#2 piece candle boxes

[creativeboxesblog]

Eco-Friendly Custom Candle Boxes for Sustainable Brands

Introduction

Sustainability is more than just a buzzword; it's a movement that has taken the world by storm. Consumers increasingly prioritise eco-friendly products, and brands are stepping up to meet this demand. One area where this shift is particularly noticeable is in the packaging industry.

Adopting eco-friendly custom candle boxes is a brilliant way for candle makers to align with sustainable practices and appeal to a growing audience that values environmental responsibility.

Why Choose Eco-Friendly Custom Candle Boxes?

Environmental Benefits

Opting for Custom candle boxes eco friendly wholesale significantly reduces the environmental impact. These materials are often biodegradable, recyclable, or made from recycled content, which helps in conserving resources and reducing waste.

Brand Image Enhancement

Sustainable packaging can enhance your brand image by showcasing your environmental commitment. It sends a powerful message that your brand values the planet and is willing to invest in eco-friendly solutions.

Consumer Preferences

Today's consumers are more environmentally conscious than ever. By offering eco-friendly packaging, you can meet the preferences of this demographic and attract more customers looking to make sustainable choices.

Types of Eco-Friendly Materials

Recycled Cardboard

Recycled cardboard is a popular choice for eco-friendly packaging. It's sturdy, versatile, and easily customised to fit your brand's needs. Plus, it reduces the demand for virgin paper, conserving trees and water.

Kraft Paper

Kraft paper is known for its durability and natural look. It's made from wood pulp and is fully biodegradable, making it an excellent choice for sustainable packaging. Its rustic appearance also adds a charming touch to candle boxes.

Biodegradable Plastics

While traditional plastics harm the environment, biodegradable plastics offer a greener alternative. These materials break down naturally over time, reducing their impact on landfills and oceans.

Recycled Glass

Recycled glass is a fantastic option for candle jars. It offers the same quality and clarity as new glass but a significantly lower environmental footprint. Using recycled glass also reduces energy consumption and emissions during production.

Designing Eco-Friendly Candle Boxes

Minimalistic Designs

Less is more when it comes to eco-friendly design. Minimalistic packaging not only looks elegant but also uses fewer resources. Simple, clean designs can be both aesthetically pleasing and environmentally friendly.

Biodegradable Inks

Traditional inks can contain harmful chemicals, but biodegradable inks are made from natural materials. These inks are safer for the environment and ensure your packaging is fully sustainable.

Reusable Packaging Options

Designing packaging that can be reused adds extra value for your customers. Think of candle boxes that can double as storage containers or decorative pieces. This approach extends the life of your packaging and keeps it out of the landfill.

Benefits of Eco-Friendly Candle Boxes

Reduced Carbon Footprint

Eco-friendly materials typically require less energy to produce and result in lower carbon emissions. By choosing sustainable packaging, you can help fight climate change.

Customer Loyalty

Consumers are more likely to support brands that align with their values. Offering eco-friendly packaging can build customer loyalty and encourage repeat purchases.

Compliance with Regulations

Many regions are implementing stricter environmental regulations. Using eco-friendly packaging helps ensure your brand complies with these rules, avoiding potential fines and enhancing your reputation.

How to Source Eco-Friendly Packaging

Finding Reliable Suppliers

Research and connect with suppliers who specialise in sustainable materials. Look for suppliers with a proven track record and positive reviews to ensure you receive high-quality products.

Certifications to Look For

Certifications such as FSC (Forest Stewardship Council), SFI (Sustainable Forestry Initiative), and Green Seal indicate that the materials used are sustainably sourced and meet environmental standards.

Cost Considerations

While eco-friendly materials can sometimes be more expensive, the long-term benefits often outweigh the costs. When evaluating the investment, consider the positive impact on your brand image and customer loyalty.

Customisation Options for Eco-Friendly Boxes

Size and Shape

Customise the size and shape of your candle boxes to suit your product range. Whether you need small boxes for votive candles or larger ones for pillar candles, eco-friendly materials can be tailored to fit.

Colour and Finish

Eco-friendly packaging doesn't mean you have to compromise on aesthetics. Choose from various colours and finishes that complement your brand while staying sustainable.

Personalised Branding

Add your logo, brand colours, and other personalised elements to your packaging. This will enhance brand recognition and show your commitment to sustainability.

Marketing Your Eco-Friendly Candle Boxes

Highlighting Sustainability

Highlight the eco-friendly aspects of your packaging in your marketing materials. Educate your customers about the benefits of sustainable packaging and how your brand is making a difference.

Social Media Strategies

Use social media to showcase your eco-friendly packaging, share behind-the-scenes looks at your sustainable practices, and engage with your audience on environmental issues.

Collaborating with Eco-Conscious Influencers

Partner with influencers who promote sustainability. Their endorsement can help spread the word about your eco-friendly packaging and reach a wider audience.

Challenges and Solutions in Eco-Friendly Packaging

Balancing Cost and Quality

Finding the right balance between cost and quality can be challenging. Work closely with your suppliers to source affordable, high-quality materials that meet your sustainability goals.

Overcoming Design Limitations

Eco-friendly materials may have some design limitations. Be creative and work with designers specialising in sustainable packaging to overcome these challenges.

Educating Consumers

Not all consumers understand the importance of eco-friendly packaging. Use your marketing channels to educate them about the benefits and encourage them to make sustainable choices.

Conclusion

Embracing eco-friendly custom candle boxes is a smart move for any brand looking to positively impact the environment. By choosing sustainable materials, designing reusable packaging, and highlighting your commitment to the planet, you can attract environmentally conscious consumers and build a loyal customer base.

The journey towards sustainability might have challenges, but the rewards—both for your brand and the planet—are well worth the effort of the Custom candle boxes wholesale.

[animehideout]

like what would jjk men would do when you’re in your period (like how he would help you and what would he do to cheer you up)

JJK Men When You're On Your Period

a/n: Thank you anon for this request, I hope this comforts you <33 . Remember to stay warm and hydrated, also I realized that dates ( the fruit ) really helps with period pain 💗

Warnings: Fluff 🌸 but Smut only in Sukuna's part.

Characters: Satoru – Yuuji – Megumi – Choso – Toji – Nanami – Sukuna. ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Gojo Satoru: Runs you a warm bath.

He would sense that something is wrong the moment he stepped into your shared apartment after his mission.

You're not all goofy and cute while greeting him.

You didn't kiss him or jump on him like you usually do, but rather you're glaring at him.

He would be so confused trying to remember if he did something wrong to upset you but nah he's the best partner.

“Babygirl are you okay? did I do something wrong?”

“My tummy hurts” you would whine your glaring expression quickly turned into a pout.

Without saying anything he would rush to the bathroom, gather your favorite bath bombs and oils knowing that they might ease your discomfort.

Would approach you gently and carries you bridal style

“Come on babes, I think a warm bath will help, hm!”

He would adjust the water temperature for you, not too cold not too hot.

Would undress you, and help you to slowly get into the bathtub.

A playlist of your favorite songs is a must to take your mind off of your pain while you hum along with the tunes.

Gojo would light up some candles for a soothing ambiance.

He'd bring a bowl of fruits, and feed you while you're relaxing in the water.

Gives your shoulders light squeezes while rubbing them with scented body oil.

After that bath, he had already prepared a towel to wrap you with.

Covered in your towel he would carry you to your shared bedroom like a princess, where he dries your body and helps you dress up into more comfy pajamas.

He's always touchy so he can't take his hands off of you but if you don't want to be touched then he would respect your space.

“You're not alone in this, I'm right here baby. If there's anything specific you need, just let me know, kay? Your loving man will take care of you”

Yuuji Itadori: Builds you a pillow fort.

The sight of you curled up on your bed while holding your lower abdomen, broke his heart into pieces.

He can't bear seeing you in pain, he wants to protect you from every thing so that's why he'd do literally everything that may cheer you up.

He would bring you a box that he was hiding, full of your favorite snacks and necessary meds.

“I got you a little something, I've prepared this 2 weeks ago, in case your period starts”

“You prepared this for me?.. you're the best boyfriend ever”.

“Wait here for me I'll be right back! don't leave the bed..if you want you can start munching on your snacks”.

Yuuji would rush to the living room, arranging a cozy pillow fort with soft warm blankets and cushions.

He would hold you and carry you in his arms to the living room, while you hold your snack box.

“Surprise sweet cupcake! what about we spend the rest of the day in our little pillow fort?”

He would gently place you and pull up the blanket to cover both of you.

His presence created a warm and inviting space within the fort.

“Here let me fluff up these pillows for you”.

He would let you pick up your comfort show and watch it while snuggling together.

Would stare at you in a loving way while you eat your chocolate and chips.

Checks up on you every now and then to make sure you're feeling less pain.

Kisses your hands a lot and runs his thumb on your knuckles.

“How are you feeling my little pookie? Need anything else?”.

Megumi Fushiguro: Cuddles you to sleep.

You'd find a difficulty finding a comfortable position to sleep, nothing helps with your period pain like being in Megumi's embrace.

He's an understanding man, he would give you some private time to sleep alone in your bedroom while he sleeps on the couch.

But the moment you call for him because you need comfort he would literally run to you.

Approaches you with a comforting smile, sensing that now you need to be buried in his chest.

“Let me cuddle you and drift back to sleep together, you want that, love?”.

He'd bring extra pillows to ensure you're surrounded by softness even though his body is enough for you.

He'd lay next to you, while holding you gently, an arm under your head as a pillow and the other wrapped around you pulling you closer to him.

“Close your eyes love, I'm right here”.

He'd tenderly give you a backrub, easing the tension in your muscles.

He'd let you toss and turn and shift positions to make sure you have the most restful sleep.

His arms will always find a way to cuddle you close.

He'd play with your hair, while whispering sweet comforting words.

Forehead and top of the head kisses are obligatory.

“We'll take it easy tonight, no stress no worries, just relaxation and warmth–oh you're asleep? sweet dreams my love I love you”

Choso Kamo: Makes you food and tea.

Wouldn't allow you leave your bed he'll bring everything you need or crave right into your hands.

The moment you told him that your period started he'd go straight to the kitchen and prepares your comfort food.

He wouldn't let you take any period pills on an empty stomach.

He'd pick some fresh vegetables and some protein to make a nourishing soup, something that wouldn't give you a stomachache.

He would cook with care and love, making sure it tastes good.

“I'm making your favorite soup and brewing some tea for you my princess, it will be ready soon..stay cuddled on the bed”.

Once it's ready he'll bring it to you with careful balance making sure everything is in place.

The scent of the chamoline drink wafts through air creating a cozy atmosphere in your room.

He's so attentive, he'll adjust the pillows behind your back for a comfier sitting position.

He'll place the cup on your nightstand while he holds the bowl of soup in his hand, ready to feed you.

The soup is too hot? he'll blow on it. Needs more salt? he'll ran to the kitch to add some salt. You need a piece of bread? he'll instantly bring it to you.

“Eat slowly and enjoy the flavours my princess”.

After eating he'll make sure you take your pills and then drink your tea to help you warm up and digest.

Tucks you back to sleep, while he watches over you.

“I hope this brings you a bit of comfort my princess, I'm here to make you feel better, I just wish I can take your pain away”

Toji Fushiguro: Give you a massage.

I mean look at his big hands, they do magic.

He can't just watch while you're in pain.

He'd set the mood with dim lighting, and calming background instrumentals, creating a tranquil environnement.

He'd prepare your bed, spreading a big towel over it.

“Come here babe, lay and on the bed and get comfy. I'll give you a nice massage”

He'd take off your shirt so he can use the massage oils on your body.

He'd crawl on top of you while you lay on your stomach.

His large hands would begin with gentle touches, softly rubbing the warm oil on your back.

“Let me know if the pressure is too much or too little”

His hands would reach the areas where you may feel the discomfort, like your lower back.

His palms going up and down your back, caressing the soft skin and pressing on some specific spots to ease the tighteness.

Would squeeze your shoulders and the back of your neck softly.

His hands moving and working perfectly, applying magic to take your pain away.

Would regularly check if you're enjoying the massage he's giving you

“Does that feel good baby?”

Would keep the conversation going to take your mind off of your period, his voice soothing you.

He would turn you around to lay on your back, so he can massage your stomach and lower abdomen.

His hands circling around your waist, going down smoothly, the tension melting away with each stroke.

He would kiss your tummy repeatedly to make you giggle from the ticklish feeling.

“There you go doll, take your time to get up while I'll bring you some comfy clothes”.

Nanami Kento : Buys you everything you need.

He already knows you started your period, since he keeps track of your menstrual cycle.

He would get off work early to be next to you at home.

He would stop by the pharmacy to buy your favorite brand of pads and tampons and some pain killers.

He would also stop by your favorite restaurant and buys you food.

Buys you a bouquet of flowers to cheer you up.

He would arrive home, holding a lot of bags full of everything you need.

“Here you go honey, I've got you a few things that might help. Period pain sucks”

“H-how did you know my period started?”

“These flowers are for you, you deserve something beautiful like you”

He's fully aware of your mood swings, and how emotional you can get so he always makes sure to make you feel loved and cared for you.

Would help you put on some fluffy socks, so your feet won't get cold.

Would sit next to you on the couch and turn on the TV.

You'd place your head on his broad shoulder while you munch on your food.

His fingers massage your scalp and play with your hair strands.

Would encourage you a lot, drowning you in sweet and comforting words.

“I know this is tough but you're so strong love, this pain will fade away... Just say the word, and I'll bring the world to you, you're my ultimate priority”

Ryomen Sukuna: Makes you orgasm.

Instead of pain in your stomach he would make you feel butterflies.

Orgasming helps with period pain, and who's more qualified than Sukuna to help you release?

He would be surprised on how bratty you were acting towards him, literally yelling at him for the slightest things.

He breathed too loud? you'd tell him to shut up.

He chewed food too loud? you'd glare at him.

He's got enough of you screaming at his face, he's surprisingly patient with you.

“Alright, listen here little brat ..this website states that orgasming can ease the pain and regulate the hormones.. get on the bed let's me stop this mood swing of yours”

He'd be okay with making love to you while you're bleeding.

What matters is making you feel okay and brings back the soft and sweeter side of you not the grumpy one that he's already dealing with.

He'd know exactly how to make you feel good and relaxed at the same time.

Drowns you with flirty and praising words.

“You're so good baby, you know that? come on let me help you release and relief your pain”

“I must admit it, you're strong.. Periods must be a pain in the ass but you're dealing with it perfectly”.

He'd make you feel much better, both pleasured and relieved from he pain.

He'd help you clean up and then give you the aftercare you deserve.

“Finally, I've got my sweet baby back, you've been acting like a brat for the whole morning. See how patient I am with you instead of slicing you in half”

He'd flirt with you, and use cheesy pick up lines to make you laugh.

Would snuggles next to you till both of you fall asleep with you on top of him.

Sukuna tends to be more romantic when you're on you're period.

Despite his harsh and intimidating nature, he's a softball when he's around you.

[potatoplace]

this is me trying

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 3 | series masterlist

part 2 | part 4 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: The day after your birthday is spent shopping for Solstice presents and a surprisingly pleasant conversation with one of your sisters. Winter Solstice proves to be a pleasant affair for you this year.

Warnings: self worth issues, discovering bisexuality, honestly there's not much here, it's a fairly fluffy chapter, lemme know if I missed something

Words: ~8.2k

Author's Note: here it is! It's only like... half of what I wanted to cover in this chapter, but I'm happy with what I've written. I hope you all like it! It's a bit nicer of a chapter, mainly fluff-ish with very little angst imo. (It's a lot nicer than I'd planned to be... lol) enjoooyyyy 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

You woke when the sky was still dark, the house beneath you quiet. Your body was still aching, the sharp pains having woken you from your dream of the cabin and your father.

Forcing yourself from the tub, you pulled your bedding back to its rightful place and drew a bath. The steaming hot water was the perfect remedy along with your fingers rubbing gentle circles over your lower abdomen.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when you dragged yourself from the bath and dressed, resolving to do you skincare when you returned from your mission.

Shopping for Feyre's birthday and Solstice was your one true goal for the day, and then you could hibernate for the two days before Solstice.

Your eyes roved over the stack of presents on your desk, catching on something you hadn't expected.

A plate with a piece of white chocolate raspberrry cake, a single candle sticking out of the slice. Along with it was a matchbook and a note. You tried to read it, but only got as far as deciphering who it was from- Feyre, from the signature at the bottom. Most likely an apology of some sort, but you could wait to have someone read it for you.

You turned your eyes to the cookbooks your sisters had gifted you. A sigh escaped your lips, and you walked over to look at them once more. The dessert book Elain had gifted you would be helpful for your gifting ideas- you wanted to give each couple, Mor and Azriel a box full of their favorite cookies and sweets.

Personal gifts would only be for Feyre, Mor and Azriel, seeing as it was Feyre's birthday, and Mor and Azriel had picked out more personal gifts for your own birthday. And of course Nuala and Cerridwen, you had always appreciated their willingness to share some of the cooking duties with you.

Mind settling back on the cookbook that Elain had given you, you flipped through it, attempting to identify everyone's favorites by the drawings accompanying the recipes.

Your head was starting to hurt.

A shake of your head and you closed the book, opting instead to tug on your coat and a hat, grabbing the cookbook before leaving your room, shutting the door behind you quietly.

Before you set out into the wintery city, you stopped by Nuala and Cerridwen's room, a soft knock on their door enough to have Nuala opening it.

"Could I come in?" You asked softly, trying to avoid waking those sleeping down the hall.

"Of course, Y/N," Nuala said with a smile, opening the door wider to let you slip inside, eyes catching sight of the book in your hands. "Did you need help reading a recipe?"

"Not quite, well... Yes, but I would also really appreciate if the two of you could help me find the recipes I need for Solstice presents, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" Cerridwen said once she had emerged from the bathroom, a towel still wrapped in her hair to dry. "Oo, a book of Solar Court desserts! I haven't seen this one before," the wraith said excitedly once she looked over the cover of the book. "Did you have anything particular in mind?"

"I was hoping we could find recipes for everyone's favorites, I'd like for all of them to have something they like. And maybe sugar cookies too, that could be decorated for Solstice."

"Ah, a challenge," Nuala smirked, a glimmer in her eyes. "Did you happen to want a little *help* making all of this?" She asked hopefully.

"If the two of you wouldn't mind, that would be lovely. But don't feel like you have to, please."

"Anything to help you out and spend a bit more time with you Y/N, it's been lonely cooking without you recently," Cerridwen reassured you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Now, let's get to finding those recipes, and Nuala and I will go shopping for any ingredients we'll need tomorrow if that's okay with you?"

You beamed at the twins, happy that they weren't upset at you disappearing on them for three weeks. "I would be so grateful to the two of you if you could help out. Thank you so much!"

The three of you sat down on Nuala's bed, flicking through the cookbook and marking each page that had a recipe you would need.

For Nesta, you would make thumbprint cookies with a blackberry jam- a dessert she had enjoyed since childhood, one that she had stared at hungrily for so long while your family had been impoverished. And for her mate, Cassian, you would bake lemon bars. He had absolutely devoured some at the Summer Solstice celebration this year, only leaving a few for everyone else.

Elain you would give chocolate dipped lacy cookies, her favorite treat to have with tea. Lucien would be receiving snickerdoodles, his favorite cookie and the first thing that Elain had baked for him.

Feyre absolutely adored thin lemon-ginger cookies, and with any possible morning sickness or nausea they could be a simple enough treat for her to have. For Rhys you would be making chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, made from his mother's recipe which Cerridwen had carefully tucked a copy of into the back of the cookbook for you to hold on to.

Mor would be getting lavender and pistachio macarons, snickerdoodles, and peanut butter fudge- the last you recipe you had stumbled across in the back of the book, and you knew it would be perfect for Azriel as well. For him you would be making the peanut butter fudge as well as a mint chocolate fudge, lemon bars, and peanut butter cookies. You hadn't seen him eat many sweets, but when he did they seemed to be either peanut butter, lemon, or mint, and you wanted to cover your bases.

And for everyone, and to give the three of you something to decorate, you would be making sugar cookies, hopefully in shapes resembling trees, ornaments, snowmen- really anything that would scream winter.

With the recipes picked out, the book left in the their care, and the twins' promise to gather the supplies, you set out for the Rainbow, in search of a present for Feyre.

The streets were quiet as you walked past rows of houses and apartments, the snow on the ground muffling everything.

It was easy to find the store you needed for the present you had in mind, the wood and paint scented air greeting you when you stepped inside. You glanced around, trying to familiarize yourself with the shop.

On your left was a wall of easels and canvases, the right taken up by every color of paint imaginable. You went to the left first after picking up a basket, setting nine small, square canvases inside before turning your eyes to look for rope and fasteners to connect all of them together. Your idea was for her to be able to paint one square per month of pregnancy, something to remember how she felt carrying her child.

"Did you need help finding something, love?" A female voice asked from the back of the shop, startling you out of your thoughts. You whipped around, eyes met with the sight of a beautiful fae, her skin shimmering in the light, constantly changing between the colors of the rainbow as she moved beneath it.

You managed to catch yourself from staring at her, your manners kicking in as you met her eyes- bright orange now, but you had a feeling that they would also change hue in different settings, the color shifting from a light sunrise to a burnt orange already.

"I was hoping to find some kind of rope to connect all of these, and something to fasten them to the actual canvas, if you have them," you replied shyly, your heart rate picking up as she came closer to you.

She was so pretty. You felt like you had months ago, staring at Cassian. But that was-

"I certainly do, love! They're on the other end of the shop, come with me," the fae said, her cool hand grasping yours and gently tugging you along with her. "What pattern were you wanting to put them in?"

"Uhm..." You tried to restart you brain, repeating the question in your head until you found its answer. "A three by three grid, I think."

She picked out several pieces of rope, as well as a small bag filled with pronged pieces of metal. "This should be enough of both, but if you need more you know where to find them now!" You nodded and followed her as she made her way to the counter in the back. "My name is Irina, by the way," she said as she bagged your items and wrote out a receipt.

"I'm Y/N." Just introducing yourself made your face flush, your mind replaying her name as you watched her fingers write.

"Oh, Feyre's sister?" Irina asked you, her eyes flicking up to meet yours once again. You nodded in confirmation, and she smiled. "I was wondering when I might happen across the youngest, I've already met your other sisters as well. Feyre's studio is just a few buildings down, and she comes in quite often for supplies. How has Velaris treated you so far?"

"Oh, uhm... It's a lovely city, truly. How... How much do I owe you?" You asked, trying to steer the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

"Eight gold marks, but I've already charged the account on file for you, Y/N."

You gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Irina. You have a beautiful shop here, I can see why Feyre comes in."

"Why thank you, Y/N! I'm very proud of it, and even more proud that our High Lady chooses my paints to use for her masterpieces," Irina sighed happily. "I hope the rest of your shopping goes well, love."

"I'm sure it will, thank you," you said with a smile before turning and slowly exiting her shop, your heart still racing from her presence.

You walked lazily through the Rainbow, eyes glossing over beautiful paintings and woven tapestries. You had nearly reached the end of it, almost in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf when you saw a stall that truly caught you eye.

Hairpins.

As children, the one purely material thing that you and Feyre had yearned for were hairpins. A woman in the village had made them by hand, delicate sticks with delicately crafted flowers attached to one end, sometimes with small gems dangling on short chains. They were far out of your price range while destitute, and you had almost entirely forgotten about your desire for one after your family had regained their fortune.

The ones from the village paled in comparison to these absolute works of art, lifelike flowers made of gems with matching petals dripping from them, secured only by small metal chains. Some had strings of pearls falling from them, others with a chain of sparkling diamonds.

You approached the stall, fingers hovering over the beautiful hairpins, but you were too afraid to touch them.

"Hello," the female behind the stall said, her silver skin shining, even shaded from the winter sun that had started shining brightly while you had been in Irina's shop. "Were you looking to buy a hairpin today?"

You smiled bashfully at her. "I might be, I'm not sure yet. They are absolutely beautiful, though."

The female beamed at you. "Thank you very much. They also double as a dagger, if needed," she said, pulling a thin sheath off of one of the hairpins, revealing a thin, sharp piece of ash wood. "They only open for the person it belongs to, so long as you place a small dot of blood on the sheath, it will appear as a simple hairpin. They're rather handy, for us females to keep around..." she trailed off.

Having something... Something to protect you could be nice, even if it wouldn't be much help in the end. But for peace of mind... And it could be nice for Feyre to have one, in case her magic is drained from her somehow...

Your eyes trailed back down to the hairpin that had drawn you to the stall.

A silver sheath with pink hydrangeas on the end, tiny flowers dripping down a short chain, tinier diamonds filling in the spaces between them. It was absolute perfection.

Another silver hairpin drew your eyes, this one with crescent moon at the end, a large sapphire hanging between its edges. Dangling from its bottom edge were two chains that met an inch down to continue as one, covered in small sapphires and glittering diamonds. Very Feyre.

"I'll take the both of these, please," you said as you lightly tapped both of them, not quite trusting yourself to hold them and not drop them.

"Ah, those are two lovely picks. May I ask who they are for?"

"The flowers are for me, the moon for my sister," you answered, watching as she carefully placed each in a velvet bag.

"What account would you like to credit it to?" She asked once she had tied off the bags, opening up the thick ledger next to her.

"Uh... Y/N Archeron, I suppose?"

"Ahh, the High Lady's human sister! If the crescent pin is for her, you chose perfectly," she said with a wink as she handed the hairpins to you.

Your nose scrunched as you smiled, "It is, and I thought so as well. Thank you so much...?"

"Opal. I'm always happy to sell my work to appreciative eyes," she said with a sparkle in her eyes.

"I may be back for another, at some point. Have a happy Solstice," you said cheerily as you left her stall, walking carefully after you spotted a patch of gleaming ice.

"The same to you, Y/N!"

The Palace of Hoof and Leaf proved perfect for finding tins for the sweets you would be baking, with an entire store dedicated to gift boxes.

Nesta and Cassian would be receiving one with a scene of the Illyrian mountains, a blazing bonfire the centerpiece, flanked by said mountains in the distance. For Elain and Lucien you picked a scene reminiscent of spring, a pond surrounded by trees with a clearing in front of it. In the clearing is a small, brown bunny, watched from bushes by a red fox. Very fitting, considering how Feyre always called Lucien a fox.

Rhys and Feyre would be getting a box decorated with the three peaks of Ramiel in the dead of night, a bright silver moon and speckles of stars lighting the sky. Perfect for the High Lord and Lady of Night.

Mor is receiving a tin with the view of Velaris at night from the House of Wind, what she had told you was her favorite view of the city.

And for Azriel, you chose one covered by a view of the sea from the cliffs of Velaris, late into a sunset.

You were satisfied with your choices, and left the Palace to cross the river and enter the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Here, you found most everything else that you needed.

For Nuala, you got a new set of embroidery hoops as you had noticed hers were a bit worn, and truly she could never have enough seeing how many projects she had going at all times. In the same shop you picked out a variety of threads, including a selection of metal threads as she had mentioned a month or two ago that she wanted to try using them.

Before you left, you picked up a few skeins of soft yarn in jewel shades for Cerridwen, as well as a pair of knitting needles that were charmed to not lose any stitches if you accidentally dropped them.

You wandered further into the Palace, eyes grazing over beautiful gowns and spools of fabrics before they caught on something.

Red leather thigh high boots, a pair of matching gloves displayed in the same window.

That was a perfect present for Mor. You had even seen her in a pair of similar boots in black, so you knew they were her style.

And red. Her absolute favorite.

The boots and gloves were purchased quickly, tucked into a bag that you slung over you arm with the other two. You continued your journey, looking now for something for Azriel.

Quickly though, you found another present for the twins. A nice apron for both of them, one in a pale golden color with a silver moon and stars embroidered along the chest for Nuala, and a midnight blue apron, with similar silver stitching for Cerridwen. A nice apron always made you happy, and these ones seemed cute enough and close enough to each twin's typical color palette that they might wear them.

You ended up finding a nicely bound pale blue diary, almost the exact shade of Feyre's eyes.

If she was going to document her pregnancy in paint, she may as well have the option to document it in writing.

You explored the last few buildings of the Palace before giving up on a gift for Azriel from the shops it contained. You'd rarely seen him in anything but his Illyrian leathers, so you couldn't pick out a piece of clothing that you knew he would like. And he seemed to have all the gloves he would need, nearly always having a pair on hand.

The only thing you could think of...

Perfect!

You made your way back across the Sidra, through the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, and passed through the Rainbow before landing in the Palace of Flame and Steel.

You were searching for a dagger.

The Shadowsinger always had a dagger on him, if not an entire belt of them. Surely he could always use one more?

Twenty minutes spent wandering through the Palace had you shivering and slightly frustrated. Nothing seemed right for him, the hilts either entirely plain or completely encrusted in jewels.

While you were sure the plain would be just fine, you wanted something that seemed like him.

Not that you knew him very well.

You frowned as you entered a shop, its display window filled with knives, swords, and axes. Warm air rushed over you, smoothing your smile into a neutral expression as you took in the overwhelming amount of weapons inside.

An entire side of the shop was dedicated to knives and short swords, which you immediately gravitated towards.

There was some of the same fare you had seen outside, yes, but most of the knives had subtly decorated hilts, a good middle ground in your opinion.

You picked over them carefully with your eyes, trying to find one that Azriel may actually like to have. It was difficult, but you finally found one that you thought he might like. Fairly simple, a five inch blade with a black leather hilt, a small sapphire crescent moon on both ends of it. The gems matched his many siphons, and the knife came with a plain black leather sheath, a metal clip on one end so he could attach it to a belt if he wanted.

Your final purchase completed, you trudged back to the River House, taking as long as you could. You knew at this point that people would be awake and buzzing about, and you hardly wanted to speak with any of them. All you wanted was to put your Solstice presents away, make some tea in the new pot Azriel had gifted you, and eat the slice of cake that had been brought to your room some time last night.

Still, you dragged yourself back inside, shaking the snow off of your boots before you shut the door behind you. Quiet chatter was coming from the living room, but you paid it no mind as you snuck upstairs, shutting the door behind you softly.

The bags of presents were slid underneath the bed for safekeeping and to be away from any prying eyes. The only thing you kept out was your hairpin, the velvet bag soft as sin beneath your fingertips.

Should you...? Yes.

You shrugged off your hat and put it back in its spot, then your coat and replaced it on its hanger, leaving you in your dark blue wool dress and winter boots. Those were next, changed instead to your warm and fuzzy pink slippers.

Gently, you used the inside of the hairpin to prick your finger, and after replacing the sheath placed a drop of blood onto the metal, which sunk into it a moment later.

You went into the bathroom, your brand new hairpin in hand, and brushed out your hair. It took a couple of tries, but soon enough you had your hair secured in a bun, hairpin stuck through the middle. The petal chain hung down, and the sight of it in your hair made you tear up a bit.

Leaving the bathroom and going to your desk, you picked out a tea from the sampler that Azriel had gifted you, this one a strawberry green tea. You then pulled your new teapot and cups out of their box and braved the walk downstairs to the kitchen with all the items you needed for your relaxing afternoon, hopefully followed by a restful sleep.

When you entered the kitchen, it was blissfully empty, the rest of your family seemingly chatting in the living room, the buzz of which you could just barely hear.

Water was set to boil and you quickly washed the teapot and cups, a dish towel drying them just before the water began to boil. Tea leaves were poured into the strainer, hot water poured slowly and evenly over them.

It could almost be an art, you think.

"Oh, Y/N," Feyre said from behind you, just as you set the kettle back on the stove. "Could we- could I join you for tea? In your room I would guess?"

Lip between your teeth, you thought on it. As far as you could tell, Feyre hadn't wanted your birthday to turn into her pregnancy celebration. She had noticed you hadn't had cake...

"I suppose. For a cup," you replied, attempting to set a boundary with her.

Feyre nodded her head in agreement, a soft smile on her face as she watched you place two cups on a tray, the other two finding a place together in a cupboard. You waited another minute before removing the leaves, emptying the strainer and washing it. Once the pot of tea was on the tray, the two of you went up the stairs and into your room.

The tray went on your dresser, and you gestured for Feyre to take the squishy armchair in the corner of the room as you poured tea for the both of you. You passed Feyre her cup before pulling the chair at your desk over to her and sitting, your own cup of tea in hand. A cramp rippled through you, but you forced down any discomfort so that you could get this conversation out of the way.

"How are you feeling? Any morning sickness at all?" You asked Feyre, blowing on your tea after.

"A bit, but I've been having some ginger tea as soon as I wake up, and that seems to have helped." Feyre paused, taking a sip of her tea. "Mm, I like this one. Is it one that Azriel got you?" You nodded, taking your own sip. It was good. "And the tea set he got you is really pretty. I... I really didn't want for your birthday to end that way, Y/N. We tried to hide my scent but I guess something went wrong or... I don't know, but I feel so bad that we ignored you again," Feyre said tearily. "I really didn't want that to happen, I swear."

You sighed as you looked at her. You had already suspected it, but it still hurts. "I know you didn't Feyre, but it's still... It wasn't fair to me."

"I know it wasn't. I'm so sorry, I don't... I don't know how to make it up to you," she said quietly. "I... We're all going up to the cabin the day before Solstice, and staying through the night of Solstice. Did you... Did you want to come? Or you could stay here, if you'd prefer. I know last year was... Well, Nesta..."

Your mouth fell into a straight line as you thought back on last Solstice.

An absolute nightmare.

Nesta had been overly aggressive to you, still fully controlled by her rage and new mating bond. And just, overall, you had felt so out of place and unwelcome in the otherwise cozy cabin.

And on your cycle? Contained to an even smaller area?

"I'd rather not, if that's... If it's alright with you, Feyre," you said hesitantly, taking a nervous sip of tea after you finished speaking.

Feyre nodded her head in understanding. "I thought you might not, so I have one small ask: Would you be willing to have lunch with me on Solstice? I still want to see you, and spend time with you, if you'd like?"

The request was something you hadn't expected from your sister. Lunch?

"I think... I think that would be nice, Feyre. I'd like that."

Feyre's expression lightened at your acceptance, though her eyes still held unshed tears. "Really? Oh, thank you Y/N, I'm so excited to spend some one on one time with you!" Feyre said, as close to a squeal as you thought she would ever get. "And I do have a Solstice present for you too, I wanted to make sure you were celebrated then too." Feyre finished off her cup of tea and stood, placing it on the tray before standing in front of you. "Could I... Have a hug?"

A small smile played on your lips from the hesitant way she asked. You simply stood from your chair and set down your teacup before pushing yourself into her arms, savoring the warmth of her as you held each other.

"I'm looking forward to it too, Feyre. And I have a few presents for you too, so we can do a little exchange," you said once you pulled away from her. You looked at her- really looked at her. Your smile grew. "You're pregnant!"

Feyre was grinning as the tears finally fell from her eyes. "I am! I never thought- I never thought I would find a man that I would actually like enough, Y/N," she confessed through her tears.

"I know you didn't, Fey. I'm so happy you found Rhys."

The two of you embraced again, this time in joy of her expected child.

"Well, I should get back to work, I think. I've been planning an after-Solstice revel for the Hewn City as a way of breaking some of the barriers between us, but dealing with Kier..." Feyre sighed. "He's such a pain, but I don't truly have anything against the other citizens, so I'm pushing through. You're welcome to come, if you'd like?"

You instantly shook your head. "No, the one time I went I was so uncomfortable, I think I'd rather hear about any drama after, please."

Feyre's head bobbed. "I thought that might be the case. No worries there, sissy, but... You will come to Starfall, yes?"

"I'll be at Starfall, Fey, don't worry," you reassured her as the two of you made your way to your bedroom door. "Good luck with the planning, from what Mor has said about Keir he's... kind of the worst, right?"

Feyre chuckled. "He definitely is, Y/N. I'll see you later."

"See you later, Fey," you said, watching as she walked down the hallway. Your door shut softly, and you returned to your tray of tea.

One more cup, and you would do your skincare. And a bit of cake, as well.

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

Two days later and the Inner Circle was departing for the winter wonderland of a cabin Rhys had, and you were in the living room seeing them off with Nuala and Cerridwen.

"Have a good time!" You said cheerily, mainly to Feyre and Mor.

"Oh, I'm sure we will," Feyre laughed, sending a mischievous look to her mate before turning back to you. "I'll see you tomorrow at noon, right?"

You nodded in agreement. "Definitely, Fey."

"Good! Have a good day here, you two take care of her, alright?" Feyre asked the twins, who nodded enthusiastically. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

She and Rhys winnowed off, taking Cassian and Nesta with them, along with their bags.

"Y/N, I had an idea, if you're up for it?" Mor asked once they had left, taking Feyre's previous spot in front of you.

"Depends on what it is, Mor."

"Well, I thought that I could come back ahead of everyone else tomorrow night, and the two of us could have a cozy little sleepover! Lots of hot cocoa, chocolate, staying up all night talking. How does that sound?"

You grinned at her, so happy to have her as a friend. "I would love that Mor!"

"Perfect! I'll most likely be back before dinner, but I will send a note if I'm going to be late." Mor's expression matched your own as she turned to leave, taking Elain, Lucien, and Azriel with her as she winnowed.

And then you were alone with the twins in the River House, much quieter than it had been all morning.

"So... Are you two fine with starting to bake now?" You asked both of them.

"That sounds perfect, Y/N!" Nuala said, clapping her hands together.

"We do have a Solstice present that we'd like to give you early, though," Cerridwen offered.

You thought back to the aprons you had gotten for the two of them. "In that case, I have one for each of you as well."

"Meet in the kitchen in five minutes?" Nuala asked.

"That sounds fine," you said, already rushing over to the stairs.

As promised, the three of you reconvened in the kitchen a few minutes later, all of you holding presents behind your backs.

You passed the two gift bags over to them, and they both handed you a small box.

They insisted that you go first, so you carefully opened the wrapping paper, then the boxes, met with your own set of pink measuring cups and spoons, their size engraved into the handles in the first box. In the second was something that looked similar to a magnifying glass, but the twins showed you its use quickly by having it hover over the recipe book Elain had gifted you.

The glass read out the title, "Decadent Desserts of the Solar Courts of Prythian," and tears filled your eyes.

"It will help you read recipes, or notes, anything really, if the two of us aren't available. We thought it would be a nice gift, seeing how your family has forgotten to teach you to read. This way, you can teach yourself," Nuala explained softly as she passed the glass back to you.

"Not that we wouldn't love to teach you, but... I don't think your feelings about that have changed yet, right?" Cerridwen asked.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as you nodded. "Yes, but this is... This is such a fantastic gift, thank you both so much." You wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling like you were embracing sisters. "Go ahead and open your presents, I know they aren't much-"

"Oh nonsense!" Nuala interrupted you as she pulled out her apron, running her shadowy fingers over the golden fabric. "This is beautiful, Y/N!"

"I love it, oh, look! They have matching embroidery, Nuala!" Cerridwen said excitedly, running her fingers over the stitching. "These are just perfect, Y/N, thank you." It was your turn to be embraced by them, and you gladly soaked in their kind words and true enjoyment of the present you had gotten them.

"Now that we have presents done, should we get to baking?" You asked, already moving to pull out mixing bowls.

"There's no time like the present," Nuala said, and the two of them sprung into action, grabbing necessary ingredients and cookie sheets.

Baking with the two of them was a wonderful experience, as it always was, but today felt a bit different.

It felt like you were finally having the family holiday time you had craved, baking for Solstice with both of the twins.

The time flew by, and by the end of the day the three of you had made nearly everything you had wanted for tomorrow, the only sweet left unfinished was the sugar cookies. The dough for those was left in the cold box, and all of the other sweets were left on the counters overnight.

Together, the three of you made and enjoyed a hot meal, and ended the night sipping tea and eating a few of the goodies you had made earlier.

The next morning was easy, pleasant as you cut out little trees, ornaments, stockings. You all giggled over your attempts to make an Illyrian cookie, which turned out more like winged blobs.

While they were cooling, Nuala and Cerridwen made frostings in every color possible, and you packed up the tins of sweets for your family members.

Nuala helped you write out little notes of well wishes for each couple, and an extra one for Mor and Azriel stating that you had an extra Solstice present for them that you would give them in person.

And with the presents out of the way, the three of you decorated sugar cookies for the rest of the morning, the color schemes and designs getting more and more questionable as time went on.

That's how Feyre found you at noon, walking into the kitchen after winnowing back from the cabin.

"Feyre!" You exclaimed, dashing around the counter to pull her into your arms. "Happy birthday! Do you feel any older yet?"

"Thank you Y/N," Feyre giggled, squeezing you back. "Not yet, I still feel like a baby."

"Well, you are a baby still, Fey. At least compared to most of Velaris," you said cheekily, smiling when she swatted your shoulder gently.

"Yes well... This baby and my baby are hungry, are you ready to leave for lunch?"

You nodded. "Let me get my coat and boots on, and then we can go."

"Okay, I'll be here," Feyre smiled, and then her eyes locked on the cookies. "Can I have one?"

"Of course you can have one Fey, you're the birthday girl after all!" You said before you left the room, hurrying up the stairs to grab your outerwear.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, Feyre was sitting on a stool, decorating a cookie with precise strokes, turning one of the blobby cookies into something that resembled Rhys.

"That's a pretty cookie, Fey."

Feyre's head snapped up from where she had been entirely focused on her decorating. A light blush dusted her cheeks as she said, "Thank you, sissy. The girls told me you all tried to make Illyrians, and I thought they were just too cute to not do one of Rhysie."

"Well, you did a lovely job. Shall we go?"

Feyre nodded and stood from her stool, licking a small bit of frosting off of her thumb. "You made some really good cookies, Y/N. Are all of the tins filled with them?"

You shook your head. "No, they're filled with everyone's favorites, the sugar cookies were more for everyone. When you go back to the cabin, would you be able to take them with you? If not, I can give them out tomorrow."

The two of you walked to the front door, you opening it for Feyre and shutting it behind you. "I should be able to manage that just fine, sissy. Now, I was thinking we could go to Arlina's, I feel like pasta."

"Pasta sounds nice," you replied, letting Feyre lead you at a leisurely pace, locked arm in arm as the two of you took in the snow covered city.

Arlina's was a cozy little bistro only a few blocks away from the River House, tucked between some apartment buildings. You had been there once before, a few months after you had been brought to Velaris.

Once the two of you were seated across from each other in a booth, you pretended to look over the menu, but you already knew you would be getting the same thing you had last time. It had been very good, and you also wouldn't have to ask for help reading the menu...

The food was as good as you remembered, and your and Feyre's conversation stayed light, mainly focused on Feyre's duties and her hopes for her future, now that she has a little one on the way. You preferred talking about her, talking about your life right now... Would be a bit of a mood killer. And today was about Feyre.

During dessert- a delicious crème brûlée that you and Feyre shared- Feyre started to fidget.

Not much, but enough that you noticed.

"Yes, Fey?"

Feyre sighed at being caught. "You know how Starfall is coming up?" She asked.

Your narrowed your eyes in suspicion. "Yes?"

"I was hoping that you would go dress shopping with me- us," she corrected. "I want you to feel included, and it would be really nice to go dress shopping as sisters, like we were never able to."

Your first instinct was to say no, but this was Feyre. Feyre, who was sitting across from you and giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

You sighed. "Fine, but can you tell the two of them to behave again? I know that they have... Issues with me, but I would like to feel comfortable in a room with them again at some point."

"Oh, I've already told them to behave. Honestly I should have done it so long ago, it's not fair to you. From now on I'll do my best to make sure you can feel comfortable in the family again, okay?" Feyre said honestly, and you finally believed her.

"Okay. What day were you thinking about going?"

"I was thinking in two days time, I have a few meetings tomorrow, and that revel I was telling you about, so most of us will be busy then."

You nodded your head. Two days. You could prepare yourself for Nesta and Elain's inevitable scrutiny over two days. Especially with your evening plans with Mor tonight. "That sounds fine to me, Fey."

Feyre smiled at you widely before taking another bite of dessert.

🤍💝🩵💝🤍

The rest of your afternoon with Feyre flew by, your short walk back to the River House led to presents.

You had given her her gifts first, soaking in the absolute joy in her eyes when she realized that you had gotten her two gifts for her pregnancy journey, already telling you about what she wanted to paint for the first month. And the hairpin she absolutely adored, promising to wear it tomorrow night to the revel after sealing it with her own drop of blood, as you had with yours.

She had nervously handed over your own Solstice present, an apron that she had made for you. It was in a light pink, with slightly clumsily sown stitching, but you loved it so much. Something that she had made, just for you.

You had bid her goodbye after the two of you decorate a few more cookies, her arms now loaded with two bags, filled with tins of sweets.

You made Nuala and Cerridwen rest while you cleaned up, taking care to get every last bit of dough or sugar off of the counters and each dish cleaned.

After, you retired for your room for a while, a bit of light cramping having you in the bath again, soaking in the heat.

Just a few minutes after you had finished getting dressed, you heard Mor yelling something from downstairs.

With your slippers on, you exited your room and went downstairs, happy to see an excited looking Mor sitting in the living room, a couple of gift bags sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

"Happy Solstice!" The blonde said brightly, bouncing out of her seat to wrap you in her arms.

"Happy Solstice to you too, Mor," you giggled after she let you go, air returning to your lungs. "Did you want to do presents now?" You asked, gesturing to the bags on the table.

"If you'd like, or we could wait a little bit. I'm fine with either!"

"I'll go get yours, then," you said, and did exactly that, returning a few moments later, excitedly shoving a bag into her arms. "Open it!"

Mor did so, gasping when she pulled the boots out, and squealing when she saw the matching gloves. "Oh mother Y/N, these are perfect! Thank you so much!" The blonde exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. A playful look crossed her face, a smirk on her lips as she said, "Do you know what these would be perfect for?" You shook your head. "That stupid revel tomorrow! I'm already wearing this tiny little black dress, and these would look stunning with it."

"That does sound like a good time to debut them, it'll probably drive Keir up the wall," you joked.

"Yes it will," Mor sighed happily. "Now, open your gifts! Honestly I should have given them to you earlier, now that I think about it, but they'll still be useful."

Mor had given you several pairs of underwear, these specifically spelled with cycles in mind, making it so there was no noticeable scent, and also designed to come clean with no staining every time. In the same bag was a square herb filled pack, designed to be heated and kept against your skin as a way of minimizing the pain of cycles. Both were such thoughtful gifts, but you were most excited for the underwear. That meant less scathing looks from your judgmental sisters.

The second bag contained a large assortment of bath products, from bubble bath soap to deliciously scented bar soaps, to salt mixes that were supposed to help with aching muscles. She had managed to fit in a bath pillow, one that's able to get wet without being ruined, as well as a few face masks that appeared to lay over your face.

"Mor, these are such wonderful presents, thank you," you said gratefully, pulling her into a hug.

"I thought you might like them," Mor chuckled. "After all, you can never have too many self-care products in my humble opinion."

"Mhm. Humble," you giggled at her. "Did you have anything specific planned for tonight, or are we winging it?"

"Well, I thought we could do some extra skincare, I've already got an order of food in at Sevenda's- I got you curry." You nodded in approval. "And we can talk about how amazing those macarons you made were!"

You blushed under her gaze. "Nuala and Cerridwen helped..."

"Oh, it was all you, Y/N. I'm sure they helped a bit but you are such a wizard with baking!"

You almost went to deny her praise again, but thought better of it when she narrowed her eyes playfully at you.

"Skincare?"

"Skincare," Mor smiled, and let you lead her up the stairs and to your room.

The evening you spent with Mor was great, the two of you eating your takeout in your bed once it arrived, clay masks on your faces. You talked about the last couple days, Mor complaining about how the citizens of the Hewn City treat her, you opening up about how hurt you were over your sisters' gifts.

"I can't believe they forgot, though, Y/N. That's not something small, and I'm shocked that they haven't attempted to teach you yet..." Mor said disapprovingly. "I could help you, if you'd like?"

You shook your head immediately. "No, I'll be able to teach myself now, with a gift the twins got for me. It reads out the words it passes over, isn't that neat?" You asked, hoping she would understand that you'd rather not speak about the subject much.

"That was very thoughtful of them, I wish I'd thought of it!" Mor sighed. "I do hope that you feel more welcome here, now? Than a few weeks ago, I mean."

You glanced at her, seeing the emotion in her face. "I am, Mor. You've been a big part of it, I hope you know," you said softly.

"Good, I'm glad I can help. And you're just such a lovely person, it's hard not to want to spend time with you."

You blushed once more under her gaze. "Thank you, Mor."

"Any time, love."

The endearment she used had a pretty face flashing in your mind, a question on your tongue.

"Is it..." you trailed off, unsure if you wanted to ask the question.

"Is it... what?"

"Is it... normal...? To... to uhm..." you started nervously. "Is it normal to like girls...?" You asked Mor quietly, half hoping she would ignore your question.

"Like... To like girls as friends, or... To like girls like boys?" Mor asked cautiously.

"The... uhm... Boys."

Mor sighed, but not one of disapproval. You didn't think...

"Of course it's normal to like girls in that way, sweets. Maybe not for everyone, but I know that... I know that I do," Mor answered softly.

You turned your face to her, finding her cheeks pink, maybe for the first time since you had known her. "Really?"

"Yes, I've known for a couple of centuries, now. I still like boys some, but... I do find girls much more interesting." Relief flooded your heart at her words. "Can I... Ask what brought this on?"

"Oh, well... When I went shopping for Solstice presents, I met this really pretty shop owner, Irina? And I... I felt how I used to feel around... Cassian," you admitted.

"Well, Irina is very pretty," Mor said wistfully. "You have good taste," she joked as she nudged you gently with her elbow, getting you to smile.

"I do, don't I?" You giggled, feeling lighter with how accepting and calm she had been. The two of you sat in silence for a minute, before you had an idea. You looked over at Mor, a glint in your eyes. "What do you say to eating far too many cookies and passing out from so much sugar?"

Mor's eyes shined brightly in the candlelight of your room. "I say yes."

The two of you snuck downstairs, even though you didn't need to, it just felt right with the copious amounts of sugar you were about to consume.

You set to making a pot of tea while Mor grabbed a sinful amount of cookies and set them on the tray. She carried everything up to your room, you trailing behind her.

Mor had grabbed all of the sugar cookies that you and the twins had decorated all silly, including several deformed Illyrians that the three of you had attempted to make look like the three in the Inner Circle. Plus one of the ornaments that Cerridwen had written swear words on, claiming that she 'couldn't fit any other words on them.'

After a bit more talking, and all cookies eaten, Mor left your room so the both of you could change, and returned a few minutes later with hot chocolate for the both of you, a mound of whipped cream nearly overflowing from the mug.

"I'm really glad you suggested this, Mor," you said quietly once the two of you had laid down in your bed, all candles extinguished. "It's been really nice."

"I'm glad I did too, Y/N. This is a lot more fun than the bickering that I'm sure happened tonight at the cabin, that lot can never go too long in a confined space without arguing about something," Mor complained lightheartedly.

"You included, Miss Morrigan." Mor scoffed at the implication. "Tell me that you don't enjoy the drama a little, hmm?" She remained silent, and you giggled. "That's what I thought."

"Well, it's not my fault that they're so easy to bicker with..." Mor said sulkily before yawning. "Alright, I'm exhausted. Who knew eating cookies and takeout could be so tiring?"

"Not me," you said, yawning a moment after. "I guess that's our cue to try and sleep," you laughed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Mor said quietly, her breathing evening out a bit as she tried to sleep.

You tried to do the same, but it took a while, with the now unfamiliar noise of someone sleeping near you. But soon enough, you had drifted off into a peaceful sleep, cushioned comfortably for the first time in months.

🤍💝❤️💝🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

Series Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2

[astrxq]

Stage Light, Palace Light .I

jacaerys velaryon x theatre!reader

words: 23.6k (… i’m so sorry)

notes: tumblr won’t let me post this as a full fic so i’m dividing in half… though i think that kind of takes away from the whole thing, it’s the only way for me to post it :(( i hope the length doesn’t scare you away 😭

content!!: jacaerys secretly attends a theater in town, disguised as a commoner. captivated by a fearless and enchanting penniless actress, he asks for a private reading of one of her plays for a chance to see her again. — luke is alive in this, notttt following canon events obviously.

both parts will be posted simultaneously!! so you don’t have to wait for me to upload it if you want to read it :) — part 2 is tagged at the end of this post.

The halls of Dragonstone were eerily silent under the pale glow of the moon. Jacaerys paced his chamber, restless energy coursing through him. The heavy burden of duty weighed on his shoulders, suffocating in the castle’s confines. It wasn’t the demands of war or the pressures of ruling that plagued him tonight – it was a hunger for freedom, for something outside the expectations of a prince.

Draping a plain cloak over his shoulders, he slipped out unnoticed. Jacaerys had memorized the guard rotations months ago, making his escape through the servant's entrance as natural as breathing. The rough-spun wool of his cloak scratched against his neck – a far cry from the silks he was accustomed to, but that was precisely the point.

The cobblestone streets of the port city sprawled before him, a maze of possibilities. The salt-laden breeze carried the lingering scents of the day's activities – fish from the docks, fresh bread from late-working bakeries, and something sweeter, more enticing: his own freedom. Jacaerys pulled his hood lower, savoring the anonymity that darkness provided.

He wandered without purpose at first, letting his feet carry him away from the imposing silhouette of Dragonstone that loomed behind him. The wealthy merchant districts near the castle gradually gave way to more modest neighborhoods, where the buildings pressed closer together and the streets grew narrower. Here, despite the late hour, life still stirred.

The sound reached him first – laughter, music, and the unmistakable buzz of a crowd. Following the noise, he found himself in what appeared to be the city's entertainment district. Lanterns strung between buildings cast pools of warm light, and the streets were alive with people moving between taverns and various establishments.

But it was a different sort of building that caught his attention. Smaller than the grand playhouses he was used to, this theater had a weathered wooden facade that spoke of history and character. A hand-painted sign announced tonight's performance, people were filling inside, their faces bright with anticipation.

Jacaerys hesitated at the entrance. He'd attended countless performances in his life, but always from private boxes, always surrounded by the trappings of royalty. This... this was different. Through the open doors, he could see simple wooden benches, packed close together. The air was thick with the smell of tallow candles and humanity.

"Coming in, lad?" A gruff voice startled him from his contemplation. An older man was collecting coins at the door, his weathered face kind despite his rough appearance. "Last few seats available, but you'll need to hurry."

Jacaerys fumbled with the copper pieces in his pocket – another detail of his disguise, carefully planned. The coins felt foreign in his hands; he was more used to others handling such transactions. "Yes, I... thank you."

Inside, the theater was intimate in a way the royal playhouse never was. The ceiling hung low, and the stage was barely elevated above the floor, everything was made of wood. Jacaerys found a spot near the back, where shadows gathered in the corners. From here, he could observe everything while remaining relatively hidden.

The audience around him was different from what he was used to – merchants still in their work clothes, sailors with salt-stained boots, young couples pressed close together on the narrow benches. They chatted among themselves with an easy familiarity that suggested many were regular patrons. It was crowded enough to fill the small establishment.

As the lanterns dimmed and the crowd hushed, Jacaerys felt something shift inside him. Here, in this modest theater with its creaking floorboards and flickering lights, he was just another face in the crowd. No one cared about his lineage or his responsibilities. For these few precious hours, he could simply... be.

The curtain hadn't yet risen when he heard your voice for the first time.

You were berating someone backstage, your words carrying clearly through the thin partition. "If you've lost the prop dagger again, Thomas, I swear by all the gods..." There was laughter in your tone despite the scolding, and something about it made Jacaerys lean forward slightly.

A ripple of anticipatory chuckles went through the audience – clearly, this was not an unusual occurrence. The woman next to Jacaerys noticed his confusion and leaned over to whisper, "First time here, is it? I've never seen you before."

Her eyes lingered on his face, curiosity flickering in their depths. Jacaerys stiffened under her gaze, instinctively lowering his head further beneath the shadow of his hood. The pulse in his neck thundered like a drum, a visceral beat of fear and adrenaline. He was no stranger to being watched, scrutinized, even admired – but here, recognition would shatter his carefully crafted disguise, and the freedom he craved would slip through his fingers.

"Just passing through," he murmured, his voice deliberately roughened to obscure its natural timbre. He shifted slightly, angling his body away from her.

The voice rang out again, this time closer, from somewhere behind the curtains near where Jacaerys sat. The makeshift backstage setup was rudimentary – little more than patched fabric stretched over a wooden frame – but it served its purpose, kind of. Your tone, laced with exasperation, carried through the thin barrier with startling clarity.

"Thomas, I am not stepping out there until you find it. The last thing we need is another improvised death scene where you pantomime being stabbed. The audience already thinks we’re a comedy troupe."

"That's their leading lady. Always keeps them on their toes, that one." the lady next to Jacaerys whispered again, a grin on her face as if she was used to this.

Before he could respond, the curtain rose, and you stepped onto the stage. The lantern light caught you perfectly, illuminating your face as you launched into your first lines. You played a merchant's daughter, clever and quick-witted, running circles around your would-be suitors.

Jacaerys forgot to breathe.

It wasn't the kind of beauty that graced the castle halls. Your dress was simple, a plain brown fabric that had seen better days, cinched at the waist with a leather belt that had clearly been mended more than once. Your hair, pulled back in a practical braid, had several strands that had escaped to frame your face, giving you an appealingly disheveled look that spoke of hours of rehearsal.

But gods, you were magnificent.

A small scar marked your right cheek, barely visible in the flickering lantern light. Rather than marring your features, it seemed to enhance them, adding character to a face that radiated vitality. Your movements were precise yet natural, commanding the cramped stage as if it were a grand palace hall.

The other actors, though competent, seemed to orbit around you like planets around a sun. Even when you weren't speaking, Jacaerys found his eyes drawn to you – the subtle reactions playing across your face, the way you listened and responded to your fellow performers with an authenticity that made the scripted dialogue feel spontaneous.

The play unfolded before him, each scene weaving together with light-hearted jest. Whenever you spoke, delivering witty lines to your partners, Jacaerys found himself smiling in spite of himself. You were effortlessly charming.

In the quieter moments, when your character would stand still, caught in moments of contemplation or while others delivered their lines, Jacaerys’ gaze drifted to the fine details that made you so different from any actor he’d seen in his life. The way the flickering candlelight danced in your eyes, the way your lips curled just so when you were amused – everything felt significant. There was no mask, no role to hide behind. You were raw, real, and utterly captivating.

The final scene came far too quickly. As the audience erupted in applause, Jacaerys found himself on his feet with the rest, though his eyes never left your form. You took your bow with a flourish, laughing as someone from the crowd tossed a wildflower onto the stage. You caught it with practiced ease, tucking it behind your ear as you exchanged playful glances with your fellow performers.

The crowd began to disperse, but Jacaerys remained rooted to his spot, wrestling with an unfamiliar impulse. The logical part of his mind urged him to leave, to return to the castle before his absence was noticed. Yet something stronger held him there, watching as the other actors filtered off stage, leaving you to gather props with the same casual grace you'd shown during the performance.

"Wonderful show tonight, wasn't it?" The woman beside him spoke again, but this time Jacaerys barely registered her words. You had moved to the edge of the stage, sitting down with your legs dangling over the side, somehow making even this simple action seem like part of a performance.

The flower had slipped slightly askew in your hair, and you reached up to adjust it, humming a tune he didn't recognize. In that moment, illuminated by the dying lantern light, you looked more royal than any of the nobles he'd grown up with.

"Thomas!" you called out, your voice carrying that same warm authority he'd heard earlier. "I know you're hiding back there with that dagger. Bring it here before you lose it again."

A gangly young man emerged from behind the curtain, sheepishly holding the prop weapon. "I wasn't hiding, I was... organizing."

Your laugh echoed through the now-empty theater, rich and genuine. "Is that what we're calling it now? Come here, let's go over that scene again while it's fresh. Your timing was a bit off in the second act."

Jacaerys watched as you worked with your fellow actor, demonstrating the proper way to fall after being stabbed. Your patience was evident, even as you teased Thomas about his dramatic tendencies. This wasn't the carefully cultivated refinement of the court – this was something real, something alive.

He should leave. He knew he should leave. Instead, he found himself moving closer to the stage, drawn by some force he couldn't name. The hood of his cloak still shadowed his features, but he could see you more clearly now – the way your hands moved as you spoke, the slight crinkle at the corners of your eyes when you smiled.

You noticed him then, your eyes meeting his across the dimly lit space. "Can I help you?" you asked, your head tilting slightly in curiosity. "If you're looking for the manager, he's already left for the night."

Jacaerys opened his mouth to respond, but for perhaps the first time in his life, words failed him. He, who had been trained in rhetoric and diplomacy since childhood, found himself speechless in the presence of a common theater actor.

You studied his silence for a moment, your eyes softening with understanding – or rather, what you thought was understanding. Wiping your hands on your worn costume, you hopped down from the stage with an actor's grace.

"You haven't eaten today, have you?" Your voice was gentle, free of pity but full of kindness. Before Jacaerys could respond, you were already reaching into a small pouch tied at your waist. "The baker on Mare's Street – you know the one with the blue door? – he's usually still open at this hour. Sometimes he sells yesterday's bread for a few coppers."

The irony of the situation struck Jacaerys like a physical blow as you pressed two golden coins into his palm. Your callused fingers brushed against his softer ones, and he felt the warmth of your touch even as shame and wonder warred in his chest. These coins – they probably represented a week's earnings for you, maybe more.

"I..." he started, his voice catching. The weight of the coins in his hand felt heavier than any crown. "I don’t need this."

"Don't," you cut him off, your smile crooked but kind. "The crowds have been generous." You gestured around the empty theater, pride evident in your voice despite the building's humble appearance. "And I know what it's like to go hungry. Take it."

Jacaerys stood frozen, the coins burning in his palm like hot coals. He, who could buy this entire theater with a wave of his hand, found himself humbled by your simple act of generosity. The elaborate rings he'd left behind in his chambers could have fed your entire troupe for a year, yet here you were, sharing what little you had with a stranger.

Thomas watched from the stage, absently twirling the prop dagger. "She won't take no for an answer," he offered helpfully. "Trust me, I've tried."

You shot Thomas a look that was half-exasperation, half-affection.

You had misinterpreted his hesitation, mistaking it for embarrassment. "No shame in it," you said softly, your voice lowering as if to shield him from imaginary judgment. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. Just promise me you’ll pay it forward when you can."

For a moment, Jacaerys considered revealing himself – telling you who he was, explaining that he didn’t need the money, that he could give you a hundredfold what you had just offered him. But the thought died as quickly as it came. What would that accomplish? To shatter this fragile, unguarded moment with the weight of his identity?

Instead, he closed his fingers around the coins and inclined his head, the shadows of his hood concealing the turmoil in his expression. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Your smile widened, relief washing over your face. "Good. Now go, before the baker closes." You turned back toward the stage, your attention already shifting to the scattered props and costumes. It was as if the encounter hadn’t marked you the way it had him, as if kindness were simply a part of who you were, given without expectation or burden.

Jacaerys lingered for a moment longer, watching you move through the theater, humming that same tune under your breath. He tucked the coins into his pocket, their weight a reminder of the strange, magnetic pull you had over him.

As he stepped back into the cobblestone streets, the sounds of the city washed over him once more – the distant murmur of the ocean, the laughter spilling from nearby taverns, the clatter of hooves on stone. Yet the memory of your voice, your smile, and your unassuming grace lingered like an echo in his chest.

For the first time in years, Jacaerys Velaryon felt small. Not in a way that diminished him, but in a way that reminded him of how vast the world truly was, and how much of it he had yet to understand.

And as he walked away from the theater, he knew one thing for certain: he would be back.

***

The Maester's voice droned on about the Conquest of Dorne, but Jacaerys barely heard him. His fingers traced the edges of the golden coins in his pocket, worn smooth from hours of anxious handling. The metal had warmed to his skin, yet still carried the weight of your kindness. He could almost smell the copper on his hands, though these were gold – a reminder of how thoroughly his mind had been occupied by that night at the theater.

His younger brothers sat attentively at the long table, Lucerys dutifully taking notes while Joffrey's eyes widened at tales of battle and dragon fire. Jacaerys envied their simple absorption in the lesson. His own thoughts kept drifting to the weathered wooden stage, the flickering lanterns, and your laugh as you demonstrated the proper way to die dramatically.

"Prince Jacaerys?" The Maester's voice cut through his reverie. "Perhaps you'd care to share your thoughts on Prince Qoren Martell's strategy?"

Jacaerys straightened, his hand instinctively withdrawing from his pocket. "My apologies, Maester. I was..." He trailed off, unable to find a suitable excuse.

Lucerys shot him a curious glance. His brother had always been observant – too observant, sometimes. These past few days, Jacaerys had caught him watching with barely concealed concern, noting his distraction during meals and council meetings.

The coins felt heavier than ever. At nearly twenty years old, here he was, a prince of the realm, plotting like a green boy to sneak out to a common theater. The absurdity of it wasn't lost on him. He'd heard countless tales of young nobles who slipped away from their duties – to visit brothels, to gamble in fighting pits, to engage in all manner of sordid adventures. Yet here he sat, fingers stained with the phantom scent of copper, heart racing at the mere thought of watching another play.

But it wasn't just any play, was it? It was you. The way you commanded that humble stage, the genuine warmth in your voice when you'd pressed those coins into his hand, believing him to be nothing more than a hungry stranger. The memory of your kindness burned brighter than any shame he might feel about his age or station.

"Prince Jacaerys?" The Maester prompted again, more gently this time.

"Forgive me," Jacaerys managed, forcing his attention back to the present. "The heat of the day has made me rather distracted."

Joffrey snickered behind his hand, but fell silent at Lucerys's sharp look. The Maester sighed and returned to his lecture, pointing to a map of Dorne's treacherous mountain passes.

As the lesson continued, Jacaerys's mind wandered to the logistics of another escape. The guard rotations would be the same, but he'd need to be more careful – his absence had been noted last time, though thankfully not reported. The thought sent a flutter of anxiety through his chest. What would people say if they knew? A prince, skulking around in common clothes, watching street performances like some love-struck peasant boy.

Love-struck. The word appeared unbidden in his thoughts, and he nearly dropped the coins he'd been fidgeting with. No, that wasn't it at all. He was simply... intrigued. Fascinated by the authenticity of common theater, by the raw talent he'd witnessed. By your smile, your laugh, the way you'd shown such kindness to a stranger...

Lucerys kicked him under the table, and Jacaerys realized the Maester had asked another question. As he scrambled to appear engaged in the lesson, his brother's knowing look told him he wasn't fooling anyone – at least not Lucerys.

The coins clinked softly in his pocket as he shifted in his seat. He would go back, he knew that much. The risk, the anxiety, the potential embarrassment if he were caught – none of it mattered. Not when weighed against the possibility of seeing you perform again, of existing for a few precious hours in that world where he was just another face in the crowd, where kindness was given freely without the weight of politics and duty.

Besides, he thought with a hint of his usual wry humor, there were far worse rebellions for a prince to engage in than a secret appreciation for the theater. Even if that appreciation had more to do with a certain performer than the performances themselves.

After the lesson, Jacaerys retreated to his chambers, hoping to find solitude with his thoughts. His rooms in the Stone Drum tower offered a commanding view of the castle grounds and the sea beyond, though today he barely noticed the beauty. The salt breeze that whistled through the arrow slits carried the familiar scent of home, mingling with the ever-present smoke from the volcano.

He'd barely settled into his favorite chair – a sturdy piece of oak and leather positioned perfectly to catch the evening light – when the door burst open without ceremony. Only one person would dare enter his chambers so boldly.

"Don't you knock anymore, Luke?" Jacaerys asked, not bothering to look up from the correspondence he'd hastily grabbed to appear occupied.

"When have I ever knocked?" Lucerys's footsteps were light across the Myrish carpet, practiced and graceful from years of dancing lessons. The bed creaked as he threw himself across it, a habit he'd had since childhood that no amount of etiquette training had broken.

The familiar scene might have been comforting if not for the tension Jacaerys could feel radiating from his younger brother. Lucerys had that particular quality of false casualness that always preceded his most determined interrogations. It was a talent he'd inherited from their mother – the ability to appear perfectly relaxed while preparing to strike.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the stone floors and illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The walls were lined with books and maps, carefully curated over years of study, while a half-empty glass of wine sat forgotten on a side table from the night before.

Jacaerys shifted in his chair, acutely aware of the coins in his pocket. They seemed to weigh heavier under his brother's watchful gaze, though he knew Lucerys couldn't possibly see them. Yet something in the way those violet eyes tracked his movements made him wonder if perhaps they did.

"You've been strange lately," Lucerys said, lounging across Jacaerys's bed as if it were his own. The evening light caught his hair, making him look younger than his fifteen years. "More distracted than usual."

Jacaerys didn't look up from the letter he was pretending to read. "Have I?"

"Don't play fool, Jace. It doesn't suit you." Lucerys rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "Even Joff noticed, and he hardly notices anything beyond his own reflection these days."

"Perhaps I'm simply tired of being interrogated by my little brother."

"Perhaps you're simply avoiding the question." Lucerys's violet eyes narrowed slightly. "You disappeared the other night."

Jacaerys's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the parchment. "Did I?"

"I covered for you with Mother. Told her you had a headache and retired early." Lucerys paused, watching his brother's face carefully. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Thank you," Jacaerys said stiffly, still not meeting his brother's gaze.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of dragons calling to each other across the evening sky. Finally, Lucerys sighed dramatically.

"I need to borrow some coins," he said, his tone deliberately casual. "There's a book I want the Maester to fetch from the town."

"Another one? Didn't you just get three new volumes last moon?"

"This one's different. It's about Valyrian steel manipulation. I think I found a reference to–"

"Fine," Jacaerys interrupted, rising from his chair. "Let me get my–"

"Why not just give me the ones you've been playing with in your pocket all week?"

Jacaerys froze, his hand halfway to the door. Lucerys's voice had lost its casual edge, taking on an accusatory tone that made him sound unnervingly like their mother.

"Those are..." Jacaerys started, then stopped, unsure how to continue.

"Those are what, exactly?" Lucerys sat up, all pretense of relaxation gone. "You never carry coins, Jace. You hate dealing with money – you always have servants handle it. Yet suddenly you're constantly fiddling with coins in your pocket like some nervous merchant?"

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Lucerys's eyebrows rose. "Nothing has you sneaking out at night? Nothing has you daydreaming through lessons? Nothing has you jumping like a guilty septa every time someone mentions where you were that evening?"

"Luke–"

"What kind of trouble are you in, Jace?" Real concern crept into Lucerys's voice now. "Whatever it is, I can help. You know I can keep a secret."

Jacaerys turned to face his brother, seeing the genuine worry in his eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to tell him everything – about the theater, about you, about the strange mix of shame and wonder he felt every time he touched those coins you'd given him. But the words stuck in his throat.

"I'm not in any trouble," he said finally. "And the coins... they're just coins. Nothing more."

Lucerys studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You're lying," he said simply. "You've never been good at it, not with me." He stood up from the bed, straightening his doublet with precise movements. "Keep your secrets, then. But whatever it is – whoever it is – I hope they're worth all this deception."

He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. "And Jace? Next time you decide to disappear for an evening, give me some warning. I can only improvise so many headaches before Mother starts calling for the Grand Maester."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Jacaerys alone with his thoughts and the weight of those two gold coins that somehow felt heavier than any crown.

***

The evening guard rotations were meant to be predictable – that was the entire point of having them. Yet tonight, as Jacaerys crept through the servants' corridors of Dragonstone, it seemed the gods themselves conspired against him. Twice he'd had to duck into alcoves as guards passed by, their torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls.

His heart nearly stopped when he heard the telltale sound of armor approaching from both directions. The corridor stretched before and behind him, offering no immediate escape. For a desperate moment, he considered scaling the wall – the ancient Valyrian stone had enough notches and grooves to make it possible. But the sound of boots was growing closer.

Then he saw it – a tapestry, ancient and dusty, depicting some long-forgotten battle. Without hesitation, he slipped behind it, pressing himself against the cold stone. The space was cramped, barely wide enough for him to stand sideways. Dust tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze as the guards converged directly in front of his hiding spot.

"Could've sworn I heard something," one guard muttered.

"Probably just those bloody rats again," the other replied. "This part of the castle's full of them."

Jacaerys held his breath as their shadows, distorted by torchlight, played across the tapestry. He could smell the oil from their lamps, hear the creak of their leather boots. One guard stopped so close that Jacaerys could have reached out and touched his armor through the fabric.

"Speaking of rats," the first guard continued, "did you hear about what happened in the kitchens? That new scullery maid..."

Jacaerys silently prayed to any god who might be listening as the guards lingered, exchanging gossip. His legs were beginning to cramp from standing so still, and the dust was becoming unbearable. Just when he thought he couldn't maintain his position any longer, they finally moved on.

He waited until their footsteps had faded completely before emerging, brushing centuries of dust from his clothes. His plain cloak was now grey with it, which actually worked in his favor – he looked even more like a common traveler now.

The rest of his escape proved easier. He knew which door hinges needed oil and avoided them, which stairs would creak under his weight and stepped around them. Years of childhood exploration had taught him every secret of these halls, though he'd never imagined using that knowledge quite like this.

When he finally emerged into the cool night air, the sea breeze hit him like a physical relief. What he didn't know was that his brother Lucerys was watching from the high window of his chambers, violet eyes tracking his progress through the darkness, a mixture of concern and curiosity playing across his young face.

The moon hung low over the water, painting a silver path across the waves. In the distance, he could hear the familiar sounds of the port city coming alive for the evening – and somewhere in that maze of streets, a small theater where you would be performing.

He touched the coins in his pocket, the ones you'd given him last time. He'd brought others tonight, determined to somehow repay your kindness without revealing his identity. The irony of a prince sneaking around with coins in his pockets wasn't lost on him.

As he made his way down the winding path toward the city, a shadow passed overhead – one of the dragons, doing their evening patrol. Jacaerys instinctively ducked into a doorway, though he knew they wouldn't betray his presence. Still, his heart raced until the beating of massive wings faded into the distance.

The closer he got to the theater district, the lighter his steps became. He could already hear distant music floating on the breeze, and somewhere ahead, he knew you were preparing for tonight's performance.

The older man at the entrance didn’t even look up as Jacaerys approached, the hood of his cloak pulled low to shadow his face. The flickering lantern by the door barely illuminated the man’s lined face as he grunted, extending a weathered hand.

"Same as always," the man rasped, his voice rough from years of smoke and salt air.

Jacaerys fished out the coins, the faint clink of silver ringing in the quiet. He handed them over without a word, and the man nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. As the heavy wooden door creaked open, the prince slipped inside, his heart already beating faster.

The theater was dimmer tonight. Fewer torches lined the walls, their flames casting long, flickering shadows across the worn wooden seats. The air carried a faint tang of old wood and wax, mixed with the distant murmur of the sparse audience. He moved with practiced ease, weaving through the rows until he found a shadowed corner near the back. His seat creaked faintly as he settled into it, but no one turned to look.

The hush of the room enveloped him like a comforting shroud. His eyes flicked to the small stage, where the performers were beginning to gather. The dim lighting softened the edges of the set, turning painted backdrops into ghostly outlines. And then he saw you.

You stepped into view, adjusting the folds of your simple costume as you moved to your mark. The faintest smile touched your lips, a fleeting expression meant more for yourself than anyone watching. Your presence lit up the stage, even in the muted glow of the flickering torches. Jacaerys leaned forward, his pulse quickening as he took in every detail: the curve of your fingers as you gestured, the spark in your eyes as you exchanged a glance with another actor.

Tonight’s performance was different from the last. The script was lighter, the words flowing with the cadence of humor and quick wit. You played your part flawlessly, your voice carrying through the small space with an easy confidence that drew even the most distracted onlooker. Jacaerys barely noticed the few other patrons scattered through the seats; his attention was solely on you.

Your dress was different tonight, though it bore the same signs of wear and age. This one reached your feet, its faded fabric swaying gently as you moved. It suited the story, the hem brushing the stage with a quiet grace. Your hair was loose now, no longer bound in the practical braid he'd seen last time. Strands of it framed your face, falling forward every time you turned sharply or crossed the stage with purpose.

At one point, you turned toward the audience, delivering a line with a playful smirk. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your gaze seemed to land on him. He stiffened, holding his breath, but you moved on without hesitation, leaving him unsure if you'd truly noticed him or if it was just his imagination.

When the final act concluded and the sparse audience began to applaud, Jacaerys hesitated. His hands itched to join them, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself. Instead, he waited, watching as you took a modest bow before disappearing behind the curtain.

The theater began to empty, the soft murmur of voices and shuffling feet filling the space. Jacaerys lingered, his heart warring with his head. He could leave now, slip away unnoticed into the night, or he could stay – just a little longer.

From the shadows near the edge of the stage, Jacaerys could hear muffled voices – the actors congratulating one another, the rustle of costumes being adjusted, the clink of props being gathered and stored. Somewhere amidst it all was you.

He leaned against a post, his cloak wrapped tightly around him as if it could render him invisible. The cool night air from a nearby window mingled with the lingering warmth of the torches, creating a strange mix of chill and comfort. He should leave. The longer he stayed, the greater the risk of being recognized – not that anyone in this district would expect a prince of the realm to be skulking in a dusty theater. Still, his responsibilities weighed on his shoulders like a chain, one he was all too eager to shed tonight.

Then, like a moth drawn to light, his gaze caught movement through a gap in the curtains. You. You were speaking to someone, your laughter soft and genuine, a sound that cut through the noise like the first note of a song. He could see the way your hair fell loose from its pins, the slight flush to your cheeks from the exertion of the performance. You looked radiant, even in the simplicity of your stage attire.

As if sensing his presence, you turned. For a brief moment, your eyes locked with his through the narrow slit in the curtain. Surprise flickered across your face, followed quickly by recognition. The corner of your lips tugged upward in a small, knowing smile, and Jacaerys felt his stomach tighten.

Before he could retreat, you excused yourself from the conversation and slipped through the curtain, moving toward him with an easy grace that belied the exhaustion of the evening.

"You’re here again," you said softly, stopping just short of him. The dim light caught the shine in your eyes, the curve of your smile. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Flattered. I would hope."

Your voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "Did you eat today? I know times are hard, but there are better ways to spend an evening than hiding in theaters."

The irony of your worry made his chest tight. Here you were, in your worn costume, with props held together by determination and twine, concerned about whether he had enough to eat. He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the coins.

"Actually," he said, extending his hand, "I came to return these. And..." he pulled out more coins from his other pocket, "to properly pay for my attendance. Both times."

Your eyes widened slightly at the amount – more than fair payment for theater tickets, though far less than what he wished he could give without raising suspicion. "That's..." you started, then paused, frowning. "Where did you...?"

"I found work," he said quickly, the lie bitter on his tongue. "On the docks." It was a safe claim – the port was always hiring, and the work explained away any calluses on his hands from sword training.

You hesitated, then slowly accepted the coins, your fingers brushing his palm. "Well then," you said, a smile playing at your lips, "I suppose I should thank you for your patronage, good sir." You gave an exaggerated curtsy, a playful mockery of court manners that made him both laugh and wince internally.

You straightened from your playful curtsy, tilting your head as your eyes lingered on his face. In the dim light, his features were shadowed, but there was no mistaking the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his dark hair fell against his forehead. A fleeting thought escaped your lips before you could catch it.

"You’re quite handsome, you know," you said, your voice softer now, almost teasing but not unkind.

The words hung in the air like a spark between them, igniting an unexpected tension that made Jacaerys’s breath hitch. Instinct took over, and he immediately pulled his hood up, the shadow swallowing his face once more. His heart thundered in his chest, panic surging through him like a wave crashing against the shore. How could he have been so careless? The longer you looked at him, the greater the chance you might recognize him, or worse, ask questions he couldn’t answer.

You blinked, misinterpreting his reaction as shyness. "Oh," you said quickly, holding up a hand. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was just a passing thought, nothing more."

Jacaerys kept his face tilted downward, the faint light from the torches barely illuminating the shadowed planes of his features. Beneath the cover of his hood, his thoughts churned.

You stepped back slightly, giving him space, though your brow furrowed as you studied him. "I have a habit of speaking my mind. It gets me into trouble more often than not."

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. You didn’t know. Of course, you didn’t. If you had recognized him as the prince of Dragonstone, you wouldn’t be standing here so casually, holding his coins like a simple dockworker had handed them to you. Relief trickled in, slow but steady, easing the sharp edge of his panic.

Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. Not here, not now. You hadn’t recognized him but that didn’t mean your peers would be the same. He tightened his grip on the edge of his hood, fingers curling into the fabric as he found his voice. "It’s... nothing to apologize for," he said quietly, his tone measured. "You speak with honesty. That’s rare."

Your brow arched, a small, playful smile tugging at your lips. "Is it? I thought honesty was common among sailors and dockworkers."

His heart leapt, but he forced a soft chuckle. "Only when it suits them."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, cutting through the weight in his chest like a blade through mist. For a moment, the tension eased, and he let himself glance up, just enough to catch the way the dim torchlight softened the sharp lines of your face. You seemed so at ease, as if this exchange was just another fleeting moment in your day, not a conversation with a man balancing precariously on the edge of his secret.

"Well," you said, your tone shifting to something softer, almost kind, "if you ever get tired of dishonest company, you know where to find me."

The simplicity of your words sent a jolt through him, a strange mix of warmth and dread. How could you offer such openness to a stranger? Did you have any idea what danger such kindness could invite? He wanted to tell you to be more careful, to guard yourself better, but that would only draw suspicion, and he couldn’t afford that.

Instead, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

Your words were casual, cheerful, as if you weren’t fully aware of the effect they had on him. Jacaerys’s stomach twisted. Did you truly mean it, or was this simply how you treated everyone who lingered after your performances? Perhaps it was common for men to approach you, hoping for a moment of your time, an exchange of pleasantries, or something more daring. Maybe to you, this was nothing special, just another fleeting interaction with someone who found themselves enthralled by your charm.

He tried to gauge your meaning, but your expression revealed nothing beyond a playful warmth. It struck him that this could be a game for you, a kindness you extended to strangers who sought solace in the illusion of knowing you. If that were the case, you had mastered the art of making people feel seen. And yet, a selfish part of him hoped it wasn’t a performance, at least not entirely.

He forced himself to nod again, the words catching in his throat before he could offer any kind of response.

You told him your name, tilting your head. The torchlight caught the playful glint in your eyes.

You moved closer, fingers playing delicately with the edge of his hood. The fabric shifted just enough to let more torchlight spill across his features and for you to get a proper look at him. "You still haven't told me your name," you said. The torchlight caught the glint in your eyes, warm and inviting. "And I'd love to share a cup of wine with you before tomorrow's show, if you'd join me? Unless dock work calls, of course."

Jacaerys's throat went dry at your proximity, at the casual way you breached the careful distance he'd maintained. Your fingers were still toying with his hood, and he could smell the faint traces of stage powder and candlesmoke that clung to your costume.

"I..." he started, then faltered. Even a false name felt dangerous on his tongue, another lie to add to the growing pile between you. But your expectant gaze and gentle smile made refusal equally impossible. "Jace," he finally said, offering the shortened version of his name – common enough among smallfolk to pass unremarked, yet not entirely a lie.

"The wine?" you prompted with a gentle laugh, noticing his distraction. Your fingers still lingered at the edge of his hood, and this close, he could see the faint smudge of stage paint at the corner of your eye, oddly endearing in the torchlight.

"Yes," he said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

You laughed softly, the sound warm and light, brushing away his unease.

"Good," you said simply, your fingers finally leaving his hood. The absence of your touch left the fabric cool against his skin, but his heartbeat remained a thunderous rhythm in his ears. "I’ll look forward to it, then."

Your words carried a quiet sincerity, and Jacaerys felt a flicker of hope, foolish and persistent, take root. Perhaps you wanted his company, not as some starstruck admirer but as something more. If you’d thought of him as just another man enchanted by your beauty, you might have waved him off with a kind but distant smile, not offered him a seat at your table.

The thought made his chest tighten. He shouldn’t entertain it, couldn’t afford to. But as you stepped back, leaving a space between you that felt far larger than it was, he found himself reluctant to let the moment end.

"Tomorrow, then," you said with a final, teasing glance. And with that, you turned, your departure as graceful as your presence.

***

Jacaerys woke to a sharp sting across his cheek, followed by the sound of laughter – bright, mischievous, and unmistakable. His eyes flew open to find Aegon, his younger brother, perched on his chest, tiny hands poised for another smack. Aegon’s face was a mix of innocence and triumph, his silver curls bouncing as he giggled.

"Wake up," Aegon crowed, his small hand descending toward Jacaerys's face once more, giving him a small and playful smack on his eyebrow.

Jacaerys caught the little hand mid-swing, his reflexes slower than usual thanks to the late night before.

"Enough, you little dragon," Jacaerys groaned, though he couldn't help but smile as he gently moved Aegon off his chest. The morning sun was already high – much higher than he usually allowed himself to sleep. His body felt heavy with fatigue, memories of dusty tapestries and your smile still lingering in his mind.

"You're late for breakfast," came another voice from next to the bed. Lucerys stood there, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with knowing. "Again."

Jacaerys sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Aegon took the opportunity to climb onto his back, small arms wrapping around his neck. "I was tired," he said carefully, avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Tired from sneaking out again?" Lucery's voice was quiet enough that Aegon couldn't hear, but the accusation was clear. "I saw you, you know. Last night."

Jacaerys's stomach dropped, but before he could respond, Aegon tugged at his hair. "Play with me!" the little prince demanded, blissfully unaware of the tension between his older brothers. "You promised yesterday!"

"In a moment, brother." Jacaerys said softly. To Lucerys, he added, "Close the door."

Lucerys did, but remained standing, his young face serious beyond his years. Aegon whined, squirming on Jacaerys’s back like a restless hatchling trying to get his brother’s attention.

"Soon," Jacaerys murmured, reaching back to ruffle Aegon’s curls gently. He glanced at Lucerys, whose gaze was sharp, scrutinizing, and far too perceptive for his age.

"Out with it, Luke," Jacaerys said with a sigh, shifting Aegon to sit in his lap. The youngest boy immediately busied himself by fiddling with the ties on Jacaerys’s tunic, humming some nonsense tune.

Lucerys’s arms stayed crossed, his jaw tight. "Where did you go?"

Jacaerys hesitated, trying to gauge how much Lucerys might already know. "For a walk," he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

"A walk," Lucerys repeated, his voice flat. "Through the city, past the gates, and to the docks? Alone? At night?"

Jacaerys stiffened, his fingers stilling where they had been untangling Aegon’s small fists from the ties of his tunic. He met Lucerys’s piercing gaze and held it, though his stomach churned. Lucerys was clever, sharper than most realized, and there was no denying the skepticism etched into his younger brother’s face.

"Yes," Jacaerys said finally, his tone low but steady. "A walk."

Lucerys huffed, shaking his head. "You’re a terrible liar, you know that?"

"A walk," Lucerys repeated, incredulous. His sharp eyes narrowed as if daring Jacaerys to stick to the flimsy excuse.

Aegon, oblivious to the rising tension, suddenly perked up, his tiny voice lilting into a sing-song melody. "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" he chanted, his hands clapping against Jacaerys’s chest for emphasis. "Hanging from a dragon’s spire!"

Jacaerys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Aegon’s giggles filled the room. "Aegon," he muttered, exasperated, "you’re not helping."

Lucerys’s lips twitched, though he tried to keep his expression serious. "Even Aegon can tell you’re lying," he said, gesturing to the wriggling boy in Jacaerys’s lap. "And he’s four."

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, his grip tightening slightly on Aegon to keep the boy from sliding off. "It’s not your concern," he said, his voice low.

"It is when it could get you hurt," Lucerys countered, stepping closer. His voice softened, though the worry in his expression remained. "I’m not a fool, Jace. You’re sneaking out for a reason. If something’s wrong…"

"Nothing’s wrong," Jacaerys cut in, sharper than he intended. Aegon stilled at the change in his tone, glancing up at him with wide, curious eyes.

Lucerys’s brows furrowed, his concern deepening. "Then why the secrecy? Have you gabled? You owe coins?"

Jacaerys barked a sharp laugh, the sound bitter. "Gambled?" he repeated, his tone tinged with incredulity. "Do you truly think I’d risk Mother’s wrath for something so foolish?"

Lucerys raised a skeptical brow, undeterred. "You’re sneaking out past the gates, Jace. It’s not exactly the behavior of someone who cares much for avoiding wrath."

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He shifted Aegon in his lap again, the boy’s small hands still clutching his tunic as if sensing the weight of the moment

Lucerys crossed his arms, his expression still clouded with doubt, but he said nothing further. The room settled into a tense silence, broken only by Aegon’s happy hums as he tugged at Jacaerys’s tunic ties once more.

Jacaerys offered Lucerys a faint, conciliatory smile. "You’ve said your piece, brother. Now let it rest. I’ll be more careful."

Lucerys hesitated, then gave a short nod. "See that you are," he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.

That same night, Jacaerys’ chest beat with expectation. He pressed his ear against the cool wood of his chamber door, straining to hear the rhythmic clink of the guards’ boots in the corridor. It had taken longer than usual for the keep to settle tonight, and his patience had worn thin as he waited for silence to fall. Finally, the sound of footsteps faded, leaving only the faint whisper of wind through the stone halls.

Pulling his hood over his head, he slipped through the door, moving as quietly as he could manage. The shadows seemed to stretch and shift around him as he made his way down the dim corridor, his heart thudding in his chest.

But his stealth came to an abrupt end as he rounded a corner and collided with someone who immediately called his name.

"Jace," Baela, his cousin, yelped.

His hood slipped back slightly, revealing his startled face as Baela peered up at him with narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms, her expression teetering between curiosity and suspicion.

"I…" he stammered, grasping for an excuse, "I was just going to feed Vermax. I forgot earlier."

"Dressed like that? You look like you’re about to rob a merchant," Baela quipped, her brows arching as she gestured toward his cloak. Her voice was low, but the teasing edge carried clearly in the quiet corridor.

Jacaerys tugged at his hood, trying to steady himself. "It’s cold out," he said, forcing a casual shrug.

She stared at him for a long moment, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she were fighting a smirk. "You’ve always been a terrible liar," she finally said, stepping closer. Her voice softened slightly, concern flickering behind her sharp words.

Jacaerys’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, though it lacked conviction. "And what about you? What are you doing wandering the halls past curfew?"

Her laugh rang out softly, the sound light and unbothered. "Nice try, cousin," she said, shaking her head. "But I don’t need excuses. Her Grace sent me to fetch you."

Jacaerys’s smirk faltered, his stomach sinking slightly. "Mother?" he repeated, attempting to mask his unease.

Baela nodded, her expression turning sly. "She’s been asking after you. Something about wondering if you’d finally gotten a decent night’s rest for once." Her gaze swept over his cloaked form again, pointedly lingering on his shadowy attire. "Though I imagine she’ll have a lot more questions if she sees you like this."

Jacaerys tugged his hood back fully, a small scowl forming. "Fine. You’ve made your point."

Baela grinned, pleased with herself. "Good. Let’s not keep her waiting, then." She stepped aside, gesturing down the hallway with a flourish.

As they began walking together, she shot him a sideways glance. "By the way, you might want to come up with a better excuse than feeding Vermax. She’ll see through that faster than I did."

He groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

The candles in the council chamber had burned low, their dim flames casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Jacaerys sat stiffly in his chair, his hood abandoned and his shoulders tense as he stared down at the polished wood of the table. His mother’s voice was firm and commanding, carrying over the murmurs of her council, but the words barely registered in his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against his knee. The hours dragged on, the droning voices blending into a monotone hum that seemed to sap the energy from the room. Every so often, he risked a glance toward the doors, his heart sinking as the night stretched on without reprieve.

He had planned it all so carefully; waiting for the guards’ change, ensuring his cloak was in place, and rehearsing his path through the darkened halls. Yet here he was, trapped in the suffocating formality of duty, the weight of the room pressing heavily on his chest.

Finally, his mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, a sharp and decisive tone signaling the meeting’s end. The council members began to rise, exchanging pleasantries and nods as they shuffled out. Jacaerys stood quickly, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But as he stepped into the corridor and caught sight of the sky through a narrow window, his heart sank. The stars had already begun to fade, the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. His plan, so meticulously crafted, was ruined.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the cold stone wall. Frustration bubbled up inside him, clawing at his chest. He had waited too long, his opportunity stolen by endless discussions he hadn’t even bothered to follow.

The streets of the town would be stirring soon, no longer cloaked in shadow, and the risk of sneaking out now was far too great. With a defeated sigh, Jacaerys pushed away from the wall and started toward his chambers. Perhaps tomorrow night, he told himself, though the thought did little to soothe the restless ache in his chest.

***

The days crawled by like honey in winter, thick and slow. Jacaerys moved through them in a fog of distraction, his mind constantly wandering to the small theater and its worn stage. During his lessons, he found himself staring out windows, counting the hours until nightfall only to be trapped again by some new duty or obligation. His writing grew sloppy, earning sharp looks from his tutors, but he couldn't focus on their corrections when all he could think about was you, waiting in vain that night.

Had you looked for him in the shadows of the wings? Had you saved him a proper seat, as promised, only to find it empty? The thought of your disappointment twisted in his gut like a knife.

Each evening brought fresh torment. A dinner with visiting nobles that stretched late into the night. An urgent meeting about grain stores that couldn't wait until morning. Evening dragon training that left him too exhausted to even consider the treacherous path down to the town. Always something, always another reason he couldn't slip away.

Lucerys watched him with knowing eyes, catching his restless glances toward the windows, his distracted responses at meals. But his brother said nothing more, perhaps satisfied that whatever had drawn Jacaerys into the night had been successfully thwarted by duty.

By the fourth night, Jacaerys lay awake in his bed, imagining what you might think of him. Just another unreliable patron, perhaps. Or worse – had you worried about him? Did you think something had happened to the shy dock worker who couldn't take a compliment? The thought of you being concerned for his welfare, when he was perfectly safe in his castle chamber, made him feel sick with guilt.

On the sixth night, he nearly made it. He'd gotten as far as the servants' corridor before Aegon's crying echoed through the halls – nightmares again. Jacaerys had frozen, torn between his escape and his brother's distress. In the end, duty won out. He spent the night in Aegon's chamber, telling stories until the little prince fell asleep against his shoulder.

A week. A whole week had passed, and he hadn't seen your performance, hadn't heard your voice, hadn't stood in the comforting shadows of the wings. The theater district felt like a dream now, something he'd imagined in a moment of wild fancy. Only the memory of your gentle teasing, the phantom touch of your hand on his shoulder, reminded him it had been real.

The worst part was not knowing if you'd even noticed his absence. Were you wondering about the strange young man who'd promised to return? Or had you already forgotten him, just another face in the crowd of your admirers? He wasn't sure which possibility hurt.

Each night as he lay in bed, he made plans for the next evening, plotting new routes through the castle, calculating guard rotations, imagining what he'd say when he finally saw you again. And each night, something interfered – some duty he couldn't ignore, some obligation he couldn't escape.

But even as he told himself this, he knew he'd try again. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the night after. Eventually, the gods would grant him another chance to slip away, to return to that magical space where titles didn't matter and stories came alive in the torch-lit dark.

Until then, he could only hope you'd understand – though of course, you couldn't. Not really. Not without knowing the truth, which he could never tell.

"A king should know his people." The words had come out smoother than Jacaerys expected, rehearsed as they were in front of his mirror countless times. His mother had looked up from her scrolls, one eyebrow arched in that way that always made him feel transparent.

"And you came to this revelation... suddenly?" she'd asked, her violet eyes sharp with curiosity.

"Grandsire always says the best lessons come from the docks," he'd pressed on, forcing his voice to remain steady. "The trade, the people, the..." he'd gestured vaguely, "...the whole of it."

Now, standing on those very docks in clothes that itched in places he didn't know clothes could itch, Jacaerys wondered if he'd oversold the enthusiasm. The fish merchant before him was eyeing him suspiciously as he fumbled with the copper coins in his hand.

"Bit soft for dock work, aren't you?" the merchant asked, his weathered face creasing with doubt.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, remembering to roughen his accent. "Eager to learn," he managed, trying not to wince at the overwhelming smell of fish that clung to everything, including, now, himself.

He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve that probably made him smell worse. The theater district was visible from here, the colorful banners hanging limp in the afternoon heat. Just a few more hours, he told himself. A few more crates, a few more lectures from his grandsireabout proper cargo distribution, and then...

"Oy! Less dreaming, more lifting!" The dock master's voice cut through his thoughts. Jacaerys quickly returned to his task, though he couldn't help but smile. For once, his fancy education was useless – here, he was just another pair of hands, exactly as he'd wanted.

He adjusted his hood, making sure his telltale hair remained hidden. One more crate. One more hour. One more step closer to seeing you again, this time with a legitimate excuse for his presence in this part of town. Sometimes, he mused as he hefted another load of fish, even princes had to get their hands dirty to keep their secrets safe.

The familiar scent of dust and candlesmoke filled his lungs as he entered the theater, though now it mingled with the lingering smell of fish that clung to his clothes. This time, as promised what felt like ages ago, he took a proper seat. His hands fidgeted in his lap throughout the performance, hyper-aware of every moment you looked toward the audience.

Only once did your eyes meet his, a brief flicker of recognition crossing your face before you looked away, continuing your lines without pause. The dismissal stung more than he'd expected, though he knew he deserved it.

When the performance ended and the sparse crowd began to filter out, Jacaerys remained in his seat, watching as you sat at the edge of the stage. Papers were scattered around you, tomorrow's dialogues that you mouthed silently to yourself, completely absorbed in your work. The torchlight caught the furrow of concentration between your brows, the slight movement of your lips as you memorized your lines.

His heart quickened as he approached the stage, his boots scuffing against the floor to announce his presence. You didn't look up.

"That was beautiful," he said softly, his voice rough from a day of salt air and hauling cargo.

You turned a page, still not looking at him. "Thank you for your patronage," you said, your tone formal, distant – nothing like the warm teasing he remembered.

"I..." he started, then faltered. What could he say? That he'd been trapped in council meetings? That his princely duties had kept him away? "I'm sorry about last week."

"Mm," you hummed noncommittally, marking something on your script with decisive strokes. "No need to apologize. You paid for your seat, same as anyone else."

The coldness in your voice made him wince.

"I wanted to come," he said, the truth of it aching in his chest. "I tried, but…"

"The docks must have been very busy," you cut in, finally looking up at him. Your eyes were sharp, none of their usual warmth present.

"I went there, you know," you said, your voice soft but edged with hurt. "After you didn't show. I thought perhaps you'd been caught up in work, or..." You let out a small, bitter laugh. "But it was quiet. Dead empty by the time I got there."

Jacaerys felt the blood drain from his face. Of course you'd gone to look for him – your kindness hadn't been an act. While he'd been trapped in that endless council meeting, you'd been worried enough to search for him.

"If you weren't interested in sharing wine with me, or..." you paused, a faint flush coloring your cheeks, "whatever it might have led to, you could have simply said so. I'm an actor – I can handle rejection without requiring elaborate excuses about dock work."

The mention of wine caught him off guard. His chest tightened with the realization of what he'd missed, what could have been if duty hadn't intervened.

"That's not..." he started, his voice hoarse. "I did want... I mean, I do want..." The words tangled on his tongue, princely eloquence deserting him entirely.

You gathered your papers with sharp, efficient movements. "Save it," you said, though there was more weariness than anger in your tone now. "I've played this scene before, though usually with better dialogue."

"Please," he said, taking a step closer to the stage. "Let me explain."

You stood, clutching your scripts to your chest like a shield. "Explain what?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the truth lodged painfully in his throat. He couldn't tell you – couldn't risk your safety, your career, everything you'd built here. But oh, how he wanted to.

"I'm someone who finds magic in your performances," he said finally, the words barely above a whisper. "Someone who would have given anything to be here that night, to share that wine with you, to..." he trailed off, seeing the way your expression hardened at his evasion.

"Pretty words," you said, your voice flat.

"Wait," he called as you turned to leave. "I'll pay you. For private readings."

You paused, one eyebrow rising slightly. "Private readings?"

"Monologues, scenes, whatever you're working on." His words came faster now, desperate to keep you from walking away. "I meant what I said. Let me prove it."

You studied him for a long moment, your scripts still held tight against your chest. "You have coin for private readings?" Your tone was skeptical, though something else flickered in your expression – curiosity, perhaps.

"Name your price."

A small crease appeared between your brows as you considered him. "Why?"

"Because I want to understand," he said softly. "How you make people believe in the stories you tell. And I want to know you."

You were quiet for so long he thought you'd refuse. Then, slowly, you set your scripts down. "Three copper stars per hour," you said finally. "And you show up when you say you will, or the arrangement ends."

His heart leaped. "Done."

"Tomorrow evening then," you said, your tone still guarded but no longer cold. "After the last performance."

He nodded, relief flooding through him. "I'll be here," he promised, and this time, he'd make sure nothing – not even his mother's councils – would stop him.

You pulled the last torch from its bracket, extinguishing it with practiced efficiency. The theater fell into deeper shadow, lit only by a single remaining flame near the stage. Jacaerys watched as you moved through your closing routine, straightening props and gathering scattered programs.

"Help me with these chairs?" you asked, your tone lighter now than during your earlier conversation. He rushed to assist, eager to prove his reliability.

The scrape of wood against wood filled the quiet space as you worked together. When the last chair was properly placed, you pulled a ring of keys from your pocket.

"I usually stay late," you said, twirling the thick keys between your fingers. "Practice keeps the stories fresh, and it gives overeager admirers time to clear out." Your eyes sparkled with meaning in the low light. "Though some are more persistent than others."

Before Jacaerys could respond, you stepped closer. His breath caught as your hand reached for his hood, pulling it back just enough to see his face properly in the dim light.

"There you are," you murmured, studying him with renewed interest. "I was beginning to think you lived in that hood."

He stayed perfectly still, heart thundering as you examined him. Your fingers lingered near his jaw, not quite touching.

"Tomorrow then?" you asked, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Unless you plan to stand me up again?"

"I won't," he promised, his voice rougher than intended.

You smiled, stepping back. "We'll see." You moved toward the door, keys jingling. "Good night."

The way you said it – playful, almost knowing – made his pulse quicken. But you were already gone, leaving him alone in the theater's shadows, the ghost of your almost-touch burning on his skin.

***

Jacaerys stunk of fish. He was sure he had scales stuck under his fingernails from messily cleaning the slippery creatures in the early morning chill. The sea air clung to him, sharp and salty, mingling unpleasantly with the damp sweat on his brow. He cursed under his breath as he scrubbed his hands in the frigid water of a wooden basin, but no amount of scrubbing seemed to erase the stubborn scent.

The bath water had grown cold, but Jacaerys barely noticed. His muscles ached from hauling cargo, though the hot water had helped ease the worst of it. He scrubbed his skin again, determined to remove every trace of fish and salt. The scent had clung to him stubbornly, refusing to yield to even the strongest soaps.

He was nearly dozing, head tipped back against the copper rim, when a knock startled him fully awake.

"Decent?" Lucerys's voice called through the door.

"Give me a moment," Jacaerys sighed, reaching for a clean cloth. He'd barely finished dressing when Lucerys entered, expression already set in familiar lines of concern.

"The docks?" Lucerys asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Really?"

Jacaerys ran the cloth through his damp hair. "Grandsire was pleased."

"Grandsire would be pleased if you learned to juggle fish," Lucerys countered. "But that's not why you're doing it."

"Luke–"

"Just..." Lucerys paused, his young face serious. "Promise me you're not in trouble."

Jacaerys met his brother's worried gaze. "I promise. But I need you to keep this secret."

"Which part? The sneaking out or the fish-hauling?"

"Both."

Lucerys studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Fine. But if you get caught–"

"I won't."

Jacaerys caught a whiff of soap from his sleeve. No trace of fish remained. He heaved a sigh, tossing the towel onto the nearest chair. "Fine." He paused, pinning his younger brother with a level look. "But you have to swear not to tell anyone. If you breathe a word, I’ll tell the septa you swore foolishly."

Lucerys’s face flushed a deep red. "You wouldn’t."

"Oh, I absolutely would," Jacaerys said with mock gravity. "So, do we have a deal?"

Lucerys hesitated, then huffed. "Fine. But if this is something stupid, I’m going straight to Mother."

"It’s not stupid," Jacaerys said, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in conspiratorially. "I met someone. In town."

Lucerys blinked. "What?"

"I met someone," he repeated. "She doesn’t know who I am. At least, not yet. She just thinks I’m a dockhand."

Lucerys stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "And this… someone… doesn’t recognize you as the prince? At all?"

Jacaerys shrugged. but the motion was stiff, his gaze skittering away from Lucerys's penetrating stare. "I… may not have been entirely honest with her," he admitted, voice dropping.

Lucerys’s eyes narrowed.

Jacaerys sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I told her I was just a dockhand. A commoner."

For a moment, Lucerys just stared at him, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. "You lied to her? Does she even know your name?"

"Of course, she does," Jacaerys muttered. "Just not my full name."

Lucerys's expression darkened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Are you insane? What were you thinking?"

"I don’t know!" Jacaerys snapped, his frustration boiling over. He began pacing the small room, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I don’t know why I did it. She was just so... kind. So wistful. So beautiful. She spoke to me like I was just another person, Luke, not a prince or a pawn in some court game. It was different. She’s different."

Lucerys’s face twisted in a snarl. "You’re a fool. This is reckless, Jace, even for you."

"Then don’t say anything," Jacaerys bit back, his tone hard. "You swore, remember?"

Lucerys hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine. But when this blows up in your face – and it will – don’t come crying to me."

Jacaerys didn’t reply, his silence heavy. For the first time, the faint scent of soap felt cloying instead of clean, and the weight of his choices pressed down on him, harder than any fish-laden barrel ever had.

All of his worries about the conversation with Lucerys – the bitter taste in his mouth and the tight pit of guilt in his stomach – melted away the moment he sneaked past the guards. The relief was instant, the tension draining from his shoulders as he let his hood fall lower over his face. He could barely contain the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, excitement bubbling up inside him.

He kept his hand firmly clutching his hood, not wanting to risk it slipping, though it wasn’t as if anyone would recognize him in the shadows. It was his little rebellion, this secret. The life he could steal away from his royal duties for just a few precious hours.

As he neared the theatre house, the muffled sounds of commotion and laughter leaked from the building’s walls, the excitement from inside spilling out into the night air. He could feel his pulse quicken, and without hesitation, he paid the man at the door – just as he had the other times.

He made his way through the narrow hallway, finally arriving at his usual spot – the seats tucked away behind a makeshift curtained backstage.

Jacaerys settled into the seat, adjusting the folds of his cloak. He exhaled slowly, leaning back, the first moments of peace he'd had all day flooding over him.

Then, as he shifted his weight, a hand rested lightly on his arm, squeezing just enough to send a thrill through his spine. His breath hitched as he turned toward the sound of his name, barely a whisper on your lips.

"Jace."

You were already painted for the play, your face a canvas of vibrant colors and delicate lines. The artistry of your makeup only accentuated your natural beauty, your eyes sparkling under the soft light. His heart skipped a beat, and for a long moment, he forgot how to breathe.

You were radiant, more than he could have ever imagined, and his mouth went dry. He gaped, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on you – your delicate features, the way your lips were painted, the playful yet mysterious expression in your eyes. He had seen you countless times before, but tonight, in the flickering shadows of the theatre, you felt otherworldly.

When your fingers brushed lightly against his arm again, the moment snapped back into reality. Your voice, soft and warm, stirred him from his daze. "Jace," you repeated, a gentle laugh in your tone, as if you were amused by the surprise in his eyes. "I need your help."

His mouth went dry, and he nodded quickly, standing up a bit too hastily.

"Come on," you coaxed, giving him a small, teasing look. "It won’t take long."

His mind was in chaos – his pulse still hammering in his ears, the lingering warmth of your touch on his sleeve – yet he couldn’t deny the pull of your invitation. Without another thought, he stood up, following you as you made your way past the curtains into the backstage area.

You smiled, a glimmer of mischief crossing your face. "Follow me," you said.

You led him backstage, the familiar scent of the theatre – of wood, ink, and the remnants of makeup – filling his senses as you guided him past the cluttered dressing rooms and hastily thrown-together props. The atmosphere back here was markedly different from the grandness of the performance, and Jacaerys couldn’t help but feel a sense of intimacy in the narrow hallways, the noise of the crowd just a distant hum.

When you stopped in front of a small mirror framed with tattered curtains, you turned to him, your hands moving through your hair with a practiced grace. You sat down, and reached for a string cord to tie your hair. You handed it to him.

He obeyed without thinking, though his hands were clammy and his chest tight with anticipation. "What... what do you need me to do?"

"I can’t get the braid right," you explained softly, your voice a gentle hum. "I always get tangled in the strands. It’s easier when someone else does it."

He nodded, trying to keep his breath steady, though his heart pounded in his chest. His hands were still – stiff at his sides.

Jacaerys hesitated, his hands feeling strangely foreign as they hovered over the delicate strands of your hair. He had grown up surrounded by brothers, never once considering that there would come a time when he'd need to braid someone’s hair. His mind scrambled for any kind of memory, any sort of knowledge about how to do this, but all he could recall were fleeting moments when he’d seen Baela and Rhaena’s handmaidens working deftly with their hair, and he’d never paid attention, too busy with other things.

His throat went dry, and he cleared it, trying to find his voice. You were looking at him expectantly.

You let out a light laugh, as if to ease the tension. "I’ve seen dockmen tie knots for the boats – braiding is not too different, right?" You gave him a playful, knowing look. "It’s just like that. Easy enough, I’m sure."

He could almost hear his own thoughts racing, trying to latch onto something that would help him make this moment less awkward. But the only thing that came to mind was the idea of knots. The docks. Boats. He felt completely out of his element.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hands still suspended in the air, and then, in a voice that was a little too thick with nerves, he answered, "I’ve never worked as a docksman for boats. Not really my thing."

Not really a lie, he comforted himself, he hadn’t worked with boat knots.

"I’m more on the cleaning-up side. Fish guts, mostly." He winced at the thought, but there was no hiding the truth in his words.

The image of him, his hands deep in fish guts, made you laugh softly, the sound light and musical. "Ah," you said, with a playful wink. "Well, at least you're used to working with your hands."

Jacaerys’s cheeks flushed at the implication, and he let out a sheepish breath. It wasn’t exactly the image he wanted to project, but there was something about your teasing that made it harder to feel embarrassed. He felt a strange warmth flood through him at the lightheartedness in your voice.

"I guess so," he mumbled, leaning closer to your hair, trying to focus on the task at hand. His fingers shook slightly as they brushed the strands, the delicate texture of your hair catching him off guard.

Your smile softened, and you tilted your head, making it easier for him to reach the strands you wanted braided. "It’s alright. I’m not picky," you assured him, your voice softening. "I just need it out of the way, you know?"

Jacaerys took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling fingers. Your hair was silk against his hands – hands that just hours ago had been covered in fish scales and sea salt. He separated the strands carefully, remembering distantly how his mother's handmaidens would work, their movements quick and assured where his were hesitant. He pretended to know what he was doing.

"Like this?" he asked softly, attempting to weave the sections together. The result was clumsy, uneven, nothing like the elegant styles he'd seen at court.

You hummed encouragement, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. "Perfect," you said, though it clearly wasn't. "You have gentle hands for someone who handles fish all day."

He nearly dropped the strands at that, his chest tightening at the compliment. If you only knew how those hands had gripped dragon reins, had wielded training swords, had signed royal documents...

"I..." he started, then swallowed hard. "Thank you."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "You're blushing."

"It's warm back here," he muttered, focusing intently on the braid to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Mmhmm," you teased. "Nothing to do with being alone with an actress in her dressing room, then?"

His fingers fumbled, and the braid began to unravel. "I should start over," he said quickly, carefully undoing his messy work.

You laughed softly, the sound sending warmth spreading through his chest. "Take your time. The crowd's still filing in." You relaxed slightly, letting your head tilt back. "Tell me about your day? Did you catch anything interesting in those fish guts of yours?"

Jacaerys bit back a smile, grateful for the simple question even as guilt pricked at his conscience. "Nothing but the usual," he said, trying again with the braid. "Though there was one fish bigger than any I'd seen before. Nearly pulled me into the water when we hauled it in."

It wasn't entirely a lie – he had seen such a fish today, though he hadn't been the one to catch it. The dock workers had called him over to see it, proud of their unusual catch.

"I'm sure you handled it masterfully," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief in the mirror. "My brave fishmonger."

His heart skipped at the possessive note in your voice, even as shame coiled in his stomach at the deception. He focused on the braid, his movements becoming more confident as he found a rhythm.

"There," he said finally, securing the end with the cord you'd given him. It wasn't perfect – nowhere near the intricate styles of court – but it would hold your hair back for the performance.

You turned your head, examining his work in the mirror. "Not bad at all," you said, reaching back to touch it gently. Your fingers brushed against his as you did, sending a jolt through his entire body. "You might have missed your call. Perhaps you should leave the fish guts behind and become a lady's hairdresser instead."

He laughed despite himself, the sound slightly strained. "I think I'll stick to the docks."

"Pity," you said, standing and turning to face him. In the small space, you were suddenly very close, close enough that he could see the individual brushstrokes of stage paint on your cheeks. "I rather enjoyed having you play with my hair."

Before he could respond, a voice called your name from beyond the curtain. "Five minutes!"

"Duty calls," you sighed, though you didn't move away immediately. "Will you watch tonight?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good." You reached up, adjusting his hood slightly where it had slipped. "Try not to hide too much in those shadows of yours. I like seeing your face."

Then you were gone, sweeping past the curtain toward the stage, leaving Jacaerys alone with the lingering warmth of your presence and the phantom sensation of your hair between his fingers.

He touched his hood where your hand had been, his heart thundering in his chest. Every lie, every deception felt heavier now, weighted with something more than just guilt. But he couldn't think about that – not now, not when you were about to perform, not when you'd looked at him like that.

Taking a shaky breath, he made his way back to his seat, already knowing he wouldn't see a moment of the play. His mind would be too full of your smile in the mirror, your teasing words, and the way you'd called him yours, even if it was just in jest.

True to his prediction, Jacaerys barely registered the play. His mind kept drifting back to the dressing room, to your fingers brushing his, to the way you'd called him with that teasing lilt in your voice. Even now, hours later, his hands still tingled with the memory of your hair between his fingers.

The last patrons were filling out, their chatter fading into the night. You were moving about the stage, gathering props with practiced efficiency, but your movements seemed slower than usual, more deliberate. Every so often, your eyes would drift to where he sat, still in his shadowed corner.

His braid had held throughout your performance, though a few strands had escaped to frame your face. It made him oddly proud, seeing his handiwork survive your dramatic gestures and quick turns.

"Are you going to help," you called out without looking up, teasing tone "or just watch me work?"

Jacaerys started, realizing he'd been caught staring. He rose quickly, making his way to the stage. "What do you need?"

You glanced at him, a smile playing at your lips. "These need to go back to the prop room," you said, gesturing to a collection of wooden swords and painted shields. "Think your dock-strengthened arms can handle it?"

He gathered the props, careful not to let his familiarity with real weapons show in how he handled them. "I think I can manage."

You led him through the backstage area again, but this time there was no bustling energy, no rushed preparations. Just quiet, broken only by your footsteps and the occasional creak of old wood.

"Your braid is holding up well," he said softly as you walked.

"Mmm," you hummed, reaching back to touch it. "Perhaps I should keep you around. My own personal hairdresser who smells of fish."

"I don't smell of fish anymore," he protested, though he couldn't help but smile.

"No," you agreed, stopping at the prop room door. "You smell of soap. Too much soap, actually." You turned to face him, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Almost as if someone very deliberately tried to wash away the scent of honest work."

Jacaerys's heart stuttered. "I..."

"Careful with those," you said, nodding to the props in his arms, effectively cutting off his fumbling response. "Some of them are older than both of us combined."

The prop room was smaller than he'd imagined, cramped with shelves of costumes and worn set pieces. As he carefully placed the wooden swords in their designated spot, he was acutely aware of your presence behind him, of how the small space seemed to shrink further.

"You're different," you said suddenly.

He froze, his back still to you. "What do you mean?"

"From the other dock workers who come here." Your voice was thoughtful. "They watch the plays, sure, but not like you do. You watch like someone who understands the stories we're telling. Like someone who's read them before."

Jacaerys turned slowly, his throat tight. You were leaning against the doorframe, effectively blocking his exit, though he doubted that was your intention.

"Maybe I just like stories," he managed.

"Maybe," you agreed, but your eyes were sharp, searching. "Where do you live?" you asked, still blocking the doorway with casual grace. "For the readings. If you were serious about wanting them."

"I was," he said quickly – too quickly perhaps. "I am serious."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Then where? The dock district isn't far. We could use your home, if you'd prefer privacy for practice."

Jacaerys's mind raced. The thought of you anywhere near the castle made his chest tight with panic. "My home isn't... suitable," he said carefully.

"Not suitable?" Your eyebrow arched. "What, do you live with a dozen rowdy sailors?"

"It's..." he hesitated, searching for a plausible excuse. "Messy. Very messy. And small." The lie felt clumsy on his tongue.

"Messy," you repeated, and something in your tone made him nervous. "You know, for someone who claims to love stories, you're not very good at telling them."

His heart skipped. "I'm not lying."

"No?" You stepped closer, and in the cramped space of the prop room, there was nowhere for him to retreat. He swallowed hard. "The stage," he blurted out.

You paused. "What?"

"For the readings," he clarified, seizing the chance to change topics. "We could use the stage. You're here late anyway, closing up. It would be perfect – good acoustics, proper space to move..." He trailed off, watching your expression shift from suspicion to consideration.

"The stage," you mused, and he could see you warming to the idea. "It would be fitting, I suppose. Though you'd have to help me close up properly first."

"Of course," he agreed quickly, relief flooding through him. "Whatever you need."

You studied him for another long moment, and he fought the urge to pull his hood lower. Finally, you smiled – that warm, teasing smile that made his chest ache.

The stage felt different in the near-darkness, with only two torches casting long shadows across the worn boards. You sat cross-legged at its edge, a small, leather-bound book in your hands. Jacaerys noticed how carefully you held it, as if it were something precious.

"I brought something," you said, running your fingers along the book's spine. "It's... well, it's not exactly high literature." You laughed softly, almost self-consciously. "I found it while cleaning my shelves. I used to read it constantly when I was younger."

Jacaerys settled beside you, leaving just enough space between you to be proper, but close enough to see the way the torchlight caught the slight flush in your cheeks.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A story about a merchant's daughter who stows away on a trading ship," you said, opening the book with practiced care. "She disguises herself as a cabin boy to see the world." You paused, glancing at him. "It's rather juvenile, I suppose. I should have brought something more sophisticated for this, but..."

"No," Jacaerys said quickly. "I'd like to hear it."

He shifted closer, not wanting to miss a single word. The playfulness, the teasing from earlier, seemed to vanish in this quieter space, replaced by something more vulnerable, more raw.

You opened the book, and the soft rustling of the pages filled the silence as your voice began to weave through the room. The story was indeed simple, a tale of youthful adventure and impossible dreams, but there was a certain magic in the way you read. You held onto the book with only one hand as you recited the lines playfully, moving around the stage like you owned it.

Your eyes flickered to his occasionally, perhaps searching for something in his expression, but he could never meet your gaze for long. His mind, far too preoccupied, ran with the warmth of your presence, the flutter of your fingers near his, the way you’d laughed at his earlier attempts with your hair. The way he wanted so badly to be someone else, someone worthy of what you had to offer.

As the story ended, you closed the book with a soft thud, letting the silence settle between you like a blanket.

Jacaerys hadn't moved from where he sat, leaning back on his hands with his gaze fixed on the stage floor as if still lost in the tale you'd shared.

With a playful grin, you shifted onto your stomach, then rolled onto your back, draping yourself along the edge of the stage. Your head tipped over the side, hair cascading down in a curtain toward the floor, and your upside-down gaze caught his.

"You look like you're a thousand leagues away," you teased, your voice laced with amusement. "Did I lose you in the second chapter, or are you still picturing the cabin boy's grand escape?"

Jacaerys blinked, startled from his thoughts, and his eyes softened as they met yours. Upside down, his lips curled into a shy smile, and the torchlight caught the faintest trace of color in his cheeks.

"I was thinking about how well you told it."

You arched a brow, toying idly with the braid he'd clumsily woven earlier. "Well, I am an actress. Storytelling comes with the territory."

"Not just that," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your hands as you played with the braid, then back to your face. "Your voice – it's... suited for poetry. Or recitals. You make the words feel alive."

Your playful grin softened into something more genuine as you watched him. Upside down or not, you could see the sincerity in his expression, the way his admiration seemed almost reluctant, as though he was revealing more than he meant to.

"That's high praise from a dockhand," you teased lightly, though your voice carried a touch of gratitude. "Should I add 'poetry readings' to our stage practices?"

He chuckled, the sound soft and genuine. "If anyone could make a dockhand appreciate poetry, it would be you."

You laughed at that, the sound ringing through the empty theater, and you shifted upright, pulling your braid over your shoulder and inspecting it. "Have you got any sisters?"

"Brothers," he corrected.

"Ah," you said, twisting the end of the braid between your fingers as you gave him a thoughtful look. "That explains it, then. No sisters to pester you into learning how to braid properly."

Jacaerys huffed a quiet laugh, his lips twitching into a wry smile. "I suppose not. Though I’m beginning to think I’ve missed out on an essential skill."

You tilted your head, feigning seriousness. "Absolutely. A man who can braid hair is a rare treasure."

He shook his head, his smile growing as he leaned back on his hands. "I’ll keep that in mind. Though I doubt my brothers would agree."

"Probably not," you said with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, your elbows propped on your knees. "How many brothers do you have, then? Enough to form a little troupe of your own?"

"Four," he replied, his expression softening as he spoke of them.

A beat of silence.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, his voice hesitant, as though testing the waters for something delicate.

You turned slightly, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

He hesitated again, his gaze flicking to the ground before meeting yours. "I... I hope this doesn’t offend you," he started, his tone cautious, "but I was wondering... How is it that you can read? I mean, it’s not... common, for someone who's not of noble blood."

His words hung in the air, and you could see the uncertainty in his expression, as though he feared he'd crossed some invisible line.

You gave him a reassuring smile, one that carried no offense.

"It’s a fair question," you said, your tone light and easy. "I wasn’t born into nobility, if that's what you're thinking. But I was fortunate enough to grow up in a place where books were more than just decoration."

Jacaerys looked at you, still uncertain but with a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "I didn’t mean to–"

"You didn’t offend me," you interrupted gently, stepping closer to him. "Where I grew up, stories mattered. Not just noble ones, but those passed down through the workers, the farmers, the people. And the only way to keep them alive was to read." You paused, your expression softening as you thought back. "Books were a window to something bigger. So, I made sure to learn."

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, it seemed like he was seeing you in a different light, as if you were a story he hadn't yet fully understood. "I admire that," he said quietly, a note of genuine respect in his voice. "It’s rare to find someone who values stories that way."

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I suppose it helps to have a bit of stubbornness in you, too." You gave him a teasing look. "Besides, there are some things that can’t be learned without a little persistence."

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "True enough," he said, his smile soft and unguarded. "Maybe I should learn a few things from you."

You returned his smile, warmth filling your chest as you looked at him, a connection lingering between you that felt both unspoken and understood. "I think you'd be a quick study," you said, stepping back with a final glance.

You smiled. Jacaerys was sure he could get used to it.

***

The sun was high and merciless when you found him at the docks, his face smudged with dirt and hands glistening with fish scales. You weaved through the busy workers with practiced ease, though Jacaerys noticed how eyes followed your progress – dock hands, merchants, even his grandfather's guards trying to be discrete in their observation of their prince.

His heart thundered as you approached, but your smile was as bright as ever, seemingly oblivious to the attention surrounding him. "There's my favorite fishmonger," you called out cheerfully.

Jacaerys relaxed slightly, though he couldn't help glancing around to gauge if anyone had heard. But you didn't seem to notice anything amiss about the way conversations had hushed, about how people kept stealing glances in their direction.

"Let me wash up," he said quickly, already moving toward a water barrel. As he scrubbed the fish scales from his hands, you leaned against a nearby post, watching the bustling dock activity with interest.

"I brought the books I mentioned," he said, drying his hands on his rough-spun shirt. "From that old section of town I told you about."

"The one where the castle's maesters get their volumes?" Your eyes lit up with curiosity. "I still can't believe you found such a place. Have you seen them there? The maesters? Or..." you paused, a different kind of interest crossing your face, "any of the royal family?"

His throat went dry. "I... try to keep to myself when I'm there."

"I've only heard whispers," you continued, unaware of his panic. "Especially about the heir – Prince Jacaerys." You laughed softly, a slight flush coloring your cheeks. "The way some speak of him, you'd think he was something out of a story. Beautiful beyond belief, they say. Dark hair like moonlight, eyes like amethysts." You rolled your eyes. "It seems rather far-fetched, doesn't it? No one can be that lovely."

He nearly choked on air, but you didn't notice, too caught up in your thoughts.

Jacaerys was grateful for the dirt still smudged on his face – it helped hide his burning cheeks. "Perhaps they exaggerate," he managed.

"Oh, certainly," you agreed, a snort coming out of your throat. You looked at his messily washed hands. "You must think of me to be a gossip…"

"Not at all," Jacaerys said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Though I'm surprised you pay attention to such rumors."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Well, when half your audience consists of castle servants and dock workers, you hear things. Apparently, this prince is quite the scholar too – languages, history, dragon lore." You nudged his arm playfully. "Nothing like my simple fishmonger who can barely get through a scene without stumbling over the big words."

He made a sound of protest that came out more strangled than intended. "I don't stumble that much."

"Oh? What about last night's reading? 'Inexorable' had you tangled for a good minute."

"The light was poor," he muttered, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement at the irony. He'd learned that word at six, but deliberately mispronouncing it had made you laugh so beautifully.

"Of course," you agreed, your tone teasing. "Just like how the light was poor when you couldn't read 'magnanimous.' And 'perpetuity.' And–"

"Yes, yes," he cut in, unable to hold back a smile. "We can't all be as learned as Prince Jacaerys."

You laughed, the sound drawing more attention from the dock workers. "Gods, can you imagine? Teaching theatre to a prince?" You struck an exaggerated noble pose. "'No, Your Highness, you're holding the script all wrong. More feeling in the death scene, if it please Your Grace!'"

Jacaerys nearly bit through his tongue trying not to react. "You'd probably make him practice until he got it right," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Naturally. Crown or no crown, proper dramatic timing waits for no man." You grinned, then glanced at the sun's position. "Speaking of timing, I should go. Rehearsal soon." You started to turn, then paused. "You'll be there tonight?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good. And try to wash your face properly before you come. You've got a smudge right..." you reached out, thumb brushing his cheek. The touch sent warmth spreading across his skin, and he had to resist the urge to lean into it. "There. Though I suppose a little dirt suits you. Makes you look more..." you searched for the word, "authentic."

You shifted the books to one arm, reaching into a hidden pocket of your dress with your free hand.

Jacaerys expected you to pull out the coins he'd given you for lessons. Instead, you produced a small wrapped pastry, slightly squashed but still warm.

"The baker's wife likes our performances," you explained, offering it to him. "She gives us treats sometimes, when we have good shows. This one's honey and apple – I thought you might be hungry, working all day in the sun."

The simple kindness of the gesture made his chest tight. Here you were, sharing what little you had with someone you thought was a common dock worker, while he played at poverty with a prince's purse.

"You don't have to–" he started, but you pressed the pastry into his hands.

"Take it," you insisted. "You're too thin for someone who carries fish all day." Your eyes sparkled with mischief.

As you walked away, weaving through the crowd with natural grace, Jacaerys touched the spot where your thumb had been. He caught sight of his grandsire watching from the harbor master's office, one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement.

Well, at least someone was enjoying this.

The theater felt smaller at night, more intimate with just the two of you seated on the stage's edge, legs dangling over the side. You held one of his poetry books in your lap, fingers tracing the gilded edges with obvious reverence

"This binding," you murmured, "it's beautiful. Are you sure you found this in some old bookshop?" You glanced at him sideways. "It looks more like something from the castle library."

Jacaerys's heart skipped, but he kept his voice steady. "The old quarter has its secrets."

You hummed thoughtfully, opening to a marked page. "Listen to this one: 'The sea at dawn holds secrets in her depths, while dragons dance on clouds of morning light...'" You paused, looking up at him. "It's about Dragonstone, isn't it? The way the dragons patrol at sunrise?"

"You've seen them?" he asked carefully

"Everyone has. They're hard to miss." You smiled, turning back to the book. "Though I've never seen them quite like this poet describes. 'Dancing on clouds' – it makes them sound almost gentle."

"They can be," Jacaerys said without thinking. "When they want to be."

You raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, are you?"

He coughed, quickly backtracking. "I just mean... from what I've observed. From the docks."

"Mm." You returned to the poem, but there was something knowing in your smile that made him nervous. "'While sailors dream of distant shores unknown, their vessels rock in harbor's gentle sway...'" Your voice softened on the words. "It's lovely. Sad, though. All that longing for something just out of reach."

Jacaerys watched your profile in the torchlight, the way your lips moved slightly as you read silently ahead. "Do you ever feel that way?" he asked quietly. "Longing for something distant?"

You were quiet for a moment, fingers still running along the page's edge. "Sometimes," you admitted. "When I'm performing, I can be anyone, go anywhere. But when the play ends..." You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. "Well, we can't all be princes and princesses, can we?"

The irony of your words made his chest ache. "Would you want to be?" he asked, genuinely curious. "A princess?"

You laughed, the sound echoing in the empty theater. "Gods, maybe. But I prefer my freedom, limited as it might be." You bumped his shoulder playfully. "Though I wouldn't mind access to a library like this. Where did you say you found these books again?"

"I didn't," he said, managing a small smile. "Trade secret."

"Secretive dock worker," you teased, turning another page. "With your mysterious books and your perfect manners and your..." you trailed off, something catching your attention in the text. "Oh, this is beautiful. 'In silence dwells the truth we dare not speak, while hearts beat poetry in darkened halls...'"

"What's this?" you asked, tilting the book to catch the torchlight. Your finger traced elegant script in the margin – notes in High Valyrian that Jacaerys instantly recognized as his own. His stomach dropped.

"I didn't know you read High Valyrian."

"I don't," he said too quickly. "Those notes were already there when I got the book."

You hummed thoughtfully, studying the writing. "Strange. The ink looks fresh." Your eyes met his, curious and sharp. "And these appear throughout the book, always in the same hand. Whoever owned it before must have loved poetry deeply."

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. Those notes were his thoughts on meter and metaphor, written late at night in his chamber. He'd forgotten they were there.

"Most dock workers I know can barely read the Common Tongue," you continued, your tone deliberately casual. "Let alone write scholarly notes in High Valyrian."

"Lucky find, I suppose," he managed, voice tight.

You traced another annotation with your finger. "Very lucky." There was something in your voice – not quite an accusation, but close. His heart hammered. "We should practice the next scene," he said, reaching for the book.

You let him take it, but your eyes lingered on his face. "Yes," you said softly. "We should."

The weight of unasked questions hung between you for the rest of the evening.

Jacaerys barely heard the words, too caught up in watching how the torchlight played across your face, how your voice gave life to verses he'd read a hundred times before. This was dangerous, he knew. Every moment he spent with you only made the truth harder to hide, harder to deny.

But as you read on, your voice painting pictures in the darkness, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Here," Jacaerys said, reaching for the coins in his pocket, but you placed your hand over his, stoppin

"Don't," you said softly. The warmth of your touch made his breath catch. "You've been paying for almost a month now."

"But the readings–"

"Have been the highlight of my evenings," you finished, your fingers still resting lightly on his. "I would have done this for free from the start, if you hadn't been so insistent."

He stared at your joined hands, his pulse quickening. "I don't want to take advantage–"

"Of what?" You laughed, the sound low and warm in the quiet theater. "Of the pleasure of my company?" Your thumb brushed across his knuckles, deliberate and gentle. "Of sharing beautiful words in an empty theater?"

"I–" he started, but you cut him off again.

"If you try to pay me," you said, leaning closer, "I might actually be upset." Your eyes sparkled in the torchlight as you tilted your head. You reached two fingers to grab his chin, tilting it towards you. "You wouldn't make me sad, would you?"

The teasing lilt in your voice made his stomach flip. "No," he managed.

"Good." You squeezed his hand once before letting go, but you didn't move away. "Because I've grown quite fond of our evenings together."

Your smile was warm, inviting, and for a moment he let himself forget about the deception, about the weight of his true identity.

"As have I," he said softly, meaning it more than you could know.

You carefully closed the poetry book, but kept it in your lap, your fingers tracing the ornate cover. "Tomorrow, then? Unless you have some urgent dock business to attend to?"

The gentle mockery in your tone made him smile despite himself. "Tomorrow," he agreed, even as his conscience whispered warnings about how dangerous this was becoming.

But as you rose to leave, the book cradled against your chest like something precious, he knew he'd keep coming back, keep risking discovery, just to share these moments with you in the torch-lit dark.

***

The weeks had blurred together, each day measured not by council meetings or lessons but by the hours until he could return to the theater. His excuses about dock work had become routine, practiced, though perhaps too easily offered. Even Lucerys had stopped giving him suspicious looks, accepting his absences with a shrug.

Tonight, he barely waited for his mother to conclude the court session before excusing himself, the formalities of his royal duties quickly discarded in favor of a more pressing engagement. As soon as he reached his chambers, the ornate rings on his fingers were removed with haste, their weight clinking together softly as he shoved them into his pocket. His movements were hurried, a far cry from his usual careful precision, as he threw on the coarse cloak he kept for these clandestine outings. With a quick, practiced motion, he ruffled his hair, ensuring he looked less like a prince and more like any other man seeking anonymity.

But when he reached the theater, you weren't in your usual place. Instead, you stood outside, leaning against the wall with an expectant smile and a coat that was far too thin to fight off the bite of the cold night. The chill painted your cheeks a soft pink, and your arms were crossed, whether for warmth or simply to chastise him, he couldn't tell.

"I thought we might walk tonight," you said, pushing off from the wall. "The air's too sweet to waste indoors."

His heart jumped. The streets would be busy, the lighting better, the chances of being recognized exponentially higher. But you were already moving, glancing back at him with that teasing smile he couldn't resist.

The rings felt heavy in his pocket as he fell into step beside you, his hood pulled low against the evening light.

You led him past the rows of market stalls just beginning to close for the night, past a group of minstrels tuning their instruments, and into a quieter part of the city where the cobblestones glistened faintly with frost. He adjusted his hood every time the two of you walked past people. The hum of the crowd faded, replaced by the soft crunch of your footsteps and the occasional laugh or song drifting from a nearby tavern.

"You're quiet tonight," you said after a while, casting him a sideways glance. Your voice was light, teasing, but he caught the question beneath it.

Jace’s lips parted, then closed again as he fumbled for an answer. "Just... tired," he managed, though the weight of the word didn’t begin to encompass the whirlwind of thoughts battering his mind.

You hummed softly, unconvinced, but didn’t press. Instead, you slowed your pace, falling into step beside him. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

"Tell me about your day?" you said, turning to look at him.

Jacaerys hesitated, his fingers brushing against the rings in his pocket. "Fish," he said finally, managing a small smile. "Lots of fish."

You laughed, the sound bright in the cool evening air. "How descriptive. No wonder you need help with readings." You bumped your shoulder against his playfully. "Come now, surely you can do better than that. What kind of fish? Any particularly memorable ones? Anything fun?"

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Or did you spend the whole day swooning over thoughts of our next reading session?"

Heat crept up his neck, and he was grateful for the hood's shadows. "The fish weren't very talkative today," he said, trying to match your playful tone. "Though one did give me a rather judgmental look."

"Ah, a critic!" You clasped your hands dramatically. "Was it worse than my reaction to your first attempt at that love sonnet?"

"Nothing could be worse than that," he groaned, remembering how you'd barely contained your laughter at his overly stiff delivery.

"You've improved," you said, your voice softening. "Though you still hold yourself like you're expecting someone to paint your portrait at any moment."

His heart stuttered. "I do not–"

"Yes, you do." You reached up suddenly, tugging at his hood. "Just like now, all proper and–"

He caught your wrist gently, his pulse racing. "Don't."

Instead of pulling away, you let your hand rest in his grip. "Sorry," you asked softly. "What are you hiding under there, my mysterious fishmonger? A second head?"

"Hey," you said gently, turning your hand in his grip until your fingers intertwined. "I'm not really trying to pry. Whatever your secrets are..." You squeezed his hand. "They're yours to keep."

The simple acceptance in your voice made his chest ache. He wanted to tell you everything – about the councils, the lessons, the suffocating weight of duty. Instead, he just held your hand tighter, letting you lead him through the quiet streets.

"Though," you added after a moment, your tone lightening, "if you are hiding a second head under there, I do think I deserve to know. As your reading instructor, of course. It would explain your trouble with dialogue – having to coordinate two mouths and all."

The tension broke, and he found himself laughing despite everything. "Just the one head, I'm afraid."

"Pity. Think of the dramatic possibilities." You swung your joined hands between you like children might. "We could do all those twin soliloquies from the classical plays."

"You're ridiculous," he said fondly.

"Mm, and yet you keep coming back." You glanced at him, your smile soft in the dim light. "Must be my charming personality. Or perhaps you've fallen madly in love with my collection of dusty books."

His heart skipped at the word 'love', though he managed to keep his voice steady. "The books are very dusty."

"A key feature," you agreed solemnly. "I select them specifically for their dust content." You paused at a corner, turning to face him fully. "Speaking of which, I found another one I think you'll like. Unless you're tired of stories about people pretending to be something they're not?"

The irony wasn't lost on him, but your knowing smile held no judgment, only warmth. "Never," he said softly.

A group of late-night revelers passed nearby, their loud laughter breaking the moment. Jacaerys instinctively pulled back, his hand falling from your waist, but you kept your fingers firmly laced with his.

"So skittish," you teased, though there was a question in your eyes. "Always ready to disappear into those shadows of yours."

"Not always," he protested, squeezing your hand.

"No?" You tilted your head, studying what little you could see of his face. "Prove it. Stay in the light with me, just for a moment."

His heart raced. "I..."

"Not the hood," you added quickly, seeing his tension. "Just... stay. Here. With me." You stepped closer again, your free hand finding its way back to his chest. "Unless you have somewhere more important to be?"

The weight of his rings seemed to burn in his pocket, but Jacaerys could only focus on the warmth of your touch, the hope in your expression. "No," he said softly. "Nowhere more important than this."

"You're standing very close," you murmured, though you made no move to step away. Your joined hands were warm despite the night's chill, and your free hand still rested against his chest, surely feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

"Am I?" Jacaerys managed, his voice rougher than intended. The moonlight caught in your hair, turning the loose strands to silver, and he fought the urge to brush them back from your face.

You hummed, a smile playing at your lips. "Quite close. Almost improper for a simple dock worker." Your fingers traced an idle pattern on his chest. "What would people think?"

"Let them think what they will," he said softly, surprising himself with his boldness.

Your smile widened. "My, my. And here I thought you were shy." You tilted your face up to his, though his hood still cast shadows between you. "Are you going to kiss me? Or shall we stand here all night, scandalizing the good people of the town?"

Jacaerys's breath caught. The rings in his pocket seemed to grow heavier, a reminder of everything he was risking. But you were so close, your eyes bright with invitation, and he found himself leaning forward despite every warning his conscience screamed.

He laughed softly, the tension breaking just enough for him to find his courage. "Scandalizing the town sounds like a fine way to spend the night," he murmured, and closed the distance between you.

The kiss was gentle, tentative – everything a first kiss should be. Your lips were soft against his, and you tasted faintly of the mint leaves you chewed before performances. Your hand slid up to cup his jaw, careful not to disturb his hood, and he marveled at how you could be so mindful of his secrets even in this moment.

Your lips moved against his with a softness that stole his breath. You tilted your head slightly, drawing him closer, and the touch of your hand against his chest lingered, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his tunic. The kiss stretched on, slow and unhurried, filled with unspoken promises and a warmth that made the chill of the evening irrelevant.

Jacaerys felt your breath against his skin, the faintest sigh escaping as you pulled him closer, and something in his chest tightened, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief. His thumb grazed the back of your hand where your fingers remained intertwined with his, the subtle motion grounding him even as his heart thundered.

When you finally pulled back, your smile was radiant. "Well," you said, slightly breathless, "I suppose that's one way to keep warm."

He laughed, resting his forehead against yours. "Is that all it was? A practical measure against the cold?"

"Mmm, perhaps not." Your fingers traced his jaw, light as a whisper. "I might need another demonstration to be sure."

This time when he kissed you, there was nothing tentative about it. His free hand found your waist, drawing you closer as your fingers curled into his cloak. This kiss was different – deeper, hungrier. Your mouth opened under his with a soft gasp that made his head spin. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him as your fingers slid into his hair beneath the hood, careful even in your passion not to disturb his disguise.

The taste of mint was stronger now, mixed with something uniquely you that made his heart race. Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as he responded in kind. The world narrowed to just this – the press of your body against his, the quiet sound you made when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, the way your fingers tightened in his hair.

The kiss turned messy, desperate, months of tension finally breaking. Your back hit the wall beside you, though neither of you remembered moving. His hood cast both your faces in shadow, creating a private world where titles and duties couldn't reach. Your joined hands finally separated, allowing you to grab fistfuls of his cloak while his freed hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat of your kiss.

A door slammed nearby, startling you apart. A group of merchants passed by, paying them no mind, but Jacaerys's heart raced for entirely different reasons now. The reality of the situation crashed back over him – who he was, who you thought he was, all the lies between you.

But you just smiled, squeezing his hand. He exhaled a laugh, hand running over his face to try to hide away his flushing.

You fell silent, you just looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. His thumb brushing over your cheek and your fingers running along his jawline.

You squeezed his hand once before letting go. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Always," he promised, meaning it more than you could know.

Your smile turned playful again. "Good. I have a particularly flowery sonnet picked out, just for you."

He groaned, but his chest felt light despite the lateness of the hour. "Cruel woman."

"You love it," you called after him as he started to walk away.

He did. Gods help him, he really did.

The soft clink of metal against stone barely registered at first, lost in the echo of retreating footsteps and the lingering warmth of his kiss. But something made you turn, some instinct drawing your eyes to the ground where moonlight caught on gold as he walked away.

The ring laid there, innocent and damning all at once. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up, its weight surprisingly substantial for such a delicate thing. In the dim light, you could make out the craftsmanship – the kind of detail that spoke of master artisans, of wealth beyond anything you'd ever known. The sapphire caught the moonlight, seeming to glow from within, while intricate patterns wrapped around the band like elegant whispers of another world.

This was no dock worker's trinket. No simple sailor's keepsake.

Your mind raced backward through every interaction, every careful movement, every measured word. The way he held himself, even in commoner's clothes. The educated lilt to his speech that he tried so hard to hide. His intimate knowledge of the stories you performed, stories that most dock workers wouldn't have heard, let alone read.

The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. The careful way he kept his hood low, how he stiffened when anyone walked too close. His mysterious absences. The books, his lack of knowledge about the dock, the annotations on the stories.

You touched your lips, still tingling from his kiss. A prince. You'd kissed a prince. You'd teased him, mocked his posture, made him read love poetry in funny voices. You'd casually touched his hand, brushed his hair, pulled at his hood...

Horror and hysteria warred in your chest. How many times had you called him 'my brave fishmonger'? How many times had you laughed at his 'dock worker' stories, knowing they rang false but never imagining the truth could be quite so... impossible?

The ring felt suddenly heavy in your palm, its presence undeniable proof of a reality you weren't sure you were ready to face. You closed your fingers around the ring, its edges pressing into your skin.

The practical part of your mind whispered that you should forget this, drop the ring in the harbor and pretend you'd never seen it. The curious part wanted to confront him, to demand answers to questions you weren't sure you had the right to ask.

But mostly, you remembered the way he looked at you when you performed, like you were creating magic with mere words. The way he laughed, free and unguarded, when you teased him. The gentle touch of his hands as he helped you stack chairs after performances.

Prince or not, those moments had been real. Hadn't they?

You slipped the ring into your pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the choice you now faced. Tomorrow, he would come again, hood low and stance careful, playing at being a simple dock worker. And you would have to decide – pretend you knew nothing, confront him with the truth, or...

Your fingers brushed the ring through your pocket. Your mind rushing through all the possible outcomes.

***

Jacaerys tore through his chambers like a storm, upending cushions and emptying drawers with increasing desperation. The morning sun streamed through his windows, highlighting the chaos he'd created – clothes strewn across chairs, books scattered on the floor, his bed linens tangled from his frantic searching.

"Seven hells," he muttered, running his hands through his already disheveled hair. He'd checked his pockets three times, retraced his steps through the castle twice, and even gone back to the servant's corridor he'd used for his return.

A knock at his door made him freeze.

"Jace?" Lucerys's voice carried through the wood. "Are you ready for breakfast? Mother's asking–"

Jacaerys yanked the door open, startling his younger brother. "Where is it?" he demanded.

Lucerys blinked at him, then at the disaster behind him. "Where's what?"

"My ring." Jacaerys grabbed his brother's shoulders. "The sapphire one. Did you take it? As some sort of lesson about sneaking out?”

"What? No!" Lucerys shrugged off his grip, indignation clear on his young face. "Why would I–" He stopped, taking in Jacaerys's wild appearance. "Gods, you really lost it?"

"I didn't lose it," Jacaerys snapped, though panic was clawing at his chest. "I just... misplaced it."

"Mother's ring?" Lucerys's eyes widened. "The one she gave you for your nameday?"

Jacaerys slumped against the doorframe. "Yes," he whispered.

"Well, when did you last have it?" Lucerys asked, his anger shifting to concern.

Jacaerys's mind raced back through the previous night. He'd removed it before leaving, along with his other rings. He'd put them in his pocket, not wanting to leave them in his chambers where they might be discovered. Then...

The blood drained from his face as realization struck. The walk through the city. Your hand in his. The way he'd moved so quickly when those revelers passed...

"Jace?" Lucerys's voice seemed to come from far away. "You look like you're going to be sick."

"I have to go," Jacaerys said abruptly, pushing past his brother.

"Go? Go where? What about breakfast? Mother's expecting–"

"Cover for me," Jacaerys called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor. "Please, Luke."

He took the steps two at a time, his mind spinning with possibilities, each worse than the last. If someone had found it, if they recognized the craftsmanship, if word got back to the castle...

But worse than all of that was the thought that you might have found it. You, with your sharp eyes and sharper wit. You, who'd already noticed so many inconsistencies in his story.

The ring would confirm every suspicion, answer every question he'd deflected. And then what? Would you hate him for the deception? Would you understand why he'd lied? Would you...

He burst out of the castle, not even bothering with his usual careful exit routes. He had to find that ring. Had to get to the theater before everything he'd built these past weeks came crashing down around him.

Behind him, Lucerys watched from a window, shaking his head as his brother disappeared into the morning crowd. "Idiot," he muttered, though there was fondness in his voice. Then he turned to head to breakfast, already composing excuses for their mother.

The morning sun was merciless, offering far too much light as Jacaerys retraced your path from the night before. His hood was pulled so low he could barely see, but he couldn't risk being recognized – not now, not like this. His hands trembled as he searched, checking every crack between the cobblestones, every shadow where something might have rolled.

The street looked different in daylight. What had been intimate and magical in the evening was now harsh and exposed. Dock workers rushed past him, giving odd looks to the hooded figure crawling along the ground. He ignored them, focusing on each step, each possible spot where the ring might have fallen.

Here – this was where you'd taken his hand. He'd adjusted his hood then, his other hand brushing against his pocket. Had it fallen here? He ran his fingers along the edges of the stones, feeling for any glint of metal, any catch of sapphire against the morning light.

And there – that corner was where you'd pulled him close, where he'd nearly forgotten himself entirely. The memory of your touch made his chest ache, but he pushed it aside, focusing on his desperate search. His knees were dirty now, his fine clothes beneath the rough cloak covered in street dust, but he didn't care.

A group of children ran past, nearly bowling him over. He steadied himself against a wall, the same wall where you'd stood so close, where you'd offered him a kiss... He shook his head. He couldn't think about that now.

"Come on," he muttered, dropping to his knees again to check beneath a merchant's stall. "Where are you?"

The ring had to be here somewhere. It couldn't have just vanished. Unless... unless someone had already found it. Unless it was already being examined by curious hands, its royal craftsmanship raising questions he couldn't answer.

Or worse – what if you had found it? What if you were holding it right now, finally understanding every lie, every evasion, every careful deflection? The thought made him feel sick.

He'd been so careful for weeks, maintaining his disguise, watching his words. And now, because he'd been distracted by your smile, by the warmth of your hand in his, by the promise of a kiss... everything could come crashing down because of a single ring.

The irony wasn't lost on him. A prince of the realm, crawling through the streets like a beggar, searching for proof of the very identity he'd been trying to hide. If his mother could see him now...

But he couldn't stop. Not until he'd searched every inch of your path together, not until he was certain. Even as the morning grew warmer and the streets more crowded, he kept looking, his desperation mounting with each passing moment.

The ring wasn't just jewelry – it was a symbol of everything he stood to lose. His mother's trust, his carefully constructed freedom, and most importantly, your smile. Your teasing voice. Your gentle acceptance of his secrets, even when you knew he was hiding something.

Would you be so understanding when you discovered just how much he'd hidden? When you realized every moment between you had been built on lies?

The sun climbed higher, and still he searched, his heart growing heavier with each empty corner, each unremarkable shadow. Somewhere in this maze of streets lay the truth he'd been trying to keep hidden, just waiting to be discovered.

And somewhere, perhaps, you were already finding it.

The walk back to the castle felt endless. Each step seemed to echo with accusations, with imagined scenarios of you finding the ring, recognizing its royal craftsmanship, realizing every word he'd spoken had been wrapped in lies. His stomach churned with a sickness that had nothing to do with the morning's frantic searching.

He could see it all too clearly – if you’d found it – you, holding the sapphire ring up to the light, watching it catch the same way your eyes did when you smiled. Would you recognize the dragon motifs worked into the gold? Would you remember the stories you'd performed of ancient Valyrian princes and their deceptions? Would you hate him for becoming one of those characters you portrayed with such devastating accuracy?

The thought of your warm teasing turning cold, of your gentle touches becoming withdrawn, made him physically ill. He'd seen how you looked at the nobles who sometimes attended your performances – with a careful distance, a practiced deference that never reached your eyes. The thought of you looking at him that way, with that same calculated restraint, was unbearable.

But worse than the anger he imagined was the hurt he knew would follow. You, who had shared your stories, your laughter, your quiet moments after performances. You, who had trusted him enough to walk the nighttime streets hand in hand, to offer...

He pressed his palm against his mouth, remembering how close you'd been, how your lips had almost... If you found that ring now, would you think he'd been playing with you? Some bored noble amusing himself with a common theater performer?

The reality was so much worse – and so much simpler. He'd fallen in love with you. Completely, irrevocably, despite every reason he shouldn't. Despite knowing it could never last. Despite the weight of duty and tradition that hung around his neck like an iron chain.

As he slipped back into his chambers through the servant's passage, his head pounded with questions he couldn't answer. Should he go to the theater tonight, try to explain if you'd found it? Should he stay away, let you hate him from a distance rather than see the moment trust turned to betrayal in your eyes?

He collapsed onto his bed, still unmade from his morning's desperate search, and stared at the ceiling. The sapphire ring had been his mother's gift, a symbol of the responsibility he bore, the legacy he was meant to uphold. How fitting that he should lose it on the same night he'd kissed you, almost pretended he could be someone else entirely.

The worst part was knowing that even now, with everything threatening to unravel, he couldn't regret the moments he'd spent with you. The way you'd corrected his posture during readings, your hands gentle on his shoulders. The stories you'd shared in whispers after the other performers had gone. The sound of your laugh when he'd fumbled a particularly dramatic line.

He pressed his hands against his eyes until he saw stars, trying to block out the memory of your smile, your teasing voice, the way you'd looked at him in the dim light of the street. But it was no use. Every moment played behind his eyelids like one of your performances – perfect, haunting, and now possibly lost forever.

The theater felt different tonight. Every shadow seemed to hold potential danger, every glance from you a possible revelation. Jacaerys lingered in the doorway longer than usual, his feet refusing to carry him forward until you looked up from your scripts and smiled.

"There you are," you called out, but even your familiar warmth couldn't ease the knot in his stomach. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

He forced himself to move closer, though he kept more distance between you than usual. His eyes darted to your hands as you shuffled your papers – no sapphire ring glinting in the torchlight. But that didn't mean anything. You could have it tucked away somewhere, waiting for the right moment to confront him.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your smile fading slightly as you noticed his tension. "You look... haunted."

"I'm fine," he said too quickly, his voice rougher than intended. "Just tired."

You set your scripts aside, studying him with that perceptive gaze he usually found endearing but now filled him with dread. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

The words hit too close to home, making him flinch. You noticed – of course you noticed – and stood, moving toward him with concern written across your features.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching for his hand. He pulled back before you could touch him, immediately regretting the action when hurt flashed in your eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, tugging his hood lower. "I just... I shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Your voice was gentle, patient, though he could hear the confusion beneath it.

"Because..." Jacaerys's voice caught. You were still watching him, concern etched in every line of your face, and it was unbearable. The candlelight caught in your hair, reminding him of how it had felt between his fingers, how natural it had been to be close to you. Now every inch between you felt like a chasm.

"Because of last night?" you asked softly when he didn't continue. Your hands fidgeted with your scripts, a nervous gesture he'd never seen from you before. "If I made you uncomfortable, with the... I mean, when I..."

"No," he said quickly, the word escaping before he could stop it. The thought of you blaming yourself made his chest ache. "No, it's not that. It's..." He gestured helplessly, the movement sharp with frustration. "It's complicated."

You let out a soft, bitter laugh that made him freeze. "Complicated," you repeated, the word falling heavy between you. "Is that what princes call it?"

The blood drained from his face. You reached into a pocket of your dress and pulled out something that caught the torchlight – a sapphire ring, its dragon engravings unmistakable even from where he stood.

"You dropped it," you said, your voice steady but quiet. "Last night. Before you ran away." Your lips quirked in a sad smile. "Though I suppose 'running away' isn't quite accurate when you're returning to a castle."

Jacaerys couldn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on the ring, on your fingers curled loosely around it, offering it back to him like an accusation wrapped in gentleness.

The memory of last night – your lips soft against his, your hands tangled in his cloak, the way he'd pulled you closer despite every warning voice in his head – crashed over him like a wave.

"I didn't recognize it at first," you continued, your voice steady though your hands trembled slightly. "Just thought it was another prop that needed returning. But then I saw the seal." Your eyes met his, sharp with hurt and understanding. "House Targaryen. Rather expensive accessory for a dock worker, wouldn't you say?"

“How long have you known?" he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Known for certain? Since last night." You turned the ring over in your palm, watching how it caught the torchlight. "Suspected? Longer. You're not as good at pretending as you think you are, my prince."

The title made him flinch. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Now there was an edge to your voice, though your hands remained gentle with his ring.

"Don't call me that," Jacaerys whispered, the words rough in his throat.

You let out a soft, hollow laugh. "My apologies, Your Grace. How terribly remiss of me." Your voice was gentle, almost sweet, but he could hear the hurt beneath it. "I've been quite ill-mannered, haven't I? All those times I teased you, touched you..." You took a step closer, still holding out the ring. "Made you braid my hair with those royal hands of yours."

"Please," he started, but you continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"I should have known, really. The way you moved, the way you spoke..." Your eyes searched what little of his face was visible under the hood. "Tell me, my prince, did you get what you wanted? A nice distraction from all those tiresome duties? Some common girl to pass the time with?"

"That's not–" He reached for you without thinking, stopping only when you took a deliberate step back.

"Not what?" Your voice was still soft, still controlled, but your eyes blazed. "Not what you intended? Then what did you intend, Jacaerys? When you sat in my shadows night after night, when you held my hand in the street, when you–" Your voice caught. "When you kissed me back?"

The sound of his full name on your lips made him feel like he was drowning. "I never meant to deceive you."

"No?" You were close enough now that he could see the slight tremor in your hands, still cradling his ring. "Then what did you mean to do? Slum with the common folk for a while? See how the other half lives?"

"I meant to see you," he said, the truth finally breaking free. "Just you. Only you."

You stilled, something flickering in your expression. "And now? Now that I know who you really are? Will you disappear back to your castle, back to your real life?"

"I don't want to."

"But you will." It wasn't a question. You held out the ring again, your fingers steady now. "Take it. Go back to where you belong."

He didn't move to take it. "What if I belong here?"

Your expression softened for just a moment before hardening again. "In the shadows? In lies? That's not belonging, my prince. That's hiding."

The title felt like a physical blow each time you used it. "Stop calling me that."

"Why?" You stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the familiar scent of stage powder and candlesmoke. "Isn't that what you are? What you've always been, even when you were pretending to be my..." You trailed off, swallowing hard. "What were you pretending to be, exactly? My friend? My suitor?"

"I wasn't pretending with you," he whispered. "Not about the things that mattered."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment he saw all the hurt and longing he felt reflected back at him. "Everything about you was a pretense," you said softly. "Even this moment, even now, you're still hiding under that hood."

Slowly, with trembling hands, he pushed back his hood, as if that could make the situation better. The torchlight caught the brown of his hair, the sharp velvet of his eyes that spoke of centuries of dynasty. He looked ethereal, otherworldly – and utterly miserable.

"Not everything," he said, "Not how I feel about you. Not the way I..." His voice cracked. "Not the way I dream about you when I should be focusing on state affairs."

You looked away, your jaw tight. "Pretty words from a silver tongue. Is that what they teach you in the castle, how to break hearts eloquently?"

"They taught me to be proper, and distant, and cold," he said, taking a step closer. "You taught me to laugh. To feel. To be human." His fingers brushed yours where they still held the ring, and you didn't pull away. "Please look at me."

When you did, your eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What do you want from me, Jacaerys? What could you possibly want that's worth all these lies?"

"Everything," he whispered. "Nothing. Just... just to stay. To keep watching you perform. To help you practice your lines. To..." He swallowed hard. "To be the person I am when I'm with you."

The admission struck him like a physical blow. "Please," he said, though he wasn't sure what he was begging for.

"Go home," you said softly, stepping back. "Go back to your castle, your duties, your real life. We both know you have to."

"And if I refuse?"

“We both know you won’t do that”

A bitter laugh escaped him. "You're right. Of course you're right." His fingers closed around the ring, the metal digging into his palm. "I've never refused anything in my life. The perfect, obedient prince."

You shook your head, he didn’t understand how – even when upset – you could look so gentle. “Go home, Jacaerys.”

"Don't," he whispered, catching your hand before you could pull it back completely. "Don't talk about us like we're already over."

"Aren't we?" Your fingers were trembling in his grip. "Tell me truly, my prince – what future did you imagine for us? Secret meetings in the shadows forever? Or did you think you could somehow present a common theater performer to your royal family as a suitable match?"

The title still felt like a blade between his ribs, but he couldn't deny the truth in your words. The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything he couldn't promise.

"That's what I thought," you said softly, gently extracting your hand from his. But your fingers lingered against his palm for a moment too long, betraying the steadiness of your voice. "It's not safe for a prince to be out so late."

Jacaerys looked like he might be sick, his face ashen in the torchlight. He swayed slightly where he stood, as if the weight of his title had suddenly become too heavy to bear. The ring in his palm seemed to mock him, its sapphire catching the light like a teardrop.

"I can't–" he started, his voice breaking. His free hand clenched and unclenched at his side, a nervous gesture you'd seen a hundred times before but never understood until now. "I don't want to leave like this."

"There's no good way to leave," you said, your voice gentle despite everything. You reached up, straightening his cloak with careful hands – one last touch, one final moment of tenderness. "Go home, Jacaerys. Before the guards notice you're missing."

He caught your wrist as you withdrew, not roughly but with a desperate urgency that made your heart ache. "Please," he whispered, though what he was begging for, neither of you knew. His eyes were fever-bright, almost wild, like a trapped animal seeking escape.

"You have to go," you murmured, carefully untangling yourself from his grip. You pressed the ring more firmly into his palm, closing his fingers around it. The touch of his skin against yours felt like a brand. "Your Grace."

The formal address seemed to physically pain him. He stumbled back a step, clutching the ring like a lifeline, looking so lost and young that for a moment you almost reached for him again. But you kept your hands at your sides, watching as he pulled his hood back up with shaking fingers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm so sorry."

You didn't respond, couldn't respond, as he turned and fled into the shadows of the theater. The sound of his footsteps faded away, leaving you alone with the guttering torches and the ghost of everything that could never be.

[tap here for part 2!]

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo @vividxpages

gc lovelies tags: @benjinotes @xxselenite @eldrith @princessbellecerise @bryscorner @v3laryons @vee-mage @softspiderling @swordgrace @hxtd @divinesolas @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @cregan-starks @fyrewept

@mattnott and @earth4angels for beta reading my lovelies <33

[ssahotchnerr]

I feel like aaron would be the type to build furniture piece you bought without asking him to like you bought a book shelf or something and you bring the box in and leave it and next thing you know he built it lol

thoughtfulness

omg stop it right now that's such an aaron thing i could cry 😭<333333 cw; FLUFF

"aaron, baby?"

''in here."

you followed the sound of aaron's voice down the hall, finding him seated on the carpet. multiple tools were scattered around, a large cardboard box thrown off to the side, and your new bookshelf, fully built, was resting against the previously empty space at the wall. piles of your books and other miscellaneous trinkets were currently surrounding aaron, and he had already begun filling up the shelves sporadically.

you blinked at him in astonishment, not expecting to return home to this in the slightest. "what's this?"

"your bookshelf." aaron put it simply, adding another novel. his gaze shifted up to yours, an eyebrow lifted in endearing concern. "this is where you said you wanted it, right? i've started putting books in already, alphabetically, but obviously you can change it to however you prefer."

utterly speechless at his gesture, you could only approach and pull him up by his shirt collar. once in more accessible reach, you didn't hesitate for a second to place your lips onto his, aaron immediately melting into your touch.

he hummed softly against your lips after a moment, a small smile forming on his face. "welcome home."

you shook your head amusingly, your hand raising to his torso and gently running your hand along his chest. "i could've built this. it wasn't lying around for you to do."

aaron waved your statement off, his hands finding your waist. "i wanted to. and i wanted to surprise you." a thoughtful sigh escaped him, voice lowering solemnly. "i know you've been busy with work lately, a bit stressed, and i know you've been looking forward to getting this set up and just haven't found the time. so the sooner the better, if you ask me."

you sobered for a moment, extremely touched by his constant kindness and tenderness, always making the effort to make you feel seen and important.

in spite of that though, a tiny laugh blew from your nose, teasingly raising an eyebrow, "says the man who has the busiest schedule imaginable."

"maybe." a breathless laugh and an playful eye roll left him, leaning in to give you yet another kiss. "but never too busy for you darling."

"they broke the mold with you, aaron hotchner. thank you." you sighed happily, still in awe, your hand cupping his cheek. but you quickly switched tactics, grabbing onto his hand and dragging him back onto the carpet excitedly. "now c'mon! alphabetical is a good strategy to sort by, but-"

as you ventured off, talking about your bookshelf plans - seasonal candles to be placed on top according to the season, squealing in delight when you found a favorite read, giving him brief summaries on what a book's plot consisted of, or novels the two of you should read together - aaron could only look at you affectionately, admiring you as he listened, a small smile on his face.

you were simply radiating, and he couldn't get enough.

part 2 -> finishing touches —smut minors dni

[kymanvalentine]

🩷 The Kyman Valentine Week prompt list is finally here! 🩷

🗓️ Feb 8th - Feb 14th

Check out our carrd for more information!

🩷 SFW PROMPT LIST

Day 1: Secrets

Day 2: Touch

Day 3: Exchange

Day 4: Sweet

Day 5: Heart

Day 6: Gone wrong

Day 7: I love you

🔞 NSFW PROMPT LIST

Day 1: Ribbons

Day 2: Food play

Day 3: Red

Day 4: Candles

Day 5: Accident

Day 6: Toy

Day 7: I want you

🩷 GUIDELINES

Everyone is invited to participate in Kyman Valentine Week! No rigid rules apply, so please feel free to interpret Kyle and Eric in your own way.

Let your creativity flow and use the prompts in any fashion you like! Late submissions are absolutely welcome, so don’t feel the need to rush yourself!

There’s a collection on AO3 if you’d like to add any of your submissions to it! When you go to post, please type “KymanValentineWeek2025” in the Post to Collections/Challenges field to do so!

We do welcome 18+ submissions, but it is only for adults. NO pieces created by minors for the #KymanVWeekUnderWraps tag will be shared to our socials. Please remember to appropriately spoiler your content as well!

Thanks for reading, and we can’t wait to see you for Kyman Valentine Week! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out through our ask box or Tellonym.

All our thanks to @/piwoicetea on bluesky for helping us with the layout and graphics. 🩷

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Insecurities

Prompt: Buggy with all his insecurities pushes you away on your 1 year anniversary

NSFW

~ Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Buggy X Fem Reader

You hummed happily looking down at your creation, it had been a scrapbook of all the adventures with your lover throughout the year. You can’t quite say the two of you are dating, Buggy had always refused the outright commitment. But it wasn’t a secret that when he started sleeping with you he had stopped looking for one-night stands, nor was it a secret that when another person looked at you they would befall injury soon after. And for now, you were content with just being close to him.

        As you flip through the pages you can’t help but smile at all the memories, the small pictures, notes, and knickknacks that could be glued down seemed like an organized mess. Alvida, despite her cold exterior had helped you put it all together and helped with distracting Buggy when he’d come looking for you. After your final flip through you gingerly close the book, placing it in a box, and wrap it in striped paper, topping it with a bow.

        Throughout the year Buggy had his ups and downs, you learned quickly what topics to avoid, and while he went crazy for you, you could always tell he kept himself at a distance. The sex was wild and he’d like to leave marks on your body to make sure any wandering eyes knew you were taken, but any words of affirmation would make him withdraw for a couple days. You were hoping that now that it had been a full year he would realize you were serious about this, even if he refused to commit fully to the title.

        You walk towards the Captains room that you two had shared at this point for a couple months. You still had a hammock and chest in the females quarters but more often than not the Captain would pull you to his bed, refusing to let you go.

        As you get into the room you close the door and start getting ready for the other gift you had prepared, a rather skimpy jester outfit with lingerie underneath. You knew how much he liked to undress you, teasing you every so slowly piece by piece. The anticipation of what was to come had started to make you wet. You push your thoughts to the side as you continue to prepare the room, candles dimly lit the room and you placed the wrapped gift on the clown vanity before going to the bed. Buggy’s meeting should be ending any minute now and you're sure Alvida had hinted at him to find you.

        As you get comfortable you grab the fluffy handcuffs he had jokingly bought a while back and silk ribbon, tying it around your eyes before restraining yourself. You lay down, arms above your head, impatiently waiting for what was to come.

~~~

        Buggy was angry, the meeting with Crocodile and Mihawk hadn’t gone as planned. They had made jabs at his nose and how he runs his Delivery Service. On top of all that Alvida kept making snide remarks about looking for Y/N. And the thought of you also made him frustrated, you never acted how he thought you would.

        Buggy took his time prodding you and pushing you over time, and every single time you had come back with a smile. At some point, Buggy had been worried about you running away without notice and demanded you stay in his room and you did so without complaint. He couldn’t understand when you’d snap.

        He had rejected you countless times, refusing to truly make you his right-hand man, on the other hand, he did buy you gifts every so often to keep you close. Maybe you just wanted the items, the treasures, the fame. His mind couldn’t wrap around how you would stay with him. As he was grumbling walking into his room he is frozen at the sight in front of him.

        Candles barely lighting up the delicious scene in front of him. You looked absolutely helpless there on the bed. Your knees together, slightly rubbing your thighs against each other, your face flushed and lips slightly parted with small mewls coming out. Your hands, restrained by the joke gift he bought months ago, your arms slightly moving to get more comfortable.

        Buggy quietly close the door behind him, watching as he can see your thought process, moving your hands down to touch yourself but just barely stopping in time and moving them back above your head. Buggy grinned, knowing you hadn’t realized he was there yet, a slowly went to the bed.

        Buggy noticed the outfit your wearing resembling that of a jester, but also noticed how your shorts were un-buttoned, clearly from you let your desire got the best of you.

As you rub your thighs together again, for any friction, you decide to give up on waiting, and fully let your desires get the best of you. But as you move your hands down, you feel a hand forcefully pin your hands above your head while another grips your thigh fiercely.

You let a gasp out at the sudden touch before trying to grind down onto the hand. “Ruining my present princess?” The fierce tone of Buggy’s voice came as he moved his hand to your hips, holding you in place and you feel the bed dip and him straddle you, “Well that won’t do at all~” You groan, feeling him bite at your collar bone, “It’s like you want to be punished.” He emphasize his words with a slight thrust forward, and you can feel how hard he is through the layers of clothes.

“B-Buggy please~” You try to meet his hips with your own and you can just hear him ‘tsk’ above you. Opting to attach the handcuffs to the head board, truly trapping your hands above your head and you to the bed.

Buggy slowly spreads your legs, hiking your own around his thighs so you can’t close them and begins his torment of fondling you. Slowly brushing a hand against the bare skin of your neck while the other teases at the edge of your shorts, all the while you squirm to get anything more. “You know you’re not supposed to play with yourself unless I’m here, doll~” Buggy coons before biting your neck. He rocked his hips forward before moving his hand by your shorts up to the edge of your shirt that was much closer to being a glorified bra than anything else. He trailed his up towards your breast, gripping it harshly. His other hand trailing to your moaning mouth, “Suck.” You feel 2 fingers intrude in your mouth as you wrap you lips around them, swirling your tongue, thoroughly coating the two digits.  

Buggy groans at the feeling, “Good girl” as you continue to suck his other hand leaves your boob and soon enough you can feel a blade gently caress the skin of your stomach, making you shudder. “Now tell me Doll, how long were you here” Buggy muttered, leaving a trail of hickies up your neck. He removed his fingers from your mouth, opting to place his hand right at the top of your shorts, where they had remained unbuttoned from when you were alone.

“Since your meeting started,” You could feel his gaze on you even if you couldn’t see, “Please Buggy, I’ve been waiting for so long” You added, which seemed to please your Captain. He kissed you deeply as his two fingers swirled around your clit making you groan into the kiss. You could feel the blade slowly cut through your top on bra, so much for him undressing you, you thought. You grinded you hips into his fingers, wanting more. He lets you breathe for a second, “Buggy, baby, please I want you” you begged as you became completely topless.

You heard Buggy hum a bit before removing his hand from where you wanted him the most, “But that would be too easy Y/N,” You could hear his smirk in his voice. In one fell motion you felt him cut your shorts and panties off, you felt the blade gingerly swipe across your folds, the cool metal causing a moan to escape your lips before you heard it be thrown across the room. “Look at how wet you are for me” He cooed, both hands on your hips as he lowered his head towards your entrance.

You felt his nose bump against your clit and his hot breath against you but he stayed stilled. You groan and roll you hips up trying to get any form of contact but his hands hold you down. “C-Captain Please. I want- I need you,” You begin begging, feeling tears of frustration fill your eyes, “Please Buggy.” You try to rock your hips up again to no avail.

“Well if you wanted it that badly,” His lips barely brushing against you as he speaks, “All you had to do was ask.” And we that he plunges his tongue inside you. You cry out in pleasure and try to release your hands from the restraints. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel everything so much more because of it, the swirl of his togue hitting a bundle of nerves before darting back inside, sucking with the perfect amount of pressure.

It wasn’t long before you could feel your climax coming, “Buggy I’m gonna cum,” You mewled out. “Please let me cum” You added, knowing how much he loved it but to your disappointment he withdrew.

“Not yet doll,” He trailed a line of wet kisses up your body until he was at the corner of your mouth, “We’re not at the main event yet~” And before you could even respond you felt his entire length thrust into you in full force. Your cry from both pain and pleasure being muted out as Buggy places his lips on you. He was flush inside you but that didn’t stop him from rocking his hips slowly and deeper causing you to squirm underneath him.

You turn your face away from Buggy, trying to catch your breath, “Buggy I want to see you” You cried out with each rock making another noise escape your lips. His hips stop deep inside you and you feel a hand snake behind your head to untie the ribbon covering your eyes before he caresses your cheek while making eye contact.

You move your eyes up and down, taking in the man before you, his make-up smeared from his earlier activities and lust in his eyes. A smirk falls on his lips, “Can’t get enough doll?” he asks before setting a gruesome, rough pace, His name escape your lips as you shake against the restraints still on your wrists, “That’s it doll, let me hear how much you love this.”

At some point Buggy reached up to undo the handcuffs, and you immediately wrap you arms around Buggy’s neck, one hand snaking into his hair, as he buries his face into your neck. Even if he wanted to pull away you had an iron grip on him. Your legs similarly wrapped around his waist, aiding you in meeting his thrusts half way, “Please Buggy, let me cum” You moan into his ear as you tighten around him.

You can hear him cursing under his breath, “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up tonight.” He nipped at your earlobe and his words sent you over the edge, causing you to hold him as tight as possible. He rarely ever came inside you, normally opting to paint your stomach or face in white. “Come on doll, cum with me” He moaned in your ear as his thrusts became slightly more erratic but much deeper.

You scream his name as you feel him pump inside you and after a couple of seconds, he collapses on top of you. He uses his elbows to prop up just enough to make sure you can still breathe and you slowly unhook your legs from around him, both of you still catching your breath. As you relax you can still feel how you were pulsing and how sore it had become.

You feel Buggy slowly pull out of you, a small gush of cum following him and brings about a different type of pleasure, “Fuck doll-“ Buggy says while looking down at the mess he made of you, “That was a positively divine performance” He chuckles before flopping next to you on the bed.

You hum a bit before turning your back to him and lifting your head, He in turns towards you, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other settles underneath your neck and wraps around, grabbing one of your breasts. He pulls you closer into the embrace and you groan at the pressure. “We should clean up” You mutter, feeling your eyes getting heavier.

“Mmm. We can do that in the morning” he gives your waist another small squeeze, “Besides I like the idea of my cum still dripping from you in the morning” He kisses your jawline a little bit, “Maybe even a round two when we wake up.” He lays his head down as you both let sleep take you.

~~~

The next morning you had woken up to Buggy drawing circles in your hips with his thumbs as he gently worked you up again for the round two he had mentioned. At the moment however you were both in the bath, you sitting on your Captains lap, leaning against his chest.

“So what did I do to deserve that gift,” Buggy asked, his head leaning back but still humming softly at what had conspired over the past couple hours. “It’s not everyday I find a sweet treat waiting for me in bed.”

You lean against him a bit more thinking about how to phrase it. After all it wasn’t truly your one year, he had rejected you’re advances for commitment every time. “Well…” You’d have to choose your words carefully as to not start an argument. “It’s been a full year since the first time we slept together.”

You felt him tense up a bit but relax quickly enough. He stayed quiet for a while before sighing, “Well it was nice.” He kept it short. You knew he was doing his best not to be snide and you were wondering if you shouldn’t tell him about his other gift, the one that you actually put time into. Shifting a bit nervously he could tell you wanted to say something, “What is it?” You could feel him leaning into a bad mood.

“…It’s nothing, Don’t worry bout it Captain” You say glancing over your shoulder. The silence that fell was heavy and slightly uncomfortable.

“Doll.” Buggy leaned forward a bit, “You know I don’t like it when you lie,” he places his hands on your hips and squeeze a bit, “So why don’t you do us both a favor and spit it out?”

“Um, well you see Captain…” You look over your shoulder again, seeing the small scowl that was forming on his face. It’d be for the best not to mention the scrap book, take it and hide it before he sees the box, “It’s just the same ole’. We should just start dating; everyone already knows I’m yours.” You quickly look forward not wanting to see how his face will contort with a mix of emotions.

The grip on your hips got tighter, not in the normal way of warning or reassurance. “What do you want from me?” Buggy’s voice was low and his body unmoving. Your hips slowly started to ache as his fingers dug in harder.

“What? Buggy I want you; I’ve always wanted you,” You tried to say. He was clearly in his head again.

“You’ve been playing this game for a year Doll. A. Year.” Buggy gritted his teeth, “I’ve been fine playing along for a while. But I’m sick of pretending, just tell me what you want.” You felt your chest tighten at his words, Pretending? Did he really see this as a game? Your throat closed up a bit, not willing to let a noise out. “Money? Fame? What is it? I’ll just give it too you” His voice sounded angry and low, his grip on you already leaving bruises.

Tears threaten to fall as you find your voice, “We’ve been over this Buggy. I love you.” It was a weak confession but it’s the only thing you could muster without crying outright.

Those seemed to be the wrong words to say as Buggy stood up, bringing you with him. “Stop with these lies.” He hissed out as he tossed you out of the tub, you landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Sure, you and Buggy had fights about love and commitment in the past, but it had always ended in one storming off. You’ve never seen him like this before and it hurt. You looked up at the blue haired man peering down at you and were shocked to see pure hatred in his eyes. “I’ve been patient enough because the sex was good Doll,” he said your nickname condescendingly, and every word stung, “But enough’s enough.”

“W-what do you mean Buggy” You stuttered out, your heart sinking further and your head reeling, “I’ve never lied to you Bug, I’ve always-“

“I think it’s best if you left.” His words were final, didn’t leave room to breathe and you felt your whole world shatter. “I’ll give you enough to get to a different island” He finally took a step out of the tub, grabbing his robe without looking at you, “I don’t want to see you here after noon. I want you gone.” And he walked out of the bathroom leaving you there with your thoughts.

He was kicking you out of the crew, his crew. You had been here, you’ve been with the Buggy Pirates, for 4 years now. You joined them when you were just 24, after the village you were in tried to sell you off to the celestial dragons, this being 4th time the place you deemed home turning their backs on you. You were so happy when Buggy had smiled at you welcoming you aboard, making you feel like you had belonged and for the first time in your life you had felt relief letting some tears sneak out. You were there as he set up shop in the east blue and when the kid in the Straw-hat reminded him of his dream. You remember the feeling of relief you felt when your Captain had come out of impel down, and more importantly the paramount war alive and well, ready to resume his role as captain. You supported him and helped him get his mercenary delivery service up and running. You remember the first night just a year ago when Alvida shoved you into him when you had drank too much, in hopes that you would stop talking her ear off about how cute he was.

Tears stung your eyes at the thought of everything, He couldn’t have meant it, he out of everyone knows what it’s like to be alone. After a couple minutes of breathing and trying to get your emotions under control you wipe your eyes, and take a deep breath while standing up. You put on the clothes you prepared prior to the bath and slowly slink out of the bathroom, into the captain’s bedroom.

You looked around, half expecting, hoping, Buggy was there to explain he crossed the line, or that he was sorry, or even that he just wanted space and to go back to how things were before you had slept together. But he wasn’t. The room was empty. As your eyes scanned the room it fell on a bag on the bed and you throat tightened again. You slowly walk up to the sizeable bag opening it, inside was a smaller bag full of berries and everything else was your possessions from the room.

You choked back a sob. He really meant it; he wanted you to leave. You’d been abandoned once again. Somehow it hurt so much worse this time round. You’d given yourself fully to him and you knew he had trust issues, but you didn’t think he’d kick you out like this. Take shallow breathes you throw the coin pouch to the floor before zipping the bag back up, you couldn’t take it.

You take one last deep breath trying to collect yourself, even if you couldn’t get the tears to stop falling. You sling the bag over your shoulder and head out. You didn’t want to see anyone so you made sure to listen before going down hallways, narrowly missing some crewmates. You didn’t even bother grabbing your belongings from your actual room, all that was there was your journal and some memories of your past before Buggies Crew.

Soon enough you had made your way to the town on the island, and more importantly the port that Buggy didn’t watch over, you noticed a civilian ship boarding and quickly snuck your way on. You didn’t think you’d have to restart your life again, every time it got stimulatingly harder and easier. This time how over was the worse it every been, You never felt accepted before being on Buggy’s crew, never knew what it felt like to truly just relax, or laugh without checking over your shoulder.

You were able to convince the crew on board that you had lost your ticket and they escorted you to a private room, as soon as the door shut you slumped against the wall, wondering what the next chapter of your life would be. Running your fingers through your hair as you cry silently.

[masqueradereveler21]

Hogwarts Legacy Character Sheet - Gwendolen Hughes (EDITED/REVISED)

General Information

Full Name: Gwendolen Eira Hughes

Nicknames: Gwen, The Hero of Hogwarts, The New Fifth Year, Troll Slayer

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: April 26th, 1875

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Personality Type (MBTI): INTJ - The Architect

Species: Human

Blood Status: Unregistered/Muggleborn (Presumed)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Nationality: Welsh

House: Slytherin

Wand: Fir Wood, Phoenix Feather, 12 1/2”, Rigid

Patronus: Stoat

Boggart: The mutilated corpse of Professor Fig; later on changes to Theophilus Harlow

Amortentia: Bread pudding, wax candles, old books, fresh linen

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour & Style: Black; occasionally wears down but is most often seen sporting it braided or in a ponytail.

Eye Colour: Grey

Skin Tone: Olive with golden undertones

Height: 167cm (5’6”)

Weight: 55kg (121 lbs)

Clothing Style: Neat and presentable; favors skirts, ruffled blouses, vests, and heeled boots. Almost never wears her robes. Black painted fingernails.

Personality

Positive Traits: Adaptable, determined, loyal, resilient, compassionate, curious, diligent

Neutral Traits: Independent, reserved, ambitious, rational, observant, competitive

Negative Traits: Arrogant, cunning, stubborn, sarcastic, defiant

Strengths: Capable of thinking outside the box and extremely quick-witted

Weaknesses: Thinks she knows what’s best and struggles to let people in

Likes: Cats, Summoner’s Court, Quidditch, organization, leadership, exploring the highlands, reading, Wizard’s Chess

Dislikes: Spiders, Gobstone’s, dugbogs, failure, laziness, clutter, singing in front of people, dancing

Background and Family

Gwendolen Eira Hughes was born on April 26th, 1875, in Swansea, South Wales, to a mother and father of unknown wizard of heritage. The details of her past are unsure; a carriage accident in her childhood tragically took the lives of her parents and left her with amnesia, leaving doctors and police with only documents to help piece her identity together. Her mother was an English woman named Alice Hedera while her father, Meilyr Hughes, was Welsh. After the accident, Gwen was placed in a Catholic convent where she was given an education but subjected to verbal, mental, and occasionally physical abuse. As she grew older, the convent began placing her into homes with the hope of adopting her out but she was returned each time due to her “poor behavior” and attitude. One of the families she lived with, the Trahernes, began physically abusing her which caused her magic to emerge. In a fit of anger, she caused ivy to grow throughout the entire house, damaging it and leaving the Trahernes with painful rashes. She was promptly returned to the convent and shortly after was visited by Professor Eleazar Fig.

After the events of Repository battle, Gwen’s mental health took a steep decline. The guilt and trauma she felt regarding the deaths of Professor Fig, Lodgok, and many more became too much to bear. She isolated herself within the Room of Requirement until Professor Matilda Weasley coaxed her out and comforted her during the last semester of the school year. After some consideration, Professor Weasley offered to become Gwen’s legal guardian so that she did not have to return to the convent. Gwen was initially hesitant to accept the offer, on account of her previous experiences living with adoptive families, but she eventually accepted after some convincing from Ominis Gaunt. It took a while for both of them to adjust to their new roles; Weasley did not want to overstep her boundaries but also wanted to make sure Gwen was being taken care of and provided for. Gwen kept Professor Weasley at arms length, waiting for the day it became too much and she would give up on her. But with time Gwen came to view Professor Weasley in a more maternal light (the feeling was mutual on Matilda’s end).

Biological Father: Meilyr Hughes (Deceased)

Biological Mother: Alice Hedera (Deceased)

Guardian/Adoptive Parent: Matilda Weasley

Adoptive Uncles: Graham Weasley, Phillip Weasley,

Adoptive Aunts: Dorothy Weasley (née Button), Lydia Weasley (née Hawthorne)

Adoptive Cousins: Theodore Weasley, Oscar Weasley, Garreth Weasley, Florence Weasley, Millicent Weasley, Francis Weasley, Edmund Weasley

Relationships

Love Interest: Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow…ehh its complicated…

Best Friends: Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes, Amit Thakkar

Acquaintances: Nerida Roberts, Grace Pinch-Smedley, Lucan Brattleby, Isaac Cooper, Adelaide Oakes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, Charlotte Morrison, Samantha Dale

Enemies: Ranrok, Victor Rookwood, Theophilus Harlow, Ashwinders

Pets: Vivarium beasts, eleven cats, a barn owl named Minerva

Inspirations

• Katniss Everdeen - The Hunger Games

• Annabeth Chase - Percy Jackson series

• Kat Stratford - 10 Things I Hate About You

• Raven - Teen Titans

• Mikasa Ackerman - Attack on Titan

• Beth Harmon - The Queen’s Gambit

• Emma Woodhouse - Emma

• Artwork done by the incredible @millyillus •

[imaginesmai]

Right around the corner (4) - Azriel

I didn't mean to make it this long, but I hope you liked it! There will be a fifth and final part, I think. You guys wanted to forgive Azriel so I needed to show you what happened. Be careful with the tags!

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

Plot: after the damage has been done, Azriel finds his brothers ready to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: prepare a second tissue box. Also, mental health issues - our boy has been through a lot and doesn't talk kindly about himself.

Cassian only remembered a few big arguments between Azriel and him. While Rhysand had headbutted with the general at the beginning, Cassian and Azriel’s relationship had been natural. The first one was loud, abundant and had a deep, burning need of someone understanding his pain. The shadowsinger was the complete opposite, and they had instantly connected.

Their biggest argument so far, that had brought them apart for almost ten years, had been when Rhys disappeared under the mountain. Cassian had gathered an army and was ready to march on Amarantha when Azriel stopped him. At the moment, he had felt betrayed by his brother, frustrated and furious.

But even if it had taken him ten years, they had worked their way around it.

Before Rhysand winnowed them away, Cassian was ready to start the second, biggest argument of their relationship. Even if he tried to hide it, the general still had abandonment and trust issues, and that his brother had hid something so important from him, that hadn’t trusted him with something so precious for an Illyrian male, broke his heart.

He was ready for the argument, but wasn’t ready for Azriel’s cries.

The cabin was filled with shadows, that moved frantically around. The shadowsinger had lost control of his powers a very, very few occasions, never relying on his emotions. But when Rhysand and Cassian appeared in the cabin, the high lord had to create a barrier between them and the shadows to protect themselves.

“Brother” Cassian whispered when the shadows started to let go, enough to see Azriel curled in the couch.

“Azriel, what’s wrong?” Rhysand was by his side the second he was let through, a hand on his shoulder. The shadowsinger barely acknowledge them. “Damn it. You’re freezing”

“I’ll turn on the fire”

“And bring a blanket” Rhysand called out as Cassian started moving.

It was muscle memory, after so long. After so many nights where either of them came battered to the cabin and Rhysand’s mother would take care of them. In silence, Cassian moved around the familiar space, turning on candles and searching for clothes.

Meanwhile, Rhysand used his powers to get into Azriel’s mind. Instead of prying into his memories, to rip away whatever was causing him pain, his friend helped him to rebuild his mental wards.

The high lord managed to make him sit up, enough so he could fall back against Rhysand’s shoulder and the male could hug his friend. The sobs quieted down and the shadows disappeared, apparently happy someone was taking care of their master for now.

Cassian stared at them for a moment, torn between the need to comfort and to hurt. To comfort Azriel as he had comforted him so many times in the past, to be there for him and apologize to any feelings he had felt during the last hours. But also, to search for the source of that pain and tear it down to pieces.

Years of living with him had taught him to be patient, so he ended up sitting on the other side of Azriel, tossing a pair of trousers and a sweater on his lap.

“Come on, try to stand up”

In silence, between Cassian and Rhysand, they managed to put some clothes on the shadowsinger. Azriel was quiet all the time, with his gaze lost in the fire. Every now and then, his knees would buck down and he would hitch a sob. But each time, there were his two friends, ready to catch him and steady him.

It felt as if nothing had changed for a moment, as if it was Cassian beaten to a pulp after a bad fight or Azriel having panic attacks when the lights came off. So many times in the past had they been in that situation.

When they finished, they ended up sitting in the couch. Now, they were bigger, wider, and nothing similar to the scrawny boys that huddled together when no one else wanted them. The couch felt ridiculously small, yet they managed to fit just fine.

It took Azriel a while to talk, and they didn’t pressure him.

“I have a mate” he admitted.

Through the haze of sorrow and sadness, of not knowing if the bond would hold on for much longer now that you had realized what had been going on, Azriel didn’t feel any different. He had imagined himself saying it a lot of times, presenting you to his family – with good and bad outcomes. And it had made him nervous, wary, enough that he had decided against it.

As he confessed it to his brothers, his family, he felt no different.

And hated himself just a little bit more.

“Did they… do this?” Cassian asked carefully, feeling how Azriel’s body tensed under his arm. “They hurt you?”

“No”

Rhysand willed himself to stay calm and respect his privacy, but he wanted nothing more than to answer Cassian’s silent call to barge in his mind and solve whatever was happening.

“Her name is Y/N” he added, his eyes filling with tears once more. “She… The bond snapped six years ago. I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad”

“Y/N” Rhysand repeated, trying to remember if he had heard your name before.

“Six years?” Cassian looked between Rhysand and Azriel. “That… can’t be. Six years?”

“I fucked up”

Azriel’s voice broke once more, and between sobs and hitched breaths, he managed to explain what had happened. He let it free from his chest, hoping it would make him feel better, but it didn’t. It only made him realize, once more, how fucked up he was.

Without interrupting, Cassian and Rhysand listened to the story of that pointless mission that took him right to your door, where he was supposed to ask you about a male’s disappearance. About the moment he felt the bond in chest, in his soul, and how he had run away and avoided you.

They listened as he broke when he talked about that day you had invited him over, ready to accept the bond, and how he had faked to be confident. He didn’t mean to disappoint you, so when you had asked with so much hope if that was what he wanted, he had said yes, even if part of him knew he wasn’t ready.

Azriel described how, during the following weeks, he had confused the happiness from finally being together, with no interruptions, with the usual high of mates accepting the bond. How he had realized later that it wasn’t normal the fear and anguish he felt after he left your apartment, and how without meaning to or knowing how, he hadn’t accepted your imprint on him.

“That’s why we haven’t noticed” the high lord said, taking it all in. His brother’s story, his hurt and pain.

“What were you afraid of?” Cassian almost cut him off, bursting out the question both of them wondered about. “We are your family, Az. You should know we will accept you no matter what. And a mate… that’s something wonderful”

“Because I don’t deserve her” Azriel finally looked up to Cassian, and his friend was taken aback at the emotions in his eyes. “She’s soft, and beautiful, and the worst thing she can do is squish a spider without wanting to”

“Azriel, that’s not – “

“It is. You should see her, Rhys” he cut him off, turning to look at him. “Y/N is… different. The Cauldron must have made a mistake, because she’s everything I’m not. And I don’t deserve her”

Azriel tried to let Rhysand know why he didn’t deserve you. Why, every time he thought about bringing you into his life and letting you know the spy master, it broke his heart a little. He wanted to keep you safe, away from anything that could stain you the way he was stained. And he had thought, apparently, that he could get away with it.

Feyre poked at his mental barriers softly, wondering what was happening. After sending a comforting message through the bond, Rhysand returned Azriel’s look with a different type of conviction.

“I don’t know her, and I would love to” Rhysand told him, giving him a soft smile. “But brother, I know that whoever gets to be your mate, to share their life with you, has been blessed by the Cauldron. Your family didn’t see you the way we do, the way she does. And what they did – that isn’t what you have to expect any time someone gets close to you”

“My family isn’t the problem here” he tried to excuse himself, but the high lord could see the truth in his eyes.

“It is. You’re afraid to committing yourself to the bond because you fear she will break it. Because your family broke your trust. And then you thought you had that with Mor, and – “

“Don’t go there” Azriel warned him. “Don’t read me”

“I don’t have to read you. I know you”

“Az, you… deserve a mating bond” Cassian spoke finally. “Everything you have been through isn’t your excuse to reject it, it’s the reason you finally have something good”

Azriel wasn’t ready to talk about it. He had never been ready to talk about how he had felt when his brothers, the people he looked up to, tortured him as a game. He hadn’t shared with them yet how hard had it been to know he was a mere observer of his family life, locked away in a dungeon and treated like a dog.

And the feeling of not belonging, of having a safe place sabotaged, had only grown each time he watched Mor from the distance with someone else.

He wasn’t ready to talk about it, but he understood, that he had to.

“I feel like it’s all a dream. As if I’m watching my own life unfold from the distance, like a good movie. Whenever I’m not with her, I have this… thing” he explained, opening his broken heart to his brothers. “Like I’m a fraud”

“You’re not a fraud” Cassian corrected him quickly, barely standing his brother’s self-depreciating speech.

“I am. I pretend I have it all together but I’m so afraid” he swallowed hard at the end, skipping a breath. Azriel ran a shaky hand through his hair, and his brothers only held him stronger. “Sometimes I think about… our future, about her with me, and I feel like drowning because what if she – what if she stops loving me? I can’t handle – She’s all I have, all I want. I love her so, so much. I can’t – “

That time, both males were ready when Azriel tried to fold into himself again, shadows shifting anxiously and turning off a few candles. They were ready to keep him up straight and, somehow, holding him together as he broke apart once more.

Azriel needed help, and his family was more than ready to finally walk him through it.

-

You didn’t know what breaking a mating bond meant, or if that was even possible. If the feeling of your chest at any hour was the void of Azriel’s bond or if it was just your imagination. Either way, you had never experienced such a pain.

Barely able to leave the bed, you had been forced to close the bakery. Not permanently, you told yourself, just until you had it all together once more. Even if you didn’t know what that meant.

The day after Azriel left was spent grieving, and thankfully, you had his shadows to help you around. You managed to make it to the bed, to slide the curtains shuts and cry in peace without breaking your back along with your heart.

A day turned into two, then into three. Before you knew it, it had been a week and you weren’t any better.

You had tried to find an explanation, to comfort yourself in the happy memories or forget the past events. But your mind brought you back to the horrible realization that he didn’t want you. That Azriel didn’t love you the way you did.

You were understanding, you had always been. A smile on your face, gentle hands and loving words. That was what you were, a kind soul, your friends told you. Never through a tragedy other than losing your wings, always loved and taken care of.

Azriel had taken it all away in just one night.

The first note came from Feyre, although it wasn’t the last one. Even if you ignored them, you received those same notes that had uncovered the truth during the whole week.

Hello, Y/N. It’s Feyre, do you remember me? I have my art studio in front of your bakery. I’ve noticed that the bakery is closed, some of your usual customers even came to ask me about it. Everything alright?

Hi, Feyre here. Should have told you in the previous note that I’ve heard about you and Azriel from Rhysand. I’m here if you want to talk.

It’s Feyre again. I’ve seen the new sign about you taking a few days off. I hope everything is fine.

I hope it doesn’t bother you, but my friend Mor has been begging me for days to let her write you a message.

Hey, it’s Morrighan. We don’t know each other, but I fixed your necklace once. We heard about your thing with Azriel. Just wanted to say that part of it it’s my fault, that I haven’t treated him right in a long time, and many of his insecurities are because of me. So, I guess I’m partly the one to blame and I’m sorry. And you should know how miserable he is without you.

Y/N. I’m Cassian. Hi. How are you?

Dear Y/N, we were wondering if you would like to join us for dinner on Friday night. Greetings, Rhysand.

You ignored each and every note they sent you, even the ones carefully delivered by Azriel’s shadows. You expected them to leave, and part of you wanted them to do so and forget everything that reminded you of him. But they stayed for the whole week, bringing you food and taking care of your wellbeing. And the other part of you, the irrational one, liked the pain of the familiarity they brough.

They even helped you prepare a bath when you decided to be functional again. On Saturday’s morning, you changed the sheets, prepared the laundry and ventilated the room. You tossed out every dirty tissue and food container you had accumulated as if something had possessed you to do so. Then, you took a bath and cleaned carefully every part of your body.

It reminded you of cleaning Azriel’s wings and hair, of taking baths together, and you ended up crying naked in the bathtub until the water was cold. It took you half of the day to be decent enough to even wonder if you were ready to open the bakery once more.

Not that you were able, because there was a knock on your door and you just knew who was outside.

“It’s Azriel”

His voice was muffled because of the distance, but you heard the roughness. You froze on the kitchen, where you had been having your silent debate, and your heart sped up.

None of the notes were his, not even a casual flick through the bond that kept you communicated through long missions. If it wasn’t for the range of emotions you had felt during the last days, some of them similar to yours but not quite, you would have thought he had disappeared.

But there he was, just behind your door. Some shadows slipped through the bottom, tangling between your legs. The cold feeling was different from the one the usuals left, and you realized they were panicked shadows.

Azriel had mentioned you that his emotions controlled his powers if he wasn’t careful, and that the shadows went and came with them.

The new shadows tried to push you to the door, and like a rag doll, you let them complete the small path. They disappeared once more under the door, only to appear again when you didn’t open it.

“Hi” Azriel croaked out, only the wood in between. “I’m sorry. They appeared a week ago and I can’t control them yet. I’m sorry”

“They’re colder”

Your sore throat matched the tone of his voice. It wasn’t more than a whisper, a useless fact that you knew Azriel already noticed. But still, you felt the need to mention it. There was no anger left, no deception. Just the feeling of the new shadows caressing your skin frantically.

You couldn’t bring yourself to open the door and face him again, because you knew you wouldn’t forgive him. There was a pending talk between the two of you, missing explanations. You wanted to understand what had happened during the last six years, and he deserved to know what he had put you through.

Instead of asking you to open the door, you heard him shift on his feet and flap his wings.

“Yeah. And smaller” he agreed. “Um, I tried to get rid of them. Are they… bothering you?”

Am I bothering you?

“No. Not yet”

No, you aren’t. Not yet.

“Right”

It was almost comical to watch the shadows move around you. You hadn’t noticed the single tear that escaped, but they did – and in a moment you were blinded as they all tried to wipe it out at the same time. They made you take a step backward and almost stumble to the ground.

You had never seen too much of Azriel’s shadows, of his power. Apart from the single ones that danced around you and kept you company, you had never met the real shadowsinger. All the stories around him felt strange, property of someone else rather than your mate.

Azriel must have heard you move, or gasp, or maybe the shadows told him. He placed a hand on the door.

“Are you okay? I should go back. I’m sorry. I can’t make them – “

“They feel different too” you comment, enchanted by the shadows moving in your line of sight.

They were dark, and you shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But in the darkness, you could somehow guess their shapes. Some of them were smaller, bigger, thinner and wider. They weren’t like the formal, perfect ones Azriel usually wielded around you. They felt raw.

It took him a while to answer, and you waited patiently for his answer. You didn’t expect anything from that conversation, weren’t even sure what the conversation was about. Just hearing his voice felt at the same time as a punishment and a reward.

Still, he surprised you.

“Madja says they are the original shadows, the ones that should have been around since the begging” Azriel confessed, his nails scratching the door. “The ones… She says I was so scared of my own power that I locked it in a cage as a child and created just a shadow of the real one. Which I could control and… understand.”

“Madja the healer?” you blinked, still surrounded by his shadows. “Why are you – are you hurt? What happened?”

“No, I’m fine. I mean, unharmed. I’m not hurt” he chuckled humorlessly. “She’s been helping me with other things”

“Like what?”

You didn’t know where it came from, but there was an urgent edge on your voice that kept you alert. You knew Madja, had seen her help Azriel after any nasty mission. He had even told you about getting rid of your scars with her help.

Her name brought the already familiar pain – that you knew about her because she was important for Azriel, but she didn’t know about you because you weren’t that important for him. You waited in silence until he decided to talk again. When he did, you could tell he was close to tears.

“I’m not okay. It has taken me too long to figure it out, and it has costed me what I love the most in the world, but I’m not. I… am afraid, all the time” he started. “I am afraid that you will see my true self, what I am in the dark, and hate me the way I hate it. I’m afraid that you will figure out what made my family despite me, toss me aside, and decide to do the same. Or that you realize that I’m not a good mate, and be too kind to tell me and live trapped in a lie”

Feelings wasn’t something you usually shared with Azriel. You were the sensible one, the emotional mate. Who talked about something that made you happy or sad, that expressed your fears knowing he would be there for you no matter what. But not once in your six years you had heard about his.

Each word dug a hole in your chest, from your own feelings or his. The shadows eased enough to let you take a step forward. As if there was an invisible hand printed out, you put your hand where his was on the other side of the door.

“I am terrified to hurt you without meaning to, or to not be what you need. All the time. I’ve… created a routine, apparently, to give myself a sense of false confidence. To build a reality” Azriel stopped to catch his breath. “You’ve shaken that reality where I just… survived, and I thought I could continue pretending everything was fine. It’s not. It’s all so fucking wrong in my head”

Your own eyes were filled with tears by then, ready to fall on your knees. Because, what were you supposed to do now? You wished you could just forget about the past week, about his words – because you had just accepted that he was okay, had missed any signal that he was struggling.

And that made you feel almost as bad as him not accepting the bond.

“So I’m gonna get right, I’ve been getting help” your mate finished, taking a deep breath. “And then we… I love you, Y/N. I don’t have much to offer, but everything I am and have, is yours. When I’m okay, I promise, I will make things right. I promise”

Before you could answer, his shadows disappeared and Azriel winnowed away.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Right around the corner taglist:

@lesliemurillo @impossibelle @polli05927 @florencemtrash @going-through-shit @minakay @setayeshmohseni @torchbearerkyle @esposadomd @amysangel @kennedy-brooke @originalcrusadetrash @luvmoo @historygeekqueen @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @wallacewillow0773638 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kristalhi @knmendiola @nikt-wazny-y @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @wallacewillow0773638 @clara-geekhime @kalulakunundrum @saltedcoffeescotch @originalcrusadetrash @mel-wcst @ailyr92 @bubybubsters @chickensrock3

[ox1-lovesick]

✶ ─── TOMORROW X TOGETHER AND THINGS WITH THEM

🍇 pairing. txt x gn!reader genre. fluff warnings. mentions of food, pda (?), wc. 50-100 each

🍇 type. headcannon , reaction

🍇 a/n. abandoned the tyun and hyuka fic for now 💀 this is like a filler fic or something i have such bad writers block. i know for a fact that soobin crochets

% YEONJUN

late night walks ; gentle kisses to your knuckles ; catching him staring ; errands to the convenience store at 3 in the morning ; holding hands ; sharing earphones ; leaning your head on his shoulder ; sharing lip glosses ; netflix marathons ; fashion shows at 2 am ; spontaneous dance sessions ; late night drives ; candid pictures ; slow dancing ; cooking ; sharing jewellery ; kisses through the phone ; matching jewelry

% SOOBIN

comparing hand sizes ; feeding each other ; interlocking pinkies ; desert before dinner ; baking ; sharing clothes and jewelry ; 1000 piece puzzles ; movie dates ; crocheting together ; croc shopping dates ; clothing hauls ; editing vlogs together ; food fights ; disney dates ; couple cosplays and halloween costumes ; pillow talk about the future ; tying your shoelaces for you ; giving you his jacket when it's cold ; matching socks and bracelets

% BEOMGYU

kisses in the rain ; hand-written love letters ; bouquets of roses ; sleeping in together ; doodling on each others hands ; scented candles ; bickering for fun ; backhugs ; raindrop races ; long bus rides ; sharing earphones ; picnic dates ; photo albums ; half anniversaries ; forehead kisses ; impromptu karaoke nights ; guitar lessons ; secret handshakes ; build-a-bear dates ; feeding each other ; pillow talk ; hiding tomatoes in his food ; painting each other's nails ; holding open the door for you

% TAEHYUN

long and warm hugs ; locking pinkies ; poking his dimples ; falling asleep on his chest ; cheek kisses ; stargazing ; library dates ; cooking for each other ; communicating through morse code ; study dates ; reading together ; sharing cutlery ; pinky promises ; kisses to your knuckles ; post it notes with messages ; holding hands ; feeding each other ; falling asleep on the phone with him ; playlists dedicated to each other ; gentle kisses ; powerpoint nights ; "5 more minutes" mornings ; flowers "just because"

% HUENINGKAI

naming all his plushies ; palm kisses ; zoo dates ; buzzfeed quizzes to see who'd survive the zombie apocalypse ; breakdancing in the dining room ; pokemon impressions ; piano lessons ; holding hands, everywhere ; kisses to the tips of your fingers ; pillow and tickle fights ; sneaking juice boxes and animal biscuits in your lunch

★ OX1-LOVESICK all rights reserved. do not copy, distribute, translate, alter or repost my work without my explicit permission.

[hellenicrisis]

Does Hellenism have a Holy Book? Or like a Bool with Rules,Customs,Offerings etc?? Kinda like a Bible :>

Hey there, sunshine! ☀️

Hellenic paganism doesn't have one single piece of holy scripture like Abrahamic religions do. Our texts are a little more scattered. We have the Homeric Hymns and the Orphic Hymns, each are a collection of hymns and prayers to the gods. There is also Hesiod's Theogony, an epic 1000+ line poem that details the genealogies of the gods, and also Hesiod's Works and Days, which is more on the subject of morality and farming, but includes good lessons on how to interact with the gods.

You can buy these online in the forms of physical books, but there should also be free pdf versions of them out there, as well as websites that have the entire collection of hymns written out.

As for a text that gives instructions regarding customs and offerings, there isn't one set, singular text that I know of. We learn from historical and archaeological research, from writings like those listed above, and from each other. There are modern books on Hellenic paganism and its practices written by scholars that you could look for. Some are expensive though, and if you do enough digging on the internet yourself, you should be able to come up with some information.

I could teach you a couple basics right now.

1. Be clean when praying

There is a line in Hesiod's Works and Days that reads, "Never pour a libation of sparkling wine to Zeus after dawn with unwashen hands, nor to others of the deathless gods."

This line refers to the custom of washing our hands before giving offerings or libations to the gods. There is a water we make, I think with burnt herbs in it, called khernips that is used to clean our hands. You don't have to use it though (I don't) and simply washing your hands normally works just as well. I believe it also symbolises being generally clean. Being ready for your day and in a good state when presenting yourself to the gods is important, I think.

2. How to pray

Here is a post I found about how to pray in Hellenic paganism. I found it very helpful and I've been pagan for years now, so I think it could help you. (Link)

Also a note, we have a version of "amen" that can be said at the end of prayers, if that sense of closing off makes prayer easier for you. I know it did for me. The word is "khaire", and as I understand it, it means "blessings" or "good wishes". You can say it to someone or to close a prayer.

EDIT: "Khaire" or "khairete" can be used. They both mean "hail" or "farewell" or "blessings". "Khaire" is to address one, and "khairete" is to address a group.

3. Ouranic and chthonic

Quick run down on ouranic and chthonic. Ouranic means celestial, and it is how we refer to gods who live on the surface and in Olympus. These include Zeus, Hera, Apollo, Aphrodite, etc. Chthonic means underground, and it is used to refer to gods who live in the Underworld. These are Hades, Persephone (half the year at least), and Thanatos.

In Ancient times, offerings to ouranic deities were either libations poured to them in a bowl or cup or the smoke of burning food. It is believed that the essence of the food would be carried up to the gods through the smoke. Looking at this in modern day, incense smoke is an excellent offering and we can leave food offerings and libations out on the altar along with a lit candle.

Offerings to chthonic deities usually went in the ground, so that it may be absorbed through the earth and reach the gods in the Underworld that way. Usually libations were poured out on the ground and food offerings buried in a dug hole. If you have a garden or pot plants and your offerings are safe for them then the practice can be replicated that way. I've also seen people use boxes on the altar, putting offerings inside and closing it, symbolising burying it.

Or you can simply treat chthonic deities the same as ouranic deities when giving offerings. Whatever works best for you, but this is what was done traditionally.

4. Read the myths

Read the myths of the gods you wish to worship. You learn a lot and can come to your own conclusions about your worship by learning about their stories and roles in society.

This may all seem like a lot now, and not having one singular piece of decisive scripture can be challenging if you're used to having one, but it does get easier. You'll settle and find your feet. Knowing these things will become second nature, and you will build your own practice based on them. No one's worship looks the same, especially with paganism, and that's as it should be.

Thank you so much for asking, sunshine! So sorry for the long response, but I figured I'd rather leave you with some starting points and things to investigate. Please feel free to send another ask or dm me in future if you have any more questions.

Khaire! ☀️

[asegunda]

The Three Candles

Pairings: Luke Castellan & Thalia Grace & Annabeth Chase x Platonic! GN! Not Clearsighted Mortal! Reader

Summary: They always come back (But not ALL of them).

Warnings: Spoilers to all the 1st Collection: Percy Jackson and the Olympyans. Too much fluff! (Lol) and talks about death!

Notes: This is the Part 2 of my other work, "A Delightful Enconter", and thank you all for your love!

1.

The first time they came back it's still the three of them, some months later...it's late at night and you hear a knock on the door, still in your pajama you go see who it is. You yawn as you open the door.

Your eyes wide as you see who is there.

"Hello again Y/N." Luke says, he looks tired like he is trying not to cry.

"Do you three need a one night lace again, hmm?" You ask smiling as you let them enter.

"Bingo." Thalia says as she starts taking her things out of her bag.

"Y/N!" Annabeth runs to you and hugs you. "I have read 'Ulisses'!"

You smile. "Really? Did you like it?"

"Yes! I'm going to be a hero like him!" She tells you, her eyes shining.

"That's great dear." You smile to her again and go to Luke.

"Do you need help with the sofa?" You ask.

"Yes please. This just don't switch to the bed." He says still trying.

You help him and with that the bed is ready.

"Do you want to talk about it? I see that you are sad." As he looks at you you say. "I'm sorry if I'm being rude, I just want you to be okay."

He smiles. "Thank you, really..." He sighs. "It's just family problems." You nod wanting for him to continue.

"I visited my... mom today and my...dad was there." He tells you looking at the ground.

"I guess it didn't end well?" He nods.

"You know, family isn't just about blood, and what you have with Thalia and Annabeth is just as special as everything in the world." You smile at him and he hugs you.

"Thank you." He whispers in the hug.

"No problem honey." You say.

After the hug you go to Thalia to help her with a injury she had in the leg.

"Thank you." She smiles at you and you smile back.

They go to sleep and the very next morning they're not there..like last time.

You smile to yourself.

2.

The second time they came it's in the day, which you though 'weird'.

It starts with a knock in the door and as you open you see two people with orange shirts that say 'Camp Half-Blood' or some thing like that.

But you don't see the third head, they look at you with a sad look.

"Hey kids." You smile at them and they have the energy to smile back. "Where is Thalia?" You ask, and they froze up in place.

Luke is the first to talk. "She..." He looks at Annabeth trying to think of an excuse. "She is at the new summer camp we are at...she is sick so she didn't feel like coming." He sighs as he finishes.

"Oh, wait a second." You go to the kitchen and bring back a box and give it to Luke.

"For Thalia. I hope she feels better with these, and Annabeth.." You take a book from your shelf. "This one is for you." Annabeth reads the title 'The Renaissance era: Art and Architecture'.

"I saw that you love this greek kind of stuff, so.." You smile to her. "Thank you Y/N."

They leave after a group hug.

At the camp Luke opens the box, it's filled with sweets and cake. He cries as he thinks of Thalia, he and Annabeth eat the sweets together.

3.

The third time they came it was not 'they' just her, Annabeth.

As you open the door you smile as you see her, but you shiver as you don't see any sight of the others.

"Where are Luke and Thalia, dear?" You ask and she starts crying in your arms.

You take her inside and caress her hair.

"Oh, honey...what happened?" You whisper to her.

She sobs but between the sobs she tells you everything. That demigods and gods exist, that Thalia is a three now and that Luke is a traitor piece of crap, her words not yours.

You cry as you hear what happened to the two. You take two candles and light it. "For Thalia." You light one. "For Luke..I know he has a good heart, I'm sure he will come back to reason." You light the second candle.

For some hours you just hug Annabeth, she sleeps in your house and in the morning she is not there.

'Some things never change.' You think sadly. You see a note:

'I really liked the book, maybe I will be a architeth."

You smile and look at the candles.

4.

The forth time they come back is 'they' again, as you open the door you see Thalia and Annabeth, you run to Thalia's arms and hug her and cry.

She hugs you back smiling.

You take Annabeth to the hug too.

They come inside and they explain everything. How Thalia isn't a tree again, the situation with Luke, again.

As you hear all of it you look at the candles and Annabeth smiles at you.

Thalia tells you that she is now a Hunter of Artemis.

You congratulate her and give her the box with the same sweets you 'gave' her years ago.

She smiles and you three eat it at your house, talking and laughing, trying not to think about Luke.

"And Annatbeth has a crush." Thalia tells you.

"I have not a crush for Percy!" She yells blushing at Thalia.

You smile teasingly. "But no one said Percy dear." And she blushes even more.

Thalia laughs at her face and you smile to yourself.

They go away at the day this time, and when tehy are not there anymore you put one more candle.

"For Annabeth." You light the first. "For Thalia." You light the second. "And for Luke. Who I still believe has a beautiful heart." You light the third.

5.

The fifth time they come back it's the same as the last one. But with two new heads.

You hug Annabeth and Thalia, and has you hug the last you whisper to her: "So who are the other two?" She smiles and explains that they are Grover and Percy.

They both shake your hand and the four enter in your house. You take a lemonade out of the fridg eand give each a cup.

"So...what about Luke?" You ask and they all look both happy and sad.

"He was a hero." Percy says.

"...was?" You feel you eyes water with tears.

"..yeah, Y/N. He..died as a hero. You were right he really did the right thing." Annabeth says and Thalia hugs you. And the second she hugs you Annabeth comes for the hug too.

After some minutes you calm down.

All of you start talking about other things, how thay won the war. And...well Grover spoils a thing for you.

"Well, Y/N, me and huh...Percy...are.." She takes Percy hand and you already know what it is.

"They are dating." Grover says happy." Finnaly!!"

"Grover!" The other three yell at him.

"Congratulations dear." You say to Annabeth. "Well...Congratulations to all of you." You smile to them.

You pass the afternoon talking, they lunch at your house and when the night aproaches they get up and start leaving.

You hug Thalia and Annabeth again.

"It was nice meeting you, Grover, Percy." You wink at them and they shake your hands.

They go away and you light the candles again, you think it is a sign of Good Luck.

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Asian Community Pt. 1

1, 3, 7-8, 25 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Sims-KKB Korean Style Goods Set (Posters, Signboard, Signboard (Sims41ife recolors), Shadow Screen, Standing Board)

2, 4 - VivianDang - 4t3 DominationKid Japanese Retro Shop Signs & Street Bulletin Boards

5-6, 35-36 - Ziva-Sims - 2t3 Japasims Set (Cheap Shop Sign, Emergency Lamp, Noren, Pori Waste Bags)

9, 19, 58-59 - SimpleStudio404 - Izakaya Set (Menu Poster, Akanoren, Beer Case 1, Beer Case 2)*

10 - SimpleStudio404 - Clutter Set (Retoro Kanban 1)*

11-13, 16-17, 21 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Slox Expressway Set Pt. 4 (Awning, Magazine Rack, Sign 1, Sign 2, Sign 3, Banner)

14-15, 18 - Martassimsbook - The Sims 4 Snowy Escape Noren Curtains Long, Mini, Short

20 - SimpleStudio404 - Retoro Set (Bench)*

22 - simnaru - Nobori Sign

23 - NoirandDarkSims - Gatchapon Machine

24 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Sims-KKB Utensils 2 Set The Shade

26, 68 - NoirandDarkSims - Japanese Festival Ultimate Edition Nobori & Cash Register

27-29 - SimpleStudio404 - Retoro B Set (Ice Box Table, Refrigerator, Post Deco)*

30, 33-34 - NoirandDarkSims - Tokyo City Decor (Mailbox, Road Decor 09, Road Decor 10)

31, 51-56 - NoirandDarkSims - School Days Set (Shoukaki, Sink School, Blackboard, Desk, Chair, Class Plate, Locker)

32 - NoirandDarkSims - Yuxi Tkangie Noren

37-43 - Mitarsi - Graveyard Set (Sotoba 2, Haka S1, Floral Tribute, Haka S2, Haka 1, Candle, Sotoba 1)

44-45 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 StudioK Convenience Store Set Copy Machine & Sticker

46-50 - simnaru - School Set 1 (School Poster 4, School Plate, Sink School (3 Pieces), Shoebox, Classroom Locker)

57 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Spirited Away Set Paper Lanterns

60-61 - SimpleStudio404 - Ob Set (Dining Chair & Yatai Dining Table)*

62-64 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Senran Kagura Bon Appetit Conversions (Yakuza Restaurant Spice Tray, Plate, Napkin)

65-66 - SimpleStudio404 - Takoyaki ki Set & Charcoal Stove Set*

67, 71 - Ziva-Sims - 2t3 Simsconnection Soy Sauce & Sake

69 - MurfeeL - Taru 1-3

70 - Kewai-Dou - Japanese Sake Set

72 - NoirandDarkSims - Mitarsi Sims Tori Gate

73, 75 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Lighting Outdoor & Street Pennant Static

74 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Nobori Flag

76-77 - MurfeeL - C2077 Round String Lanterns & Oval String Lanterns

78 - jazzysimlife - 4t3 Snowy Escape Deco Buildings

79 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Japanese Houses

*All the SimpleStudio404 downloads are in the same ZIP graciously uploaded by @ameriko-steelie. I listed the set name so that you can find the specific CC without opening every folder.

[naomihatake]

In search of freedom (Ch. 2)

2. The wheel of death

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa. This chapter follows the events of the second episode.

Warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, kidnapping

Word count: 3,1k

Theme song: “Haunted Isles” by Derek Fiechter (click on the link)

A/N: I almost didn't believe I wrote so much considering the process felt so slow and kind of annoying. Not the best chapter I've written so far, not something I'm necessarily proud of, but I wanted to follow OPLA's plot. I know 3k words isn't much, but I already prepared pieces of the next chapters that I'm genuinely excited to share with you. Half of this part is filled with action, meanwhile, the next chapter will be full of psychological analysis and a lot of thoughts + more interactions between the reader and Zoro.

The reader will be referred to as "Witch" from now on, because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

I'm open for comments and opinions <3

The view made her smile as she looked at the dark blue nuance of the sea, her eyes sparkling just like the moon that was hidden by the gray clouds at that time. Her heart beat so peacefully, in sync with the waves of the water, and with every inhale she could feel that sensation taking over her senses. Everytime she got on a ship, the feeling grew stronger and stronger and she doubted there was a limit.

Freedom had no limit and she wondered if that's what it felt like.

"We're not a crew," Zoro and Nami — the woman with orange hair — said in unison.

Luffy was dead set on calling four people a crew, despite the fact that it was a decision he kind of made on his own.

Zoro's tall figure disappeared inside the cabin, where he intended to nap. She was intrigued; it was the same man who made a fool of those marines back at the tavern. The witch was confused about the soft clinck sounds coming from him, until she realized it was just his three golden earrings hitting one another at each move.

Luffy's last crewmate smiled, endeared by the unfaltering enthusiasm their supposed captain was radiating. He was like a ball of energy since they got on Nami's ship and sailed away with help from Koby.

"So, you're a witch," Luffy excitedly turned towards her.

"You could call me that, I think," she shrugged.

"Do you do magic? Like, potions in a cauldron and spells with candles—"

"I think you know too many stereotypes," she let out a long sigh.

Nami was on her knees in front of the safe box, ear glued to the locker as she rolled it between her fingers.

"So you won't chop us into pieces and boil us?" She arched her eyebrow, unintentionally feeding Luffy's crazy ideas.

"You—!"

"No, I don't."

She rubbed at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and pointer finger.

"What about you two talking after I finish unlocking this? I need silence."

The witch sat down, resting her body against a barrel as she watched Nami's careful actions. Now that she thinks about it, she never saw someone so sure of themselves while opening up this kind of locker, which meant it wasn't the first time she did it either. She presented herself as a thief.

Luffy was agitated, roaming around and stretching, a big smile on his lips. He was holding back from babbling until he forgot he had to keep his mouth shut.

"I almost can't believe I already have a crew and we got our hands on the Grand Line map."

"Luffy," the witch whispered so she wouldn't disturb Nami. "You do know none of us promised to take part in this adventure, right?"

She was trying her best to be gentle about the topic, especially since he seemed so happy he couldn't hold back at all. Luffy had no filter anymore, saying whatever came to mind, but she supposed he's always like that.

"Maybe you'll change your mind," he beamed.

"I appreciate your help a lot, kid, and I'll try my best to help you if I get the chance until we get to the next destination, but I don't know about that," she shook her head.

"You said the same thing at the tavern: that it's dangerous."

"And I still didn't change my mind. It is dangerous."

"Can you be silent?" Nami accentuated her words in annoyance.

"Sorry," the witch muttered.

The orange haired woman glued her ear to the lock again, eyes narrowed and brows pulled together in concentration. One strand of hair fell over her blue eyes but she didn't mind it while she continued opening the locker up.

A small click vibrated shyly through the air and Nami snapped up.

"It's open!" she shouted.

From inside the box, Nami took a long cylinder and opened it. The witch moved behind her and looked at the map of the Grand Line, inspecting it with the eye of someone who wasn't an expert at all. She was focusing on the navigator's explanations so intensely, she didn't notice when the other two approached. Zoro's swords brushed by her leg, moving her entire attention to him.

The sound of fireworks filled the air.

"The marines? When did they find us?" Nami furrowed her eyebrows.

"What's with the red smoke?" the witch found herself asking right after she started seeing in nuances.

"It smells weird," Luffy muttered.

She found out it was true only after she inhaled it and her vision was getting blurry. Everything happened so fast: Nami falling first, then Zoro saying something she couldn't hear. Her body got soft and in less than a few seconds, she fell unconscious after she caught a glimpse of a pirate ship.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

The witch rubbed her wrists together, but her attempt to escape from the rope digging into her skin was futile. She was sitting in an open chest, her knees pulled close to her chest; both her legs and wrists were tied and she was growing tired of it.

They were kidnapped by some pirate clowns and thrown into what he called the Green Room. Luffy was still in the main tent, and what was happening to him was a secret between the clowns and the dozens of people who had their legs chained like animals.

The Green Room was filled with strange things and old furniture and cushions. Golden bulbs shined and reflected into some square mirrors and another large one with skulls as ornaments. There was a chair in front of a desk, where cups were placed next to some photos. A creepy white mannequin stood right next to the chest she was sitting in, wearing an elegant purple scarf. Something that imitated a chandelier was hanging in the middle of the roof, made out of big flower cups of white thin material. Zoro's swords were left against one of the cushions, where her two identical guns were.

A barely audible groan left the swordsman's lips as he struggled against the rope that glued his wrists to a big wheel.

"They're too strong even for you," Nami commented in a shallow tone.

Both of her hands clutched at the metal bars of the wide bird cage she was stuck in.

"I need to get out of here and kill some clowns," he muttered, focused on escaping. "I've got out of worse."

"With that I have to agree," the witch sighed.

"I saw a town when I got out of the tent… what was left of it after Buggy destroyed it."

"You mean, when you tried to leave us for dead?" Zoro grimaced after pulling at the ropes again.

The witch was like a bystander, her eyes running from one to the other. They were seriously insane, ready to argue in a life-or-death situation.

"You were picking up a fight you couldn't win," Nami snapped her head towards the swordsman.

"I know your type: if there's nothing to gain, you're out."

"Says the one who runs after Berries—"

"Shut it, you two," the witch intervened, letting out a groan. "We can argue and throw venom at each other after we get out of here."

"If we get out of here," Nami retorted.

"We do because I have too much of an ego to play in a circus created by a maniac," the witch mumbled.

After a few moments of silence, no sounds coming from outside the room they were left in, Nami got a lock pin out of her boot.

"Didn't they take all of them?" Zoro asked.

"They only took three," she smirked for a brief moment.

The witch leaned her torso forward and, despite the painful tug of the rope, she tried to raise them to the belt of her pants. She snuck her fingers between the two pieces of clothing and bit at her bottom lip when her skin started stinging painfully.

Finally, she got a small pocket knife out and grinned.

"I thought you were a witch," the swordsman gazed at her.

"You'll see magic once I get out of here," she joked.

A loud scream ripped through the air and it made all of them snap their heads towards the door.

Was that Luffy?

The witch's blood froze in her veins.

"You better hurry," Zoro whispered.

The witch gulped and wielded the knife between her fingers until the sharp edge grazed the rope around her wrists. She moved the knife up and down, putting as much pressure as the position allowed her. Nami, on the other hand, continued rolling the lock pick into the padlock.

Now that the woman stared intently at the mannequin while cutting the rope — even if way too slowly —, the doll had a scary smile painted in black on its porcelain face. Why was it looking back at her?

Minutes of unsuccessful cutting ropes and rolling lock picks, after another groan coming out of Zoro's mouth, he spoke:

"Someone's coming."

"Keep them talking, I need more time," Nami turned her head.

"Same here."

"I don't talk, I hit things," he grunted.

"Then change your hobby," the witch huffed.

The witch's eyes widened and she leaned back against the chest, so her arms and pocket knife would be hidden. Her heart was beating painfully fast in between her ribs and it was almost ridiculous, how she was sweating and the clothes started getting uncomfortable.

A monocycle creaked under the man who just got inside the room. He passed right by her when he came in, which sent her into an inner crisis. Wearing dark colored clothes and an unbuttoned coat without sleeves, the man hopped off and let the object fall to the floor.

She had no clue why the pirate chose to get close to the swordsman, who looked at him dead in the eye.

"Remember me?" the pirate spoke.

"No. Must be some other homicidal, unicycle-riding clown."

The witch was reminded you pay for the audacity of speaking up to your enemy when you're locked up; Zoro got instantly hit by the pirate's fist into the stomach. However, he didn't give that clown any satisfaction, his lips glued.

She eyed Nami, who was turned with her back at the lock of her cage, trying to open it without even looking at it. Damn, it wasn't good.

The witch couldn't hear whatever the fuck that clown was muttering at Zoro's ear, her fingers moving the knife faster, a tight knot settling in her throat as adrenaline pumped through her.

Nami made eye contact with the swordsman and the pirate who called himself Cabaji turned towards her.

"I've never met a clown. I thought they're supposed to be funny. Do some acrobatics on your monocycle, maybe it can help the time pass."

The witch shouldn't have opened her mouth in the first place, but if Nami was caught, it could've ended badly. Maybe it was the fault of the adrenaline, but pissing off that idiot with three strands of mint green hair made her smirk victoriously.

People who get angry when you step on their ego have always been the funniest creatures alive.

Of course, the reaction she received wasn't a good one. The pirate took two knives from his belt and stepped closer. She refused to look away and nothing could erase that grin off her face.

"Still doesn't ring a bell," Zoro caught his attention again.

Bad move. One of Cabaji's knives cut through the air and sunk into the wood the swordsman was glued to. Any other sounds have immediately been silenced.

"You followed us day and night for weeks through the Goa kingdom, never relenting, like some kind of demon."

Oh, so that's who Roronoa Zoro really was; the witch dared to allow her curiosity to act like a sponge about the new information. Interesting. The swordsman was a demon and a bounty hunter. Amazing combo.

He was probably hated by every pirate on the sea.

The woman tried her best to focus on the pocket knife between her fingers, but she couldn't help the fear crawling up into her skin. They had to get out of there alive and, preferably, with their limbs attached to their body.

After a few heavy steps, Cabaji gripped at the edge of the wooden wheel and in less than two seconds, the swordsman was rotating like a toy. The pirate walked roughly two meters away and then continued tossing knives, each time managing to avoid Zoro's flesh.

Nami and the witch looked at each other for a brief moment and then continued with their previous work.

When the rope finally got cut, she looked at the maniac pirate who didn't stop with his play yet. She held back her reactions, instead choosing to look at the swordsman who was rotating in the air and it made her pale. Time passed by too slowly and she slowly let out a long sigh when the wheel stopped from moving.

"You really don't fear death, do you?" Cabaji huffed.

He wasn't satisfied by the lack of reaction he received from Zoro who looked like he's gone through that three times a day for years. How did he manage to keep such a poker face?

"No, I just don't fear you."

Good, make him corner you.

The pirate didn't think twice before he threw a knife that aimed right above the swordsman's wrist. Their enemy wasn't careful enough, since the rope could now be easily cut.

Cabaji walked towards Zoro — another mistake. Nami already opened her cage and she was silently getting out. The witch didn't hesitate when she stopped pretending like she still had her wrists tied together. Clutching at the knife between her fingers, she raised her hand and tossed the sharp object through the air, aiming at the man's back.

"Thinking you're the only one who can play with knives, clown?" she huffed.

Cabaji turned and it was Nami's opportunity to kick his stomach with her foot, which made him fall on his back, the knife digging further into his flesh, cutting through his ribs and lung.

Finally, the witch's anxiety lowered now that one of their men was down. Now, who knows how many more they had to defeat.

"I didn't take you for a criminal."

Nami took one of the knives stuck in the wheel and cut Zoro's rope and then came to her other crewmate, helping with the rope around her ankles.

"I was desperate and he was annoying," the witch shrugged while she rubbed at her aching wrists.

When she found the freedom of moving again, she got out of the chest and took all the knives she found, including the ones from the wheel.

"What's the plan?" Zoro asked as he arranged his swords back at his hip.

"I say we beat the shit out of every clown we see," Nami grinned.

The witch smiled after she put each knife at her belt, rolling another one between her fingers. With her guns sitting at each side of her hip and the bonus of adrenaline, it felt like nothing could stop her.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

The sharp edge of the weapon broke the glass after she threw it right in the middle of Luffy's aquarium — or whatever that thing was supposed to be.

"Luffy!" she shouted his name.

The glass wall of his cage shattered and the water splashed around, the straw hat coughing, his face pale. He was on the floor, soaked to the bone. His straw hat was so close to him,yet so far away. Luffy vomited the cylinder with the map and despite the nausea he was experiencing, he crawled to his hat.

He put himself in danger this entire time and chose not to let go of the Grand Line map, but that object held much more importance to him. The witch froze for a mere moment, confused, but when she wanted to get closer and get the map away from Buggy, a pirate with a sword came sprinting towards her.

"Witch!" she heard a gruff voice.

She dodged it before her head could get cut off and sank a knife into his stomach, only to raise the agony after she hit the man in the same spot, blood gushing out of his wound and soaking his clothes.

With a swift motion, her fingers grabbed at one of her revolvers. She fired at Buggy who was a breath away from touching the map, but didn't pay enough attention to another attack towards her.

A sword's edge shone in the corner of her eye and no matter how fast she was, she couldn't dodge that. Her eyes widened and she waited for the pain to inflict into her body. The pirate froze in place and his sword slipped between his fingers. When he fell to his knees, from behind him there was Zoro who was using a three-sword style.

Definitely a demon; but in a good way.

The witch nodded at him. She didn't train properly in the past year and she lost some speed on the way. She hasn't been in such a situation for a long time.

With other two pirates attacking them from the sides, she protected his blind spot while he killed another enemy with a mere flick of his swords. Another loud shot rang through the air and another man fell down, the center of his heart pierced.

"Buggy needs to have a weakness," the witch said.

"And what is it?"

The answer was right before their eyes: Luffy managed to get back to his feet while they were busy. He used his ability to elongate his arm and grabbed at the leg who was moving in the air, only to throw it in a chest. Nami closed it and grinned mischievously.

That was it.

The witch rolled another knife between her fingers and analyzed the detached hand that was rotating around her. At the perfect time, she threw it in the middle of its palm with enough force to send it into another chest, Nami locking it.

They focused on getting each part of Buggy's body stuck in any suitable place, be it a chest, a barrel or under a bucket. For as long as they got rid of that maniac, everything was fine.

She let out a sigh when only the clown's head remained intact, now laughing pitifully. Zoro bent down and grabbed the head, locking it into a box and putting a rock on top of it.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

A/N: Thank you so much for the comments and the support <3

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58

[riproswell]

The veil is thinning as RIP Roswell approaches. Don’t hesitate to reach out with any questions as the event draws near (ask box).

October 31: Rest in Pieces

Tricks and treats, darkness and shadows, monster mash, fright night, terrible thrills, a town with a dark secret

November 1: La flor de Muertos

Remembrance and forgetting, thinning of the veil, graveyards and altars, calaveras and candlelight

November 2: It came from outer space!

Crash landings, cosmic horrors, when worlds collide, forbidden planets, time warps and paradoxes

November 3: The stinger

Did you miss the afterlife express? Was a prompt missing in action? Just want to make sure you're the final survivor? We'll keep the candles lit for one last night.

[elisela]

happy un-iversary nurseydex au, fluff, established relationship. for @missanniewhimsy

Will is not the flowers, chocolate, and wine celebration person. His eighth grade girlfriend had broken up with him tearfully after he laughed when she wished him a happy one month anniversary, his first boyfriend hadn’t even made it to a year. He thinks he got concert tickets that year for Jason’s birthday but his memory is fuzzy; whatever it was, it wasn’t something he had put a lot of thought into. That’s not to say he’s not sentimental in other ways—he still carries the torn piece of paper with Chowder’s barely legible IOU HALF OF ONE MEDIUM PIZZA AND 2 CHEAP BEERS JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOU PETTY LOSER scrawled on it from their first month of college just because it makes him smile, snaps photos of flowers growing through concrete cracks to text because Jack once told him—while drunk off his ass—that he thought they were all beautiful. 

Unfortunately, Derek is the flowers, chocolate, and wine person. On Will’s last birthday he came home to take-out—only plated nicely, two tall candles burning in the middle of the table, soft music playing in the background. The only wine Will has ever enjoyed was chilling in an ice bucket that he hadn’t even known they owned, the fancy extra-dark chocolates he didn’t like but had once complimented Bitty on sitting in a wrapped box on the island.

So it should say something that Will is standing in the floral section of the grocery store an hour before they close, trying his best to pick out a bouquet that says happy anniversary and these are not last minute flowers. 

They’re all a little wilted, so it’s not exactly working.

Will’s hoping it’s the thought that counts.

But Derek frowns when he walks in their door, his gaze darting from the flowers to the caramels from the confectionary in Old Town that Will’s seen him demolish a dozen of in the space of two minutes. “Uh,” he says, brow furrowing. “What’d you do?”

Of the two of them, Will would have bet money that he’d be the first to forget an important date. “Nothing,” he says, a flare of defensiveness coming before he takes a breath and tries again. “Happy anniversary.”

It’s funny, the way panic flashes across Derek’s face before it settles back into faint confusion. “Our anniversary is next month.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Will. Our anniversary is May 8th.”

“It’s April 6th,” Will says, flowers now pointing towards the ground as he gestures pointlessly with his arm. “How could you think it was May 8th?”

“How could you think it was April 6th?” Derek asks, and he takes the flowers right out of Will’s hand as Will stares at him.

“Because that was the Rocket’s home opener,” Will says, also handing over the caramels. He had to go forty minutes out of his way for those and a small part of him wants a tiny bit of praise for it. 

Derek mouths at him wordlessly for a moment. It would make a hilarious picture, the way he stands there cradling the flowers and candy gently while looking dumbfounded, if Will weren’t so bemused about the whole thing. “We—the—what—that wasn’t our first date! We weren’t dating!”

“We weren’t until we went to the game together,” Will responds.

“We went to the game together because you thought it’d be a good idea to get season tickets!” Derek shoots back. “Our first date was at the Mexican restaurant and you changed the five to an eight on the inflatable Cinco de Mayo sombrero and made me wear it all night.”

Will stares at him. “We’d already been dating for weeks. I asked you out weeks before that.”

Derek’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “I asked you out.”

Because Will can’t strangle his boyfriend—of exactly one year, thank you very much—he kisses him instead, curling his hands into Derek’s hips and pulling him close, curling awkwardly around the flowers he’s still holding. “Happy,” he says pointedly, “anniversary.”

Derek kisses him back, soft and sweet and a little self-satisfied. “Thanks for the flowers,” he says, and Will can feel him smirk. "Happy un-iversary.”