#‣ this queen don’t need a king ‚ thread

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Synopsis: your marriage to Aemond would be a win, if it wasn’t for his dreadful, drafty quarters, you’re supposed to share with him. When you decide to live in another set of chambers, because he seems to ignore how unhappy you are, you two are bound to butt heads.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, crying, fighting, brief description of illness, a bit of manhandling, quick talk of cutting off Otto’s tongue, Aegon tries to be a good older brother but fails miserably.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed. They’re called ‘wife’ and the only descriptor is that they have to crane their head to look at Aemond’s face

A/N 1: thank you @peachysunrize for screaming with me about it idea!

You arrange the brocade pillow on the old settee in front of the roaring fireplace: isn’t it lovely to have an interesting book to start, a warm blanket and a hearth to fight the first chilly nights in King’s Landing? Instead of a dreadful, drafty room? You had to choose, and picked the first option; unfortunately your husband isn’t on your same page.

Speaking of the Stranger, a rapid hail of knocks, hard and booming, falls on the sturdy wood of the locked doors.

“You are expected for dinner, wife!”

Aemond’s cold, angry tone carries through the door and you elect to ignore it.

“I’m not hungry, husband.”

You try to keep your tone light, pretending not to hear how cross he is with you.

You don’t know that outside, in the corridor, your husband is in the company of his brother, the king, his sister, the queen and the crown prince Daeron, who has come over from Oldtown for the wedding. Your sovereigns have accompanied their sibling in the hope to mediate this rift, so early in the marriage.

“If you don’t come out immediately, I will break down this door!"

“You can do as you wish, husband.”

“Perhaps you should try to be more courteous? No one wants to be addressed with such a tone.”

If Aemond didn’t love Helaena the way he does, he would have snarled at her, queen or not, instead he takes a big breathe, trying to douse the flames of rage burning in his chest.

All Targaryen siblings stare at Aegon with surprised eyes: where does this wisdom comes from?

“My wife is being extremely difficult.” He growls, low enough that you can’t hear him.

“You can win more battles with your wits than with your fists.”

Truth to be told, Aegon is trying not to laugh and be an arse towards Aemond; now that he’s king he genuinely wants to do better, but to witness Aemond lose his control because you have a spine of Valyrian steel, it’s not something he ever expected from you.

“Will you join us for dinner?”

Aemond is trying to keep his tone on a lighter note, gentler.

His fist almost connects with the door when you answer with a curt ‘No, thank you’, and all his siblings whisper to him to try and keep his composure.

“It would make all of us, me above all, very glad if you joined us. Please.”

His patience is hanging by a thread, one wrong word from you and he might explode.

“I am not hungry, I have already told you.”

Aemond doesn’t know if it’s your disrespect of his authority as your husband, or how disinterested you sound that throw fuel to the flames of his rage, not that he cares now that he can only see red.

“Then starve, wife! See if I care!”

With that he stomps away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stone corridors.

Helaena stares at Aegon. If you asked Daeron, he’d tell you she looks like someone who is pondering very hard why she’s married to an idiot.

“How many days ago was the wedding ceremony?” Aegon murmurs.

“A month.” It’s Daeron’s laconic answer.

“Any insides from the Gods?”

From behind the locked doors, you’re burning with your own brand of anger: how dares Aemond address you in such a tone? You’re not a servant, you’re his wife! He promised to care for you, keep you safe and sound, only to forget his promise when the first issue appears on the horizon! Also: you don’t consider your request outlandish, if only he had been open to an adult discussion!

“They will need time, and patience, to find a common ground.” She answers.

“This marriage is doomed to a sad end, then.” The king says, heading to the huge dining room: he needs wine, and he needs it now!

When the marriage between you and Aemond was being arranged, you were happy and dismissed your sisters’ doubts about the union, mostly because they all were appalled by his looks, by his scar, the very characteristic you found captivating about your future husband.

You were sold on the marriage when you finally met him in person: tall and imposing, averse to stupid talks and apt with a sword, Aemond had piqued your interest to the point you forgot he had been marred as a child: you knew he was your match.

Despite having the blood of the dragon flowing through his veins, he had always been respectful of you, during the long courtship, focused on knowing you, once you arrived in King’s Landing, without being improper, which made you believe there could be some true interest, from him, that he wasn’t simply honoring his side of this political deal.

Even during the wedding, when your hands were shaking in his, he had stolen moments to murmur in your ear that he couldn’t stop the whole ordeal, but he could make sure the two of you would be present for the least amount of time needed; he had stopped the whole wedding cortège from entering his chamber, now your shared marital room, to assist to your first coupling. With a firm voice he had put his foot down, until every single person had left, and had calmed your fears, once you were both under the soft cotton of the bedding.

What went so wrong that such a good union, was already on shaky grounds after a month?

His bedroom.

The wedding night you didn’t had the chance to truly take in the room, you were running on too much adrenaline and too little food to truly notice anything but how sparse, and masculine, the furniture was.

The morning after you had woken up chilled, despite the blankets covering your half naked form, to a room without a hearth to fight the cold drafts you could feel attacking you from all sides. That same morning you had noticed that the arched windows opening on the side of the room had no glass panes to protect the room from the wind, or rain: why a person of the standing of Aemond could accept to sleep in such a dreadful place?

“What’s so wrong about it?”

He had asked you two nights later, as he was preparing to join you to bed.

He was still wearing his leather trousers and the linen undershirt; he had looked at you surprised, as he was carefully folding his jerkin, ready to lay it on a chair.

Inwardly, the way he shrugged off your concerns felt worse than him raising his voice at you, it made you feel as if you were lying about the very goosebumps adorning your skin, or how cold your hands felt, even through you were bundled in a thick dressing gown.

“It’s cold, and drafty, husband.”

“I don’t feel it.”

As a dutiful wife, you had tried to ignore the chill constantly present in your bones, even when you were in the company of your new family; you could be having tea with the dowager queen, or be chatting with the queen in her sunny room, surrounded by the tiny cages housing her small animals, and you’d still feel like you were freezing.

Your toppling point came a week after your wedding day, when you woke up with a sore throat, a runny nose and a fever. Your husband had been by your side, his menacing presence causing the Maesters to scurry about in fear for their lives, yet, when you told him that it was the drafty room you two were sharing that caused you this illness, he had stared into your eyes, and told you that you were in the wrong, that your marital chamber was perfect.

As soon as you felt like you could walk without the whole room spinning around you, you ordered your servants to move all your belongings, most of them still in your trunks, in a bigger room in the same wing, one left unused for years, but adorned with thick panes of glasses at the windows and a hearth so huge you could sit in it and don’t be scorched by the flames.

Late in the afternoon, when you had started organizing your belongings, your husband had entered your new room, his presence so hulking that your maids had squirreled and hid in the furthest corner they could find, with their eyes lowered, trembling like leaves in winter.

“What is the meaning of all of this, wife?”

For the first time, you could feel the displeasure in your husband’s voice, kicking years and years of teaching into overdrive: your first instinct was to find a way to please him, make him happy, the way you were told while growing up, then you could feel a sneeze climb its way up in your nose, shutting down the voice of your mother, already complaining in your head.

“I told you, husband, that I felt cold in our room, I have even fallen ill because of it. I asked you to change it to another and you denied my request. This is the only solution, since you love it, and I don’t.”

You’re desperately trying not to start a fight by keeping your tone light, but firm: you know your husband to be a smart man, one you had discussed issues upon issues during your betrothal, why this silly problem should be any different?

You can see the way his expression hardened and his stance resembled the one you saw him adopt in the courtyard, with his feet planted on the ground to carry his weight and his shoulders slightly hunched.

You had walked closer to him, planting yourself right in front of his bigger frame, head craned to look into his eye.

“You will order your maids to bring all your belongings back to our chambers. I will not hear another word about it.”

“No, I will not go back to that dreadful room.”

Silence fell, broken by his pensive hum.

“And I will not sleep without my wife by my side.”

“You are welcome to join me here, where it’s warmer.”

“Or you could be reasonable and put a stop to this nonsense.”

“The only unreasonable one is you, husband.”

He left without another word, and you expelled a breathe you didn’t know you were holding.

“Then it seems we are at an impasse.” He said, coldly.

“That we are.” You answered, crossing your arms in front of you.

You thought sleeping without you by his side would mellow him, would let him see your reasons, instead he was colder than ever, during a silent, and tense breakfast you shared with the dowager queen, who tried, fruitlessly to start a conversation with either of you two, to lighten the gloomy mood, without success.

“My brother is an idiot.”

The king had told you that same night, minutes before dinner.

“Good, because you are going to need it to win this battle.” His hand had landed swiftly on your shoulder, in a reassuring pat. “Your king is with you in this tussle.”

“Pardon, Your Grace?”

“Aemond. He’s as smart as he can be dense and stubborn.” Aegon had continued, offering you a goblet of wine.

“I can be as stubborn as he is, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

You had curtseyed briefly, not feeling the hard stare of your husband on your back.

You didn’t know it, later than night Aemond had cornered Aegon, needing to know his intentions towards you, barely curbing the desire to slam his brother against the wall for having touched you, not knowing that Aegon had no ill, or sexual, intent towards you, he was trying to do better, to be better.

Aegon’s casual tone had stroked Aemond’s rage.

“Which side are you on, Your Grace?” He had hissed the question from behind clenched teeth.

“The one that’s funnier, brother, and your wife is hilarious, I can assure you.”

“I will not accept disrespect being done towards my wife.” He said, his voice like a cold draft.

Aegon knew why Aemond didn’t trust him, he had never given him a reason to, yet he was still hurt by his brother’s low opinion of him.

“I have no ill intention towards your wife. I had only showed them my support, because you’re being daft and unreasonable, and you know that.”

That had hurt Aemond’s pride, that his deadbeat older brother felt that he had the grounds to criticize him, when it had always been the other way around, all because of you.

The morning after you had woken up feeling warmed and well rested.

One of your servants had already lighted up the fire and you knew a scolding hot bath was waiting for you in the adjoining bathroom. You felt bad at not having Aemond by your side, his abnormally hot body curled around yours, his lips kissing your nape before making love to you at the brink of dawn: it was unnatural to not sleep with you husband, yet, he had left you with no other option but take this direct, if somewhat, unusual approach.

You had hoped that another night spent apart would have mellowed Aemond or, at least, helped him look at your stance with a kinder heart. You were wrong.

You hadn’t seen him for the whole day, until the afternoon, when he came to his mother’s room, where you were knitting, sitting on a huge armchair right where the sun was shining. Both Alicent and Helaena were with you, engrossed in their own works, while the twins played with their maids.

Alicent tried to defuse the low current of tension in the air, even the twins were silent, as if waiting to see what would happen.

“Wife.” Came, low and controlled.

“Husband.” You glanced at him, your heart sinking when you saw his displeased expression.

“Is there something you need, Aemond?”

You had stopped knitting to stare hard at him.

“I was simply looking for my wife, mother.”

“You know where to find me, husband.”

He had hummed, staring at you with his lips pursed in a thin, white line of displeasure.

“I see you are still being foolish.”

“The only foolish person I see in this room is you, husband.”

That had been a hard blow, you could see it in the way he stiffly turned around to leave, without a word; you were embarrassed by his conduct, and yours, enraged that a silly issue like the one you two were badly navigating, would exacerbate in two days, because your arse of a husband wouldn’t do you the simple favor of listening to you.

“You are disobeying your vows of obedience, wife.”

“And you’re doing the same, with yours of protection.”

You had excused yourself and curtseyed before either of the women could stop you.

As soon as you had reached your room, you had curled on the bed to cry your anger and frustration, wondering how you were supposed to share the rest of your life with Aemond.

Deserting the family meals hadn’t been a conscious decision: you didn’t feel like eating, looking at your husband’s face or pretend in front of everyone else that night, or the morning after, you simply carried on staying in your room, or leaving your sanctuary to go walk in the gardens, anger and sadness churning in your belly with every day your husband seemingly ignored your absence. Granted, you could have gone to him, tried to discuss the matter civilly, but why should you? He had been the deaf oaf, he should be the one to come and talk to you!

You didn’t know the way he struggled with his own anger, and loneliness how, for the first time since his late father assigned him this room, he felt as if cold was seeping in his bones, now that you didn’t sleep in his arms.

Why were you so impossible? So stubborn and childish? You were supposed to obey him, not put your feet down so strongly that his brother had started asking him, with unconfined glee, when you would grace the family with your presence, why his beloved good sister wouldn’t eat supper with them all. Aemond had to put his own grandsire into his place, when the old man had told him that your union was ill matched, that Aemond had to send you back to your family: Otto would never know how close Aemond had been to cut his tongue for his indiscretion, stopping only because the old man was family.

You were supposed to built a shared nest for you and him, not cut him off, because he didn’t want to adhere to your childish whims!

“You’re not going to win this one.” Aegon had told him one afternoon.

The king was hiding from the dreadful pile of paperwork he was supposed to sign, deciding to go where no one would search for him: the library.

“You should mind your work, Your Grace.” Aemond had hissed. “The whole realm needs your attention, not my wife.”

Aegon had rolled his eyes and sat next to his brother.

“Your wife is my subject, their well being is my concern.”

Aegon knew he shouldn’t have smirked, he couldn’t help himself though: it had been such a surprise to see how much Aemond was moping, because his brother had always been very reserved with his life, rarely had he openly expressed his emotions; it took this disagreement to show Aegon that his brother couldn't, indeed, have the perfect control over himself.

“I know what’s better for my family.”

The way Aemond had closed the book, his hand a white knot of anger around the old leather told Aegon it was time for him to find another hiding place.

“You don’t. Since you’re here, and your wife is not.”

Days had passed, a wall of unsaid words and anger slowly grew tall and impossible to climb: what were you supposed to do? And why should you make the first step towards reconciliation?

You hear Aemond’s footsteps stomp away from your door, followed by all of his siblings and your stomach closes tighter than it did before: you weren’t lying when you told Aemond you weren’t hungry.

It takes your upset stomach hours before the painful knot that forces you to curl into yourself on the bed, loosens enough for you to feel some semblance of hunger, strong enough to convince you to walk down to the kitchen, in search of some food.

You walk on light feet, making sure the guards patrolling the corridors don’t see you, loathing the thought of having to explain yourself to the men.

The kitchen area is enormous, and quiet, dying candles and the log slowly consuming itself in the hearth, illuminate the room and the furniture; thanks to the chatter of your maids, you know where everything is, the left-over, the plates and cutlery.

Mindful of the large sleeves of your dressing gown, you choose the food you think your stomach will manage: you have been living off tea and fruits, even now that you’re hungry, you fear your stomach will betray you.

Carefully you grab the tray and head back to your room, where you hope to curl next to the fire to eat, and to go to bed with a lighter heart.

You’re so focused on not letting anything fall, wondering how the servants manage to carry out those tasks, always in a hurry, that you don’t realize you’re not the only one who can’t sleep.

Aemond hasn’t even tried to fall asleep tonight, knowing all too well that he will spend most of the night staring at the ceiling, or tossing and turning, falling into an uneasy slumber when the first rays of light grace the sky.

He had always been a light sleeper, partly due to the constant pain in his face, partly because he knows that danger can come from any direction, but he had rarely issues with falling asleep, more so when he is as tired as he feels; he is not an idiot, he knows that his body needs yours next to him to find peace again.

It’s not only the sexual urge to be rooted inside of you, to listen to your sighs and moans of pleasure, but also waking up with your fresh smell in his nostrils, your silky skin under his roughened palms: you have changed the habits he had formed in a lifetime in a couple of weeks, and now he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to go back to the way life was before.

As your husband he is aware that he has the right to request your presence, that no one would bat an eye if he were to storm into your chambers to drag you back where you belong, or simply satisfy his lust to the send you back to your chambers. There’s a problem, though: he doesn’t want to. He loathes the idea of forcing you to sleep with him, he wants you willing, responsive to his touch, the way you had been before this rift.

If he simply wanted to empty his stones, he would have gone in any brothel to find that kind of satisfaction, what his restless mind, and body, are seeking is your presence, soothing and calming, like a balm for his nerves.

He decides to sneak down in the kitchen, instead of sending his personal servants, because he needs to move, to burn off some of this energy that he can’t seem to shake off, even after punishing training: he might as well find some warm water he can use to make himself tea, using the leaves the Maesters have advised him to use whenever the left side of his face starts to hurt more than usual.

Like you, he walks in the shadows, light on his feet, and he’s surprised to see movement in the kitchen. He’s dumbfounded when he sees you, clad in a forest green dressing gown, focused on organizing the food on the plates; he thinks that you’re pretty in the dying light of the fire, that the earthy tones you use for your clothing make you appear even more warm and comely, stroking the flames of his need, and longing, for you.

He retreats in the shadows when you walk through the open door; you’re so focused on the task you’re carrying out, that you don’t feel his presence and keep walking to your room.

With feet that are even more light than before, Aemond follows you, drinking down your lovely form the way a castaway would a jug of fresh water: he’s missed seeing you walking around the corridors and the gardens, or in the courtyard when he trains.

It feels like years ago that you were there, clad in a yellow dress that reminded him of the autumn foliage, clapping your hands and smiling at him: why you don’t want to go back to that? Why won’t you just see that he, Aemond, is right? That there’s no issue but your stubborn personality?

He waits until you’re inside your chambers, your back to the still open door, to enter and close it without a noise.

He hadn’t been in your chambers since the day you had moved your belongings here. His eye roams the room, enjoying the elegant way you have adorned it, the furniture you have chosen, and how the pillows and blankets give a homely look to the old place.

He notices that your personal writing desk, the one your father sent you from your childhood room, stands near the huge hearth, opposite to the padded settee and the short tea table, where you have placed the tray.

He thinks that you look truly happy without him and bile rises in his throat.

“I thought you weren’t hungry, wife.”

A petty party of himself rejoices when you jump in surprise and turn around with a hand closing the neck of your dressing gown.

“And I was led to believe you didn’t care if I starved myself to death, husband.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, you haven’t been this close, and alone, with Aemond in days; you’re nervous and angry at yourself for the longing you feel in your heart.

Silence falls between you two, broken only by the creaking of the fire.

“May help you with something, husband?”

You know that your voice is as cold as ice, you wouldn’t have it any other way: if he’s here to sleep with you, like he would with a common whore, you want him to know he’s not welcome.

With long, slow strides, Aemond walks the length of the room, his long fingers light on the furniture and blankets, until he’s standing in front of you, forcing you to crane your neck to look at him.

“You have made yourself home, I see, all cozy.”

His voice is as cutting as yours to hide the pain.

How could you believe such a lie?

“Someone has to take care of me, since my husband doesn’t care about my well being.”

“You know that’s not true, wife.” He hisses.

You grab both his hands, stabbing his skin with your nails.

“Is it, though? I remember telling you time and time again how cold I found your room, I even fell ill, only for you to ignore the issue.”

“You’re still exaggerating, there’s no problem with my chambers!”

“Can’t you feel how warmer I am? Can’t you tell the difference from before?”

You try to control the rising emotions storming in your chest, the tears that want to tumble down your cheeks: why is he making this harder than it should be?

He’s not doing it on purpose, simply your skin had always felt colder to him because he isn’t capable of telling the difference: he runs too hot to truly notice, something all of Targaryens struggle with. Even his own mother’s hands had always felt cooler, whenever she would cup his face, it’s the same with you.

“You don’t feel any different, wife.”

He knows he’s said something wrong when you let go of his hands and turn around to face the fire, your shoulders trembling as if you were trying not to cry.

“Then I don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

You hate how small your voice sounds, how lonely you feel now that you have the incontrovertible proof that your husband doesn’t care about you.

Behind you Aemond is panicking, unable to understand why your words seem to have hurt you so deeply; he hasn’t said anything offensive, why are you shutting him out again?

Without thinking he grabs your arms to try and force you to turn around and look at him, stopping when you stiffen in his grasp.

“I don’t understand, wife.” He says, feeling like the words are forced out of his mouth. “Why are you acting this way?”

You evade his grasp to turn around and look at him with accusing eyes, full of anger and tears, your mouth twisted in an ugly snarl that bares your teeth like the ones of a savage beast.

“You don’t understand? You don’t understand?”

You try to push him away, to no avail, he’s too heavy to move, prompting you to hit his chest with your fists, until he grabs your wrist in a tight hold, fearing you would hurt yourself.

Your angers grows tenfold now that he’s restricting your movements and he’s not letting you evade his grasp again.

“How can you be so callous?” You scream in his face. “So uncaring? Let me go!”

Blinded by tears you can’t see Aemond’s pained expression: he’s surprised by the hate he hears in your words, he can’t believe you think he doesn’t care about you; you two have been fighting over nothing, he believed, why are you acting this way now?

His long arms curl around your body, forcing your face against the soft cotton of his undershirt, where you cry even more when his familiar scent attacks your senses: you missed him so much, the knowledge feels like a stab now that you know he doesn’t care about you.

Aemond genuinely doesn’t know what to do, what’s expected of him, or what he’s supposed to say to make you stop cry so desperately. Anything, he’d do anything if that meant you stopped pushing him away.

Still holding you tight, he helps you kneel on the soft rug, rocking both your bodies until he hears your dry hiccups.

You try to push him away with your hands trapped against his chest, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Let me go.” You manage to say, voice hoarse and small, muffled by his undershirt.

“No, I will not.” His arms tighten reflexively. “Not until you explain yourself to me.”

Oh Gods, you thought Aemond couldn't break whatever pieces were left of your heart, and he just did.

“Why would I try to explain myself, when you don’t care?”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“I can and I do, because it’s all you’ve been showing me: that I have an issue and you tell me you don’t see it, you’re not even open to discussing it! And even when I try to look after myself, because you showed me you wouldn’t, all you can do is be a stubborn oaf.” You extricate yourself from his arms, looking at him with puffy eyes. “Tell me, husband, why would I try to explain myself to you, when you don’t want to listen?”

Aemond Targaryen is many things: rider of the largest dragon in the known world, renowned swordsman and man of letters. He knows he can be as stubborn as Vhagar is, but he also knows he’s not an idiot, maybe daft, when his own pride is in the way of his intelligence, but not a downright imbecile, he’s not Aegon.

“I might have misread the whole issue, wife.”

He knows this is the understatement of the century. It’s still going to be the closest thing to a ‘I am sorry’ you’re going to get from him.

For the first time since this quarrel began, you feel he’s willing to listen to you.

You take a big breathe before you start talking.

“Your room is cold, Aemond. I don’t know why you don’t feel it, but I was freezing all the time, even bundled up in my warmest clothes. I fell ill, and still you treated me like a capricious child, not like a wife who is trying to solve a problem with their husband. You didn’t care about my discomfort, Aemond, you shrugged your shoulders at me: what was I supposed to do, when my husband showed me he didn’t care? I tried to find a solution that could be right for us both: I wouldn't freeze and you could stay in your beloved chambers.”

Yes, he realizes, he has been an utter at complete imbecile.

You weren’t antagonizing him because you couldn’t adjust into your new position, you weren’t acting unreasonable (that’s what he had thought when you had moved your belongings here) or spoiled, when you had told him you found his room drafty and cold: you had an issue he had completely overlooked and misunderstood. Then his pride won over his intelligence and a small issue had become a real threat to your union, something he can’t accept from himself.

Still, he’s not going to say he’s sorry.

He stops to look into your eyes, still red but lacking the anger and distrust.

“I sincerely didn’t feel the cold…”

“I don’t want to have that discussion again.” You stop him.

“Neither do I, wife. I say it because I never feel it. I am always warm, even during the coldest winters. I thought you’d acclimate yourself, that you would get used to it. Since you didn’t, and, as much as the architects can work on my chambers, they will always feel colder than the rest of the wing, which can’t satisfy your needs, we need to find a solution.”

And we could have been doing that since I moved, you want to say but keep it for yourself; in his own way, Aemond had admitted to his faults, which is something you couldn’t think would happen, not after those two awful weeks.

“I love my chambers, but I care about your well being, and our marriage more. The rooms you have chosen for yourself are big enough to house us both.”

“The mural above your bed, the painters can copy it here.”

“Only if you’re happy to share these chambers with me.”

“I am. It’s all I wanted from the start.”

“Would you let me sleep with you tonight, my wife?”

He hopes you’ll say yes, that you’ll let him show you how sorry he feels, since he’s too prideful to say it.

“Yes, my husband, sleep with me tonight, and all the nights that will follow.”

He smiles, happy that you two have reconciled.

Tomorrow he’ll think of an excuse to use with the rest of the family to explain why he’s moving here, with you, now his only goal is to make up for the weeks spent apart.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @thought--bubble

[venuscxre]

KISS AND MAKE UP .ᐟ

summary ; arguments with lancelot are not just rare, they’re painful as well.

request ; “ hi if you can may you please write lancelot x reader (established relationship) and they have a fight and what his reaction would be when he notices the reader is crying. hurt/comfort & fluff please. thank you. ” — @anemi100amine

pairing ; lancelot / black fem!reader

wc ; 1.0k

tags ; angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, post-percival death.

notes ; another lancelot request!! sorry this took so long :((

𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

it isn’t uncommon for couples to have disagreements. everyone has little lover’s quarrels and always goes through some trouble whilst in paradise, right? but goddamn, it hurts. why does it have to hurt so bad?

you and lancelot haven’t been on the best terms lately. for whatever reason, he’s been more closed off and unresponsive than he usually is. you reckon it’s because of whatever happened back in the demon realm. you’d caught wind of percival dying; it broke your heart to say the least, percy was a great friend and an adorable ball of sunshine. you’d never seen someone bring out such bright smiles other than yourself from lancelot.

you were off on another mission, investigating the parts of liones that were starting to disappear, and when you’d gotten back to the kingdom to give your report everything and everyone was… off. you scoured the entire palace looking for any sign of your boyfriend or your friends but found no one. the queen was the one to break the news to you. you promptly left for benwick to go find lancelot.

when you arrived, you noticed just how dreary the atmosphere was. ban and elaine pointed you straight to lancelot’s room, neither of them saying a word. you knock on the door and wait a few seconds before peeking inside. “lance..?”

your boyfriend’s back was turned to you, facing the window. you step inside and sit by him, your fingers going to thread into his hair. he was awake, just staring into the abyss with no acknowledgment of your presence. your heart pangs and you frown.

“lance–”

“don’t. don’t speak to me right now.”

you oblige and stick to running your fingers through his hair. eventually, you leave the room to give him space.

“he’s still in a mood?” ban looks down at you. he’s leant against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“..yes..”

the king notices your downtrodden expression and ruffles your hair. “don’t sweat it, kid. he’s been that way for the past few weeks. he just needs some time.”

time, of course. everyone processes grief differently, they just need some time to get back on their feet.

however, days had turned into weeks and those weeks turned into months. lancelot still wasn’t communicating. it frustrated you a bit and that frustration gave way to guilt. he was close to percy and you understand that, but percival was your friend, too. you miss him as well, but you miss your boyfriend too. it’s like you’ve lost both of them..

once again, you found yourself in his room, determined to get him to at least talk to you. you want to be there for him and lend him your shoulder. you want to let him give you some of his burden, but he wasn’t having it.

“for fuck’s sake, why won’t you just leave me alone!?”

you stand there, frozen. you hadn’t even gotten your sentence out completely. “l–lance…”

“no! i don’t want to hear it! god, could you be any more annoying!? i want to be left alone, so why don’t you just leave! i don’t want you here!”

your expression falters and your initial frustration gives way to the anger that’s been simmering within you for the past few months. “well, excuse me for wanting to be a caring girlfriend and lend you a shoulder to cry on! how about you stop wallowing in your self-imposed isolation and let me help you!”

“what part of get out don’t you fucking understand? god, i can’t stand you. just leave and never come back!”

you pause. was… was he breaking up with you…?

“you–”

“I SAID LEAVE GODDAMMIT!”

to say you’re stunned to silence is an understatement. you don’t even notice when tears start rolling down your cheeks. to avoid further humiliation, you rush out of the room and pass his parents who looked at you with concern; that argument wasn’t the most quiet after all. 

you hurriedly pack up the things you’d come with and take your leave, intending to head back to liones. all the way, you couldn’t stop your tears from flowing. you feel like shit.

everyone has little lover’s quarrels, right? this’ll pass, right?

no, he said he never wanted you to come back, so that means you guys aren’t ever coming back from this. you stop walking and sit under a tree, and you cry. you cried there for hours and even ended up falling asleep under that tree, too emotionally drained to even move.

meanwhile, lancelot feels like absolute dogshit. shortly after you left, his father gave him a good talking to and told him to get off his ass and go find you. 

now that his anger has simmered down, he can’t help but feel like a terrible boyfriend. he made you cry. he’s never made you cry before.

by the time he’d found you, it was dark out. he sighed, seeing you curled up under a tree with your bag used as a makeshift pillow. it gets really cold in benwick and being out here like this could get you sick. lancelot stoops down and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently, wiping away the tear streaks on your face. 

without waking you up, lancelot scoops you into his arms and carries you back, tucking you into his bed so you could sleep properly. 

when you awoken, you noticed the change of your surroundings. “what the..”

“you awake?”

lancelot sits by you, his hand toying with your hair. “you slept for a while. are you hungry?”

you sit up, confused. did that whole fight not happen or is this someone else posing as your boyfriend. hell, are you even awake right now?

sensing your confusion, lancelot sighs. “i’m sorry.”

“..what..?”

“i’m sorry for what i said. i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. you were only trying to help,” he murmured, cupping your face. “i’m sorry for making you cry. i really am..”

you crack a smile. “i’m sorry, too.. i was getting a little frustrated, but it isn’t your fault. you deserve to mourn..”

he huffs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his face buried in your neck. he leaves kisses against your neck to make you feel better. he didn’t want to admit it, but he’s scared, terrified, of losing you.

“..i love you, you know that, right?”

“i know you do. i love you, too.”

“good. now, go back to sleep, idiot.”

[chrissdollie]

Dragon King Bakugo x Dragon Queen reader please it’s for my soul 😭😭😭

i totally understand, i feel like i don’t see enough of these 😭 16 - dragon king x dragon queen a/n: lowkey this was kinda short and im not too proud of it but ill edit it later and try to fix it wc: 964

"the queen is pregnant!" "she's carrying a baby" "i wonder how the king feels.."

whispers and gasps were shared throughout the kingdom. they were extremely excited to have an heir to the throne. however, nobody was as joyful as katsuki bakugou, their king. he made sure that you were extra pampered and satisfied with everything.

"your highness, perhaps you'd feel better if you laid down-" your close friend suggested as you strutted around the palace. "nonsense, i feel fine, ejirou." you rubbed your belly and sat down on the throne.

katsuki rubbed your back with his thumb. "hmph, alright. whatever you say." he shrugged. ejirou towered above you, waiting for any sort of orders from you or your husband. "go alert the maids to run a warm bath, red." katsuki waved him off, shooing him away. ejirou, nodded. "of course, sir." and walked away.

"we'll hold a gathering tomorrow morning, how does that sound, my dear?" katsuki kneeled in front of you on his knees, holding both of your hands. you smiled down at him, fixing his necklaces. you hummed in response. "what're we gonna name him?" katsuki wondered aloud.

you giggled, "how do you know it'll be a boy?" you threaded your fingers through his soft blonde hair, with one hand resting on your stomach. he smirked, "mm, just have a feelin', baby."

the next morning, you awoke in your large bed, covered in expensive furs. you yawned and got ready for the gathering of your kingdom. everyone was probably squirming with curiosity. "my queen, it's time." a servant entered your room. your husband was already dressed, his furs on his back and jewelry in place.

"they can wait." katsuki grunted, nudging you to pull your hair up. you were sitting at your divine vanity and katsuki stood behind you while holding your matching dragon tooth necklace. the servant bowed and left as he laid the necklace around your neck and clipped it in the back. you let your hair down and sighed.

katsuki quirked an eyebrow. "what's wrong, sweetheart?" he rubbed your shoulders, his eyes full of worry. "nothing, 'm just tired." you leaned into his touch, feeling secure. he nodded, kissing your head before grabbing your hand to pull you up.

"it'll be quick, i promise." he held his arm out for you to grab, which you obliged. "i want to visit the dragons afterwards, i haven't seen them in a while!" you exclaimed, latching onto his side. he chuckled at your anxiousness. "i'll make sure the carriage'll be ready."

the kingdom cheered as the two of you stepped out of the palace, waving to all. servants surrounded you as you sat in your thrones. bakugou sighed, rolling his eyes. "hey losers." the crowd erupted at their kings usual rudeness, figuring it was a joke. "my queen, does it hurt?" a lady yelled out to you. you grinned and shook your head. "no, not much."

"how do you feel about the child, my king?" someone called out. katsuki leaned back in his throne. the crowd was silent, waiting for his answer. "what do you think, idiot? i'm the one who got her pregnant." he huffed, giving you a look that said "is he stupid or what?"

"how the hell are we supposed to know that the kid'll be a man?" a somewhat old man spat, crossing his arms. some of the crowd nodded along, agreeing with the man's words.

"you dare speak to your king in that tone??" mina growled, challenging the fool who spoke. katsuki's eyes burned daggers into the man. your face, however, was nonchalant. "i doubt i'll push a full grown man out." you chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "besides, we dont need to have a boy. the times have changed, my friends."

"no one wants a girl!" the same idiot from before yelled out, cupping his hands around his mouth to make sure he was heard. "THIS IS WHY YOUR WIFE LEFT YOU, KURAI!" mina pointed out furiously. oh, this took a turn. you mentally wanted to laugh at the comment from mina, but that wouldn't be very polite. however, kingdom drama was surely a very funny topic.

"ooo"'s were sprung throughout the audience, as some began to argue. katsuki was about to burst, you could tell. you covered your ears in preparation. "SILENCE YOU BASTARDS." he jumped up from his throne, feeling enraged. the crowd went quiet (again). some whispers and mumurs spread around, waiting for someone to speak.

a little girl raised her hand and you recognized her immediately. your eyes lit up at the sight. "hello, eri!" you waved sweetly with a toothy grin. she cheesed, waving back. "hihi, y/n-san!"

her caretaker aizawa lifted her up to sit on his shoulders before she talked to you. "how are babies made?" she lifted her finger to the corner of her mouth, eyes filled with wonder. you were slightly taken aback from the question, but katsuki burst into laughter.

"great question, kid. well when a mommy and daddy love each other very very much," he started with his hands behind his head. you cut in quickly. "uh, well, the dragons deliver the baby to the momma and daddy's door, eri."

katsuki shook his head, rolling his eyes. eri had seemed satisfied with your answer and nodded her head. ejirou stepped forward, holding his hand up. "that concludes the gathering, everyone. please have a lovely day." he wrapped up, clapping his hands to get as arms went down and groans were heard.

you stood up from your throne with katsuki as he held your hand. "classic kurai, always starting problems." you joked, resting your head on katsuki's shoulder. he huffed. "i hate that bitch." you nodded back.

"can we go see my kids now?"

a/n: to the noonie who sent be the hello kitty x spider-man trope thing, thats coming soon! :3

[propertyofkylar]

princess kylar thigh worship fic?

worshiping the princess - f!kylar x gn!pc

word count: 1827

tags: royalty au, thigh worship, cunnilingus, dubcon, bit of yandere nonsense, i cannot help but tease kylar whenever i see her it's a disease

“Seize them.”

That was the first and last thing you had heard the princess say, and now you were jailed in her castle. You were sure you hadn’t been behind bars too long, but it was nearly impossible to tell. It didn’t help that you were entirely alone here, too. It seemed this princess didn’t frequently imprison anyone. So why you?

In your travels, you had become somewhat familiar with this kingdom. Princess Kylar was the ruler, and there were many rumors floating around about what had happened to the king and queen, most seeming very unlikely to be true. But you weren’t sure. Anything was possible. 

You were mulling this over when the princess herself approached the bars. At first, she said nothing, merely looked at you. You figured you may as well look back, and so you studied Kylar. 

She was a pretty young woman and very small. She wore a dark gown that looked old and tattered and her long hair was tied back with a bow that was equally tattered. The princess’s face was so close to yours that you could count every freckle on her nose. Her green eyes bore into yours and her long eyelashes fluttered with every blink. 

Eventually, she gave a simple nod. And then, surprisingly, she unlocked her cell. 

Before you could react, her small hand wrapped around your wrist. It was soft and clammy. Feeling bewildered, you looked at her again. Kylar huffed. 

“Would you rather be locked in there forever?” She said, starting to walk and tugging you along with her. 

“Um…no,” you said, rather lamely. To be honest, you weren’t sure what you had done to justify being locked up in the first place. But this princess seemed temperamental, so you figured you better not risk anything by speaking out of line. 

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered, and you got the feeling that despite her demeanor, this entire interaction was making her quite nervous.

You opted to stay quiet as she led you through the large castle, which was rather empty and everything seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust. Aside from the odd servant here and there, there didn’t seem to be anyone else in here. 

Kylar took you into what you realized were her quarters. Having never been inside the bedroom of royalty before, you were taken aback by how messy and disorganized it was. You had always pictured a princess’s bedroom to be neat and clean. But Kylar had random bits of clothing tossed all over and drawers that were slightly ajar. There were also various novels scattered about, and you idly recognized some as being steamy romances. Interesting. That didn’t seem befitting of royalty. 

The princess closed her door behind the two you of you and the air became thick with awkward tension. What the hell was going on here? You were so caught up in how odd this entire castle was that you only just now realized - what the fuck were you doing in the princess’s bedroom?!

Kylar uncomfortably cleared her throat, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “So,” she began. “You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here instead of being locked up.”

“Well, yes,” you replied hesitantly. 

Forcing her head up, Kylar looked directly in your eyes. “I have decided you seem useful. You have a handsome face. I think there are better ways for you to serve out your sentence.”

You said nothing, letting her continue. Kylar sucked in a deep breath before saying more. 

“You will stand by my side and assist me in…whatever ways I need,” Kylar’s face flushed as she spoke, and you quickly realized what exactly she mean. 

“What?” You couldn’t help but let your shock slip out. Was this princess really suggesting you be like some…some sort of prostitute?

Kylar clenched her fists and looked away. “You don’t have to. But if you decline I will make it known that you have committed many grievous crimes and should be locked away permanently. Or maybe you would rather be executed?”

Your blood ran cold at that. Was she serious? You didn’t know much about her, but she did seem a little scary. She might really be willing to kill you…

“No,” you said quietly, clearing your throat. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Good,” Kylar replied with a smirk. “Then you should kneel.”

You immediately dropped to your knees in front of the haughty princess. She wasn’t very tall, but looking up at her still invoked fear within you. She was quite intimidating.

“Excellent. You’re a good listener,” Kylar was acting tough, but her voice was shaking a little still. She moved over to her bed and sat down on the edge. You quickly realized she wanted you to follow her and so you awkwardly crawled over. Several beats passed before she hiked up her skirt, revealing her bare thighs and a thick bush of hair. Her face turned red as she struggled to remain composed. 

“Touch me.”

Her words, while unsteady, were commanding. You weren’t sure why she was making you do this, or how the hell you ended up kneeling before a now half-naked princess. But her thighs were rather mesmerizing. They were thick and even-toned, and looked very soft. And having lived the life of a bandit, you were aware there were many worse experiences out there than being forced to pleasure a beautiful princess.

So, tentatively, you reached your hands out to grip her thighs. Kylar whimpered as soon as there was skin-on-skin contact. Your initial thoughts were correct - her skin was incredibly soft and smooth. Befitting a princess, for sure. You began to lightly stroke her thighs, as gently as possible, and noticed how immediately her skin pricked with goosebumps. 

You looked up and made direct eye contact with Kylar. She was gazing at you almost adoringly, and you felt a sudden pang in her chest. She behaved somewhat oddly. Her castle was in disarray and empty. Princess Kylar must have been a very lonely girl. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you moved your head in and began to place light kisses on her thighs. Kylar twitched and her hands gripped her bedsheets. She cleared her throat and you looked up at her again. Her face was bright red.

“Worship me…” she whispered. “Please.”

You were in no position to reject a princess. Thus, your fingers went to work tracing random patterns across the smooth expanse of her thighs, while your kisses grew more fervent and occasionally you bit down, enjoying the way Kylar squeaked and squealed with every move. Honestly, it was pretty attractive, and you felt yourself begin to grow aroused. 

Kylar’s legs parted instinctively and the unmistakable scent of arousal hit your nose. Sure enough, when you looked you noticed her cunt was practically drooling onto the bed. You stifled a smirk - her getting so turned on by just some touching was pretty funny, but her volatile attitude kept you subdued in this regard. You still were a little afraid that she might decide to execute you, after all. 

Your teeth bit down into the plush skin of her inner thigh, and Kylar moaned. “Princess,” you breathed against her, casting your eyes up. She was looking away. 

“Y-you may speak,” Kylar stammered. You smiled.

“Your skin is so soft,” you murmured against her legs, pressing kisses all over. “It’s so nice. You must take very good care of yourself.”

“Oh,” Kylar replied, clearly not expecting you to say what you had just said. “Um. I don’t know. Not really. I took a bath in rosewater earlier, I guess.”

Mm. That’s what that smell was. “Very nice,” you said quietly, moved your head closer to her core, continuing to lick and suck all the way. Her whole body squirmed when your nose bumped her clit. Then, you pressed a kiss there, too.

“Oh!” Kylar unintentionally pulled back slightly, but quickly fixed herself. “S-sorry…I mean!” She cleared her throat, clearly flustered. “You m-may continue.”

Your hands teased and scratched her thighs as you began to lick at her wet cunt. The faint smell of roses tickled your nose and mingled with her own district flavor. As soon as your tongue made contact, Kylar’s hands flew to your hair, embedding her fingers in there. “Fuck,” she said quietly.

You lapped at her drooling juices before twisting your tongue into her hole, taking one hand off her thigh to rub at her clit. Kylar’s breaths were coming out in short, stuttered bursts at this point. She was enjoying this, and truthfully, so were you.

Your tongue explored inside of Kylar, as if you were trying to drink her juices directly from the source. You curled your tongue inside of her, and Kylar’s grip on your hair tightened. When you tugged your tongue out to flick her clit, she almost yelled.

“Feels so good,” she mumbled, wiggling back and forth as if she were trying to get more friction. “Your mouth feels so good…”

Again, you weren’t going to deny a princess what she wanted. So you dove in, licking her soaking folds even more fervently, taking the time to memorize how Kylar felt; how Kylar tasted. 

As you drank her up obediently, Kylar’s hips began to wiggle more and more and her breathing grew more heavy. “Oh–I think–I’m gonna–”

You didn’t stop. You simply kept at the same pace as Kylar ground her crotch against your face and moaned loudly. Her fluids soaked the sheets beneath her and your own face felt incredibly damp and sticky. 

As you pulled away, you licked your lips subconsciously, committing her taste to memory. You unceremoniously wiped your now-soaked face on your sleeve and looked up at Kylar again. Her face was redder than you had seen her and her chest was rising and falling heavily. She took a few moments before she began to speak again. “T-that was…it, um…” she cleared her throat. “Good work. I think this will work out…”

Unsure of what to do now, you simply offered her a smile. Upon seeing your face, Kylar suddenly looked like she might faint. It was like something had just snapped inside of her. She nodded several times in succession and then grabbed your wrists, pulling you up to the bed with her. And the way she looked at you was intense, to say the least. She had a crazy, lovesick look in her eyes, that sent a chill through your body. What had you just gotten yourself into?

Kylar grinned widely at you as she pushed you down so you were laying below her on the bed. She crawled over you with that same look in her eyes. “I knew I made the right choice when I saw you. Oh, this is great,” she giggled girlishly, laying her head down on your chest. “We’re going to be together forever and ever now!”

Maybe you should’ve stayed jailed…

[spitdrunken]

Cream and Ice (Candy Queen x Reader / Winter King x Reader)

wordcount: 13k, NSFW. summary: As the ruler of an entire kingdom, the Winter King is a busy man. You'll spend the rest of your life being thankful to him for rescuing you from the freezing cold as he did. Still, it does get lonely, sometimes. The Candy Queen is even more eager for company than you, and at least twice as lonely. You've been 'kidnapped' by her more times than you can count, and have grown to appreciate her company. All of the Winter King's warnings you've long since disregarded, since you've never actually gotten hurt. When, one day, you bite off more than you can chew—or, rather, swallow,—the Winter King is the only one who can save you. See the full tags on ao3, here!

The snow crunches underneath your feet, the cold wind penetrating even through the many clothes the Winter King has provided you with. The cold had never been a factor he had to consider for himself, or his subjects, but you are a different story. It’s fine, you know you’ll be leaving this place soon, even if just for a little bit. As you walk the streets of the Winter Kingdom, you feel the inhabitants’ gazes follow your forms, and hushed whispers trail in your wake. 

It’s fine if they see. You can never be quiet here, and you need the Winter King to hear about your departure eventually. Otherwise, he’ll never come to pick you up. And you’ve never actually returned from Candy’s, as she’s told you to call her, home on your own. 

You don’t know exactly when being kidnapped by Candy turned into something else, but it has. There’s no need for her to put you in a cage anymore, and the two of you actually chat. Sure, you have the Winter King, but he gets busy, and the rest of his subjects are… You don’t know how to put it. There is a hollowness behind many of their eyes. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to, even if her ways are rather eccentric. But, really, who are you to judge in this situation? You are not from this world, and your definition from sanity might not align with the one the Land of Ooo. Even then, the many warnings you’d received from the Winter King would suggest otherwise.

He can warn you about her obsession and unpredictability, but he never seems particularly concerned about her. Maybe you should be, as a human without magic, but being ‘rescued’ has grown into such a nonchalant affair that you can’t be bothered. She doesn’t seem much interested in anything besides the Winter King, so you don’t think she really cares about hurting you. Her mood often swings, yes, but it also isn’t hard to flip her back around. 

This is what you think about, as you wait underneath the pine-scented trees. The smell is pervasive, practically too strong, when you are standing underneath clumps of them. You have to walk to the edge of the kingdom, otherwise the alarms would go off, and that would create too much of a fuss for your liking. The Winter King is busy right now. You guess he’s fiddling with something in his laboratory, or ‘fixing’ something about his kingdom that no one but him had ever seen issue with. 

You hear Candy before you see her, as you do every time. Her presence is accompanied by the pounding of her legs on the thread mill, the groaning of the subjects that carry her, and bouts of laughter that ring through the air. The same time you see the contraption she calls an aircraft soar through the air, she yells out your name while waving both of her arms at you. 

“Hiiii!” She says as she lowers her contraption. “C’mere, we’ve gotta go quick!” 

As soon as you approach, your own greeting ready on your tongue, the arm on her machine snags you up the floor, and chucks you into the air. The yell you let out only makes her laugh harder, but she catches you in her arms without effort, and puts you on the floor, your back resting against one of the candy canes that decorate the side of the ship. She is a lot stronger than she looks.  Your heart is still busy trying to escape your ribcage, and you wheeze out a breath. 

“Please never do that again,” you tell her. One of your hands is firmly wrapped around the candy cane for support.

She winks at you and sticks her tongue out. “No promises, sorry! Need to get home, quick!” As she starts to run again, she keeps her gaze focused on you. You don’t know how she manages to keep an eye on you and steer the machine at the same time, but you don’t try to think too hard about it. Just as you try not to think about the fact this whole thing is made up out of living creatures. When you’d asked her about it, Candy had told you that they definitely agreed to this, they always wanna do everything for her! 

“Did you get the gooooods?” She drawls out the last word as if she’s drunk, bouncing on the balls of her feet, learning over towards you. From experience, you know that she’ll start patting you down if you don’t hand them over soon enough. As she stops running, the machine stutters and loses altitude, only rising again when she lets out a ‘whoops!’ and starts running again. That’s the second time today you’ve felt the ground fall away underneath your feet, and you’d like it to be the last. Perhaps you should really start reconsidering whether these visits or worth it. 

But Candy smiles wide at you, giving you her undivided attention, and even though you know she cares more about your usual company than you, you’ve still become a little fond of her. She doesn’t have anyone, it seems. If things had gone differently for you, you would have been just as alone as her. 

You take a moment to catch your breath. “I’ll give them once we’re at your place, okay?” Your nails scratch at the smooth surface of your one lifeline on this ship. “You know flying makes me a bit nervous.” The wind whips past your face. Even as you are higher off the ground than you were before, it’s warmer than the one blowing through the Winter Kingdom. 

Though she doesn’t agree one way or the other, Candy’s legs moving even faster are a clear indication she understands the program. “You say you’re scared or whatever, but you get on every time anyway! They say I’m the crazy one, but you should make up your mind, too!” With the back of her hand, she wipes the sweat off of her brow. 

You can’t say it’s ever the smoothest ride, but it’s always a fast one. The machine lurches left and right as you land, and you cling on for dear life, as it crashes into the ground. As the groans of the banana-people, whatever their name may be, ring out, you know you’ve made a safe landing. Without fail, Candy clambers down her servants without sparing a glance or a thought towards them, digging her heel into their faces and mushing them up. You’d jump down if it weren’t too high. You’re forced to do the same, but you at least think you’re a bit more polite about it, since you apologise. 

Candy waits for you in front of her door. “So? So?” Candy leans in close towards you, standing on the tips of her toes. Her eyes are blown wide and twinkle with excitement, her nose almost poking yours. It’s endearing, despite knowing the reason for her delight. 

You dig around in your pockets, and her a few pictures you made from the Winter King. They are better than the ones she has adorning your walls, as those were made in secret. These weren’t. The Winter King is always more than happy to pose for a picture, and he’ll even ask you to take some if he’s made himself a new outfit, to most accurately judge himself from every angle. Perhaps it’s not the most moral thing to do, feeding into her obsession like this, but it’d continue regardless of what you did. 

“Here you go,” you say, handing her the little stack. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squeals, hugging the pictures to her chest and twirling around on the tips of her toes. A few pieces of candy shoot out from the tips of her fingers. They clatter to the floor, completely unnoticed by her. “You always get such good ones! I loooove it! Gotta put them up right now!”

She skips like a schoolgirl all the way towards her room, and you have to keep up at a brisk walking pace. Every time you enter, you try to ignore the giant cage in the corner of the room, but you never quite succeed. 

“Put them in your diary, and not on the wall, okay?” She practically has a shrine dedicated to the Winter King on her wall, but you don’t need your pictures to be added to that. You have no interest in answering his questions about how she got her hands on them. 

“Yeah, yeah, mom.” You can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “’S not like you gotta tell me that every time.” 

You huff out a breath of air through your nose. “If he sees them, that’s the end of it. You’ll have to start taking them yourself again.”

As she walks past her keyboard, her back turned to you, she flings her fist on it. The discordant noise clangs together, loud, but harmless. “Fiiiiine. Yours aren’t big enough for posters, anyway. They’d look bad next to mine.”

Candy flops down on her bed, landing on her stomach. She reaches underneath her pillow for a diary that has become a familiar sigh to you. Pictures stick from the borders of the pages from every side, and multiple of them are stuck together with pink gum. The front has something scrawled on it that you’ve never been able to make out. You watch as she shifts through your pictures, sighing longingly at every single one of them, while kicking her feet in the air. To stick them to the paper, she pulls a piece of gum out of her hair. It’d surprised you the first time you saw it, but it’s clear it doesn’t hurt her whatsoever. 

“Do you like them?” You ask, and she hums loudly in response. It really is surprising she doesn’t try to maul you over how much time you spend with her ‘love’, but you’ve come to terms with the fact you’ll never be able to follow her line of thought. 

As you watch her like this, so hopelessly head over heels for someone who sees her as nothing more than a nuisance, your heart clenches. The Winter King describes her as the Kingdom’s sole and greatest enemy. He derides her unpredictability, her madness, as he calls it, and her twisted affection. But as you’ve spend time here in the Candy Kingdom, you’ve come to think that her behaviour is simply part of her species. You’ve never met a subject of hers, servant or otherwise, that acted unlike her. If that simply is the way she was born, the way she’s supposed to be, you can’t bring yourself to blame her for it. The Winter King always seems to leave her clutches unscathed, the same as you have. 

You sit down on the floor next to her bed, leaning the back of your head against her mattress. The cover sticks a little your hair. You stare at the wall opposite of her bed, plastered with images of the Winter King. The sea of blue stands in harsh contrast with pinks of the rest of her decor. Without thinking, you sigh. 

Wouldn’t it be so much better if she had an interest in someone else, if she pursued someone had a chance of returning her feelings? There has to be a perfect match out there for her, in this whole wide world. You just know that it isn’t the Winter King. He won’t care about her, not ever. He’s spelled it out for her so many times. But time and time again, she pursues him in her own way, and time and time again, she is rejected. You can’t grasp how she can cope with it, given her feelings are so all-consuming. 

“Candy?” You crane your head upwards, and you can just barely see her legs still swishing in the air. 

“Wait. I’m having a moment.” She lets out a scream that she muffles with her pillow. The whole bed bounces up and down behind as she kicks strongly into the mattress, squealing the whole time. One of her feet whizzes just over your head as she rolls from left to right. She must have found a picture she particularly likes. You’re curious which one it is, but she doesn’t let you look at them once she’s glued them to her diary. She exhales loudly, and the bed gives a final creak. 

“Okay. Moment over.”

You know you are treading onto uneven ground here. One of the first lessons the Winter King taught you upon taking you in, was the look of a frozen lake that might give away underneath your feet. Now, it feels like you are jumping onto one of the exact spots he told you to avoid. To the right of your head, you see the tip of her boot peeking over the side of her bed. It bobs up and down, up and down. 

“What do you like so much about the Winter King, anyway?”

Her foot stops moving. The entire bed goes still. In tandem, you start to think of escapes out of this conversation. Candy, however, only hums in response. First in thought and, after a few seconds, she makes a silly little tune out of it. She must be working on a new original. Whenever she does, she can’t get it out of her head for days, or so she’s told you. 

“I dunno! That’s a mean question, ‘cause I can’t just pick one thing. I like… Everything! I think. I need us to be together, forever!” She sucks on her bottom lip, and releases it with a pop. “He’s stuck in my brain, like… A stick inside a lollipop! Part of the same thing.”  

You can feel her moving, but you still jump as Candy hangs over you, all at once. Her hair is almost like a wall with the way it hangs past your sides, caging you in between her and the bed. “But why do you wanna know so bad, hmmm?” She’s still smiling, and that’s a good thing. You think. With her being upside down, it’s difficult to tell if she’s really smiling in the first place, or baring her fangs. She squints at you. “What are you trying to do? You can’t have him. He’s mine, you ding dong!” 

Despite yourself, you freeze up. Those teeth of hers always look so much sharper up close. The familiar warnings, the ones that you could recite by heart at this point, ring out in your ear. Unlike the Winter King however, you’ve actually tried to hold a conversation with Candy before. You know how to handle her, in a sense, without the situation escalating any further.

Without hesitation, you stick out your finger, and press the tip of it to her nose. “Boop.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, she dissolves into a fit of giggles, her whole chest rising and falling with her laughter. You smile back at her. As she laughs harder, her whole physical form melts away into glowing, pink goo. You shudder as Candy drips down your shoulders and over the front of your shirt. Thankfully, that form of hers never leaves any residue. You’d have no clue how to explain those stains. All of her gathers up on the floor, in between your knees. You spread your legs wider, just as Candy forms back into her usual appearance.

“Boop!” The tip of her fingers finds your nose, just as you’d done moments prior. Her knees bump against the insides of your thighs, and her nose nearly pokes your cheek. With every inhale, all you can smell is cotton candy. You don’t mind the closeness. She is always clingy, albeit in her own way. “You’re so silly. I like that about you.” Candy tilts her head to the side, her smile and eyes widening. “But I was being serious.”

“I know you were,” you tell her. A packaged piece of candy dangles out of her hair, almost falling out, and you carefully push it back in. She doesn’t even blink. “I didn’t walk to talk about him, though. I wanted to talk about you, Candy.”

She blinks owlishly at you. The corners of her mouth droop, but she doesn’t quite loser her smile. She shakes her head, then opens her mouth, and starts to pick something out from between her teeth with her fingernail. Candy must have not been listening at all.

“Go on,” she says, proving you wrong. The words come out distorted, as she doesn’t bother to take her finger out of her mouth as she speaks. 

“I get that you really, really like the Winter King. Like, a lot. But don’t you think you could try and get over him, to find someone who’s better for you?”

Candy throws her head backs, and laughs. And laughs, and laughs. At the sudden jerk of her head, she cut an indent into her finger. She doesn’t bleed, however. Right in front of your eyes, her ‘skin’ merely closes shut again. Her laughter continues on, and its loud enough to make your ears ring. Every breath of hers is a desperate wheeze. With how much she’s shaking, you can only pity her ribs and guts. …If she has them, that is.

She sighs loudly as she sits upright again, and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s the hardest I’ve laughed in years! Better?! Lemme know when you find one!” She rests her elbow on her knee, then leans her cheek on her hand. “He’s the one I need.”

“But that doesn’t it hurt, always getting rejected?” You cannot stop the hint of desperation entering your voice. There has to be a better life for her out there, better than whatever this is. “You’re pretty, Candy. And sweet, too, obviously. I’m sure there’s someone out there, who can really appreciate you, and who is more like you. I think you deserve that. I… I want you to be happy.” With Candy, you’ve learned to spell out what you’re trying to say as literally as possible, lest she misunderstand. 

You pity her, this girl, alone in her kingdom, with no one but her servants for company, endlessly chasing a man who will never give her the time of day. She deserves understanding. It has to be a lonely existence, going without it.     Candy’s expression shifts, her face going entirely blank. “I can’t be. Not until I have him.” As soon as the moment comes, it’s over, and you have no time to process it. She bursts into high-pitched giggles and slings an arm around the back of your neck before throwing herself firmly into your lap. 

“Candy!” You sputter, trying to turn your head away from her. As soon as you try though, she places a hand on your cheek, and forces you to look her in the eye again. Your face heats up underneath her touch. She pinches your skin between two of her fingers, and pulls on it. She ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’s at the consistency and texture of your skin. You swallow. Do you hate this? …No, you hesitantly admit to yourself. It’s definitely not the kind of message you were trying to get across, though!

Her eyes slide half-shut, her smile lopsided and soft around the edges. “Hehe. I thought you wanted to talk about me, but what you really wanted was me, huuh?” She puts both of her hands on your face, and squishes. “I’m prettyyyy, I’m sweeeeeet! You said so!” She repeats after you, before bursting into giggles again. “I’m sorry, sugar, but my heart has already been stolen!” One of her hands slowly slides down your cheek. 

“Um… Well, what I was trying to say was— Mrph!” She slaps her palm over your mouth, cutting off the rest of your sentence.

“No need to say anything more, baby!” Candy laughs again. She leans forward, burying her nose in the crook of her neck, and inhaling deeply. “Hmmm, but I do like you. You’re a lot warmer. But you smell a little like him… Like chocolate milk, and pine trees— But still different.”

So many conflicting thoughts and feelings are rushing through you. Your face is burning up, and your stomach’s tied in knots. Wherever she touches you, her skin sticks to yours. Even as you squirm underneath her, Candy doesn’t budge in the slightest. You’re trapped. You gasp as you feel one of her fangs brush against your throat, and you can feel her grinning against your skin. 

“Candy, you’re a bit too close…!” You squeak as you wheeze out the air in your lungs. She sticks her tongue out, and licks a stripe up the side of your neck, slow and deliberate. 

Of course, it’s this exact moment that the Winter King makes his dramatic entrance, with a bang and a flourish. It’s nothing different from what you expect during your bi-weekly rescue. He throws his hair back as little pieces of ice sparkle in the air around him. His eyes are closed, one leg in front of the other. One hand is firmly closed around the hilt of his blade. All of this you can just barely make out in between Candy’s gravity-defying hair. 

“Fair maiden, I have come to…” As the Winter King opens his eyes, the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. You’ve never seen him caught quite this off-guard before. The tip of his blade, that he’d just pulled from its sheath, droops and points to the floor. His mouth is hanging open. You’d spend more time burning the image into your mind, if 90% of your brain wasn’t busy wishing you could melt into a puddle on the floor like Candy could. He shakes his head, in a jerky, twitchy fashion, like he’s forcefully pulling himself back to reality.  

Candy dislodges herself from your throat, smiling up at you. “It’s always a good idea to take you first! My baby always stops by, and then I get to see the both of you… If I just take him, you’d never show up!” You have to admit that she’s completely right about that observation. 

“Unhand her, you fiend!” However much he’d been rattled before, the Winter King easily slips back into his character. His pose is, once again, as poised as ever. His eyes drift from yours to Candy, and back up again. “What’s the meaning of this?” He continues, his voice a lot more softer. It lacks his usual flair or dramatics and, for that exact reason, you swallow.

Candy detaches herself from your neck, and winks at you. “One moment, sugar.” She folds herself backward, landing on her hands, and looking at the Winter King while upside down. You watch with a mixture of horror and fascination. Whatever is inside her body, it can’t be a spine. She’s found the one way to look her ‘beloved’ in the eye, while continuing to straddle you. 

“No meaning! She just told me I’m pretty, heehee! And sweet, too. It was really, really nice!” You can practically hear the pout in her voice as she continues to speak. “You could be a bit nicer to me, too, baby! Really, your little snowflake is a lot sweeter than you— And, since you’re my husband, that’s just plain wrong!”

“Ah. Is she, now?” The Winter King smiles and tilts his head a little to the left. He takes a step forward, and then another. His sword he lowers back down to his side. Goosebumps rush up your arms and legs from the sudden shift in the room’s temperature. When you let out a shuddering sigh, your breath forms a puff of white smoke in the air. 

Right now, the Winter King unnerves you far more than Candy ever has. 

Candy allows him to approach, making grabby hands at his ankles as he gets near. He remains just barely outside of her reach. Rather than pay her any mind, his focus is centered solely on you. You’re pinned down underneath his gaze. You’re not actually scared, you chastise yourself, you shouldn’t be! The knots in your stomach, and the rising of the hair on your arms, all of it is from something else. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re guilty about losing the approval of the one who has done so much for you, who took you in when you had nowhere else to go, in this world that is so unfamiliar to you. That’s all there is to it.

“I don’t know what kind of cotton candy nonsense she’s been spinning inside your head, dear, but I’d say it’s time we head home. Don’t you agree?”

Your tongue is tied. Candy’s eyes are unfocused, one of her eyeballs rolled up to focus on the Winter King, while the other looks at you. She starts to giggle, grin widening far enough to show off all of her fangs. You don’t trust the look on her face. Being around him always brings out the worst in her, without fail. Her legs tighten around your waist, the fingers that had been resting on your thighs dig into the skin. In a single, fluid motion, Candy shoots back up, and slams her mouth against yours. 

“Mpphrph!” You cry out, eyes wide. Despite the unmistakable pressure of her lips against yours, it doesn’t feel like a kiss, exactly. She practically hit your lips with hers, and you feel like the skin is going to bruise. Even now, the pressure that she’s applying is far too strong to resemble anything intimate. Her aim hadn’t been quite right, either. Only about half of her mouth is actually over yours, and her fangs nick your bottom lip. She smiles against your mouth. 

Taking advantage of your surprise, she shoves her tongue in between your parted lips. It’s long and smooth, without any of the ridges or bumps of a human tongue. The flavour of it is saccharine, the kind of sweetness that makes you think of rotting teeth. It goes in deep, so deep that it has your gag reflex protesting around her. Before the situation goes dire, however, the intrusion dissolves. It’s so contrary to your expectations, that your whole body shudders. Some of the thick substance, whatever it is, immediately slides down your throat. The tip of her tongue had been poking around down there, after all. You feel her smile against your mouth. 

The Winter King rips Candy away from you by the back of her clothes, and tosses her to the side like she weighs nothing. She bounces twice on the floor, before lying still. She’s still laughing, so she’s fine, you think. You shiver from the cold. The floor cracks underneath the Winter King’s feet, pieces of eyes shaped like crystals sprouting from the floor like flowers. His glasses sit slightly askew on the tip of his nose. 

You speak, before he has the chance to say anything. “I feel… A little weird…” You say, head lolling to one side as if you’d lost control over your own muscles. Your head feels light and loose, connected to reality only by the thinnest of threads, while your skin feels alight and sensitive. All at once, it is purely and utterly overwhelming. A drop of drool slides down your chin, though you swore you had your mouth closed.

A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches. Still, his smile does not fade. “Snowflake, dear. Please open your mouth for me.” Your head feels woozier by the second. Where you were cold moments prior, a thrumming heat has settled underneath your skin. You giggle. Without thinking, you open your mouth wide. He kneels in front of you. 

The Winter King drags the tip of his pointer finger over your tongue. It’s so cool, it’s such a relief. You sigh out at the touch, your eyes sliding shut. When you open them again, though your eyes are still half-lidded, he is staring at his finger, brow furrowed. There’s a light pink sheen over the blue of his skin, shimmering in the light. You have no idea what it is. 

He sighs, heavily and dramatically. “Diagnosis: This is bad.” He places two of his hands on your face, and you shiver with delight. You let your head hang to the side, leaning into his side. For a moment, a flicker of a smile returns to his face. “You’re burning up. Okay, I know it’s going to be a little difficult, but you have to try for me, okay?” You nod. You have no idea what he’s asking for. “Okay. You’re going to try and think: Did you swallow any of it?” His fingers press hard into your cheeks. 

“Um… Maybe? I think so…” A thick fog is blanketing your every thought. Pushing your way through it is like trudging through mud, or running on sand. “She kissed me pretty deeply. I remember that. I think I was about to gag.” As soon as you can, you give up your efforts on trying to be coherent, and just nuzzle into his hands. 

The Winter King gives you a little pat on the cheek before letting go. “Thank you.” 

He straightens up, and any calm on his expression immediately melts away. The set of his face temporarily jolts you back to reality. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and mist wafts from his fingers. Instinctively, you scramble backwards, but your back is already against the bed. There is nowhere else you can go. But none of his anger is directed at you. 

Every step towards Candy Queen is a stomp. Frost forms underneath each one of his footsteps, showing exactly where he has walked. You clamber onto Candy Queen’s bed. The whole thing is a sticky mess. It’s worth it to see what’s going on. The urge to keep your eyes on the Winter King is unbearable. You feel like you fall apart the further he is away from you. Your skin itches. 

“Candy Queen,” he practically hisses out her name. “I do not care how much of a nuisance you are to me. I know you will remain that way for as long as the both of us are alive. I can tolerate her being taken, as long as I can pick her up safe and sound. But this… Feeding a mere, poor human Candy essence? Making her swallow it?” He takes another loud step, and the floor cracks underneath his feet. “Do you want her dead? Is that it? The corruption levels on someone with little to no magic exposure are far too high…!” With every word, the pitch of his voice rises. 

Candy lies on her back, lazily rotating her legs in the air. “You like her more than me. I thought I’d make her more like myself!”

The Winter King runs his fingers through his hair, almost tugging, and then groans. “I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this. Why I even bother with the likes of you.” 

Candy laughs once again. “You’re talking to me, because you likeee—” 

“Stop laughing!” His voice thunders around the room, and you shrink back. For a moment, his teeth sharpen, and his hair lifts up and moves around as if blown by an invisible wind. In the blink of an eye, Candy’s entire body is encased in ice. He breathes heavily, then laughs. “I know you’ll survive that. It wouldn’t be the first time. Your servants will thaw you out, eventually.”

Your fingers are digging into the fabric of your clothes. You feel like a block of ice has settled in your stomach. You might be out of it, you might be feeling a bit sick, but this is too intense to pass in front of your eyes without your notice. It feels like a bucket full of ice-cold water got dumped over you while you were fast asleep, a rude awakening to reality.

The Winter King takes a stumbling step back, and grabs at his face with both hands, patting down both of his cheeks. You shuffle back. For the first time, you are scared of the power that flows through his veins. It’s not something that can only create. That, in front of you, the Winter King only makes sparkles in the air, and paths for his subjects to walk on, doesn’t mean that it can’t be turned against others, too. It’s much more than the flurries of snowflakes he amuses you with when you’re bored or homesick. The further you scramble back from him, the further the feeling inside you solidifies. 

He turns on his heel and strides towards you, placing both of his hands on the foot-end of the bed, leaning forward. His eyes have always fascinated you. He has an iris and pupils like you, but they are always covered in a sheen of white. Like cataract. Still, always, you could see his eyes moving beneath this troubled layer. Now, his eyeballs are empty. There is nothing there for you to see. You tuck your legs towards you, as close as you can. 

“Princess!” He calls out, and even his voice sounds unlike his own. The Winter King tilts his head to the side, almost like he is hearing something far, far away. Then, he shakes his head, and blinks. Some of the light returns to his eyes. “No… What am I saying? I…” He visibly swallows. His fingers bunch up the bedsheets underneath his touch. He doesn’t advance any further towards you, and you are thankful for it.

“I’m sorry you’ve seen me in such a state today, snowflake. It’s unbecoming. But, please, don’t look at me like that, with such fear in your eyes. Wasn’t it I, who took you in, when you had nowhere else to go? Who gave you food, shelter, and company? My home is yours. If it weren’t for me…” He inhales, long and deep. “You can trust me. I’ve shown you that you can depend on me! What have I done for you to look at me so?”

“But… But you killed her.” You say, your voice trembling. Already, you can feel the adrenaline wearing off again. Your tongue growing sluggish, the ants moving underneath your skin. Barely, you suppress the urge to whimper.

“Pah!” He laughs, loud and short. “As if that could kill her. No, no— If it could, she’d be dead a long time ago. You wouldn’t be so eager to defend her, if you knew what kind of war is being waged inside your body right now, dear!” His voice goes up in pitch, desperation clinging to the words. Then, he seems to recompose himself, yet his words are more serious than you’ve ever heard him. 

In between the two of you, a shimmering illusion takes form in the air, one that you have seen so many times before. Usually, it pains quaint little images, from pine trees swishing gently in the trees, or his recreation from the supposed creatures around the Land of Ooo that he won’t let you see on your own. 

“As we speak, your own body is fighting itself. You can feel it, can’t you? Your skin hurts, and your thoughts are getting more and more difficult… It’ll only grow worse. That menace will turn you into a smiling, dimwitted wreck. The longer we wait, the more of yourself you’ll lose, dear. Believe me, I had every right to get upset for your sake.”

“I-is that an accurate depiction?!” You nearly squeak. 

The Winter King waves his hand. “Oh, I would call it more of an artistic one! Your situation is rather unique indeed, I had to take some liberties. But, yes, close enough.” 

Your head is swimming, your pulse quick, and your breaths even quicker. “Will I… Be okay?” But now that he has mentioned them, your symptoms only seem to grow worse by the second. Your skull is too heavy for your neck, your lips to heavy to keep closed. (And, somewhere inside you, the urge for him grows. You need to be near him. You need him to touch you. You need to be one with him.) 

   The Winter King lifts one arm into the air and flicks his wrist, almost as if he’s trying to flick your worries away. “Shh, of course you will!” He says with a sudden air of nonchalance that has your already muddled brain even more confused. “I have a laboratory for a reason! We will need to get there, though. Like, right now.” 

He walks over to the side of the bed. You no longer have any urge to turn away from him as he approaches. With every passing moment, you can feel the symptoms of the illness he described to you intensifying. It’s living, breathing proof that he’s telling the truth. You can’t forget the sight of Candy, frozen in a block of ice, on the ground. Still, he really has been the only one to ever come to your rescue. Today has thrown you off-balance, but you’re more scared of whatever parasite is wrecking its way through your body, than the man who has saved you countless times over.  

The Winter King reaches out to you, but seems to change his mind at the last moment. He turns around, going on one knee besides the bed, but with his back turned towards you. “Climb on,” he says, looking over his shoulder at you. “I know carrying you in my arms would be far more romantic and fitting, but I need to focus to get us home quickly.” 

You shuffle over, and as your arms wrap around his neck, and your legs around his waist, you feel worse and better at the same time. Physically, you are less uncomfortable. It’s like you have found the exact spot where your itch is, with the Winter King’s natural body temperature cooling down the flames lapping at your skin. At the same time, thinking clearly becomes so, so much harder. The scent of chocolate milk and pine trees, exactly as Candy had described him, fills your nose, and makes you melt. Involuntarily, you let out a whimper. 

“Poor thing,” the Winter King says as he gets up. With ease, despite the weight of you on his back. “Let’s get you home.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. Instead of walking, a pathway of ice forms right underneath the Winter King’s feet, and he skates over it with ease. Deftly, he maneuvers his way around the Candy Queen’s subjects, guards, and the machine still waiting at her entrance. As the ground underneath your feet gives away, your special path of ice doesn’t. The quickly shrinking logical part of your brain recognises that is the time for your fear of heights to kick in, but it doesn’t. Your head is just fuzzy. He is steady as ever underneath you, never losing his balance. At the same time, he has never been this quiet. You glance over your shoulder. Behind you, the ice he left behind is dissolving. 

As the quiet stretches on, it becomes harder and harder to ground yourself. Your body starts to heat up once again despite the icy wind whipping around you, and the icy man you are pressed up against. Your neck loses all its strength. In the end, your head rests sideways on his shoulder, your ear pressed against him. His hair keeps brushing, or almost touching, your face. Without shame, the concept of that seems to have left you entirely, you take a deep inhale. You’re resting so close to his ear that he has no choice except to hear it. He lets out a breathy, short laugh. 

Past his shoulder, you can see one of his fists closed, the other hand is open, with its palm opened towards the sky. Through half-open eyes, you stare. His hands are aglow with a faint blue light, the evidence of his powers. His powers… The thought catches in your brain, and doesn’t loosens. There’s something about his magic, something that you have forgotten but that your body remembers. Your gaze shifts without you prompting it to.

His crown sits in the middle of its head, as it always does. Its yellow colour seems blinding to you now, sparkling bright like starlight. The rubies on it gleam, reflecting non-existent beams of sun. You have to touch it. Just a little. Or maybe a bit more. 

The movement of your arm as you reach out is heavy and slow. It feels as if the air is made out of molten caramel, and you are slowly wading your way through it. But with the end goal so clear in sight, and so beautiful, you cannot give up. Just as your fingers are a mere hair’s length away, the Winter King’s fist closes around your wrist. For the first time, he stumbles, the walkway underneath his feet having to veer off-course to make up for it. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Winter King tuts. He keeps his hand firmly locked around you. “No touching that, snowflake. I’m aware that every single part of me is simply irresistible, but, please, keep your hands to yourself for now.” The rest of his sentence is mumbled, most of the words lost to the wind. “…hers, alright…” 

You feebly try to wriggle your way out of his hold, though it has little effect. “’S important.” You say in return, your tongue catching on the ‘s’ and drawing it out. You clench your legs around his waist tighter, shifting your weight around. 

“It’s important for you not to touch it,” he tells you in response. Tears spring to your eyes, though you aren’t sure why. They feel cold as they drip down your cheeks. As soon as they hit the Winter King’s skin, they turn into tiny, frozen pebbles. 

The Winter Kingdom looms up in front of you, all at once. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten so close to it. When the sun shines on the castle of ice just right, it’s blinding to the eyes. For a moment, a memory bubbles up to the surface of your mind: How you’d wandered here in the utter freezing temperatures, looking at cute little homes with no smoke coming from their chimneys, and how the castle had awed you enough to temporarily distract you from the cold seeping into your very bones. Now, you feel warm enough that you might never be cold again. 

What clues you in to your actual arrival is the crunching of snow underneath the Winter King’s shoes as he jumps down, and the smell of pine trees that hangs pervasive in the air, blanketing the whole kingdom.

“Home…” You mumble. Your face is so close to the Winter King’s ear however, that he hears anything you say, no matter how softly it may be spoken. 

“Yes, dearest,” he responds, giving your wrist a final squeeze. He lets go of your hand. It’s a hesitant, slow departure, like he has to pry each finger loose with effort. As if his hand was frozen to yours, and it takes time to thaw. “We’re home, now. I expect you’ll think twice before heading off on some silly trip again, won’t you?”

 You don’t respond. You hardly register what he’s saying, really. You are caught up in breathing in the cold air, filling your lungs to the brim with it, and hoping the relief will spread throughout your entire body. The layer of sweat that has settled on your skin underneath your clothes, all in different, albeit matching, shades of blue, is starting to cool off. It’s like being wrapped in a cooling blanket, and you smile. Before, all that was preventing you from clawing at your skin was the necessity of holding on to the Winter King, but now you feel no urge to scratch. 

Suddenly, the Ice Scouts’ voices burst from left and right. 

“Is she alright?”

“Should we carry her?” 

Their voices are jarring, and louder than they usually are. They are all grace and fluidity always, and you don’t notice their approach at the best of times. Now is not one of those times. Your head pounds. You bury your face further against him, in an attempt to escape it.

“She will be alright. Yes, yes,” The Winter King says, with enough casualty to make your recovery sound assured and unquestionable. (You know that you will recover, you know that you will get better, and all that you have to do is be one with him. And never let go again, forever, and ever, and ever.) “You may take her from me, but do not venture far. I must make some preparations in the lab, and search… Ahem, find the necessary instruments.”

Though the full reality of his words should have been immediately clear to you, you only start to whimper when the slender, freezing hands of an Ice Scout come into contact with your back. You cling to him like a lifeline, nails clawing at him like a cat clawing at a scratching post. Despite this, you are still smiling, wide enough for your eyes to be nearly squeezed shut. The muscles in your cheek spasm under the strain, yet you cannot stop. 

The Winter King hisses, and as he exhales, you watch the steam of his breath rise up into the air. “I hear you— Well, more like feel you, hah!” He continues, lowering his voice. “You poor thing. You must be uncomfortable enough as it is, and I would be a poor king to exacerbate it.” 

With a flick of his wrist, and a rise of his chin, he dismisses his servants. “Nevermind, you two! Can’t you see the lady herself has spoken? Off with you, now.”

You blink, and an uncertain amount of time has passed. The Winter King has looped one of his arms over yours, keeping you extra steady as he maneuvers his way through his castle. The sound of his movements is sharp. A muted thought pops into your head. For once, he’s not moving around on his shoes, but he must’ve put blades underneath them instead. He’s cutting corners. It’s funny. You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh, and even your tears are cold against your skin. 

The deeper you go into his castle, the colder it gets. His laboratory is tucked away far from where the occasional wandering visitor or servant might find it. By now, your lips are stretched high enough, and your muscles are twitching enough, for your vision to be nothing more than a blur. Still, you recognise the sound of the sliding door entrance. He had taken you here when you had first arrived, poked and prodded at you for a bit, before proclaiming you a human. Your addled brain knows what to expect here. You will be put down and left alone, the last thing you want. 

You whine. Rather than just your nose, you press your twitchy, stretched thin mouth against his skin. You are overwhelmed with the urge to lap and suck, your mouth latching on to the flesh of his throat. The Winter King lets out a shuddering sigh in response, before placing a hand against the side of your head, and pushing you away. Your mouth releases from his skin with a pop, leaving a darker mark in it's wake. 

"Dear, you are going to make me do something very unethical, if you keep that up." He laughs, and it’s an airy, weightless sound. You find yourself laughing along. 

The Winter King places his hand around your fingers, and you expect a kind, grounding gesture. One by one, he removes your fingers from the fabric of his vest. Despite protesting as much as you can, he bends your digits as easily as one does straw. He plops you down on a chair which, by the feel of it, he just manifested out of ice. 

“I stand by my earlier diagnosis, as of now. This is pretty bad.” The Winter King says, the blue blur on your vision suggesting he’s hanging over you. His heel squeaks on the floor as he turns around. “Muscle relaxant, muscle relaxant…” His muttering echoes in the room made entirely of ice. 

Your sutures have been removed too early. Feverish, sickening heat washes over you in waves. The current is too strong, and you don’t stand a chance. You press your face against the freezing back of the chair, but it’s not enough. It’s not what you need, not even close to it. You shift your weight around, rubbing your arms and legs against the sides. 

 When, on shaky legs, you attempt to get up, icy shackles click in place around your ankles with a clear snap of his fingers. You sniffle. A pitiful noise is wrenched from your throat, any words currently lots to you.

“It’s for your own safety, snowflake, I promise.” The Winter King’s voice sounds from across the room. He’s digging through drawers, shelves, and whatever else is in that corner of the room�� You’ve never looked, and you can’t hold a string of thought long enough to consider what might be. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth. The itching has grown unbearable, and your nails find their way to your arms. Through the fabric of your clothes, you scratch, hissing in the cold air through grit teeth. 

You think the whole world is falling apart you, when a cooling palm presses against your forehead. Everything’s alright again, it’s okay, it’s all fine. Your fingers slow down with each new scratch, before halting entirely. 

“This will burn a little,” the Winter King warns you. He pushes your head back a couple of degrees, and then sprays something into both of your nostrils in quick succession. Your entire face scrunches up. The warning hadn’t been unwarranted, you can feel the substance burn its way through your system. It doesn’t hurt more than your exhausted muscles, however. Tears slide down your cheeks as you try to swallow a mouthful of saliva. Your chest shakes and contracts, though you can’t tell whether they are sobs or bouts of laughter.  

“Shh, shhhh.” The Winter King attempts to shush you, kneeling in front of you as he wipes away your tears with a handkerchief. “It’s only going to get better from here on out.” As the seconds pass, some much-needed relaxation washes over your face. It cannot wipe the smile off of your face entirely. It remains, lopsided and unsteady. Still, you can see again. 

The Winter King is sitting on a tiny stool in front of you, pen in hand and taking notes. His face is uncharacteristically serious, the deep lines in his face indicating his concentration. It’s like you’re looking at a different man. 

“Dilated pupils. Unnatural facial movement, appearing as a smile…” He places one of his hands on your forehead once again, the other continuing to write. “Extremely high body heat.” Then, he moves on to place a thumb over your pulse. “Heightened heart rate.” As soon as he pulls his hand back, you reach out your arm, in an attempt to guide him back. “…And an uncontrollable urge to be close to me, it seems.” He huffs. The Winter King leans his head back, and clicks his tongue, multiple times in a row. “Well, it’s her essence, alright.” His eyes glide up and down your body. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The words are audible, but they find nowhere to hold onto inside your brain. All of the words, individually, make sense. That is where your understanding ends. There’s no way for you to string their meaning together. 

“I suspected as much.” As he cups one of your cheeks in his hand, you lean into the touch as much as you can, rubbing your nose against his palm. By now, your symptoms have worsened to the point that not even his touch can cool you down. If it weren’t for the relaxant he’d given you, you’d be straining against your cuffs in order to get to him. Your brain is focused on a single pinpoint: him. 

You no longer have a concept of shame. Both of your hands reach for his, grabbing onto his wrist, and dragging his palm over your face. It’s easy, there is no resistance from his side. When they come closer to your mouth, you lean forward, and take one of his fingers in between your lips, sucking on it. You try to appeal to him further, the only way you know how, the smile on your face widening. Your head is filled to the brim and light at the same time, stuffed full of cotton candy. 

“Winterrr…” You slur out his name, tongue caressing his finger as you do so. The world is garbled nearly beyond recognition. Both because of the intrusion, and the fact your tongue doesn’t listen to all of your unconscious commands. Your brain feels like it’s leaking out of your ears. You are hardly in control of yourself anymore. It would have been terrifying, had you had the ability to remember you were ever in control in the first place. All you know is this moment, this exact time and place. “Pleaaase…”

Drool is pooling onto your lap. The Winter King stares at you for a good few seconds, gaze intense. He doesn’t pull away, but neither does he lean in. A droplet of water slides over his forehead. For a moment, it hangs off of the tip of his nose, before dripping down, like from the point of an icicle. 

“Me? It’s me you need, snowflake? It’s me you want?” There is a breathless in his voice, an anticipation in his tone that set your nerves impossible more alight. You’re nodding. All you can recognise in his voice is a kind of desire, and you’re nodding. There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more. 

“Aaaah, can I really do this…?” The Winter King says, smiling creeping onto his face. At the same time, he’s stuffing multiple of his digits into your mouth, practically fingering you as he runs the pads of them over your teeth and tongue. His other hand finds your wrist again, and he presses down with his thumb. “It seems to calm you down.” 

He takes your tongue in between two of his fingers, and rubs both sides of it at once. Your eyes grow hazy, your head lolls to the side. Full-body shivers wreck your body, goosebumps spreading absolutely everywhere. Your core throbs. 

The Winter King laughs, clear and pretty as bells. “Well, now isn’t the time to suddenly grow a moral compass, is it? It’s clear what you want. What you need.” He pulls away from your mouth. Holding his fingers in front of his face, he looks at the strings of saliva connecting them, slowly pulling them further apart, and bringing them back together. “I don’t know anything else that might make you feel better, dear— And I’m only saying that, because I know you won’t remember a thing. Not with that pretty, little head of yours being as empty as it is right now.” 

He shakes his head. “Haaah, I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this, anymore. But it feels nice to fill the silence, doesn’t it? I do have a lovely voice. I’m sure you’d agree, if you could.” 

You squirm in your seat. Any moment without the Winter King is a moment too long, in your mind. Once again, you reach out for his hand, but he keeps it just outside of your reach. Your heart clenches. 

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll give you something much, much better.”

Your knees bump against his. You spread your legs as wide as they can possibly go, and he rests his knees on the inside of them, moving the stool closer. His smile is graceful and steady, not flush on his cheeks to be seen. With two fingers, he grabs his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, folds the legs up, and puts it on a table a little to the side. It would be a great show of self-restraint. Would be, because his hands are trembling. His every breath is a puff of smoke. You might be a total mess, but he is cracking at the seams himself. 

He holds your face in both of his hands, one of his fingers rubbing circles on your cheek. The Winter King leans in, angling his face just right, so his nose doesn’t end up anywhere you wouldn’t want it to be. It’s all you’ve ever read or heard about. Descriptions of kisses that feel like fireworks going off, or butterflies eating away at your insides— It’s more overwhelming than any of that. Your whole body feels as if it’s been alight at once. His lips are silky smooth, and merely cool to the touch, rather than cold.

One of his hand moves to rest on top of your hair, adjusting the position of your head just a tad. Your mouth is already hanging open. Frankly, your entire jaw is slack. You couldn’t even close it if you had tried, so little control over your muscles do you have left. His tongue slips inside you without any effort or resistance. It brushes against yours, and…

He breaks the moment. The Winter King jerks his head back, smacking his lips together. His face is ever so slightly scrunched up. You lean forward as best as you can, trying to follow the kiss and recapture it, to no avail. Instead, you settle for what you can. You lick the remainder of his touch from your lips. 

“Sorry about that, snowflake,” he says, voice low. “You still taste like her. It surprised me, that’s all. It’s not your fault.” He hums, leaning in close again, and a more teasing smile plays around his lips. “Let’s change that together, shall we?”

The Winter King kisses you with renewed energy. It’s like he sets out to reclaim crevice over your mouth, his tongue running over both your tongue and palate. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes once again, and your entire body is shaking. With what limited power you have, you suck his tongue further into your mouth, as hard as you can. For the first time, Winter’s control wavers, and he lets out a muffled little noise. 

This is it, this is exactly it, and as soon as you think that, it’s not enough anymore. You need him further inside you, you need infinitely more of him. Merely his spit mixing with yours isn’t deep enough of a connection. 

With a bit of effort, the Winter King detaches his mouth from yours. A thick string of drool connects your mouths. He catches it on his finger, and stuffs it back inside your mouth. His eyes are half-lidded and his smile is as lopsided of your own, a dark blue hue tinting the space underneath his eyes. 

“Heehee,” he laughs, out of breath. His cobalt tongue peeks past his lips for just a moment. “Oh, dear, you’re not trying to eat me, are you?” 

Your head grows a little clearer, the more and more he touches you. Not enough to speak, but enough to understand what he’s saying again. You shake your head. The whole world spins around you at the motion, swirling with seasickness. Eating is not quite right. 

His eyes light up at the evidence of your understanding, little stars twinkling in his eyes as he claps his hands together. He has such silly ways to show his excitement. It’s really, really cute. 

As soon as the thought forms in your head, it quickly slips back out of your fingers. Your arms itch. Every time you feel release, it never lasts. It hurts. Once again, your tears threaten to spill over, and your fingers claw at the armrests of your impromptu, icy chair. They find nothing to hold on to. 

“It’s not enough, hm? Of course it isn’t. You greedy little thing,” he says with nothing except for affection in his tone. “I think I know what you want snowflake. Allow me to help.”

The Winter King lowers his hands, one of them tapping in a steady rhythm on the inside of your thigh, while the other pressed against your clothed crotch. Your legs were already spread wide open for him. The coldness of his fingers radiates even through the fabric of your clothes. As he starts to rub, teasingly pulling at your waistband, before letting the fabric hit your skin again, your whole body seizes. This… Isn’t it. This isn’t making the heat any better, it’s only making it worse.

Your ankles push up against your restraints. You try to wriggle away, and put both of your hands on his arm. The Winter King immediately relents. He holds both of his hands in front of his chest, turned toward you in a sign of surrender. You close your thighs, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Well, that’s a ‘no’. Clearly. You didn’t need your voice to tell me that much.” His gaze drifts down to his hands, then back to your face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, snowflake. I simply assumed… It’d be a lot easier if you could talk to me, but I know that’s not an option right now. Alas.”

He stands up, and pushes the stool backward with his foot. “You can understand what I’m saying, so let’s do it like this. I ask you now: What do you want?” The Winter King runs a hand through his hair, flipping it over his shoulder. “I know I love to make things about myself, but in this situation… Let’s not. Maybe try to point at what you want, hm?” 

Slowly, you nod. Without really thinking about it, you reach out and press your hand against the obvious bulge in his pants, before pointing at your mouth with your other hand. All the while, you’re smiling up at him. 

The Winter King lets out a sound somewhere in between a cough and a laugh, before genuinely cracking up. “Ha— Hahaha, oh, snowflake… Really, I know I should be worried about your life right now, and trust me, I am, but… Ohhh, you’re even flustering me at this rate,” He winks at you, a blue flush having spread over most of his face. “And that’s an achievement, you can trust me on that. Though I should have expected that kind of response, shouldn’t I?” He drags a finger quickly past the corner of his eye, like wiping away a single tear. 

He places his hand over his chest. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll let you suck my cock, dear…! Kidding. I’d let you do that any day.” Even in your current state, you can tell he’s finding himself far too hilarious, as usual. You groan, contemplating hitting him, before your addled brain comes up with a much better idea. 

You massage him through his pants, cupping and squeezing him. Immediately the majority of the smile melts off of his face, and he hisses in a breath. 

“Yes, yes, dearest. I understand. Your wish is my command. Let go for a moment now, will you?” 

He pulls his pants and underwear down the minimal amount, entirely dressed excepted the hard cock a little way away from your face. Underneath you, the chair made out of ice molds and changes, presenting you at the perfect height to suck him off. 

All of this floats right by you. You go nearly cross-eyed while staring at his cock. It’s pretty and thick, with a bead of precum on the top. Though, at this point, you don’t care what it looks like. Your entire body is wound tight, full of anticipation for this exact, specific moment. You feel like your mouth is dry from how much you’ve been drooling, trails of saliva turning to near-frost on your skin. 

His fingers lace themselves through your hair, most of his hand at the back of your head. “That’s a delicious look on you, snowflake. You should reserve it just for me, yes?” His nails tickle as he presses his dick against your lips, smearing himself over them. With no hesitation, you open your mouth and take his head in. Immediately, he lets out a sigh, his eyes rolling up. 

“I’d forgotten how warm a human mouth is… I love it.” He moans, loud and unapologetic as you suck on him, tongue still too relaxed to move much. The taste of him, especially his precum, flits through your mind for just a moment. It doesn’t taste like much of anything, almost like water. “You’re doing wonderful, sweetheart. 

You try to lean forward, wanting to take as much of him in at once in your feverish haze. The Winter King, however, keeps a steady hold on you, and keeps your head firmly against the back of your seat. He shushes you as you protest around him. 

(Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, underneath the layers of magic you’ve been put under, there is shame. You must look like a mess right now. Unlike yourself, smiling creepily around his cock, and forward in a way you wouldn’t have been otherwise. Whatever you’re doing to him can be described as sloppy as best. You would have preferred your first time with him to be anything except for this, something stained with urgency beyond simple desire. Yet, he looks at you like there is nothing ugly about you.)

“I’m going to help you take as much of as me as possible, sweetheart. But not like that.” He pets the top of your head. “Deep breaths, deep breaths. Or…” He hums, lost in thought for a moment. His cock twitches inside your mouth. “I wonder, would that spray have relaxed your gag reflex as well?”

You don’t notice his scientific curiosity. All you can tell is that he’s given you exactly what you’d been fantasizing about, and you hum in pleasure around his dick. You’re right where you’re supposed to be, you’re one. You can’t be much more than a cocksleeve wrapped around him, but the Winter King doesn’t seem too mind. He breathes heavily, starting out with shallow thrusts in your mouth, that push beyond what your body should be able to handle without any issue. You have no urge to gag, and you smile wider. 

“Ohhh, that’s so hot,” he gasps out. “You’ve given me some wonderful ideas for the future, snowflake,” he babbles to no one except himself. “I wasn’t even planning on getting myself off during this, dear, but this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He lets out a long groan as he bottoms out inside your mouth, simply reveling in the warm, wet heat of you. 

“Mm, next time, I’ll truly make this all about you, promise.” He rubs your hair in an affectionate, soothing manner. “I don’t want this to end just yet,” he admits, laughter breathy. “But that would be awfully selfish of me, wouldn’t it?”

You stare up at him through hazy eyes that are glossy with tears. This is good, it’s beautiful, it’s wonderful, but you need him to cum right down your throat. The inside of your mouth is so cold, cold enough that you feel like your tongue might freeze to the bottom of your mouth. That he won’t be able to pull out by the time he’s done with you, and be stuck inside you for the next couple of hours. You shudder with nothing but pleasure. 

Yet, this prospect is not enough to drive out the immediate need inside you, and you look at the Winter King which as must pleading as you think you can muster. You hum around his cock, running your tongue along the underside of him the best he can.  

“I know, snowflake, I know,” he says and, then, starts to move once again, always keeping more than half of his cock inside your mouth. “I can tell you I usually last longer than this,” he says, starting to ramble again. “But for you, for you, I will—”

He lets out a guttural moan, pulled from the depths of his throat as his fingers twitch against your scalp. It’s your name he whines out as he cums right down your throat, his hips jerking forwards a few more times as he releases every last drop inside of you. You don’t even have to swallow to take all of it in. Without thinking about it at all, you try to speak yourself, though the words are obviously lost to him, nothing more than gurgles. (You love, him, you love him, you love him.)

Resting his hand on the back of the chair, he looms over you, breathing heavily. Droplets of water run down his face, and drip down his nose. His shoulder are slumped in bliss, his face entirely relaxed, and without pretense. Mindlessly, you continue to suck on his cock, though some of the fog inside your head is already starting to clear. The Winter King hisses and pulls out.

“A bit too soon for that, my snowflake.” 

He pets your head for a few seconds longer, and with slightly shaky hands wipes the area around your mouth clean. The fact it doesn’t freeze on your skin is a testament to his amount of self-control. You rest your head against the, honestly, uncomfortable chair, and close your eyes.

You breathe deeply, in and out. The itching underneath your skin is the first thing that disappears. It’s like your whole body has been cleansed, rinsed from all of the filth. Instead of feeling warm, a complete and utter chill is wrapping itself around your body. Your teeth start to clatter together with an audible clicking sound, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

You groan as you blink, time and time again. You feel like garbage. Utter garbage, in fact. You’re shivering with the kind of cold-heat only found in illness, and it feels as if there’s ice in your mouth. Like your teeth are frozen against each other, completely stuck. That’s not even mentioning your eyelids, which are as heavy as rocks. 

It’s only when you feel something wrapping around you, multiple times, in fact, that you become aware of more than your bodily discomfort. You try to move your arms and legs, but find it nearly impossible to do so. You manage to crack open your eyes. The sight of the Winter King, carrying another blanket in his arms, becomes obvious to you. You’re already swaddled in the things.

“N-no. That’s enough.” You nearly flinch from how poorly your own voice sounds. “Did you really need to use that many blankets…?” You ask, your throat sore and voice hoarse. Your memories are hazy at best. You remember going to Candy’s place to hang out, and then… Wait, uh, are you remembering wrong, or did she kiss you? You don’t have much time to ponder it, as the Winter King is immediately all over you. 

“Oh, dearest!” He drops to his knees in front of you, shaking you around. “I thought you were done for, truly! All at once, you became freezing…! I really didn’t have a clue what to do, as you know, my specialty doesn’t lie in heating things up,” he continues, rambling. He’s speaking enough that you know he’s been genuinely worried. “I’m glad you’re okay, well, you seem fine enough to me! Believe me, I was about to chuck you into the hot springs.”

“Hot springs?” You ask, frowning. Since when do you have hot springs?

“Forget I said that.” He says, incredibly quickly, within a single breath. You snort, cracking up a little. Laughing, for whatever reason, is hurting your chest. “Nooo, none of that, snowflake! You’re being awfully cruel to me. I told you to forget about it, didn’t I?” But as you laugh more, his own smile widens, soft around the edges as it is. 

“Tell me about the hot springs,” you say. He sighs loudly, and scoops you off of your seat and into his arms, making you sputter. As bundled up as you are however, you can’t protest at all. You must look very silly to an outside observer. It’s only then that you notice that you are in his laboratory. You really have to ask what happened exactly later.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a groan.

“Well, it’s clearly not anymore, so you should just tell me already.” The offended look on his face only makes you chuckle again. 

“It’s what I’ve been working on, on and off for the past few weeks,” he says, relenting to your wishes as he exits the room. Maybe you shouldn’t be as used to being carried around like this, but you hardly think about it anymore. “I figured that you needed to have a place to warm up, for once! It’s near the mountains. I had to dig it up, all on my own! None of my subjects want to get anywhere close to hot water, can you imagine?”

You totally can, but you digress. 

“So, well… That’s the reason I haven’t been around as much lately, dearest. And I guess that’s exactly what sent you off running into her arms, hm?” You pinches your cheek, a little too hard to be merely affectionate.

“Well, I wouldn’t really call it—” You protest.

“You must have been awfully lonely indeed!” He loudly continues, rubbing his thumb over the spot he’d just pinched. “But I will be honest with you, dear, you were in a dangerous situation today. Do you truly think I warned you so, so many times, merely for the sake of it? You could have died, all because of a whim of hers!”

“Is that what happened?” You ask, voice soft, nearly a whisper.

“Oh? You can’t remember?” You shake your head. “Yes, that is exactly what happened. She corrupted you, a human, with her essence, something no creature is made to handle, but especially not you. You are lucky to make out with some mere soreness, I can promise you that.” He smiles, but you can tell there’s no humour in him. For once, he is walking instead of skating, each step placed with purpose. “I think it would be better for you if you didn’t try to be kidnapped by her anymore, hm? If you enjoy near-death experiences that much, I can arrange one for you.”

You laugh awkwardly, because you are assuming it’s a joke. What else could it possibly be? “I… Yeah, I won’t go there anymore. Sorry for worrying you. I didn’t mean to, honestly.” That seals off your route to the last place you could go outside of the kingdom. He’s never let you wander far, and you can only guess he’ll be even more protective from now on.

For a few moments, he holds your gaze, and then he leans down to give you a kiss on your forehead. “I forgive you.” You feel a little less cold than before, despite his lips being far from warm. “Really though, that wasn’t your smartest decision. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you tell him. He clicks his tongue, and you move to defend yourself. “Look, okay, my mouth feels really weird, and I have no idea why! I’ve never felt anything like it. My teeth keep sticking to each other.” 

He goes quiet for a few seconds, playing with the edge of one of the blankets wrapped around you. “It must be a leftover symptom from your corruption. The phenomenon is not well-documented, especially not in humans.”

Even through all of the thick blankets wrapped around you, you are starting to shiver. Winter feels it, and hugs you closer to his chest.

“It’s a good thing I was going to show you those hot springs!” He chirps, tone suddenly shifting to his usual cadence. You are happy to chalk all of your strange feelings up to the corruption you’d suffered. Of course, the reason you woke up in his lab was because he was monitoring your health. “Both of us could use a little warming up, I would say.”

There are things you have left behind. Somewhere, out there in this vast, vast multiverse, there is a home waiting for you. Perhaps with family and friends searching for you, worrying themselves sick. But if that is the case, you remember none of it. You are happy here, in the Winter Kingdom, at the side of its king. If you are happy here, and you are, you don’t think anyone could blame you for wanting to stay, could they?

The world outside of here is so, so dangerous. He has warned you about it all an infinite number of times. You really do think you would like to stay here, for the rest of the life that stretches ahead of you. 

“Winter…?” You say softly, your tone bordering on questioning. He hums in response, milky white eyes meeting your own. “Thank you. For everything.”

He hugs you close to his chest, and does a little spin on the tips of his toes. You laugh. By this point, you are used to his theatrics, and know that he won’t let you fall. Little hearts made from his ice powers drift in the air next to his head, before dissolving into powder snow. 

“I love you too, snowflake.” His voice is a singsong whisper, and your heart melts.

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 15

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 3,084

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Read on Ao3

[this chapter is explicit]

You awaken the next morning with a pounding headache, tossing and turning for an hour or two before finally accepting the fact that you’re not going to fall back to sleep.

You haul yourself out of bed, head spinning and stomach gurgling unpleasantly. Pulling on your robe, you step out of the bedroom, the sunlight pouring through the main chamber’s windows offensive to your squinting eyes.

Thinking back on the events of last night, you recall Gwaine kissing you, the memory sending a pleasant jolt through your body. Having no appetite for breakfast just now, you decide to see how Gwaine is fairing. Returning to your bedroom, you splash your face with water from the basin, get dressed and run the brush through your hair, which is still holding some curl from last night, so you leave it uncovered.

You knock upon arrival at Gwaine’s chamber door, hearing a shuffling from within before he answers, wearing just a loose shirt and trousers, his feet bare and hair slightly dishevelled.

“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” He steps aside so you may enter.

“I feel terrible. My head…” You sigh as you step inside, pressing your fingers against your temples. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, just tired really. These days it takes a lot for me to get a hangover,” He grins.

You shuffle to the table and take a seat, Gwaine following your lead and sitting opposite you.

“Have you had anything to eat?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I don’t have much of an appetite,”

“It may not feel like it now, but eating can actually help you feel better. I’ll fetch us something from the kitchens,”

“You don’t have to do that,” You protest.

“Well, I don’t really feel like cooking, do you?”

You shake your head with a smile.

“And besides,” Gwaine continues. “I’m getting hungry. See you soon,”

You stay seated at the table for the first few minutes, but soon grow uncomfortable on the hard chair, so you cross the room to Gwaine’s bed. Your body aches, presumably from the dancing last night, so you lie down, just until Gwaine returns.

You wake up, confused at first as to where you are, until you turn your head to see Gwaine looking at you from the table. You quickly sit up, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I was just trying to get comfortable until you got back. I didn’t plan on falling asleep,” You notice the empty plate in front of him, and the full plate across the table. “How long ago did you return?”

“About half an hour ago,”

You groan as you stand up and head for the table, sitting across from Gwaine and pulling your plate towards you.

“Why didn’t you wake me? Surely the food’s gone cold,” You poke at the rashers of bacon before taking a bite of buttered toast.

“You clearly needed the rest, and besides,” Gwaine smirks. “I liked the way you looked in my bed,”

You cease chewing and look at him, feeling the hot flush coming over your cheeks. He stares back, expression blank apart from a twinkle in his eyes, before breaking into a grin. You shake your head with a smile, taking a bite from a crispy slice of apple.

“Cheeky,” You mutter.

“Only because I like to make you blush,”

“It’s not fair to tease me today, I’m an invalid,” You take another bite of toast.

“Very well, I’ll save it for tomorrow,”

You look up. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I want to take you on another picnic, to the other spot I showed you last time,”

“By the stream?”

“That’s the one. What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect,”

~

After breakfast the next morning, you visit the market to restock on groceries. Once returning to your chambers and putting your shopping away, it isn’t long before Gwaine arrives. You go with him to the stables, where there are three horses ready and waiting, just like last time. He helps you to mount, mounts his own horse and you’re on your way.

Once out of the city walls, you ride along a path that skirts the woods. Since it’s the same path you took on your last outing with Gwaine, you should feel at ease, but you can’t shake the tense weight that has formed in your chest, finding yourself gripping the reins extra tight, your knuckles white. Any rustle or crack from the direction of the woods has you frantically scanning the tree line, searching for any figures, any danger. Your mouth dries up, jaw clenches, and you urge yourself to calm down, to enjoy the day, but your heart thrums in your chest.

A dark shape darts through the trees and you let out a frightened shout, startling your horse, who rears its head and frets. It’s happening again. Your stomach twists as you wait for rough hands to grab you, and you squeeze your eyelids shut, breathing rapidly.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

You hear Gwaine’s concerned voice and open your eyes. He’s turned his horse to face you, his brow furrowed as he looks you over. Your heart thumps so hard, you’re surprised he can’t hear it, and you feel as if you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

“I can’t,” You pant. “I can’t do this,”

You feel too high up, too exposed. You fumble in the saddle, swinging a leg over to dismount clumsily. Gwaine dismounts from his horse, his movement much more practiced, and rushes toward you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong? Talk to me,”

You glance to the tree line, but stay silent.

“(Y/N),” Gwaine cups your cheek and presses his forehead against yours. “Please tell me what’s wrong,”

You try to steady your breathing, but your voice remains shaky. “Some… someone could be hiding in the trees. I thought I saw… I don’t know… I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gwaine,”

Your voice cracks and Gwaine envelops you in his arms, your face buried in the crook of his shoulder as he strokes your back gently.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t think,”

You hold him tight, just letting your tears soak into his shirt for a few moments, before he pulls back, holding your face in his hands as he looks you in the eye.

“I promise you, there are no bandits in these woods. They wouldn’t dare come this close to Camelot. In all my patrols, I’ve never seen any bandits hiding out around here. The only things moving about in there are animals. Birds, squirrels… no one is going to hurt you,”

He embraces you again, a hand stroking your hair gently.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine,” You whisper.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,”

He holds you until your breathing slows and your grip on him loosens, when he pulls back and takes your hands in his.

“Do you want to turn back?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I want to keep going,”

“I don’t want you to just say what you think I want to hear. I don’t mind if we turn around. I won’t be disappointed of anything like that. So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t want this to spoil our day out. I want to ride on, just…” Your eyes dart to the tree line.

“Would it help if you rode with me?”

“I… I think perhaps it would,”

“Alright,” He takes your horses reins, tying them to his, as he did with the pack horse. He leads you to his horse and gives you a leg-up. Once you’re settled in the saddle, he climbs on in front of you. Slipping your arms around his waist, you rest your cheek against his back and he urges the horse forward.

Riding with Gwaine makes you feel much less vulnerable, proving a comfort to have him so close. While your gaze still wanders to the edge of the woods, his words repeat in your mind: They wouldn’t dare come this close to Camelot.

After a while of gentle riding, you arrive at the clearing by the stream, the area even more beautiful than the last time you saw it due to the changing colours of the leaves. Gwaine brings the horse to a halt and dismounts, offering his hand to aid you in doing the same. You help him to remove the saddlebags from the pack horse and lay out the blankets, Gwaine setting out the plates and food. You notice some of the same items as last time, along with some new additions, such as fruit and custard buns, and the same pies you brought to the indoor picnic in Gwaine’s chambers.

“This looks lovely,” You say as you sit on the corner of one of the blankets, legs tucked under you.

He sits down beside you. “You may have noticed that it isn’t all from the palace kitchens this time,”

“I did notice,” You reach for one of the fruit and custard buns. “From our first meal together,” You hold up the bun with a smile.

“Yes, I think that fact has made me even more fond of them now,”

You think back to your first picnic, and how you quashed the urge to kiss him then. Swallowing your last mouthful of the bun, you lean toward Gwaine, pressing your lips gently onto his.

“You know,” You say as you pull away. “I wanted to do that the first time you brought me out,”

“Really?” Gwaine quirks a brow in astonishment.

“Yes, really,” You chuckle, loading up your plate with a bit of everything.

Once you’ve both had your fill, you put your plate aside and lie back on the blanket, looking through the forest’s canopy to the cloudy sky above. Gwaine shortly joins you, arms folded behind his head.

“It’s so peaceful here,” You remark, taking note of the gentle breeze through the leaves, some of which fall from their branches and slowly flutter to the forest floor.

You shuffle closer to Gwaine, your body pressed against his side, and rest your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around him.

You sigh. “This is much better without your armour on,”

He slips an arm behind your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. You feel complete bliss, as if you’ve never been so comfortable in your life and could stay like this forever. Gwaine lightly traces circles with his finger on the bare skin of your shoulder, just above the neckline of your blouse, your skin sensitive to his touch. The only skin-on-skin contact you’ve had with him, apart from recent kisses, has been your hands in one another’s. His gentle touches now have you wanting more.

You shuffle up, propping yourself on one elbow, your face now level with Gwaine’s, and kiss him, tenderly but passionately. You pull back and look him over, giving him a sly smile, before kissing him again, on his neck, swiftly sweeping your tongue over the skin, as you slip a hand underneath the neckline of his shirt, against the skin of his bare chest. He nudges you onto your back, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the skin of your inner wrist. You watch intently as he plants delicate kisses up your arm, making you wish your sleeves weren’t a barrier between your skin and his lips, until at last he reaches your shoulder, past the neckline of your blouse, and kisses the bare skin along your collarbone. He moves up your neck, every kiss like a pleasurable little spark.

He kisses the curve of your jaw, just under your ear, and you turn your head as he pulls back, lips parted. He lowers again, his lips meeting yours, softly at first, but then deepening the kiss, flicking his tongue over your bottom lip. You reach out, combing your fingers through his hair, as he strokes his fingers down to the hollow of your neck, gliding down until reaching your bodice lacing. He breaks the kiss, pulling back, searching your face for permission. You reach for your bodice, untying the knot and unlacing the first few eyelets. Gwaine takes over, hooking a finger under each crossed lace and pulling it through until reaching the bottom. As he removes the last section of lacing, your bodice falls open, revealing the shape of your breasts under your blouse. Gwaine casts the lacing aside and puts a hand around your waist, feeling the curve of it through the fabric, before moving up and cupping your breasts. You reach for the top of your blouse and untie the drawstring, the neckline loosening around your shoulders and chest. Gwaine hooks his fingers around the edge of the fabric and pulls it down, exposing your breasts. He stops to admire them, his eyes dark with arousal, before taking one in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nipple while gently squeezing with his hands. He moves to the other and does the same, before shifting his position and sliding a hand under your skirt and up your leg, his body pressed against your other thigh, where you can feel his hardness against you. A warmth pools between your folds, his evident desire for you fanning the flames of your own.

His fingers brush against the soft skin of your inner thigh, creeping their way up until brushing along the crease where your leg meets your body. He pulls his head back to look at you, his pupils large with desire.

“With your permission, my lady?” His mouth is set in a devilish smile, though he has become completely still, awaiting your response.

You nod. He moves his fingers over your core, feeling the shape of you, then slips a finger between your folds, your slickness immediately evident. He looks up, brows raised.

“Don’t act so surprised,” You laugh. “When you’ve taken your time threatening to make love to me,”

He grins and moves up to kiss you, his hand staying between your legs as he starts to rub small circles over your sensitive bud. He sucks on your bottom lip and slightly pulls back, allowing your sigh of pleasure to escape, before kissing you again, nipping your lip with his teeth. He gives a mischievous smile as he moves back, hitching your skirt up over your knees and lowering his head down between your legs, his hot tongue flicking across your clit. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“You don’t have to do that,”

He looks up. “Do you not want me to?”

“No, I mean, I like it, just… what about you? Don’t you want anything?”

He chuckles. “This here is exactly what I want,”

You feel your face become hot.

“There are those rosy cheeks I love so much,” He grins, before ducking his head down and continuing, tongue flicking and swirling.

In your building pleasure, you tip your head back, losing yourself in the sky. He teases around your entrance with a finger before slipping it inside you, your breath hitching as he slowly pumps in and out, stroking the place inside which teases the bliss to come.

He works for a time with one finger, while his tongue continues pleasuring you, before adding a second finger, gradually getting faster, his tongue working to keep up. Pleasure builds in your core, and you can feel yourself nearing your crescendo. Propping yourself up again, you watch Gwaine as he works, his dark hair curtaining his face.

He hooks his arms around your thighs, grasping them firmly. Reaching down, you run your hands through his hair, tilting your hips upwards, desperate for release as the sight of him pleasuring you magnifies your sensations. Sensing the crescendo approaching, you hold your breath and brace your body, fist clenched around his dark locks, your core tightening around his fingers until you reach your climax, your entire body releasing, panting moans bursting from you as your core pulses.

Gwaine shifts up and kisses you, the taste of you still on his lips, his fingers still inside you as your pleasure pools around them. Wrapping your arms around him, you hold him close as you ride out the remainder of your pleasure, chest heaving, until at last it calms, your breathing slowing, though your heart still hammers within your chest.

Gwaine gently removes his fingers and rolls over to lie next to you. You nuzzle into his shoulder, resting a palm on his chest.

“Any good?” He asks.

You look up to see him smirking at you.

“What if I said no?”

“I’d say that judging by those sounds you were making, you’d be lying,”

“Then don’t ask silly questions,” You grin.

Slowly tracing down his body with your fingertips, you reach under the hem of his shirt, rubbing your palm along his bare skin, slipping your hand under the waistband of his trousers.

“Your turn now?”

He sighs. “I’m afraid not,” He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your fingers as he turns on his side to face you. “I need to head back for training,”

“Training? Should you really be doing that yet?”

“Gaius gave me the all-clear, so long as I slowly work up to things,”

“Might you… skip it, just this once?”

He grins. “I would love to, but I figure, if I don’t show up to training, Arthur will punish me, and he’ll have me polishing boots or scrubbing floors in my free time. But if I just go to training, like the well-behaved knight that I am,” He gives you a sly look. “Then I’ll have the rest of my time free to do whatever I please,”

“That is sound reasoning,” You reply. “So, what about after training?”

Gwaine chuckles, but shakes his head. “I said I’d have dinner with Merlin. I wanted to thank him for all his help these last few weeks. He’s been a good friend,”

Your disappointed must be evident on your face, as Gwaine strokes your cheek with the back of his finger.

“But perhaps I could put it off?”

“No, I don’t want you to put me before your friends,” You reply. “And I’m sure Merlin has been looking forward to spending time with you,”

He smiles and kisses your forehead.

“Since you’re having dinner with Merlin tonight, perhaps you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow? Just me and you, in my chambers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,”

[queen-of-prophecy]

"My oh my......"

"Now how did you come to find your way into my Tower hmm??? Curious considering how it doesn't have any doors. Mostly naughty of you darling, breaking into my house-"

"Ah! Nevermind. I actually predicted your visit some time ago. You're right on schedule."

"Welcome to my Emerald Tower! The most mysterious and magnificent of any kind you'll find in Hell, surely. Here is where I, Queen Vine of the Ars Goetia, Beholder of Fate, The All-Seer, ruler of the Witchholm and loveliest of all those who Fell reside!"

"By the way, if you need the wifi password, it's P@im0nstinks12."

"So by all means! Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you have many questions-"

Rules And Bio Below! Please read before interacting!

Rules:

Vine is capable of near perfect foresight, and thus can see the past, present and future of whomever she wishes with the exception of anomalies. However, I will not have Vine predict the future without consulting my RP partner about it first, or without establishing them as a said anomaly. If we can’t agree on what can be disclosed to Vine, or if you disagree with my decision to make or not make them an anomaly, please accept my decision if I choose not to continue the RP with you

Vine has extremely narcissistic habits, and is also a very privileged person. Her viewpoints are not going to always be my own, and she is bound to step on toes. I will always try to keep my partners informed of what she’s going to do in the RP, but if Vine does or says something that offends you personally, SPEAK UP. If Vine acting like an entitled queen is going to be offensive to you, we need to stop so we can avoid hurt feelings. This also goes for any element of plotting that you’re uncomfortable with. It’s much easier to do a full stop than to carry on with draa.

Vine is not interested in marriage or children. She can be reciprocative of flirting, but as someone who is demisexual and demiromantic, it takes her a long time to establish love and trust for someone. And this love is not necessarily healthy. If you want to do shipping, or plot romances, be aware Vine will not always act in your muses’ best interests.

I am open to RPing with minors. However I will not RP anything with graphic violence, sex, or other mature themes with you. If I find you’re lying about your age to RP these themes, it will be a full block, and I will delete all threads. This is the only warning you get.

I am open to all OCs and canon characters. If you want to drop little asks, my inbox is always open. However I typically will ask permission to the mun before dropping asks. If I haven’t asked yet, feel free to ping me and give me permission or ask me to. Communication is key!

Please be polite and understanding. All of what we’re doing on here is meant to be for fun, not to be taken seriously. I will respect your opinions and views so long as you respect mine. If I feel any communication is becoming unhealthy or nonexistent, don’t expect me to continue doing RPs with you.

Queen Vine is based on the demon King Vine of the Lesser Key of Solomon. Obviously this is not a canon version of that character, but only an inspiration. Still, as such, Queen Vine does have dominion over her own territory, and as such tends to do what she likes. If you actively want to RP her being a bully, be prepared!

I am perfectly accepting of other people's headcanons and bios, even if they contradict my own. For example, if you play Lucifer but do not have the same backstory as described here, that's fine! Its your character, they don't need to match up 100%

Have fun! Vine may be an omnipotent Queen but she’s also a drama mama wine aunt and spends her days writing fanfics. So enjoy that :D

All Art is made by @trissschmidt43!)

Name: Vine

Sex: Female

Age: ????

Birthday: May 1st (Taurus) / Beltane

Sexuality: Demisexual

Demon Class: Goetia (Pel’s Fishing Owl)

Location: The Royal Circle (Pride Ring)

(eldritch form below)

Bio:

In the beginning there were the orders of angels who were set to safeguard humanity and care for God’s wonderful creations on Earth. Among them were the Ophanim, or the Thrones, who worked under the Seraphim to establish to pillars of wisdom that would insure Heaven stood supreme. The Ophanim were mostly paired siblings, including two particular Ophanim, Paimon and Vine.

The role of Paimon and Vine were as herald and scribe respectively. Paimon would be responsible for announcing the edict of the Heavens, and spoke with a powerful, captivating voice. And Vine would be the writer of histories and proclamations, documenting the past, present and future. The two siblings were proud of their public roles, and served, more or less, as the Voices of God.

However, when the Morningstar came to power, things changed.

Lucifer Morningstar was a Seraphim. Beautiful, brilliant, charming and well-liked by the Ophanim, he had become somewhat of a stand-out due to his extravagant ideas for how the Earth should operate, in particular caring for the future of humanity. But he was often put down by his fellow Seraphim and the elder council of angels, who found his ideas too outlandish and believing they should obey the order of God instead. The siblings Paimon and Vine however, found Lucifer’s ideas captivating, and believed that a strong leader should be capable of thinking big. And with God so elusive and difficult to commune with, soon the siblings found themselves siding more and more with Lucifer.

And then it happened.

Lilith, the wife of Adam, found she could not bear to submit to his will and be treated as a lesser being. Though the two had been created as equals, Adam had been increasingly more demanding, and thus the two broke away, Lilith choosing to live away from the enclosed garden. Lucifer understood her desire for autonomy, and admired her. The two met, and fell in love. Heaven had been swift to give Adam another wife, a more humble and gentle Eve, but Lucifer and Lilith felt that the mother of humanity deserved to be able to give the same gift Lilith had been born with. The power to choose for oneself.

And thus, the event that would shape history forever happened. Slipping into the garden, Lucifer offered Eve the Apple. It would allow her to be able to distinguish good from evil, give her wisdom and knowledge, and grant her the free will to decide of her own volition. Eve in her innocence, accepted.

But once it was made clear that the Mother of Humanity had done so, Heaven was enraged.

Eve had been tainted by the Apple. And what was worse, was that she already carried the future generation of humanity in her belly. Worse still, Adam learned of what she had done, and chose to taste the Apple himself, not wishing his wife to suffer alone. With humanity’s future now uncertain, the Seraphim swiftly punished Lucifer and Lilith and cast them down into Hell….a dark, foreboding place no angel dared tread.

The greatest of dangers was yet to come.

For Lucifer had left many friends behind in the Ophanim, who were horrified and outraged at the Elders act of cruelty against their beloved Seraphim. Paimon in particular was crushed, as he had deeply admired Lucifer and his bold take on things. Not willing to let this go without consequence, Paimon spoke to the other Ophanim, all seventy-two of them, and convinced them that they should stand in support of their friend. Not only them, but six other Seraphim who had been close to Lucifer as well, and viewed him as a brother, agreed that Lucifer had been unjustly punished….especially after seeing that humanity had been cast out of the Garden of Eden due to this.

As for Vine, she decided to take the first step. With the stroke of a pen, she wrote in the sacred book of God that Lucifer was to be the future of humanity, now and forever. With one act, she and Paimon set themselves as proud rebels against Heaven, demanding the return of Lucifer and Lilith and the restoration of mankind to the Garden of Eden.

Their defiance took a bloody turn. Angels warred against angels, and in the aftermath, all the rebels were swiftly punished and cast down to join the man they had sided with. But for Vine, who had emulated her leader in boldness, there was a special punishment awaiting her.

After the battle had sent most of her fellow Ophanim into Hell, Vine and her brother Paimon were chained and brought before the Elders. Though Paimon had coerced his fellow angels to rebellion, Vine had committed the first act of heresy in history by going against the will of God, and declaring another to be a greater power. With Paimon watching, the angels cut Vine’s hands from her wrists, declaring she would never again be permitted to write such heresy. While still howling in agony, the two siblings were cast down, the last to fall, and the impact of their rebellion cemented.

Lucifer and Lilith had not expected company, but after seeing so many of their fellow angels scattered, wounded, and morphed beyond recognition, they understood they needed to take control. With Lilith leading the way, supporting her new husband and great love, the two established their dominion over Hell. The six Seraphim who had fought and fell first became part of the Seven Deadly Sins, with Lucifer reigning as King of Pride and Emperor of Hell. The Ophanim, not wishing to relinquish their titles as Thrones, formed the Royal Circle of demons, a large part becoming the Ars Goetia. Paimon swiftly took leadership of these royal demons, as he had headed the rebellion.

Vine, now Queen Vine, was left in far worse straits.

Despite Lucifer’s best efforts, the wound she sustained after having her hands cut from her wrists was irreversible. Every time he attempted to attach new hands, they would rot and fall off, dooming her to dependence. Fortunately, Lucifer figured out a solution. He had attempted six times to attach hands to her wrists, and thus created six magical hands that would not need to be bound to her wrists in order to work. Vine was relieved to have her autonomy and ability to write restored, but was ultimately haunted by the ordeal she had suffered.

Though she and Paimon were still siblings, Paimon chose to cement his position through royal marriages, heirs, playing games of politics and establishing an iron grip on his territories. Vine however, had been too affected by their previous rebellion, and decided she would remain Queen of her principality and operate from afar. Her power, which remained even after her Fall, would be loaned for the use of future mortals who wished for prophecy, witchcraft, and magic. Residing in the Emerald Tower; a formidable stronghold that mysteriously lacks any doors to permit entry, Vine chose instead to continue the documentation she had once taken pride in….this time for Hell.

Present Day:

Though many eons have passed since the Fall, Vine still remains, more or less, as a solitary figure in the Royal Circle. As King Paimon’s sister and a Queen, she is respected by her royal peers, particularly for her ability to see the past, present and future almost perfectly….without the need of a grimoire. However, she is also mostly a mystery as she remains isolated in her tower, rarely permitting guests. Instead, she makes random appearances at society functions, often to give away lavish gifts and give “spoilers” for peoples future as a form of amusement.

In truth, Vine’s interest in writing the future has….changed. As the population of Hell as grown, her interest has turned more dramatic, resembling that of a novelist for romance and dramas. Her many tomes are in fact “fanfiction” of people’s lives, writing down the intricacies of their relationships and struggles. She even publishes them under pseudonyms online, and seems to revel in the little dramas she writes, since she can already tell what’s going to happen.

Vine does accept the call to service when requested by Lucifer or Lilith, but she has since become notoriously “obnoxious” to her brother and fellow Kings. She often likes to poke fun at Paimon’s pursuit of control and power, perhaps because she already knows the outcome of his machinations, and often speaks dismissively of those she doesn’t find interesting.

What’s stranger is that Vine seems to have adopted a small imp companion in her years of isolation, a tiny illustrator named Triss. No one’s sure how she came to be hired as the Queen’s confidante, or how she even got into the Emerald Tower. But Triss seems to thrive mostly off of reading the queen’s fanfiction, and even draws the subjects to add to the tomes. Triss is a deeply unusual imp, even by normal standards, but is also a deeply devoted friend to Vine, who is exceedingly fond of her.

Abilities and Powers:

Though the Ophanim were irreversibly changed after the Fall, taking on demonic forms, many of them retained their abilities and powers. Vine herself has many of the same powers Paimon has; teleportation, shape-shifting, telekinesis and the ability to traverse through space. However, Paimon has more combative powers than his sister has, which makes him suitable to his role as King. Instead, Vine has the advantage of near-perfect clairvoyance, to which she requires no grimoire or studies of the stars or elements to divine. These visions of the past, present and future are all done through her third eye, which is the only eye that constantly sees everything.

However it is only “nearly” perfect. There still remain people whom Vine refers to as “anomalies”; special people whose futures cannot be divined, nor their pasts uncovered. The best Vine can do is divine the path through the eyes of those around them, but never seeing their point-of-view. Vine has a vested interest in these anomalies, often writing “AU fanfics” where she guesses at their future based on her observation.

Because of these powers of foresight, Vine has taken on many names and forms in order to commune with humans on Earth to retain her importance and power. She has claimed many names and shapes, including that of the Fates. She can be summoned for counsel by humans, but only those who provide the proper tributes; Three cups of wine (red, white and rose), three fruits (apple, pomegranate and fig), and three knives (iron, copper, and steel), lit around a circle with her sigil with three candles (black, white and red). She will permit them three questions, but often keeps her answers ambiguous.

Vine’s weaknesses however, are the same as all immortal demons that live in Hell. She is vulnerable to angelic weapons and arms, and can also be subdued or sealed away by a more powerful demon such as the Seven Deadly Sins, or King Lucifer and Queen Lilith. Though she has yet to make herself so troublesome as to incite their ire, she does have a habit of angering people by refusing to speak of the future. In fact, Vine has a personal rule where she refuses to reveal anything unless it provides ample entertainment for herself.

Personality:

Vine, like most Goetia, is an incredibly proud and vain woman who often disregards the running of her territory, having left it to the work of stewards and magistrates. She has extremely narcissistic tendencies and can be very extravagant and eccentric, often praising her beauty and brilliance, and taking a great deal of stock in public comments online from her fan base. Vine is capable of being good and generous, but that is often reserved with those whom she takes interest in or has a history with.

However, she is also capable of being very vindictive and cold, especially on the subject of her own history. Though few outside of the Goetic Circle know what happened to her hands, she finds it a very sore subject, hiding her scarred wrists under long sleeves and changing the subject when it turns to it. If someone of lower station were to pry at the subject, she would react with swift, unceasing retribution, and will even teleport unfortunate souls into volcanoes if they wrong her.

Yet, despite being Queen, Vine chooses not to marry or have children. She cites her brother Paimon for this reason, stating that child-bearing and marriage was nothing but tedious work, and states that as immortals, the question of their inheritance is rather moot since most of them will live until Armageddon at the very least. Vine enjoys romance stories, but choose to play coy, often flirting but never really pursuing. It’s unknown if Vine has had any lovers, as she does not openly speak of her romantic relationships.

In truth, there is only one person whom Vine treasures above all; her companion Triss. Aside from letting Triss live in the Emerald Tower and hiring her as her illustrator, Vine also shares secrets of the future with her, and they seem to operate on the same wavelengths, enjoying things from afar.

(NEW) Queen of Heresy:

After entering a feud with Paimon over his self-proclaimed elevation as Emperor of the Goetia (@avispatr) Vine stole away her city and kingdom and disappeared in a fit of rage. Out of sheer spite, she carved out not one, but two Rings of Hell deep below the surface of Sloth, creating both the Ring of Heresy and the Ring of Treachery.

The Ring of Heresy is a dark realm, with only a false moon and stars to light its way, and is home to the capital of New Witchholm. It resembles a shadowed wasteland with floating islands and jagged stones, icy mist rising up from the Ring of Treachery and its endless fields of ice below. It is home not only to the more gothic inclined of Hellborns, but also to Vine's own creations....wraiths. Created from the lingering memories of deceased demons, they haunt the Ring of Heresy and act as investigators and information brokers, as they have a keen ability to find things.

Queen Vine still resides partially in Pride, but splits her residency between the Rings equally as she establishes herself as the Sin of Heresy.

_______

Extra! Bio For Triss, Queen Vine's Imp Companion

Name: Beatriss (“Triss”) Lansher

Sex: Female

Age: 21-23

Birthday: August 21st (Leo)

Sexuality: Asexual (Biromantic)

Demon Class: Imp (30 cm tall)

Location: The Royal Circle (Pride Ring)

Bio:

In truth, no one really knows who Triss is or where she came from. At some point however, during one of Queen Vine’s visits to the Goetic Assemblies, she performed a “magic trick” where she pulled Triss from her long sleeves, and then let her rest on her shoulder for the remainder of the evening. At first Triss was dismissed as nothing more than a royal pet…however as she began making regular attendances at Goetia parties as Vine’s guest it was clear the Queen had a definite soft spot for her.

Triss did manage to secure a position as Royal Illustrator for the Queen’s writing projects. Despite being small enough to fit in a teapot, she is an exceptional artist, and can often draw detailed sketches based off of one lone observation. Triss presently lives in the Emerald Tower, and despite being something of an oddity, appears to be very happy and comfortable in Vine’s service.

Personality:

Triss, like Vine, loves reading about dramatic stories and enjoys the adventure, the plot-twists, and romance arcs of people the Queen writes about. Because she has an insider view on particular Hellborns and humans, she gets the inside scoop on a lot of complex stories from all around. Despite her small stature, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of much, perhaps made comfortable by the Queen’s protection. Triss is also quite bold and blunt. She’s not afraid to use the Queen’s favoritism to her advantage, often pointing to things she wants and asking Vine to get them for her. It’s an effective strategy nonetheless, and Vine rarely denies her anything.

Triss is also a great lover of the arts. Drawing is one fo the things she’s truly passionate for, and she has a creative streak that can imagine many scenarios at the drop of a hat. She also has a great love of charcuterie and cheeses, and it’s believed that a major part of her contract with Vine as her employee is to always have a full charcuterie plate by her bedside. Given it’s the preferred snack of the two when they’re observing the antics of their favorite characters, the Emerald Tower is outfitted with a fromagerie suitable to their tastes.

Given her mistress is so eccentric, Triss herself can be quite the oddball too. She can be unreactive sometimes, and her obsession with cheese and fanfics are often questionable by most.

[peaches2217]

🍽

🍽️ - Dinner date

I am so sorry this took so long, but I hope it's worth the wait!!

Regalia

~~~

Mario was in full regalia.

Further: Mario was in full regalia, casually, by his own choice.

The whole getup was so very un-Mario — the deep navy tunic, the gold buttons and tasseled shoulder pads, the white trousers and tall black boots. He looked more suited for engaging in political discourse than plumbing or carpentry or any of the other hundreds of things he enjoyed far more. Yet not a single thread felt out of place. It was him, somehow, and it suited him perfectly.

Peach felt suddenly woozy. “Devastatingly attractive” didn’t even begin to describe how she perceived him in that moment. 

When she took too long with her ogling, he grinned a knowing little grin and stepped forward. She couldn’t help but blush as he took her hand. Or maybe she had already been blushing, and now she was just blushing even harder. Oh, stars.

“Your Majesty.” He dropped to one knee with a smoothness that suggested practice (but the way he wobbled briefly when he landed suggested he still needed more), kissing her knuckles. His crown sat in place of his usual cap, a smaller replica of Peach’s; the garnets and pastel sapphires set into its band caught the light of the setting sun just so, sparkling in a way that seemed almost ethereal.

Are you trying to kill me? she wanted to ask. Glancing up, she saw Toad in the gazebo a few steps away, his own attire traded for a black vest and bowtie. He offered her an eager thumbs-up.

“Look at you,” she said instead. She meant to follow up with “You look handsome,” but Mario’s eyes met hers, shining with satisfaction and reverence, and her voice stuck in her throat.

He could fill in the blanks. He knew exactly what this was doing to her.

Pushing back up to his feet, Mario led her forward, her hand still in his grasp. “I don’t know about you,” he said, a joyful lilt in his tone, “but I’m starving! Shall we?”

She only nodded, because she couldn’t trust herself with an honest response.

Thankfully, Mario was merciful enough to carry their conversation in full until she overcame her stupefaction. He wasn’t trying for full formality. In spite of his attire, the mood was relaxed, and it loosened further when Toad produced a bottle of Yoshi Berry wine from the kitchens inside. In short order they laughed and joked together as they always did, and for that Peach was grateful.

Toad stationed himself in one corner of the gazebo and filled the air with the warm tones of a viola (she hadn’t even known he could play the viola, an instrument almost as large as he was, but that was beside the point). In the lulls between topics, Mario would swirl the liquid in his glass and smile at her, the sort of smile one might expect to find on the face of a lovesick schoolboy. The sapphires in his crown couldn’t compare to the deep, denim blue of his eyes.

None of this felt real. Peach was certain she was dreaming, or that perhaps she was living in a children’s picture book, the obligatory kindly queen and her beloved, benevolent king.

But this was in fact reality, and as the haze of romanticism ran its course, she could see the signs more and more clearly.

Mario shifted frequently, tugged at the high collar of his tunic, fiddled with the buttons. Reached up to make sure his crown wasn’t sliding off, reached down to ensure his pant legs were still securely tucked into his boots. As they chatted and nursed their wine, he absently flicked at the tassels on his shoulders; he’d catch himself doing it, stop, and then start back up again as soon as he wasn’t thinking about it.

When their food finally arrived, he dug right in with something that sounded like a sigh of relief. It wasn’t just hunger, Peach recognized. He was grateful for another distraction.

He was uncomfortable. The clothes that made him look so regal in turn made him feel horribly out of place. The realization didn’t really surprise her; she had come to his first fitting for moral support, and while he had done his best not to complain as the seamstress made her measurements, his face betrayed his agony. More than once, his eyes met hers, and he mouthed an over-the-top “Help me.”

“I didn’t think becoming a royal consort meant I’d actually have to dress like one,” he had joked that night, pulling on the softest and most worn, ragged night clothes he owned. Peach had just giggled.

Guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She had reacted so strongly to this new addition to his wardrobe, and judging from the look in his eyes, he had known she would. The regalia he would have to wear at least once a week as part of his new duties, maybe more, and there was no helping that. But tonight, he was putting himself through needless misery just for her sake.

She tried not to think too hard about it as she ate. Leaving her food untouched would be terribly rude.

At the completion of their meal, Peach rose from her seat and stretched her back, and Mario came around the table to offer his arm to her. “Walk with me?” he asked. She could hear no hint of an ulterior motive in his offer, nothing but a sincere wish to extend their evening. He would happily endure his discomfort just to spend more time with her. The thought brought her as much joy as it did sadness.

She took his hand instead, eyeing his gloves. She hadn’t noticed they were different. Instead of leather, dented and scuffed from constant use, these were silk.

“Wouldn’t you rather get out of that stuffy outfit?” she offered in return. She could see him in his regalia every single day and never find it any less attractive, and even now she fought the urge to accept his offer and enjoy the sight that much longer. But she couldn’t bear to indulge her own desires at the expense of his comfort.

Mario’s face twisted with surprise at her words. She didn’t even hear Toad as he left them to talk, his voice straining with suppressed laughter — “C’mon, at least let a Toad get outta earshot first!”

“You don’t like it?” Mario asked. His eyes flicked down and over himself, as though inspecting for some sort of flaw in the fabric, a missing button, a stain, but Peach put her free hand to his cheek, commanding his attention once more.

“I think it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” she confessed. “But you looked like you were seconds from tearing it off and clawing into your skin all night.”

“Oh.” Mario’s cheek warmed beneath her palm, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Well… you know. Not exactly the kind of outfit I’d wear lounging around, yeah? But!” He plucked her hand from his face and brought it to join her opposite hand, cradling them both in his own much larger grasp. “I’ve gotta get used to it anyway, right? The sooner I start, the better!”

“You don’t have to torture yourself for my sake, darling.”

“Torture? No no no, tesoro mio, you misunderstand,” he said, and that smile became all at once confident and tender. “Seeing your face light up like a big Fire Flower? The way you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me? I’m a little selfish, you know. Learning to put up with this dumb thing is a lot easier when you’re making me feel like a hunk.”

Peach laughed at that, overcome with relief and affection all at once. “You are a hunk,” she said, bending to press a kiss to his cheek. He tilted his face to return the favor, and she giggled again at the way his mustache tickled her skin.

“And you’re the most beautiful princess in the whole world,” he murmured against her. “Sorry— queen.”

“Your queen.”

“My queen,” he agreed. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips before pulling back, and Peach followed suit. She noted with another gentle wave of relief that he didn’t look nearly so uncomfortable right now.

“In that case,” she said, “why don’t we take that walk?” Mario squeezed her hands one final time before dropping them to offer his arm once more. If this was his preferred method of breaking in a necessary evil, she would gladly assist.

“For what it’s worth,” she continued as he led her out of the gazebo, “I think you’re a hunk no matter what you wear.”

“So if this one sits in the closet for our next date?” 

“Actually, I was thinking we could have pizza and ice cream in our pajamas instead.”

“Oh, yes, please. Same time next week?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Mamma mia,” Mario laughed as they walked into the calm night, “and I keep thinking I can’t fall for you any harder!”

[thedoctorsthings]

Power to the king | MYG chapter 3.5

I have been ambushed by my professor. He has wacked me with a surprise assignment so I can't finish the entire fourth chapter yet. But do not fret, here's a small piece of the story for you anyways. I call it chapter three point five. Chapter 4 will be with you in three to five business days.

cw: angst, Yoongi in need of an ass whooping, girls supporting girls, implied infidelity

wc: about two word pages idk

The morning after your game with Yoongi you awaken fresher than you have in months. You get up and brush your hair because you want to and not because you have to. You put more effort into how you dress, and when you walk down the hallways to breakfast your pace is quicker.

That day you went for a stroll with the princess. She had been just as delightful as the day you met her and afterwards, when you were walking the dark stone halls to your quarters, you felt cheery. You stop for a second to look out a small window, gazing upon the gardens of the castle that seem to extend far beyond the horizon. You hear the sound of a thick wooden door opening and closing. When you turn around, you’re met with the defeated faces of the druids you had seen at the festival. The look in their eyes is dark, and you realise they had come from the queen’s rooms. “Your highness”, they bow. You nod before asking: “What’s wrong?” The man, who you remember to be Seokjin, looks back at the door for a split second, and says: “The queen is getting sicker and sicker. Her body and mind are tired”.

News in the castle travels fast. By dinnertime that evening the whole castle was sensibly even more glum than normal. Everyone had heard from everyone that the queen had merely days, maybe weeks. The three royal siblings looked as if they had shrunk two sizes. None of them said a word, and the king, that disgusting, evil, devil of a man was happier than ever. He was talking on and on about things no one bothered to listen to. Inside, you are set ablaze. The kindest woman you ever knew is hanging on by a thread and this monster at the head of the table is celebrating.

That night Yoongi knocks at your door again. He looks slightly more calm than the night before, but that might be because he doesn’t have the energy to feel uncomfortable. That night you have to carry most of the conversation. Yoongi rarely says a word, but you don’t resent it. If your mother was close to death, you wouldn’t be chatty either. The dread you would feel would be different however, Yoongi loved his mother, and right now he was waiting to lose the only loving thing he’d ever known. You would be pouring over memories with your mother, wondering where it went wrong, and if your relationship could have been mended if you had been given more time.

After another couple minutes of silent playing, you gathered your courage and asked: “How is the queen?” Yoongi sat frozen in his seat before leaning back in his chair. “She’s hanging on. People underestimate her; she underestimates herself, but I know she’s a strong woman”. You make eye contact for a moment, and you mean to see a glimpse of doubt in his eyes. “I ran into the druids when they had just been with her. They seemed defeated”. Yoongi stared rigidly out the window: “We don’t know how long she has, but it’s not much time”. Your husband is looking at his hands in his lap when you say: “She’s a great woman. She’ll walk onto the Folkvangr*, and be welcomed like a queen”. Yoongi looks at you, and for the first time you see your husband smile at you, albeit weakly and a bit watery.

The following weeks Yoongi comes by every night. He now seemed to leave his coat of nervousness at your door. The last couple of nights you had set up the game, but it had stayed there untouched. Instead of playing you spent the night talking. You never became warm or loving towards each other, but at least you weren’t fighting. If this was it; just decent conversation with no love or passion, you would take it. Many women were off way worse.

Yoongi was sitting on the side of his bed, still fully dressed. He had just returned from an evening with you after he had left abruptly. He had done so for good reason. You had asked about his deceased brother. Yoongi hadn’t understood what came over him but had answered. The entire story came flowing over his lips like the river his brother had died in. Something about the way you looked at him, the way you put a gentle hand on his shaking arm. He had realised something in that moment. You wanted something he could never give you, a loving husband. After that day the king had broken something in him, day by day. Relentlessly he had beaten it into his head that it was all his fault, that he didn’t deserve to be here, that it should have been him. As a response Yoongi had built up walls, brick by brick. Every insult was a new layer to his protective fort. He knew that he couldn’t open it for you. That you would spend the rest of your life alone. There would be two lives ruined by him. Still, when he was with you, he was more at ease than any other place. You had become a space for him to breathe, like a cool gust of wind on his hot, angry face. Those nights he spent with you he found himself trying everything to make you laugh, because when you did, you looked like an angel and the sound washed him of all the rage for just a moment. He was terrified he was falling in love with you. Terrified he would spend the rest of his life lusting after a woman who couldn’t help but resent him. This had to stop.

You on the other hand, were floating. A couple days after Yoongi told you about his brother, he had left for a trip to another major city of the kingdom. It was a Five-day journey to there, and he had been called there because of a murder trial that kept dragging on. You couldn’t wait for him to come back so you could spend more time with your husband. It finally felt like you were getting somewhere. He had been opening up and even joking around with you occasionally, maybe you could make a friend out of him after all. The fact that you tingled with excitement whenever he came to visit, and that your dreams were plagued by images of him holding you, could mean that you wanted more from him. that, however, was something to worry about later. Your mother had never given you much love, but she had bestowed you with many pieces of advice. She always said that the best lovers were found in great friendships.

There was one little issue that still stung though. The maid that you had seen your husband with had recently been assigned a new task. The task of dressing you in the morning. The maid who did it before was an old woman who had fallen sick, and you missed her gravely. However, you had made your peace with it. You would be civil to the new girl, and nothing more. You never once brought up the incident, and neither did she of course. She knew bringing up something like that could give you enough reason to send her neck straight to the chopping block. What she didn’t know was that you would never even think of doing such a thing.

On the morning after you said goodbye to your husband you were awoken by a different face. After a knock on the door, you had called for the maid to come in, but the woman walking in was not your husband’s possible mistress. A middle-aged woman with friendly smile wrinkles stepped in the room. “Good morning your highness”. You got up with a puzzled expression, but didn’t say anything of it yet, maybe the girl got ill. When you’re standing in front of the mirror with the older lady buttoning up your dress behind you, you can’t take the curiosity any longer. “You are not my usual maid”, you simply state. “No miss, Frida will not be here for the next 5days. My name is Gertrud”. You furrow your eyebrows: “Nice to meet you, Gertrud. Why will she not be here?” “She was asked to be part of your husband’s entourage on his trip”, she says ever so casually, while finishing up your dress. Your stomach drops. Your entire body stiffens, and you feel like an icy hand has just grabbed hold of your heart. “Is everything alright, your highness?”, Gertrud asks concerned. “Yes”, you say curtly: “you may go”.

How could he do this? Was it even fair for you to be angry, maybe he hadn’t arranged for this to happen. You were new to this royal life and had no idea who organised travels like these. He might have had nothing to do with it, but the way Gertrud phrased worried you. She said that Frida had been asked. Asked by whom? You needed answers. You decided to talk to the one person who wouldn’t doubt for a second to rat the crown prince out to you if you asked, the princess.

@lifeless-firefly @emerald-notes @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @jjkwifestyle @viankiss @nansasa

[thatartiststudios]

They Should Be Here, is gonna be angsty?

Well, yeah. It's a future chapter of Family Ties, a post-series fic I'm working on with @a-very-sparkly-nerd and They Should Be Here is set when Rayla is pregnant with their first child, Rian, and Callum is missing his parents.

Here's a very, very generous teaser:

After dinner, Rayla blew out the candles downstairs and ascended to their room, anticipating Callum’s presence as he prepared for bed. However, upon entering their room, she found it empty. As she approached, about to call out his name, a crisp breeze swept through the open door to their balcony. She spotted Callum leaning against the railing, his silhouette illuminated by the moonlight.

Shivering against the chill, Rayla stepped out onto the balcony, drawn to him. She moved to his side, hoping to share her warmth, but he remained distant, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Taking his hand in hers, she spoke softly, “Hey, are you okay?”

His response was barely a whisper, laden with emotion, “He should be here, they both should.”

Rayla felt a pang of understanding at his words, knowing he referred to his late parents, his stepfather, King Harrow, and his mother, Queen Sarai. She gently rubbed her thumb across his knuckles, offering silent support.

“I know, love,” she murmured, “They’re still here with you, I know it,” she reassured him.

Yet, he remained unconvinced, “That’s not enough,” he said, his voice thickening slightly with emotion, “I need them right here, next to me.”

Rayla reached up to cup his cheek, urging him to meet her gaze. “Love, it’ll be okay,” she tried to offer comfort, though her smile went unreturned.

Moving away from the railing, Callum’s grip tightened on her wrist. “They weren’t here for our wedding, and I know it’s stupid to expect them to be there, but I did.” he confessed, his voice heavy with regret.

Rayla shook her head, dismissing any notion of foolishness. “No, it’s not stupid, it’s natural,’’ she insisted, understanding the depth of his yearning for their guidance.

He continued, his voice trembling with emotion, “A– and getting married to you was the most wonderful thing in the world, but it was also so scary, and I–I wished that my dad was there to help me through it.”

She reached up to tenderly wipe away a stray tear from his cheek as he spoke. “A– and now, I need them again,” he confessed, his hands coming to rest on her slowly growing stomach. “Again, I have no idea what I’m doing. I–I’m scared, Ray. I don’t know how to be a father, and he’s not here to guide me!”

As more tears cascaded down his cheeks, Rayla’s heart broke at the sight of his vulnerability. It was rare to see Callum cry, and she knew that this burden had been weighing heavily on him.

“Oh, love,” she whispered, her voice laced with empathy.

“I can’t be a father, Ray, I can’t do it,” his voice cracked, his words heavy with doubt.

She gently took him by the shoulders, her touch tender yet firm, and pressed her lips to his, a silent reassurance. “Nonsense,” she murmured against his lips, “of course you can. You’re an incredible husband, and you’ll be an amazing father, I know it.”

He shook his head in disbelief, his eyes filled with anguish. “No, Ray, I can’t. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed, his voice weighed down by uncertainty. The usual warmth in his sparkling emerald eyes was gone, replaced by shards of broken hope, scattered like shattered gems.

She brought her hands to the base of his neck, her fingers softly threading through his hair. “It’s alright,” she smiled, tilting her head slightly. “I don’t either.” Leaning in, she kissed him, her lips lingering against his for a moment. “Wanna figure it out?” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

A tiny, thin smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Together?” he asked, searching her eyes for reassurance.

She nodded, her expression filled with determination. “Together,” she affirmed, her voice unwavering.

[mybeautifuldelirium]

Centuries Apart part 5 ||Aemond Targaryen x got!reader

CHAPTER LIST

A/N: hey my loves I’m back from London so finally here’s the promised part 5 💚

Ty for being patient with me

Summary: The dreaded wedding day has at last come upon

Warnings: ANGST, kinda NSFW, 18+ slight smut at the end

“Kostā daor va moriot ruaragon aōla hen nyke, ñuha dārilaros” (you can’t hide yourself from me forever, my prince) Y/N whispered as she got up and headed towards the doors. Winning Aemond’s heart wasn’t going to be an easy task but that night she had seen a side of him no one ever had.

-

The one eyed prince’s mind raced throughout the night, each time he closed his eye, the image of her face would replace the blackness before him. That deep violet stare that kept piercing through his own, at the merchant streets of the capitol, at the feast among the noble houses,…in his chambers…while she bathed him.

There was something about her, something that was slowly luring him in, something that Aemond couldn’t quite figure out. Yes, she was some sort of a ‘Targaryen’, he thought, she looked the part at least, but a long descendant of his house? No, ‘twas impossible, a bastard, a witch perhaps? The young prince tossed and turned in his bed, searching for a comfortable position, but found none that could soothe his racing thoughts.

“I did try to warn you, didn't I, my prince?”

“Damn it!” Aemond sat up, letting out a sigh of frustration, he had to find a way to silence her voice in his head or risk losing his sanity, but no, first he had to figure the truth out, figure her out.

-

The following days passed swiftly and uneventfully, like leaves caught in a gust of wind. The sun kept rising and setting with monotonous regularity, casting long shadows that stretched across the Crownlands.

As the day of the dreaded union drew near, tension filled the air like a thick dark fog. The servants scurried about, preparing the feasts and decorating the halls, while the nobles gathered in the great hall, their eyes fixed on the looming specter of the wedding day.

Y/N was gazing at the spectacle of frenzy through her chambers’ window, dread swarming her heart. The preparations looked different than Dany’s wedding, no barbaric wails and cries of butchered animals, no crazed men beating up each other in hopes to grasp the nearest female being and no foul stench of fresh blood and yet somehow, this tranquility, this proper casualty, surrounding her union felt much more excruciating.

‘It’s the only way, it’s the only way’

The princess was then abruptly pulled out of her thoughts by the screeching sound of the heavy doors bursting open.

“Your grace” Y/N quickly composed herself, splattering on an insincere grin as she fell into a faint curtsy at the sight of Alicent.

“You can keep your formalities” the queen motioned her hand with an almost unnoticeable scoff “Look, I don’t know who you are nor what your true intentions are, but dare you harm my son or my family-”

“I promise to be an honorable wife to the prince your grace” something glistened behind those violet eyes and it was as if her words were dripping with honey “I’ll do my duty, to provide his grace with true born heirs and be forevermore by his side”

“Ready yourself, don’t keep the king and your betrothed waiting” Alicent narrowed her eyes, skirts shuffling as she walked out.

-

As Y/N stood before the mirror, looking over her reflection, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. Her fingers grazed the delicate lace and silk of her wedding gown, a masterpiece of craftsmanship indeed, adorned with intricate embroidery and shimmering beads. The gown was a vision of ivory and gold, threaded dragons weavered over the tightened bodice that was sucking the air out of her lungs. As she traced the meticulous details of her gown, memories flooded her mind. If honesty were needed, the princess never wished to marry, she was never meant to, it was Dany who took that burden yet years later…or more so centuries earlier, fate had a different plan.

‘It’s the only way, it’s the only way’

-

The sept was lavishly bedecked with banners of emerald and gold, fragrant blooms spilling forth from every corner.

Her eyes flickered over the opulence that surrounded her, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She had not asked for this union, but her mind burned with determination as each of her steps brought her closer to her fate.

A small smirk drew on her lips as her gaze locked with Aemond’s. Expressionless as ever, the young prince stood before her, staring through, as if trying to disregard her presence as the vows were set in stone.

-

The feast that followed was a marvel to behold, a riot of flavors and aromas that set the tongue and nostrils ablaze. The guests ate and drank with a fervor that belied the solemnity of the occasion, their laughter and chatter echoing off the high ceilings and walls of the great hall.

“Naejot īlva dīnilūks, ñuha valzȳrys” (to our union, my husband) Y/N lifted her goblet, violet eyes glistening underneath the warmth of the flickering flames of the candles.

“Rȳ mōrī emā jiōraton skoros ao jeldan, ñuha riña” (at last you’ve got what you wanted, my lady) the prince rolled his eye with a scoff.

“No, not even close, but I will do my prince, I will save my house” the bride smirked as she took a sip from the fragrant wine, earning herself yet another scoff.

“Enjoying your pretty little wife, huh brother” Aegon’s drunken laughter tore through the impending tension “Worry not, dear brother you ought to enjoy her fully now, may the bedding ceremony begin!”

Aemond groaned with frustration, grabbing his wife’s forearm, pulling her from the table “There’s no need for formalities, your grace” he mumbled as he dragged her out in spite of his brother’s whines of protest.

-

“Ouch! Hey! Loosen it up!” the princess grumbled as he led her to their now shared chambers “Ugh! Is this how one treats their wife?!”

“Would you have rathered me let all those hungered men tear these pompous silks off you?!” Aemond scoffed, abruptly releasing his hold, making her stumble to the bed.

“Oh how noble of you”

The prince groaned, ignoring the snarky remark as he fumbled with the ties of his breeches “Let’s just get this foolishness over with already”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she realized the implication of his actions, yet she did not let the dread linger on her face for too long. “Just like this?! And I thought the Dothraki were indifferent”

“What fantasy world are you living in?!” the prince grunted in exasperation as he pushed his breeches down to his knees, not bothering to discard the rest of his clothing “Do not expect more from me than my mere duty as a husband”

The princess had little to no time to take in the view, before her skirts were being gathered up to her waist.

“I’ll be as quick as possible, it’ll only take a minute” his voice softened for a moment as he stroked himself a few times before thrusting at once into her core, his head turning to the side as if in desperation to avoid her piercing gaze. Y/N’s face scrunched as her body tried to adjust to his size, knuckles going pale as she gripped at the silky sheets.

It wasn’t long before she felt her husband’s release, hardly a sound leaving his lips, he swiftly pulled his breeches up and stood from the bed.

“I’ll be in the library, get some sleep” the prince mumbled as he headed towards the doors “Hopefully this has done it”

“Oh this has not ‘done it’, dear husband” Y/N mumbled under her breath as she sat up, fixing her skirts, once he had left “You shall learn how to treat me, how to love me”

The sinister smirk returned to her lips as she laid back down on the soft bed “You shall see just how far I’m willing to go to fulfill what I came for”

[justforbooks]

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley

I received a special copy of this book from one of my very best friends. It was originally published in 1982 – not new, but an important classic. The Mists of Avalon is a ~900 page retelling of the legends of King Arthur, his Companion Knights, including Sir Lancelot, and the Round Table – but from the perspectives of the women involved, including Queen Guinevere (here Gwenhwyfar), Arthur’s mother the Queen Igraine and her sisters, Queen Morgause and Avalon’s Lady of the Lake Viviane… and most centrally, Arthur’s half-sister and lover, Morgaine, who we have also known as Morgan la Fay or Morgaine of the Fairies, and Viviane’s sometime successor as Lady of the Lake. Among others. (Sorry. These name changes are a bit to follow. Lancelot here is Lancelet, etc.)

I generally stay away from books of this length in recent years – I don’t know when I last read a book of 900 pages. It took some adjustment around paid reviews and deadlines, but I’m grateful I was able to find time for this one. It took a little over two weeks but was worth every minute. I enjoyed being able to sink into a story this sprawling, which does call for some in-depth engagement, as we follow generations and lifetimes, a quite convoluted family tree, and shifting allegiances (and names).

My own background with the Arthurian legends is weak, although I definitely loved T.H. White’s The Once and Future King when I was young (high school? earlier still? that one over 600 pages), and I remember an illustrated book of the tales of the knights of the Round Table at some point… I have a loose sense of the romance and idealism of Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, and Camelot, but brought no muddied plotlines to this reading. It seems The Mists of Avalon is understood partly as corrective to Morgaine’s reputation as evil sorceress from previous tellings.

There’s no question that Bradley’s is a big, complicated, engrossing story. Its prologue begins with a brief, italicized reminiscence of Morgaine’s from later in her very long life; these retrospective views will punctuate the book. Then we move (with book one, “Mistress of Magic”) to Igraine, who will be mother to both Morgaine and Arthur, when she is a teenaged bride to the much older and coarse Duke Gorlois of Cornwall. Igraine was raised on Avalon, that magical, misty island where an ancient, pagan, woman-centered religion has long been fostered. She has some priestess training and some of the Sight, but it’s been her duty to be a wife and a mother: her daughter Morgaine is Gorlois’s child, and she will later marry Britain’s High King Uther and have a second child who will become the fabled King Arthur. So we begin with Morgaine’s infancy and before Arthur’s birth. I will begin fast-forwarding here… much has been written about this book, and you don’t need my plot summary.

Morgaine will become a priestess of Avalon, and she will become very powerful indeed, but will have to serve the Goddess in ways that pain her deeply. In four parts – “Mistress of Magic,” “The High Queen,” “The King Stag,” and “The Prisoner in the Oak,” we see her play the role of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. She is fierce in her protection and promotion of the religion in which she is trained. It is central to the story of Arthur’s reign, in this telling, that (under Gwenhwyfar’s influence) he shepherds Britain toward a homogenous Christian faith, away from a diversity of indigenous traditions, including the goddess cult of Avalon, and Morgaine fights that transition mightily. Her story is, I think, a tragedy, and includes strong threads of that classic tragic element, hubris (a term Arthur invokes once).

Bradley has chosen to tell this story mostly in a series of close-third-person perspectives, so that the reader can see the thoughts and feelings of one character and then another (the exception being those italicized first-person moments with an older Morgaine), so that we understand that each is dealing with insecurities and ultimately, mostly, good intentions, which heightens the sense of tragedy: that both Arthur and Morgaine want the best for Britain, that Viviane knows she will hurt her beloved niece Morgaine but feels it necessary for the greater good. It is a very fine literary trick to set up no absolute villains or heroes, but rather to offer us flawed humans who try hard and fail. It is hard, though, not to sympathize with the side that wishes to preserve its tradition as one of several, rather than the one that wants to squash out all but one religion.

There are many plot threads, romances, love affairs, couples that produce children (all-important heirs) and those that don’t. There are many themes, a number of which involve women’s various roles in society: to bear children, to be chaste, to support their mates, to participate in political machinations (or not), to be involved in one religion or another. An important difference between the rites of Avalon and those of Christianity centers on sex, which is either a grievous sin in all contexts except strict (marital) reproduction, or a beautiful celebration of life, the natural world, the God and the Goddess coming together. [Same-sex encounters are not many, but also not absent. No surprise that Avalon and Christianity handle them in different ways.] Morgaine’s tradition is inherently feminist, and at odds with Christianity, in that it holds that women belong to no man and may take lovers as they choose and as serves their worship and their life’s work.

This is a work of fantasy (as in magic and sorcery), and a classic retold, as well as historical fiction, as Arthur’s legend offers a version of how the Great Britain we know today came to be. Bradley’s work offers another take, in which a brave woman undertakes to defend indigenous traditions in a time of political and religious upheaval. The outcome, I think, doesn’t change much, but the way we view the different players involved matters a great deal. It’s also, of course, about human relationships. Morgaine, Arthur, Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet go back to childhood together, and there is a refrain late in the book of recalling the few of them who had once been young together. There’s a pretty strong thread of sympathies between friends, lovers, enemies, and those who move between those categories, even when they wind up killing one another.

Bradley’s storytelling is absorbing. It was easy to fall into a world very different from my own here, in the details of women’s lives in royal castles – dark, monotonous, filled with gossip and spinning and sex that’s not entirely consensual, even for privileged women – and in the rapture of Avalon’s powerful priestesses. The mysticism of that religion, the spell of Goddess-blessed sex, and the strong feelings of characters willing to die for their beliefs are all evocatively told. The romance, intrigue and pathos of that famous love triangle between Arthur, Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet is powerful and discomfiting. Heavier scenes are as well written as the light-hearted and humorous ones; Bradley’s characters’ humanity is always present. It was a hell of a journey, and I’m glad to have made it.

Whew. Thanks, Liz.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know... (1/?)

Word Count: 738 Words

Chapter 1

"I'm in the business of misery, let's take it from the top..." - Paramore

Alastor knelt before Lilith, bound in chains that had been cast from the strongest of brimstone.

“Well, this certainly is…a mess.” Lucifer was saying from the darkness, somewhere behind the Overlord. “What will you do with him now?”

“He might just be…what we need.” Lilith was thinking.

“No…” Lucifer groaned. “Lili, not him.” 

“Who else has the kind of power we need in order to protect, Charlie?” Lilith asked. “He is the answer, and I have the power to give him what he wants.”

“You’re seriously considering it, then.” Lucifer said. “A deal with this…Radio Demon.”

“Yes.” Lilith answered, eyes only for the kneeling Alastor.

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Lucifer told her.

Alastor knelt, listening to the King and Queen of Hell – quietly and calmly discussing his fate. The brimstone chains that encircled him tightly had him restrained most effectively and the links were searing burns against his skin; despite his suit. Intently; he listened to each word the royal couple exchanged; anticipating…and analyzing. He had not uttered a word; nor could he. Lilith made sure of that; threads of her power sewing his mouth shut despite his ever-present smile.  

“I will make a deal with you, Alastor.” Lilith spoke. “You must protect Charlie; and in so doing you will not bring danger to her by your own intent. There will be no more dealing in souls; you shall keep those you already have within your possession; your power will be somewhat restricted but I think you’ll find your reward will be well worth your trouble. What’s more…Charlie cannot know. No one can. She - nor anyone else - can know the details to this agreement or what Lucifer and I are involved with here.” 

“In exchange…” Lilith continued. “I will give you what you want.”

Lucifer sighed.

“What say you, Radio Demon?” Lilith asked. With a wave of her hand, the sutures that held Alastor’s silence slid from their place.

“A very tempting prospect, your Majesty.” Alastor’s radio voice rasped. “Very tempting…indeed.”

“You have reservations?” Lilith asked him coldly.

“I have…limitations. I am afraid that I have certain…requirements… that may prove somewhat problematic to-“ Alastor was saying.

“If you mean your whole…going into rut thing. Yes. I’m worried about that myself.” Lucifer interrupted, stepping around to stand by Lilith now.

Alastor had no love for the King. He held too tightly to his love for humanity. Alastor immensely disliked his choice of form and of expression; when he was considered to be the most powerful being that ruled over Hell. Lucifer was supposed to be a feared name but the man was seemingly, nothing to be feared. Alastor found it all rather in poor taste.

“A little…impersonal, don’t you think?” Alastor asked Lucifer dryly.

“What?” Lucifer asked him. “Did I make you uncomfortable? You’re a red deer demon, are you not? A Cervidae. Your kind have been rutting about Hell for millennia.”

“Luci.” Lilith chided him. “You’re being rude…and you.” She spoke to Alastor. “Do not play the innocent fawn with me, Alastor. I know you have killed other demons in your moments of being….within the throes of passion.”

“I find this whole discussion rather distasteful.” Alastor said.

“Well, if it’s his rut that is the only thing he’s worried about; I can manage that.” Lucifer shrugged, seemingly bored with the conversation.

“What?” Alastor glared at him, still smiling. “Isn’t that a little – disloyal?” Alastor quipped at him; looking pointedly to Lilith.

“We are the Queen and King of Hell.” Lilith told him. “Do you think that we have not entertained our own tastes for lust from time to time - in whatever ways - we choose?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“My husband,” Lilith’s voice rose now. “Is offering a solution to your little problem. Have you another idea?”

“I agree to your terms.” Alastor said. “But, if Charlie can’t know; then neither of you can be involved?”

“No.” Lilith told him. “We cannot.”

“That would be…preferable. I detest disruptions.” Alastor shot a look at Lucifer.

“If Charlie needs me; I promise you I will be involved.” Lucifer told Alastor. “If she needs me…for any reason or…if her life is at stake.” Lucifer looked away, a sadness touching his face.

How touching…how revolting…

“Then, it’s a deal?” Alastor asked.

With a wave of Lilith's hand, the chains that were binding Alastor rattled to the floor and the Radio Demon – for a moment - was free.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Based off of this fan-theory: HERE

Chapter 2

[stardancerluv]

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part Six: New developments for Paul and his wife.

Notes/Warning: Sometimes one gets sent away early into their marriages. One does not refuse their queen…even her son.

18+ only please. Consensual. P in V sex.

Once again…ty so much for reading. ❤️s and reblogs are very appreciated. Along with any comments/feedback! Enjoy!

“Mother, there is no valid reason for me to go and see the Crimea.”

“You are the future king of Russia you need to visit your army.”

“I never did before.”

“Well, you are now married. The role has grown bigger.”

His fingers rolled into a fist and then relaxed before he did it again.”But my wife.”

Catherine made an exaggerated sound. “She will be fine without you.”

His mouth formed a line.

“She has her ladies and there is also the ones in court. She will be fine.”

“What if I don’t go?”

“I will make you.”

She looked up from the map that she had been hovering over. Her eyes were colder then the winter that would soon be upon them.

“When is my coach ready?” Defeat filled him. His mother won this round.

“Dawn.” She replied once again, she eyed the map.

He turned on his heal and left the room.

*******

The sun’s warmth fell over you, as you worked on a handkerchief. There was more you wished to do or to attend to, but with the possibility of Paul leaving; this distracted you. Your personal handmaiden’s words did not bring any reassurance.

The ladies of the court, had sly smiles splashed across their faces. Despite Paul, not paying them any mind. Some still hoped to garner him with their charms.

There was barely a sound, but you could tell that the huge doors near you opened. You glanced up. Relief filled you. Your heart began to pick up speed. It was Paul.

His hand cut through the air. The patter of boots and the swish of skirts filled their otherwise silent room. With a warmth only your handmaiden was possible to have, she closed the door.

Placing the needle, the cloth and thread aside and you got up. You barely took a few steps and you were in Paul’s arms. Despite your heart at quite the beat, your body relaxed.

“I have to go.” His breath felt warm on your throat.

You stiffened and felt as his hold tightened.

“I tried to refuse.”

��She’d never let you.”

He nodded. “Though I had to try.”

You pulled back enough, just enough to meet his eyes. There was hardly any of the warm brown. They had grown dark with his turbulent emotions over leaving.

“I will dispatch messengers with letters.” You promised

“They will return with my own letters.” He replied with his own, stepping aside he pulled off his waist coat, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

“At least we have tonight. It will be a very lonely, few months.“

You knew it would be. But the knots in your stomach were still there and they hurt.

*******

As Paul moved above you, you tried to hold onto the moment. It hurt your heart to know you didn’t know when you would see your husband, your beloved again.

“I love you.” Paul, managed. His voice was tight with his pleasure.

His eyes met yours and just as your bodies were one, his lips met yours and the kisses you shared were rough, hungry.

“I love you.” You breathed, arching against him before kissing him again.

Your body tightened, your pleasure was growing sharper. Your moans grew louder.

“Sounds like you are growing close love, give yourself up to it. I want to feel you.”

“Yes, oh Paul!” You were breathless and you erupted in your pleasure. His name became a moan as you became undone.

Trembling you wrapped your arms around him. You held him close as he thrust into you chasing his own release.

Your sounds caused his own release to rip through from him. As your hearts beat hard, you melted in the afterglow of your passion.

*******

He held you close, his fingertips caressing your naked hip. “I don’t know how long I will be gone.” He finally said, resting his chin gently on the top of your head.

“I know. Alot of anguish will fill my heart till we can be together again.” You swallowed. “Is there no way you can have a coach come to retrieve me?” You glanced back at.

“No, he said softly. There have been several violent engagements along that border. I could not bare the idea of you being hurt or worse.”

You tightened your arm around his middle. Desperately, you didn’t want to let him go.

******

Be pressed a kiss to your bare knuckles as he held your hand through the open window of the carriage. Your eyes had filled with tears but you were not let them fall in front of Catherine or the court.

“I will think of you each day till we are together again.”

“And I shall as well.” You nodded.

He gave your hand a final squeeze, then glanced down. “Keep her safe boys.” He said softly to Soot and Cinder who sat proudly on either side of you. Grimacing, he tapped the roof of the coach and sat back into it. The coach man called out and you stepped back.

You waited till his coach passed the gates. Then turning with the hounds close on your heels you made quick haste back to your chambers.

******

Sitting at your vanity you finally let the tears come. With a shaky hand you pulled the pins from your hair. You would not leave your chambers today. A day for your heart was needed.

Looking down at your brush that sat on your vanity, you found a note scrawled sitting beside it. Your heart lifted. Your lips curved into a smile, making the tears pause as you read Paul’s sweet words of love.

******

A week later, when you found yourself lonely in court you had the letter tucked into your bodice and you didn’t feel so terribly alone. The other girls who vied for Paul’s affection or to catch Catherine’s eye giggled behind gloved hands and fans in one corner while you stood, occasionally glancing out the grand windows with your heart warmed by the sweet words Paul left you in that note.

*****

His lips were wrinkled in disgust as he stalked through the muddy ground. His men were in different to his presence. They barely took mind of him when he walked past them. It had been a very long week since the two of you said good bye. He was eager to return to you.

@amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998

[loser-babey]

I am so fucking curious what went down 7 years ago, because clearly something significant happened which spiralled off into Lilith being in heaven and Alastor being at the hotel and Eve off to who knows where??

What we know is, Lilith made a deal with Adam, which my first thought was that she was the one who gave him the idea for the Extermination (but we’ve been told by Charlie that she ‘empowered hell’, so. why.) which he then passed on to Sera, which hi actually does Sera know Lilith’s in heaven??

Lilith fucked off to heaven seven years ago, but why?? That is something I cannot find a reason for, sure she split with the King of Hell but like,, she doesn’t seem the type to skedaddle, Lucifer wouldn’t have hurt her, the guy was still wearing his wedding ring when we saw him. What is her angle?

Is Eve somewhere in Hell? Because of the apple? Because if Lilith’s in heaven already entangled in Heavenly deals, I don’t know when or why she would’ve made a deal with Alastor? Or is that deal much older than seven years? Is the deal the source of his overlord-throwing power?

I’m pretty sure people have already concluded and come up with this but, my working theories atm are:

1. Alastor’s deal was for his power, the same power he uses to overthrow overlords and topple the hierarchy, (‘That kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before’, -Vaggie, 2019), perhaps with Lilith, or maybe Eve?

He made that deal and then seven years ago, disappeared/ ‘fell into holy arms’, (which Zestial, buddy, hi can you elaborate on that.) presumably to hold up his end of the bargain, but whatever it was, why would it take years to accomplish. And why show up at the hotel as soon as he’s back? If the deal was with Lilith, was it to protect Charlie? To keep an eye on her?

2. Seven years ago, in an Extermination, Alastor slipped up and got caught by angels?? but not killed?? Maybe he fought them off but lost a significant portion of his power? And Lilith/Eve’s deal was that he gets saved and gets some of his power back, and in return he does *something* (maybe he sold his soul too? homie was having a full on breakdown in the last episode, and being an Overlord himself, knows how much power over someone it gives you when you own their soul, and we already know about how he HATES not being the most powerful in room.)

If he did sell his soul, I feel like it would’ve probably been to Eve? Because if Eve’s in hell, because again, the apple, she wouldn’t have gotten Lilith’s status as a Queen, and Lilith’s power is just below Lucifer’s, she doesn’t need souls to be powerful. Eve however, might.

But when she sees Charlie’s advertisement, she sends him to protect the hotel?

Either way, going back to a question I asked yesterday (how does Husk know about his deal?), I need to know the whole timeline of events. When and How (going off the fact that he was a gambling overlord) did Husk lose to Alastor, had Alastor made his deal by then, or was he in Husk’s presence when the person he’s in a deal with showed up to threaten/talk to him?

So, so many pathways this can take, I have more theories outside of this story thread, but that’s for another day. What do you guys think happened because rn I’m just Charlie in the episode 5 opening scene.

[padfootagain]

A Quiet Birthday

Hi everyone! Today is my birthday! I’m turning 28 today, getting closer closer to the dreaded thirties…

And as I am a very self-indulgent person, I’ve written a little something (and as I was born during spring, I’ve set this in this time of the year too)! I’ve asked you which character you preferred for this cute one-shot and you’ve voted for Caspian! So… here is a very cute birthday evening spent with our favourite Narnian.

****

Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warnings: None. Just fluff. Fluffiness everywhere. So much so, you might get cavities… It did take a… more… heated turn towards the end though. But nothing explicit, don’t worry, just some flirting.

Summary: You spend an uneventful, quiet, and quite wonderful evening with Caspian for your birthday.

Word count: 1724

Caspian had asked you what you wanted for your birthday. A ball? A party? A picnic with your friends?

Instead, he was quite taken aback when you answered, a shy smile on your lips and something terribly soft in your tone.

“I’d rather just spend a quiet evening with you, Caspian.”

The king didn’t think it possible to fall more in love with you, but he did, at that moment, staring into your infinite eyes, listening to your tender words that melted his heart…

It was the first time you would celebrate your birthday together. A ball was expected to celebrate the birthday of the new Queen of Narnia, but Caspian easily bent to your wishes, and he pushed back the ball to take place a week later.

After all, it was your day. He would do as you pleased.

He cleared his schedule for the evening, asked for a picnic to be prepared and told you to find him by the gardens, under this old oak tree you loved so much, the one you took refuge under in the summer, protected by its shade.

You were overexcited all day at the idea of spending the evening with your husband, just the two of you. It was a warm evening, twilight already painting the sky with gold and red. Warm breeze, quiet, peaceful evening of Spring. And when you crossed the gardens to find Caspian, you were almost running in your hurry to see him.

You knew he was quite surprised when you told him you didn’t want anything special for your birthday, only to see him. But then again, it was the truth. He was all you truly needed. All you truly wanted…

Your heart skipped a beat when you caught sight of him, standing right there, under the oak, long brown coat embroidered with glimmering golden threads, puffing shirt and dark pants, leather boots, hair moving with the wind…

He was so handsome, bathed in twilight…

“Good evening, my love,” he grinned at you as you approached. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” your smile matched his as you hurried to join him.

You discovered the picnic he had prepared, the comfortable blanket laid in the grass…

“This is for me?” you asked, excitement making your eyes glimmer.

“Of course, it is!” Caspian laughed. “Oh no, wait… actually, I think it is for Trumpkin and I. We are having a romantic evening, you see…”

You laughed as well.

“Should I be worried.”

“Tremendously so. His… enthusiasm is thrilling.”

You were still laughing when you sat down together, side by side, on the blanket. You noticed how Caspian shifted closer to you, the fondness in his smile, the glint in his eyes as he stared at you as if he couldn’t look away, as if you were too precious for him to break the spell. And you knew you adored him just the same…

He leaned closer to drop a sweet kiss on your temple, making your smile broaden, even though you didn’t think it possible, before he would turn towards the two baskets filled with food.

“I’ve asked the kitchens to prepare a nice picnic for us. Only your favourites, of course,” he added with a wink.

“You do know how to bribe me, huh?” you joked, making him laugh.

“How do you think I’ve earned your love? I am well aware you married me in the sole purpose of having unlimited access to the Royal Kitchens.”

Both of you were still laughing when you leaned over to kiss his lips. It was a little messy, your smiles getting in the way, but you didn’t care. It was sweet, tender, perfect…

You started eating while the sun was setting, falling beyond the horizon, the sky becoming velvety and dark. But lamps were alit all around the gardens, the kind where you could take your time and enjoy the young night together. He told you about his day, and you told him about yours; while the sky lit up with the Castle, stars matching candlelight. A quiet, relaxed conversation, but you didn’t feel like the royal couple of Narnia, but as Caspian and Y/N. Just you, without the rest of the world. Everything you wanted…

Caspian seemed a little worried after a while though, you wondered why. When you asked him, he tried to change the topic of the conversation, but you didn’t let him.

“I… I was simply wondering…”

His voice was hesitant now, lacking some of its usual confidence. You frowned harder at the sound.

“Is this enough?”

You tilted your head a little, unable to understand what he meant.

“I mean… tonight,” he went on. “Is this evening enough for your birthday?”

You looked at him as if he had gone mad, and it made him smile even though his doubt was still there.

“Of course, it is! Are you… are you not spending a pleasant evening with me?”

It was his turn to shake his head as if you had lost your mind for speaking such ridiculous words.

“This is perfect to me,” he answered. “As long as I can spend time with you, I am happy.”

“Then why are you asking this?”

“It is your birthday. You… you should feel special today. Is this enough to make you feel this way? We could have organized a ball, or an evening with all your friends…”

But you chuckled, still looking at him as if he was being silly.

“I do feel special tonight. You make me feel special.”

He smiled, raising his fingers to your cheek.

“I want you to feel this way. To feel… how wonderful you are. How happy I am thanks to you. I want you to know that.”

“I know. You make me feel this way.”

You reached out for his hand, and he let you enlace your fingers together.

“I love you,” you breathed, voice a little shy but firm nonetheless. “As long as I have you, I do not want anything else.”

He smiled again, gesture filled with love, and when he leaned closer to kiss you, his feelings for you were evident, held between his lips and yours.

He kept on kissing your face and neck when your lips finally parted, making your heart beat faster, your breath get caught in your throat.

“I love you,” he whispered against your ear.

You gently pushed him away, just enough for the two of you to look at each other once more.

“This evening is perfect, Caspian. This is everything I wanted.”

“Good,” he nodded, his grin back on his face. “But then again, we are still missing a few things.”

“What could that be? I have you. You are all I need.”

He tried to hide the way his cheeks reddened at your words, how his heart expanded with love, but he failed quite miserably. He turned to the side anyway, reaching for the gift he had prepared for you.

“Happy birthday, my darling,” he grinned, clearly proud of his gift, and it made you only more excited to open it.

You hurried to tear the paper apart, but you frowned at the sight of a map of Narnia. You noticed that two locations near the sea had been circled, but you didn’t know why.

“It is a beautiful… map…” you commented, quite taken aback.

Caspian chuckled by your side.

“I’m not offering you a map, if it is what you believe.”

“But… this… is a map… And you gifted it to me. It was even wrapped in…”

He pointed at the two circled locations before you could finish.

“I am taking three weeks away from Cair Paravel.”

You turned to him with eyes wide open.

“Really? But… what do you mean?”

“I mean that we will leave for three weeks. Just the two of us.”

You grinned, excitement shining in your eyes again.

“You asking me to spend some time with me tonight… it reminded me that we have not had much time to spend together since our wedding,” Caspian explained. “Outside of our evenings together… and nights…” he added, a flirtatious edge to his voice that made you giggle a little. “I have been busy with my duties, and you have had so much to do with your new position… I reckon that it is time for us to have a few weeks to spend only together, and to focus on us again. What do you think?”

“Caspian! This… this is perfect…”

“I also have a second gift, more… traditional, but I must admit that I am quite excited at the idea of traveling with you for three weeks.”

“But how did you manage this with all your responsibilities and…”

“It took quite a lot of planning. But there is no need for you to worry about all this. All will be fine.”

“When are we leaving.”

“In two weeks.”

You let out an excited squeal, launching yourself into his arms, making him explode with a bright wave of laughter as you almost toppled him over.

“You sound excited as well,” he teased.

“You cannot imagine how much! This is going to be amazing! We will explore, and go for adventures…”

“I was thinking more about a quiet honeymoon-like vacation but…”

“I need to bring my sword! You can train me again!” you clapped your hands together in joy, making Caspian laugh fondly at you.

“If you wish. Anything you want, my darling.”

“Caspian, my love, thank you!”

“I do have another gift for you,” he mumbled as you pressed your lips to his. “Do you not want it?”

“I do. But later. Now… I have something else in mind.”

You gave him a suggestive look, and Caspian raised an endeared eyebrow.

“Really? Do you, now?”

You nodded.

“And I reckon that this activity requires us to leave this beautiful picnic behind and to… go to our chambers.”

Caspian gave you a smile filled with tentation, and when he leaned closer to whisper into your ear, his voice was deeper, huskier… and terribly dangerous.

“This sounds like an amazing activity, my love. We should go then. I have a few ideas for the night myself.”

“Do you?” you asked back, your breathing a mess and your heart ready to explode.

You gasped when he pressed a passionate kiss against your throat.

“I do, indeed,” he confirmed in the same dark tone. “If I am to be honest… I do not plan on letting you sleep tonight, my love. Would that be a satisfying night for your birthday, darling?”

You nodded, running your fingers in his smooth hair.

“Quite satisfying… yes.”

He helped you up, and you hurried back to the Castle and… well… let’s say that Caspian was a man of his word…

***********

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader