#Free etiquette lesson of the day

[a-consuming-passion]

It is, of course, abominably rude to respond to an invitation with "who else will be there?"

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

MIDNIGHT CINDERELLA MEMORIAL POST

The Midnight Cinderella app will be closed on Monday August 26th, 2024 (5 PM JST). The English version was actively updated from 2014 to 2021 when Cybird announced the ceasing of operations for MidCin, but the app remained accessible until today. I'm sure I'm not the only one who mourns the loss of it even after all these years of discontinuation, so I wanted to put together a post to properly say goodbye to it. Trying my best not to make it all too sappy - I'd rather look at it as a show that reached its final episode. Some things might be left unresolved but in the end, you remember the cast and the emotions they made you feel more than the actual plot. Nowadays there arguably may be better titles by Cybird out there, but for me, the simplicity of MidCin was what made the details so memorable.

1. VIDEO - POV: You're playing Midnight Cinderella (for 10 minutes)

The 10-minute version (without sound) is accessible via the link above (opens in Google Docs) This one I was really excited about recording! It's just your normal day playing midcin, I'm sure many will find it nostalgic and comforting. You log in, claim your daily bonus (I used the chance to do a present box reveal, 90+ items, many of which you might recognize from route grace checks), play the garden gacha (in my case, I used up all the points I had accumulated, 7800 which equals 39 solos), do your princess lessons, change your avatar, greet your friends, read 1/5 of today's free story parts, check the ranking and your stats, look at your memories directory. The video has no sound, as the game wouldn't let me turn it on (you will see me try to do so throughout the video...) but later on I got it to work so I recorded a one-minute video (the one imported above) of me replenishing stamina just for those iconic sound effects that you either loved or absolutely couldn't stand the volume of, haha.

2. A Midnight Cinderella playlist (spotify link)

While I wasn't there for the early days of midcin, the songs I associated with the game almost always captured this very specifically nostalgic 90s-10s period, you'll see what I mean. Many of those are taken from 8track playlists dedicated to Midnight Cinderella, and if I'm not mistaken you can still look at what is left of them if you search them up. Others are just my very random interpretations of the route stories and the characters.

3. Fic recommendations

We have a lovely community of creatives and there are still so many works left behind which you can check out on the tags! But especially for fics I wanted to list some that truly touched me during the years (all links open in ao3) -

i'm on fire and its NSFW bonus scene bloodstream by a deleted user - words are not enough for this one. It's like it meant more than Nico's whole route for me at one point, and the songs are forever in my heart as Nico songs...

MidCin Works by DBMidCin (SoftSen) - ALL of these. This is my go-to collection of writings for midcin when I start to miss the game, it has a little bit of everything. The headcanon of Giles teaching his girls French for instance is one of the things I still remember reading like it was yesterday!

Bedroom Etiquette (NSFW) by RubyLeeRay - Because this is the dream. Doing something forbidden with your tutor Giles is the ultimate fantasy, I swear. I just love it.

And of course, many, many more. There are currently 166 works on the midcin tag in Ao3, and I'm sure there are a lot of hidden gems here on tumblr as well! Reminder that writers LOVE it when you interact with their old works, it's not weird, you shouldn't hesitate doing so if you find yourself enjoying any of them! <3

4. My own humble collection of MidCin writings on my writing blog @xxsycamore!

Maid, Butler, Chamberlain (NSFW) - Nico x MC with Giles joining them

Grabbles: 💋 Demand for a kiss, right here, right now (GILES); 👔 Stealing their clothes to cuddle when you miss them (BYRON); more coming soon as there are still some in my askbox and I plan on including midcin in future short writings request openings too.

Shared Moments (NSFW) - Nico x Reader - Secret relationship

Ice-cold heat (NSFW) - Byron x Reader - Temperature play

Double the Surprise - Alyn and Leo birthday fic

Leo Crawford having a misadventure with a cat (ao3 link) - crack fic featuring most of the suitors

5. Out of context Midnight Cinderella screenshots

This is a sideblog of mine dedicated to posting out-of-context funny screenshots that I took while playing the routes - @oocmidcin . If you have some of your own that are not on there, you're free to submit them and add to the archive!

6. The perfect MidCin song - The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

When I first discovered this song back in 2020 I dreamed of making it into a midcin music video with simplistic art and animations... It ended up being just something you daydream in detail about while in the car, but that's alright. I could at least share my vision with you! Disclaimer, this is just an interpretation and obviously it can't fit all characters ideally - In the brackets, I explain how the lyric is related to them and usually it reveals their backstories. Some of the details I've already forgotten, sorry if it's inaccurate.)

Tell me once again

I could have been anyone, anyone else

Before you made the choice for me

(Giles - his family making the choice for him since birth and later disowning him once he failed to become a knight due to his illness)

My feet knew the path

We walked in the dark, in the dark

I never gave a single thought to where it might lead

(Nico - wandering the streets with his mother once they were thrown out of Stein castle because she was a commoner having an affair with Byron's father, the King)

All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else

Instead I made a bed with apathy

(Robert - the empty rooms of the once flourishing palace of the country that Robert ruled and led to demise, nowadays becoming a mere court painter)

My heart knew the weight

Ten years' worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be

(Leo - the years in which Alyn didn't speak to him, after the death of their parents)

The moon will sing a song for me

I loved you like the sun

Bore the shadows that you made

With no light of my own

(Albert - loyally standing in king Byron's shadow)

Name your courage now

We could have had anything, anything else

Instead you hoarded all that's left of me

(Sid - his relationship with his fiance that he agreed upon just to find out more about his parents by getting close to her father)

Swallowing your doubt

Like swords to the pit of my belly

I want to feel the fire that you kept from me

(Alyn - searching for answers about the murder of his family and the fire that burnt down their home)

I shine only with the light you gave me

(I could have been anyone, anyone)

(Louis - being a nobody and MC being his sun)

7. It goes on

I went to read what I could of chapter 4 of Rayvis' route, using my last two chapter tickets as well, thinking it won't make me cry. And then I'm hit with those familiar things.

So let's close this with a word about the things that never change in the universe of Midnight Cinderella.

Stumbling down the grand staircase and right into the arms of somebody. Escaping the palace at midnight with Nico's help. Sitting at breakfast with Giles giving you your schedule for the day. Nico's teasing little smile as he accompanies you everywhere and listens to your relationship troubles. The way he's just a little suspicious at times. Finding Robert painting in the garden of Wysteria palace. Going to the room of your chosen suitor for the first time and meeting a pet there. Leo teaching you history and politics in his office. Dance lessons with Louis. Needing those dance lessons because King Byron is coming to Wysteria and a ball is going to take place. The bureaucrats being unhappy with you as a princess elect, no matter what. Galloping on a horse with Alyn who just protected you from an enemy attack. Getting information from a certain flirty merchant at a bar. Albert bickering with Nico, Sid teasing Louis. Being introduced to Archduke Herneit at Stein castle. King Byron appreciating the night sky. The sight of your yellow and orange princess elect room where on the large bed with its blue bedframe and tall see-through canopy you lie awake and think about the events of the day and how would a wise future Queen of Wysteria deal with the current situation. But ultimately you fall asleep, hearing the melancholically beautiful sounds of a violin coming from somewhere deep within your dream, and leave it all to the following day.

Thank you for everything, Midnight Cinderella!

08/26/2024

[claudemblems]

A Kiss to End All Doubt | Albert Moriarty

Summary: When you agreed to tag along with the Moriarty brothers to a grand ball, the last thing you expected was to receive a noble's offer of marriage. Thankfully, Albert plays the part of your lover well, perhaps a little too well for his affectionate words to be fake...

Content: SFW. Fem!Reader. 3,723 words. Pining. Soooo much romantic tension. Albert is a flirt and no one is surprised.

Notes: I have been writing this fic for what feels like forever BUT IT'S FINALLY FINISHED :3 I'm so excited to finally give this to you. I hope you enjoy it 💖 I may also add an epilogue if there's an interest for one...🤭

Did Albert Moriarty, one of the many faces of the Lord of Crime, truly not have the slightest idea of the effect he had on you?

It was silly to even fathom that a man of his stature could be so oblivious, but you couldn’t help but start to wonder once he started giving your flushed cheeks and wide eyes a quizzical look.

That, or he was playing coy with you, which wouldn’t be all that surprising coming from him. He’d long since mastered the art of making noble ladies go weak in the knees.

But that was a skill he’d acquired out of pure necessity. If he had things his way, he’d refuse to give the stuck up women of the nobility the time of day. Unfortunately, he had a role to play in all of his brother’s plans, and so he continued flirting with the noble ladies just long enough to leave them wanting more.

You, on the other hand, were no noble. In fact, you had no good fortune, distinguished education, or marriageable prospects to speak of. Truly, you were nothing but a mere face hidden amongst the shadows, which was perfect for an assistant to the Lord of Crime.

You’d begun to empathize with Albert’s disdain for these royal functions, mainly the lavish balls he and his brothers had little choice but to attend. It was important for them to keep up appearances as a well-rounded noble family who knew how to mingle with the upper-class, whether they enjoyed doing so or not. While they seemed to have gotten used to it for the most part, it proved to be quite the difficult adjustment for you. Thankfully, Albert had patiently taught you the ins and outs of noble life, giving you lessons on small talk and etiquette whenever time permitted.

However, he hadn’t yet taught you how to handle a nobleman’s advances.

“You must be Lady [Name],” the man greeted, holding out his hand for you to take. You briefly glanced towards Albert, taking his nod as a sign to follow through with the gesture. A kiss was placed onto your hand before the man let go, stepping back to better admire the exquisite sights around him. “It’s quite a splendid ball, isn’t it? There’s so many well-mannered and intelligent guests in our midst, such as you, young Lord Albert.”

“Lord Darnley, you are far too kind,” Albert said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I ought to be extending the compliments to you. Your presence here is most welcome, as well as that of your entourage. Would the girl you brought with you happen to be your little sister, Lady Georgina?”

“Ah, I see you’ve made sure to memorize the names of all the guests! Indeed, she insisted on joining me, and no matter what I said, she refused to take no for an answer!” Darnley bellowed in laughter, briefly drawing the attention of the other guests nearby.

“She already seems to be quite the free spirit. I’m sure she has a bright future ahead of her.”

“If you’re so interested in my dear Georgina, I would be more than willing to sit down and discuss a potential marriage between the two of you.”

You swore you saw a flash of disgust appear in Albert’s eyes, but he simply smiled brightly at Darnley, careful that his emotions did not look fake or contrived. “While your offer is certainly generous, I have no plans of marriage at the moment. I’m afraid I’m already plenty busy with my service in the royal army.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Lord Darnley sighed, but his disappointment quickly turned to anticipation when his gaze once again fell on you. Your stomach lurched at the look in his eyes, but you tried to retain your composure, copying Albert’s mannerisms by offering a surface-level smile.

“Lady [Name], I am supposing you are not yet married if you’re attending this function with the Moriartys.”

“That would be correct, my good sir. How astute of you to notice.”

Lord Darnley grinned at the news like a hunter mere moments away from ensnaring this prey. “Well then, my lady, is there anyone that has asked for your hand yet?”

Goosebumps ran down your arms as you swallowed thickly. Anyone with a right mind knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

“I…well…” Should you tell the truth? Should you lie? But then who would you say had expressed a desire in marrying you? “It’s…complicated.”

“So, that would mean no formal question has been posed then, correct?”

“...Correct.”

You heard Albert’s feet shift next to you, on guard for whatever preposterous idea this nobleman could come up with next.

“Well, it’s certainly not good for a lady of your standing to be without a husband. I, myself, am quite the romantic, and I believe a courting period fosters a genuine love between both parties involved. If you have no one currently vying for your hand, perhaps you’d offer me the chance to earn it.”

No. No. On so many levels, no.

But this wasn’t about you—your happiness or married life did not come before the liberation of London. Whatever the brothers asked of you, you would adhere to their words, even if it meant having to be stuck with a man such as…this. Though you knew they’d never even entertain the thought of offering you up to some man who cared only for your beauty and status and nothing for your heart. If you were to refuse Darnley’s advances, at the least, you were confident the Moriartys would respect your decision.

Even so, you didn’t want to cause any more trouble for them. If you couldn’t agree to the idea of marriage, perhaps a date or two would suffice, right?

Just the thought made you feel sick. 

“Well, what do you say, my lady? Will you allow me the pleasure of courting you?”

You knew you had to keep up appearances. You couldn’t allow for cracks to show in the perfect and amicable facade the Moriartys had carefully crafted. You knew that well, and yet…

This was a proposal that not even death itself could bring you to accept.

“I��m sorry, my lord, but I must sincerely refuse.”

Lord Darnley stared at you in alarm. “Come again? You didn’t just say no to my advances, did you?”

Your heart rate quickened as his words grew heated, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to take off and hide somewhere safe and quiet in the manor’s garden, away from other people who might come up with even more ridiculous propositions.

“It’s just as you heard, my lord. I must decline.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Lord Darnley stared straight into your eyes, not blinking for several long moments. Your hands had begun to shake as you feared that you’d just begun tarnishing the reputation of the Moriarty family. Truly, there were fewer things more terrifying than a nobleman who felt he’d been insulted, and the consequences for such an offense would be nothing short of dire.

“Lady [Name], you are in no place to refuse my offer. You said yourself that no other man has even brought up the idea of marriage to you! Are you truly so brazen that you would reject the prospects of a life in union with mine? We all know who makes the decisions around here, and they’re certainly not made by women—!”

“My good sir, I believe you’ve said quite enough.”

A small gasp left your lips as Albert sneaked a hand around your waist, still carefully holding his glass of wine in the other. You searched his face for an answer as to what he was scheming, but he simply smiled—a true one this time—wordlessly reassuring you that all would be well.

“You see, Lady [Name] may not have received an offer of marriage as of yet, but that is only because I have been quite busy protecting our beloved country. I wish to propose when I am able to be at home more often and thus can fulfill my duties as a devoted husband to my wife. So I must politely ask that you rescind your offer, lest you make yourself seem as though you chase after taken women.”

Propose? Husband?

If you were afraid of tainting the Moriarty image, Albert clearly didn’t share your concerns.

“Taken? Why, I—! You’re bluffing, Lord Albert! You’re not planning on marrying this woman!”

“And what has brought you to that incorrect conclusion?”

“If that were the case, you would have brought it up the moment I asked if she were single!”

“To be fair, you asked if she’d received an offer for marriage, not if she was currently available to court.”

You could practically see the steam coming out of Lord Darnley’s ears, his face growing redder with each passing minute. He was still unconvinced, and for good reason, too, but you weren’t about to let Albert’s kindness go to waste.

You placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder, smiling up at him as he redirected his full attention to you. “It’s true, my lord. My affections have been reciprocated by my dear Albert, and I am patiently waiting for him to ask me to marry him. It will be a proposal I shall readily accept.”

Darnley scoffed, a hand placed over his heart in disbelief. “And you had the gall not to tell me when I’d begun to question you? Either you’re a terrible liar, or you’re just hoping to humiliate me in front of all these guests!”

“I would never dream of deceiving or insulting you, my lord. I should have made my relationship status clear to you earlier. Please forgive my carelessness.”

“I still think this is some elaborate hoax the both of you are trying to pull off. If not to tarnish my good name, then to convince every noble here that you’re worth the status bestowed on you at birth.” Lord Darnley swiped a fresh glass of wine off the tray of one of the waiters walking by, the man watching in horror as the lord downed all of the liquid in one gulp. His cheeks had started to take on a flushed hue from the great amount of alcohol he’d consumed that night, and with the way things were going, he was sure to be drunk by the end of it. “Perhaps, Lady [Name],” Darnley continued, a lopsided smirk forming on his face, “you’ve been lying about your social status, and you’re hoping that your marriage to Lord Albert will secure you a place in the upper class.”

Anger surged through you at his utterly ridiculous theory. Darnley had unknowingly gotten one fact right: you were a nobody. When you’d been taken in by the Moriarty family, you had nothing to your name but pen, paper, and the clothes on your back. But you knew one thing for sure: you had worth as a human being, and no one, noble or otherwise, would be able to change that.

And marrying a noble for status? What a laughable suggestion. As if you’d stoop so low just for some so-called “honor” among the elite.

“Well, dear sir,” you began, discreetly hiding a smirk behind your gloved hand, “I had no idea you were so foolish as to even come up with such an inconceivable thought. I once held you in high regard as I’ve heard many within the nobility sing your praises, but your current behavior is quite unbecoming of a person of your stature.”

You heard Albert try, and fail, to stifle a laugh next to you. You quietly breathed out a sigh of relief to see that he’d chosen not to reprimand your strong words. If anything, he seemed eager to encourage them.

As Lord Darnley frantically signaled for a waiter to bring him more wine, Albert took the opportunity to lean down next to your ear, whispering a simple yet heart-pounding question, “[Name], would it be all right with you to play further into these roles of enchanted lovers?”

Your breath caught in your throat, butterflies beginning to form in your stomach. “Of course,” you said. If only you knew how I truly felt, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

He smiled down at you, a sight that only stirred up the butterflies even more, and pulled you closer against him. Meanwhile, his eyes bored into Lord Darnley’s frame, darkening with every passing moment. If there was no one else in that ballroom, you had no doubt Albert would have leapt at the chance to get rid of him.

When Lord Darnley had finished downing another glass of wine, his fiery countenance returned to you and Albert. “You both are frauds,” he spat. “Everyone else here might be too dim-witted to figure it out, but I’ll make them aware that you’re not the upstanding moral characters you believe that you are.”

“It’s a shame to hear such vile thoughts coming from your own mouth, good sir,” Albert sighed. “But if I must be honest, I don’t care what any noble in this room thinks of me or the house in which I rule over.”

“Oh? And why is that, good sir?”

“Because,” Albert answered, turning his body towards yours, his visage noticeably softening when his focus returned to you, “the only person I want to please is the woman I adore. Not one person in the nobility is worthy of praise or merit—no one but her alone.”

Setting aside his glass, Albert gingerly took your hand in his own, meeting your eyes to silently ask for your permission. At your nod of approval, he lifted your fingertips to his lips, placing a gentle and almost reverent kiss against them.

“I love her,” he said, his sweet gaze reaching the very depths of your soul, “and when the time is right, I will make her mine.”

His words were like a match igniting the fire blazing in your heart, the flames fed by your deep affections for him, growing with every beat that thumped in your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand came to rest against your cheek, his touch so light yet so dizzying, more intoxicating than any wine you’d had that night. 

Albert searched your eyes as all the feelings you’d tried to keep at bay finally came pouring in like waves. You were sure he could see it all: the admiration, the yearning, the love you’d kept locked away. But somehow he’d managed to find the matching key, the truth you’d been hiding for all these years finally at his reach.

His fingers traveled along your cheek and down to your jaw, this thumb tracing patterns against your skin. You were still dazed from his words to Darnley, but you brought yourself to meet Albert’s gaze once more, curious to see what truths you could uncover in his own expression.

And you wished you hadn’t, because when you saw the affection so clearly present in them, you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until the night turned into day.

Albert wasn’t oblivious, and you knew it. Whatever people thought of him as—a genius, a young prodigy, a man of great knowledge—his ability to read people was beyond the average person’s comprehension. And you knew when he’d finally figured out what the person he’d been surveying was hiding. His lips would quirk upwards ever so slightly, the dimples on his face just beginning to show, and he’d cock his head to the side, pleased with his findings.

And that was exactly how he was looking at you.

You’d placed your heart out in plain view of his observant eyes, and he’d figured you out. But now that he knew of your feelings for him, what was he planning to do with them?

Albert’s thumb drifted from your jaw down your lips, careful not to brush off the lipstick staining them. He stared at them for several moments, deep in thought, before he returned his eyes to yours, a single question hidden within them.

May I?

Already breathless, you squeezed his hand once, closing your eyes as Albert leaned in painstakingly slowly, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation. This was the moment you’d only been able to imagine in dreams, on nights where you sat wordlessly under the stars, silently wishing upon them in vain. They couldn’t grant you your desires. They couldn’t give you everything you ever wanted. You were the only one with the power to seize your opportunity and make your own wish come true.

And as Albert’s lips finally fell on yours, you smiled.

Your greatest wish was being granted right before your very eyes.

His lips tasted faintly of wine, and the subdued scent of his cologne still lingered on his collar. Combined with the warm and comforting touch of his hand cupping your face, your senses were overwhelmed in the most wonderful of ways. It felt as if you’d begun to float, brought into a fairy tale-esque trance where the entire world grew still except for you and Albert.

Time had stalled to allow you this moment of pure, undeniable bliss that not even the corrupt powers of this world could take away from you.

With his lips still on yours, Albert’s hand snaked further around your waist, gently pulling you closer against him. You practically had no room left between the two of you, and so in a moment of boldness, you placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, right above his heart. Even through his suit, you could feel it beating wildly.

It only made you wonder: did he truly mean what he’d said earlier? Did he really harbor such affection for you? Did he really intend…to make you his?

Before you could ponder anymore, Albert finally pulled away, cheeks faintly dusted with rose. He appeared somewhat dazed himself, but he kept his composure, still well aware of where the two of you were at the moment.

But this time when he turned to Darnley, he smirked, practically beaming from head to toe with delight as he spoke. “Well, Lord Darnley, do you believe us now?”

If looks could kill, both of you would have succumbed to that man’s rage.

Darnley’s hands gripped his wine glass so tightly that it shattered onto the floor, the remnants of wine staining his once perfectly polished suit. Other nobles stopped their conversations and turned to him upon hearing the commotion, a few of them even pulling out handkerchiefs.

“Sir, let me get you a new glass,” a waiter spoke, holding his hand out to take the broken one from him. But Lord Darnley was already fuming, and he shoved the waiter to the side, smashing the rest of the wine glass against the floor.

“You will pay for this,” he snarled. Sending you one final glare, he turned on his heel, marching out of the ballroom, hopefully never to be seen again (at least for the night).

“Well,” Albert breathed, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.”

“You’re right…Thank you, Albert.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, gaze drifting back to yours. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your gratitude.”

You shook your head. “You have, Albert. You didn’t have to step in and save me from Darnley’s advances, but you did, even though doing so could have tarnished your family name. I’m indebted to you.”

Albert frowned ever so slightly, and you cocked your head to the side, confused. After a few moments, his gaze flickered to the people dancing around the room, his cheeks still tinged a beautiful red. “If you thought I was doing all that just to be a gentleman,” he murmured, “then I don’t know what it would take to make the truth clear to you...”

Well, suddenly you were the one left blushing. 

“It’s not that. I…I don’t want to assume anything more, not when you’re such a precious person to me. I’m just scared of ruining what we have between us.”

Albert turned his attention back to you, using the hand that was still on your waist to pull you close to him again. Taking your other hand in his, he lifted it up to his lips, your faces now just mere inches apart.

“And what if I were to say that I do want something more?”

You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

But you still felt the press of his lips against yours, took in the smell of his cologne, and memorized the touch of his fingers running along your cheek. It was not a dream. It was even better.

Albert leaned down next to your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. “If one kiss isn’t enough to convey how much my heart yearns for you, then allow me to kiss you until you’re breathless, and no more words of doubt are left on your tongue.”

Albert smiled as your face grew redder, and with the way he bit his lip, you knew he was struggling not to comment on it.

“For a noble, you sure lack any semblance of shame, Master Albert."

Albert shook his head and chuckled to himself, that mischievous glint having once again returned to his eyes. “Keep teasing me and you’ll find out just how shameless I can be, darling.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing Albert’s hand tighter in yours. “If you want to kiss me so badly, do so in a place that’s actually romantic, will you?”

Taking you by the hand, Albert began to lead you outside of the ballroom and into the rose gardens. “Of course, and I’ll take my time to make sure I kiss you properly.”

You made a mental note to thank William and Louis for letting you tag along to the ball. If all went well, they would end up becoming your own brothers-in-law, after all.

But that could wait until you finally had Albert’s affections all to yourself.

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat #7: Consummation babies

Aka "what if Rhea and Daemon had conceived the twins on their wedding night" aka "Regnal AU."

x~x~x

“I am pregnant.”

His lady wife had announced the news in the very tone she had used earlier in the day when issuing judgment on two squabbling farmers who’d brought a dispute before her, and she was looking at him now as though he were the farmer on the losing end of it.

Daemon could only stare at her. When he had been summoned to her solar by the maester, he had assumed it was for yet another narrow-eyed lecture on his conduct in town, where he had gotten riotously drunk last night in a desperate bid to stave off the boredom of life as the Lady of Runestone’s unwanted husband.

“You are certain?” he asked, recognizing the question as stupid the moment it left his mouth.

“I waited for the quickening,” she said, hand straying toward her stomach before she seemed to realize, pulling it back to rest at her side.

Daemon’s gaze dropped to her midsection, marking what might be a small bump beneath the fabric of a loose dress. They had lain together no more than thrice in their four moons of marriage, one of those their wedding night, and had happily kept to their personal bedchambers since. For her to be so far along already, the babe must have been conceived that very night.

“That is good,” he said stiffly, in part because she seemed to expect the opposite sentiment from him. “You have my congratulations, my lady.”

She did not frown at him for once, though neither did she smile. “Should not half the congratulations be yours?”

Nothing about this marriage is mine. Certainly not his choice. It had been his grandmother’s scheming and his grandfather’s command, carried out over his every protest. His own father had escorted him to the wedding ceremony at Runestone as though he were his aunt Saera being marched to join the Silent Sisters.

And the very moment Runestone had passed to Rhea at her father’s death, not a moon into their marriage, it had been made abundantly clear to him from every quarter that nothing about Runestone was his, either. She was the lady, he was her consort, and he was to entertain himself with mindless pursuits in a castle whose walls felt smaller by the day.

One year, he had told himself. He only had to endure for one year, long enough to put in a showing that his grandfather would accept, and then he would be free to return to King’s Landing, and fly off on Caraxes wherever he liked, and find someone to fuck who didn’t stare at him throughout with frigid disdain. It had been clear to him from the very beginning that he was nothing more than a duty to her, an inconvenience to be suffered.

A duty, as though he were not the son of the Prince of Dragonstone, the next ruler of the Iron Throne. A dragonrider of pure Valyrian descent, the blood of Aegon the Conqueror singing in his veins. Dark Sister moldered in her sheath, hungry for blood and glory, and he—

He had been just another marriage alliance to his grandfather, like Aemma’s mother before her. A political maneuver by House Targaryen to gain a powerful seat in the Vale through his eventual children, as though their house were not capable of seizing whatever they wished by force.

And now I am trapped.

A babe tied him fully to his wife, to this damp, miserable castle, because he could not abandon a child of his blood to suffer the cold and joyless fate he sought to flee.

For once, Daemon was grateful for every lesson of courtly etiquette that had been drilled into him. It allowed him to act on instinct, even as his mind was elsewhere. He gave his wife’s cheek a stilted kiss, murmured the appropriate words, and then begged leave to write to his family with the happy news.

It was Viserys who he addressed it to, fingers pinching the quill hard enough by the end to snap it, sending a spatter of ink from its tip across the parchment. He did not bother rewriting it, steps quick as he brought it to the rookery, to the raven he could have raced on Caraxes with the news if his grandfather’s command would have let him.

And with quicker steps still, he sought Caraxes and what little air he was permitted.

x~x~x

“Did our father send you?” Daemon murmured as he embraced his brother. It would not surprise him; he seemed to know them at least as well as they did themselves.

“He might have suggested it,” Viserys said, pulling back with a grin before moving to greet Rhea with a brotherly kiss to the cheek.

Daemon turned to Aemma, who held his young niece by the hand. Rhaenyra would be nearly three, and she gazed up at him shyly.

“Your company is most welcome,” Daemon said to his cousin as he kissed her cheek. “As is your experience in these matters.”

There was a teasing glint in her eyes as Aemma smiled at him. “And I am sure you will heed all offered advice, as always.”

Daemon rolled his eyes at her in response, then crouched down. “Are you excited for a baby cousin, Rhaenyra?”

“Maybe,” his niece said, which about summed up his own feelings on the matter.

He picked her up then and sprang to his feet, tossing her up—to an audible wince from Aemma—and catching her. His niece giggled with delight as she settled in his arm, where she spotted Dark Sister and turned her attention to the sword.

Daemon transferred her to his other side, well away from the hilt. “Let us not alarm your mother any further.”

“I shall believe it when I see it,” Aemma told him, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek in turn and steal her daughter back.

In truth, he was relieved at their presence, after six moons being surrounded by only Royce retainers and stern Valemen. It was no small distance from Runestone to King’s Landing, either—a week at least by ship, though at least the waters were calm in summer. It was but a two-day ride on dragonback, but Viserys had shown no interest in claiming a new mount since Balerion’s death by old age, which baffled Daemon to no end.

I shall have to take him up on Caraxes while he is here, so that he can be reminded of the thrill of dragonriding. There was a particular stretch of mountain he enjoyed flying over, near the Royce summer manse, that still had snow flecking the tops of the peaks, even this deep into summer.

Aemma greeted his wife warmly, and Daemon recalled that they had known one another as girls. His cousin had tried to reassure him before his departure for Runestone that Rhea Royce was a spirited, adventurous woman. Daemon had seen very little evidence of either, though he supposed a pregnancy was a fair enough reason to avoid adventure.

“You must take poor Fallow out hawking in my stead,” Rhea was saying to Aemma. “I was too sick the first few weeks, and too large now.”

She had grown considerably over the past two moons, and Rhaenyra stretched her arms upward to place them on his wife’s swollen belly. “It moved!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, the babe is quite active,” Rhea agreed, leaning to kiss Rhaenyra on the crown of her head, then straightening slowly, a hand to her back.

Daemon cleared his throat. “Shall we move to the solar?”

“An excellent idea,” Aemma said, her smile at him warm with approval. She took Rhea’s elbow and they started for the holdfast, with Rhaenyra grabbing for his wife’s other hand.

Viserys remained at the rear of the procession with Daemon. “What do you think?” his brother asked. “A son or a daughter?”

His voice was light-hearted, but Daemon could hear the strain beneath it. His brother’s quest for a son had been fruitless thus far, with Aemma suffering two miscarriages prior to Rhaenyra’s birth and two since. Their grandfather had sternly reminded Daemon of his own duty, and that misfortune could befall the king’s heir at any time, as their uncle’s death had painfully demonstrated. Their father was a second son, and now in line for the throne. If Viserys were to struggle to provide the realm with a son, and their own father refused to remarry, then it fell upon Daemon to produce the necessary spares.

Daemon’s gaze went to Rhaenyra’s small form at Rhea’s side, hand swinging as she walked with her, hair long and pale. He imagined a child of his own holding her hand, but the details shifted constantly. Long hair, then short. Light, then dark.

“I do not know,” he said.

“Rhaenyra will love any daughter of yours like a sister,” Viserys said confidently. “And if you should have a boy, then we may have a match in the future.”

Daemon grimaced. He had not even begun to think so far ahead as matches. The one consolation was that their grandfather would surely no longer be around to wrest the decision from him. Their father would not force an unhappy pairing, though he could not imagine his children and his brother’s not growing close.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Daemon asked.

“So eager to be rid of my company?” his brother teased. But then his voice grew serious. “For as long as you like. I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding.”

“Do not be. It was a grim affair.”

And Aemma had been recovering from her last miscarriage.

His brother slung an arm around his shoulder. “You do not seem quite as miserable as I feared from your letter. Are you warming to the thought of fatherhood?”

Daemon bit back a grimace, recalling the letter he had sent. The news had unbalanced him at the time, and he had poured far more into it than he had intended. If Viserys had shared his words with their father, it was no small wonder that he had urged Viserys to visit. He had likely sounded on the verge of fleeing in the night.

“Perhaps.”

He and Rhea had gone from wholly avoiding one another’s company to taking suppers together now in her solar. They had been stilted affairs at first, and he had felt like someone playing a part in a mummer’s show. The first conversations that had not been pure torture had pertained to preparations for the babe. Ensuring the nursery was ready, beginning the search for an experienced wetnurse. Daemon had taken one look at the rickety cradle that had last been used by Rhea’s younger half-sister, Elys, and demanded a new one, which she had deferred to him.

The duties had begun piling on after that. He had resented them initially, viewing them as more bars being added to the cage, or even demeaning—he, a prince of the realm and a dragonrider, seeing to tasks ordinarily left to a lord’s wife. Rather than filling his nights with revelry, however, he had found himself thinking beyond the present. Would his child be allowed an egg in the cradle? When would it be safe to make the journey on dragonback to King’s Landing to present their babe to king and court?

His saddle was already modified to seat two, but he would need something of his own to hold the babe secure. He’d spent more time speaking with the craftsmen of Runestone in the past moon than he had in the air on Caraxes. It was tradition for House Royce to present newborns with a bronze medallion etched with runes to protect them from illness and injury, and it had fallen to him to arrange that as well.

His wife’s castle was laden with history and tradition for her house, and he had none on hand for his own, so he had chanced a trip to Dragonstone, poring over the volumes there for any ancient customs that had fallen out of practice in his own family, finding one at last wherein damaged and shed dragon scales from the mounts of the infant’s parents were carved up and set into a bowl of silver or gold.

Caraxes had been willing enough to make a few donations to the intrigued smith who had forged the Royce medallion, and the end result reminded Daemon almost of a mosaic, with darker and lighter patches of red arranged in a pattern not unlike flame within the gold.

The smiths of Runestone, he was forced to admit, were quite skilled.

“Come,” Daemon said, suddenly eager to show it to his brother. “I have something for you to see.”

x~x~x

“It is too early,” Daemon repeated, mouth dry with fear as he stared at the door, listening to the moans of pain from within.

His father’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulling Daemon into his side. “It is not too early. Not every babe is willing to wait nine full moons in the womb, and it surprises me not at all that one of yours wishes to scream fury at the world sooner than late.”

Daemon leaned his head into his father’s shoulder, grateful that he had come nearly a full moon before the babe was due. Every nightmare scenario played in his mind, presented to him earlier by the maester. A dreaded breech birth. An ill-placed umbilical cord strangling his child. Unexpected trauma to mother or babe, killing one or both.

Rhea’s labor had started the better part of a day ago, and he had been in and out of the room as the maester allowed. His wife was a strong woman, he knew, loath to show weakness even among those she trusted, but she had long since stopped trying to mask her pain.

“It is taking too long,” Daemon said, his worry a wild thing, whipping from one fear to another.

“Shall we go back in?” his father asked.

He had been banished from her sight last time, but she barely seemed to notice their re-entry now. Since Daemon had been chided by the maester for hovering, he settled on the couch by the window, his father sitting beside him.

There were cloths upon cloths stained pink and red, buckets of water, implements he did not recognize. Daemon was grateful that the view was mostly shielded by the maester and his attendants, even as he agonized over their decision to have the birth here, rather than at the Red Keep, with the realm’s best maesters at their disposal.

He clutched the bronze medallion in his hand, thumb running over its runes. Rhea had insisted that he hold onto it, that it was for the babe and not her, but she and the babe were yet one and the same, and if it could afford either of them some protection—

Rhea cried out again, this one nearly a battle shout in volume, and the strain in it gave way at the end to something like relief. A second cry came, this one high in pitch, and Daemon stood up so fast he nearly collapsed, only his father’s steadying arm keeping him upright.

Past the maester, he glimpsed a pink, wriggling shape being handed to one of the maester’s assistants. There seemed to be no alarm as they worked on the babe, but he was waved back when he tried to approach.

“Not yet, my prince,” the maester said. “There is another.”

Another. Daemon stood a moment, uncomprehending of his words at first. Then— “Twins?”

“Yes, my prince.”

As Rhea panted, a sheen of sweat on her face, the first babe was cleaned, cord tied and then cut. Daemon was permitted to approach then, as the screaming babe was handed to her.

“A son, my lady, my prince. Small, but healthy.”

Daemon’s heart fluttered as he gazed upon the child in Rhea’s arms. He had a crown of dark hair, clearly taking after his mother, though with his eyes squeezed shut as he howled his fury, it was impossible to catch a glimpse of their color.

A son. A shout caught in his lungs, and he choked it back, because the birth was not yet over, but for now, his wife was alert if tired, coaxing their son to her breast. The wailing stopped once his mouth found the nipple, and Rhea’s head eased back into the pillow, eyes closing in obvious fatigue.

Daemon dared reach for her hand, and her eyelids fluttered open, gaze landing on him. She did not pull her hand back, and he squeezed lightly. They held one another’s stare for a time, then glanced as one at their son. Their firstborn.

The minutes slipped by, long enough for Daemon to wonder if something was wrong with the second babe, but Rhea tensed then, her grip tightening around his hand. Their son was taken from her breast and given to his father to hold as labor resumed.

The second birth was mercifully quick, the pain either lessened or dulled by all that had come before it. In less than half an hour, another small head emerged, then took to wailing, and Daemon felt himself relax at last at the sound.

The babe was cleaned, cord cut, and the second proclamation made. “Another healthy son, my lady.”

His firstborn was relinquished to him by his father, who had been gently rocking him on the couch, and Daemon in turn gave him to Rhea, who kissed his head, eyes bright with tears, and returned him to her breast. She reached eagerly for their second son, whose head was topped with tufts of pale silver, and he quickly latched onto her other breast.

Dark and light. The contrast as he looked between them felt right somehow. Two sons. I have two sons.

His firstborn, who had already suckled for nearly half an hour, pulled back, face scrunching up as though contemplating another wail, only for it to become a yawn. At Rhea’s nod, Daemon took him in his arms, staring into his face, taking in his impossibly delicate features. His hand wrapped around Daemon’s pinky finger, and he could see tiny fingernails.

His son was staring up at him, his eyes a purple-hued grey, everything about him perfect. His frown, his nose, his dark eyelashes—

Another yawn broke his son’s steady contemplation, and Daemon yawned with him. His father murmured congratulations to them, praising Rhea’s fortitude as Daemon probably would have thought to do if he weren’t so exhausted. He couldn’t imagine having been the one actually giving birth.

Their younger son had finished his own first feeding just in time for the afterbirth. While Rhea was cleaned and the bed linens changed, Daemon cradled him in his other arm, as perfect in every way as his twin. His son’s sleepy eyes blinked at Daemon, a pale lilac that took his breath away when he saw it.

“Aemon,” his father whispered beside him, voice cracking midway through.

They need names. But that was a battle for tomorrow, when they had all slept at last. His son’s face scrunched up as he continued to stare at Daemon, a whimper that became a howling wail that woke his brother, who immediately began fussing.

“Here,” his father said, taking his younger son from him. He rocked him gently, murmuring soothingly at him, and the babe calmed, gazing up at him in a fierce study that was just like Aemon’s. His father smiled at the babe with a joy Daemon he had not seen in years and kissed his tiny cheek.

Rhea eased back onto the now-clean linens of her bed, and Daemon carried their eldest over to her, placing him in her arms. “They are perfect,” he said, because it was truth. The sweat had been wiped from her face, though her hair was still damp. She looked pale and exhausted, but her smile as she gazed at their son was unexpectedly radiant. Daemon took her free hand, squeezing it once more. “I am glad you are well.”

She gave an answering squeeze, understanding his meaning, then gazed about the room. “Where is our other son?”

Daemon glanced behind at his father, whose back was to them as he faced the window, which he was holding their youngest near to catch the last rays of sun.

“We may have to ensure my father doesn’t steal him back to King’s Landing.”

x~x~x

“If he is to inherit Runestone, he should have a Vale name,” Rhea said stubbornly.

It was an old argument, but this time Daemon had his father, heir to the Iron Throne, present to influence the matter, though he was distracted with both babes currently, a small bundle in each arm.

Their size still kept Daemon awake at night, and he had found himself sleeping in the nursery for the past three, soothed by the sounds of them stirring in their cradle—which was large enough to hold them both for now. Still, the maester checked them every day, and assured him that they were in as fine health as could be hoped for such tiny babes.

“He is my father’s eldest grandson,” Daemon countered. “And he is a prince of House Targaryen. Should anything happen to my brother, he could very well be king himself someday! He cannot be named Rodrik or Hubert.”

Rhea glared at him. “Or Jon—”

“Jon!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “You cannot be in earnest.”

“We have two sons. It would be a sign of unity between House Targaryen and the Vale to name one each in the fashion of both their houses.”

Daemon managed to hold back his instinctive sneer at the suggestion, contenting himself with a frown instead. It was already settled that their younger son would be Aemon. It was a fitting tribute to his uncle, and his father would not hear otherwise. Thus Rhea was scheming to get her way with their eldest’s name instead, using that as leverage.

“Perhaps we should seek the king’s opinion on the matter,” Daemon said. “I am sure he will have one.”

Let his grandfather’s overbearing nature be of some benefit for once. Judging by the endless stream of ravens into the rookery today, they could very well hear from him today. With four days passed since the birth, the responses from his family in King’s Landing would just be arriving.

The king’s would be effusive in its praise, he knew, with a tone of unbearable self-satisfaction at such an outcome less than a year after the wedding.

“You could let the babe decide,” his father said, earning Daemon’s glare. Whose side are you on, Father?

“Baelon and Aemon,” Daemon said, irritated that his father refused to take either the compliment or the bait. “They are twins. That is a bond they will have their whole lives. What better bond to honor than yours and Uncle Aemon’s?”

“I recall Viserys saying you favored Aegon.”

He had, but that had been when Daemon had been expecting a single son or daughter. A grand name, to herald a grand legacy. But two sons who had shared the womb, who already seemed upset to be parted for too long—

There was only one bond like it that Daemon had known.

His father glanced down at Jon, who had woken from a nap to peer at him. “What are your thoughts, little dragon? Do you favor Aegon?” His dark-haired son frowned, almost as though in response. “No? And what of Rodrik?” A whimper this time. “Hubert” was met with a screaming rage that Daemon had to take him in arm to calm, pleased at his son’s good taste, until “Jon” received an alert blink and an excited flailing of limbs.

“Baelon,” Daemon suggested quickly to take advantage of his son’s good mood. The suggestion was not received as poorly as the others, at least.

“That settles it, does it not?” Rhea said.

“It does not,” Daemon said through clenched teeth. Jon. The most plain of names imaginable. He could not believe that his father was willing to play along with this charade. “Let us ask Aemon his thoughts, if we are to be listening to infants.”

Aemon fussed at being taken from his father’s arms, and when his light purple eyes focused upon Daemon’s face, he fussed all the louder. “You were happy enough to be sung to last night,” Daemon reminded him, humming the tune of the lullaby until his son’s upset softened to light worry instead. “Is your brother a Jon?” He paused to give him a moment to respond, but his son continued to stare at him, as though awaiting something. “Or is he a Baelon?”

His son cooed softly, causing Daemon to turn to his wife in triumph.

“He is asking for his grandsire,” she said, her gaze withering.

[celestiamour]

Would you do Peter and his spouse welcoming their first child to narnia if they had never left and gone back to the professors house

ft. pevensies & f! reader’s daughter (& peter x f! reader) — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ welcoming the birth of the first heir of narnia┊0.7k words

setting: the golden age contains: mentions of labor & one of death

➤ author's note: i probably went off prompt because i assumed that you meant peter & the reader having their first kid in the golden age, but i didn’t focus it on them and focused it on the kid so feel free to send in something else!!

news that the queen had gone into labor spread like wildfire throughout the palace and spilled into the rest of the kingdom, becoming the only thing anyone could talk about for the day since the realm hadn’t seen the birth of a son of adam or daughter of eve in a hundred years after the reign of the white witch. all of narnia held its breath in anticipation for the safety of the queen and the healthy arrival of her child, knowing that the magic of the lands would protect her yet still nervous at the slim chance of a worse-case scenario. one half of cair paravel was bustling with maids running around like headless chickens to tend to their queen while the other half didn’t feel like they could even speak above a whisper for these hours out of nervousness, many simply loitering about instead of working and patiently waiting for an update since they didn’t feel like they could do anything at all until then.

oh, but when the first piercing cry of an infant rang throughout the hallway, it was like the entire world stilled for all the attention to be focused on the first heir of the prophesied monarchs: a daughter of eve with the same royal sapphire eyes as her father and the smile of her mother that shines brighter than the sun. the next high queen who will someday rule with the same grace and wisdom as her parents once did before they eventually pass, but for now, she is a little bundle of joy who doesn’t even know her own name, much less how important she is or the future she’s destined for.

peter couldn’t help but shed a tear of happiness at the sight of her, sitting next to you in the bed and gently holding her for the first time. a product of your shared love and devotion for each other through thick and thin, so frail and delicate placed perfectly in his arms and without a single thought in her little head as she stuck out her pudgy arms at him to touch his face. and just like your love that started out small, she will grow into something so beautiful and powerful that its power will be written into history books about the beginning of narnia’s golden age.

lucy is gushing over how cute she is and immediately runs over to pinch her chubby cheeks, so thrilled that she’s no longer the youngest in the family (even if she’ll always be the baby to her siblings) and to be the cool aunt that she’s always dreamed of becoming— the one who helps her sneak out of boring lessons for an adventure and the one who shields her from her father’s scolding once they get caught, she’ll always be your daughter's favorite relative because of all of the whimsical memories and helping her to always be a child at heart.

susan is calm as always with a glint of excitement and adoration in her eyes when she sees her new niece. she’ll act like a tutor of sorts for her as she grows older, teaching her about the ways of royalty and proper etiquette for young ladies (which are often the very classes that lucy occasionally assists in skipping). despite that, your daughter will deeply appreciate her older aunt for everything she does for her: for helping her out when she fights with you, for teaching her that a lady doesn’t always need to be submissive, and for all the knowledgeable advice that she will carry with her for her entire life.

edmund is just in awe at the very fact that he is an uncle, knowing that this day would have come inevitably and still in disbelief that it happened. he’s a bit of a bad-influence uncle, accidentally teaching your child swear words, helping her prank her father on occasion, and swinging her around on his shoulders when she’s still little, but he always means well and teaches her that being nobility doesn’t mean that you need to give up your sense of humor.

mr tumnus was the one to announce to the people that the queen safely delivered a healthy heir, a daughter named aurora which has latin roots meaning “dawn” to represent the dawn of her generation of rulers. she will be a beloved monarch who will look over narnia and its inhabitants with the same love that her parents raised her with, eventually receiving the worthy title of “high queen aurora, the gracious.”

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she met Cassian

azriel x rhy's sis (oc)

*Azriel is not in this particular imagine as this was before he met Rhys, Cass and Val.

warnings: fluff/mild angst

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. This is when Cassian gets introduced to their life. You can find the masterlist for the collection of imagines here.

**

Windhaven was cold, dark and uninviting. It lacked the warmth and joy Velaris radiated. Still, Valeria preferred to be here as she found a strange comfort in the seemingly desolate place. Home was wherever her family was and for the time being, it was necessary for Rhysand to spend his adolescent years here.

 It was a huge adjustment for her as the Illyrians in the camp did not take kindly to her free-spirited nature. How dare a young girl act like the child she is? It became abundantly clear to her that she had to tread carefully, being mindful not to transgress the rigid boundaries set by the Illyrians. The boundaries that were interlaced with the toxic threads of misogyny and patriarchy in the disguise of tradition.

Days slipped away swiftly within Windhaven's clutches. Valeria's mother had taken it upon herself to oversee her daughter's education, a responsibility she gladly accepted. Lessons would commence after breakfast, right after bidding Rhysand farewell for his long day of training. Instead of delving into the teachings of “noble lady” etiquette, Valeria's days concluded with a needle and thread, her mother, a revered seamstress, guiding her through.

On days when tasks were few and far between, Valeria would dedicate her time to music. The violin, a gift from her mother, allowed her to lose herself in the gentle melodies. She did not expect to fall in love with music the way she did.

Her mother was overjoyed with this newfound passion. She continued to fuel it with more musical instruments. First, a harp and then finally, a piano. Valeria had been initially drawn to the allure of the violin, hoping to capture her father’s attention and follow in her grandmother’s footsteps. However, she found an unexpected sanctuary in the gentle embrace of the piano’s keys and preferred it to her other instruments.

Valeria gently set her violin down as her gaze wandered toward the window in her room, tracing the silhouette of her brother. Her brows knitted into deep furrows and she rushed to the window for a better look. The signs of a grueling training session were etched on Rhysand's features—bruised jaw and a cut lip with caked blood. It was not uncommon to find bruises on her brother’s face but as her eyes raked over his form, she also noticed the wince in his walk and the absence of the coat he had been wearing this morning before he left. 

The winds outside were chilling yet Rhysand looked unfazed by the cold. If anything, Valeria couldn’t help but sense a touch of smugness in his demeanor. Strange, she thought before rushing down the stairs to greet him. She itched to ask about his day, as she always did.

“Rhysand!” Their mother called out as she met her children in the foyer with wide eyes. “What happened to your sweet face?”

Rhysand shrugged as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You should see the other boy.”

Valeria rolled her eyes at his arrogance. A trait of his that grew more and more apparent every day. A part of her secretly hoped that the other boy’s injuries were less and not as severe. While their mother scolded him for braving the cold without a coat, Valeria shifted her gaze towards the window in time to spot as a young boy passed by.

He appeared to be the same age as Rhysand and recognition dawned on her. She had seen him before. Multiple times, actually, as it was a daily sighting after training hours.

Although she did not know his name, she was aware of his identity. A bastard, as the camp referred to him as. He was the bastard son of another camp’s warrior. He was separated from his mother at a young age and forced to fend for himself and train here. Val couldn't fathom a life devoid of warmth, safety, or care, but she imagined it to be a dreadful existence. Nobody should endure such hardships. 

A nasty bruise adorned his eye and there was also a wince in his walk. She wondered if both Rhysand and this boy received lashings on their backs as punishment for any mayhem that may have caused in training. Unlike all the other days, the boy was appropriately dressed for the weather this cold day. Realization flashed within her eyes as she saw it was thanks to her brother’s coat.

Driven by curiosity, Valeria ventured outside, ignoring her mother’s scolding for leaving without her coat. She found herself eager to engage with the boy. She had been itching for an excuse to do so when she had learned why the camp shunned him. "Hey!" she called out as she approached him.

The boy paused and met her gaze.

"That’s my brother’s coat," she pointed out, the cold wind nipping at her cheeks.

The boy responded with a defensive glare, his long wavy hair whirling in the wind, but Valeria remained undeterred.

"Would you like to eat dinner with us?"

"I kicked your brother’s ass," the boy stated with a raise of his brow. A flicker of amusement flashed in his hazel eyes.

"I know," Valeria said, a smile playing on her lips.

"Valeria, it’s dinner time!" her mother's voice called out from the doorway. “Invite your friend!”

The boy weighed his options. He could go home, where there would be no dinner, but at least he’d be in the comfort of his own space. As tiny and humble the tent may be. Or he could accept the girl’s invitation and enjoy a warm dinner in her company, even if it meant entertaining whatever intentions she had. It couldn’t be that bad, right? And as the aroma of dinner made its way to him, his decision was clear.

As the evening sun painted the sky with hues of orange and gold, Valeria and the boy headed inside into the tranquility of her family’s home. The flickering candlelight casted shadows across the room and the scent of dinner filled the air.

Rhysand furrowed his brow, glancing at Valeria as both her and the boy approached the dining table. Rhysand made a motion and with a sigh, she followed her brother who led her back to the hallway. He leaned in close to whisper, encouraging her to keep her voice low too while their mother introduced herself to their guest and happily set another place at the table for him.

"Why is he here?”

“He has nowhere to go.” She whispered back.

“He has his tent!”

Valeria shot him a look. “It’s cold outside.”

“He has my coat.” Rhysand replied as he motioned to the injuries on his face.

“It’s cruel for him to be left on his own.”

Rhysand sighed as he leaned back, understanding dawning in his eyes. He recognized the gravity of the boy’s situation and although he couldn’t deny the ache to his injuries or the lashings they received as punishment for their brawl earlier, he was not mad about them. He would’ve done the same, if he were in the other boy’s shoes.  

Just then, a voice chimed in from the kitchen, where the boy had remained seated at the dining table. 

"I can hear you, you know," The boy interjected, a hint of pride in his tone. He had heard the entirety of their conversation.

Rhysand flicked Valeria’s forehead.

“Ow!” Valeria blinked, her hand flying to her forehead. “What was that for?”

“For not knowing how to whisper, you fool!”

“You’re the one who wanted an explanation.” Valeria shot back in defense, scowling at her brother.

 “I don’t need your pity.” 

The siblings turned to the boy, who now stood under the doorway and glowered at them. Valeria smiled warmly at the boy, extending an understanding gesture towards him. "Of course. We were just discussing that everyone deserves a warm meal and a place to call home." 

The boy’s expression softened at her kindness but he was wary of the pity that often accompanied such gestures. He disliked being seen as someone in need, even though that was the cruel reality of his life.

Their mother, sensing the need to ease the situation, spoke up. “Let’s hurry and eat dinner before it grows cold. Then, off to a warm bath and bed. For everyone.” She said, extending a genuine invitation to the boy with torn shoes. “We don’t have an extra room but we have an extra bed. You’re more than welcome to stay with us.”

The boy hesitated, battling with his pride. The prospect of a warm bath and a comfortable bed was enticing. After moments of contemplation, he managed a grateful bow of his head and accepted the offer.

As they gathered around the table, Cassian–as the boy had later introduced himself– found himself grateful for the warmth and acceptance of Valeria and her mother. He could not say the same for Rhysand, their animosity toward each other after their earlier brawl still strong and evident. He chose to ignore him, opting to exchange casual conversation with their mother and finding humor in the looks Valeria kept sending her brother instead.  

**

There were only three bedrooms upstairs.

One for Lady Yvaine, one for Valeria and one for Rhysand. Valeria had offered to move into her mother’s room but her instruments took up too much space and their mother also used her room as storage for her seamstress work so the idea was shot down. Much to both of their dismay, this resulted in Cassian and Rhysand reluctantly sharing a room. They had agreed, with a hint of humor, not to let their animosity reach murderous levels during their sleep.

Valeria thought that perhaps, Rhysand and Cassian would grow tired of their constant bickering and viciousness toward each other but it appeared it would take much longer than a couple of weeks for their animosity to resolve. Rhysand seemed to enjoy honing his newfound daemati skills at Cassian’s expense, taunting and teasing his mind. The tension often escalated into heated wrestling matches on the living room floor. 

Their mother decided to intervene.

Initially, she denied them supper when their fights escalated, hoping hunger would put an end to their quarrels. When that method no longer seemed to work, she devised a new approach. Bonding time, she called it. It involved the two boys sitting face-to-face, forced to give each other genuine compliments. Even Valeria found herself subject to this discipline when her bickering with Rhysand escalated.

Though Rhysand and Cassian no longer resorted to physical fighting–at least not in the confinements of their home–a new form of subtle passive aggression emerged. When Rhysand learned that Cassian loved peas, he made it a point to consume the majority of them, despite his personal distaste for them. In turn, Cassian became aware of Rhysand’s preference for chicken thighs and on nights they’d have roasted chicken, he would slyly ensure he secured the first pick of chicken thigh, despite his own preference for wings.

A month had passed since Cassian had moved into their home, and the dynamic between him and Rhysand remained a complex work in progress.

However, his bond with Valeria had blossomed into a relationship akin to that of a brother and sister. Initially born out of gratitude for her dinner invitation, Cassian's kindness toward Valeria had deepened as they spent more time together. On nights he wasn’t so tired from training, he’d join her in the living room.

Sometimes, they’d sing or draw together. Their drawings were often at Rhysand’s expense. Valeria had even moved her piano to the living room so that she could show him new songs she’d come up with. He couldn't help but notice Rhysand's subtle pouts whenever their conversations ventured into inside jokes, exclusive to their newfound friendship. Cassian was sincere in his intent but it was an added bonus that his growing closeness with her seemed to needle Rhysand.

**

As the night enveloped the household in a cozy embrace, Rhysand found himself wrestling with a whirlwind of emotions. He had always been close to Valeria, their bond unbreakable, but now seeing her befriend Cassian stirred something inside him. An unfamiliar pang of jealousy. 

He found himself approaching his mother later that evening in the dimly lit kitchen. Valeria had gone to wash up and Cassian had already excused himself to bed. Rhysand’s steps were heavy and as he loudly dragged one of the dining chairs to sit on it, he let out a loud sigh.

His mother, who had been cleaning the dishes, paused. A knowing smile touched her lips as she turned to lean against the sink and observe her son’s turmoil. 

“What troubles my little star?”

Rhysand fidgeted with his hands on the table. He was hesitant to open up, so his mother approached him. Her gentle hand reached out for his, offering comfort through her warm touch.

"I... I don't understand why Valeria is becoming so close to Cassian. You saw how she let him have the last lemon cake slice! She never offers me the last slice.”

"Rhysand," His mother said tenderly, "Valeria has a big heart. She is capable of forming many meaningful bonds and at the moment, Cassian is someone who needs a friend. He could use another one, you know.”

"But what about us?" Rhysand's voice quivered with insecurity.

"No new friendship can replace the bond you two share,” his mother assured him. “Valeria cherishes you deeply. You are, and always will be, her best brother."

Rhysand leaned into his mother’s embrace as her words sinked in, calming the storm of doubts and jealousy that raged within his heart earlier. 

**

Valeria stepped out of the bathroom and hummed quietly to herself. As she passed the room Rhysand and Cassian shared, she noticed the door slightly ajar. Rhysand was still downstairs with their mother but she caught a glimpse of Cassian, who was alone, gazing out the window with tears glistening in his eyes. She recognized the look in his eyes– it was a glimpse into his vulnerable heart.

Deciding she had to do something about her friend’s sadness, Valeria made her way to her room to retrieve something precious to her. It was a  figurine her mother had given her before first leaving for Windhaven. The obsidian figure depicted an Illyrian mother cradling her child, a symbol of protection and love. It had brought her immense comfort in the absence of her mother's physical presence.

Approaching Cassian's room with delicate steps, she caught the sight of him hastily wiping at his eyes. He turned as he heard her footsteps, meeting her gentle gaze. 

Valeria held out the figurine, her voice soft and comforting. “My mother gave this to me when she had to leave. Although she was not with me, she said this mother would take care of me.”

Cassian hesitantly took the figure made of pure obsidian into his hands and studied it intently. The craftsmanship was exquisite, capturing the essence of a mother's love and protection.

“The Mother watches over everyone,” Valeria added, her violet eyes conveying empathy and understanding.

“I hope it can bring you comfort like it did for me.”

A quiet and heartfelt “thanks” escaped Cassian’s lips. He was touched by Valeria's understanding. It was a subtle reassurance that he wasn't alone in this new journey.

**

Valeria found herself calling after Cassian the next morning. “Cassian, your coat!” she exclaimed in concern, hastening her steps to catch up to him. “You don’t want to be cold!”

Rhysand let out an exaggerated sigh as he followed after the two. “Cassian this. Cassian that. Does she not know she has a brother??”

Their mother, standing nearby and having overheard the banter, couldn't help but laugh at Rhysand's playful exasperation. She walked over, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Of course she does, Rhys.” His mother replied, reminding him of their conversation the night before with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. “You’re still the best big bruder,” she added, using the endearing term for “brother” Valeria had used for him when she was younger.

Oblivious to the conversation between her mother and Rhysand, Valeria ran back up to Rhysand. She grinned as she dug into the pocket of her coat and extended her hand out to Rhysand. “I saved you some for your walk to training.”

Rhysand’s lips curled into a grin of his own as he saw her hold out the leftover blueberries from the muffins she and her mother had baked earlier. She had carefully wrapped them in a cloth for him. Blueberries were his favorite.

 “Go on, now. You don’t want to be late,” his mother said as she gave him a gentle push.

Rhysand took the blueberries from Valeria with a quick thanks and ran to catch up with Cassian. His grin grew wider. The warmth of his mother's reassurance and the small treat in his hand thawed any lingering traces of jealousy or insecurity he might have felt.

He knew that despite the newfound bond Valeria had with Cassian, their sibling relationship remained strong and unbreakable.

***

Tag list: @justrepostandlove @kemillyfreitas

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for missing rehearsals for a concert?

I (17X) play the cello and am participating in my local conservatorium’s string ensembles concert in three days. I have been aware of the concert since the start of term (aka four weeks ago). For the first three weeks of this term, I have been completing my final high school exams (I can’t be more specific because it differs wordwide, but they’re the exams that acknowledge that you’ve fully completed your secondary education y’know) so that was obviously very intense and I had a lot on my plate. At the start of term, my cello teacher S (late 20s?F) told me that I’d be playing a solo in the big finale piece that everyone from every ensemble plays in, as I’m one of the more advanced students. I was given the music for this at the start of term, and we have been practicing it in our weekly lessons so that I am prepared. There will be a rehearsal for this piece a few hours before the concert begins. I was also aware that I was performing in my school strings ensemble (which is a piece I have played before with the ensemble and am familiar with), and S also organised that the four Year 12 students (including me) would play a piece together. She organised to have three rehearsals for this on the three days before the concert (aka today, tomorrow and the next). As by this time I knew I would have finished all my exams, I told her that I should be free to be at these rehearsals.

Since finishing high school a week ago, I have gotten a job at a local café, as I haven’t had a job in high school like most people due to not having time with my music commitments. Unfortunately, I was rostered to have work on the days of the first Year 12 piece rehearsal (aka today), the third Year 12 piece rehearsal, and the day of the concert itself (so I would miss the finale piece rehearsal beforehand and would just make it on time for the concert). I considered trying to swap these shifts so that I could go, but A) given that I am brand new (today was my third ever shift) I didn’t think it would be a good idea to try and get out of it so early on in my employment, and B) I didn’t actually have any way to contact a manager and ask for shifts off until today because they hadn’t properly sorted out my paperwork and information yet. I tried to look for solutions for this, but yesterday I decided that I just wouldn’t be able to make it, so I message S to inform her and apologise. She obviously wasn’t happy about this (she started her reply with “yikes”), and checked to see whether I was still happy to play in the school string piece (which I confirmed) and asked whether I was able to play in the concert with another ensemble that I used to play in (I said yes, and she said she’d get the music to me). I left it at this, with the intention to practice my pieces a lot over the next few days.

Today, both me and my mum received an email from S. She was quite angry about the fact that I wasn’t able to attend two out of the three Year 12 piece rehearsals, calling it bad etiquette and saying that it “reflects poorly in the professional world”. (I agree that it wasn’t great for me to have to pull out of those rehearsals when I had previously said that I should be available, but as I said above, I wasn’t really in a position where I could change this). She also said that I was supposed to be at school strings rehearsals yesterday, and at rehearsals for the ensemble I’m no longer in and was only just asked to play in. In this ensemble’s rehearsal, they also ran through the finale piece that I am playing a solo in (which I wasn’t aware they would be doing). S claimed that I had been told that I was supposed to be at these rehearsals this week — I have absolutely zero recollection of this, to the point where I doubt I was asked, but if I was, it was before or during my exams, in which case it doesn’t surprise me that I forgot, as I was highly stressed and just trying to focus on getting through school. I was never given another reminder to be there, so I had no idea I was supposed to be at the rehearsals yesterday. Because of how annoyed she was, I was forced to speak to someone about leaving my shift on the concert day early so that I can attend the rehearsal beforehand, but I’m still not able to attend the Year 12 piece rehearsal in two days time.

I feel really bad about the whole thing, because I genuinely am quite close with S and I know she’s put in a lot of effort to this concert. However, I feel like she’s being unfair in her annoyance. I was unaware I had to be at any rehearsals yesterday because this wasn’t clearly communicated to me (and even if to others it was implied that I should be there, I’m not the kind of person that will pick up on this — I need to be explicitly told). If I had known I was expected to be there, I absolutely would have been there. And obviously not being able to go to the rehearsals because I’m working is frustrating, but I really don’t feel like I had much choice in the matter. If I had been working there for a while, I absolutely would have asked for the days off, but I feel like it’s unfair to expect me to try and cancel those shifts when I’ve only just started the job. I’m glad I’ve managed to arrange to be at the concert day rehearsal, so that I can practice the solo with the rest of the ensemble, but even if I hadn’t been able to, I’ve been practicing the piece and I’ve done performances where I haven’t had a proper rehearsal before, so I think it would have been fine.

Hopefully this made sense, I tried to provide as much detail as possible but I’m very tired and am struggling to be coherent, and it’s also hard to explain the situation through text. So, tl;dr, AITA for:

Not being at rehearsals yesterday that I was unaware I was supposed to be at?

Having to cancel rehearsals because I was rostered during those times?

What are these acronyms?

[noosayog]

[IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU] - knight! Iwaizumi x princess! reader

warnings/content: royal au, arranged marriage, mutual pining, angst

wc: 1.7k

part 4. directory here.

--

Iwaizumi has always been serious. He takes his studies seriously, his knight training seriously, his duties seriously. His primary school teachers often praised him for being a wonderful counterpart to Prince Oikawa’s flippantness and spells of melodrama, unbefitting of a future king. By the end of his first year of primary school, he had heard more compliments for his prompt leashing of Prince Oikawa than for his own achievements. Perfect scores would be praised for being a good example for the future king. Team athletics wins would be praised for making Prince Oikawa look good. Every achievement was marked by the effect it would have on the Prince. 

During Iwaizumi’s first visit to the palace, King Oikawa had said, “I’m glad to meet the young man who has been the subject of unending praises from all the teachers.” 

Iwaizumi had lifted his head from its bowed position, preening from the high praise. 

“Thank you, your Highness.” 

“I thank you for being an exemplary friend to keep my son in check.” 

Smile fading, Iwaizumi had bowed again, muttering an obligatory “of course, it is only my duty.” 

By the time Iwaizumi meets you, his station is very much established. He is your older brother’s companion, friend, and keeper. 

And his frequent visits to the castle translates to frequently seeing you. Oftentimes, he would offer you a wordless bow as you skipped around the palace, no particular destination or objective in mind. You were free, unlike your brother, destined to sit on the throne. The first time he ever spoke words to you, an introduction of himself, you had cut him off. 

“I know you,” you said. “You’re like Toru’s doggy!” 

No doubt, you had innocent intentions but Iwaizumi’s expression had frozen in place. You left him standing there while you frolicked away, blissfully unaware of how easily you had called him out. Even from your young age, you were unapologetically outspoken, no doubt a product of Toru’s spoiling and your parents’ leniency. Iwaizumi was happy to be added to your group of admirers, along with the maids, butlers, and visiting nobles that would trail after you, charmed by your innocence and brightness. Your straightforwardness, untainted by hidden desires and ulterior motives.

You, on the other hand, grew in your dislike for him. He had always suspected it had much to do with the way he always followed orders, solidifying his position as the kingdom’s dog in your little mind. He didn’t mind, though. Iwaizumi was happy to be near your sunny disposition, even if he had to be your raincloud occasionally. 

When Iwaizumi, along with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, were finally knighted, you were just then beginning to start your lessons and etiquette training. Iwaizumi took instant notice of your increasing tantrums and prickly behavior. Nothing irritated you more than knowing that every detail of your day was being reported to your father. 

The anger on your face could not be hidden when the King had formally assigned Iwaizumi as your personal knight. 

“I don’t need a babysitter, father!” 

“Silence! Your mother and I have been lenient enough for your childhood. You are coming of age soon and it would benefit you to learn from someone as upstanding as Sir Iwaizumi.” 

Iwaizumi stood stoic, only bowing a goodbye before following you, storming out of the throne room.

The first couple of months were tough. You did anything and everything to try to shake him from following you and yelled scathing comments everyday. However, it all changed that day when you had tried to sneak out of the castle by jumping your balcony. Iwaizumi’s heart nearly stopped when he saw your little palms gripping the rail and your body swinging precariously from the ledge. 

When he had caught you, your face was pinched up, as if bracing yourself for a lecture from him. And usually, he would. But Iwaizumi himself, was still calming his heartbeat from the fear that he may not have made it in time. Selfishly, he held you closer and tighter the entire way up to your room and it wasn’t until he went to lay you in your bed that he realized how scared you must have been. Your arms refused to unwind themselves from his neck and he simply stayed bent over, allowing you to use him however you pleased. 

After that, well, the rest was history. You abandoned your old methods of bullying him (well, the worst you could really do is make him stand behind you while you invited Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and your elder brother to tea). You swaddled him with attention and he, for once, was pleased to be on the other side. While he already very much liked your prickly, temperamental side, he found that he liked being on the receiving end of your smiles and laughter more. This period of gentle times made it easy to overlook your growing affection for him. He was grateful for your pleasantness and basked contentedly in your attention, so much so that he convinced himself that your newfound attachment to him was simply out of thankfulness and respect, something he didn’t have from you before.

It would be a lie to say that he had never once considered you as a woman upon your growth into your twenties. But whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, he immediately squashed them. He had gone on many midnight runs and requested spontaneous spars with fellow knights to banish those thoughts. You were a princess and he was simply a knight who was lucky enough to be friends with your brother. If he were to even consider breaking tradition and courting you, he would no longer be of use to you and Toru. He was sure the king would banish him from the castle, from seeing you and Toru ever again.

And in spite of all this, he never could have predicted that your feelings for him would remain strong throughout your adult years and even worse, threaten your path to happiness.

Yes, Iwaizumi had known about your engagement many moons before you were to find out. The king had plied Iwaizumi with a file of information on your future partner, prince Kuroo Testuro of Nekoma. It was only natural that Iwaizumi, as your knight and friend, did proper due diligence on the one who would take over his role permanently – his role of caring for you. The bitterness at the thought of being replaced is easy to ignore when he imagines how happy you would be with a partner befitting of your status. 

On paper, Kuroo Tetsuro looked the perfect partner, suitable for someone as wonderful as you. Well-liked, intelligent, and has no history of womanizing. Not that Iwaizumi cared, but the foreign prince was apparently tall, handsome, and funny as well. 

So in a way, this request for union with Nekoma came at a good time. Your prince would be someone all-around loved and lovely. Befitting of a princess.

And your infatuation with him? It has always been something temporary. Once you meet your future husband, you would see how much better you can have than a knight like himself.

Now, he knew you would oppose when the king told you of the betrothal; it wouldn’t be you without the spark of rebellion and slight flair of dramatics. You were your brother’s sister, after all. But nothing prepared Iwaizumi for the sheer despair in your eyes as your father all but prisoned you in your room. He followed you to your room, taking extra care to trail steps behind you. You just needed time, he nodded to himself. 

Intending to give you space and quiet, he remained at the door but you had tugged on his hand, pleading for his company. The signals were going off in his mind, but he couldn’t bear to turn you down, with your watery eyes and red cheeks staring imploringly up at him.

His fears were realized when you had asked him to run away with you.

A part of him that he had been denying and ignoring for years began to fester and throb like a wound that had been ignored for too long. He felt ill at the sight of you being willing to risk your future, your happiness, just to be with him. It was head-spinning, heart-throbbing madness.

And so it had to be him. He had to be the responsible one here. As much as it filled him to the brim with joy that you loved him this much, it scared him equally. Scared him because he had already made up his mind to let you go. Scared that he had far underestimated your infatuation. Scared him that he had made the wrong choice all these years, that he should have distanced himself the moment he realized your feelings. Scared that it was his fault that you won’t be able to fall in love with the right man. Scared that you could now never be happy because it can’t be him. All his fault.

With a breaking heart and shaky hands, he had pried your desperate fingers off. After all, his moment of weakness now could cause you your happiness forever.

And he would never forget your face when he had left you sitting there on the floor of your bedroom.

—

And in spite of all that, Iwaizumi felt betrayed. Betrayed by the on-paper, perfect Prince Kuroo when he heard of the prince’s proposition for you.

He can’t help but feel his efforts wasted. If only this prince had any idea of the clenched fists and unsaid words that Iwaizumi has had to hold back all these years. It should have been so easy for him. Without lifting a finger, this prince has a chance to be with you. To have you as his. And yet, he wants more. He wants you as his partner and another lover. 

This is not the happiness he had always envisioned for you. 

You deserve the world and a husband who loves you whole-heartedly is only the bare minimum.

Iwaizumi cannot believe his ears when you agree.

It gets worse when you send him home. With one word from you, he is not even allowed to remain by your side, watch over you as you attain the happiness you so deserve. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but a hot, bubbly feeling overflows in his chest. It leaves hollow caverns running through his body, nothing but the following thought echoing in his mind:

I’m in love with you.

[tervaneula]

Hi! I'm Terv, welcome to my blog!

How to turn off "Best stuff first" so you'll actually see my posts

Here's some handy-dandy info about my stuff. Might heavily edit this later because I'm nitpicky like that lmao, but anyway, here we go!

Art tag: tervdraws Writing tag: tervdrabbles Personal tag: it's terv

Leonardo/Usagi tag: leoichi

AO3: katterv Pillowfort: tervaneula Bluesky: tervaneula

Commissions: Closed Ko-Fi: tervaneula Redbubble: tervaneula

❌ Do not repost or edit my art and writing! ❌

Trans Rights

A little piece about fandom etiquette

My blog is a tcest & apritello & aprileo free zone.

Latest NQK update

Chapter 15: Bonds

A list of my ROTTMNT related fics under the cut. Most of them are illustrated! 💜

General [9/?]

help me believe (that i'm your brother) (G)

The road to recovery has been long but finally, the brothers are well enough to introduce Future Boy to one of the most comforting of habits - the turtle pile. Unfortunately, Casey has some doubts about his place in their family.

please don't be a hero (again) (G) (part 1 of a series)

Donatello needs his coffee. Leonardo finds him first.

lean on me (i'm strong enough) (G) (part 2 of a series)

Leonardo needs to get better, be better. If not for himself, then for Michelangelo - his baby brother shouldn't worry about him as much as he does.

you make me proud, little brother (G) (part 3 of a series)

Raphael worries and Leo's quip goes wrong. However, it leads to an emotional turnaround neither of them saw coming.

a lesson in trust (G)

Leo feels guilty for getting Raph caught by the Krang and refuses to let go of that burden. His big brother isn't having it anymore.

not quite kintsugi, but close (G) (ongoing)

The plan is simple. If all else fails, Michelangelo will make a time gateway for Casey to undo what Leonardo, in his youthful arrogance, started all those years ago; it will require sacrifice, but they are ready for it. Until the moment comes, of course. Or, in other words - what if Future Leonardo and Michelangelo both end up in the present with Casey? Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery") is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. (Wikipedia)

repeat until death (T) (Major Character Death)

A companion piece to Chapter 7 of not quite kintsugi, but close. Leonardo doesn't want to let go. In the end, as long as Donatello is concerned, he never did.

Cold Feet (G)

Leonardo is enjoying his lazy morning… until a certain human teenager disrupts his peace.

some boys do lay eggs (T)

Leonardo is just about to fall asleep when the weight of a body thuds against the side of his bed, startling him awake, but not awake enough to shake him out of the heaviness of near slumber. “Whassit,” he mumbles, sticking his hand out from his blankets and feeling about until his fingers touch the edge of a hard shell. Ah, he recognises the shape – it’s Leo. “...are we boys?” 

sleepless (G)

Leo is so, so tired and goes to his dad. Splinter thinks up a plan to put into motion in the morning - but it seems that he's already helping.

Leoichi (Rise x Usagi Chronicles) [9/?]

with friends like these (G) (part 2 of a series)

Meeting up with his old friends and introducing his new boyfriend to them certainly hadn't been in Yuichi's plans for the day - but it turns out to have been a welcome surprise later when it helps him realise something important about his own feelings.

make your home in me (E) (part 4 of a series)

Click the link to read the summary!

world's end boyfriend (T) (AU)

Leonardo lost Yuichi to the apocalypse almost exactly five years ago. It's now been a year since he, Michelangelo and Casey made their impossible portal trip to the present day, successfully preventing the Krang invasion this time - so imagine Leonardo's surprise when his little brother tells him that they're going to rescue his mate. They only have one chance.

and just like that (T) (ongoing) (part 1 of a series)

What was supposed to be a simple shopping trip to the Hidden City turns into an embodiment of a romcom when Leonardo runs into an unfamiliar white rabbit. Or more accurately, the rabbit's dining table.

soft bunny, warm bunny, little ball of— uh oh (G) (part 3 of a series)

Leonardo feels so lucky. He has the world's softest boyfriend who doesn't mind being treated like a giant teddy bear! Too bad it made him forget something very important.

breathe (and let go) (M) (part 5 of a series)

Leonardo needs a break from his… everything, and Yuichi is always more than happy to indulge him.

cracks never healed (they can heal now) (T)

Their plans for a nice date go awry when Leonardo and Yuichi run into a giant rampaging robot. It's swiftly dealt with, but not without a price.

well worth the wait (G)

Hana has been worried about her adoptive father's new relationship. Yuichi puts those worries to rest.

taking it slow (G)

Leonardo keeps holding himself to the impossible standards of a long-lost future and it doesn't take a genius to see that it does him no favours. Yuichi takes it upon himself to teach his boyfriend that some days should be spent in bed.

And that's it! For now. <3

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

hi dillo! can you please do a johnny imagine? it can be of anything you want, you have total free range! thank you!

Partner Project

A/N: One free-range Johnny imagine coming up! Hope you like this Nonny, I thought it was cute :D

“Mr. Cade?”

Johnny’s dark eyes slowly lifted from his composition notebook and he tapped his pencil against the corner nervously, already not liking the tone of his teacher’s voice.

She smiled when he looked up at her, a sickly sweet smile that set Johnny’s nerves on edge. “Mr. Cade, I couldn’t help but notice that you hadn’t found yourself a partner yet.”

Johnny didn’t like her. She was a cranky old woman who, on the best days, liked to pester the whole class with backhanded questions and lecture them on things that didn’t even pertain to her teachings. She taught English for Christ’s sake, Johnny thought hopelessly every time she started on one of her tangents, not etiquette lessons. He sighed and mentally prepared himself for another lecture.

“Would you like me to find one for you?” she offered. That smile was still on her face. Johnny couldn’t help the small shudder that ran through his body and he looked back down at his notebook.

“I’m okay,” he muttered softly. “I’ll work by myself.”

She laughed and the sound was almost worse than nails dragging down a chalkboard. Johnny pushed the tip of his pencil a little harder into his paper.

“Mr. Cade this is a partner assignment. That means you have to work with someone.”

Well, shit. Johnny hated partner assignments. He opened his mouth to reply, to beg for her to just leave him alone and let him do the project on his own, but he’d obviously been too late for her. That sickly sweet smile was directed straight at him, not quite reaching her eyes.

“I’ll find you a partner,” she promised. Her eyes scanned the classroom, rolling over the students who’d already paired together and sat around, clustered together and laughing as they socialized instead of starting on their projects.

She must have found someone eventually because she made a small noise of success that had Johnny’s stomach rolling. Partner assignments were always the worst. People thought he was stupid because he didn’t always understand the classwork right away and he was often too shy to talk to anyone in his classes.

“Y/N! Do me a favor and come sit with Mr. Cade, would you? He’s going to be your partner for this project.”

Y/N?

Johnny may have been too shy to talk to anyone in his classes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know their names. Y/N wasn’t one that he was familiar with. The sound of a chair scooting across the floor came from behind him, and Johnny glanced up, looking back over his shoulder. When he saw them, Johnny let out a soft breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Y/N was pretty.

Very pretty.

They scooped their backup from the floor hesitantly and closed their notebook, keeping a finger inside to not lose their page. They looked from Johnny to the teacher and stepped out from behind their desk. Their eyes met Johnny’s, and the greaser could practically feel the red burning in his ears. He dropped his gaze back to his notebook and continued to scribble half-heartedly, trying to hide.

“There you are,” his teacher said, sounding far too excited for the predicament she’d just dropped Johnny into. “Now you’ve got a partner. I can’t wait to see what the two of you do together.”

With that, she walked away, and Y/N stopped at the side of his desk. Johnny’s pencil snapped.

“Um,” Y/N started, nervously scratching at the back of their neck. Johnny tried very hard to keep his leg from bouncing nervously and let his useless pencil drop to the center of his notebook, still looking down. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

Johnny found himself shaking his head and then Y/N was pulling out the chair next to him and sitting down, dropping their backpack gently by their feet. Their notebook sat open in front of them. Y/N liked to doodle in the margins, Johnny noticed. Small stars and flowers filled the space where notes should have been. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one not paying attention.

“My name’s Y/N,” they said softly. Johnny watched as they rubbed the toes of their shoes against the tile floor. “What’s yours?”

“Johnny.”

“Hi, Johnny.”

“Hi.”

It was quiet for a moment and then Y/N crossed their arms on the desk and let their head rest across their forearms. Johnny could see them now, out of the corner of his eyes. They were prettier up close.

“I just moved here. I haven’t met very many people yet.”

Johnny only nodded. He watched them as they traced a line in their drawing with their finger.

“Do you know a lot of people around here? Have any friends.”

“A few,” Johnny admitted after a pause. “We ain’t real popular or nothin’.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Sometimes that’s better. Popularity isn’t always the best thing.” 

They lifted their head and took a deep breath, rolling their shoulders a little. Looking over at Johnny, they smiled, and Johnny’s heart started to beat a little bit faster. He hoped the color he felt rushing to his face wasn’t too noticeable. “Guess we should get started then, huh? Project’s not gonna do itself.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“Oh!” Y/N said suddenly, bending to rummage in their backpack. They pulled out another pencil and dropped it on top of Johnny’s notebook with another smile. “Since yours broke, you can borrow one of mine!”

Johnny blinked. Hesitantly, he reached out and picked up the pencil, earning one more smile from Y/N. This was going to be a very long project. 

[karter-xoxoxoxox333]

TWST CHARACTERS REACTING TO LIGMA JOKES!!

POMEFIORE

CW: French, light cursing, pencil as w3apon 😨😨

Epel:

Epel had finally escaped Vil and came to ramshackle for freedom. Knowing in the state it was in currently, Vil would most likely steer clear of entering. He sat with you on the crusty and oddly crunchy ramshackle couch, finally free from the “torture” that was etiquette lessons.

“No no prefect you don’t get it . Do you know how hard it is to be all prim and proper in pomefiore??” He groaned,” all the ‘elbows off the table Epel’ and ‘Epel that’s not the salad fork that’s the fish fork’ What even is a fish fork??? Why do you need more than one fork one fork works just fine!!”

…

..

…

You looked at epel with the most dead serious expression you could muster ,

“Do you know how hard it is to live with ligma Epel? You don’t understand MY pain. So stop complaining 🤧🤧”

“…What’s ligma..?”

You couldn’t break character now, you were too far in..

“Ligma balls”

…

…..

…

As Epel’s expression melted from confusion to disgust to you couldn’t help but start giggling.

“Prefect. what the fuxk”

ROOK:

Today sucked. Legitimately. So you lie your head down, prepared to fall into a lovely sleep. And suddenly you feel a pair of eyes on you.

That’s not cool.

But out of fear you decide not to move, then you hear quiet footsteps coming from behind you.

You have a pencil in hand , and your grip on it tightens.

They get closer and closer and you can almost hear their heartbeat they’re so close. Then you strike..?

Someone grabbed the pencil out of your hand before you could get a good stab in.

“Ah Trickster…tu as blessé mes sentiments!! How could you ever intend to wound a poor hunter such as me?”

You sigh as loud as possible, just to really rub in your annoyance. “Rook you scared the shit out of me. I can’t stand guys with ligma.”

Rook stares at you for a few seconds, and you can’t really tell what he’s thinking until he says,” What might ligma be?”

“Ligma balls”

You , burst out in giggles. Rook however, only lightly chuckles.

“My trickster your humor is as melodic as the sweet singing of a bird,” he pulls out a creepily perfect rose from out of thin air,” Would you care to join me in seeing the film Bofa?”

“Bofa?? What???”

“Both of these nuts in your mouth.”

Your face only expresses pure shock.

He takes a picture.

VIL:

(Odd choice.)

Vil told you to come over so he could do your makeup for some publicity event NRC was doing . So obviously you showed up because let’s be real , you didn’t have a choice.

“Thank you for being punctual prefect.”

“Yeah yeah.. So what do you need me to do?”

He stares at you for a second like you asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “I need you to sit.”

You walk over to the vanity seat and sit down (it’s very comfy 😼😼) ,” Dang dang I’m sorry I’m sorry I had too much up dog this morning for breakfast.”

“Potato. Don’t consider me so stupid as to fall for your silly ploys.”

Then he starts doing your makeup, “Vil do you know why I need to go to this event in the first place?? It feels kind of ligma to me.” You ask.

“Potato, the headmaster invited you. So you must go,” he pulls your hair out of your face a bit rougher than needed,”- now quit asking questions and be still you’ll crease the foundation.”

…..

When he finishes you look like you eat 3 healthy meals and day and have your life together, like the embodiment of perfection ,” Thanks vil !! I look so pretty-“ you lift your hand up to touch your face.

..

He smacks it away. “Yes yes I know. Now if you had used the skincare I gave you, you wouldn’t need makeup to look as stunning as you do now.” He grabs for a hair curler.

You never got to make your joke.

[crowfeatherquill]

To Aid and Be Aided, Pt. 1

Astarion does not, generally, put much stock in the idea of the gods. Certainly, the presence of clerics and paladins and their ilk makes it difficult to deny that the gods exist -- the faithful miracles have to come from somewhere -- but they’ve never had so much as the time of day for him, so he’s not entirely sure why he should bother paying them any respect.

That said, the baths at the Elfsong may, somewhat, just a little, be inspiring him to reconsider that stance.

He sinks deeper into the water, letting it lap at his chin and lower lip, and closes his eyes. A good many of the bodily discomforts he incurred in the battle with his sire -- his former sire, he sternly reminds himself -- have faded entirely or are at the very least seeing themselves out. The wounds still sting, certainly, and the scar on his back throbs dully along with a pulse he had sort of forgotten he still had, but the reek of death has more or less vacated his nose, and though he’s sure they’ll all be saying their piece tomorrow morning, the aching in his muscles has, at least for the moment, abated.

Still…his mind reels. There is so much to process -- more than he thinks he may have ever needed to get through in the past, let alone wanted to. And even if he had, it wasn’t as though he'd had ample opportunity up to now anyway. But now…even here, away from that awful crypt and the awful smell, and the stale air still electrified with the immense power of the broken ritual, he can’t seem to stop thinking. No matter how much he scrubs at his skin, he still feels Cazador’s blood on him -- his master finds a way to claw and cling to him even in death. It makes him feel ill. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin. It makes him--

His thoughts stutter to a halt when he hears the doorknob turning and cold terror turns the gentle warmth of the bathwater to ice in his veins. He ducks further into the water, instinct screaming at him to try to hide as though it won’t be obvious as soon as the Master walks in that he’s here when he’s not meant to be -- hasn’t earned it. He very nearly inhales water as his panicked breathing and bone-deep compulsion to make himself small collide at precisely the point where his nose meets the surface of the water. He squeezes his eyes more tightly shut as the door opens, ever-so-slightly. Maybe if he keeps them shut, it’ll be better. Maybe he can go back to that dream he was having where he was free.

“Just me.”

The soft timbre of Tathlyn’s voice settles his racing heart with a gentle caress, and he feels his posture slacken slightly. Not enough to be comfortable -- every muscle in his shoulders and back is screaming at him -- but enough that he can open his eyes and raise the lower half of his face back out of the bath.

“Did you need something, darling?”

The words spill from his lips without thought and his own voice sounds hollow and haunted even to him. Unsurprising, then, that Tathlyn’s head and shoulders come into view past the door in response. What does take him a bit by surprise is the way Tathlyn keeps his eyes averted -- careful not to look where he hasn’t been invited to, despite his obvious expression of concern. It blooms something warm and fond in Astarion’s chest in the same breath that he finds himself worried that Tathlyn may not want to look at him anymore after everything that’s just happened. The tangled mess of bitterness and tenderness only compounds the spinning in his head.

“Ah- no, not…not specifically.” Somehow as he speaks, Tathlyn manages to sound both soothing in that steady way of his and…a touch embarrassed? Ashamed? Astarion can’t quite parse the underlying emotion and it eats at him. “I just…are you alright?”

On instinct, Astarion reaches for humor.

“Fine, darling, you just gave me a bit of a fright. I suppose whatever etiquette lessons they teach in Menzoberranzan don’t have anything to say about knocking.”

The worry in Tathlyn’s expression deepens and suddenly Astarion feels shame stirring in his gut and clawing at his throat. Even absent any evidence of intent on Tathlyn’s part, Astarion still finds that the feeling makes him want to grovel. Beg forgiveness. Before he can, Tathlyn is speaking again.

“Stars…I did. You didn’t answer, so I thought…” he sighs, “I was worried. I didn’t mean to scare you. If…if you’re sure you’re alright, I can leave you be.”

Something small and sharp squeezes at Astarion’s heart when Tathlyn says this -- a desperation he would have considered lost to him not all that long ago. He doesn’t know what exactly he wants but he’s certain he doesn’t want to be alone. Not now that Tathlyn’s here.

“I mean- you could stay. After all, I was perfectly relaxed before you came along and now I’m practically back where I started thanks to you,” the words tumble out of him in a rush, sharper than he means them to be, “The least you could do is help.”

Tathlyn rests his weight against the doorframe a little and that wounded, sorry expression creeps back over his face. It makes Astarion want to shovel his words back into his mouth, no matter how much they might cut his gums.

“I think I can manage that,” Tathlyn says, softly, “As long as that’s actually what you want.”

It’s unnerving and endearing in equal measure the way Tathlyn has become so adept at cutting straight to the heart of Astarion’s words -- no matter how he tries to obfuscate. At first, he worries that Tathlyn’s hesitance has something to do with him. Then it strikes him that Tathlyn has never been all too adept at keeping his feelings off his face. If there were disgust there, he would see it, but all he sees is the way those delicate brows furrow -- the way the gentle mouth pulls off to one side as he tries to decide whether to push back or acquiesce.

Even after everything he's seen and come to know, Astarion realizes, his lover is still trying to protect his privacy. The emotion this elicits in him cannot properly be put into words. For the first time since crossing the threshold of Szarr palace, his mind stills and singular thoughts are able to pull into focus. He realizes, more fully, the weight that Tathlyn is putting on the agreement they made back at Moonrise. That he had genuinely meant it when he’d said ‘as long as you need.’  

That he doesn't know if he can actually bear the thought of never feeling those lips on his skin again.

It almost brings tears to his eyes. Almost.

“I…it is, yes,” he says, softly, for lack of any better response and not trusting himself not to choke if he tries for more words.

Tathlyn nods his understanding and Astarion meets his eyes for the first time as he moves further into the room, closing the door behind him as he does. He looks so tired. And Astarion can hardly blame him. As exhausted as he himself is in the wake of everything that happened to them today, Tathlyn lost three companions, himself included. Even if he was able to bring them all back, it has to have taken a toll.

As Tathlyn draws closer and settles by the edge of the bath, Astarion continues to take in as many details as he can find. It’s better, he thinks, to focus on this than to keep trying to unravel the impossible knot of his own feelings on the matter.

“Where does it hurt?”

It’s a simple question. It should, in theory, have an equally simple answer, but Astarion finds he doesn’t know where to start. Tathlyn fills the time by fussing with the runes that govern the function of the bath. The water clears and Astarion realizes he hadn’t noticed it going cloudy with blood and grime. The temperature rises -- just slightly -- and the warmth starts to sink back into him where its grip had loosened as he sat, lost in thought.

“My…shoulders could use some attention,” he admits, though the words try to catch in his throat. He is unused to this, still -- being offered kindness that isn’t bait; that he’s actually allowed to grab onto and pull close.

Tathlyn shuffles around to sit behind him and strokes the back of one hand up his neck, taking a damp strand of hair at his nape in his fingers and tugging, gently. Affectionately.

“Sit forward,” he instructs, and Astarion feels his body move almost of its own accord.

It’s not like it was with Cazador. He could resist if he wanted to -- dig his heels in and refuse to budge, and Tathlyn wouldn’t force him. It’s almost because he knows Tathlyn won’t push that he can’t imagine ever fighting him on something like this. What would be the point?

He sees one of Tathlyn’s arms appear over his shoulder, reaching past him to take one of the bottles arranged on the far side of the bath, and gives to the impulse to pepper a few kisses up his forearm. He stops at the crook of Tathlyn’s elbow, resting against the soft flesh there, and Tathlyn pauses a moment to let him linger before gently pulling away. He still smells of sweat and hours-old blood. Astarion tries to ignore the dull pang of hunger that stirs at the thought.

It isn’t difficult to put the thought from his mind as the scent is quickly overtaken by whatever perfume must have been in the bottle Tathlyn took. And then there’s the feeling of Tathlyn’s hands across his shoulders, working gently to coax the tension out of the base of his neck, and suddenly there’s no room for anything in Astarion’s brain but the sensation of the warm, steady grip against his skin. And anyway why would he want to think of anything else? This is just fine.

He curls forward to rest his chin against his knees, presenting more of his back to Tathlyn’s reach, and shuts his eyes again. Tries to return to that easy, loose-limbed peace he’d almost found before, where his mind could wander in the absence of any pressing complaints from his body. Tathlyn’s hands continue their work, occasionally inspiring a wince or a sigh but never forcing past the barrier of pain.

Eventually, feeling a forearm slide over one of the larger knots in the meat of his shoulder, Astarion tips his head to the side and opens one eye. The intent is perhaps to catch Tathlyn’s wrist with another kiss before he pulls it back out of reach, but what happens instead shatters whatever peace the quiet moment may have afforded.

There is a long streak of red stretching across his shoulder where Tathlyn’s forearm has just been. It’s fresh, from the look of it, and mixes with the water and whatever oil Tathlyn has been using to avoid friction between their skin, dripping down his chest until it finds the surface of the bath and spreads -- a single drop into a rosy cloud in the water. He stares at it, transfixed, as the smell finally cuts through the aromatic oil, sharper than the trace of old blood that had lingered on Tathlyn’s skin.

This time the hunger is far from dull. It grips him by the throat and turns his stomach, forcing a shiver through him despite the warmth of the water. It shouldn’t feel this real. The phantom cling of Cazador’s cold, ancient blood returns to his legs and he digs his nails in against his upper arms, caught between the unpleasant memory and the equally unbearable present.

Thathlyn’s hands go still against his back.

“Stars…? What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I…” he tries to say it’s nothing. Tries to summon the breezy dismissal that always would’ve worked before, but it doesn’t come. He lets out a pitiful, half-choked sigh -- the only noise of distress he seems capable of producing, “There’s…blood.”

Tathlyn stops a moment, seeming to process, and Astarion hears the shift of fabric on fabric before--

“Ah. Shit. Thought I got that. Sorry, love, one second.”

It’s not the response he’s expecting and that in itself is enough to bring him out of the nose-dive he’s taking inside his own head. He blinks, confused, and turns to look as Tathlyn comes back into view, damp cloth in hand and ready to clean the blood off Astarion’s skin. But that doesn’t make any sense. If it’s real, what he’s seeing, streaked across his shoulder and chest, where could it have come from? It can’t be Cazador’s, surely, or it wouldn’t be this fresh, so how--

His eyes catch on something glistening wet against the skin of Tathlyn’s arm -- the one he’s using for support as he leans in to swipe the cloth across Astarion’s chest. He narrows his eyes and turns to look closer, and finds the source of the blood.

Tathlyn is bleeding.

Most of it runs down his arm to pool on the stone at the edge of the bath, but it’s also begun creeping into the fabric of his rolled-up sleeve. Now that he’s paying attention, Astarion can see a gash in the skin where Tathlyn must have raised an arm to fend off an attack his blades couldn’t catch.

Questions crowd to the front of his mind. Why did no one take care of this? What exactly has Tathlyn been doing all this time that his wounds were left un-tended? Had no one noticed? Had no one cared? Surely Wyll, at least, could have taken it upon himself to say something.

At the same time, though, he finds himself frozen, mesmerized by the presence of fresh blood so close. The smell has him well and truly captivated and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the slowly-growing puddle of it by the palm of Tathlyn’s hand. He should lick it from the stone, from Tathlyn’s skin, should drink from the vein -- he finds himself starving all at once.

He can’t remember the last time he fed. Surely Tathlyn wouldn’t mind. He never minds. Always so ready to give whatever’s asked of him.

The arm moves out of his field of view, leaving only the small pool of blood on the stone and Astarion blinks, hard. Tries to force himself back into feeling like he has conscious control of his own limbs. This isn’t good. Whatever is happening to him, he needs to find a way out of this room before he does something he’ll regret.

He glances up at Tathlyn, absently, as he tries to concoct an excuse -- as the hunger threatens to swallow him whole -- and sees the grimace on his face as he presses the cloth to his open wound. Tathlyn meets his gaze and an awkward pass at a reassuring smile flickers across his face. Mostly it just looks like an apologetic wince.

For the briefest moment, the hunger is overtaken by indignation at the thought that Tathlyn would ever feel the need to apologize for being injured. He opens his mouth to say as much and the copper tang of blood ghosts across his tongue before the words can escape. It leaves him reeling. Tathlyn must see it in his face, because he frowns, looks down at his own arm and then at the blood he’s left on the edge of the bath, then back at Astarion in that careful, studying way he sometimes does when he thinks there’s something Astarion isn’t telling him.

“Do you want-”

“Yes.” The word forces its way out of his chest in an unbidden, desperate breath, and instantly Astarion is disgusted with himself.

It’s bad enough he nearly left what little soul he could still claim he had in the ritual circle in Cazador’s crypt. Bad enough that he’d considered ending seven thousand lives to preserve his own at the cost of the only thing that would have made it worth living at all. Bad enough that he’d turned to Tathlyn and piled the burden of that decision onto his shoulders alongside two fresh corpses he could barely lift on his own. Now he can’t even manage a little hunger -- as though all the lessons Cazador imparted with regard to keeping himself well in check were left back there with his corpse.

“No,” he corrects, firmly, “No, I. I-I’ll be fine. I’m…just give me a moment. Please.”

Tathlyn’s frown turns inquisitive and he loosens his grip on his injured arm.

“I mean…it’s fine, really. If I’m going to be spilling blood anyway, better it doesn’t go to waste.” That shocks Astarion fully back into his body -- possibly for the first time since they’d entered Szarr Palace.

[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

24. Pointy Stick of Doom

Note: The one in which Cosette cannot sword fight to save her life.

“And then they had the audacity to tell me that I am not trying!”

“No, how dare they.” Cosette gasped, monitoring the two boiling pots of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Oh it gets worse. My etiquette tutor told me I have the social and physical coordination of a wrigwrot! I don’t even know what a wrigwrot is!” Briar exclaimed, putting perfume bottles away onto their appropriate shelves.

“Cauldron boil me.” Cosette managed out without giggling.

That phrase still felt strange to say. Also, I too have no idea what that animal is.

Briar had decided to make it a regular occurrence to show up at Cosette’s perfumery with no prior announcement. Today was no exception, with the human bursting into the perfumery the moment they opened, Aquilo and a couple guards at her heels. 

Not that Cosette was complaining, she liked the company in the mornings. They also brought breakfast for her and Ophelia each time.

No one in their right mind would say no to free food, especially when the payment for it was simply chatting.

“Right?! I’ll have you know Aquilo complimented my fighting abilities, so clearly I have some degree of elegance!” Briar was frustrated.

It genuinely sounds like all your teachers just suck. I mean, hearing ‘you’re not even trying’ is one of the worst things when you’re breaking your back to achieve something.

“Well, if Aquilo complimented you then your teacher just doesn’t know any better.”

“But Viviane said she’s one of the best tutors in Winter Court.”

“Ah, in Winter Court, not in all of Prythian though.”

“I doubt they have those rankings.”

“They should since you deserve only the best.” Cosette winked at Briar who blushed at the compliment.

“Now, you’ve rambled about the dance lessons, how are your history courses coming along?” The amount of classes this girl was taking had Cosette slightly concerned. 

When did she have time to breathe?

Briar groaned.

“C’mon, they can’t be that bad.”

“They are though.” Briar muttered, “They expect me to just remember everything. Like, I am sorry that I cannot memorize an entire textbook in three days, that’s absolute lunacy!” she sighed, “At least this one isn’t racist. The last one tried to tell me how the previous High Lord of Spring was actually in the right for how humans were treated on his lands, and how that time was actually full of prosperity as slavery provided a good workforce.”

Cosette stared at Briar in slight shock, “I am so sorry you experienced that.”

“It’s fine.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Kallias and Viviane fired her after I told them about it.”

“Good.”

That’s the least they should do.

Briar began working on the second box of perfumes, organizing them. She had insisted on helping around the perfumery since Cosette would often work and chat with her at the same time. Feeling guilty, Briar insisted on helping out.

“Honestly, this is a lot more fun than being at the palace.”

“Well, you must enjoy some things there, right?”

“Of course, it’s just a lot. I feel like I am expected to already know everything but I am only at the tip of the iceberg.”

“You don’t have to know everything yet though.”

There’s no way either of us is competing with fae who are over hundreds of years old without cheating or bluffing a little. Let’s lower the bar here.

“I know that.”

“But you don’t think they know that?”

Briar’s silence answered Cosette’s question.

Cosette would give Briar a lecture about faerie behavior and how they often expect those around them to know everything when they themselves barely know squat, but she didn’t want Briar rushing back to tell Kallias and Viviane how she indirectly bad-mouthed them and other faes.

“If I may ask, what exactly do you not like about the palace? Besides the tutors from hell obviously.”

Weren’t the Children of the Blessed raised to love and worship the way of the High Fae? Would she not subconsciously be drawn to this lifestyle simply because of all the brainwashing? Though, if Briar’s expectations didn’t live up to the reality she was presented with that could be causing feelings of dissatisfaction.

“Well,” Briar paused, a gloomy expression passing over her face, “I don't feel like I belong.” 

Cosette’s breath hitched but she shook off the feeling of solidarity in favor of continuing the conversation, “Are you not accepted by Viviane or Kallias?”

“No, no, they care for me but…for example Viviane has these tea parties that I am invited to and I truly am honored to attend but each time it just feels so…”

“Inhumane?”

“Yeah! I just don’t feel like I contribute much to those meetings besides simply being there.” Briar lowered her voice, looking away, “I could never tell Viviane, but I don’t think her friends like me very much either. They stare at me as if I am some sort of circus animal.”

“Are you scared to tell her?”

“I-I don’t think she’d kick me out.” Briar clarified, “I just don’t want to upset her. She’s so kind to me and she and Kallias have done so much to help that I feel like I would be betraying them.”

You really wouldn’t be. According to the books you aren’t really at fault for ending up in this situation. You were saved from Hybern’s camp and then brought back here.

“I don’t want to let them down by not trying hard enough.” Briar sighed.

“Briar, you wouldn’t be letting anyone down for being honest.” Cosette said, “Though, if I may ask; if you don’t feel at home here, can you not return to the human lands?”

“I have no one to return to.” Briar confessed, “My family…we were born into the Children of the Blessed and at that camp in Hybern…”

Briar didn’t have to explain further for Cosette to understand.

“Since I am here now, I have to prove that I can take care of myself. That I am not weak.” Briar muttered bitterly, putting another glass on a shelf, setting down the box she was holding, staring down at the countertop, “I really love learning.” Briar said earnestly.

“I believe you.”

“It’s just too much...”

“It’s okay to take a break.” Cosette said softly.

“Kallias and Viviane don’t take breaks.”

“I am sure they do.”

“They seriously don’t! Any time we meet they’re doing something!”

“Then they must be resting when you don’t see them.”

Briar looked unconvinced.

“Every time I meet you you’ve learned something new.” Cosette tried.

“I don’t know…”

“Briar, it’s okay to like learning certain things more.” Cosette sighed.

Did she never talk to Viviane about any of this? On second thought, I wouldn’t want to consult Viviane or Kallias regarding this either. It’s terrifying to even think about that situation. Imagine waltzing up to the High Lord and Lady of a court that took you in and just saying ‘Hey, your educational curriculum sucks and I feel like I am dying’. That would certainly take some balls.

“Viviane did have me take a week off due to the Winter Solstice, and they always give me several weeks of rest whenever there are holidays.” Briar said thoughtfully, “They did both say I ‘could do whatever I want to’...but that just feels wrong to do so.”

Okay, at least you are given official breaks. That’s good.

“Briar, I think if any of us can tell it to the rulers of Winer Court as it is, I bet it’s you.”

“Eh?”

“I mean, it sounds like you have them wrapped around your finger.” Cosette giggled, “I don’t imagine Viviane and Kallias are this patient with just any individual.”

“No I do not!”

Cosette turned off the heating for the pots, waiting for them to stop boiling before she took it off the stove and removed the glass bowls containing the captured oils.

“Say, Cosette?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to come over to the palace some time?”

“What?”

“Come over to the palace.” Briar repeated, “We could practice sword-fighting and then have sandwiches.”

“You want to try and stab me?” Cosette deadpanned.

And here I thought you liked me.

“No, not stab.” Briar rolled her eyes, “Train. You know? A simple sparring.”

“I don’t know Briar, I am not the most athletic.”

“You’re a fae, you’ll do fine against a human like me.”

“I have had no physical training.” Cosette hurried to say.

“Oh. That’s possible for a fae?” Briar tilted her head, “I thought all of you got trained from a young age?”

“Yeah.” Cosette smiled, “Not all of us are cut out for fighting you know? You think every emissary can throw hands at a moment's notice?”

“All of Kallias’s and Viviane’s seem able to.” Briar murmured.

Well then.

“It’s okay.” Briar did not relent, “That’s why it’s called training after all. We can practice together and you can learn!”

She wasn’t going to drop this was she?

“Alright, if it makes you happy I am willing to give it a try.”

“Yipee!”

Cosette sighed. She would need to buy more of the vanilla sticks as she was beginning to run out. However, the prices for it have skyrocketed, which was extremely rude of the economy to do.

“Alright, now that that’s finished I am going to-”

“Clean up and then stock the shelves. After which you will take a ten minute break and then you will move onto setting up pots for the goldenberry and teakwood perfumes”

Okay, maybe Kallias’s and Viviane’s reasoning for making Briar so busy wasn’t because they wanted to shape her into a being that could conform to the traditional views of their court, but rather so she didn’t stalk them.

“Do you have my schedule memorized?” Cosette joked.

“I-No, of course not!” Briar waved her hands.

Cosette laughed, glancing at the clock “Hey Briar, don’t you have a literature class in thirty minutes?”

Guess I shouldn’t judge her for knowing my schedule when I have memorized her’s from all her stories. 

“Eh?” Briar stared at the clock with betrayal.

“Wash your hands, I’ll go get Aquilo.” Cosette stood up, washing her own hands as she went to find the so-called chaperone.

Peeking out into the perfumery’s store Cosette could see Aquilo chatting with Ophelia as there were no customers at the moment. The man was leaning on the counter recounting a tale of his adventures on the battlefield, Ophelia listening intently.

“What happened next?”

“Well, in the last desperate attempt to get my men and myself out of the forest alive we decided to try and set a trap for the beast with the remaining meat we had on us.”

“Did it work?”

“It did. Due to us hunting the creature for days on end it had gotten tired and sloppy. It took the bait with ease, after which we ambushed it from all sides.” Aquilo practically sparkled with pride as Ophelia gave him a small round of applause. 

“Ahem.” Cosette interrupted, “Briar has class.”

“Oh, right!” Aquilo nodded, schooling his expression into a more neutral one as Briar came running from the back and out onto the street.

“I’ll see you later?” he shot Ophelia a small smile, rushing after the human, thanking Cosette for having them over on his way out.

Ophelia waved goodbye, a small smile on her face.

Cosette looked at her friend, “Listening to his stories are we?”

“Oh shush.” Ophelia brushed her off, fiddling with the pen Theo had gifted her, “What else are we supposed to do? Stand in silence as you two chatter away?”

“Guess not.” Cosette rolled her eyes, “What was the story about this time?”

“How he and his men kept the Winter Court borders safe from Amarantha’s beasts.”

Cosette nodded, checking behind the counter if they had all the necessary packaging for rush hour.

“What are we having for dinner today?”

“Did you forget? We’re going over to Forrest’s this evening.” Ophelia reminded her.

“Oh right.” Cosette glanced around before leaning into Ophelia’s ear, “Ophelia, what’s a wrigwrot?”

“Sometimes your questions make me think of Fermin and his current understanding of the world as a youngling.” Ophelia sighed.

“Oi my questions are very smart.” Cosette retorted.

“Actually, it would be an insult to Fermin to compare this question to something he would ask.” Ophelia continued her spiel.

“Please answer the question.” Cosette groaned.

Ophelia smiled placatingly, “I am messing with you, it’s just funny to hear you asking these things when most faeries already know about them. A wrigwrot is a common creature that can be found in households, usually on farms. They make burrows in dark corners and like to steal sweets and various trinkets. Having them in the house is considered to be a negative omen as they’re often very clumsy and forgetful. The way they walk is very funny - it’s almost like a waddle, accompanied by them tripping over their long tails.”

“So just like you.” Cosette yelped as Ophelia smacked her shoulder gently.

They stepped inside the inn, the familiar warmth enveloping Cosette’s face.

“Blanche!” Ophelia quickly ran over to the woman, giving her a hug.

“Ophelia, Cosette, it’s good to see you two.” Blanche smiled, hugging back, carefully maneuvering the tray with mugs she was carrying, “How have you been?”

“We’ve been well thank you.” Cosette took the tray from Blanche, permitting the fae to properly hug Ophelia, “Quite busy but well.”

“That’s good to hear. Fermin has missed you two-”

“You!” Fermin burst into the living space, pointing at Ophelia accusingly, startling several of the burly guests resting in cozy armchairs, “Where have you been?”

“Fermin! What did I say about yelling?” Blanche chided as Ophelia disentangled herself from the boy’s mother, stomping over to the young fae.

“I’ve been busy working, little fae, and what about you?” Ophelia grinned at the boy.

Fermin growled, “Working, shmorking, everyone is freaking busy these days! You adults are no fun!”

Ophelia giggled, “How about we go read that book you got for the Winter Solstice?”

That seemed to make Fermin reconsider his rage as he paused, lowering his voice slightly, “Will you do the funny voices?”

“Of course.” Ophelia nodded, startling as Fermin grabbed her and began dragging her upstairs.

Blanche looked at Cosette, smiling slightly, “I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with him.”

“He’s an energetic kid.”

“That’s one way to put it.” the black haired fae sighed.

Blanche handed several fae their requested hot drinks and walked back to the kitchen, Cosette following behind.

“I wish there was a tutorial on parenting, it would make things a whole lot easier.”

Cosette hummed, “I bet it would.”

“We’ve been busy lately and we haven’t had time to keep him entertained with games.” Blanche explained, pulling out a board with prepared circles of dough, onto which she placed meat stuffing. She began pinching the dough to create dumplings, setting the prepared ones to the side, “He’s got all this energy and nowhere to properly relieve it.”

Were there no schools?

“No worries, I understand.” Cosette rolled up the sleeves of her dress, “Can I help?” 

“Of course.” Blanche smiled, giving her one of the other trays to work on.

Cosette helped to pinch the dough of the dumplings, putting them into the boiling water per Blanche’s instructions. Nearby a couple cooks chopped up vegetables for a soup.

“What dumplings are we making this time?”

“Chicken dumplings.”

“Nice!”

Just chicken. For the Winter Solstice Blanche had various meats stuffed into the dough, as well as vegetables. 

Eyeing the soup that was being prepared Cosette could see the smaller amount of vegetables compared to what the cooks had cut up in the past.

Things were getting worse.

“So, how is the perfumery?”

“It’s good. I’ve been working on the perfumes for Kallias and Viviane, though it’s hard to decide on what scents I should make for them.”

“Woah, hold up. Rewind. Kallias and Viviane?” Blanche stopped what she was doing and stared at Cosette.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot to mention; Kallias and Viviane stopped by the perfumery the day after the Winter Solstice and ordered custom perfumes.”

“I-You…forgot to mention this?” Blanche stared at her incredulously.

“It all happened so fast!” Cosette defended.

“Well, congratulations are in order.” Blanche gave Cosette a hug, careful not to get dough or flour on her, “Making perfume for the High Lord of Winter himself, you’re moving up in the world.”

“Thank you.” Cosette continued making the dumplings once they broke the hug, “How has the inn been?”

“Same old.” Blanche didn’t elaborate, and Cosette didn’t prod.

The duo eventually finished, retiring to the private dining space after serving dinner to the guests. Ophelia and Fermin were already there setting the table while Forrest brought in extra chairs for Cosette and Ophelia.

“Enjoy the food.” Blanche placed the dishes on the table cloth, sitting between her child and husband, piling on some vegetables from the soup into Fermin’s plate.

Fermin for once didn’t complain, devouring the food before him obediently. 

“Thank you for the meal.” Cosette dug in, savoring the taste of the chicken.

The light outside dimmed as the evening grew late.

“Mama, I want to give the Spirit more cookies.” Fermin, pushing his finished plate to the side, pointed to the mantle above the fireplace, trying to reach it.

“You gave him an offering during the Winter Solstice.” Blanche raised an eyebrow.

“I want to give one more.”

Blanche sighed, heaving the child into her arms and letting him place a chocolate chip cookie onto a plate.

“Can we make cookies tomorrow?” Fermin yawned.

“Let’s…hold off on the baking for now, okay?” Blanche gave her child a strained smile.

“But why?”

“Let’s get you to bed.” Blanche ignored the question, taking Fermin upstairs after giving her husband a quick kiss on the cheek and bidding Cosette and Ophelia a goodnight.

Cosette felt an uncomfortable feeling pool deep inside her stomach.

She had to succeed with the farming tool. She had to.

Cosette sneezed.

No matter how much they cleaned the space the saw dust still made its way into the office connected to the workshop. They had been making good progress in the creation of the farming tool. Theo and the elder had already created ten of them and were working on the next five.

Cosette stared down at the paperwork before her. With the completed set of ‘spirit houses’ she wanted to launch a test run. However, what good test was complete without a proper reporting system?

It had taken her a couple weeks but she had come up with a cohesive document including various bullet points that would need to be answered by the people managing the growth of crops within the ‘houses’. Things like the size of the crop. The respective normal size of that crop. The length of time it took for the crop to grow compared to its normal timespan. A general description of the tool’s removability from the snow via its handle. The list went on.

I should also name the farming tool, as thus far we’ve just been calling it ‘house’ or ‘tool’. 

Not that this concern was a priority for Cosette, but she felt that she should label this project eventually.

Cosette stepped out of the office into the work space, sneezing again as she inhaled dust.

“Hey Cosette.” Theo greeted her.

“Hello Theo, what’s the progress?” Cosette walked over to where he was assembling the pieces of wood. She was so glad that she hired him to do this.

The runes on the sides of the house were detailed, with spaces not covered in them containing carved illustrations of crops and nature.

“I am finishing up this bad boy right now.” Theo smiled, giving the farming tool a small pat.

“How many do you think you’ll get done within the week?”

“Probably another three. If my father is feeling better and comes in we’ll probably be able to get five done total.”

Theo had taken the first week to figure out how to properly produce the tool after which he did his best to streamline the process for maximum efficiency.

“How is your father feeling?”

Theo’s face fell, tapping a carving knife against the table, looking away from her, “Not well. I got him more of the medicine he said he needed but he’s not feeling better.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“I want to take him to a doctor but the old fae keeps insisting he’s fine while barely getting out of bed.” Theo shook his head, “I don’t want to force him.”

“Has the medicine stopped helping completely?”

“No it’s still somewhat effective but it’s definitely losing its strength.” Theo’s blue eyes met hers again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get the mood down.”

“It’s okay, I hope your father feels better soon.” Cosette smiled.

It’s never easy when a family member is unwell.

A knock on the door to the studio made them both snap back to the present. Cosette walked over, opening the door to reveal Amelio, dressed in beautiful white furs over an expensive looking suit.

“Hello, how is my favorite entrepreneur doing?” he smirked, stepping inside as Cosette let him in.

“Hello Lord Amelio, we’re doing well. Theo is working on the production of another ‘house’.”

Amelio leaned over the wood-working table, and examined a prototype, “They really are a thing of beauty.”

“Thank you my lord.” Theo smiled proudly, giving the fae a deep bow.

“How long have you been working on wood-working?” Amelio’s expression was amused.

“I’ve been carving wood since I could hold a knife.”

“Did you train under a master?”

“My father, sir.”

Amelio hummed, tracing the intricate patterns surrounding the runes, “He must be a talented man then.”

“He is.” Theo’s voice was full of admiration.

This child’s love for their parent really was persistent, despite the lack of reciprocation. 

Amelio turned back to Cosette with a smile, “I am happy to see you making progress.”

“I am happy to see it too.” Cosette agreed, “I believe we’re ready to move on to testing the product. I was wondering if you knew of any spots where we could give the farming tool a test run?”

“For sure, I know of a few spots where you could test this.” Amelio nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “There’s a couple farms I could recommend, they're all outside the capital if that's okay.”

“Outside the capital is fine.”

There’s no proper farms inside the capital and since most farming occurs outside of this city it makes sense to run the tests there.

“Perfect.” Amelio jotted something down on a piece of scrap paper laying on one of the desks and handed it to Cosette, “You can send the prototypes to this location, just attach this to the delivery package so that the cart driver knows where to go. The farm is located in the center between the Winter Court’s capital and the border to Summer Court so it will take several days to reach it when it is sent. The farm should send a letter back confirming the arrival of the shipment.”

Cosette tensed, a thought crossing her mind, “One of yours I presume?”

His smile widened, “Of course.”

“What do you want in return for us using it?”

If he helped with the facilitation of the tests he could argue for partial ownership over the project.

“Your lack of trust in me is concerning.” Amelio chuckled.

No, it’s valid.

Cosette kept her gaze straight.

“My sales are dropping due to a decreased output of crops. It benefits me to offer my lands as a means of testing your prototype. If it works, I get more money. If it doesn’t, nothing changes.” he explained, trying to alleviate her worries, “This is a mutually beneficial relationship. I ask for nothing more than being your guinea pig Cosette.”

Cosette frowned.

He was saying all the right things.

“We could write up a contact.” Amelio offered.

“I would like that actually.” Cosette relaxed a bit, leading him into the office, Theo watching them with a curious expression. She grabbed some paper and handed it to Amelio, on which he began writing out the terms and conditions of the agreement.

She watched over his shoulder, “This seems to be strongly in my favor.”

“As I said Miss Cosette, I want you to like me.” the fae showed her the finished document, “Anything you would like to change?”

“I would like to add a clause. I want your farmers to record data according to these documents and send the papers back after they’re done.” Cosette pulled out the packet of papers she had been reviewing earlier.

Amelio took the papers, whistling, “You’re a thorough one, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.”

“No need to ‘try’, I am telling you that you are. Say, if you ever need a job, let me know?”

“Haha, thank you for the offer Lord Amelio but I am busy enough as it is.”

“Woah, woah, I thought we moved to a first name basis?”

“You keep referring to me as ‘Miss Cosette’.”

“Out of respect.”

“Then I shall call you ‘Lord Amelio’ out of respect.”

“At least call me ‘sir’.”

“Hmm…no.”

“Stubborn young fae…” Amelio muttered, looking through the papers, “I will get these to the farmers and have them fill them out. Have you decided which crop plant you wish to test this on?”

A test question; do I understand how long the crops of Winter Court take to grow and which is the optimum option to run an accurate yet timely experiment on.

“Yes, the pink root. It’s popular amongst the citizens and it grows quickly, making it affordable and easy to test the efficiency of the farming tool.”

The first time Cosette saw a ‘pink root’ in a market she almost called it an over-sized radish. She had been so embarrassed asking what it was called and having the Winter fae vendor stare at her as if she was a complete idiot. Apparently it was one of those crops that everyone in Winter knew about because it was so commonly sold.

Amelio nodded approvingly, “I second that decision. Do you have the resources to ship the prototypes?”

“We have some empty boxes and padding we can use.” Cosette said.

“Wonderful, I look forward to seeing your work in action then.” Amelio smiled, copying the contract over onto another piece of paper after Cosette added her requirement to the paper.

The two signed both documents, each keeping a copy. Amelio walked back to the door, holding a copy of their contract.

“Good luck.”

The palace was tall. Very tall.

Cosette wasn’t sure if it had always been this big, or if she was just scared out of her mind.

I am sorry, who’s idea of fun is waving swords at each other?

Cosette approached the guards of the palace gates.

“Hello, I have an appointment with Briar.”

The guards looked at her for a minute before asking, “Name?”

“Cosette.”

They nodded, stepping aside and letting her through, one of them following behind her.

Guess she warned them ahead of time that I would be coming.

“I will escort you to the training grounds.”

“Thank you.” Cosette was led through the familiar pathway on the palace grounds. Beautiful icy rose shrubs lined the sides of the sidewalk, with most of the supposed grassy areas being covered in snow. Some of the shrubs were sculpted into wolves, others bears.

Someone here clearly likes roses. I’ll have to ask who. If it’s Viviane that makes perfume making easier for me.

They approached the training fields, the only spot that was fully cleared out from the snow.

Briar was the first to spot them, running in their direction, Aquilo following behind her, “Cosette, you came!”

“Well you did invite me. It would have been rude to not show up after confirming my attendance.”

Briar was dressed in a Winter Court training uniform, the royal insignia of a wolf out of ice shards on the right side of her chest.

“I had Aquilo prepare you fighting gear since you said you’ve never done this before.”

“Thank you.” Cosette said appreciatively, following Aquilo to the changing rooms.

“We’ll be waiting outside.” Aquilo closed the door, giving her privacy.

Cosette managed, with some struggle, to pull off the dress she was wearing and pulled on the sweater-like attire given to her. The outside was rough and wool-like, while the inside was smooth and stretchy, giving her free reign over her movements despite the rough exterior.

It certainly seemed appropriate gear for Winter Court - warm yet easy to move in.

Cosette stepped outside, shivering from nervousness as she joined Aquilo and Briar near a stand of weapons.

“Here put these on.” Briar pulled off some thick pads off a rack and handed them to her, “This one goes over your chest, and these are for your legs and arms.” she explained enthusiastically.

Cosette put on the protective gear, “Are we fighting with real swords?”

“Yeah! That’s why we need to wear protection.” Briar nodded.

Sensing Cosette’s nervousness, Aquilo clarified, “They’re dull swords, specifically for training. They’re not going to pierce you, merely hit you. We use them instead of wood because they weigh more and are better suited for getting a fae used to heavy weaponry.”

Better suited for a fae, what about a human?

“Oh okay.” Cosette agreed.

Briar grabbed a sword off the rack, waiting for Cosette.

Cosette awkwardly tried to pick up a sword.

How do you hold this pointy stick?

Briar and Aquilo watched in silence as Cosette lifted the weapon only for her to quickly drop it due to its weight.

A nervous laugh escaped Cosette.

How screwed am I right now?

Getting tired of watching her struggle, Aquilo grabbed another sword off the rack and handed it to Cosette, “Try this one.”

Cosette gave him a quick ‘thank you’ as she picked up this new sword, managing to actually keep it in the air.

“Your body is light, so thereby you need a light weapon.” Aquilo noted, “The one you picked is on the heavier side. It’s used by our average soldiers with no particular specialization. This one,” he pointed to her current sword, “Is used by our faster fighters, and those ones are used by our heavy hitters.” he gestured to the larger swords that made Cosette’s eyes widen.

“How big do you have to be to carry that?” Cosette voiced her thoughts aloud.

Aquilo raised an eyebrow, “You really have no experience fighting at all?”

Cosette shook her head.

“Isn’t that surprising?” Briar piped in.

“Well, although many faeries are trained from a young age, especially High Fae or Lesser Fae from military families, not all faeries are warriors Briar.” Aquilo defended Cosette, “Since Miss Cosette is a perfumer there is no reason why she would have received special training to be able to fight.”

Thank you! Someone finally understands!

Aquilo turned to Cosette, answering her question, “Larger fae will certainly have an easier time, but a smaller fae also can if they build up the necessary muscles and core strength for it.”

“So Forrest could pick it up?”

“He should be able to, yes.”

Briar tapped her foot impatiently, glancing between them, ready to begin, “Shall we?”

“Yeah.” Cosette tried to put some degree of enthusiasm into her voice, but something told her that she wasn’t very successful at it.

“Go easy on her Briar.” Aquilo called out as the duo took their place inside a square, the edges of which were marked by a rope restrained to the ground.

“No promises.” Briar smiled, easing into position across from Cosette, her eyes tracking every twitch of the blonde’s muscles.

Cosette gulped, trying to match Briar’s stance.

“Cosette, shoulders back.” Aquilo corrected.

Cosette straightened her shoulders, holding the sword before her.

“Begin.”

Cosette’s flight instinct had no time to kick in as she barely blocked Briar’s lunge. Cosette felt herself get pushed back by Briar’s attacks, only being able to dodge, which was more like running away, or block, while nearly losing her balance each time.

“Cosette spread your legs wider or you’ll-” Aquilo’s voice was cut off by an ‘oof’ as Cosette fell onto the ground due to a shove from Briar.

“...fall.” Aquilo sighed.

“Again!” Briar exclaimed, getting back to her spot.

Cosette got up, blushing from embarrassment.

Was this meant to be a beatdown?

Aquilo approached, “Briar good form as always, I want you to try and practice those side attacks though, not just straight ahead, you already have those down.”

Briar nodded.

“Cosette, put your feet like this.” Aquilo demonstrated, “You need to feel grounded, if you put your feet too close together, like you did, you will lose your balance. Also, instead of running away I want you to try and stay at least five feet away from Briar at all times. Don’t get scared and start trying to put distance between yourself and your opponent.”

Cosette nodded too.

Hard not to get scared when they’re running at you with a sword.

“Alright, now again.”

Cosette was a bit more prepared this time, blocking Briar’s first attack with more ease. That was until Briar came at her from the side, making Cosette fall over with a little spin as the pad protecting her ribs was slammed into by an extremely dull blade.

Cosette prayed for no broken bones.

Cosette collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.

Holy shit I am out of shape. No wonder everyone is hot in these books, the amount of exercise they must do to be able to fight is insane.

Briar flopped down next to her, beaming, her cheeks rosy, “That was so much fun!”

Fun? You had fun?!

Cosette simply nodded, closing her eyes and trying to calm her breathing.

“Did you have fun?” Briar looked at Cosette.

Cosette chose her words carefully, “Yeah, it was an insightful experience.”

I can at least imagine how faes are trained now, which is useful information. I also have a better understanding of how weak I am compared to all of you. 

“We should do it again.” Cosette added, making Briar’s face light up.

If I don’t train at all I won’t stand a chance against a fae. 

And no, Cosette wasn’t thinking of an actual fight. She wasn’t dumb enough to think that her modern self could handle a being that has spent centuries training. She was thinking more along the lines of an endurance test.

Cosette couldn’t beat a fae physically but she could maybe outrun one. If she was clever.

Besides, Briar had fun.

Cosette could see the happiness in the girl’s eyes, the adrenaline adding a spark to her spirit that she didn’t get to see before.

If she had fun, that’s all that mattered.

Briar got up first, offering Cosette her hand, which the blonde gladly took, getting up with a small grunt. They walked over to one of the buildings in the training complex, inside which there was a cafeteria. On one of the center tables a small spread of sandwiches and fruits was laid out.

“We made sandwiches!” Briar smiled, offering Cosette one.

Cosette took a bite.

“It’s delicious.”

“You’re just hungry from training.” Aquilo laughed, sitting down with them, grabbing a piece of bread from a small pile in a bowl, “My men devour the food served here after a day of practice, claiming it to be the best thing they've ever had. Albeit, the food served here isn’t bad, but by no means as amazing as they claim it to be.”

Cosette nodded, nibbling on the ham and tomato in her sandwich, “Sorry that I wasn’t that great of a sparring partner.”

Briar waved her hand dismissively, “Nonsense. You were great! Besides, I lose frequently to Aquilo and his men, it’s only recently that I’ve begun scoring ties. It’s nice to see my progress since I started out just like you.”

“Glad to be an efficient ego booster.” Cosette gave a thumbs up.

“That’s not what I meant…” Briar frowned.

“No it’s fine.” Cosette said, “I get it. I really do. Besides, it's a fact that I suck.”

“It’s okay.” Briar comforted her, “It took me a while to learn as well. The amount of times I fell on my ass from training with Aquilo and his soldiers is countless.”

You were trained like this?! I am too soft for this world. I wouldn’t have survived in those learning conditions.

“Well I am sure under your and Aquilo’s careful guidance I'll improve in no time.” Cosette said.

“That’s the spirit!” Aquilo bit into his sandwich too. 

A small yip was followed by a sniffling nose that intruded into Cosette’s personal space. Looking down she saw a white arctic fox, nuzzling its face into her hand, eyeing the remnants of her ham.

“No Snow, down. You have food in your bowl. That ham is Cosette’s.” Briar scolded the fox, only for it to crawl over to the black haired human and look at her with pleading eyes.

“Ugh, fine. But only this time.” Briar was persuaded by the fox’s expression, giving it a piece of ham.

“She spoils the thing rotten.” Aquilo said to Cosette.

“I do not! Snow is just very good at convincing people to do what she wants.” Briar denied the accusation.

Snow yipped in agreement.

“Right, those puppy eyes always make a very good case.” Aquilo gave Snow a look as she tried to jump onto the table, scurrying away under his gaze.

“Is she a messenger fox?” Cosette recalled that the Winter Court had foxes they used to deliver letters.

“She’s retired.” Aquilo said.

“Snow now lives in the training area with the other animals.” Briar set down her sandwich to try an apple slice, “The next time you come over I should show the spot to you. There’s so many critters, it’s amazing.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Cosette said. 

It would certainly beat getting hit by a dull sword.

“We heard that there was a special visitor, but we didn’t know exactly where you were.” Viviane’s voice greeted them, as the Lady and High Lord of the Winter Court approached them, dressed in more casual versions of their regal gowns. Snow bound over to them letting out short yips in greeting. Kallias kneeled, petting the fox, only for it to roll over and demand belly rubs.

“High Lord and Lady.” Cosette stood up to bow and greet them.

Kallias nodded in acknowledgment, looking from her, still dressed in Winter Court’s training gear, to their modest spread of food, “Were you training?”

“Yeah! We taught Cosette how to properly hold a sword.” Briar explained excitedly.

Kallias and Viviane sat down across from the two humans, Aquilo on their left side.

“Well that’s exciting.” Viviane smiled, “Do you have no previous experience with fighting, Cosette?”

“No.” Cosette confessed, “This was my first proper training.”

“You’re welcome to return as many times as you need to learn.” Kallias said, “It’s important for a fae to be able to learn to defend themselves.”

“Agreed.” Cosette nodded, “Though, I find fighting to not be one of my strengths.”

“Why are you two here?” Briar perked up suddenly, “I thought you were supposed to have a meeting with some nobles?”

“We did. The meeting ended half an hour ago.” Viviane sighed, massaging her temple.

“Did it go badly?” Briar tilted her head, her black hair framing her face.

“No, there just was one noble Lady who thought it appropriate to wear a dress with columbines embroidered on it. Do not get me wrong, the dress was beautiful, however how dense could she have been?”

“What’s wrong? If the dress is pretty shouldn’t it be okay?”

“The meeting was in regards to the passing of a noble fae and his inheritance. His family has been arguing about it nonstop so they’ve turned to us to mediate as close friends.”

Briar still looked confused.

“It’s flower language.” Cosette spoke up, “Columbines are associated with foolishness and look similar to the shape of a jester hat. Since the meeting was of a serious nature, such embroidered flowers would make it unsuitable for such an event.” 

“Impressive. I didn’t expect you to think of that.” Viviane spoke, an approving tone seeping into her voice.

I was right, the symbolism behind what is worn holds significance within a court. Meaning, the perfumes they ordered from me need to represent the appropriate image.

Briar hummed in understanding.

“The roses in the gardens are beautiful.” Cosette prodded carefully.

To her surprise, Briar spoke up, “They are, aren’t they? They’re so hard to care for in the cold weather, but the gardeners manage to make them bloom regardless using magic.”

“Do you like roses?” Cosette asked.

“I do. I think they’re gorgeous. I was so happy when I came here and saw how many Kallias and Viviane had in their indoor garden. The gardener even lets me help out sometimes.”

Well this was news.

“By the way, have you made progress on our custom order?” Kallias inquired.

“Yes, I have started working on them.” Cosette said, “I’ve just been thinking of which scents to pick out since I want them to be perfect for you.”

Kallias smirked, “We cannot wait to see what you create.”

I am glad I came out here today.

Cosette smiled back.

As I now know exactly what scents I will make you two.

Next: Chapter 25 - An Iris and Her Pine Tree

Back: Chapter 23 - I Present Thee With This Muffin of Friendship

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know :D

[desiresiwant]

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 5.3k~

warnings: mentions of war, name-calling, vulgar paintings, strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 5th chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC, and the last chapter of this fic that’s posted here. If these previews interested you enough, be sure to check out the masterlist on where to read the rest!!! Hope I’ve gotten your attention by now. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

<- PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST ->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝘃𝗲 | 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁

                    𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑲𝑬𝑬𝑷, and Sylvia grew hatred toward her constant studies with Maester Ollins reading massive leather-bound books, thick with extensive history behind the legendary House Targaryen and their ties to Valyria—including hundreds of houses within Westeros and political relations with and against the crown or with each other.

        Reciting words never used in her vocabulary would lock Sylvia’s jaw and copying pages upon pages with shitty handwriting and barely any practice back home with her own mother, would tire her wrists out and left her fingers cramped. Her mother was far advanced in both reading and writing, taught later in life after Sylvia’s birth, but her teachings weren’t consistent. She could only practice reading after every written word her mother wrote for her father to one day read given her popular status in the house. Writing was rare and Sylvia hated it.

        And once freed of Maester Ollins, left hours in Meya’s care as she taught Sylvia the ways of a proper lady of the court. The study of etiquette involved far more than walking in pretty dresses and keeping one’s mouth clean of cake crumbs. Curtsy when in the company of new peers and those of higher political status. Never address them by name but by title unless given permission or were under Sylvia’s status, such as Meya and many others. Head up, back straight, chest out, arms locked in front, and walk with grace as though she levitated. Not with a boyish posture, as Meya described. She was determined to cleanse the boyish nature from molding her bones. Never say too much. Never say too little. Then would clutter the table with various utensils to use and label.

        You must act as though even the Gods are watching you, Meya would say, because being a lady isn’t just a privilege of improvement and betterment, but an example to the people—lower-classed women and the poor who’d do anything to be where you are, and has convinced themselves that if they do what you do, they will one day stare behind your eyes.

        Sylvia didn’t think being a lady would be challenging and she was wrong.

        She grew delirious and starved of her freedom. She missed home and drunk travellers, and ex-lovers—still friends—laughing over countless fools. She missed her splinter-prone bow and running off to the woods with Yanis to hunt. She missed her loose-fitting clothing and the effortless movement it provided. She missed being outside. Free instead of being cooped up within the same walls for hours.

        She thought more freedom came with holding her father’s name, but freedom never tasted sweeter than it did back home. And perhaps, she didn’t know the extent of her freedom in King’s Landing because she was afraid that if she stepped out of line, King Aul would take back his word and ban her from the city. 

        But enough was enough.

        She walked out in the middle of Maester Ollins’ dreadful monologues in need of a break. A walk to clear her mind and explore the majestic castle. And a strange shriek and heaviness in the air that interrupted her lessons many times.

        Sight of a massive erotic mural of the same and opposite sex engaging in sexual activities with each other and a dragon came into view. Sylvia cocked her head as she inspected the art. “This is interesting. . ." She said. "And new."

        Meya reached her lady’s side and viewed the mural, a light tint in her cheeks almost the same color as her hair. “Very, my lady. These murals of different acts are scattered along the castle walls. You will see them quite often.” She said.

        “I assumed they were traditional. Modest."

        “It prevails by day but is another story behind the curtains. House Targaryen are quite accustomed to queer customs and often aren’t shameful or demeaning toward expressing sexuality. Much like Dorne though quite different and forced behind closed doors.” Explained Meya, lowering her voice as a few castle staff passed by. “Your father once used to host parties of such acts.”

        “Without the dragons, yes?”

        Meya laughed at her highly concerned expression. “Of course. So I’ve heard, they were extravagant and would last for days that men would leave their wives to attend and gifted their most prized possession for an invite.”

        Sylvia's brow lifted with surprise. Beyond hearing of her father's ruthless personality, it was the first she heard of his life when he lived outside of her mother’s stories. And she wanted to know more. "What more have you heard about my father?" She asked.

        “I began my work here after his passing, my lady, so I fear my words aren’t recent or credible.”

        “I’d still like to know.”

        “I heard he cut the tongue of a man who slandered his house in public as an example for his filthy mouth. Then flaunted his tongue around his neck as a necklace, rotted with flies. Before his marriage to Lady Vana, while courting her, he asked her to give him a name. Any name. The name of any who caused her heart to squeeze with stress whenever they were within her presence, so she did. And on their wedding day, he delivered her uncle’s heart on a silver platter to wipe her heart clean and transfer that stress onto his.” Meya continued. “He always made such a presence that no one dared speak unless spoken to. One might even lose their eyes if they're met. He was quite intimidating and twisted."

        “He was a prince. I imagined he’d have to be. If one steps out of line, it's one's job to push them back or others will follow behind." Words taken out of Yanis' mouth filled hers with ease.

        They spun to the cheering formed within the training pit around two men fighting. At the center, Prince Viseron pointed his steel sword, taunting his sworn protector always a few steps behind his shadow with half of his wooden shield missing.

        Having the best view above, Sylvia leaned against the rail, watching impressively. He was quite skilled and his movements were fast, just as good as Yanis. Maybe even better. Her eyes overlooked his skills and traveled below to the sweat glistening his bare chest and highlighted muscles that were hidden beneath his clothing the first they’d met. Only trousers and boots were worn during the fight, leaving nothing to imagine, but oddly, left her curious to see more while it’s shown.

        “And what of him?” Sylvia’s lip tugged between her teeth without her knowledge, studying the prince who once tried to get her naked. He hadn’t tried since then not that she’s had time for him. “What stories you’ve heard?”

        “I dare not say anything, my lady. I’d like to keep my head another thirty years.”

        “Oh, come on. Your words are safe with me. Who would I tell? My piss pot?” Still quiet, Sylvia rolled her eyes as she reminded, “I wasn’t giving you a choice. I want to know about this prince.”

        Meya was hesitant for good reason, but given the vast differences between their status, she had no choice but to obey. “Some believe he was born from the wrong father.”

        “Why so?”

        “Because he takes after his uncle, Prince Daemon. Their fury burns strong. There are far too many stories to share and talking about him makes me shiver. But one thing is certain, he’s betrothed to Julie Lannister.”

        Standing off the side near her attendant was Julie Lannister. Long golden strands with multiple braids hung in loops and intertwined delicately down her back, emerald green eyes fearful of her betrothed’s safety. She was not only quite young—around six-and-ten (16) possibly—but beautiful too. Her black dress with a crimson outline shaped her womanly frame well, some could easily believe she was older than she appeared.

        “Such a fragile thing paired with a ruthless prince who doesn’t give a damn whether she lives or not. Tis probably why he's held off the marriage for so long. About—three months I believe. Although war and house relations has preoccupied the prince's time." Meya informed and Sylvia appreciated the information. It did come as a surprise to her. She hadn’t heard a thing about this girl and the Prince didn’t present himself as a man set to marry—if there was a certain way a man should act.

        It’s not uncommon for a prince or anyone of higher status to already be betrothed as it was to become her faith too. On the outside, they looked well-suited, but if their wedding had been halted then perhaps something was happening on the inside that no one knew. Answers Sylvia was curious about.

        The crowd displayed Prince Viseron’s victory by clapping their hands with glee. Lady Julie rushed to her betrothed with words of praise but he shared his win with his component and sworn protector, Sir John—Sylvia finally remembered when she was tested to name everyone within her house and their titles while walking backward and bumped into him. He apologized first though it was her fault, his voice gruffy and deep. Lady Julie was ignored completely and stood aside as she patiently waited to be included.

        As though Sylvia’s presence was felt above, his head lifted and met her stalking gaze. She pulled back from the ledge but it was too late to pretend otherwise and grabbed her dress to dip her knees in a cursty. Like a proper lady who hadn’t been spanked on the palm of her hand with a stick or straightened until her back ached and thighs burned, and all the boyish nature had washed out of her. Most of it.

        He’s impressed by her growth, his lips pulling into a half grin with approval. Then dipped his head to greet her. 

        Sylvia lifted and couldn’t hide the gushing feeling of pride forming in the pit. She’s worked hard perfecting herself that some acknowledgment would be nice. Expected even. She greeted Lady Julie as well when following the Prince’s attention, only she didn’t return the gesture. Her bottom lip turned pink from how hard she chewed, looking at him and then back to her before lending a stiff smile.

        Meya touched her lady's arm lightly. "We have spent much time walking these halls I'm afraid Maester Ollins might assume you've abandoned him and your studies. We should return."

        The Prince took his leave. Lady Julie followed after.

        "That's because I have abandoned my studies," Sylvia admitted. "Maester Ollins is an old fuck who never keeps his eyes on the books—“

        Meya gasped. “You must mind your words, my lady. Such foul language is unacceptable for a lady.”

        Sylvia ignored her and kept speaking. “He speaks in one note, for a very long time, and isn't patient with me when I'm doing my best. What more does he want from me?”

        "We can request another, but you mustn't put off your studies. You made the King a—"

        Sylvia walked away from her attendant. She headed in the direction of the Great Room so she could continue her studies and force herself awake whenever Maester Ollins spoke. She knew very well of the promise made with the King and hated when Meya reminded her at every given second.

        “There she is!”

        Sylvia’s steps halted toward four noble women—judging by their pretty dresses and well-kept hair—rushing in her direction like children at the Sand Festival held every year back in Toland. Silly betting games where men would run bare-footed and nearly naked across the hot sand for three days for life-changing coins and honor, suffering nasty blisters, dehydration, and even death. There were also cake-eating contests. But inside was filled with poisonous sand scorpions, eating until one ultimately died or was saved in enough time. There’d be endless music and hard syrup candies for the children. Joy all around, joy that Sylvia was forced to experience from afar.

        Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to pinpoint their attention but there was no one behind them. No one of importance unless they were signaling a passing servant or patrolling guards. But as they neared it was clear she was their pinpoint. A bunch of strangers. Rather close by how they clung to each other. 

        Meya greeted the noble women and Sylvia followed in pursuit. “My lady, this is—”

        “I shall introduce myself,” a blond-headed woman with loose curls down her back and wide sharp eyes dismissed Meya as she stepped forward from the group. She bent her knees into a proper curtsy and lifted herself, her eyes glazing upon Sylvia’s scales with mere interest. “I am Lady Clarice Hayford, Daughter of Lord Benjamin, House Hayford of Crownlands. This is Lady Mercia Rosby, House Rosby of Crownlands. Lady Anya Buckwell, House Buckwell of Crownlands. And Lady Emma Wode, House Wode of Riverlands.” The last house was said in a mumble but had caught on learning briefly of the Riverlands. Of all their houses that were loyal to the crown.

        Each lady kneeled into a cursty. And as Sylvia met each woman as they rose, her gaze fell upon Lady Mercia, if she remembered correctly. Golden brown skin, shades darker than sand on its brightest day, with thick brownish red curls too wild to tame but were a looser patterning than the mess on Sylvia’s head—pinned from her narrow face with dangling ornaments, dressed in the colors of the leading house.

        Pretty, Sylvia thought to herself, she’s very pretty. They each had their own charm, whatever it was, but Lady Mercia stuck out.

        Another, Lady Anya, stepped forward. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance. We’ve already heard so much about you.” She was very soft-spoken, light and airy like a whistle in the wind. Wide-eyed with ghostly white skin and hair as black as night. It didn’t help that her eyebrows were nearly invisible, so she appeared sickly.

        “What have you heard?” Sylvia inquired, wanting to know what had been said about her.

        Lady Anya exchanged a look with the other ladies and Sylvia could’ve sworn one had shook their head, as if to refrain her from speaking the truth. Their smiles were wide and bright and clean of evidence when she tried to confirm the gesture. “Just silly chatting. You know how it is in court.” She didn’t. Not one bit of it. “When someone new comes around, everyone is so eager to know everything about them. Few are convinced they’ve known them their whole lives. But with you here, in our circle, I believe we’ll be great friends. The bestest.”

        “My God, Anya, we are not that desperate. Be calm.” Said Lady Clarice, tugging the girl back who sent a soft glare.

        “It was your idea. You wished to confirm if the King had lost his mind bestowing a b—.”

        The woman hissed in a manner that shut Lady Anya up. She lowered her head with a pout and stepped even futher back upon the lady’s gesture. 

        Then chuckled with nerves, ironing out the creases of her dress that shaped her figure. Her manipulated curls played the illusion that her hair was voluminous, but the knitted hair piece pushing everything back showcased otherwise. “You misheard me. I would never speak ill of anyone or question one’s decision, especially the King’s.” Said through clenched teeth, still smiling. 

        “Liar.” The girl mumbled loud enough to be heard.

        “Your scales,” Lady Mercia blurted and she had Sylvia’s attention almost immediately. “They are real, are they not? I have never seen anything like it before."

        Before she could speak up, Lady Emma interrupted her. “Of course, they’re real. Why wouldn’t it not be? She has dragon blood in her veins. Only with their blood is it possible."

        It’s said the women from Riverlands were all too ugly to look at and lacked feminine hygiene and beauty, as the writings said. Swamplands and ruins from war. Emma Wode was the only beautiful daughter her mother bore; a head of brunette strands down her back, pepper green eyes, and a curvy figure to look past her flat face. A beautiful girl like her should be seen, an end to vile rumors of their house and Riverland women.

        Sylvia stood before Lady Mercia, leaning slightly forward. “Would you like to touch them?” She offered and her eyes brightened with excitement mixed with surprise.

        “Could I? Is it not rude?”

        “Not if I’m offering.”

        Lady Mercia reached out her hand and touched the scales along Sylvia’s cheek. Her touch was hesitant at first before she grew comfortable, gentle as her soft fingers outlined its trail. It was true that no one aside from Yanis and her mother had touched her scales, but there were rare occasions when Sylvia would allow a few selectives to explore her face. In exchange, she could explore them. 

        She wasn’t expecting the same deal with Lady Mercia. Not yet at least.

        “They’re beautiful,” Lady Mercia whispered, shying away from Sylvia’s intensive contact appreciating her beauty at a closer range. She liked the greenish mixture in her brown eyes. Realizing how close they were, she pulled back her hand with an apology.

        “Can I touch too? I’m curious.” Lady Anya raised her hand.

        “Me as well.” Said Lady Emma.

        It wasn’t until Lady Clarice cleared her throat that the rest stopped pestering Sylvia and followed back in line. Clearly, she held reign within the circle, leaving the question of just how powerful her house was. And much of it she didn’t wish to lose to a bastard. “You will have to excuse their excitement. Young new faces are rare to come by. While some lack discipline, they also lack personal space.”

        Many didn’t react lightly to being put down for something they couldn’t control. They were all around Sylvia’s age and younger. Full of energy and light. Trying to make the most of their life before they were no longer a girl but a married woman with duties to their husband and house. She didn’t mind their lack of discipline or personal space, or even their constant questioning. She was new to court, to their world. It’s to be expected. 

        But what she didn’t like was someone putting down others to make themselves look good. “And what do you lack?” Sylvia asked Lady Clarice. “No one is perfect, not even me. I’m curious if you lack discipline too. A mouth that just keeps talking.”

        Her mouth twitched and her eyes seemed touched with irritation as she narrowed in on the lady who dared to question her. But then the moment passed, all traces of anger left, and she offered her a stiffened smile. 

        Her lips parted with an answer prepared, but Sylvia realized she didn’t care and spoke over her with more questions to ask. “What brings you ladies to me? Whatever it is it’ll have to wait another time. My studies call to me and Master Ollins doesn’t seem like a patient man to be kept waiting.” . . .studies she would do anything to get out of with a teacher she was close to hating, but it was her promise to the King. While she prepared herself for marriage, he would provide whatever was necessary so she could learn of the house who’ve stolen her features.

        Lady Anya jumped off her feet toward Sylvia, taking her arm to lock tight. It was the kind of strength that felt the girl was scared she’d run off, and she would if given the chance. The action was sudden. “Then we shall walk you to your destination and chat. We know the way. Maester Ollins won’t say a thing with us by your side.”

        “Ah. . .okay.” Sylvia managed to say.

        Lady Emma occupied the other arm, the other ladies at their side, dragging Sylvia forward as if she were a rag-doll with weak stringy legs, vulnerable to even the mildest of control. Meya remained a few steps behind with no means to interject. She looked content with her lady with others than just her putting up with Sylvia, a break from bending and molding her bones and attitude into a proper lady. Lessons that still needed time to sink into her bones. And apparently, her brain.

        Multiple conversations were had and many questions were left unanswered due to lack of time to answer them before the next question was thrown out. It seemed Sylvia was learning more about them than they did about her. She preferred it that way. Her life was nothing of interest compared to highborn ladies who’ve seen more of the world than she had. Their hands were untouched by hash labor, smooth to the eye, their nails long and perfectly round. No scent of piss, puke, and sex lingered from their skin but the sweet aroma of lavender and. . .berries? There was not one strand out of place—thoroughly washed and brushed with limited knots and tangles, carefully curled with overnight remedies and styled to utter perfection. Not even the wind could displace their attendant's hard work.

        Even their stories were untouched by the cruelty of the world and filled with mindless pettiness, harmless pranks, and endless fun, surrounded by riches and an arm's length of friends. They were perfect. All of which Sylvia lacked and couldn’t help the jealousy pitting deep in her belly.

        A reminder that two worlds stood before them despite their feet walking the same land.

        “We remain at court while our fathers and many noble lords have been called to discuss trivial matters that have disarrayed our house and its people.” Said Lady Merica as they directed Sylvia down the wide-set stairs and through the long halls that were endless and beaming from the sun burning through. She had no idea what the subject was but went along with it.

        “I came to visit my brother. He’s recently joined the Knighthood. My father thinks it will strengthen his heart and bring forth honor.” Said Lady Anya.

        Lady Emma tugged on Sylvia’s arm, pulling her closer from Lady Anya’s previous tactic to have the girl to herself. A constant game that forced Sylvia to break free. It surely didn’t stop them coming back. 

        “But that isn’t all, is it?” Lady Merica sent a mischief look in her friend’s direction and it was the first her face had color, warming up as she refused to admit her true intentions. 

        Sylvia was very much lost. “What am I missing?”

        “She has eyes for Prince Aelor.” Lady Clarice unveiled and Sylvia scrunched her nose with disgust. She wished she hadn’t asked. 

        The girl gasped out with shock. “I do not!”

        “Do too.” Lady Emma teased. “The biggest crush. He is all you ever talk about. His kind eyes. His long legs. His calming nature. His beautiful hair.”

        Kind eyes? Calming nature? What version was she seeing?

        She unlocked their arms to cover her ears as she shouted. “I will not hear of this—this slander! And neither will either of you speak another word of my affections—should I have any—or else I’ll scream my lungs bloody and never stop until the sky roof caves in, crushing you whole.”

        “Why not save your screaming on your wedding night? You’ve practiced long enough.”

        A squeal of giggles bellowed from Lady Mercia as she took off running when Lady Anya chased after her. They laughed at the two using passing servants to block each other’s contact. Lady Mercia seemed like a shy woman at first but she was far from it, at least around her friends. There were occasions when she’d speak less that was practically invisible, and occasions when she’d make herself known and make use of it. A balance of both. 

        Sylvia certainly didn’t see what Lady Anya saw in the Prince and was convinced the girl got hit in the head by an apple or something heavy. They wouldn’t be House of The Dragon together but House of The Ghost. Uncanny and unsuited.

        Finally having Sylvia to herself, Lady Emma tugged her closer and Lady Clarice was quick to fill the empty spot. Their constant attention and closeness made her uncomfortable for reasons that she wasn’t used to. “My father claims it’s to spare our ships and men to prepare for the war up ahead. Only the best shall prevail.” She was back on the conversation of their reasoning for being at court. 

        “Except we need strong men and strong ships that won’t flood the first wave it's met.” Said Lady Clarice, in a tone that held a known story close to Lady Emma which she ignored.

        “But while at court, we accompany the future Queen to strengthen our relations that’ll benefit our future and make our house proud.” 

        “Future Queen,” muttered Lady Clarice with a sense of mock. “Whenever that will be. It's embarrassing enough having to listen to her delusions and pretend to care. There is only so much advise one can give before it’s time to return home.”

        Their shared laughter made known they knew of Lady Julie’s current predicament with Prince Viseron. Neither Sylvia nor Lady Mercia—when returning after the two grew tired and heavy with breath—found the situation humorous. She didn’t know the girl enough to find the joke and feared she’d contract her faith by downing her misfortune.

        But Sylvia couldn’t move on from their current topic deciding which games they should indulge in before supper when something Lady Emma had mentioned weighed on her mind. War.

        War was nothing new to her. Horrid stories roamed the fires back at Toland from men and former knights drinking away their trauma to any ears that would listen and even she had her first taste of it. But what concerned Sylvia was where this war was taking place and who was the intended enemy. She came to King’s Landing to create a future and safe home for her mother when she came, and couldn’t do any of that if her future was at risk. Based on many blurred lessons of war around the world with Maester Ollins, King’s Landing wasn’t all that invincible given the history of why the wall was built in the first place.

        “Will it be here? The war that's to come?” Sylvia asked.

        They grew quiet, having silent conversations with their eyes that Sylvia couldn’t understand. But when Lady Clarice was quick to fill the void when answers were sought, it was then she understood why they were hesitant to speak. “The Conquest of Dorne. The battle to last over centuries to come.” She held no filter as she played her fingers through her golden locks, eyeing Sylvia’s expression. She remained calm. “The Martells will never concede. Never to bend the knee to the crown nor compromise their terms to end this shitful fight, ultimately wasting our resources and men. Them vipers aren’t grateful no matter what we do. But enough is enough. Should they refuse us once more, we will come back harder.”

        One could not live in Dorne and not know of its conflicts not only within the country but outside of it. Even for someone like Sylvia, who didn’t care to know as it was never her concern nor was she sitting at the table with something to offer. It was strange living on the outside of the world, on the lands of the same enemies that were plotting against her home.

        Sylvia didn’t know where to stand. 

        While her roots were in Dorne, her lineage was far from it. One came with traumatic memories and a life that served no purpose while one was an opportunity in a lifetime, a purpose of many should she choose one. Or perhaps she didn’t have to choose. With her given title, she could pursue anything. There was no limit as far as she knew.

        Sylvia would always be proud of her home, grateful of her upbringing, and prideful of her Dornish roots—but wasn’t stupid to risk her life for the damn country or piss off others who were against them. The same one that took everything from her. Her mother included. And it’s people they claimed to care for. Her loyalty never extended beyond that.

        “I see,” said Sylvia, uncomfortable with their eyes on her every movement. Probably they were expecting her to curse this country and accuse Lady Clarice of spreading lies to fuel more propaganda. 

        They soon reached the door that led to the Great Room. Maester Ollins was currently inside because his distinctive voice carried through the cracks.

        Lady Anya waved her hand, dismissing the short awkwardness. “Enough of that depressing subject. Let’s leave it to the men. Why don’t you join us for a round of fox and hound after your studies before supper?”

        Sylvia never heard of this game before. “I don’t know how to play this game.”

        “You never heard of fox and hound?”

        “No. Should I? Is it popular here?”

        Lady Anya’s jaw dropped as if the girl was learning her first word, and one of the ladies had to remind her that Sylvia was not from around.

        “I can teach you. It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it if no one’s adding any last-minute rules.” Lady Mercia offered, and Sylvia would like that very much. “I’ll be the fox for the first round if you like. Just until you grow comfortable.”

        “That goes against the rules. Every newcomer must be the fox. Even I had to be for three rounds.” Lady Emma argued.

        “Surely we can bend one little rule for our new friend. That which you are—a friend in our circle. A position quite hard to obtain, even Lady Julie scrambles for our companionship that we offer you at no obligation.” Lady Clarice scooped Sylvia’s arm, walking closer toward the door and leaving the rest of them behind. Only Meya joined a few steps behind. “I hope you make up your mind soon and join us for a round or two, milady. It is a fun game to know more of each other and I can show you great hiding spots. As my father says, it’s good to have friends in every corner of the world each with something to offer.”

        Her sharp eyes and naturally arched brows made her appear as though she was constantly plotting. But while her aura was mean-spirited, she didn’t look like one with much motive other than hoarding friends under her belt within her control.

        Sylvia never had friends outside of the pleasure house or around her age, especially highborn ladies of such status—a status they shared. Making a variety of friends could serve her well in the future. She wasn’t sure what it could be or when, but knew it was in her best interest to join their inner circle. Be their friend. Accept their companionship and maintain good relations. And play a few rounds of fox and hound.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read HERE

[wildrose-briar]

Love On Winter Nights, prologue

word count - 1.1k

description - Despite the class divide between the two of you, Leon and yourself found that there was no one you’d rather be around than each other. 

tags/warnings - fluff, mutual pinning, angst, mentions of class/class difference, coming of age, female reader

The halls of Bramerley were never quiet, the sound of childish voices echoing no matter where you seemingly placed yourself. It wasn’t an uncommon sight either to see two small bodies barreling past anyone unfortunate to be in their way. The little mistress of the house dragging the boy places and him seemingly hanging from her every word.

You adored each other, in the simple innocent way children do, refusing to do any activity if the other wasn’t involved. Even your etiquette classes were not free from this treatment. On most days, the two of you found yourselves outside by the boundaries of the manor - more often than not looking like you’d been rolling in the grass. So much so, it was rare to see you dressed in white anymore, with its fate ending up being grass-stained, the white becoming green within hours of you putting the garment on.

Today was just like most other days, with Leon and yourself choosing to spend your time playing in the sun and consequently avoiding any of the lessons you were meant to attend that day. You found yourself chasing after Leon, hair falling from your neat updo, giggles coming from you every so often when he managed to evade your grasp.

Eventually, your giggles subsided (along with your breath) and the two of you found yourselves bundled in a heap of limbs on the ground. The sun blanketed you in a soft haze and it wasn’t long before you began lightly dozing when you heard your name.

“Hmm”

“Do you ever wonder what your future will look like?”

You turned your head to face the blonde, seeing blue eyes staring up at the sky.

“Not entirely but I suppose I already vaguely know what it entails.” At that blue eyes wandered to yours, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. The sight caused you to smile. “Well, Father will arrange an adequate marriage for me and I shall become Lady of whatever estate that is.”

“And what about me? What will I do when you marry this Lord?”

“You’d come with me of course, don’t be so silly.”

The smile on his face was blindingly bright surrounded by your childhood naivety. Of course, he knew that to follow you he would have to live the rest of his life a servant, never having the freedom of being anything more. But, he rationalised, he would trade a lot worse to stay by your side.

“Bastard child, I’ve told ya once, I won’t tell you again boy!” The towel flung at his head was well worth the endeavour. For it’s not everyday a little lady turns 11 (you are little to him despite himself only being a handful of months older) and for this very special occasion only the best food can be offered on the daily play in the garden.

Angering the cook was only a plus side to this necessary mission.

With his handful of brioche and honey cakes (your personal favourite) Leon made his way to your spot in the garden. You had yet to arrive, considering you were still in lessons - on your birthday no less! - which gave Leon plenty of time to arrange his makeshift picnic. And if he ate a brioche or two whilst he waited no one would be able to testify so.

It seemed like hours Leon had to wait for the end of your lessons - which in reality was most likely only around half an hour. But, eventually, he could spot your figure cresting the slight hill that separates your spot from the rest of the garden, a small smile on your face. Your hair was pristine - a clear sign you had yet to leave the manor that day - but your dress was already starting to stain at the bottom.

“I see you’ve been busy whilst I had to suffer through Helen’s eternal critique of my tea-drinking etiquette.” The gleam in your eyes said you were only half serious. The old maid may be insufferable when it comes to manners but she seemed to have a soft spot for you - something about reminding her of your mother.

“Can’t say I’m all that envious of you. I am rather grateful they no longer allow you to bully them into allowing me to come. What was it? Something about proprietary?” His smile transitioned to that of a smirk. He knew that expression annoyed you (something about it “only managing to further highlight his arrogance”) of course that only made him do it more.

“I for one do not care about propriety. I find it only fair for you to experience the wonders of etiquette lessons alongside me.”

“Yes but when would I use them? I don’t see myself ever being invited to dinner let alone a ball.”

You didn’t deign him with a response, instead opting to roll your eyes whilst planting yourself firmly down beside him in the grass. With very little time you began inspecting his choice of food, carefully examining each to find the objectively best one.

“Honey cakes. How much trouble did you get in with the cook to obtain these?” you said, wiggling said cake in front of his face.

“Only as much as I usually do.”

“Ah. So plenty then.”

At fourteen, Leon’s mother passed of consumption -  a sight all too common for those unable to afford a physician. Days that used to be carefree had slowly become melancholic and with an ever growing awareness of what society deemed appropriate, the relationship you once shared no longer held the innocence it once did.

Where you used to lounge practically on top of each other, you now sat at least shoulder length apart. The only untouched place was your spot in the garden but even then the meetings had become shorter and less frequent. Your duties as lady of the house had only increased with age and Leon often found himself helping around the manor.

It was also at fourteen that you and Leon were separated. With his mother no longer working at the manor - for the fact that she had passed on - Leon had no right to continue living there and with the cooks' complete resentment for him, continuing the work his mother (who answered directly to the cook of his childhood feud) did was not an answer to this. Without an income, Leon had to find work and to find work meant leaving the manor.

You were loath to let him go, begging your father for him to stay but the decision was steadfast and one summer’s eve, you watched Leon be carted away from you.

Welcome to my Jane Austen AU. I wanted to introduce the relationship between the two but don’t worry little you and Leon are not yet done. As this is only a prologue, expect the rest of the story to be a lot longer. Leon’s speech is meant to be more refined (though still less so than reader’s) as I mentioned that reader had managed to have him in her earlier etiquette lessons.

[the-strawhats-kitchen]

Royalty AU (ASL)

!!Likes do nothing, Reblog instead!!

Masterlist

•Asl royalty AU. Where they were all -minus Luffy- born not as nobles, but as normal kids. One day Roger -who’s “enemies” with Garp- gives the king his infant , claiming that the tiny human would be more then safe and secure with him. Garp takes the infant, after some small protest.

•From that day forward the infant -named Acrux- was raised inside the Goa kingdom palace, surrounded by servants that were at his beck and call. But the only one he truly ever liked, or even semi respected, was a lady in her late 30s called Dadan that was part of the guards. She took care of little Acrux and he would always go to her before anyone when needing someone, even his own grandpa.

•One day, however, Acrux got bored and left the palace in a “disguise” and with a fake name, Porgas D Ace. Acrux, or Ace now. Roamed around the capital of Goa, meeting various people who, in his opinion, were super mean rude and just plain boring. That is until he met a boy around his age named Raka. The boy was shorter than him by a bit and had blond short hair. He dressed like a noble but didn’t act like one, in fact he seemed to hate being one.

•So Ace did what anyone else would do and took the kids out with him to the jungle. They stayed there for a few days and decided that the two will continue to stay hidden so they can finally be free of their duties as nobles. That is until Dadan managed to find the two and drag both of them with her back to the palace. Raka’s -who decided to go under the alias Sabo- parents were waiting at the palace, worry painting their face.

•But Ace didn’t let them take his new brother back. So the two left Sabo at the palace, delighted that the crown prince had taken a liking to their little boy. And so Sabo became a prince. He attended etiquette lessons with his brother -he got so happy when he called him that- and went everywhere with him.

•One day the two boys were called by their grandpa, Garp, to the throne room. The two thought it was just another one of his weird harsh training sessions, but instead were greeted with the sight of young boy with black hair and the brightest smile ever. Garp introduced the boy as Nika, his biological grandson. Nika was more than delighted to meet them and decided to cling to them from that day forward.

•At first Ace and Sabo hated the kid and his clinginess. But as time went on the two ended up warming up to Nika and started treating him like their own brother. They taught him things that they knew. They took him with them places. And soon they took him with them to the treehouse and they did what both of them did in that treehouse, finding a different name for him, and that name was Monkey D Luffy.

•And that’s how the three grew up. Ace, the crown prince, Sabo, second in line for the thrown and Luffy, the shining star for the Goa kingdom. Years passed by like this. A few things did change however, Sabo getting more into politics, and Luffy somehow managed to recruit a bunch of random people throughout all the blues and make alliances with a bunch of countries.

•One day Luffy gets an invite to a banquet at a faraway kingdom, it wasn’t unusual for the young prince to get invites to various things from the most random people -he was extremely loved by young and old alike- so of course he accepted the invite without hesitation. But there was a minor problem, he couldn’t be left unsupervised and no one was free or could free up their schedules to go with him -except zoro but that was worse then him going alone-, so Garp assigned one of -if not- his most trusted knights, Koby.

•And so they sailed away. Koby -Luffy noted- was younger than him but very tense and nervous, especially around the prince. And no matter how many times Luffy told him to refere to him by his name as they are friends now, Koby kept referring to him by his honorific -Prince Nika-. As they spent more time together the two grew closer and closer. Koby started to open up to the young prince -even calling him Luffy once, which he beamed at- and Luffy opened up to him and hyped him up in return.

•By the time they returned the two had basically became best friends, and would seek each other out at random. Luffy would also always seek out the other whenever he had to leave, whether that be on a walk, a party or when going away on a voyage. At this point everyone knew that if you’re looking for Prince Nika, simply find Koby. And if you’re looking for Koby, simply find Prince Nika.

•As time passed people had noticed something shift between the two. While everyone knew how clingy and touchy Luffy can get, he was especially touchy with Koby.

•Whenever Koby was in the same room as him -weather it was just to hang out or for formal business like talking to the king- Luffy would always find a way to attach himself to the young knight. And Koby wouldn’t even flinch or back away nervously like how he does when anyone else gets too close to him. Instead he would lean into his touch. The people closest to them -the strawhat crew(the people under Luffy) Sabo Ace and Helpmo- also noticed how they would always take about one another and would always get excited when the other was brought up.

•The first one to bring this up was, of course, Nami. One day her and Luffy were sat in his study, her actually doing work while the teenager played with something. She started by testing the water, asking what Koby has been up to. And just as she predicted Luffy gave up right away and started yammering about how Koby was up for a promotion and what not. After around, 20 minute? Nami asked him the question.

•“Luffy, do you like Koby?”

•And of course being the idiot that he is Luffy didn’t get the question. So Nami explained it him. And after what felt like ages the young prince looked out the window, where the pink haired knight was talking to Ace, and smiled softly at the two.

•“Yeah” he said softly, voice filled with adoration and love “yeah I think I do”

!!requests are open!!

comments are more than appreciated. but reblogs help the content reach more people so please reblog if you want to like<3 likes do nothing. Seriously, don’t like, reblog.

Tag list🏷️: @dibbledoodle @midnightmah07 @siphoklansan @jade-s-nymph @carameldansan @drdepper