Violet, That Was So Beautiful And Poetic!! In Silvio's, You Didn't Only Describe A Kiss, But A Whole

Violet, that was so beautiful and poetic!! In Silvio's, you didn't only describe a kiss, but a whole tales and legends of the darkness that lurks in the depths of Benitoite. Silvio hesitation was so accurate and him not knowing what to do first thing when he is woken up feels so real!

Keith's was so sweet! His lover anticipating his return for so long (or that was how she saw it), to the point of hoping (it sounds like an adorable rabbit🥺) towards the entrance of the castle! Their need for each other just makes it saccharine sweet!

Gilbert's is very precious, yet bittersweet🥺 The feelings of his lover much have been on his mind and him making something for her, to remember her hometown, to make sure she doesn't regret it even? Is splendid 🥺! Your writing puts a charm to the imagination, the images are so clear and vivid (even in the dull Obsidian). The candied kiss shared between the two is definitely enchanting! Thank you very much for writing this! I'm looking forward to your works🥺💖

please may i ask for 3 different types of kisses with the 3 new princes

A/N: This is an older request. Sorry anon that it took so long! Thank you for your patience 💜

all the princes are with a f!reader

Word Count: 1618

These are long so the writing is posted below 💋

Silvio: Comforting Kiss

A dream of drowning in rushing black water has you waking with a strangled gasp. You swallow lungfuls of air too quickly, your heart racing like a swimmer stretching for the choppy surface. Your muscles ache and your forehead is damp, not with ocean water, but sweat. A shudder shakes you further and you whimper, the sound soft and sad.

He sits up slowly, pushing his seafoam hair out of his face, your gasping breaths having cut through his sleep like a burning blade. In the dim light of the bedroom, he can see the way your knees are hugged up against your chest, the tremble in your body as you struggle to regain control, to shake the last clinging drops of the horrific dream off. His hand rises and hovers just a moment above your back, split-second uncertainty paralyzing it. Then, slowly, he lowers it, pushing through the haze of leftover sleep and hesitation, and begins rubbing the space between your shoulders. The small, comforting circles his palm makes are gentle for a man often associated with brusqueness. He waits until he feels your breath entering and exiting steadily, then asks you what happened.

He is quiet, his hand now still as he listens to you recount your nightmare. He may be impatient but not with you. And he understands the fear you felt because Silvio is a man of Benitoite. He respects the sea. He knows its power. It is woven through the fabric of every folk song, every cautioning fairy tale.

Your words run out and you sigh heavily as you turn your face away from him, now embarrassed at the visceral reaction you had to something born of your own mind. A frown crosses his face and his other hand is on your chin, turning you back to him, his body knowing what to do even if his mind is a few steps behind.

He leans down, gathering you to him and kisses you gently, a kiss that grounds you, reminds you that you are safe with him, in your own bed, in the solid castle of his arms. He may not be good with words, your Silvio, but in his kiss you can feel them. I love you. I am here for you. I always will be.

Keith: Heated Kiss

He has been away for days on diplomatic business. And even though you weren’t moping around, wilting across seating furniture like some lovestruck lady in a bad romance novel, you did miss him fiercely. So much so that when you heard the servants calling that the Prince was home, you let the heavy, beaded gown you were trying on fall to the carpet with a breathy whoosh. 

In your rush out the door, you grab your dressing robe which is haphazardly tied over your shift as you fly down the hallway, wings on your stockinged feet, heart buzzing with excitement. Several servants leap out of the way, then smile at the genuine but hurried apology you toss over your shoulder. You hop around a corner and then reach the white wooden banister from which you can see the large palace foyer.

Keith is standing there, speaking with his butler, still in the stately white and gold of his travel cloak. Your heart stumbles onwards, thumping against your breastbone, willing you to move. He glances up, as if sensing you there, and he smiles, his face lighting up with joy.

You grab the hem of your robe and continue your flight down the wide stairs, rushing ever faster as he moves towards you and you leap from the bottom step straight into his arms. The butler discreetly steps to the side, motioning for the others to leave you. You barely notice the servants dispersing like dust as you hug him with all your strength, your face buried in the side of his neck. He smells like sunshine and travel and the faint scent of the tea he loves so much, black flavored with oil of bergamot.

He sets you down, your feet dropping slowly to the cold tiled floor. But before he can straighten up, you throw your arms around his neck again, holding him in place and surge up to kiss him. 

He hesitates. You are in the foyer of the palace after all and there are curious eyes everywhere. But you are insistent, whispering between kisses how much you missed him, how often you dreamt of his return, of feeling him in your arms again, how much you need him right now. And while he is a gentleman, Keith is also simply a man. And the woman he loves and has missed desperately and desires more than anything has her mouth pressed to his while she whispers sweet, ardent nothings to him. Your voice is low, only for his ears, and the words you are brushing against his lips are sinking in, stoking a fire that began smoldering the moment he saw you at the top of the stairs.

The gentleman concedes. 

Without hesitation, he lifts you into the cradle of his arms and walks with purposeful steps down a hallway to the right. Your body feels warm, feverish with anticipation as he kicks open the door to one of the downstairs guest chambers, the closest possible bed. 

Any curious gaze following you both sees the way he lowers you the moment he crosses the threshold, his white-gloved hands immediately pulling on the ties of your robe as his own cloak falls to the carpet. Curious ears hear the low, almost impatient growl that escapes the usually gentle prince as he captures your mouth in a heated, hungry kiss. And then every intriguing bit of it is blocked by the heavy slam of the guest chamber door, courtesy of the prince’s booted kick.

Gilbert: Romantic Kiss

You will always love the feel of Gilbert’s leather gloves. They are soft, supple and black enough that they seem to drink light in by the mouthful. Right now that dark, soft leather is gripping your hand tightly as he leads you down a narrow dirt path that runs along the back of the residence you are staying in. Puffs of dust are brought to life by your footsteps, dirtying the hem of your skirt and dulling the shine of his boots. This is a path not used often.

He’s leading you to the small greenhouse on his property, a small, derelict glass building in desperate need of repair. When you had first arrived and asked him about restoring it, he had shrugged, one shoulder lifting in a gesture that seemed to say “perhaps”. And then other matters had risen, the drums of war thundering in the distance, overshadowing the tiny, neglected greenhouse and it was never mentioned again. You had assumed he had simply decided it was not important.

He stops walking, turning to face you, his eye bright with excitement. “Allow me.” He reaches up and that soft leather now covers your eyes, shutting out the world. One strong hand on your lower back guides you forward, slower now. He warns you to tread carefully.

The first thing that hits you is the scent. It smells the way you imagine the color green would: like petrichor, like dirt, like something faintly floral and sweet. He walks you a few more steps and then removes his hand. You’re greeted by rows of young potted plants, hanging ivy as far as the eye can see, and a greenhouse without panels of broken glass, jagged and unwelcoming. It is a small green paradise within the dusty land that is Obsidian. You had mentioned once, shortly after leaving your home country to be with him, how you missed the gardens of Rhodolite. He had simply smiled and said nothing in response. You thought he did not want to hear about the things you had given up to be here. And so you never mentioned them again.

You’re taking it all in….And then you notice it. On the metal table in front of you, a black pot with a small, thorny shrub covered in miniature red roses, tiny replicas of the ones you had loved in the palace gardens. You turn to him, lips parted in surprise. “You hate roses,” you say, your voice soft and questioning.

“You don’t,” he answers. Those words settle into the center of your heart, warmth blossoming from them. He understood the Heimweh, the homesickness you felt, and that it could live alongside the love you had for him, neither one overshadowing the other. 

You can’t help the way your eyes fill with tears. Your gaze drops as you try to stop them but then you feel the cool touch of his bare hand on your cheek. He’s removed his gloves to touch you, laying them on the table as he steps closer. His expression is full of tenderness and your last thought as he closes the distance between you is how his eye is your favorite shade of red.

His hands cradle your face and his lips find yours. His kiss is soft, cool as a misty morning before the world wakes, when shadows and the last vestiges of moonlight still reign. His mouth moves over yours, speaking without words of love and devotion. Of understanding and acceptance. You sigh into his kiss and he drinks it in, sweeter than mana. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your lips still touching his. You feel his smile and it sends another wave of warmth through you. 

His head tilts to one side, his lips never losing contact with yours. “Bitteschön, meine Liebe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours with every word. “Bitteschön.”

▪

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

ahaha my power rangers au i'm so sorry

I realize this doesn't look like much of anything but my "OOOH POWER-RANGER!CHEVALIER" song came on and I decided to finally work on some concept art.

I don't know why I was imagining him not having a cape, but his exosuit heccin has a cape now.

The helmet design, taking cues from the OGs (and some gnarly concept art I found of suits that never made it into the most recent movie), will be tiger-themed but also have a crown motif. The other guys' exosuits will follow the same theme. I guess you could call it Power Rangers: Noble Beasts :D

The color scheme is very similar to his outfit in-game, and a lot of the paneling and trim-design will follow that as well.

Obviously I'm really excited to work on Clavis and Gilbert after Chev, but you guys know my awesome turnaround rate 😎 (sobs internally)

Emma's kind of cool in this AU in that even though she's the yellow ranger by default, she can basically use any of the other guys' morphers and borrow their exosuits and the specific features that come with them.

oh heck it's almost 3pm, gotta use my tickets for the day bye

Merman Silvio

For The Kingdom - Chapter 2

Dear Tumblr, please don't eat my fic this time 😂🥺

Chapter 1

Summary: The only Princess of Rhodolite, Mercia Michael is content fluttering around the castle. But that changes when a letter is received from Obsidian. In order to prevent war there, she must marry Gilbert. Raising her head, she takes on the new challenge, this is For her Kingdom.

Pairing: Mercia Michael (oc) x Gilbert Von Obsidian

Notes: A huge thank you to @thewitchofbooks Your support and our convos help break down the writers block had for this chapter. This chapter was much longer than I thought it would be. But that just means chapter 3 is closer to coming out.

Tagging: @thewitchofbooks, @toloveawarlord - If your name is crossed out I was unable to tag you. If you want to be tagged/untagged please let me know or fill out this form here.

Mercia stares up at the golden eyes of her brother. He had been watching her walk through the garden and had just barely managed to pull her out of harm’s way. His breathing was heavy from his sprint across the garden, saving her in the nick of time. The floor under Lucius gives way and the guard falls into the pit.

“Lucius!” Mercia calls out and the guard grunts from the bottom of the pit. Kneeling at the edge of the pit, she peers anxiously over it for her guard.

“Sorry Pixie, but considering the size difference I don’t think you can pull him up” Clavis laughs, kneeling next to her and lifting her hand up in the air. “Your hands are too little to save him” Amusement shines in the amber orbs and Mercia lets out an annoyed huff.

“Well someone has to help him, you can’t just leave people stuck in holes around the garden” Mercia retorts, unamused by his childish antics.

“If it's not poor Yves, it's Lucius” Her mutter reaches her brother's ears and he brightens up.

“At Least we know your guard doesn’t need to be rescued. He’ll climb out of the hole in a few moments.” Clavis chuckles and Mercia just shoots him an irritated glare. Ignoring the look of his annoyed little sister, he just ruffles her hair and continues on. “Oh sweet Mercia, I really wish you would help me with a prank. It would be so good. No one would ever be mad at you and we could get absolutely everyone at the castle.” Clavis claps his hands together excitedly. His golden eyes plead with her to indulge him just once and Mercia shakes her head. She can already feel her brothers glaring at her, and hear the hours of scolding Sariel would bestow on her. It was bad enough the one time she helped Clavis get back at that noble-

“I would appreciate it if you would not try to corrupt the sweet Princess, Prince Clavis.” Pulling Mercia from her memories and interrupting Clavis’s tangent, Lucius finally pulls himself over the edge of the pit.

“Oh Come now, I am innocent” Clavis gleefully states, oblivious to the guards glare. “And I have to say you are getting so much faster at climbing out of those holes” he continues. Mercia flies to Lucius’s side, helping him up to his feet.

“Luc-” Her murmur is stopped by his smile. Placing his hand on her shoulder he squeezes it gently.

“I’m alright Princess, I wasn’t hurt, we are just late meeting your brother now” His eyes cast around the garden and stop when he notices the mess by Clavis. “Oh Princess, your books fell” He goes over to the mess of mud and paper to start picking up her treasure.

“My books! Clavis!” A whole new fire appears in Mercia’s eyes as she turns on her brother. His eyes widen slightly. “These were only a few hours old, and now they are ruined-” Anger radiates off the small Princess, reminding Clavis of a dangerous little firecracker.

“I apologize about your books Pixie, I didn't mean for your books to get ruined” Clavis sobers slightly when he sees the disappointment flickering in his sister's eyes. Her eyelids lower as she focuses on collecting her books back into the bag, thankful only a few were ruined. Lucius stands up, turning to Clavis with a huff.

“Prince Clavis, I would appreciate it if you didn’t place such dangerous pranks in the gardens.”

“Oh come now Lucius, it's so much fun.” Clavis tries to sweet talk the guard, but Lucius holds up his hands.

“It's fun for you, but having to climb out of the hole means time I am away from the Princess and she is left unguarded, not to mention the fact that her books were damaged.” Lucius states and Clavis shrugs.

“I was here for her and are we forgetting that my dearest sister can fight?Besides, she can always get new-” Clavis looks smug, but before more words are exchanged, his name is called from the castle. Widening his eyes Clavis grins. “Got to go before Cyril catches me.”

“Clavis!” Mercia lets out a sigh as her brother disappears in the gardens. She stands up with her book and Lucius takes the bag from her.

“Let me Princess” He murmurs softly and Mercia is grateful for his help. “Come, we are late meeting your brother and I would prefer not to have to take a lecture from him.” Lucius frowns and Mercia giggles next to him.

“Oh come now. Chev would take one look at you and know exactly who to blame for us running late.” Mercia snickers with Lucius. Her eyes suddenly take on a serious light. “That damn hellcat” she mimics Sariel before falling into another fit of giggles.

“Well someone is in high spirits” The voice has the smile falling off Lucius’s face, but Mercia doesn’t look bothered at all.

“Sariel! Have you seen Chevalier? The maids told me he was out in the gardens, and I want to show him all the books I found.” Her mood bounces back in the presence of the King’s regent, going straight to his side with a smile. Looking down at her fondly, Sariel points to the corner of the garden where the second prince is waiting.

“Your brother is over there, but I must remind you that there is a ball tonight and you cannot miss it.” Catching her chin in his gloved fingers, he watches as Mercia pulls aface at him.

“But the balls are so boring. All I do is dance with random strangers” Mercia looks longingly at the books in Lucius’s arms and Sariel shakes his head.

“The least trouble causing but still a pain” he murmurs softly, knowing better than to look into Mercia’s baby blue eyes. “We need you there looking your absolute best as there are going to be many important people and Princes there. No getting yourself lost in a book” With that he withdraws his hand and turns away.

“I understand Sariel. My books will wait until tomorrow” Mercia looks disappointed for a moment, wanting to crack open one as soon as her meetings with her brothers were settled, but Sariel was right. She has a bad habit of forgetting the world around her and reading a book straight through.Bidding the King’s regent goodbye, she turns down the path that would lead her to Chevalier, seeing his outline in one of the gazebos waiting.

“Chevalier” Her mood vastly improves the closer to his side she gets. She sits next to him and waits for his eyes to leave his book before continuing. “ Everyone kept stopping me from coming to see you. Look At all the books I got” Her excitement has the corner of the Prince’s mouth turning upright.

“You're late, but considering that your guard is covered in dirt I assume you ran into our foolish brother.” Chevalier states, eyeing the dirt covering Lucius. Mercia sits next to him and nods, pouring herself and her brother a fresh cup of tea.

“Yeah, then we ran into Sariel and he told me I’m not allowed to read tonight because I won’t make it to the ball” The huff leaves her lips as she throws Chevalier a pleading look and the corner of his mouth turns up even more.

“You have to make an appearance and dance with at least two of our guest princes tonight. Then I will cover for you if you would like to sneak into the library.” He promises and Mercia claps her hands in delight. She takes the bag of books from Lucius and the gaurd excuses himself to let the siblings talk. Merica opens her bag and takes out the books, setting them in a pile between her and Chevalier with a delighted smile on her face.

“Clavis got them dirty when he saved me from falling down the pit, my bookmark is trashed, but these are my new treasures.” Her whole face seems to brighten as she shows her brother all the books, the world fading around her.

~~

“Princess Mercia, Prince Chevalier, I beg your pardon” A maid approaches the gazebo cautiously and Mercia is pulled back to the real world confused. Lucius and Sariel are the only two that dare interrupt her and Chevalier when they are talking about new books.

“What is it?” Chevalier turns his icy gaze to the maid and she hastily bows, fear flickering across her face.

“Prince Yves asked me to accompany Princess Mercia to his room, it is time for her to get ready for the ball” The maid stutters slightly and Mercia looks at the sky, the hair raising on the back of her neck.

“Is it really that time already? I swear Yves said he would fetch me closer to sunset.” The maid igneous Mercia’s questions causing the Princess to narrow her eyes. Something was definitely wrong. “Where is Lucius? He was supposed to get me and bring me to Yves when he requested me?” Mercia asks the maid again, her voice darkening the longer she is ignored. Chevalier keeps his eyes trained on the maid, letting his sister handle the situation.

“I was just asked to retrieve you by Prince Yves, he is in his room waiting for you” she repeats her words more urgently. Mercia spots Lucius approaching the gazebo, his uniform having been changed so he is no longer caked in mud.

“Hey Princess, Prince Chevalier” Immediately accessing the situation, he eyes the maid and stands subtly between the gazebo and the maid. “Is something the matter?”

“I have come to escort the Princess to Prince Yves. He is in his room waiting for her to get ready for the ball.” The maid repeats more firmly than all the other times and Lucius places his hand on his sword immediately.

“Oh well in that case we should probably get going” He states and the maid shakes her head.

“The Prince requested the Princess to be alone. He didn’t say anyone else would be around-” The maid starts but stops when a flash of silver cuts through the air and Lucius’s sword is at her neck.

“Who sent you?” He asks darkly, his silver eyes do not hold a hint of their usual shine and Mercia winces at seeing the blade. She presses closer to her brother's side, eyes focused firmly on the maid.

“Prince Yves” The maid murmurs, twisting her hands worriedly. Lucius doesn't relent, tilting the woman’s gaze up to his with his sword.

“No. Let me give you three reasons why everything you said was a lie. One, the Princess doesn’t go anywhere without me. It doesn’t matter where she is going or who she sees, I am ALWAYS by her side. Two, I have been in this castle since I can walk and I have never seen you before, and that earring in your ear is the Obsidian Crest.” Tightening his hand on his sword, snarls the last words “Three, Prince Yves is currently having tea with Prince Licht in the garden and therefore cannot be in his room. Now I will ask you again. Who sent you?”

finished, please enjoy ref image used: x please don't repost minors/ageless blogs please dni

Hiya, Vi! 💜

May I please request Clavis + 5 + Fall Fluff? 💕

Thank you so much in advance 🙈🥰

A/N: A second Clavis fic in a row. Reading his route is doing something to me 😆

Pure fluff

Word Count: 1054

“Sweetheart.”

You look up from the book you’re reading to find your husband leaning back, arm lazily slung over the back of the desk chair, his handsome brow furrowed slightly as he stares at you. Outside the cold autumn rain drip drip drips from an endless sky of soft gray clouds. The wind yanks brown leaves from swaying trees, scattering them everywhere. It catches the chilled raindrops as they fall from the clouds and flings them around, careless and gleeful as a destructive child. It truly is an evening to stay inside.

“Yes, Clavis?” 

“I’m just reading over a letter concerning the latest shipment of Jadean wool, which reminded me.”

Uh oh. You had hoped he had forgotten. 

“Didn’t you say, way back at the beginning of summer, that you were using this exact wool to knit me a sweater?”

Damn him and his excellent memory. You had hoped that maybe little things like, oh, your wedding, would have kicked this tidbit of information out of the steel-trap that is his mind. You also should know better.

“Oh, that.” You drop your gaze back to your book, shrugging your shoulder in a way you hope looks both casual and elegant. 

He knows you too well. You have now piqued his interest with the intensity of your “do-not-ask-me-about-this” response. He abandons the letter and gets up from the desk, walking over to the window seat where you are curled up, still pointedly not looking at him.

“Did you finish it?”

You purse your lips, lowering your nose to the page of your book, pretending to be deeply, deeply interested in whatever is happening there. You however do not lie to your husband so you answer with a small, high-pitched “Yes.”

Delight brightens the gold of his eyes like sunlight illuminating a pirate's treasure chest of coins. Your book is lifted out of your hands with all the enthusiasm of a toddler tossing aside a boring toy. 

“Show me!” 

You want to say no but he is smiling and it’s that honest, wide-open, field-soaked-in-sunshine smile that he only deploys when you are around. The smile that you would take on an army for, the whole damn world for. The one that keeps your heart alight.

With a sigh like a white flag of defeat, you slide off the window seat much the same way the raindrops are sliding down the window pane. His gaze follows you as you make your way to the brown leather trunk at the foot of your bed. Kneeling, you suppress the urge to sigh a second time as you lift the heavy lid and reach down, past the soft blankets and sheets, past the silken ribbons and pillow cases, until you reach the bottom where your fingers search for and then find the soft, hidden Jadean wool.

Carefully you lift it from its grave at the bottom of the trunk and it is reborn in the light of your bedroom, a mass of lavender and yellow wool that makes you cringe just looking at it.

There is a sparkle in his eyes you can’t quite read. Is he aware that this is going to be a huge disaster or is he genuinely excited and are they really mutually exclusive? You turn, biting back the groan that is struggling to escape your throat and thrust the mass of wool into his arms.

“Here.” Might as well get it over with. He’ll see it is a horrible monster of a sweater and he’ll take it off immediately, probably with a teasing, but very truthful poke at how truly awful it is. There’s a reason you banished it to the bottom of the trunk without breathing a word of it to him.

Clavis strolls over to the full length mirror in the corner of the bedroom and shakes it out. You already see the too-long sleeves, the uneven hem, the odd, half-turtleneck collar you couldn’t quite decide on. You pinch the bridge of your nose, a swimmer readying herself to dive into unpleasant, freezing water. 

“The colors are so unique.” 

You had been trying for lavender and gold. What you got was muddy purple and an obnoxiously bright yellow, a color that screams for attention and then does nothing at all to deserve it. He tips the wool bush over, searching for the opening and then before you can stop him, pulls it over his head and you watch as it swallows him whole.

There is some wiggling and then with a sharp intake of air, his head of soft navy hair pops out from the misshapen collar. Oh this is so much worse than you feared. His arms are still lost somewhere in the labyrinth of warm wool. You can see them, wiggling around under the material, searching for the entrance to the sleeves, which hang down like a sad, droopy mustache. 

“Clavis….” you start to say, ready to draw a sword and rescue him, but then the most amazing thing happens. He spins around, arms still struggling under the sweater which has glommed onto him and refuses to let go and his eyes are wide with wonder.

“Sweetheart…….is this……did you make me……a trap?”

Your brain malfunctions as it tries to process what he said. Your mouth realizes that the brain is useless and helpfully takes the wheel.

“Yes. Yes I did.”

He beams, his eyes turning into pools of gold, soft with love and disbelief at your thoughtfulness. Still trying to free his arms from the maze of your sweater, he manages to walk over to where you are standing. He leans towards you and you quickly step forward, meeting him halfway so he doesn’t tip over.

He plants one sweet, affectionate kiss on your cheek and then for good measure, adds another one right next to it. When he leans back, you see the delight painted all over his face.

“I love you,” he says, his grin as bright as sunlight on raindrops. “Now let’s see how long it takes me to get free!”

You sink down slowly onto the trunk at the foot of your bed, a half-smile on your lips, a whole ocean of love in your heart.

“I love you too,” you sigh, watching him entangle himself further in the nightmare of a sweater. “I love you too.”

🧶

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