deepest forest green and an ornate mask with brown velveteen antlers jutting out from the top. His golden eyes shine with appreciation as he glances back to where the orchestra is readying to play the next song.

Maybe he is going to ask you for a second dance. You would say yes without hesitation. But before he gets the chance, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A chill runs through you just at that touch, like a cold wind bursting through a day of autumn sunshine.

You turn slowly. All the light in the room becomes a luminous blur with the motion. You stop when you reach a wall of darkness. The man in front of you wears black, from the shine of his boots to the soft, silken band of his mask, an unusual mask that covers one eye completely, leaving the other one, a startling, deep crimson, free. He is not a large man, but you are immediately struck breathless by the sight of him.

He holds out his hand, head cocked to one side. It doesn’t feel like a request. It isn’t quite a command. And yet you find yourself unable to reply with the quick smile, the flirtatious downward tilt of chin you have been employing all night. You simply step toward him, the tide being pulled by the moon’s insistence. Black leather meets white satin as he takes your hand in his, holding it firmly. The other slides over the stiff corseting of your waist, only stopping when he reaches the small of your back. You have danced with many men tonight. None have held you quite this close.

You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder, noting that the material of his clothing isn’t pure black. Threads of subtle silver, like tendrils of moonlight, shoot through the fabric, giving him an almost ethereal sheen. Even through his clothing, through the supple leather of his glove, you feel a whisper of cold. In the beat before the music begins, you wonder if his smooth, white skin would feel like the cool marble it resembles.

And then the first notes float over the ballroom floor and in perfect synchronization, you begin to dance. He moves the way dusk paints the sky in soft hues of midnight blue and deep violet. Effortlessly. Smoothly. Beautifully. In a sea of bright gowns and sparkling glasses, of painted smiles and colorful masks, he draws you in. A black hole of inescapable force and power. You cannot resist, but that doesn’t matter because now, as you spin like twin moons across a galaxy of glittering stars, you could not imagine ever wanting to.

He does not need two eyes to hold your gaze. One rubine eye is more than enough. It is your focal point as you dance, as the lights blur and music fades, as you lose yourself in the feel of his hand gripping yours, the press of his fingers against your back. You could spin wildly, become a cyclone in the middle of the ballroom, but that gaze would hold you steady even then. All that power controlled by a single, vivid, red point.

It takes you a moment to realize that around you, the dancers are bowing and nodding and breaking apart, like waves dissolving into white foam as they hit the sandy shore. Neither you nor the man in black have let go. Neither wants to.

"I….need some air…" Your voice sounds oddly tight, a music box wound almost too far. He releases you from his grasp and your stomach lurches, as if trying to propel the rest of your body forward and back into his arms.

"May I escort you outside, to the gardens?" You are not prepared for the sound of his voice. Soft, decadent velvet with the slightest whisper of a foreign accent. Alluring the way moonlight is when it adorns water with a sheen of silver. The words melt into you like the cool kiss of snowflakes on warm skin. You feel the way something inside you coils, tightening, even as a shiver cascades down your spine.

He offers you his arm and you take it. Painted eyelids blink behind their masks, watching as the woman in white and the man in black disappear through the terrace doors to be swallowed whole by the night.

The royal gardens of Rhodolite are stunningly beautiful in daylight. By day, they preen and show off their beauty and their lavish displays of fragrant blossoms and tall, bright green hedges. But at night, they are wrapped in shadow, a sensual mix of soft black and argent moonlight. They whisper of privacy, spinning promises to anyone who dares enter under the cloak of night that all that is said and done here will stay only here. Hushed secrets will remain sheltered in the depths of the hedges, the soft, protected centers of the roses.

You walk the myriad stone pathways of the gardens, arm in arm. The music from the masquerade still dances through the air. You aren’t sure where you are even going until you arrive: a smaller, narrower path, earthen and unpaved, that disappears behind a trellis of wild, overgrown ivy. So this is where your steps have been leading, your heart the wild drummer, its beat urging you forward this whole time.

He allows you to guide him, his hand now in yours, as you step off the stone path and onto the dirt, ducking beneath the growth. Dark leaves reach out, caressing your gown, the bare skin of your shoulders. You soldier onwards, until you come to the small clearing in a near-forgotten, far corner of the garden.

Here the hedges have been allowed to reach towering heights, their branches interwoven with small white flowers that seem to glow like tiny dewdrops of pearlescent light. Below you, soft grass. Above you, a black sky stained with starlight. You can still hear the music faintly within this hidden, overgrown alcove.

You turn to him again, freed from the shackles of observation, from the prison of everyone's gaze. A moment of silence stretches between you, diaphanous, delicate. He speaks first, breaking it.

"Another dance?"

He watches you, the visible part of his beautiful face bathed in pale shadows. Slowly he holds out one hand, an echo of his earlier gesture. You reach for him, thinking he will take your hand and raise it to shoulder-height, the way you danced in the ballroom but you are wrong. His leather-clad fingers don’t stop at your hand but travel up the length of your glove, right to where it ends at the crook of your elbow. Black leather brushes against soft skin as he slowly pushes down the soft white material, taking extra care when he pulls at each fingertip. Your arm is now bare but it feels as if he might as well have stripped you of your gown. His eye roams the expanse of skin he exposed, his tongue licks his lips.

Your other glove is removed in much the same manner. Rolled down your arm with delicate hunger. He lays it next to the other, an oddly neat gesture. Turning to you, he holds out his arms in invitation, ready for that second dance, but you shake your head.

"My turn."

You hold your hand out. He tilts his head, curiosity flicking in his eye like a red flame, before he places his hand in yours, allows you to curl your fingers under the soft leather of his glove. Your thumb slowly, deliberately traces the thin straps that cross the top of his hand. You learn two things at that moment. First, his skin really is cool as marble and just as smooth. Second, he is not used to touch. An involuntary quiver exposes his secret and something inside you burns with satisfaction that you are the one to do this to him.

You peel black leather away from white skin, first the one hand, then the other. You slide your fingers over his wrists, his palms, up to where his own fingers curl inwards in response, holding you still, two statues clutching hands as the shadows watch in knowing silence.

You hear as the music shifts to something slower, giving the shimmering ballroom a chance to catch its breath.

The change in tempo breaks the moment, scattering it like strands of silvery cobweb. He is moved to action. Swift as a nighthawk leaping into the ink-black sky, he has you in his arms again. This time there is no distance. He pulls you against him, your body fitting to his perfectly, immaculate design in practice. Your bare hands slide over his clothing, over his shoulders, wrap around his neck. One hand dares venture upwards into the soft, lustrous dream of his hair.

Your bodies sway to the music, pressed as close as your costumes will allow, your blood rushing through your veins like a river of sparks. This mystery man in black, beloved of shadows, has captivated you wholly. He is Nyx, made of flesh and blood. Hauntingly beautiful, quietly powerful.

He drops his head, his forehead resting against the bare skin of your shoulder. The river of sparks inside you swells, spills over. Your heart is swept up in the flood as you stroke the nape of his neck, bodies still swaying like willows in the wind.

You feel when he stops moving, his warm breath coming harder against your skin. You both grow still, arms wrapped around each other as you find yourselves standing on the precipice of something, something that feels as wild as the verdant growth that surrounds you.

And then he turns his head, pressing his lips into the soft place where neck meets shoulder.

Your hand on his nape stiffens, gentle fingers suddenly gripping him like a lifeline as he parts his lips, your taste burning itself into his memory with every stroke of his tongue. A gasp, that breathy admission of desire, escapes you.

Together you tumble over the edge, into the dark beyond.

His mouth moves like quicksilver over your skin, leaving a trail of burning embers in its wake. You feel consumed by a heat so dangerous, so bright, you wonder if you'll ever be able to look at yourself again without feeling the blaze of his lips on your shoulders, your neck.

His teeth bite into your soft flesh and now you understand how the line between pleasure and pain can blur, one bleeding into the other. He soothes every sting with an almost tender kiss. How you manage to remain standing is a mystery for the ages.

You reach for his face, unable to stand it any longer. You need to taste him.

Once again, it is your turn.

Your fingertips touch the soft silk of his mask.

Your lips touch his lips.

You feel as if you're spinning again, like in the ballroom earlier. Only this time you aren't floating, you're sinking, spiraling down into a churning black sea of longing.

His bare hands come up, gripping your face the same way you are holding his, a mirrored gesture of undeniable craving. His fingers press against your mask as his mouth moves against yours. He angles his head and parts his lips, submitting, letting your tongue in to take whatever it wants. He is yours to ravage.

He tastes like the cold, sweet shine of starlight, like the first kiss of winter on a late autumn night. You plunder every corner of his mouth, holding him still as you take and take all he is offering. You cannot get enough. You cannot drink of him fast enough. You are on fire and his lips and tongue are the only chance you have at extinguishing the roiling heat inside you.

You stand in the moonlight, under the soft strains of music, holding each other's masked faces as wave after wave of hunger slams into you, leaving you both desperate for air and yet unable to part.

"Ich muss dich sehen," his voice, rough with need, rasps against your kiss-bruised lips. You don't understand the words but his intent is clear when his hands move to the back of your head, to the elegant white bow of your mask.

A decision has to be made, right now, in the haze of the headiest lust you have ever experienced. Do you expose your face to this masked stranger, this dark man of want and shadow, and give in fully, risking the consequences and all that could come with them?

Or do you rescue that rational part of your mind, the one slowly, continuously sinking to the bottom of the ocean, before it is too late?

You feel the bow loosening, his fingers pulling, your mask beginning to slide…

And as instantaneous and certain as a matchhead bursting into flame, a decision is made.

🌙

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @bellerose-arcana @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart @gilbertvonobsidian

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen gilbert #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #fall fluff autumn angst ccc #gilbert x reader #masquerade ball #angst #spicy angst #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #violettwrites

123 notes · View notes

sylkethelabel · 8 months

Text

Beautiful Silk Hair Goddess - Sylke the Label

Unleash your inner Beautiful Silk Hair Goddess with our luxurious silk hair accessories. Sylke offers a stunning collection of silk scrunchies, headbands, and hair wraps that protect your hair, reduce frizz, and add a touch of elegance to your look.

#beautiful silk hair goddess #silk pillowcase ontario #smooth silk pillowcase #shiny silk eye masks #pure organic silk products #luxury silk pillowcase #beautifying silk pillowcase

0 notes

authorfrannyj · 1 year

Text

Unedited!

Sneak Peek!

After a long week of working, Nyla was so excited to go home. It was Friday, meaning she was off work for the rest of the weekend. Which meant more time to myself because usually on the weekends, Janiah goes to Tyrells place, leaving her alone.

She was fresh out of the shower, rubbing lotion on her body when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. “Hold on” She called out, putting her silk robe over her body. “Come in”

Janiah opened the door and walked inside scanning her cousin's room before looking at her. “Girl I don't know why you are hiding everything, we cousins we took baths together when we were kids, we got the same parts” she said, waving her hand around in the air. “But anyway, I’m leaving for the weekend,” she continued.

“Are you staying at his crib or are you leaving, leaving?”

“We going to the casino, you know I’m about to gamble and win us some money”

“Good luck girl” She smiled.

“What you going to do? Are you going to go see him this weekend?”

Nyla shook her head. “No, he hasn’t called all week so I’m just going to stay home and have a few bottles of wine to myself”

“Damn girl, I hope everything’s is okay, I feel bad leaving now”

“Janiah stop it’s okay, I’m fine, go and have fun” Nyla told her.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure”

“Alright, well let me go and drive to this nigga house, I see you Monday girl, come with me so you can lock up”

Standing up off the bed, Nyla followed her to the front door and gave her a hug, telling her to be safe and have fun. After Janiah left, Nyla locked up the apartment and went straight to her bedroom, closing the curtains giving the room a nice red hue, her favorite color. Grabbing her tripod, she set it up with the ring light, getting the perfect lighting. She took this job very seriously and she also made sure there were no pictures of her or her family in the background to keep more information hidden.

Walking to the closet, she reached up onto the top shelf removing her black treasure box. She used the gold key and opened it seeing all of her sex toys, ski mask, pleasuring oils, and handcuffs.

A smile slowly appeared on Nyla's face as she decided on which toy and color mask she will be using tonight for her show. Her favorite toy was the Total Ecstasy Triple Stimulator Vibrator. It was pink with pleasure pearls in the middle, vibrating rabbit ears in the front for the clit and a piece in the back for the ass.

The toy made Nyla have the best orgasms she has ever experienced. Removing her silk robe, she revealed her red lingerie set underneath. The underwire bra that held up her round breast perfectly was cut out leaving just flowers around the nipples with a red lace g string and garter belt to match. She felt sexy and had to take a quick picture.

Walking over to the toy chest, She grabbed the red ski mask and put it over her head, covering her face, leaving only her mouth and eyes out. She rubbed clear shiny lip gloss across her pink luscious lips getting the perfect shine. Grabbing her sex you, she sat down on the bed and started the camera, waiting a few seconds until people joined her chat.

As her fans started to join the chatroom, Nyla decided to do a little tease just to keep them entertained while they waited for more guests to join. She played with her breast, jiggling them and showing off the toy. A few seconds later the views started to increase.

“Hi, welcome back babies, how is everyone doing? How was your week?” She questioned them. People started to answer in the chat box, making her smile. “Today I brought out my favorite toy, I can’t wait to use him” She moaned, putting the toy in her mouth.

Nyla balance started to go up from people who wanted to see more of her sexual activity. “You already know, if you want to see more you gotta send me more coins baby” She warned a few people who were begging her to remove her clothes.

Her fans quickly started paying her for more content. She slowly removed her bra, exposing her breast and pierced nipples. She started to gently caress them, teasing her body.

This was one of her many secrets that nobody knew about. Nyla was a freak. She loved playing with herself and playing with her toys. The only thing she was missing was dick but she refused to fuck a random man.

Nyla first went live when she was nineteen. While Janiah left to go clubbing, Nyla was home alone, bored so she decided to step out of her comfort zone.

Her show started off slow but as soon as her fan group began to grow and more money came into her account, Nyla couldn’t stop. She was only working the library full-time until she got her own place but as soon as she did, her goal was making her webcam show full time instead.

Nyla sat up and read the comments from people who were asking her to remove the mask. “Reveal your face” she read out loud. “Oh no baby, everybody knows in this chat, I keep my mask on at all times”

Since she never showed her face, nobody knew who she was. According to the internet Nyla was known as Amber Bliss aka Mask Mami. Even though she had a sex cam site, she also posted videos on porn sites gaining more followers increasing her fan base.

Nyla knew she made it big when porn companies reached out to her asking if she would like to do some movies with a few porn stars but she quickly turned them down, ignoring their offers. Sitting back, reaching for her rabbit, she turned it on feeling the vibration in her hand.

Nyla began to spread her legs, moving her thong to the side showing the fans her fresh, waxed, pussy. Placing the toy against her clit, she threw her head back in ecstasy.

“Oooo” A light moan escaped through her glossy lips.

When she lifted her head she saw the comments and the balance going crazy. The fans were begging her to use the toy but she decided to tease them, taking it slow, getting herself nice and wet.

After a couple of minutes of teasing, she finally decided to slide the toy in her pussy feeling the vibration throughout her whole body. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she pumped the dildo in and out of her feeling the rabbit ears pleasure her clit.

“Fuck” She moaned, playing with her exposed breast. She also made sure to keep her feet in the camera. Her fans also had a foot fetish and loved to see her perfect pedicured toes in the camera.

Nyla paid attention to what her fans liked and disliked, the type of lingerie they loved to see her dressed in, and the different types of toys she uses.

Turning up the vibration speed of the toy, she continued to thrust the toy in her pussy feeling her juice dripping onto the bed. “Feels so good” She moaned, looking into the camera seductively, biting her bottom lip. “You like that daddy?”

The balance continued to increase double the amount she had before, getting her more excited. Removing the toy from her dripping pussy, she sat up off the bed and turned around getting on all fours, poking her ass in the air. Placing the toy back into her pussy she fucked herself doggy style.

“Yes…right there” She moaned loudly with her eyes halfway closed. “I’m about to cum daddy, don’t stop”

For the next couple of hours, Nyla put on a good show, fucking her body in different positions until she tired herself out from numerous orgasms. She couldn’t help but smile, staring at the balance she has received tonight.

She transferred the money to her bank account and cleaned up her mess and toys. She took a quick hot shower and hopped into bed falling fast asleep.

41 notes · View notes

pandoraimperatrix · 1 year

Text

Wandering Worlds

DickKory | Core Four Centric | Cannon Divergence | Longfic

Summary:

The story begins with the death of Dick Grayson. His life taken by his own brother, Jason. Consumed by grief, Rachel gives in to despair, losing control, a portal opens, but from it no destroyer of words come through. Instead a man who looks just like him, how can he be? The Titans, and especially Kory has to mourn their fallen leader and deal with this stranger with a lot of issues of his own. After that, when everything seem to be settling, Kory is forced to return to Tamaran, but she wasn't as alone in her destiny as she thought, neither her family of choice was willing to let her go that easily. But politics in Tamaran can be as complicated as travelling across universes.

————————————–

Part Four – Voyagers

Chapter Twenty-four – There is no other home but you

Entering Palagar Palace was like entering a time machine.

Instead of the rationed food they had been served in hiding due to the war, a sumptuous banquet was served, filling the room with rich smells Kory hadn’t been exposed to since childhood. She blinked back tears, forcing a smile as she sat at her place of honour. It was everything as it should had always been and nothing as it should be at all. Where was her mother’s hand to guide her? Where was her father kiss to bless her? And if that ideal of life was truly lost, if it was all a lie... Then...

What was this all for?

Flowers covered the recent reconquested palace’s main hall from walls to floor and high born Tamaraneans in their silks and jewellery chatted and danced under the torches’ golden light that giving their various shades of deep brown and copperish skins and ethereal dewy aura. The whole scene weighted Kory’s heart with nostalgia, it was like if Kory only blinked or waved her hand, everything would disappear.

READ ON AO3

Karras held her hand a little tighter and Kory turned her face to him, displaying what she wished looked like a besotted gaze to the masses. Her smile threatened to crack when she was met with his concerned green eyes, but she held fast her mask, annoyed that he couldn’t bother to do the same.

”I love Karras, he is my friend, I do not want to blow his head off,” she sing-songed internally.

Letting go of his hand to pick her goblet o zorkaberry whine, Kory took a sip of the bitter beverage. She would get used to it, even if she doubted that now, even if it took a thousand years, she would learn to to accept her destiny, she would find a way in her heart of hearts to love...

Love, she thought, lived in a shiny tower by the sea, stars and stars away. And there was where her daughter was going, no matter the cost.

“So it is true?” an ancient voice rose above the conversation across the table. “There are aliens amongst General Xoyan’g men?”

“It is,” Karras answer with a tired voice, he didn’t loathe the old man like Kory, he had even served at his Palace in Ellk’ir, but even him found the old man tiring “Lord Kimmus.”

“Absurd. How can we even trust these outsiders? Haven’t we learned nothing good can come from barbarians?”

Kory pretended to take another sip to hide her rolling eyes, from all the good people that died in the war, that old fucker Kimmus had to survive. Of course, the coward. Always too busy somewhere else when needed in battle, ever-present to demand advantages every time he thinks he can get away with it. Kory always despised him, but her father went to Okaara with him, and always made clear that she should be respectful, didn’t matter if she felt there was nothing to be respectful of.

“Where these aliens come from?” Kory asked, ignoring the xenophobic man and pressing for information since the presence of outsiders within their army was another thing Karras had found not worth of mentioning to her.

“I love Karras, he is my friend, we will marry to save Tamaran and I will not break his neck on our honeymoon,” she sanged internally a little louder.

“I’m not entirely sure, my lady,” Karras answered, “they seem to have suffered a great trauma and do not remember and the language is not one Xoyan’g is familiar with...”

Kory frowned, horrified at the feeling she might agree with a man she loathed but unable to help herself.

“Karras, how can Xoyan’g let them into his army? They might as well be spies!”

Karras’ face fell livid and she could see the eyes of every single noble men and woman on them. So much for their united front.

“Or, they can be Tamaraneans,” he paused for effect, “or from allied peoples, meddled beyond recognition by Psions. We do not know,” he paused again, this time to chug the rest of his drink. “But the fact is, my lady… We take all the help we get. You’ve been distant for a while, and might be under the impression that we still have, within out battalions, the quantities that your father, the late king, had… We do not.”

Kory felt the ends of her locs sizzling, the nerve he had of being condescending when the reason she wasn’t up to par with the information was because her dearest fiancé wasn’t sharing.

“My father, the King,” she reminded him and everyone that might be listening and everyone was listening, “lost his crown due to outside meddling. Kommander would never have usurpe6the crown if she didn’t have been aided by the Citatel and their Gordanian trash. And now you say you are accepting aliens in our armies and you think I’d not protest? You are out of your mind.”

Karras looked like he was singing internally to himself too. But Kory could urge herself to feel not even a drop of regret. Saving her life and protecting her secret were not favours. She was his Queen by right, and it was time for him to remember that.

“I agree with the Princess,” she heard someone say.

“I understand your worries, my love,” Karras said stiffly and then he turned to their court, “all of our worries. But we have yet to find reason to distrust the loyalty of these friendly outsiders. Xoyan’g said they have been paramount to his success in the reconquest of the southern kingdoms.”

“So what?” Kory continued filled with righteous anger, “If nothing he should be ashamed to need such help. This is ridiculous, it’s like he’s just waiting to be surprised when the snake egg, he’s so comfortably sitting on, crack and bite his ass.”

Laughter spread across the table with people slapping it and making the plates shake and glasses spill.

“She’s very much her father’s daughter, my son,” Kinnus said in a disgusting tone, “good luck taming this wildcat.”

Karras sighed and signed for his cup to be refilled. Kory rolled her eyes, this time not bothering hiding it.

“You’ll have time to take your worries directly to General Xoyan’g, my darling, he and his men promised to join us until the end of the night.”

Kory threw to Karras what could only be a condescending smile and busied herself with her food, if she was grateful for one thing, was to be able to eat Tamaranean food again. It took her so long to get used to Earth’s flavours, even when she didn’t have any memory of her planet of who she really was, her stomachs turned in sight of food… And being stuck in East Europe in those first days didn’t help either. The mere idea of being forced to eat beets and cabbage brought back nightmares.

And if she was successful, Kory would never have the opportunity to introduce her daughter to her favourite traditional dishes. Her baby would never have the joy of sharing glorg with her friends at Okaara after a hard day of training or sucking on sputflinks right from the sentient trees.

She would never remember of her mother saying how much she was loved before bed.

Kory’s hand shook, but the burst of imminent tears was interrupted when the cacophony of newcomers started filling the great hall.

“Oh, Xoyan’g is here,” she heard Karras saying, and joined to stand up with him, she trusted her hand forward, with her palm up, and he put his hand over hers as costume, she was still getting used of being touched my one of her own species, it was strange, too much information. She missed guessing, the mystery, she missed showing and being showed by her or her partner’s own volition. There is something more sincere on having the choice of making another know how one feels instead of automatically being robbed from the information by bodily chemical processes.

So, when she saw the aliens that accompanied the General, she pulled her hand away as if Karras’ skin burned hers.

Her old friend and now fiancé could never know of how she felt when she saw them, and especially the man wearing a high-ranking tamaranean armour, chestnut hair braided back like she had taught him to, and the same hazel eyes their daughter inherited.

---------

[Insert dramatic music]

So... It has been a while, so long that Titans got cancelled. I am angry and sad but not surprised

Fuck every single billionaire and every single leech that doesn’t work for the betterment of thee world and live of speculative capital.

Do not know when the new chapter comes, I’m between cities again, literally typing this from a hotel room while hungry, angry, frustrated and poor.

So, comment please, I need all the dopamine you can spare

Edit: My life is a little less chaotic now as things are falling in line I STILL NEED THEM DOPAMINE MOLECULES PLEASE INTERACT WITH MY WORK AND MEEEEEEE

#dickkory #Dick Grayson #Koriand'r #Nightwing #Starfire #Kory Anders #Richard Grayson #WW #Wandering Worlds #my fic #show: Titans #HBO Max Titans #DCU Titans #Titans Live Action

21 notes · View notes