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nouies · 4 months

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hello and welcome to the last fic rec of the year featuring my favourite works from what i’ve read during the past weeks. as always, please check tags before reading. if you liked the fics please reblog their posts, leave kudos and write a nice comment. happy reading! rec tag | more rec lists

— harry/louis —

໑ A Christmas at Home by @parmahamlarrie (T, 3k, established relationship, nurse louis, kid fic, christmas fluff) After meeting his boyfriend in the emergency room, not having Louis home for Christmas Eve (and his birthday) was not a big surprise to Harry. What he didn't expect was just how hard that would be on his six year old son, Arlo.

Or, the one where Arlo wants nothing more than to celebrate Louis' birthday with him, and Harry hates having to be the parent who says no.

໑ Could Be Kissing my Fruit Punch Lips by thecheshirepussycat / @the-cheshire-pussy-cat (E, 4.5k, strangers to lovers, college au, camboy louis, pining harry) Harry happens upon a porn site that specializes in live videos and sort of falls in love with the cute boy he only knows as Kitty.

And then he gets the surprise of his life when he finds out Kitty attends his university…

໑ Your name is tattooed to the bottom of my heart by @meloummy (E, 6.6k, canon au, established relationship, ass tattoo, light dom/sub) Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday.

Or where Harry likes to mark what is his and receives a very special surprise fulfilling one of his fetishes; to see Louis marked for life with something related to him and in one of his favourite places.

໑ with gilded wolves on the wall by bruisedhoney / @yvesaintlourent (E, 13.3k, enemies to lovers, a/b/o game of thrones au, arranged marriage, fantasy) The Game of Thrones ABO AU where Harry is of the North, and Louis cannot be burnt.

໑ Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me by @lousmoonshine (E, 14.8k, exes to lovers, champagne problems au, famous louis, non-famous harry) After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding.

໑ play by the rules by @shimmeringevil (E, 21.8k, established relationship, bdsm, soft dom harry, read tags) Fed up with the excess energy that’s wreaking havoc on his personal and professional life, Louis asks his boyfriend to dom him in the hopes that it’ll help him relax. Unfortunately, Harry is a bit of a disaster when it comes to being a dom. So, Louis decides to get creative to try and encourage the dominant side out of him.

໑ tell me that your sweet love hasn't died by punk_pillow_princess / @punkpillowprincess (M, 27.4k, established relationship, happiest season au, movie inspired, hidden relationship, coming out, christmas) Louis and Harry have been in a relationship for a year. While on their way to Harry's parents' house and his family's legendary annual Christmas party, Louis discovers that Harry has not yet come out of the closet to his family, who are also full of secrets, fears and afraid of a bad reputation in town.

໑ Snow In Love by @lululawrence (NR, 33k, friends to lovers, advent fic, fake/pretend relationship) Harry and Louis are best friends and have been for basically as long as they can remember. For the first time since middle school, they are both single for the holidays leaving them with the brilliant idea to take each other as their dates to work events. To make things easier they will pretend like they’re dating. But then they learn something funny.

People thought they were already dating. Weird.

໑ Heart Beat by @allwaswell16 (E, 33.4k, acquaintances to lovers, advent fic, small town au, teacher harry, single parent louis, kid fic) Hideaway Haven is the place that Louis has always called home. It's also the place that Harry had tried to leave behind him. When Harry returns to start a music academy in his hometown, he finds himself face to face with his high school crush—and his charming daughter who wants to learn to play the drums.

— rare pairs / categories —

໑ Chaos by @haztobegood (louis/omc, M, 100, canon, fitf tour, bodyguard) Against the barricade, it’s complete chaos.

໑ Fine Line by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 (louis/nick grimshaw, G, 1k, established relationship, canon compliant, relationship reveal) Telling his family was always going to be a big deal, but doing it alone was a sacrifice he could make. He never thought they’d fall about laughing.

໑ Daydream by @allwaswell16 (girl direction louis/zayn, T, 2k, strangers, coffee shop au, university student louis, farmer zayn) Every Thursday, Louis nods hello to her fellow regulars at Horan’s Cafe, one of whom is the woman of her dreams.

໑ Baking Memories by @haztobegood (louis/jack cochrane, T, 2k, canon compliant, kitchen chaos, christmas baking) After a long day of songwriting, Jack convinces Louis to bake mince pies together.

໑ say yes to heaven by edensrose / @holdingthornsandroses (louis/ethan hawke, M, 2.8k, strangers to lovers, 90s theatre au, references to shakespeare) Later when he’s back at the apartment with Oli, as Louis is somewhat dreamily waxing poetic about Ethan, Oli interrupts.-

“Does he quote Shakespeare when you fuck?” he asks, poking at the sizzling eggs on the stove.

Louis’ cheeks turn suspiciously pink.

Oli peers at his face. “Oh my god, he DOES. I KNEW IT.” He triumphantly brandishes his spatula in the air.

໑ Two Stars Passing By by Stria (Asia117) / @nooradeservedbetter (niall/lewis capaldi, G, 2.9k, established relationship, a/b/o au, domestic fluff) “I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly comfortable not looking and acting like a traditional alpha.” He needs Lewis to know that, for some reason.“Sure, mr feminism,” Lewis snorts. “Come on, we’re missing the game.”

(Or, fluffy slice-of-life moments in Niall and Lewis' relationship) ໑ One by @allwaswell16 (louis/tommy shelby, E, 4k, one night stands, pack a/b/o au, peaky blinders au, historical, pregnancy) When omega Louis Tomlinson becomes pregnant after an unexpected encounter, he decides his only option is to flee his pack. But Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, might not be willing to let him go so easily.

໑ it's a holidate by @disgruntledkittenface (harry/nick grimshaw, M, 4.3k, strangers to lovers, american au, company holiday party) When Nick meets Harry at his company holiday party, he never would have predicted that he’d met his match. Luckily, he’s been known to be wrong on occasion.

໑ a silent night with you by edensrose / @holdingthornsandroses (louis/lee pace, M, 7.8k, strangers to lovers, christmas au, writer louis, fake relationship louis/omc) Louis Lane. Popular British columnist and cook extraordinaire. He has a fiancé and and a sixty acre farm. Except Louis Tomlinson has none of these things. Guess who’s coming to dinner.

໑ Jump! by @reminiscingtherain (louis/tommy longhurst, M, 15.8k, strangers to lovers, canon, touring life) He let out a noise of surprise as his arms were suddenly full of a sweaty body, as Tommy threw himself at Louis and held on tightly.“Thank you so fucking much,” he muttered against Louis’ shoulder, squeezing a little. “You have no idea how much this means to us.”Louis softened a little, gently tapping Tommy’s back.“I absolutely know what this means, lad,” he replied, his voice gentle and supportive. “The way you’re reacting to being out there? That’s exactly why I chose you for the support slot.” He gave a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve this, okay?” He pulled back a little, gripping the back of Tommy’s neck and looking him in the eyes. “You deserve this.”

໑ 'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf (girl direction hl, E, 17.9k, friends to lovers, advent fic, returning home) Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

#28th appreciation #1dficvillage #1dsource #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #ficsfor4am #*#*rec

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darkdemeter · 3 months

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— TEASER —

Material is subject to change in post editing.

“SIREN, BE BOUND TO ME”

Read it here!

A/N: Ahhh ha ha... demie did a wee oopie?? WHAT?! I love pirates and the whole golden age of piracy - I'm just a period piece addict - okaaay? So here's a teaser for it because I don't have enough Bucky stuff, he's just got a series happening right now, in which, part 2 is in the works, our beloved mafia Bucket Bucky hasn't been abandoned! P.S: if you recognise that the writing style is a bit different, it's because I have moments where I write like this and then... it switches off. So I'm trying to get into the habit of keeping it consistent.

Semi-dark! Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

— READER DISCRETION —

Nothing majorly triggering? — Pirate. Bucky. — possessive Bucky elements — light hinting of reader being a sort of fuck toy — pet names! ("little Siren") — Wanda's got magic in this au — FYI, reader is wearing a robe, so she ain't butt naked for the crew — I think that's it?

Enjoy the excerpt!

—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—

Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and uniquely - strangely mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep.

Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its hook.

However, your mesmerised pupils flicker in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance.

Your vision focuses behind him, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.

When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own.

Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.

He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf.

His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea.

The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back.

“Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion.

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic

#female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #pirate au #pirate bucky #siren reader #teaser #dem's updates #oneshot

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ichooseviolence · 8 months

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There's a specific type of humor that I love in ASoIaF, and it's mostly sarcasm. Even characters that I absolutely loath make me laugh because the deliverance of their quips are so on point that I have to respect it. Tom of Sevenstrings, Jaime, Tyrion, Eddison Tollett, Olenna, Genna Lannister, Oberyn, Cersei, Euron, Renly, even Petyr. Dany has a couple moments that make me chuckle as well.

But I might actually add Sansa to the list, because some of her quips are perfection.. If she was in a healthy environment she would probably let loose on the sarcasm and take no survivors.

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. "Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." "As well he should." The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. "If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in office." Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her. -AGoT Sansa I

"...It's almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I'll feed him to wolves after I've caught him. Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?" "I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him." -ACoK Sansa I

"She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey. When she heard that the Imp had sent Lord Slynt to the Wall, she had forgotten herself and said, "I hope the Others get him." The king had not been pleased." - ACoK Sansa II (this one literally took me out)

"Dontos was prattling on. "If I were still a knight, I should have to put on armor and man the walls with the rest. I ought to kiss King Joffrey's feet and thank him sweetly." "If you thanked him for making you a fool, he'd make you a knight again," Sansa said sharply." -ACoK Sansa IV

"Ser Meryn Trant held the blood bay for Joffrey to mount. Boy and horse alike wore gilded mail and enameled crimson plate, with matching golden lions on their heads. The pale sunlight flashed off the golds and reds every time Joff moved. Bright, shining, and empty, Sansa thought." -ACoK Sansa V (this one made me smirk)

"Curses are only in songs and stories." That seemed to amuse him. "Has someone made a song about Gregor Clegane dying of a poisoned spear thrust? Or about the sellsword before him, whose limbs Ser Gregor removed a joint at a time? That one took the castle from Ser Amory Lorch, who received it from Lord Tywin. A bear killed one, your dwarf the other. Lady Whent's died as well, I hear. Lothstons, Strongs, Harroways, Strongs...Harrenhal has withered every hand to touch it." "Then give it to Lord Frey." -AFfC Alayne I

#she's had enough #sansa stark

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heliads · 2 years

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Hi! Could I please request a Nikolai Lantsov x reader where they’re childhood friends that fell out of touch (with mutual pining, no doubt :) but meet up again on the open seas, when he’s tailored as Sturmhond but wants to talk to them as Nikolai? I like the idea of a pirate reader, though I’d love to see where you go with the idea. Thank you so much! Love your work ♥️

the vibes of this request >> let me tell you anon i was THRILLED

masterlist

There was a time when you thought the world could only ever end, that you would live your life start to finish within the same four walls, or at least variations of them. You centered your entire being around insignificant things that could never last long— a wildflower left without water in the dry earth outside your home, a friend you made when you were just a child— and grew consequently hopeless when they all left in turn.

What do crackling leaves and vanishing golden blond boys have in common, though? They teach you lessons no one else will. Lessons about how if you crave something not given to you, you must take it by force. Lessons about how although everyone leaves, it is far less painful if you are the one shipping out on strange tides. You did your time of learning, and now you push it further still on the bow of a ship you taught yourself to sail and master.

Few people would expect someone who had once been a well trained Ravkan to trade their entire life for one at sea. Those who know you, though, wouldn’t even bat an eye. You have never been made for cages, and now you break them. It’s as easy as that.

There were a few times when you wondered if you were making a mistake to cast off all your old ties for this. There had been moments when you swore your precious Ravka held everything you could ever need. There was a family, once, that promised you the world. There was a friend, once, who made you think that you could have it.

Your childhood has long since disappeared, however, carrying with it parents and their fables as well as blond boys who know too much for their own good. You know what was expected of you, and you hated it. Too terrified of turning into those same people you saw every day, you fled. Let the gilded gates of Ravka wither with rust. You will not be there to see them fall.

Thus a ship was acquired and a crew was found. It can be difficult to track down men worth trusting in any province, let alone one run by gold-drunk old men, but you make do with what you’ve got, you always have. Convicts and criminals may run with wolves every night, but they’ll protect you in a heartbeat, and rather do it above anything else.

That was where one chapter closed and another began. You’ve been on the seas for a few years now, staying afloat through odd jobs that have a miraculous way of paying you far more than they should. Interest runs high when there’s no one to check you. It would certainly be a shame if your men took more than their fair share from those who have too much money to ever miss it, wouldn’t it?

You’ve gained a name for yourself over these years as well. Among the lighthearted community out there on the sea, few could hope to have half the reputation that crowns your head. There’s one like-minded soul that you wouldn’t mind meeting, but then again, the list of people who’d like to meet Sturmhond could fill an armada. You’ve heard rumors that he’s talked of engaging with you as well, but you can only take those with a grain of stolen salt. Thieves of the sea forge truths as often as false documentation; until you meet the man himself, you’ll never know for sure if he truly wants to know you or not.

Still, when you’re out with your crew one day, heading out of the Ravkan harbor after another successful voyage, it isn’t beyond you to search the endless seas for some sign of another ship. And, when one of your crew stationed up in the crow’s nest for lookout shouts something down about seeing a schooner speeding up towards you, you can’t help a leap in your chest. Everyone’s heard stories about the Volkvony, but fewer still have actually seen it in person or lived to tell the tale.

When you stride over to the side of the deck to get a better look, though, your hopes are confirmed. It is indeed the Wolf of the Waves, Sturmhond’s flagship, and it is indeed approaching you. This close to Ravka, it’s hard to tell if the privateer could actually be gunning for you or just headed towards the coast, but they drop anchor soon enough.

You haven’t done anything to irritate the infamous seaman as far as you’re aware, so this meeting could be merely a passing pleasantry. All the same, you tell your crew to be on high alert. Sturmhond is notorious for narrow escapes and bold moves. It would be just like him to rob a fellow privateer just for the thrill of saying he could do it.

When the redheaded man first steps foot on your deck, however, you do have to wonder if he could truly be here for any nameable crime. His face is harsh, weatherbeaten and rugged as if carved into being by a blade instead of shaped by any Saintly hands, but it still holds a certain something that lends itself well to receiving stares. He takes his time getting a good look at the ship and the crew before he looks at you, so you have the pleasure of studying him before Sturmhond is ever able to consider you.

You take your time in it, too. You have never met the privateer, and would certainly remember it if you did, every detail down to the flamboyant teal frock coat, yet you can’t shake the feeling that something about him is familiar. You find yourself searching his face for some sign of recognition– perhaps a shade of muted green in his eyes that you’ve seen elsewhere, or a lock of copper hair that reminds you of a sailor you’d passed before, but can find no explanation anywhere in your memories.

At first, you think you must be confused, merely trying to delude yourself into thinking that you could have a connection with such a famous master of the seas, and then Sturmhond looks at you at last and you know you’re not making things up. He is careful to keep his face light, his expression sharp yet bright, but for a moment his demeanor slips. There is one half second in which you lock eyes and you swear that he recognizes you, and in that brief infinity, you know that you were wrong to ever doubt yourself.

The instant is over in a heartbeat, and then Sturmhond is back to his usual self. He claps his hands together, announcing for all the world to hear that he had heard of your ship in passing and wished to meet a fellow captain. He’s done this before, you’ve heard of Sturmhond evaluating sea captains to see if they’d fit in well with his fleet, so it’s not unusual for him to pay you this visit.

Still, when his eyes linger on you, you can almost convince yourself that there’s another reason for his presence here, something that he’s not telling you or at least won’t mention in front of the crowds of pirates surrounding him. You nod once and extend a hand towards the captain’s quarters.

“How about we speak somewhere in private? I would welcome any chance to confer with a fellow seaman.”

Sturmhond laughs briskly at the understatement of his title, and strolls over to accept your invitation. He keeps up his air of unconcerned bravado while all eyes on him. It is a different story once the door shuts behind you and the voices of the crew fade into the background.

You take a seat behind your desk and gesture for Sturmhond to relax as well. He makes a show of flicking his coat as he sits to show off rows of pistols, knives, and other weapons, but it doesn’t faze you for a second.

Instead, you steeple your fingers on the table in front of you. “Do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

The privateer laughs again, and you swear that there’s something familiar in it, some sort of tone that you’ve heard before. “Can’t I just drop in on a friend?”

“We’ve never met before,” you counter, but add on something more when his face drops almost imperceptibly, “or have we?”

“I would hope that I’d make such a fantastic impression that you’d have no choice but to keep vivid memories of me wherever you go,” Sturmhond says pleasantly, “If that’s not the case, I’ll need you to keep that to yourself. I have an image to uphold, you see.”

You nod once, eyebrow raised. “Oh, of course. And how does that image relate to the fact that you’re being Tailored?”

Sturmhond’s face drops in a flash, although he picks up his charade a half second later. Still, even the momentary lapse is enough for you to recognize that you’ve seen straight through him. “I hope that’s your way of saying that I’m so handsome that I have to be the work of a Grisha, but it’s not the case. Many have tried to discredit my natural beauty, but–”

You cut him off with a raised hand. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You look at me like you’ve seen me before. That would only work if you’re wearing a different face than when we met. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You knew me as someone else and you want to see what’s become of me. Tell me, was it before or after I took to the seas?”

Sturmhond waits a second, two, and you’re just about to wonder whether you’ve colossally misread the situation and Sturmhond really isn’t Tailored at all when he sighs. It sounds like the dying breath of a god, all weighty pain and deep grief.

“Before,” he whispers, “long before.”

It is the easiest thing in the world for a pirate to lie; you’re all taught it at a very young age. Still, you know instantly that Sturmhond is telling the truth. You don’t know how you know, you just do. You know him better than you know yourself. It is something only many years of contact would teach you.

“How old were we when we met?” You ask tentatively. Pieces are starting to click together in the back of your mind, memories you haven’t thought about in quite a long time. His face may be changed, but his voice– something about his voice, maybe, his eyes, the way he looks at you–

The corners of Sturmhond’s mouth prick up into a half smile. “I don’t remember. Very young. We knew each other for quite some time too, and then I had to leave suddenly. I don’t even know that I was able to say goodbye. I was–”

You interrupt him again, this time with a shaky laugh. “Blond. You were blond and a prince. Saints, Nikolai, what have you become?”

It is a gamble to say his name like this, out of nowhere with little to no evidence to back it up. All the same, seeing Stumhond– Nikolai– and the way his face lights with some indescribable emotion the second you say his name is how you know you’re right beyond measure.

This is him, then. This is Nikolai Lantsov. This is the childhood friend you worshipped when you were barely knee height, the boy you grew up with until he disappeared one day without a trace. You had met him somewhere you can’t remember, on a street whose name is both the only thing you will ever know and also the first to vanish from your mind when you need it most. Nikolai had been your best friend, your truest friend, and the one whose absence hurt more than any blade when he left.

It makes sense now, of course. Nikolai was a Lantsov above all else. Of course he would be called away from you at some point, he had duties you couldn’t even begin to understand. You heard rumors that he was in the military, or studying in Ketterdam, and then some other grand plan that criminals like you wouldn’t be privy to in a thousand years, no matter how well you knew Ravka’s golden youngest son.

Here he is now, though, wearing a face that isn’t his and smiling at you like he has finally found the one treasure no pirate could ever dream of taking. You look at him, and although every facet of his face is changed, you see him. Nikolai. Your Nikolai.

You can’t help a smile. “What are the odds that we’d both pick this career path?”

Nikolai grins as well. “Surely very small. I didn’t think you’d recognize me this easily, though. I have to say, it’s making me doubt my own appearances, and I prefer to do that as little as possible.”

You chuckle. “I’ve known you for years, Nik, you can’t honestly believe that I wouldn’t see straight through you. What was your plan, then, if I didn’t recognize you? You would sweep up to my ship, engage in some idle chatter, and leave without telling me a thing? Would you really be so cruel as to let me go another few years without knowing that I’d met you again?”

Nikolai’s eyes shine at the nickname. “I didn’t know what my plan was. I had heard stories, but I didn’t dare connect your name with them until I saw you and knew for sure. When my men spotted your sails this morning, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away unless I saw you again. It’s been too long, Y/N. Far too long.”

You nod in agreement. “What will you do with yourself now that you know it’s me? Pack up your things and sail off to another distant corner of the world just like you’ve been doing all this time?”

Your tone holds no malice, only the faintest hint of regret. Losing Nikolai had been like losing yourself when it happened all those years ago, and now you’ve got to say goodbye to him all over again despite just getting him back.

Nikolai, too, seems unwilling to part ways just yet. “We don’t have to separate,” he whispers, “I’m in need of a good captain in my ranks. Someone I can trust more than anyone. That has always been you and you know it.”

You let a small smile slip onto your face. “Are you offering me a job, Sturmhond?”

You emphasize the false name and he rolls his eyes. “Your old friend misses you,” he replies, “isn’t that enough? That and the promise of untold wealth?”

He holds out his hand, and you shake it without a second’s hesitation. “I’d follow you anywhere,” you say simply, “I would hope that you’d know that.”

Nikolai stands, and, crossing around the desk, pulls you into a tight embrace that leaves you breathless. Without his Tailored face hidden in the crook of your neck, you can pretend that nothing has ever changed, that you are both still children growing up on Ravkan shores that have yet to cast you off.

“I don’t want to let you go again,” he says against the top of your head, “I look forward to seeing you fly my colors, moi kapitan.”

You laugh. “Always the flirt, weren’t you?”

“Anything for you,” Nikolai says breezily, and extends a hand towards the door. “Shall we tell your crew of the good news? I’m sure they’ve been waiting long enough.”

You nod, but steal one last moment to stand here and look at him. You have your friend back, your Nikolai, your captain. Nothing could make you happier. At last, you walk to the door of your cabin and push it open. A wave of dazzling sunlight threatens to blind you, and through the rippling light, you see Nikolai by your side. Him and nothing more.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy

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speaker-of-the-void-cats · 1 year

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"When he reached a displacement of eight he told us he was dead."

"He sees the wolves have formed up around him. Eight of them."

"The greatest gaiaforms of our solar system are eight in number—or, if you prefer, [N]ine—but asteroids and minor planets have them too. And in their sidereal generosity, these gaiaforms will protect us, if we ask them."

Fist of Eight Moons

"Only in the Ascendant Plane—where a well-defended idea is a reality—do these moons, in this small way, still exist."

"Eight Barons and an Awoken prince - and only one of you. I so dislike betting on the underdog… But you are resourceful…"

"The man turned to his left and saw a familiar, weathered face staring up at the eight Barons of the Tangled Shore."

[...]

"’Sundance’ appears to be the victim of a single, catastrophic wound from a Devourer Bullet, modified to fire from a Scorn launcher. Projectile classified as ontological.”

“Define Devourer Bullet.”

“Payload matches the ballistics of a Weapon of Sorrow or a comparable Hive implement.”

"We are all pinched silhouettes impaled on the twitching of infinitely long spiderlegs."

"You must reckon with yourself. Can you see the path ahead?

Do you know the shape of your trial?"

Auseklis

Ogdoad

Guñelve

Arevakhach

Schläfli

Compass rose

Isotoxal | edge transitive

Eightfold Path

The Star of Lakshmi

The Star of Ishtar

The morning star

First light of the new dawn

Venus

[Consult Cryptarchy's pre-Golden Age stacks for more information]

"Is it a simple answer? Perhaps none who serve you have the capacity to grasp your vision. And so, rather than waste more of your time and attention on explaining something they will never hold, it is enough that they act as you will. The Witch and her Hive carving single-mindedness out of the cloth of the universe, that whispering Nightmare seeking the fullest gamut of existence, the Upender destroying all differentiation. Shadows on the wall.

In this case, it would be hubris to think I have understood your work, that I alone among your Disciples have grasped what purpose it is we serve. All of us must see darkly reflected.

But there is relief in simplification. There is kindness in winnowing. So then, why is this proliferation permitted?

The shadows, showing the truth by their casting. [...]

There: I have resolved the conflict within my thoughts, and I am at peace again. Once more, I am only your violence and nothing more.

The Final Shape will realize us as we strive."

—Unknown Disciple of the Witness, Inspiral

Who am I?

Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

In primordial space, timeless creatures made waves. These waves created us and the others. Waves were the battles, and the battles were waves. Fleeing all W'rkncacnter, Yrro and Pthia settled upon Lh'owon. They brought the S'pht, servants who began to shape the deserts of Lh'owon into marsh and sea, rivers and forests. They made sisters for Lh'owon to protect and maintain the paradise. When the W'rkncacnter came, Pthia was killed, and Yrro in anger, flung the W'rkncacnter into the sun. The sun burned them, but they swam on its surface.

Marathon 2, Six Thousand Feet Under terminal: ax1-40^23<094.95.28.85>

Oryx went down into his throne world. He went out into the abyss, and with each step he read one of his tablets, so that they became like stones beneath his feet. He went out and he created an altar and he prepared an unborn ogre. He called on the Deep, saying: I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves. Come into this vessel I have prepared for you. And it arrived, the Deep Itself.

Books of Sorrow

XXXI: battle made waves

Verse 4:1 — battle made waves

#trace the vermicular path #follow the daito rabbit #destiny the game #destiny #destiny 2 #destiny2 #destinythegame #destiny lore #the traveler #Ishtar Collective #destiny speculation #the veil #the witness #the numbers mason what do they mean #crashing my scion tc into the witness at 100mph #macrocosm #eight points

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damien-wolfram-art · 6 months

Text

The Quick Yellow Fox Denned Up with the Old White Wolf

Minato never had a shrine to call his own. He was a curious young kitsune who spent his days darting around the wide world in search of fresh sources of life force. Though he was benevolent wherever he went, he knew it was unsafe to stay in one place for long for his antics in any given village left many humans drained and wary of him. He didn’t mean to cause trouble; it was simply a part of his nature.

Other beings were fascinating to him. He would watch them from afar with perked ears, poking through his fluffy blond hair, sparkling deep blue eyes, and a wagging golden pillowy tail. Some would eye the pale yellow robed kitsune with disdain and keep their distance, fearing his power. Others would approach him fearlessly and ask for his blessings. Others yet, would look at him with the same curiosity and desire as he offered to them.

He would den up with those individuals from time to time. Their company was a comfort to him, however fleeting, for the young kitsune rarely stayed still and his interests were as fickle as the Autumn weather. His travels took him all over The Land of Fire and its neighboring countries. He visited The Hidden Eddy village with its whirlpools, and its red-haired maidens in the south. He visited the whispering woods of The Village Hidden in the Sound and met other vagrants who were passing through the north. He even spent time in the deep woods of The Hidden Leaf Village at the center of the country.

It was about a day’s stroll to the south-east of The Leaf that he hit a wall of scent that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was a strong salty funky scent that was chock full of pheromones. He couldn’t help himself. He had to know where it was coming from.

Following the scent was straight forward enough. He had little trouble staying down wind of it, but its pungency was distracting to the kitsune, and he ended up walking right into a trap. Snap! It was a bear trap.

Minato’s eyes went wide, and his pupils dilated on the offending jaws that were digging into his left leg. He was bleeding so much that he thought he’d faint. The only thing keeping him conscious was the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching him. He tried to run in the opposite direction, but the jaws only tore deeper into the flesh of his lower leg and made him scream.

The footsteps closed in on him and he whipped his head around to see who or what it was. “Not this again,” said a soft voice filled with concern. Rushing to his aid, came a larger grizzled man. He had a shorter white tail and canine ears poking through his longer fluffy hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail. His tired dark eyes focused on the trap, and he took hold of its teeth. “You might want to grab that stick there and bite down,” he suggested, motioning with his strong neck to a fallen branch near Minato. When he abided, he wrenched the jaws of the trap open. Minato didn’t scream this time. The pain had proved too much for him. He blacked out.

He woke to the same pungent smell from before and a trickling sound. He was curled up in a den dug out of a three-meter-tall cliff. His wounded leg was wrapped up and no longer bleeding. Around him were the forms of many large wolves. He stiffened, almost reverting to his fox shape, but calmed when he realized they were all peacefully sleeping.

A shifting and a sigh at the den’s entrance drew his attention. He sat up to check it out and when he did, he saw his savior from earlier that afternoon, gilded in the white light of the moon. The trickling sound got louder, and the scent got stronger. Minato’s ears guided his eyes to the source of the sound. A heavy stream of urine crashed into the loose soil at the larger man’s feet; it foamed on impact.

Feeling a twitch between his legs, Minato swallowed a moan. He’d never come into contact with such an attractive sight and scent. There was something powerful and well-seasoned about the man at the entrance. He needed to know more.

“Uhm, excuse me?” He called to him meekly. The man at the entrance looked back curiously, though he did not stop peeing. Minato only grew more excited by this. “Were you the one who saved me?”

The man finished relieving himself with a few quick and firm spurts, before tucking away his long pale member. Minato couldn’t help but stare– entranced by how the foreskin clung loosely to the firmness beneath it. He could even make out a small blueish vein running along part of its length before it was hidden away behind his long dirty white and red patterned kimono.

The white-haired man turned to Minato and smiled in a way that formed wrinkles around the corners of his mouth. “So good to see you’re up again, little fox. I freed you from that terrible trap, that’s true.”

Minato blushed at the way he’d been addressed. Rarely had anyone called him anything, but Kitsune. “Wh-why did you help me?” He asked.

“Why?” The larger man pondered aloud, grabbing at his squared chin. “Well, that trap was most likely not meant for you. It’d be cruel to let you die in it. Besides…” He sat down beside Minato. “You’re much too young to be dying, little fox.”

The kitsune blushed deeper, leaning closer to the bigger man. “You can call me Minato…if you’d like,” he offered.

“Minato huh? With a name like that, you must have been born by the water.”

“Yes, actually. You’ve got excellent deduction skills,” Minato said with a short laugh. “What about you? What are you called?”

“Sakumo. I am the Alpha of this pack.”

Minato felt the fur on his tail stand on end. “Sakumo…Alpha huh? No kidding,” he whispered.

“I know what you're thinking. An old wolf like me?”

Minato waved his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “No no no! Not at all! I think you’re very impressive.”

At that moment, Sakumo began to smell something coming off of Minato. It was a woodsy spicy scent hidden under a strong musk. The kitsune’s tail curled around the old wolf’s torso, beckoning him as he moved in closer. Both of their scents mingled in the air around them, making the both of them painfully aware of each other. That night, and for the few nights he needed to recover, the quick yellow fox denned up with the old white wolf.

@narutokinktober

@bitchbot3000

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lyrabythelake · 5 months

Note

I love your Lost Prince AU so much!! Do you have any snippets to share? :)

Hi Anon! I'm so glad you like my Lost Prince AU!! I'm afraid I haven't had nearly enough time or motivation to write much over the past few months and that AU seems to be fading into the background. I might get back to it one day but I wouldn't get your hopes up. Instead have an extra long snippet from the next chapter of A Dark Horizon that's been sitting in my drafts for a million years. I hope it does a little to make up for it!

He ran his fingers over it curiously to find that it was, in fact, made of real animal fur, and on further inspection a pelt of some kind, not unlike those some Ordonians wore. Usually, they were made from rabbit fur, or, less commonly… from wolf fur. Twilight pulled his hand back suddenly as if struck by static. He recognised it now, could smell it in the air, a scent that should not have been as familiar as it was. Did someone see him last night? Had they somehow connected the dots? His heart pounded as he ran through what that meant, how the people of his village would hunt down wolves and wear their skins like trophies. He had worked himself into quite a panic before he saw the letter, a small piece of parchment gilded with the royal crest and folded once over. It held merely two short sentences, a piteous number of words considering the embellishments surrounding it. A gift from your brother. Beware the Crystal - Time Twilight’s first thought was relief. The pelt was from King Time, ill-thought out as he believed it was–-was it a joke? It seemed a little insensitive given last night’s harrowing experiences–-it meant there wasn’t some unknown stranger somewhere who knew his secret. His second thought was that Time had called him his ‘brother.’ Realistically he knew it was a fact, a strange one that he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around, but to have it written on paper, for the king to truly see him in that way to an extent to sign his name as such, a small village rancher who would otherwise had lived and died in Ordon, was still baffling to him. He had never had a big brother and had always taken on that role with Colin and the other children in the village, but the idea of having someone be that for him was not a bad one. His third thought brought a dry sort of smirk to his face. What would it mean, truly, to wear this pelt in public? It would be a statement in many ways–a statement of fashion, for wolf pelts were most certainly not in line with Hyrule’s eclectic, but distinguished, style; a statement of personality, for to wear this would be truly embracing his agricultural roots and would set himself apart from his brothers in a way the aristocrats of Hyrule wouldn’t be able to deny. Lastly, of course, and it was this thought that brought the smile to his face, it would be blaring last night's events in plain view. To Twilight, and his rather unusual sense of humour, it was an entertaining idea. So it was that he adorned his usual green tunic, the clasps altered to suit his simpler acclimations, and fit the pelt over the top. It was thick and bulky, and there was no denying it would make him noticeable, a prospect he had tried his best to avoid up until this point. It was not often that Twilight look at himself in mirrors; he had never been one to care particularly about the way he looked (something that prompted Ilia to tell him begrudgingly once, “you don’t care because you don’t have to. You manage to look good with your face smeared with goat dung; some of us have to actually try,” to which he blushed fiercely and hastily changed the subject), but he looked at himself now in the large, ornately framed looking-glass on his wall. The pelt gained him a sort of barbarian-esque look, and as he turned to look over his shoulder, he found that he liked it. He had tried so hard thus far to fit in, to mirror Castle Town’s expectations of how a prince ought to look, that he quite fancied this new, powerful, and considerably un-princely, style. Besides, the hood would keep him warm this Winter.

#lost prince au #lyra writes #thanks anon!

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lucky-numberme · 1 year

Text

4/20 Queer Book Draw Challenge: Enrique Mercado-Lopez from the Gilded Wolves Trilogy

[ID: An illustration of Enrique as both a child and adult. In the front, child Enrique kneels on the ground to closely examine a golden bug on a leaf, hand hesitantly outstretched. In the back, adult Enrique tentatively reaches to the wall of the cave of obsidian crystals from Bronzed Beasts. Child Enrique is lit by pale yellows, while adult Enrique is mostly in cool purple shadow. Both are holding books and wearing expressions of captivated wonder. The words "tabi-tabi po" are color burned into the background. End ID.]

#LISTEN YOU GUYS. LISTEN. HE IS EVERYTHING.#HE'S WITTY AND FLIRTY. HE'S A HUGE NERD. HE'S BISEXUAL AND POLY. HE'S EVERYTHING ACTUALLY #aspiring ilustrado and reigning king of my heart 💖#also he just wants to be friends with Jose Rizal which is so valid of him #Enrique Mercado-Lopez #gilded wolves #tgw trilogy #gilded Wolves Trilogy #roshani chokshi #the gilded wolves #the silvered serpents #the bronzed beasts #tgw #little museum

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aquietlifesblog · 8 months

Text

Ravening Wolves (Dio x F!Reader) 2/?

“…we shall exact vengeance for Dio and reunite him with us. I give you my word.” OR At long last, the time has come to set your grand scheme in motion: the elimination of Jotaro Kujo and Dio’s glorious resurrection. The Age of Heaven is near, and you won’t let the Joestars stop you—no matter how hard they fight. A sequel to ‘Hungry Eyes.’

Read on AO3 Note: This is the story of Dio's resurrection, be patient as we fight for his return.

First Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 1: Unwelcome Guests

Jotaro Kujo is no stranger to nightmares. Oftentimes he jolts awake, heart pounding, his body drenched in a sheen of cold sweat. He’ll look up and see Star Platinum beside him, ready to battle threats unseen.

Some days he’ll dream of fighting, of dire clashes and battlefields where Stands collide with unyielding intensity. But it’s Dio who looms in the shadows of his darkest nightmares.

“The life you live is but a mere Illusion.” Dio's chilling laughter would pierce through the air, its icy tendrils crawling down Jotaro's spine. “You're living on borrowed time, Jotaro; You’ll never be safe from me.” No matter how valiantly Jotaro fights, Dio remains. Like a phantom, who refuses to be vanquished, he’ll always return another night.

“Good grief.” He doesn’t allow himself to stew in the moment, not as Shizuka's cry pierces through the wall. Jotaro's brow furrows in concern. ‘Something must have spooked her,’ he thinks; the baby's been sleeping through the night for weeks.

For a moment, he imagines his grandfather, Joseph, cradling the little girl in his weary arms.

And though his muscles protest, he pushes himself to action.

Guided by the silver moon that filters through the silver windows, Jotaro swipes the spare room key from the fancy gilded table by the bed. He’s more than happy to help Joseph soothe the crying baby, just as he did for Jolyne in the past.

So he opens the door with a yawn, squinting slightly as he enters the hall. All at once his vision is filled with the warm amber light and upscale furnishing of Morioh Grand Hotel. The plush white carpets are lined with cream-colored vases, and oil paintings decorate the walls. The whole floor smells faintly of artificial lemons and Charmy Green soap.

There are no other guests on the third floor, the Speedwagon Foundation saw to that, but from the corner of his eye, he sees a woman dressed in red waiting near the entrance of the elevator. Is it a worker, he wonders, or someone who stepped off of the wrong floor? He makes a mental note of her presence, before padding across the carpet, his slippered feet carrying to the room adjacent to his own.

But just as he reaches for the door handle and slides the key into the gilded lock, a thunderous force barrels down the hall.

The floor beneath him quakes and trembles as everything ahead is scraped away. There's no dust or debris, only a sudden disappearance that brought to mind Okuyasu Nijimura and his stand, The Hand.

Without a moment's hesitation, Star Platinum obliterates the door and Jotaro dives inside, a split second away from disaster.

“Jotaro?” Joseph calls, and the two lock eyes. They share a bond forged through countless battles and a shared bloodline, a connection that transcends words.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Jotaro begins, his determined words rising above Shizuka’s hiccuping cries. “But we have another enemy Stand user on our hands. I don’t know if he’ll make it in time, but try to contact Jo-”

The air thickens with the cloying scent of roses. The sweet aroma permeates the air. It wraps around them like a spectral mist, enveloping the three in an eerie atmosphere. For Jotaro and Joseph, and perhaps even Shizuka as well, the scent heightens their sense of danger, placing them further on edge.

They are no longer alone.

“You managed to survive, I see. How unfortunate," Your voice carries an odd infliction, a mix of humor and frustration that teases Joseph’s memory. "I instructed him not to lose his composure upon encountering you, alas, he never listens. It’s almost as though he doesn’t respect me…” The shadows bend and bow in reverence, unfurling as you gracefully emerge from within.

You smile, but there’s an apex predator lurking beneath that beautiful facade.

“You must be Jotaro Kujo; while I can’t say it's a pleasure, I’ve always wondered about you.”

Jotaro’s eyes narrow, and Star Platinum stands ready at his side, ready for the imminent fight.

"Enough with the fake pleasantries. Who the hell are you, what do you want?" Jotaro's voice cuts through the tension, direct and uncompromising as ever.

“My, my, did no one teach you manners? I suppose the best of Jonathan’s traits never quite made it down to you, hm?”

A flicker of amusement dances in your gaze, but your attention soon drifts to Joseph. Though his face is marked by the passage of time, his eyes are as bright and as keen as ever. He regards you with a cautious familiarity.

“Jonathan?” Joseph’s brows furrow.

"What are you talking about? How do you know that name?" Jotaro interjects, shielding his grandfather from view.

But just as he does so, Cream appears like a nightmare given life. Its gaping mouth opens, revealing the furious, unhinged gaze of Vanilla Ice. His sinister intentions hang heavy in the air.

“Jotaro Kujo,” Ice growls with a low, menacing voice, “I will never forgive what you did to Lord Dio! I, Vanilla Ice, will scatter you through my dimension of darkness. There will be nothing left!”

In a blur of motion, he slides back into the mouth of his Stand, and Cream’s power surges, barreling forward like a raging tempest. But then everything halts to a stop around Jotaro, granting him a precious few seconds of clarity. Everything dulls and he immediately comprehends the true nature of the threat before him.

Vanilla Ice, Dio's strongest servant and a woman he doesn't know. His mind reaches back, searching for information that might give a name to your face but there is none. Though he does remember a woman being mentioned in that diary he found one of the two individuals he regarded as his friend.

“Good grief,” he sighs. “Just when we think this town is safe.”

Stepping away from the wall, Jotaro's eyes lock onto your frozen form, caught mid-stride, heading toward his grandfather and the baby. Determined to intercept your advance, he moves forward, both to block you and dodge Vanilla Ice.

When time resumes, your body is forcefully thrown off balance as Star Platinum strikes you with a flurry of blows. Despite understanding the power of Time Stop, you’re taken by surprise and you crash against the wall with an unforgiving thud. A large painting of the Morioh shoreline shakes in its ornate frame, threatening to collapse upon the floor.

Jotaro hums, but behind him is where the true terror lies: The thick oak coffee table and soft cushioned chairs become victim to Cream's insatiable appetite. As it moves, the void of nothing scrapes away the hideous green carpet, leaving a massive crater on the floor. It barrels forward, crashing into the wall where Jotaro stood before Top Stop, leaving nothing but a massive hole behind.

The large painting of the shoreline collapses then, and the heavy wooden frame breaks upon your body on the floor. The wood and splinters scatter and the wide canvas manages to obscure you, at least party, as the edges meet the wall at a perfect angle.

"Get out of here, old man! Take Shizuka and run!" Jotaro's urgent voice slices through the air, commanding his grandfather to use the Joestar family’s secret technique.

Within moments, the room transforms into a battlefield of chaos.

Jotaro desperately fends off the unrelenting assault to ensure his grandfather's safety. But any relief he feels shatters once he sees that you are gone, that you've crawled out from beneath the painting of the ocean and vanished from the spot where you'd been thrown.

He thinks about following behind you, that any 'friend' of Dio is the highest priority threat, but Vanilla Ice swiftly closes the distance between them, taking half a potted plant in his wake and the attack barely misses. He can't abandon this fight.

“Polnareff told me about you and that hideous stand of yours.” He begins, matching Ice’s glare when he peeks out from the void. “I don’t know how you managed to survive, but if you want to be with your precious Dio, I’ll send you to hell where you belong!”

~♥️~

Joseph carries Shizuka down the hall, moving at a speed that defies his age. But Shizuka's fear and stress reach a crescendo, and things begin to vanish before their very eyes.

“Oh no!” Joseph attempts to soothe her.

He needs to find a phone, he needs to contact Josuke.

But his swift progression halts abruptly when you appear beside him, emerging from a swirling cloud of mist.

“You’re quite spry for an old man, Joseph.” You set your gaze upon him, your burning glare filled with disdain. You’ve heard tales of the infamous Joseph Joestar, the grandson Erina loved so dearly.

"So it's as I thought. You weren't after Jotaro at all," he confirms, cradling the baby protectively, pressing her tiny body against his chest despite his invisible hands. "We've never met, so why don't you tell me who you are, little lady.”

"I suppose I can't be surprised; my existence has always been a blemish on the family name," you laugh, a dark sound that reveals your true intentions. "Did your 'Granny Erina' truly never mention me? I suppose she was too ashamed. Or perhaps she forgot in her old age. I suppose without her maids, my little sister was quite useless, wasn't she?"

"Sister?" Joseph's suspicion solidifies into certainty. Erina never spoke of you directly, but he recalls seeing something—a sort of family tree scrawled across the first page of an old leather bible she kept near the side of her bed. It contained all the familiar names, the familiar history up until Holly. But there was something else there, something he never entirely understood until this moment.

What he presumed to be your name.

There wasn’t much room on the page but his grandmother had written it no doubt. In the jumbled margins, there was a line that connected you as sisters. It was easy to overlook, the page was crowded with so much history, but Erina found a way to make you known.

So, much to your surprise, Joseph Joestar utters your name.

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you? And if you are, you must have been a vampire for over 100 years! Tell me, how many humans have you devoured in all that time?”

Joseph raises his hand and the purple vines of his Stand, Hermit Purple manifest, crackling with the power of Hamon, the power of the sun.

'A 100-year-old vampire come to haunt his family?' The gears of his mind begin turning, 'How could this happen twice? Such a thing couldn’t be a mere coincidence: She has to be connected to Dio and the Stone Masks in some way,' he thinks.

"You can't possibly expect me to keep track of such details, Joseph. Why, don't you tell me how many loaves of bread you've eaten in your life?" You tilt your chin arrogantly, looking down upon him, your fangs catching the light as you speak.

Family or not, he cannot let evil have its way. So, in a swift motion, Joseph directs Hermit Purple towards you, its tendrils surging with the power of his Hamon. But you disperse your body into a chilling mist, evading the initial attack.

Nevertheless, Joseph remains resolute, fueled by righteous anger and the unwavering determination that flows through his veins. But even as he wraps his and Shizuka’s body in Hamon, he’s no match for you; he doesn’t know the power of your Stand.

So, as you reform a short distance behind him, Déjà Vu appears at your side: a tall feminine figure, adorned with glowing red hearts and scant golden armor that melds to her flesh at the most strategic points. Her eyes remain unseen beneath her ornamental helmet, crowned by a beautiful metronome. Four tubes attach her helmet to the belt that she wears, each connected to packs marked by golden letters reading C M Y K.

Like you, your Stand remains unchanging, untouched by the flow of time.

Déjà Vu places her fingers on her lips and kisses them sweetly. A small golden heart forms between her lips and her hand and she hurls it at Joseph. It barrels forward with such force that it impacts his skull like a laser beam. Though you stood at a distance outside your most effective range, the weight of age has slowed him down, making him vulnerable to such an assault.

So, within a blink of an eye, a glowing heart emerges on the back of Joseph's head, pulsating with an ethereal light.

In response, a torrent of memories bursts forth, taking the form of photo strips that fly out from his head with the swiftness (and sounds) of a high-speed printer.

His gaze remains fixed upward, his eyes wide. Like everyone else you’ve used your Stand’s ability on, he seems overwhelmed by the flood of memories spiraling around him. He can't move or even speak.

"Tell me, Joseph; tell me all about the Red Stone of Aja..." you urge, your voice carrying a tone of gentle curiosity. Extracting specific memories sometimes requires a skillful interrogation.

For you, it was a familiar process. With your servants, it was a matter of unraveling their troubles or helping them re-live some grand experience they had in the past. But some memories necessitated deeper probing. They would need a little push.

However, the mere mention of the stone brought forward a certain strip of memories, a vivid recollection of Joseph’s bizarre youth.

“Perfect; it seems as though we’ve had a breakthrough.”

Yet, just as Déjà Vu reaches out to grasp a memory, the vines of Joseph's Stand manifest once more, weaving through the strips as if to safeguard his memories from prying eyes. Crackling with the potent power of Hamon, the vines pose an insurmountable barrier to you.

"What manner of trickery is this?" you narrow your eyes, your suspicion brewing. "...Even with your addled mind, you remain clever, don't you."

A memory of your own resurfaces then—an echo of Dio’s stand. Like Hermit Purple, it was a telepathic entity, one capable of divining information. Could it be that Joseph's Hermit Purple possessed the ability to prevent his mind from being read?

“Can you hear me, Joseph? Let’s delve deeper: Show me the Red Stone,” you implore, your voice tinged with frustration.

In the background, the floor quakes with violence. Vanilla Ice, still sheltered within the safety of Cream's void, zigzags down the hallway, crashing through doors as if disoriented, perhaps having lost track of Jotaro somehow.

He could be anywhere.

A group of security personnel rush unto the scene, only to be met with tragic, gruesome ends. Cream eats through their bodies, leaving a bloodied mess of scattered limbs and half a torso behind. You pay it no mind.

The path to resurrecting Dio is now within reach, and you are willing to pay any price to obtain it. A fire ignites within your gaze, a reflection of your unwavering resolve.

At that moment, you recall something Dio once asked you, the day he offered you the poison that ended Lady Pendleton’s life.

'I take it you’re prepared to be bold, then?’

You were.

"I won't let your stand hinder me any longer, Joseph," you declare with certainty. "You will give me the information I seek!"

A surge of power courses through your veins as you channel the might of your Stand. With a swift motion, she extends her arm and firmly grips the memory. And at that moment, the power of the sun surges within you: your bones crack, the Hamon spreads throughout your arm like a spider's web, and blood sprays from the wound. It splatters across your skin and the painting on the walls. You grunt, clenching your teeth against the searing pain that threatens to destroy you.

But then, without hesitation, you do something bold. You grip the ball of your shoulder tightly, a place where the Hamon has yet to reach, and, with resolute determination, you tear your arm free from your own body.

The sickening sound of flesh tearing reverberates in the hall. But you can still feel the energy surging from within the discarded arm. Its abandonment safeguarded your existence and it alone burns away.

‘No matter,’ you think. ‘I’ll find a new one.’

The baby continues to cry and the lamp behind Joseph, now stained with your blood, disappears from sight.

“Now, let’s take a journey down memory lane, nephew; just you and me…” Blood pours from your empty socket, seeping into the fabric of your attire and staining the hotel carpet red.

Your Stand activates her most powerful ability, the power to pull you into a world of memories. The world around you fades away, and you venture into Joseph's memories.

As you do, the echoes of Dio's question linger in your mind, fueling your resolve.

'I am prepared to be bold,' you think to yourself, resolute amidst the silence of the mindscape. 'And I shall stop at nothing to attain my ultimate objective.'

~♥️~

You find yourself in a grand sitting room, adorned with elegant furnishings, echoes of a bygone era. The deep, earthy scent of polished wood and lavender candles assaults your senses as you take note of the world around you: Deep burgundy rugs, hardwood floors, and massive arched windows curtained by green velvet drapes.

You know this room; you've been taken to the Pendleton Estate.

Your eyes are drawn to Joseph then, transformed into a broad-shouldered man in his late twenties. He laughs, engaging in conversation with his grandmother, Erina. You stare.

Time etched gentle lines upon her face, tracing the map of a life well-lived, yet her eyes retained their luminosity.

"I'll handle things here, Joseph. You go ahead," Erina tells him, her voice laced with assurance as she shoos him away. Joseph chuckles as he places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

With a final farewell, Joseph excuses himself downstairs, leaving Erina alone with a baby, Holly, swaddled in a bassinet near the window.

A surge of frustration bubbles within you. Did Joseph manage to deceive you somehow? Redirect your search to a false destination. No. That isn’t possible. You've never faltered in selecting the right memory, and the ultimate ability of your Stand ensured that even in the face of adversity, you would not be led astray. So for a moment, you stand there, shrouded in the shadows of secrecy. Because something in this room, whether it held the stone or not, evoked its memory. Something here would lead you down the right path.

So you direct your attention to Erina, the woman who raised such an impudent brat.

Without your intervention, events unfold exactly as they should. Her attention shifts toward a shelf. Amongst it sits her wedding portrait, a service photograph of her son, George II, and one of Joseph’s family. She selects one, and her delicate fingers trace the contours of the frame, a wistful smile on her face.

The sight stirs a mix of emotions within you a swirling maelstrom of hatred and envy.

Stepping forward, your presence materializes, and you become a solid part of the world you created from Joseph's memory. Your form casts an icy silhouette against the warm radiance of the room and the atmosphere grows taut.

“Enjoying the fruits of your lineage, are we?”

Your words sliced through the silence, resonating with venomous intensity.

Erina's head snaps around, and the burden of regret draws itself across her aged features.

“It’s you…” Her voice rasps with age. “You've returned, I never thought I'd see you again...and after all these years...You're a vampire, aren't you? Just like Dio…”

Blood pools from the place where your arm used to be, and Erina stares at it in shock. The wound is closing, but not quickly enough for you.

“Your arm-”

"Save your sympathy," you scoff, your voice still dripping with venom. “I’m not here for a reunion.”

“I see that hasn’t changed either.” Her sorrowful gaze follows your movement, her heart is heavy with the weight of a fractured sisterhood and the fear of the darkness that consumes you.

You scoff, the sound harsh and filled with disdain.

"You're right, Erina. I haven't changed. How could I when your lineage has done nothing but haunt me all these years? Look at what they’ve done to me—what I’ve been reduced to. You and your descendants, living in blissful ignorance while I suffer alone, discarded like a piece of trash."

Memories of your servitude, your abandonment, and misfortune flash before your eyes. The anger within you intensifies, consuming your rationality.

“My descendants? Did Joseph do this to you?” Her confusion is evident, but you have no intention to offer an explanation. Because the pain, frustration, and anger you feel have risen to a level beyond your understanding. Is it your injury, or the fact that you’re yet again faced with a reminder of your tragic past?

“Had I known the misery that cursed womb of yours would bring me, I would have killed you that night.”

Erina's eyes widen in shock and sorrow as your words strike a chord deep within her. The weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, and the room fills with a suffocating tension.

But then the world around you trembles, the boundaries of the past crumbling as the present encroaches. Time is running out, and you know that Jotaro is drawing nearer to your body in the base world.

“I see then. I always hoped that you would find a way to live in peace with the rest of the world. Perhaps, if you ever reunited, you could have the life with Dio you always wanted…I still have that hope for you, elder sister. Even if you’ve given up. Dio is-”

“I know where Dio is,” you interrupt her. “I suppose I do have you to thank for it; you’ll be the reason we unite again. It’s the only useful thing you’ve ever done for me.”

Taking a step forward, her voice raises in alarm, but you swiftly silence her by slamming your palm against her mouth. You curl your fingers inward, sinking them into her paling flesh before she can even scream.

“Jo-”

“I should have killed you, the real you, not some decrepit old woman dredged up from some old bastard's memories." You scoff, but beneath the disdain, a question emerges, something you've always wondered about but never cared enough to explore.

“I don’t know what happens to these places when I leave the ‘world of memories’ my Stand creates. I can’t say for sure if they end or simply continue on as a parallel reality… perhaps I'm not even creating them at all. But I understand that anything that happens to me here is reflected upon my body in the base world, so it's real enough for this.” You drain the blood from Erina and her heart slows, her ragged breaths ease, and her once-clear blue eyes gloss over as her struggles slow to a stop. “I thought I could forgive you, that I wouldn’t hold a grudge... but your precious family took away the most important person in the world to me. So I’ll destroy everything you’ve ever loved. In this world, in the base world, and in all realities I come across. The Joestar Bloodline you propagated will end. Mark my words.”

You drop her body on the floor, the dried husk of what she used to be. Your gaze fixates on the gray hair that spills from her scarf, and the jewel that sits at its center. It reflects in the soft lamp light, shining a brilliant cerulean hue, matching the color of her eyes. Erina always had a fondness for jewelry.

You wonder then, if the Stone is at the old Pendleton Estate, or if Joseph buried it with his beloved grandmother. Something about this memory triggers a connection to the Stone, so that must be the case.

Just as you begin to ponder, the door flies open, and Joseph rushes inside. He must have heard the body drop. His eyes meet yours, then widen in shock and horror as they land on the body of his grandmother lying lifeless at your feet.

“No!” He yells, his voice full of sorrow and rage. “You bitch! What have you done to Granny Erina!?” He charges forward and his fist comes alive with the power of the sun. You notice something around him then; it’s very faint but it’s certainly there: Hermit Purple, wrapped around Joseph, crackling with the same power.

But you will yourself back into reality, back to the base world, allowing the cries of the child in the bassinet to merge with the cries of the baby in the elder Joseph’s arms.

~♥️~

The world snaps back together, and once again, you find yourself in the hall of Morioh Grand Hotel, the soft scent of lemons and soap intermingling with your own scent of roses and the metallic tang of the blood on the floor. Time flows differently in the memory world, so little time went by here.

The sound of approaching footsteps fills the air.

“I see." Understanding dawns on you then, just as Star Platinum's fist barrels toward your Stand. But your recent meal sharpens your senses, heightening your awareness. Just as he believes he lands a hit, you disperse your form into a mist, reforming a short distance away. That distance is enough to end the effect of your stand on Joseph, but that becomes inconsequential.

You have the information that you need.

“I must thank you, Joseph. Your trickery granted me just the advantage I needed!" A sinister grin draws itself across your features. Jotaro checks on his grandfather's well-being, and once satisfied, he uses time stop to close the distance between your bodies. But his two-second maximum isn't enough to bridge the gap entirely. Star Platinum launches a flurry of blows, but Déjà Vu holds up her arm in defense. It hurts, but yours is a durable stand, one with a body as resilient as your own. Your broken bones heal and, despite lacking Jotaro's fighting prowess, you refuse to back down.

Blocking, dispersing, and clashing, your battle becomes a dance of stopping time and careful movements, gradually guiding him back toward where you suspect Vanilla Ice to be. Your healing powers have increased almost tenfold. Was it because you consumed blood so closely related to your own?

Star Platinum's aggressive cries mix together with Déjà Vu’s as they clash across the hallway of the Hotel. Doors are blown down, furniture is thrown, vases are shattered and paintings are knocked off the wall. The battle couldn't have lasted long, but your frustration begins to spike. You do what you want to stay out of his range, but so far back you can't paralyze him with your memory kiss. Star Platinum dodges the hearts with ease. For that to work you'd need to be closer, and you'd be at a greater disadvantage.

In response to your feelings, your vampiric power brings a chill to the air, coating the hall with frost and ice.

'Where’s Vanilla Ice?' You wonder. 'What did Jotaro do to him?'

Unbeknownst to you, the frost becomes the perfect conduit for Joseph's Hamon. He channels the crackling energy through the trail of frost, transforming it into the water, which flows directly back to you.

You hiss, your eyes bulging like a wild animal the moment you sense it— the power of the sun.

But just before it strikes, a strong arm curls around your body.

The world blurs and darkness engulfs your senses and for a moment there’s nothing, nothing but the cold, primordial darkness of a void.

Something moves beside you but you struggle to adjust to the absence of light. “Did you find the stone?" Vanilla Ice's voice echoes, and that's when you come to realize—you've been pulled into the mouth of his Stand.

| Next Chapter

#dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar #vanilla ice (jojo)

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bottomlouisficfest · 5 months

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We hope you’ve enjoyed the fics from week 11 of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2023! Every two weeks, we’ve compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Since this is the last week of the fest, we just have one week's worth of fics. Please enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

Wait until you're sure

A fic by tommilfson on AO3 | @tommilfson on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 465: Louis and Harry are best friends who made a pact. If neither of them has found love by the time they’re 30, then they’ll get married. It was all laughter and fun until Harry realizes they’re celebrating his 30th birthday and in a few months, Louis is gonna be 30 too. So, he struggles to find someone for Louis to avoid being together, but Louis just keeps rejecting all men Harry introduces to him (because he has feeling for him, of course), which really upsets Harry. They argue about that and Louis says something like “wow, it’s that bad to be with me?,” accepting that Harry simply doesn’t feel the same. Louis moves for a couple of months with another friend and Harry has all this time to understand his feelings, realizing that he loves Louis too and wants to be with him. But when he goes to tell him, Louis is already seeing someone else. So what’s Harry gonna do to get Louis back?

Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me

A fic by lousmoonshine on AO3 | @lousmoonshine on Tumblr | @lousmoonshine on Twitter

15k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding

Your name is tattooed to the bottom of my heart

A fic by meloummy on AO3 | @meloummy on Tumblr | @meloummy on Twitter

7k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday. Or where Harry likes to mark what is his and receives a very special surprise fulfilling one of his fetishes; to see Louis marked for life with something related to him and in one of his favourite places.

with gilded wolves on the wall

A fic by bruisedhoney on AO3 | @yvesaintlourent on Tumblr | @bruisedhoney on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The night was cold and bitter, much as he was. Though it was only early evening, darkness had already fallen over Winterfell, the snow a thick white blanket coating the grounds and the spires of the First Keep. It wouldn’t be Winter for a while according to his father, but Harry could tell that it now felt like it was on its way. The cold wind whipped his dark, tousled curls back and forth, biting at his cheeks until they were pink. He wrapped his fur lined cloak tightly around his tall frame to keep out the cold. It worked for the most part. “I won’t marry him,” Harry said into the night, his voice steady and confident; the exact opposite of how he felt. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she left since he was only met with silence. Dead leaves rustled in the trees below like they were whispering their approval of his defiance against his family’s orders. “You will,” Anera replied calmly, her expression neutral. Or, the Game of Thrones ABO AU where Harry is of the North, and Louis cannot be burnt.

Remember to give these fics kudos and comments, and spread their fic posts!

All roundups will be linked here:

Weeks 1-2 Roundup

Weeks 3-4 Roundup

Weeks 5-6 Roundup

Weeks 7-8 Roundup

Weeks 9-10 Roundup

Week 11 Roundup

#blff 2023

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madharemuses · 2 months

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Gilded Cage

Part 1 here

The sky had always been just a void. A vast darkness above the city's lights, occasionally with a star, or more likely satellite, shining down. Stars had always been something you see on TV...

...was there always so many stars?

She'd woken up on the front stairs of the villa she'd once ruled with an iron fist, and the first thing she saw was the sky. One part of her had a starless sky, the other only ever looked down upon the world. Such a sight... she could stare forever... if her stomach wasn't aching. Hunger.

Well, she's pretty much given up at this point, but if this was hunger then starving to death was starting to sound a bit unappealing. Reluctantly, she sits up, and looks around. The building's lights are all but out, having had no one to light them. At the gate, a pair of guards, seemingly unaware that she was awake. With a sigh, she pulls herself to her feet, staggering slightly after sleeping on such a hard surface.

Back to the kitchen again.

...

She's never seen the halls so dark. Someone, a servant probably, lights them when she isn't paying attention to the time. She wonders... if they took pride in that work? It doesn't matter now, they're gone now.

From the corridor facing the gardens, she can still see the sky. Its funny, in the other world they needed millions of lights to see the world, but here the moon and stars provided more than enough to see the world...

...and the wolves.

Oh.

A pack in the garden... she has no recollection of tame wolves being kept, which meant these must have come in when they felt the absence of people. Strange, she thought it would take much longer than a day for nature to move in, but perhaps they are not so thinly populated in this world. And... her isolating nature meant she kept others at bay, even taking up residence further from the major cities.

Funny, she isn't even scared. She sees the pack, and they see her. She'd probably have screamed, in either life, before this day. But at this point, she couldn't even care, she wasn't sure if they could even hurt her, seeing as a steel spear broke on contact. Maybe the wolves feel that too? They aren't preparing to attack her, but they also aren't on guard. Maybe... they can tell she's broken?

Yeah... she's broken. The old self was broken long ago, in a never-ending corporate cycle that she kept up out of sheer habit. And the new self, broken by the loss of all she'd built up. Her servants, influence, probably even lands beyond this place were now gone. Vultures would have snapped them up the moment she'd been locked away. Either way, she wasn't about to bother the wolves if they were content to leave her alone. She shakes her head, and resumes her pace towards the kitchens.

...

Well, of course. Rats. They're here and there, emboldened by the absence of the kitchen staff and whatever cats they'd kept. She didn't have the motivation to chase them out, so for now she'll try to ignore them, she'll have to get used to them anyway. Her old self could cook, barely, enough to survive if the convenience store was out of instant fare. This new self barely even knew this room, a room for servants. Now she's taking a look around, as she looks for something the rodents haven't touched yet. In the corner there's a fancy tea set, surrounded by a few dead rodents, that catches her eye. It was the same set from the day before, when she'd lost consciousness... Oh, that makes sense. Poison. So that's... at least part of the reason why they were so afraid to see her up and about, other than the door and the broken spear and the weird language...

She laughs out loud a little, scattering some rats with the sound. Some echo of her broken pride, hollowly bouncing off the walls. Now feeling a little lighter, she gets to work grabbing food, and starts walking.

...

It's not that she's lost, she just doesn't know where to go. She could just go back to her room, but the contrasting preference for bedding has presented her with something of a Goldilocks scenario, where her own bed was now too soft, but her old bed would have been too hard. Maybe she'll try a servant's bed, or one of her children's? She's seen more animals around, some rabbits, some night birds, even a deer. There must be a few significant gaps in the mansion's walls and fences for this many to get through. Maybe some back gates were left open in the evacuation, or perhaps maintenance was left undone...

She rounds a corner, and she sees something perfect. A Gazebo in the garden, full of fine upholstery and a table. She could grab a blanket or two from a nearby room, and she'd sleep in one of the chairs with the stars in full view.

Once she's settled, she eats her meal, and curls up. In her past she'd never had time to reflect, and her new self never bothered. Now, with all the time in the world, she'd do just that. Just lay back, and think about the past, and the present, what if there was even the possibility of a future...

...oh damn it.

And she's up, seeking the privy. She knew where the big fancy ones were, but those were far away and she needed to go sooner rather than later. A servants quarters were nearby, so there was probably one there. She'd only be away from her comfy spot for a few minutes...

...

With that distraction out of the way, a night full of introspection and stargazing awaits! Clinging the blanket to her shoulders, she rounds the corner to where the Gazebo is, and find herself face to face... with another person. A very scared and confused looking servant girl, holding a candle.

Now that she wasn't alone, the world suddenly felt very small.

#musings #drabble #we built an isekai #I never expected to continue this #but here we are

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ae-neon · 1 year

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The House of Mirrors

Chapter 5

Nesta watched the city slowly fade around her as they drove East, inwards and away from where the Sidra met the sea.

Watching the businesses give way to apartments, suburbs and then the forest; she imagined herself going home. Not to her mother’s house in Northside or even her grandmother’s in Scythia but to Silver Lake and that gilded cage she had learned to love.

She imagined for a moment that she would be sitting on the deck overlooking the misty lake, sipping tea by sunset. And that she would be alone. Forever. The thought pressed on a bruise in her soul.

Is that what I want?

“What are you thinking about that has you frowning?”

Rhysand was beside her, one hand on the wheel and the other resting by the gear. He still hadn’t told her where they were going.

“What if someone does recognise me?” she asked over the low music, never truly free from her worries.

He hummed like he was thinking, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, “If someone does recognise you, I promise to give you my car as an escape method...and an apology, for not keeping my word.”

Nesta crossed her arms and legs, angling her body towards him. He met her look with a grin. “I already have a car, a better car.”

“Ouch,” he cocked his head and hummed again, “It's a bit pricey but I have a house in Illyria I might be able to-” she laughed.

Nesta rolled her eyes, unable to stop her own smile, “If someone so much as raises their eyebrows that house is mine.”

Eventually the trees gave way to large gates and ivy-covered walls so tall she couldn’t see over them. But through the gates and houses with fencing rather than brick walls, Nesta was able to piece together they were in some old money enclave.

From what she knew about Rhysand, his father’s family, she guessed at where he was taking her. A part of her wondered if he meant to impress her, to sway her in his favour. Not that it mattered what she thought, her job was to oversee not interfere.

The only reason it was Nesta and not Elain was because Nesta had been made ready for men like Rhysand, like Tomas – even at 19, she’d been used to walking among wolves.

Her grey eyes flitted from the street of palaces to the prince beside her and an unease bloomed in her chest.

Nesta was rich. Tomas’ own wealth had been kept secret from both their families, but he’d taken her to parties and villas all over the world. And yet there was something about this place, this kind of wealth that made Nesta nervous.

She had seen money unleash the monsters men hid inside themselves, allow them the freedom to act out their dark desires. But what about men who were born and raised without those chains, who had never been brought to heel under the threat of consequence? What did families like Rhysand’s do to build and maintain their wealth not for years or even decades but centuries? And what kinds of people did places like this make?

They pulled into a gravel driveway and after passing through a huge black gate, the world seemed to open up and reveal the largest front yard Nesta had ever seen.

Tall trees lined the yard, and the very ground was cut into huge steps leading up to a pool and then onto the house itself.

“Here,” Rhysand offered his hand and Nesta took it, careful to put her weight forward so her heels didn’t sink into the soft, fertile earth as they moved off the gravel to cut across the grass.

When they reached the house - a huge, cream colored, three-story building with wooden doors and window frames – Rhysand pushed open the double doors and led into an airy entryway.

The floors were polished wood, covered here and there with intricately woven Bharati rugs and the walls were dotted with colourful art pieces from artists even Nesta recognised.

Feyre would love this. The thought brought with it a pang of guilt. It was the least she could hope for for her little sister, to find comfort in her cage.

When they were done cooking their half Illyrian half Scythian brunch, Rhys led Nesta out to eat in the backyard. The almost tropical garden provided a less stark space than the openness of the house or front yard.

He texted Helion to bring over some cheesecake, enough for 5 people in case Nesta wanted more.

Nesta had perched her sunglasses on her head and rolled up the sleeves of her dress to dig in. Looking at her like this it was difficult to imagine the pale ghost in the black dress was the same person. Hard to think of this woman in blue ever shaking in fear.

She reached over for her half of the Illyrian style sandwich he’d made – shredded bits of air-dried beef marinated in spicy sauce with cold cucumber slices and lime drizzled over it. Her eyebrows shot up appreciatively and she gave him and approving nod.

It should have been easy now, to broach the subject of her past, but Rhys wasn’t sure he’d manage without putting Nesta on the defensive. A defense he didn’t think he had the ammunition to overcome, not yet. He wondered if Mor had found anything on Tomas Mandray.

He wasn’t even sure what he meant to do with the information. Nesta had presented herself amicably at every turn with no hint of resistance to either him marrying her sister or taking over TST. Was Cassian right? Was he overthinking? Was it fair to suspect her?

Nesta lifted her grey eyes from her plate, meeting his with an unflinching ease. Not a thing many could do once they knew who and what he was. And he didn’t take her for a fool, not when Amren had been her mentor and they remained close even after parting ways. No, he was sure his instinct was right, that before him lay a sleeping jaguar.

Later, he stood beside her while she made quick work of the dishes, having insisted she payback his and Cassian’s act from the dinner. He leaned against the counter, “Surprised I can cook?”

She thought for a moment then shook her head. “No, actually I would say it tracks.”

Oh? He raised his brows and motioned for her to continue.

“Men like you tend to pick up hobbies that produce tangible things. Reassurance that it isn’t all just luck and money and connections; that you’re capable of doing something by yourselves.”

He might have been a little offended at such a blunt read if she didn’t add, “My father makes wood carvings. When I was little, I thought he worked at a toy factory because he spent so much time making us figurines. Never got upset when they broke either, just made another – a little better, a little stronger.”

She had a soft smile on her face and something about it made him-

The sound of a car blasting music as it pulled up floated in through the still wide-open double doors.

“Dessert has arrived,” he forced himself to move away and headed towards the door.

“I almost didn’t believe you were back! And asking for cheesecake no less. You have to-” Helion was already halfway across the room when his brown eyes swept passed Rhys, a strange look passed over his face and he skirted Rhys’ waiting embrace to wrap himself over Nesta.

Rhys could feel his brows shoot up in confusion as Nesta accepted the embrace, then said to him, “Looks like you owe me a house.”

Helion had been a surprise. Nesta hadn’t seen him in almost two years. His embrace was crushing, and he planted three pecks on her cheek before she managed to swat him away.

She felt herself grin, even when she’d been married, Helion always seemed to get away with treating Tomas like the third wheel. Nesta squeezed his hand, a measure of her own affection which ran just as deep. He gave a warm, beautiful smile in return.

It turned mischievous when he glanced back at Rhysand.

“When you told me you were courting a Scythian girl, I had no idea you were talking about Nesta fucking Archeron.” Helion finally hugged Rhys, “I’d offer an early congratulations, but I think you owe me an apology instead.”

“Why the fuck would I owe you an apology for that?” Rhysand asked and Nesta’s brows rose at the exchange.

“Nesta tell him, I was supposed to be first in line after that horrible husband of yours.”

“I only told you I’d consider it.” Nesta moved forward to take the bag she assumed carried the dessert and turned to the kitchen, “Besides, it’s my little sister he’s marrying.”

“Oh? Well, that sorts it. You marry the sister, I’ll marry Nesta, and we can honeymoon in Montesere.”

“You know, I was willing to look past Amren, but this might be too much.” Rhys was right behind her and set out small plates and forks on the kitchen counter. Helion followed and leaned against the doorway.

Rhys lifted himself to sit on the counter, “Enlighten me, how did you managed to make the acquaintance of this heathen?”

“We...met at a party.”

“An orgy.” Helion grinned.

“A party that turned into an orgy.” Nesta explained, “Most of which I wasn’t there for.”

“Most?” Rhys repeated, turning to Helion who opened his mouth to speak when Nesta shot him a look.

Nesta slid a plate of cheesecake towards Rhysand, “You can have your house back if you stop asking questions.”

#the house of mirrors #acotar fanfiction #nesta archeron #acotar modern au #rhysta #nessand #nesrhys #nesta archeron x rhysand

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