star in the risen

anonymous asked:

#13 with Jhope or Jungkook please?❤Angst or smut maybeeee

Just for the Night (Hoseok x Reader)

Prompt request: “Are you hurt?”

Summary: Hoseok is a famous actor, and you happen to be working as a stylist on set. You and Hoseok have undeniable chemistry, but will anything come out of it?

Word count: 1.4k words

Originally posted by sunbaejin

You watched as Hoseok recited his final line. Throughout the past few months of filming, you had been completely awed by Hoseok’s presence and charisma. He was always energetic and cheerful, and his acting was stellar. You understood why the young star had risen to fame so quickly.

Plus, you were also stunned by Hoseok’s good looks. You had seen him on screen before, but in real life, it was a whole different story.

Unfortunately, with filming already wrapping up, you realized you never got the chance to talk to Hoseok. You figured a star like him would have no interest in you–a college student interning as a makeup artist. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, anyway.

The crew members and cast erupted into cheers as the final scene concluded. Filming was over. It was a bittersweet moment for you; the experience was amazing and you were sad to be saying goodbye.

With a quiet sigh, you retreated to the dressing rooms with a few other makeup artists. You only handled the secondary or background characters, so you never came into contact with the big stars.

One of the supporting characters was played by a young actress named Mina, who was around your age. She treated you like an equal, which wasn’t very common in your experiences.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mina called, running up to you and draping her arm across your shoulders. “Can you believe it? Filming’s done! Isn’t it crazy?”

“I know,” you replied sadly. “I’m kinda sad. I had so much fun working here.”

“So, once you graduate, just come work here again!” Mina chirped. “It’ll be so cool seeing all of our hard work on the big screen, you know?”

“That’s true,” you laughed. The two of you disappeared into a changing room, where you made quick work of removing Mina’s makeup and hair extensions. You chatted idly as you did so, Mina carrying most of the conversation. After a few minutes, you were finally finished. Mina changed into her regular clothes and you two exited the room.

“So, are you going to the dinner?” Mina asked as you walked through the production building’s long hallway. “The place is really nice! I mean, I’ve never been there, but I heard it’s awesome.”

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” you said reluctantly. “I dunno, it’s not really my thing. Plus, I’m an intern. The actual crew might not be too happy to have me there.”

“Don’t say that!” Mina exclaimed, slapping your arm lightly. “You do a ton of work, and you’re not even paid! You deserve a free, fancy dinner.”

“Amen,” you muttered. You turned a corner, entering the building’s large lobby. Crew and cast members were already congregating there, talking excitedly. “But still. It’ll be uncomfortable. I’m just going to go home after this.”

“You’re not coming to the dinner?” a voice suddenly asked from behind you. Both you and Mina spun around, stunned into silence upon seeing Hoseok standing just a few feet away from you.

“I-I’m not, no,” you replied quickly, tripping over your words. Barefaced and in casual clothing, Hoseok was still radiant. He smiled at you, and you had to physically resist the urge to swoon.

“Why not? It’ll be fun. Plus, free food,” Hoseok grinned. “For real, you should come, Y/N.”

“I, uh, I’ll t-think about it,” you stammered, reeling from the fact Hoseok knew your name.

“Hope I’ll see you there,” Hoseok said, shooting you a thumbs up. “You too, Mina.” With that, he walked away, presumably to talk to someone more important.

You turned to Mina, your mouth hanging open. Mina had a similar expression on her face.

“He knows my name,” you whispered to her. “Holy fuck. Why does he know my name?”

“I have no idea,” Mina replied, her voice bursting with excitement. “But you better find out!”

Two hours later, you arrived at a luxurious restaurant stuffed into one of Mina’s designer dresses. Uncomfortable in heels, you waddled up to the front of the restaurant where a few other people you recognized were standing. Mina patted your arm encouragingly, knowing how out of place you felt.

After some small talk, you were whisked into the restaurant. It was dimly lit, the interior design modern and sleek. The entire place just radiated wealth. You were itching to leave, but you wanted to talk to Hoseok once before the night ended. A girl could dream, after all.

The company had booked a whole section of the restaurant, so you and Mina just took a small table and waited to be served. Mina chattered away, and you listened attentively to whatever drama was happening in the world of celebrities. You didn’t care, really, but you had to admit it was interesting.

Eventually, dinner was served. Earlier, you had ordered lobster because you knew it was expensive. You hadn’t been paid for your labour, so you sure as hell were going to milk this free dinner for all it was worth. You had also been drinking champagne nonstop, so when you started to feel a little dizzy, you had to take a breather.

“I’m gonna go to the washroom,” you announced, pushing away from the table. Mina nodded, her mouth full of food, and waved you away. Teetering on your high heels, you searched the dark restaurant for a washroom in vain. Wandering aimlessly, you eventually found a hallway leading somewhere.

You continued walking down the hall, hoping it didn’t lead out of the building. Just as you were turning a corner, you collided with something solid. Stumbling back, you flailed as you tried to catch your balance.

Hands grabbed onto yours, keeping you steady.

“Are you hurt?” Hoseok asked, concern ringing his voice. “Oh, Y/N! You came!”

“I-I’m fine,” you blushed, letting your hands fall from Hoseok’s warm grip. “And yeah, I did. The food was good, so I’m not complaining.”

“You should’ve come talk to me sooner,” Hoseok pouted. His expression quickly turned serious, and his eyes turned dangerously dark as he looked down at you. “But you look really good tonight, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, biting your lip. You peered up into Hoseok’s eyes shyly. “You look nice, too.”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” Hoseok mumbled as he leaned down, his face hovering inches away from yours. You could feel his breath ghosting across your lips. When you made no attempt to move, Hoseok closed the distance, and his lips met yours.

Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was just Hoseok, but you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. It was messy and too quick, but it sent shivers down your spine. Hoseok’s mouth was so warm, and his wandering hands drew you in.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groaned, pulling away to catch his breath. You panted in unison. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.”

“You should have told me sooner,” you laughed, threading your fingers through Hoseok’s soft hair. You tugged the strands gently. “But better late than never.”

“True,” Hoseok smirked. He stepped back and grabbed your hands. “Here, follow me.”

He led you further down the hallway where there were–like you were looking for–washrooms. Hoseok pulled you into the empty washroom, clicking the lock behind you. When he turned back to look at you, the expression on his face almost predatory. You smiled at him. A challenge, which he readily accepted.

And if Hoseok liked you in Mina’s dress, he certainly liked you even more without it.

After that night with Hoseok, you parted ways without a word. Well, there were words. Hoseok was as excitable as ever. But there were no promises of keeping in touch or relationships. Both of you knew that was impossible.

So, your internship ended and you returned to school. You were actually studying special effects makeup–niche, you knew. After your final year in college, you returned to the industry with a bang. After working on a few small projects, you landed a position on a huge film project.

When you walked in on the first day, the last person you were expecting to see was Hoseok.

He spotted you almost immediately, a smile tipping the corners of his lips upward. His eyes darkened–just like they did that one night–as he looked you up and down.

“Y/N,” Hoseok said, your name sounding like honey. “Nice to see you again.”

- Girl in Luv

Thnx guys! Hope you enjoyed. I was a little low on inspo since I wrote another imagine with the same prompt. But I tried to make them as different as possible! Was also aiming for smut…but I’m too weak. You guys can guess what went down in the washroom. Also prom was fun, after prom was lit. I’m sick again tho, so was it worth??? Thanks for reading 💛

creating a religion

this is apparently gonna be an ongoing series

Why is your character a member of their religion? And how religious are they? Most people belong to the religion of their parents; it’s not universal, but it is common. In fantasy worlds, of course, people can actually encounter their deity, but these encounters are often not as significant a motivator as you might expect (if fiction is anything to go by, Jesus was right when he said that if we will not listen to Moses and the prophets we will also not listen to the risen dead).

So Benjamin Sisko, in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine meets the Prophets and is appointed their emissary, but he doesn’t consider them to be divine until several seasons later (and even then he probably wouldn’t use the term).

In Tamora Pierce’s Tortal novels, Alanna and Daine have personally met deities, but her most devout protagonist is Keladry, who has never encountered any god except whatever is in the Chamber of the Ordeal. But she prays more than any other protag and thinks the most about things like blasphemy and sanctity; although it’s easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it.

Brutha may be Terry Pratchett’s only devout character. Most of them take the view of “obviously gods exist, but worship just encourages them.” Brutha has always believed, and his discovery that Om has become a tortoise does not shake his faith (the discovery that Om became a better entity upon becoming one does).

Taken as a virtue, piety and devotion are often far more about a character’s internal ideas about the moral order of the universe and their place in it than their encounters with deities. Of course, this need not be the case in your book.

oh-nostalgiaa  asked:

Jyn/Cassian and fleeting moments, please and thanks!

Thanks so much for sending one in! I combined this with @carr-crashh-heartss‘s prompt, what happens while everyone sleeps. Hope you both enjoy. <3

(I shamelessly stole the ‘love is an element’ line from Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone. An amazing book, GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T.)

Fleeting moments + what happens while everyone sleeps

He still has sand under his nails, a week after Scarif. The memories are a blur but that he remembers, hot sand clinging to his palms and hair and the grit of it between his teeth. Sometimes, he wakes up with the taste of that beach in his throat.

(He remembers other things, too: Jyn’s arms, steady around him even as he sags against the wall of the lift, resolve blazing in her eyes, keeping him on his feet. The urge to succumb to gravity is strong but she’s stronger, so he leans in, presses his lips to the soft corner of her mouth -

Her breath is warm, a promise. We’re alive we’re alive we’re alive.)

Keep reading

Waking up to the smell of an Autumn breeze blowing the curtains lightly in the morning, the sun hasn’t risen, but the stars aren’t visible anymore. You roll over, feel the crisp cool air on your face, so you burrow yourself further into the warm blankets. No alarms to go off, no responsibilities to tend to. Just a perfect cool morning without a care in the world.

Fall mornings are my paradise.

All I Ask

Summary: Dan is leaving for good and Phil just wants one last night with him under the stars. 

Word Count: 1.1k

Contains: Starboy!dan , Plantboy!phil 

A/N: Idk what this is, I just listened to Adele then wrote it and I like it sm?

They laid on the roof of the old abandon school, staring up at the sky. They knew the roof could give out at any moment but it didn’t matter. With their fingers just lightly brazing each other, all they could do was just enjoy the small amount of time that they had left together.

Phil looked over at Dan who was scanning the sky, his eyes full of wonder. He smiled to himself before looking back to the sky, trying to see what Dan saw. All he saw was dots in the sky, yes they were beautiful, but not something he would be obsessed with.

“Space is just one giant mystery Phil.” Dan said. “It’s fascinating, no one knows if it ends, if so where does it? What lies out there, that we don’t know about?”

Dan was an arrogant and outgoing person, who was very loud; and he just happened to be amazed by space. His room was decorated with galaxies and constellations on his roof. Most of his clothes were space themed. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how big space was compared to them. It was his dream to go there one day, it was childish and he knew it was possible but he’d like to think that he could see a star up close and just marvel at it.

Then there was Phil, a shy boy who never opened to anyone because he never saw the need to. However, something about Dan made him feel safe and wanted. Dan had found out Phil loved plants, like he loved space. Phil was always wearing something that correlated with plants, whether it just be a color or a shirt with flowers on it; he had a lot of flower crowns to but he never wore them, he just thought they looked nice for fake flowers. His room, in comparison to Dan’s, had pale yellow walls and drawings of flowers all over them. He had house plants all through his room and he loved it.

“What are you staring at?” Dan asked him looking away from the sky, turning back to his ex-boyfriend.

“Something beautiful.”

“Phil,” Dan started, his cheeks crimson and warm, “We can’t do this, you know that.”

If this is it, then just hold me. Phil thought. Hold me like you did when we were together, just one last time.

“Dan, please?” Phil begged, his eyes brimmed with tears. “There’s no tomorrow, this is our last night together, just please?”

The two were together once, for almost a year. They had fallen fast and hard, making it hard for them to be apart. Both of them knew that Dan was going away one day forever, they just wouldn’t let themselves believe it, until Dan broke it off with Phil a week ago. It was killing them both, but they knew with Dan leaving they just couldn’t be together.

“Just give me something, please.” Phil sat up swiftly and turned his head in Dan’s direction. Dan marveled at his beauty, the stars sparkled in the background behind him, and Phil looked a silhouette that Dan never wanted to take his eyes off of. “I just want something to remember you goodbye.”

Phil sniffled and wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his jumper. “Phil there is a tomorrow. There’s gonna be a tomorrow after that and then after that. Just because I’m going away doesn’t mean time is gonna stop.” Dan sat slowly up and pushed a stray strand of hair behind Phil’s ear.

Phil looked up into Dan’s eyes, the brown swirls colliding with the blue green ones in his own eyes. “There’s no tomorrow with you.” His eyes drifted down.

Phil flung himself onto Dan, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Vanilla and cinnamon. Something Phil loved that would never be the same. Dan snaked his arms around Phil, just holding him close.

His breath hitched as Phil placed a soft kiss to his neck. Phil always did this to him, something Dan was gonna miss about the black haired shy plant loving boy he grew to love.

“Dan?” Phil whispered quietly like the world was going to hear them.


Phil leaned back to look at Dan, his eyes scanning his face, mostly his lips before his eyes. In a swift move Phil leaned in and his lips met Dan’s. It wasn’t anything rushed, more soft and slow. The kiss wasn’t heated and lust filled but more filled with sadness and passion.

Phil climbed onto Dan’s lap, straddling him, his soft hands cupping the brown haired boys face. Dan took charge, crashing his lips onto Phil’s. He ran his hand through Phil’s hair as Phil gripped his shoulders, and ran his hands along his chest, touching where ever he could at the moment.

Their breaths mingled together with each passing second. The only thing they really could focus on at the moment was each other. It was a bliss that the wanted to last an eternity, sadly that eternity would end shortly when the sun rose in the early hours of the day.

Panting they pulled apart, Phil rested his forehead on Dan’s and he held him close. “How far do you want this to go?”

“No farther,” Phil’s voice was a mere whisper that Dan could hardly hear. “When I wake up, you’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone, scared even.”


“I’m scared that I won’t love anyone the way I love you.”

“You don’t have to love someone else if you don’t want to.”

“I can see the stars.”

“Me to my love.” Dan chuckled.

“No, in your eyes. It’s full of mystery and desire.”

Dan laid back on the roof, pulling Phil down on top of him, tangling their legs together. “Space is mysterious. It’s why I love it so much.”

Phil cuddled into Dan’s chest listening to his heartbeat.

Boom. Baba boom.

Boom. Baba boom.  

Phil yawned and Dan held onto him like the universe was going to pry him from his arms.

“Go to sleep Phil. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


His eyes fluttered open and his back ached from sleeping on the hard roof. Phil sat up, looking at the sky. The stars had burned out and the sun had risen and Dan was gone. His heart snapped in two again and tears cascaded down his cheek in a matter of seconds.

Phil’s own mysterious galaxy was gone. He looked down and noticed a jumper that had constellations on it. Dan’s. Picking it up a yellow piece of paper fell out of it, delicately he picked it up and read it.

I’m not there physically, but I told you I’d be there when you woke up. Keep this, whether you wear it or not, you’ll always have a piece of me with you. Until we meet again, my love.

~ Dan xx

anonymous asked:

rebelcaptain, in the dark kiss, please?

I’m so sorry I’m behind in answering the last few of these! If I haven’t gotten to yours, I will, pinky promise!

This somehow also turned into a first kiss fic… It picks up right after Bodhi saved Jyn and Cassian from the beach on Scarif, with Baze, Chirrut and K-2SO conveniently already on board (that’s what happened in my version of the movie, I don’t know about yours)

In The Dark Kiss:

“Everyone, strap in!” Bodhi yelled from the cockpit of the Imperial cargo shuttle, his voice distraught, reminding Jyn of Cassian’s frantic tone while escaping Jedha. Once again, the destructive power of the Death Star rose behind them, engulfing the white sand beaches of Scarif and reducing the data tower to mere scrap behind them. As they cleared atmo, a Star Destroyer had risen behind them, pulling the escaping Rogue One squadron out of their attempted jump from realspace and caught them in their tractor beam.

Bodhi and K-2SO were fighting the pull, attempting evasive maneuvers, but if ships much larger and better equipped than their small transport fell prey to these destroyers, there was little chance for their escape. 

From her seat in the cargo deck, Jyn heard Bodhi, who had escaped the battle with only minor burns, slam his hand against the controls in frustration. K-2 echoed her pessimistic thoughts, citing high probabilities of the Imperials gaining control of their ship; Chirrut muttered his prayers, quick and succinct with Baze, a large gash on his arm still oozing blood, silent beside him; and Cassian, whose unfocused eyes and limp hands suggested he was on the verge of unconsciousness, slumped into her side.  

Jyn thought of the plans she’d transmitted minutes before and the essential data they carried. She wanted to believe some Alliance ship had found them, as she’d assured Cassian in the tower, but until she was certain they were in safe hands, until she was certain she had completed her father’s mission, her fight was not finished. 

With gentle hands – something she’d forgotten she possessed over the years on her own – she eased Cassian away from her shoulder, whispering, “Stay awake,” before climbing into the cockpit, her injured shoulder screaming in protest. 

“Bodhi,” she said quietly as she reached the two members of their team still donning Imperial colors. “Is there any chance you can get away?”

“I calculate the odds being less than one percent,” Kay, rather than Bodhi, responded, not even attempting to keep his voice down. 

Looking out the viewport, Kay’s ominous prediction seemed even more accurate. The stark white of the Star Destroyer steadily covered their view, masking the dark expanse of sky and draining their opportunities to escape.

Bodhi’s wide eyes met hers, though his hands still fiddled with the controls. “We c-can’t give up, Jyn. Not after everything.”

His scars, his stutter, his uniform: “everything” for Bodhi meant something very different than it did for Jyn, and that made it all the more worth fighting for. 

“This is one of their ships,” Jyn reminded Bodhi, “And no one’s been shooting at us, so they don’t know we’re rebels.” She nodded at the flight suit Bodhi still wore. “Hide us, follow protocol and you could pass as Imperials.”

“The charges for desertion – which they just caught us doing – are as bad as the charges for rebellion, Jyn.” Bodhi shook his head. “That’s asking to get shot.”

“The chances of getting shot if they knew we stole the plans to that battle station are pretty assured,” Jyn snapped. “And we only have a few minutes before we have a boarding party scouring this ship.”

Bodhi hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Above them, the sound of durasteel hitting durasteel shook the ship. Icy fingers of panic ran down Jyn’s spine: They were in the clutches of the Empire now.

Bodhi, his eyes alight with new determination, nodded and took a deep breath, centering himself.

“There should be at least two covered storage zones on the ship in the cargo bay,” he told her. “But that’ll be the first place they’ll look for stowaways.”

Jyn pulled the blaster – Cassian’s blaster – out from her holster. “We’ll deal with that problem if –“ she ignored Kay correcting her to when “— they find us.”

Bodhi nodded, his face still apprehensive about the idea. Jyn gave him half a smile, the best she could do at the moment, before dropping back down the ladder to explain the plan to Cassian and the Guardians. Baze and Chirrut stood to hide, but Cassian, his features contorted in pain, stayed in his seat.

“Cassian,” Jyn prodded him, “We need to move.”

“Jyn…” His voice came out strained, his accent heavier than normal. “I—“

“Don’t you dare,” Jyn growled, hauling his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the sting of pain that caused, and pulled him to his feet. Cassian stumbled forward, leaning heavily on her. The lights flickered above their head and the shuttle was secured underneath the Star Destroyer and Jyn was back in the turbolift – she’d never left Scarif; the beach with its glowing horizon still awaited her; Bodhi’s ship was nowhere to be found –

“Jyn.” Her name almost sounded like a cough coming from Cassian.

And as the lights shut off around them, Jyn knew how to make this scenario feel different from the turbolift. With careful fingers, she reached up to cusp Cassian’s cheeks and stood on her tiptoes to bring her face level with his. Before he could speak, Jyn pressed her lips to his, just for a second.

“Are you with me?” She whispered into the darkness, Cassian’s face still between her hands.

“All the way,” he assured her and, together, they moved into hiding, ready to take the next chance.

Falling Stars - Confidence (3)

Overview: Your story with Dean begins on the brink of your own darkness. You’ve accepted your new reality, surprised when Dean’s comfort offers glimmers of light that spark a hope for more in your chest. It may not be as predictable as the ground you’ve come to stand on, but you’re willing to risk everything. Because maybe there is more for you than what you see in yourself.

Characters: DeanxReader

Word Count: 1,215

Warnings: a smudge of angst, 95% fluff

A/N: This mini series is based off of a poem I wrote for a past love of mine. Bits and pieces of my life are thrown into the mix. I hope you guys love it :)

Beta’d by my sole sister @wheresthekillswitch: “This says so much.”

and my writing soulmate @hannahindie: “I got chills from this. I love it.”


“Keep up, slowpoke,” I called over my shoulder. I trailed my fingers over the tall blades of dried out wheat stalks as I walked through them, smiling to myself when I heard Dean’s short breaths behind me.

“I had a rock in my shoe,” he grumbled, continuing his jog to close the last bit of space between us. His arm went around my shoulder, “I thought you might actually be nice and wait for me.”

I leaned into his side, “You underestimated my excitement.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

prompt: KOBRA is a SHIT and wreaks HAVOC on unsuspecting victims aka the rest of the gang

It had started innocently enough. Sand in shorts, sand in Power Pup cans, sand in the face… a lot of sand. It was the desert, they could handle it. But the Kobra Kid had a tendency to escalate quickly. He leaned over the desk of Dr. Death, hands planted firmly on either side of the mic. 

“Dr. D.” “Kobra Kid.” “You need to report my death.” “Should I be worried here, Kid?” “Nope.” “Yeah okay.” “Sweeeet.” 

There was a lot of confusion at the diner when the broadcast hit the air, Party asserting that he hadn’t felt it and he would have felt it, Fun Ghoul bundling up Baby Girl and heading under a table, and Jet Star walking outside to punch something. Kobra hid. Kobra waited. 

The gang went to the mailbox the next day. The Trans Am interior was silent. They were nearly there when, directly in front of them, an explosion rocked the road. “Shitfuckdestroyadamnit” Party cursed, swerving hard and narrowly avoiding tipping the car. Coughing, they climbed from the car to check for damage, when out of the dust cloud walked a figure. It was lanky, wearing sunglasses, and had on a bright red jacket. 

“Behold, your savior, I have risen agai-” Jet Star punched Kobra Kid right in the face. He landed on the ground, felt his jaw, and spat some blood onto the sand. He grinned up at them with bloody teeth. “I deserved that.” 

The Flame Nymph

All you wanted was to spend the winter solstice, free from your duties as a Naiad.  You weren’t supposed to find him like that. You weren’t supposed to get attached to his bright smile that veiled years of emotional hurt. They always said opposites attract, but was it always true…?

Nymph!Au |  Chanyeol  x  Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff  | Warning/s: none |

Words: 6000 | One-Shot |

The day had finally come. The one day where you were entirely free of the duties you were born with. The one day in the celestial calendar that you looked forward to with the entirety of your heart. The most magical time of the year.  Your people always became too busy celebrating, to notice your absence. So, you slipped away into the Human realm. The one night of freedom you had known as the winter solstice.  

The thing is you were a river nymph, specifically a Naiad. Protecting the river was your duty. Making sure its banks didn’t cross into Dryad territory, the land protected by forest Nymphs. Watching the plants and aquatic animals live and thrive together. Glittering fish, swaying plants and air bubbles within the constant blue. That’s what you protected.

But Naiad’s didn’t like socialising with each other except for on festivals. So you were mostly alone, which at first was ok, but ever since you spied on Dryads conversing happily with each other, you thought otherwise. You wanted someone to talk to, someone to have fun with, be comfortable with. But that didn’t seem very possible when you were in Naiad territory.

Buzzing around within your room, you gathered together your outfit for tonight when you would resurface. The air bubbles you made from moving around, rose to your open ceiling to reunite with the surface.

Moving in front of your mirror, you threaded your freshwater pearl pins within your hair, effectively pinning your hair up. Your hair flowed behind you as you swam to your door that opened up to the wide tides of your home beneath the surface. A small smile played at your lips, as your mind swarmed with images of what it would be like. You were so accustomed to living within the river, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more beyond the surface, beyond the horizon, beyond the butterflies within you.  

Kicking your feet behind you, you propelled yourself through the water, as you made your way to the surface. Where the two worlds met and became one.

Where the sun, moon and stars ruled the sky, and watched time fly by peacefully from above.

The water’s surface reflected the sky that was set alight with the colours of the setting sun. Your eyes widened in confusion. The Dryad Forest was surprisingly smaller than you remember. Your expression pulled up in confusion, ‘Dryads are so weird-’, you thought, before your eyes landed on a bright red rock in the distance.

At least you thought it was a rock?

Keep reading

Flight Nobility Headcanons

Light and Ice flight are the most aristocratic of all flights. As the flights most concerned with history, record-keeping, and preservation, they’re the most likely to revere their old and influential clan lineages, some of which go back to the very first dragons created by their deity. (Technically they all do, but if you didn’t write it down, it doesn’t count. Getting rich afterward also helps.) Light flight in particular keeps detailed genealogies and records of their peerage, and marriages arranged between these two flights to increase family status is common. Ice flight nobility is known for being cold, dignified, and reserved, and pale/cool colors are considered a mark of good breeding since it’s said to represent pure blood from the very first ice colored dragons the Icewarden created. They rule vast, lonely stretches of territory, and according to old customs, travelers passing through will detour to their lair to pay homage and receive hospitality. Light flight nobility consider pale/gold colors a similar mark of good breeding, but are much more social. They often host lavish balls, galas, manuscript viewings, and parties, where the guest lists (and who actually deigns to attend) can be incredibly cut-throat status jockeying. Not being invited to the season’s signature event can ruin a dragon’s reputation, but a deliberate snub from one who was invited and failed to attend can reflect just as badly on a host.

Earth flight should technically be included in this, as they too keep family histories going back centuries, but most of them are just too humble for the snobs of Ice and Light flight to see as worth associating with. They also prefer to relate their ancestry back not to their oldest, richest, and most influential ancestor, but to someone who performed a deed they admire. It’s not unusual to see Earth flight dragons adopt the name of the one who founded the museum they work in, or a mentor, or historical figure, in addition to their own, particularly if they hope to follow in their footsteps. Archaeologists uncovering tombs or ancient civilizations will occasionally choose to show their respect for the former inhabitants by taking their name, especially if this was the dig that made their career. However, it’s rarely done, because if they take their name not out of respect but as a brag, that’s a fast way to get cursed or haunted.

Shadow flight is full of royalty. They love tricks and intrigue, and they love to win, and what are power and titles but yet another marker on the gameboard? Any clan leader can declare themselves royalty without challenge, and set up their court, be they never so base. The challenge is not in the claiming, but in the keeping. Shadow courts are full of backstabbing, gossip, spying, plotting, and power grabs, some for the sake of fun, some in deadly earnest. They are rackscrabble, ostentatious things, all smoke and mirrors, black velvet drapes and raven wings turning a chair into a throne, laughing behind their paws at the knowledge of what a joke it all is to pretend themselves lords and ladies. Most of them have the time of their lives playing at being royalty and nobles like a massive game of chess, knowing it means both everything and nothing. It pisses Light the hell off to have all these jokers making a mockery of their very serious lineages, which is probably part of why they keep doing it.

Plague flight cares little for nobility or royalty. The strong will persist, the weak will fail. A warrior might add the name of a particularly strong or respected foe they slay to their own, to take on their strength and courage. And yet, there are whispers, of warrior kings and necromancer empresses, who rule vast kingdoms of both the living and dead, from atop ziggurats built of bone, made ever more powerful by living sacrifices. There are tales of the times when their armies swept across Sornieth, slaying and devouring all in their path, seeking to build an empire of blood. There is a reason the Gladekeeper wars so fervently with her sister, more so than old rivalries. Nothing slain in Nature’s domain can rise again; it rots and is devoured, and its bones lie unmoving. It would be best, if Plague’s denizens continued to care little for royalty.

Wind flight sees the occasional emperor, dignified in silk and jade, whose lineage is as ancient and pure as any Light dragon might claim, in whose veins runs aether and breeze. They are not widely known of outside the flight, keeping exclusively to their palaces. Their lives are bound around by strict tradition and ritual, by rules as old as their land. They are not public figures to be petitioned and admired by the masses, but dragons of great import, whom a subject might see once in their lifetime, from a lofty distance, and count themselves blessed. It is death for a dragon who has not been given dispensation to touch them, and the family lineages of their servants are often almost as old as they are, generations born with blood sanctified not to defile their palace or person. They are the stability, the anchors, the writ and rule, the hand that holds a free-flying kite’s strings while it soars and flutters. As Wind’s emperors tend to live in unchanging isolation, letting the years outside pass them by unchanging, many view them as only an old myth now.

Lightning does not give two shits about whether a dragon is nobility or not. The true rulers there are barons and bosses, self-made titans of industry who run Lightning’s electricity farms, factories, railways, or assembly lines, commanding a veritable army of workers. The older nobility wishes they could snub them, but the wealth and influence they’ve made for themselves, the fast-paced parties and the glittering luxuries and conveniences they produce, are impossible to ignore, despite their sniffs about “young money” and “not our sort.”

Nature flight has had their kings. They are feasted and pampered, garbed in crowns of leaves and oaken scepters, kept in luxury. Beautiful consorts, the finest of food, the richest of furs to line their bower, all is theirs for the asking. Until the winter comes long with no promise of spring, until the harvest fails, until the blood moon shines and the omens line up. Then comes the stone altar and the knife, and royal blood shed to serve their subjects in the most great and final of sacrifices. When Nature gives, she is bountiful and generous, but what she takes is gone for good. And the spring comes again, the harvest flourishes, and soon, a new king is born.  

Water flight reveres its seers above all else, and it is their lineage that marks a dragon as such. Water dragons take as their family name that of the greatest seer they are related to, and as such they may change when a new one rises to prominence. This makes name and rank an intricate and changeable dance beneath the Sea of a Thousand Currents. Some dragons of the same family, particular older ones, would rather continue to call themselves by the name of an older, or long dead, seer whom they believe is greater than one with a newly risen star. This can lead to bitter disputes, and entire branches of families going by separate names, refusing to speak to or acknowledge each other. (Water flight has many great plays that hinge upon such separation among families. Water flight’s literary aesthetic is basically a mix of southern Gothic and Shakespearean tragedy.) However, above the surface, Water dragons who have left those halls behind likewise throw over the tradition. Where pirate kings rule, water dragons identify themselves by the name of their captain, introducing themselves by name and “of so-and-so’s crew.” Usually right before they start a tavern brawl.

Arcane flight is a mageocracy, and that goes about exactly as well as you’d expect in a region where pretty much everyone uses magic. Most of them are too busy trying to take the world apart to see what happens to listen to anyone trying to give them orders. However, unfortunately often, one of them starts gibbering in tongues and telling everyone about their magnificent plans to create a vast magical rift in the fabric of reality, which shall usher forth wonders and abominations into this plane such as you lowly wretches have never dreamt of, and everyone goes “yeah that sounds cool, let’s do it.” This also goes about as well as you’d expect.

Fire flight measures the worth of their clans in wealth. The oldest and most influential clans tend to be the ones whose territories contain large and rich mines. Whether they yield ore or gems, they will bring the family great wealth and prestige, provided they are cleverly managed. The mines are named after the families who own them, and to speak about one is to speak about the other, as their fortunes go in tandem. When a mine fails, the family who owns it often will too, unless they’ve managed their fortunes and lands wisely. Fire flight nobility are the envy of others, because they tend to be overwhelmingly more wealthy than any other flight, and able to show it off with dozens of elaborate pieces of jewelry, wrought from ores and gems from the mines on their territory. They often boast fine silks, adoring courtesans, and elaborately decorated lairs, that some would jealously dismiss as ostentatious.

Keep My Name Off Your Lips

A hex for staying wagging tongues

You will need:

🕸three nails/needles/pins

🕸half a lemon

🕸a small glass (shot glasses work great, but any cup will do)

🕸a pinch of cayenne (or regular black) pepper

🕸a small compact mirror

🕸something to write on the mirror (eyeliner or a dry erase marker)

Gather your materials, and find a quiet place. This spell is best worked at night, after the moon has risen and the stars are out.

1. On your mirror, write the name or initials of the person you are hexing.

2. Take your half a lemon, and while firmly envisioning the person you are hexing, use one of your nails to carve a pair of eyes and a mouth into the skin of the fruit.

3. Hold the lemon and say

“(persons name),
Keep my name off your lips
May the poison you speak turn back upon you
Keep your eyes off my face
May you see the ugliness inside yourself instead
So I say, so it will be”

4. Draw x’s through the eyes and mouth of the lemon, then push the nails through the center of each x, pushing all your emotions and pent up feelings into the lemon.

5. Squeeze the lemon and collect the juice in the cup. Mix in a few flakes of the pepper, and stir with your finger.

6. Using your finger, drip the mixture onto the mirror and their name. Let the liquid sit for a moment, and imagine all of its acidity and bitterness being sent to the person you’re hexing. Then, when you feel the energy has built enough, swipe your finger through their name and smear it until it cannot be read.

7. Dispose of your materials properly, and leave your mirror to dry somewhere where it will get sun. The spell is cast.

🕸Note: Hexes work until the intended learns their lesson. If they have already learned their lesson, the hex will not work!

An original spell from the grimoire of Amanda Wren
We walked beneath the full and mellow moon
Till the late stars had risen. It was not
In silence, though we did not seem to break
The hush with our low voices; but our thoughts
Stirred deeply at their sources; and when night
Divided us, I slumbered with a peace
Floating about my heart, which only comes
From high communion.
—  Excerpt from “The Tri-portrait” by N.P. WILLIS