Yanadere

New Horizons (BunniesofDoomxHyliaIncarnate)

Adelia’s hand came to rest lightly on her hip as Eliot cried out Inconceivable!, and the sound of it brought out a grin she couldn’t quite contain. She tilted her head, lips twitching upward as she shot him a dry look from beneath her lashes. “Well, now I have to test you,” she said, swirling the last of her water casually. “Because if you’re going to drop Princess Bride quotes, I need to make sure you’re not just a poser. You do know the difference between mostly dead and all dead, right?”

There was a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, the kind she rarely let out on the first day of anything. But Eliot made it easy—his presence was like a current she could step into without getting swept away. She liked that. The food table stretched in front of them like a lazy parade of half-decent choices, and she leaned over a bit to inspect a plate of crackers and hummus, then pivoted her attention to a tiny fruit tart that looked too good to pass up. She plucked it from the tray with the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb and set it gently onto a napkin in her hand.

As Eliot went on about his project-filled brain, she gave a knowing look. “Sounds like a digital minefield,” she mused, eyeing him with a half smirk. “I bet you’ve got tabs from last semester still open, don’t you?”

She took a slow, satisfying bite of the tart, eyes fluttering shut for a second. It was sweet—but not too much. The kind of thing you savor in silence. Then, without ceremony, she leaned back against the table, letting the chill of the nearby ice chest creep up through the edge of her jeans. She glanced up just in time to catch the subtle shift in Eliot’s tone, the way the humor softened at the edges of his words.

When he mentioned the crash—his recovery—Adelia didn’t speak right away. Her expression grew thoughtful, and she watched the way he patted his knee, like it was an old friend and a reminder at once. Instead of giving him a pitying look, she simply nodded, then reached out and gently knocked her knuckles against his leg—playfully, but with a sense of acknowledgment.

“Well, that knee’s a champ,” she said. “And I mean it—props to you. Recovery’s no joke.” She didn’t push for more. She didn’t prod. But she let the silence linger just long enough to honor the weight of what he’d shared before letting it go. “Anyway,” she exhaled, brushing crumbs from her napkin as she turned back to the table, “if you can spin yourself into a wall and still walk off a car crash? I think I’m in safe hands.” She peeked over her shoulder at him, grinning. “Well. Relatively speaking.”

As he darted for the ice chest, she didn’t follow immediately. Instead, she took her time at the table—plucking another small bite, nibbling a bit of cheese, then carefully crafting the perfect little plate with just enough to look casual. She’d done this kind of thing before—moving through rooms where everyone talked louder than they needed to, pretending to feel at ease. But this felt different. Calmer. Her smile wasn’t forced this time.

She watched Eliot rummage through the cooler like a man on a quest and finally pushed herself off the table to approach him, her shoes tapping lightly against the floor. “Root beer if they’ve got it,” she said as she came up beside him. “If not… I guess I’ll settle for whatever tastes least like liquid regret.” Her shoulder bumped gently into his as she leaned to peek inside the cooler. The cold hit her skin and made her shiver, but she stayed close anyway, amused.

“I think you’ve officially earned your title,” she said after a beat, glancing up at him. “Resident Chaos Magnet. You’re lucky you’re charming.” She turned her attention back to the cooler with a sly smile, quietly enjoying the peace this corner of the party gave them—even if the company wasn’t so peaceful.

New Horizons (BunniesofDoomxHyliaIncarnate)

Sounds good to me!

:> s u p

:>

A Veil of Lies

In a land ruled not only by noble houses but by the buried remnants of goddesses long forgotten, political marriages have become the lifeblood of power. Alliances broker treaties, secure trade, and silence rebellion.

One such alliance is struck between the fading, prophetic House Lunevere and the militant, rising House Nymere—under a fatal misunderstanding: They believe they are marrying a noble daughter.

But House Lunevere has no daughter of age. Only a son, hidden behind a veil and a lie.

Eryndor Lunevere, trained in prophecy, dreams, and courtly silence, agrees to don the mask of nobility’s perfect bride. He will wed the heir of Nymere, uphold the alliance long enough for the treaties to be signed, and then fake his death and vanish—restoring balance to his crumbling house.

Behind the ceremony, beneath the politics, a far greater danger stirs:
Kizoh, the Red Witch and royal advisor, manipulates the throne with blood-bound oaths and divine corruption. Her grip on the court is absolute, and she has plans far more dangerous than mere political power.

The marriage, the treaties, the alliances—they’re all threads in a larger web meant to secure her full control of Delicana’s throne and usher in the return of the dark goddess Devira.

A Veil of Lies

Eryndor Lunevere

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_____________________________ _____________________________ - B A S I C I N F O - N A M E. Eryndor Caelir Lunevere A G E. 24 G E N D E R. FeMale S E X U A L I T Y. Homosexual T I T L E. Vicountess Caelir Lunevere	_________________________________ - P E R S O N A L I T Y - Softspoken | Empathetic | Discreet | Resourceful | Patient | Loyal Eryndor rarely raises his voice, preferring a quiet, measured tone. This isn't due to shyness, but rather a conscious choice to foster a sense of calm and encourage others to listen. He is a master of subtlety and highly observant, noticing details that others miss. He prefers to work behind the scenes, using his knowledge and connections to influence events without attracting undue attention. Though gentle in spirit, Eryndor is not weak. He is highly efficient and resourceful, able to accomplish difficult tasks with minimal fuss. He understands the value of information and uses it wisely. Once Eryndor commits to a cause or person, he is fiercely loyal and dedicated. He will go to great lengths to protect those he cares about, though his methods may be unconventional.	_____________________________ - A P P E R A N C E - H A I R. Blond H E I G H T / W E I G H T. 5'7" - 165 E Y E S. Grey-blue B O D Y M A R K S. He bears the mark of Caelira on his left shoulder blade.https://i.pinimg.com/736x/a8/3a/c9/a83ac9de469cedad6219c2640a92a21c.jpg

_{- B I O G R A P H Y -}

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_______________________________________________ Eryndor Caelir Lunevere was never meant to wear a crown—or a veil. He was born under an eclipse tide, when the moons of Delicana aligned over the Tidelands and the sea shimmered with unnatural stillness. The temple bells rang, not in warning, but in wonder. For hours after his birth, the waves would not move, and even the gulls fell silent. The priestesses said it was Caelira herself who marked the child—that dreams would cling to him like salt to skin. His mother, a quiet woman of sharp intellect and softer heart, died the same night he drew breath. Some say the sea took her soul as payment for the prophecy Eryndor would become. His father, Lord Serath Lunevere, did not cry. He simply handed the child to the nursemaids and walked into the fog. The child was raised not by warmth, but by obligation and expectation. When he cried, no lullaby came—only hymns. When he walked, it was through shrines of moonlit stone. And when he dreamed, it was always of mirrors, drowning brides, and voices that hummed through water like distant bells. At age six, he was sent to the Temple of Slumbering Glass, a half-drowned sanctum where Caelira’s chosen were trained. For three years, Eryndor studied dreamcraft, mirror-rites, and the art of spiritual silence. When he returned, he spoke less. Smiled less. But he walked with the measured grace of someone who had seen what waited beyond the veil—and survived it. They said he was touched. And in House Lunevere, touched meant useful. He was twelve when the family’s fortunes turned. One of his elder brothers drowned in a storm. Another vanished during a failed treaty voyage. By fifteen, Eryndor had become the only living heir to a house with shattered coffers and crumbling credibility. But it was the winter of his fourteenth year that changed him most. He had a vision—a vivid one. A drowning bride in green silk, her hair coiling like seaweed, her face a blur. A bleeding moon overhead. And the sea whispering in a language no mortal throat could echo. He told his father and the priest-aunts. None listened. Three ships sank that month. His younger brother—barely ten—was aboard one of them. Eryndor never again shared what he saw in sleep. And yet, beneath the weight of prophecy and duty, there was something warmer. Something gentle. Three younger sisters, each born after tragedy, whose laughter echoed like sunlight through stormglass. He adored them. He taught them how to read the stars. He let them braid his hair in secret. He left them gifts in their pillowcases: moonstones, pressed flowers, ribbon charms with protective runes. When he held them, he became less heir and more brother. He wore his tenderness like armor, knowing the world would strip it from them one day too. They were the reason he agreed to the marriage. When the proposal came from House Nymere, mistaken in thinking Lunevere had an eligible daughter, Eryndor had laughed—bitter and bright. But when it became clear that declining would mean political collapse, famine for their region, and debt that would crush his sisters’ futures, he chose. He let them dress him. He let them bind him, veil him, strip him of name and form and truth, because survival, in Delicana, was not about pride. It was about sacrifice. And if he had to become a bride to protect the three lives that still carried light from his mother’s eyes, then so be it.

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____________________________________________ L I K E S. - Moonlit walks - Art, painting - Listening to the ocean - Playing with his little sisters; Elis, Enora, and Elaine D I S L I K E S. - Agression - Summer heat - Being the center of attention	____________________________________________ H O B B I E S. - Playing the piano - Art - Botany

A Veil of Lies

“A veil of silk may hide a sword. A kiss may ignite war.”

The city of Solencia glittered beneath a sheath of midmorning mist.

From the balconies of the eastern wing of the royal palace, one could almost pretend it was beautiful. Gilded rooftops sparkled in fractured sunlight. Temple bells rang to gods long silenced. A hundred banners unfurled on ivory towers like petals of duty, stitched with the crests of noble houses and divine symbols barely understood by those who now wore them.

And nestled among those silks and secrets was House Lunevere’s embassy suite, where the wrong heir was being laced into a gown of seafoam green.

"Stop fidgeting," the seamstress hissed beneath her breath, pinning another gilded shell to his high collar. "If you loosen this corset again, I swear I’ll—"

"You’ll what?" the boy asked dryly. His voice was low, but not masculine—not now, not with his ribs compressed, cheek dusted in gold powder, lips painted like Liraen’s priests. “Out me to the entire court and start a war?”

That shut her up. It always did.

The boy in the dress was Eryndor Lunevere, the last son of House Lunevere—the Tideland nobles who whispered to stars and bound prophecies in pearl. He was not meant for court. He was not meant for marriage. But his sisters were too young, his brothers too dead, and his house too desperate.

A misunderstanding, the letters had claimed. A tragic clerical error.

A rival noble house had offered a marriage alliance, mistakenly assuming the eldest Lunevere child was a daughter and House Lunevere, already spiraling toward economic ruin, had accepted.

They had written letters. Signed agreements. Set dates.

They had even whispered of blessings from the Goddess Caelira—visions of peace, dreams made manifest. But dreams and survival rarely held hands in Delicana.

So they had turned to Eryndor.

His hair had been grown out, softened, perfumed. His body wrapped and sculpted to fit gowns never meant for him. His identity—his truth—sealed behind layers of charmwork and social illusion.

He had protested, of course. But the guilt had outweighed the pride. For his siblings. For the name. For a future with fewer coffins and fewer debts.

“Do not speak unless addressed directly,” his steward warned from behind a velvet curtain. “Smile modestly. Speak softly. They will want you to be quiet and compliant—be both.”

Eryndor didn’t respond. Instead, he stood as the final pin was placed and turned toward the mirror.

He looked like a ghost of a goddess. Like a bride carved from salt and sorrow. He did not look like himself, but that was the point.

Outside the embassy door, the royal guards announced the arrival of the visiting noble delegation—the one he was to be promised to. Treaties would be signed. Wealth preserved. Faces smiled. And then, in a few weeks—if the gods were kind and the lies held—he would fake his death and vanish into myth.

That was the plan. But as the gilded doors opened, and the son of the rival house stepped into the room their eyes met, and something unplanned cracked in Eryndor’s resolve—

Eryndor began to wonder if his death would be the easiest part.

"For the good of the House. For the good of the realm. For the survival of our name." He reminded himself, the gloved fingers of his hands gathering a bunch of the silken fabric of his dress.
@SilverPaw

New Horizons (BunniesofDoomxHyliaIncarnate)

All good! Take your time

Ban the User Above You

banned for having 'Bacon' as a username and having a badass pfp