#HE SHALL NEVER KNOW ANOTHER PEACEFUL NIGHT FOR AS LONG AS HE LIVES

[heterochromicnachos]

I didn’t think it was possible for cars to get uglier but DAMN, MUSK, YOU REALLY DONT LIKE MAKING CARS LOOK NICE DO YA?

Looks like a fucking train car in an anti communist sci fi novel released in the 50s and I mean that in the most derogatory way possible

[greetingfromthedead]

Stormy Night (SingleDad!Vash x F!Reader)

Plot: After the culmination of Knives's plans, life took on a different rhythm for Vash and he turned a new leaf with you, hoping to leave the pain of the past behind, but forgetting that he seems to be cursed to bring death to those he loves most in life.

Series: Part 2 is here

Pairing: SingleDad!Vash x F!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: post-Trimax (some spoilers), no use of y/n, pregnancy, childbirth, death, angst, talk of suicide, widow Vash, single father Vash

Word count: 3.9k

Author's Note: @biancalattei, ask and you shall receive. This brought me back to my roots considering I used to write almost exclusively angst. I take no responsibility for any heartache and pain this might cause.

Is he nothing more than an agent of Death? The countless lives that he has taken would suggest so. He is nothing more than doom incarnate, and he can never atone for that. From the crash to his brother's last attempt at genocide and everything in between, the blood of millions stain Vash's hands red. The guilt has chained him for nearly all his life, and he thought nothing could ease it, but you became his constant source of hope. With you by his side, Vash felt like there might be some hope of redemption after all—that as long as he lived, he could do something to lessen his sins.

Some years after the arrival of Earth's forces, life took on a very different rhythm for Vash. He found himself smiling more often and laughing genuinely, feeling a sense of peace that he hadn't experienced in 150 years. A new kind of life dawned before him—a life of peace. He no longer needed to run. He had the chance to see life flourish on Noman's Land with the help and resources of the newcomers. For the first time, he could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that things were looking up for humanity on this planet. The struggles and hardships of the past were finally behind them. He could now focus on building a future with you.

You settled down around The Garden with other survivors, among them friends you had made along the way, including Milly and Livio, who found each other through mutual grief. Together, you all worked towards creating a sense of community and rebuilding life. The apple tree in the middle of The Garden, became a symbol of hope and new beginnings for all of you, but few knew the true significance behind it. You and Vash looked forward to the future; a strange new prospect for him was that the two of you could grow old together as humans.

Instead of running, you built a home. Instead of cutting short the strands of life, you tied yours together in marriage. Instead of death, there was life—you got pregnant. The future looked brighter than ever before. The tears kept streaming down Vash's face as you broke the news to him. He couldn't believe it, but he was overjoyed to become a father. The joy and excitement in his eyes made all the struggles and uncertainties worth it. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together as a family.

During your pregnancy, Vash was the happiest he had ever been. He took every opportunity to dote on you, to flaunt his beautiful wife, and to talk about your growing family. He hugged you every chance he got, his hands always resting protectively on your belly. Every morning, he would place a kiss on your forehead and another on your tummy. Each time he noted how much your bump had swollen, a proud smile on his face. He enjoyed every moment he could spend with you and his growing family. And the happiness only increased as he found out you were expecting twins. He couldn't wait to meet his two bundles of joy and hold them in his arms for the first time. His heart was full of love and anticipation for the new chapter of his life that was about to begin. His cheeks felt painful from the wide smile always gracing his face. He felt overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude.

The months went by so slowly, yet so fast, but he knew that every moment was worth the wait. You prepared together by building the nursery and getting clothes and supplies. Vash even practiced by swaddling a stray cat who had become a permanent resident of the new settlement. Peace, like he had never felt before, filled his days.

In his bliss, he forgot the most important truth he had learned from a very young age: he is misfortune, he is death. His happiness is destined to turn to ashes in his mouth. Everyone and everything he has ever loved is doomed to suffer and die. His mother, his brother, his best friend, humanity. You. You are no exception.

Vash was on high alert the moment you started to show signs of discomfort, but you kept assuring him that it wasn't time yet. It should have still been a few weeks before your babies were supposed to arrive. You acted like it was nothing; you had heard it was normal to have fake contractions, so you brushed it all off, but Vash rarely took his eyes off you. After a full day of feeling like you're being punched in the gut, your water broke and the real contractions started.

"Well, I guess they want to arrive early. That's okay!" You tried to calm Vash with a smile. "This just means we get to meet them sooner!"

"Could they have chosen a worse day?" Vash let out a deep sigh. Nothing could change the fact that he felt more terror now than ever before, and the massive sandstorms approaching your area did nothing to help the matter.

"It will be fine, love! I could be in labor for days! Don't worry so much!" You continued with a fake smile as you gathered your things. But Vash knew you too well; he recognized the fear in your eyes.

"Let's get to the hospital; that's all we can do now." Vash tried his best to keep the thoughts of doom off his mind, the worry growing in his heart.

The clinic had been set up by the newcomers and had been provided with all kinds of supplies, but personnel had become harder to come by than ever before. Doctors often went out to the smaller settlements that needed their attention, and so did the one situated in The Garden. There was only a nurse left who looked young and terrified at the prospect of having to take care of someone in labor.

"We must radio the doctor at once! Or Home! Someone!" Vash insisted as he supported you through a painful contraction. His fingers turned purple from your tight grip.

"I'm sorry, sir, all the communications are down due to the storms! We are cut off! And I find it hard to believe anyone could make it through them in one piece!" the nurse said with panic in her voice.

"There must be someone here who can help. There are all kinds of folks settled in; surely someone has some experience," you said, trying your hardest to keep your voice calm.

"I'll go immediately and send someone to ask around!" The nurse nodded and rushed off.

You teetered on your feet, leaning your hands on the bed for support, trying to find a decent position where it hurt less. Vash rushed to the other side of the bed, his hands gripping your shoulders as he looked at you with panic and concern. He leaned his forehead against yours, and it made you feel better.

"It's fine. People do this all the time, right? Giving birth should be the most natural thing in the world, and they aren't that early. It's all going to work out. They will be fine. Everything will be fine."

Vash wasn't sure if your words were meant to comfort you, him, or both. It was so like you to try and stay positive. You had dragged him through the darkest of times with that same mindset. He just nodded, knowing that you are much stronger than he ever has been.

The labor was progressing steadily, and he found solace in your unwavering optimism. Vash held onto your words like a lifeline, reminding himself that you had always been his rock. Your strength and positivity were contagious, filling the room with hope and reassurance. With each passing moment, Vash felt more confident that everything would indeed be fine, even as the situation grew more dire. There was just an old woman who could help the nurse. She had helped a few children into this world, but she was no doctor.

It was the middle of the night. The strong winds shook the clinic, glass bottles clinking together in the background of your screams of pain. The midwife had seen some difficult births before, but this one seemed particularly challenging. The first of the twins arrived without many issues, but the second twin was breached. You were told to stop pushing, and it was the hardest thing anyone could have asked you to do in that moment. You knew the safety of your baby was the most important thing, so you did your best to stay calm and follow the midwife's instructions.

"Oh God!" the young nurse exclaimed as she looked at you.

"You go take care of the baby!" the midwife told her sternly.

Everything that followed became unclear. Little fuzzy dots danced in front of your eyes. You felt dizzy as you leaned more into Vash, who had his arm around you, the other in your loosening grip. The only thought ringing in your head was that of your children. They both must survive.

"You're doing great, sweetheart! Just stay calm! It's okay! It's going to be alright!" Vash's soothing words echoed in your ear as you tried to push through the pain and fear. It was his turn to take the lead and hold on to hope.

"I'm cold," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to calm your erratic and shallow breaths.

Vash's eyes stayed on you the whole time; he saw the color draining from you, your complexion becoming more ashen as whatever the midwife was doing shook your whole body. He felt utterly helpless. Your eyes kept unfocusing and trailing off.

"You have to stay awake!" The panic in Vash's voice grew with every word as he shook your shoulders. "It's nearly over! Hold on!"

Your body was on autopilot; you didn't hear his words; you just saw his sad eyes, the tears welling in them. The only thing that kept the darkness creeping at the edges of your vision at bay was the unbearable pain. One way or another, suddenly, you felt relief. Vash heard blood splattering on the clean, white floor as the midwife rose from between your legs.

"She isn't breathing!" the elderly woman said, unclear to whom.

"Save her!" you exclaimed weakly, unaware of the puddle of blood growing on the floor.

Vash's eyes darted between the midwife and you, but couldn't react before she ran out, leaving the two of you alone since the nurse never returned. Vash was filled with terror and confusion, unsure of what to do next. His babies were rushed off to a different room, one of them in a critical condition. And you. Nobody but him was here to help you, and he knew there was nothing he could do.

"You will be alright," Vash said as he pulled you closer. "You have to hold on for a little while longer. You gotta meet our babies! Right? You have to hold them! And then we can bring them home and watch them grow!" Vash's voice was shaky as he tried to reassure you; his eyes were filled with tears. "Just imagine them running around, playing with each other, and calling you 'mommy'. The trouble they will get into! Our house will be a mess!"

The tears clouded his vision as he kept going, pulling you tight against his chest, trying to find the right words to comfort you. He kept going for what felt like an eternity, until the midwife returned. She stood in the room for a moment before starting to speak in a tender and motherly tone.

"The little girl is alright now. She started breathing on her own and let out a healthy cry. She is with her brother now. The nurse is keeping a very close eye on them." She paused and came closer to Vash, who cradled you in his arms, still quietly talking about your future together with tears streaming down his face. The midwife took your limp arm and kept her fingers on your wrist to confirm what she already knew before putting it back.

"I am very sorry for your loss. There was nothing I could have done to save your wife. It's a miracle we got the second twin out alive, and I think she knew it too. I know no words can bring you comfort in this impossible situation, but your children are still weak; they need you to stay strong," the midwife said as she looked at Vash, whose words had become indistinguishable. He hunched over further, and the encouragements he spoke turned into sobs.

The stormy night was filled with more than the howling of the wind. The screaming wails of a man who has known too much death in his life echoed through the clinic and could be heard even to the surrounding houses. No words could describe his pain. Vash was angry at the world and the universe. How could grief be the price we pay for love? How is it fair to experience so much loss? How did he ever dare to let down his guard again? How did he not see how it would all end in death?

"Mister Vash, your babies are so precious! Won't you see them?" Milly asked the grieving widow beside her after sitting in silence for a long time.

"No." Vash replied just as resolutely to her as he had to the midwife, the nurse, the doctor who arrived days later, Brad, and even Luida. "I don't want to see them."

"But, mister Vash, they are finally home!" Milly tried to be cheerful. "I don't mind helping out at all, but surely they would want their dad too!"

Vash remained quiet, his head filled with images of your body lying in a simple metal coffin. He had buried you two weeks ago after everyone who shared a portion of his grief had made it to town. You had touched the lives of many, but nobody knew you like he did. The hole you left in the center of his being can never be filled.

He had lingered in the house you built together. It felt empty. The only thing that kept him there was the feeling that you could walk through the door at any minute. How could someone like you be gone? How could you be destined to be nothing more than a memory in people's minds? How could he possibly keep going? The burden of death and grief had gotten too heavy; the guilt of not being able to save anyone he loved was weighing down on him like an anchor in the sea of sorrow.

The twins were finally declared healthy enough to go home. What should have been a joyous occasion was a nightmare in Vash's head. He could not bear to look at his own kids. From the moment they were born, he did not even lay a single glance on either of them. He left the clinic the day after you died, unwilling to stay there. All this time, it had been Milly who doted on the children, kept up with their progress, and tried to inform Vash of their wellbeing. But the man wouldn't listen. At first, he stood up and walked away without saying a word, but as Milly learned to be slightly less direct, he stayed seated and ignored her as she spoke. Milly and Luida brought the twins home and settled them into the nursery you had built together. Vash knows the colors you had so carefully chosen, the decor, and the toys, but he has refused to enter that room. It represents his broken dreams and his crushed future. He hasn't been strong enough to face it.

How much can any one man bear before he breaks completely? How many lies can he tell himself until he realizes he can't keep up the facade any longer? Does the agent of Death deserve to live? The answers to all these questions weigh heavily on Vash's conscience.

He sits at the step of the balcony, the cool night air wrapping around him like a shroud as his dark-haired head rests in one of his hands. His tear-soaked face turned towards the ground, the mostly empty bottle of liquor dangling in his line of sight.

Never before has the gun on his hip weighed so much. For the first time in Vash's long life, it bore more than life and death. Tonight, it symbolizes the strength of Vash's will and his resolve to keep to his convictions. He has fought for life, and he always thought he would do so to his last breath. And now he has become a hypocrite. He chooses death willingly, despite all that he has fought for and the ideals he once held dear.

From the moment he realized that you were gone, he wanted to follow you. He wanted to join you in the afterlife, to spend his tomorrows with all whom he has loved and lost. Surely there he could love everyone openly, the act wouldn't doom anyone there to the same fate they had faced in life. And wouldn't his death be a kindness? A way to atone for the pain he has caused? Wouldn't it keep his children safe?

Everyone he loves dies, so he has kept a distance from the twins. He refused to look at them; he refused to meet them, all in the hopes that he could spare them from sharing your fate. He just couldn't bear the thought of losing them or causing them suffering. It's all another lie he tells himself, of course. He can pretend that he doesn't love them, but his heart cries out to them just as much as it does to you. So that's why he must take action before it's too late.

The babies are asleep in the house you built together. In the living room, Milly had set up her bed, and Livio refused to stay behind in their own empty house. Luida is in the guestroom. The house is filled with loving people; surely they will step up where Vash is unable to. How could he face fatherhood alone without you? He is not fit, even if he wasn't cursed. Milly is very loving and grew up with many siblings; Luida had a hand in raising Vash; and Livio came from the orphanage; not to mention, he is more than capable of protecting the little ones. He can leave his children with the people here; they will grow up happy and safe.

Vash rises slowly. He has made up his mind. He goes back inside to get everything in order. He moves through the house like a ghost, careful not to wake anyone up. He takes the last picture he has of you and tucks it safely into his pocket, over his aching heart. He leaves a long note on the kitchen table, detailing his regret and reasoning. He leaves his last request to the people here, and by the time he is ready to walk into the desert with nothing but the picture and his gun, tears stream down his face.

As he is about to open the front door, he hears a little fussing from the nursery. His heart jumps at the little sound he hasn't had the chance to hear before. He can't have anyone in the house wake up now, or they will never let him leave. Surely one little look won't doom them. He takes a deep breath and slowly enters the children's room. In the bassinet under the window, a little infant wiggles in her pink swaddle and looks like she's about to let out a loud cry.

Vash moves closer to the cradle and gently runs his hand along the baby's head, soothing her before she can start crying. But the child still doesn't look quite satisfied, so he picks her up carefully, his large hand supporting her head and neck as he lifts her out of the cradle. He holds her close to his chest and quietly soothes her until her face no longer twists with distress.

His heart swells with love as he looks at his little baby girl, whom he nearly lost too. In the lines of her face, in the shape of her nose, and of her eyes, he recognizes the woman he loves most in life—you. The infant has wiggled the swaddle loose and reaches her tiny hand up towards Vash's face. He hadn't realized just how close he had leaned toward her until the little hand grabs the tip of his sharp nose.

Tears formed in his eyes again, but this time for a much different reason. How could he ever pretend that he doesn't love the children the two of you waited impatiently to arrive? How could he ever tell himself that he did not care? How could he ever let go of the love he feels for them in his heart? He knows all too well what you would say to him if you saw him doubting himself like this. You would scold him for even thinking he could be the one at fault for your death, even if he can't help but blame himself. You would be disappointed in him for not being by the side of your twins after their birth, as they too needed him. You would put an end to his pity party and give him an earful for even thinking about taking his own life and leaving your children to be raised by others.

A sad smile appears on his face as he looks down at his little baby girl. She looks so much like her mother. It's both a comfort and a pain to see her face. But it's clear you never truly left. You will live on. In the memories of others, in his heart, and in your children. Vash will see you in the stars and in every sunrise. He will hear your laugh in the gentle breeze and the song of windchimes. He will feel your presence in the warmth of the suns on his face.

Vash lifts his eyes to look out the window into the dark night. The moons shine brightly, and he whispers to himself, "I miss you more than words can say. Like the suns miss the stars in the morning sky."

As he looks down at his baby again, he could swear he saw a glimpse of you in the reflection of the glass window. An approving smile dancing on your lips. He knows there is no reason to turn around or look up again. You are gone; you aren't really here, but you will forever look over your family. So he must do everything you can't, and that includes taking care of your twins with all the love he has left to give. He will live on for his children and make sure they always feel your love.

He leans his forehead gently against the tiny infant's, tears prickling in his shut eyes. "Daddy's here, and he will never let anything happen to either of you. That's a promise."

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

And if you feel like reading more of my dad!Vash, but want to recover from this trainwreck, then I have the perfect thing for you: Little Feet.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Aemond has to choose between you and your child.

Choosing the child:

A question that does make one think. It is a hard choice. One who is his blood, and one who is the love of his life. One who he has committed himself to in marriage, and one who is his most precious of gifts from the gods. However, he would ultimately choose his child. For it is his child who will one day inherit his legacy, not his wife. And a king must always choose his successors.

If it were, somehow, impossible for him to save you both, he would choose his child. The way he looks at it, you have already lived your own long life and had your own experiences, but the child’s life has barely begun.

His child is his blood, a piece of him and you. A thing that you made together. A small piece of him that can continue to live on after him. You are his love, but you are only a human. One that one day he shall be without. The child is his blood, his heir, and his legacy. He could not abandon them.

He would grieve at the loss of you. He would spend nights in tears over a choice he was forced to make. He would remember your name, your face, your touch. But his heart would remain strong. He would remind himself every day of why he made the choice he made. And he would carry you in his memories for the rest of his life.

He couldn’t bring himself to resent the child for what happened, as he knows that they did nothing wrong or intentional. However, they would serve as a reminder of what he did. Something he couldn’t help but feel guilty for. Especially when he sees you in them or how they act, he would not be able to forgive himself for what has happened. That is what he would truly resent.

It is only natural that the child comes first. You spend years with them, raise them, nurture them, mold them, and in the end, they become the pride of his life, for they are the ones who continue his legacy. When a wife dies, a man can simply remarry to another, but when a child dies, their future is forever lost. So, he would definitely choose his child over his wife, as harsh as that may be.

The choice cannot be based merely on emotion, but must be based in what is best for the realm. He feels it's his duty to provide stability and peace to the Seven Kingdoms. And if he is a father, it is his duty first and foremost to ensure his child survives. If you must give your life, so be it. But your child must survive. Such is the way of things.

He has thought about what it means to be a father on more than one occasion, especially as he has gotten older. He has come to the conclusion that he wants to be a father who is both kind, yet stern. One who is both loving to their sons and daughters, but would not hesitate to correct their behavior. He wants to be a father who is there for everyone, and is always available to listen to. A father who can instill the right values in his children.

Choosing you:

It is a question he prays he will never have to answer. To be faced with that decision would fill him with more dread than facing the most terrible of armies on the battlefield. He believes that a husband’s duty is to his wife, and a father’s duty is to his children. A man should never have to make such a choice. However, if he does find himself in that situation, he would have to choose you. As he has swore to love and protect you. You are his priority above all else.

A husband’s love for his wife is sacred. It is something special, that can never be duplicated with anyone else. It can only be found once in a lifetime, and it is something that is meant to be cherished. He could never love another person in the way he loves you. And he would never wish to. You are his chosen one. His soulmate. And he knows that if he was in such a situation, you would feel the same way about your child. You would choose your child. There is no question in his mind about that.

You have trusted him with your heart, and with your life. It is his responsibility to protect you, and to keep you safe. This also means to protect you from harm, and from losing the child. So, he would choose you. It does not mean that the child would not be a huge loss for him, it only means that he cannot break the trust you have given him.

His children are an extension of himself, thus protecting them is just as important. They represent the future of the dynasty, and are valuable. Yet they are not yet fully formed humans, they have yet to live their lives. You have lived and are fully formed, and in turn is therefore his priority.

Yes. If he has lost a child in favor of you, he would do all he can to try and have another. A child is an invaluable gift, he knows that as well as anyone. If he lost one, he would attempt to have another. And again, and again, until you have a whole flock to protect and love for you the whole lifetime.

The children rely on him, to provide them with love, food for their bellies, a roof above their head and all the comforts and privileges that he himself have had the privilege of benefiting in his childhood. He could only wish for a happy childhood for them as they are growing up, the same as he experienced. However, if he does find himself in a situation where he has to choose, he would choose you every time.

He also knows that in a society such as yours, the well being of a child depends greatly on the stability and care of the mother. If the mother dies then the child would be subject to uncertainty and chaos at a young age. This could affect their development and ultimately their well being, which would be a great tragedy. Therefore, he feels you are the correct choice.

[someweirdoreblogger]

A gift, lent as a succulent stroke of intimate teeth. Some pierce you like needles, others gentle as a summer breeze. Under your flushed skin, through ravaged clothes and wrinkled sheets; a reddening irritation. Personal, physical remembrance.

God's indulgence is an honor of the highest bidder, a once-in-a-lifetime blessing amongst mere mortals. Addicts crave it, fools reject it, and you welcome it.

Bitter but serving, defiant yet devoted, loving though possessive. How the gods above, below, and in between love no means are equal. The higher Pantheons have never been so considerably consistent.

Their spirits burn for you, suffocating. Breathtaking. The race doesn't stop until someone reaches the finish line, Heaven itself can throw their stones but will all sunk into the deafening weight of the pond.

Although the masters of their craft hide their deeper yearning behind carefully molded masks, their silk-touched mouths burn hotter than any existing blaze on Earth. No surface safe from their tongues. Scorching, seething, bubbling a forbidden desire in your nerves. Licked off your fingers, suckling on your nibbled nape.

Encarved in the binding form of a mark on willing flesh, you become God's ambrosia.

From Poseidon, Hades, Buddha and Loki.

Poseidon bites to infectiously possess you.

To ruin you, claim you, punish you.

Cure the strange urge you somehow awakened within the beast, the Kraken is never easily tamed, no dark calamity of the sea is.

While it's usually more content with ripping out your throat, Poseidon finds himself far more fond of another idea. The idea of owning who he deems belongs to him, showing you just how "affectionate" a god of his caliber can truly get. Your skin will suffer punishment personally, you should be honored, no one in this realm can say they survived a night with Poseidon.

How dare you drag him as lowly as this? Make him ache an uncanny emotion?

Like he "actually" needs you. A true god is a supreme being, the gods hold their thrones and the mortals are squished under the pillars. Gods need no supporters, hold no desire for one to long for.

Yet...

Here with you underneath him as are all living things, he is carving you like a shitty ball of candy, irritating his flawless skin like an unbearable itch.

Prepure yourself, Poseidon is a world ending flood of narcissism far from kind. And now that you devote yourself to his kingdom, no other God will answer your prayers, none then how Poseidon sees fit.

The godly embodiment of perfection, the divine empty shell of the seven seas, will raze the very world as you know it to the bottom of the ocean. To secure the siren's gaze of the one person he ever looked directly in the eye, ruthlessness is just another day.

-

Hades bites you to sate deep, lonely longing.

Savoring the pomegranate. He claims your skin, one of a kind, valuable yet vulnerable-gloriously ravaging it for all its blood and seed. To Hades, the journey is the destination.

For the tart that will fuel his senses for ages to pass, haunt his dreams for centuries without rest, Hades takes you. His blissful offering. Teeth buried in your too clean neck like they always belonged there, sucking veins and lewd delight shines bright in your wanton moans. Hades is an easy man to please, a simple God with simple desires. You need only be present; Laid out before him, bare, ready to receive a god. Your god.

Begging to be noticed, drunk. Willfully forget the outside world alike how Hades desires to dispell his household's looming shadow of death and despair, desperate for peace. A piece of the light sealed tight in a vault saved only for himself, just to be selfish. The last rose plicked from the bush, thorns dull, olden petals withering. For all your flaws, for all your scars, Hades cares not for appearance.

Hades sees and feels your suffering. He orders a judgment, a statement for no other than his beloved; you shall unveil in a realm of insatiable release, no gravity, weightless of responsibility, free of tension. Just you and Hades.

He too-wants to take you over the very edge of reality, feel an anicent pleasure so intense none can ever hope to compare. His hands skillfully play you, a young Beethoven's brilliance. Ears perked, his careful hands primed to the brim. Touch freezing cold as a corpse, depraved long enough, hungry for anything that may satisfy your gluttonous appetite.

Hades kindly aids you in this problematic endeavor, considerate, ever desperate to seek your pleasure and worship. Aiming to please, damn him to Hell. In exchange, help him reach his limit as well. Each sweet bite, every caressing of gentle teeth and lovely pain-is patient. An everlasting eternity, sincerity, marked upon your collarbone, fresh red as an apple.

Another bite is planted in the depths of your bones, your small brusies meeting Hade's fine, healing kiss; A sacred promise for more, one Hades personally ensures, a lonesome sprout furfilled to the fullest potential.

One area after another, loving barrages of deep cresent moons, nothing left untended. Drop of blood here, soft murmurs of delicate devotion there, numerous heavy quakes-the sinster echo of a dark growl against his chest. His fangs are small but fierce. Sensitive. Blade sharp on mortal flesh or opposite.

Pride will swell beautifully in Hades's heart at the sight of his memory on your body, lusterous evidence of how far he will sink to adore you is better than using any word to describe it.

-

Buddha bites to be greedy and cherish the taste of the most wonderful blessing ever received.

Buddha bothers with no secrets, especially not when it comes to satisfying his sweet tooth. He loves sweet things, whats there to hate about them?

In Buddha's light and Eighth Consciousness, you are the sweetest thing he ever laid eyes on. A gift he wants to protect and take care of, shower you in unparalled pleasure even the gods can only dream of receiving. God won't be able to save you from him stealing a taste, something he seems not to take seriously despite being in near constant pursuit of it.

He tends to go with the flow, swim as he wills with the scurrying school of fishes. Shutting up needless conversations and covering you in visible bites meant to last months, a personal massage of devotion to your heart and body.

You will be littered in his influence, if you don't reek of that casual enlightened god smell, then his marks will be enough to make a few points across. The Buddha's mark is indomitable, without regret. His bites aren't too steep but are unique. He isn't interested in drawing a blood bath, but you will feel each patient pierce in every inch, nook, and cranny.

You will learn that Buddha is quite the painter, passionate, and easy-going. He has all the time in the world to decorate his favorite canvas. Buddha prefers straight forwardness, both physically and emotionally, but he knows how to appreciate taking it slow.

Observe the immense details of his vast exploration in the mirror, intense, contrasting, painfully obvious in its recent activities. Feel the lingering tingles left behind from his mercliess tusks, goosebumps trailing afterward. The sheer power and energy imursed in his countless marks, his bites almost throb, blood rushing to clot your wounds.

It will take time aplenty to heal if it ever does.

While Buddha lives and breathes, he will continue to selfishly, selflessly indulge in his beloved. In turn, he will graciously let his beloved rule his body as much as they desire.

-

Loki bites to prove a lie, chasing a selfish self-assuring illusion.

That stotic echo, the deluded feeling lost on his witty tongue. Loki's bite is less pleasent for you then for him, the sadistic god he always is. A mess of unsymmetrical creeping scars and greed for something more then Loki himself can't quite understand- a blatant sincerity beyond his mental comprehension.

Twisting, Loki will scowl at the mere thought of it. He will crumble it up, swallow it up, only to throw it up later. Spat out into dust, a foreign word to the father of lies;

love.

[hillwoodhouse]

These men, these heroes, and the millions of others who fought with them, are proof that freedom is indeed never, ever free. Teenagers at the dawn of World War II, some even younger, like 12 year old Calvin Graham, they signed up to fight the good fight and because of their bravery, changed the course of human history.

🇺🇸 🇬🇧 🇫🇷 🇦🇺 🇧🇪 🇩🇰 🇵🇱 🇳🇴 🇬🇷 🇳🇱

Franklin Delalo Roosevelt's 'prayer' - June 6, 1944.

"My fellow Americans: Last night, when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our allies were crossing the Channel in another and greater operation. It has come to pass with success thus far. 

And so, in this poignant hour, I ask you to join with me in prayer: 

Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our Nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity. 

Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in their faith. 

They will need Thy blessings. Their road will be long and hard. For the enemy is strong. He may hurl back our forces. Success may not come with rushing speed, but we shall return again and again; and we know that by Thy grace, and by the righteousness of our cause, our sons will triumph. 

They will be sore tried, by night and by day, without rest-until the victory is won. The darkness will be rent by noise and flame. Men's souls will be shaken with the violences of war. 

For these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace. They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate. They fight to let justice arise, and tolerance and good will among all Thy people. They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home. 

Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.

And for us at home -- fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas -- whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them--help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice. 

Many people have urged that I call the Nation into a single day of special prayer. But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people devote themselves in a continuance of prayer. As we rise to each new day, and again when each day is spent, let words of prayer be on our lips, invoking Thy help to our efforts. 

Give us strength, too -- strength in our daily tasks, to redouble the contributions we make in the physical and the material support of our armed forces. 

And let our hearts be stout, to wait out the long travail, to bear sorrows that may come, to impart our courage unto our sons wheresoever they may be. 

And, O Lord, give us Faith. Give us Faith in Thee; Faith in our sons; Faith in each other; Faith in our united crusade. Let not the keenness of our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal matters of but fleeting moment let not these deter us in our unconquerable purpose. 

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogancies. Lead us to the saving of our country, and with our sister Nations into a world unity that will spell a sure peace a peace invulnerable to the schemings of unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the just rewards of their honest toil. 

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

Amen."

[wakacreations]

Zevlor's Bizarre Cocoa Adventure (Ch. 1)

@falcatamandarina Here's a little treat for you. <3

Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

Word Count: 1610

Summary:

Tav gifted Zevlor a box of chocolates. The last of the chocolates were eaten and the last chocolate review was sent. Now, how will Zevlor return his thanks? With a box of chocolates of course!

“That is the last of the letters” as Zevlor neatly folded and sealed the letter. When he took upon the task of being Tav’s chocolate reviewer, the thought never occurred that his eating habits would lead to such affairs. “I’ll have to thank Tilses for divulging such information.” Zevlor thought as he leaned back in his chair. A whole month worth of letters in exchange for a box of thirty chocolates. Each review slowly came attached with a memory of his youth. At some point he wrote, 

“You know, Tav the white chocolate orange reminds me of the orange sherbet of Elturel. Maybe it is the sweltering weather of Baldur’s Gate and the taste of orange on my tongue. This is a Hellriders’ secret but we secretly took shifts to watch for our superiors and snuck off to go purchase some. I was always the lookout, of course best believe we needed one person that had absolute deniability. I had grown used to the rough punishment of our superiors but what was another verbal lashing and physical torment to a Hellrider? If you ever come across some orange sherbet on your journey, do give it a try. It is quite refreshing and perfect for such a warm day.”

He himself often questioned if his letters were long winded ramblings of an old man. Maybe Tav would get bored of his mundane updates into his life he lives now in Baldur’s Gate. It would be different if he were still a hellrider. A man of valor, of duty and purpose. He had spent his life more outside the city’s borders on patrol than within its walls as he climbed their ranks. He was out and about settling skirmishes at the borders with monsters. In his later years, slaying hordes of undead that besieged his people and home. Then the fall occurred then everything… Tav surely understands his yearning for a peaceful existence but as an adventurer at heart as they were, would grow tired of such a life in contrast.

Zevlor stared up longingly at the ceiling, their tail swishing idly sweeping at the floor. Even if that is the case, their correspondence proves one thing… they will return to Baldur’s Gate. “Now, what shall I give back to them in return? I suppose if one gives chocolates, they would expect some in return.” as he stretched his legs. “They can’t be no ordinary chocolates. Maybe truffle perhaps. Such an old sentimental fool his old Hellriders would have jabbed at him.” A warm chuckle escaped him. His hands resting on his thighs as he raised out of his chair, his knees gave a slick crack. “Old, old indeed.” Zevlor sighed.

The shopping venture in Baldur’s Gate proved unfruitful. To his surprise, even the upper districts came up empty handed. Maybe it is due to the upper classes having such sweets directly shipped to their homes instead of visitings shops. Unlikely but the fact of the matter is there are no chocolates to be had or of any kinds. He did hear about some issues of goods traversing from the Underdark. Something about caravans being attacked more frequently. Though, that was just the nature of working in the Underdark. In any case, he found himself at the entrance of Sorcerous Sundries. While Rolan and himself shared few conversations during their travels from Elturel to Emerald Grove, they often found themselves awake at the same hours keeping watch over the others.

There be no need for conversation between the two of them. A simple nod of acknowledgement was enough words. “You are up with your own thoughts as well? The same as always, my friend. I’ll be here should you need anything.” The same silent conversation they held every night. Rolan kept up with his wizardry studies late till dawn. Zevlor meticulously checked the perimeter of the grove. He took note of any need for further fortifications and supplies for the next coming days. “It may be due for him to have some different reading material.” Zevlor thought as he peered at Rolan clutching a tattered spellbook, Evocations: The Basics of Elemental Spellcasting.

“I do not know how useful these books would be towards your studies but it is some new reading material regardless.” as he handed Rolan the small stack. “This is what I found during my patrol. If I come across any spell scrolls you’ll be the first to hear of them.” The younger tiefling stared wide-eyed as a smile slowly crossed their face. “Should you need anything, you know where to find me” Zevlor turned back towards the front gate. He was halfway towards the gate before, “Parchment, if you can find some.” called Rolan. “Thank you, Zevlor!” With a wave of goodbye, Zevlor returns to patrol once more.

There is a sort of pride to be had when you see your own flourishing. The young wizard, now the Master of Ramazith Tower. Lia, the up-and-coming sharpshooter of the flaming fist was working the desk. Cal, running an orphanage at Lakrissa’s and Alfira’s Bard school was scurrying around restocking shelves. To think just a moment before they were all huddled together near a campfire. “Zevlor! What brings you in? Up for another round against the flaming fist recruits? They have been very adamant this time they can best you” Lia grinned at the paladin. “Maybe some other time, Lia. Is Rolan in perchance?” The older tiefling scanned the many faces moving through the shop. “Oh, he’s in his study. I can go grab him if you need.” Cal said while moving boxes of scrolls. “That won’t be necessary, Cal but thank you.” Zevlor made his way up the tower’s staircase. “What do you think he’s really here for?” Cal glanced at his sister. “Knowing Zevlor… If it’s not working with the fist or helping with the shop, then there is a chocolate shortage.” Lia let out a yawn.

The Master of Ramazith Tower was busy penning down his findings. His time at the grove proved fruitful as a perfect environment for experimentation. There were wide open spaces where Rolan could perform spells and need not worry for whatever destruction was made. Colour Spray was the first spell he ever perfected be it in Avernus of all places. To Cal's insistence, he was able to change the color to blue. Rolan grimaced at the thought of the accidental fires it sparked in doing so and the scoldings from Lia at the grove. The second spell he perfected was Thunderwave after goblins attacks became more frequent. He later perfected Magic Missile and Mage Armour thanks to the materials Zevlor procured for him. Though he himself questioned if Zevlor knew when he gave him A Pleasurable Deal, the contents of the book. He gave him the benefit of the doubt, he probably didn’t. Rolan immediately tossed the book after skimming through. He did not say a word when he saw the book at Dammon’s tent and later his new workshop. “How was the Hellrider doing?” he thought as he continued to write. A knock at the door. 

“You may enter. I am surprised you finally used some manners, Cal.” said the wizard not looking up from his writing. “Those long nights studying at the grove were worth it wouldn’t you say?” The wizard paused his quill ears perking up. “I am glad to see you are doing quite well for yourself. Do you prefer to be called Master Rolan or are we still on a first name basis?” as the Hellrider wandered to the shelves of the study. “First names as always, Zevlor. It is not often you come into the study.” Rolan watched the older tiefling skim the bindings of the books. He plucked a book off the shelves. “I remember you always had this book (Evocations: The Basics of Elemental Spellcasting) on hand. I am surprised it made it all the way to Baldur’s Gate. I can have it mended, you know.” Zevlor took his seat in front of Rolan. He carefully examined the tattered book.

“A kind gesture but that won’t be necessary. What is it you need, old friend?” Rolan took a sip of his tea. “Please, what’s mine is yours. If there is anything you need I can secure it for you.” The paladin let out a sigh. “As you know there seems to be a shortage of chocolate in Baldur’s Gate.” Rolan chuckled into his cup. “There seems to be so indeed. If anything I would have assumed you were the cause, Zevlor.” A flush began to creep up their face, tail irritatedly flicked about. “Worry not, I have already looked into the matter. I have a colleague from the Society of Brilliance that will have you sorted. Seek for someone named Blurg or Omeluum.” Rolan sat down his tea and began scribbling down the address.

“Though, do spare me a crate if you could kindly. The children under Cal’s care are expecting some pastries from me.” He handed him the note. “If you need anything else do let I, Cal or Lia know. It’s the least we could do for what you’ve done for us.” Rolan gave a warm smile. “Thank you, Rolan and I’ll see to it that the children are not disappointed then.” Zevlor rose out of his chair, and sat down Rolan’s book on the desk. The wizard waved the man off as he closed the door behind him. As he left the entrance of Sorcerous Sundries he heard, “Bye Grandad!” from Cal and “Make sure you come to training next time, ya!” called Lia over his shoulder. He made his way to the Society of Brilliance.

[peasant-player]

An odd meeting in the Night

Started here and here in case someone is into reading role-play I guess?

@zrii-the-orc

The unusuals manuscripts of the conversation between Elleth and Orc

I shall continue to write in my old tongue after all how many can read Quenya still?

I traveled far and wide, met wizards and Hobbits,saw the Sun come up for the first time after years of darkness and ice.

Grieved over Kings and Queens.

But yet I never met a Orc that doesn't go for the kill the moment it's beady eyes see me.

Would this just be me,I might not think about that much.

The Valar blessed me with luck and a silver tongue.

But it Zrii has another Elleth. A young naive girl,that thought traveling alone is safe.As if the shadows are gone!But I know there are not gone. Evil will preserve the same way as we do. Hiding

Oh Eru Ilúvatar is this a test? To see how far my kindness go?

Elven fairer, wiser and stronger told me many times that just Death can give those poor creatures Peace.

But as long as Zrii is kind I will be-

There are some rustling and shuffling in the bushes that stops the elven-lady in her writings.

But she didn't worry as she knew from the pungent Odor that whiffed over that it is her Guest of the night.

Greetings frie-Zrii !

Glad to see that my second bird survived your War-sibling.

I thought alot about you and your kin in the past days but I like to answer your questions first if you don't mind.

And to give you something to fill your belly and keep your mind at rest, I brought you some blood sausage and sautéed liver!

It goes well with this "black bread" that's what the race of men call it.

Give it a try! For me it is too tart and metallic tasting so it should be to your liking.

Now listen closely.

You will find nor here nor there a Elve of any kin that marks you different because of your gender.

*The elven women stares directly in your eyes,the silver light making you squint*

We are all Eru Ilúvatars children.

*She looked away and sighted heavy*

The race of men have some different beliefs depending where you look.

Why?

I don't understand either.

But they are short lived and marred by Morgoth since the beginning. The big black what your grandmother called him.

She must be powerful. None of my birds remembered anything specific even though they did found you.

There is great and powerful witchcraft going on in the misty mountains.

I never thought it would be a old Uruk but oh well...

It seems to be going both ways, as you come here alone and I don't think that has something to do with your kindness

*there is a knowing smirk on the elven face*

Do you know how to do magic perhaps?

Regardless!

My condolences to the passing of your brother. May he find peace in Mandos Halls.

Or where do you think he will go?

As you mentioned before that the Elleth would like to bath. Your right and that is very thoughtful of you.

For touching her hair...it is commonly known as rude to touch a Elve without permission. And we take much pride in our hair.

There are of course exceptions like if you are secretly a King, but that doesn't happen often.

Maybe show her that you mean well and let her touch your hair first?

After a good thorough wash please

Place the...bone charms next to her and let her choose. The same with the clothes your willing to give her. Before I forget!

Please take my cloak with you as a gratitude of mine.

*you receive a dark grey cloak with no adornments but the softest material you ever touched,so light ; warmth is spreading to your fingertips*

This will compensate any Clothes you might give the young girl.

You might want to hide it so that your Leader can't steal from you but the cloak should be unassuming looking enough!

*The Elven women soft smile wanes and she looks sadly over to you*

If you mind can you ask the Elleth what her name is again?

She should be calmer by now and I know of a few missing Elleths...

I also would like you to d-

*a small birds comes flying through the bushes its chirping sound aggravated in you ears, but what do you know? you are a orc all birds sound the same to you*

It is time for you to leave Zrii.

Go forth and go swiftly with the twilight of the night.

Until we meet again.

[what-did-u-throw-this-time]

And it came to pass in those days, when the shadows of the earth grew long and the heavens whispered ineffable secrets, that the wise men from the East, keepers of the mysteries of the firmament, lifted their eyes to the stars in the stillness of the deep night. And they beheld a light that was unlike the others, neither of the stars that burn with eternal fire nor of the celestial bodies that trace paths preordained by the hand of the unseen. For this light shone with a greatness beyond comprehension, and its radiance did not fade with the coming of dawn, nor did it wane when the sun traveled its course by day. And the wise men marveled in their hearts, saying to one another, "Behold, the sign that the ages have promised, the signal that shall lead us to the newborn King, He who shall bring peace to the world and in whose coming the ancient prophecies are fulfilled."

But the star they beheld and chose to follow was not of the same nature as the others, for it was neither of fire nor of celestial stone, nor of those mysteries that men can grasp. It was an apparition of strange and perplexing form, an enigma in the sky whose shape defied understanding. For its light was neither cold nor distant, but warm and near, and at its center shone a radiant face, like that of a child, yet with the unfathomable gaze of cosmic depths. And its body was not straight like a shooting star, nor circular like the celestial spheres, but it stretched in endless rings, winding through the heavens in an eternal dance, like a giant worm devouring the space between the stars.

And this being of light, whom the wise men of the East, in their perplexity, named "Gusy-luz," revealed itself not as a common star but as a living entity, sent from beyond the stars, a herald not of words but of luminosity. Its mission was none other than to guide those who sought the infant of Bethlehem, He who lay in humble swaddling clothes, yet whose greatness extended beyond all understanding. And as it glided through the heavens, the Gusy-luz illuminated with its face all the paths below, casting upon the earth its warm, golden glow, which not only showed the way to the travelers but also revealed the secrets of men's hearts.

And though men could not hear it, the Gusy-luz sang a cosmic song, a silent hymn that echoed in the depths of space. And the song said thus: "O celestial and earthly creatures, rejoice, for today the Savior is born. I, who am small and humble, who contain within myself the simplicity of a worm and the infinitude of the cosmos, have been chosen to be the star that guides the wise, that in their journey they may know the truth of the eternal."

And so the wise men followed the Gusy-luz, whose body shone like a river of golden fire flowing through the skies, and they came at last to the place where the child lay, wrapped in simplicity and mystery. And bowing before Him, they offered their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, recognizing in the humble manger the greatness of the divine. And when the gifts were laid at the feet of the child, the Gusy-luz, which had illuminated the heavens for countless nights, began to fade, not like a falling star, but like the mist that dissolves at dawn, leaving behind a trail of light that dispersed among the stars, imbued with a brilliance they had never known before.

Yet its essence was not lost but divided into fragments and scattered across the firmament, so that each star might carry a spark of its light and remind men that in the humility of a cosmic worm lies the unfathomable greatness of the celestial designs. And so it was written in the books of the wise men of the East, that the star of Bethlehem was not like the others, but a being of light and mystery, the Gusy-luz, sent by the Most High to guide men toward the truth that transcends all things.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - February

For V-day, I'll give you the YOTP fic for February.

A reluctant OTP, but an OTP nevertheless...Please, have some Merestor x Glorfindel (with art from @sauroff)

Lots and lots, heaps and heaps, of love for y'all!

Pairing: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompt: Valentine's Day, Pollen/Fear Gas/Truth Serum, Established Relationship/Long Distance, different, mermaid, "If I kiss you, will you shut up?"

Words: 2 500

Warning: Sacrifice, implied monsterfucking, Merestor is a savage, nudity

(very sexy art and not very sexy fic under the cut!)

“We are sorry,” the councilman whispered as he stood, outlined by ominous darkness on Glorfindel’s threshold. “You have been chosen. We are hoping—”

“I understand,” Glorfindel replied before the old man could rattle off the perfidious reasons for their cruel decision to send one of their most valued warriors to his death. It made sense, he thought, the threat with which the town had been dealing for quite some time now was not one he or anyone else could fight with swords and arrows.

Thus, he had become superfluous—dead weight, really, and he recognised that much without fail.

“Today is a good day to die,” he added, deep sadness making his voice sound as hollow as if it was already coming from the grave. “I cannot bear the festivities anyway.”

“You must find it heartless—”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel interrupted again. “It’s strangely poetic, don’t you think? Give me an hour to put everything in order, tell the neighbours, and distribute what few riches are left to me, and then I shall be all yours.”

“Very well. I am sorry, please believe me,” the man who had known the condemned for many long years breathed softly.

“I know,” Glorfindel said soothingly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I am not loath to die. Especially not today!”

As he went through his meagre possessions, the golden-haired hero of another time smiled wistfully to himself.

Outside, maidens and young men were giggling breathlessly as they sang songs of love and hope and waved their elaborate bouquets through the fragrant night air—this was their day, the day of lovers, and Glorfindel felt ashamed of his visceral, asphyxiating resentment of their happiness.

Once upon a time, he had been much like them. Returning from a faraway war covered in glory and illustrious distinctions, he had managed to capture the heart and hand of a beautiful, smart, enchanting young man.

For a few blessed years, he and Erestor—for that had been his beloved’s name—had lived in peace and plenty. Every year, they’d light candles on this hallowed night and sit on the porch of their little dwelling to watch the procession of giddy youths, dancing through the street with elation.

Then, one day, Erestor had disappeared. Glorfindel had waited, searched, and despaired, but no trace of his darling had been found.

Looking back now, he realised that the “deep”—an ominous threat that had transformed the previously merry village into a ghost town of whispered conversations and furtive steps—had first made itself known around the same time.

Nobody knew exactly what it was and what it wanted, but it was generally understood that Erestor—Glorfindel’s very own husband—had been its first victim.

From that fateful spring on, cattle, people, and treasures vanished from the riverbanks and the edges of the underground lake that had always been a highly favoured bathing spot for the villagers. Fear fell like a shadow over the hamlet, stifling all life and laughter.

Soon, people avoided all running water, coming up with complex rituals of superstition and idiocy, but Glorfindel was too heartbroken still to even fear for his life; he wanted to know what had happened to his sweetheart.

At first, the elders had refused that he or anyone else should leave the safety of the village to seek out the mysterious creature that had been glimpsed by a few but never fully seen, and Glorfindel had reluctantly bowed to the pressure of public outrage.

Then, the sacrifices had started. Miscreants and rebels, bound and gagged, were left in the cave to feed and soothe the “deep”—and, to everybody’s horror and delight—they were gone by the time the guards came back in to check on them. As the mouth of the cavern was under perpetual surveillance, it was undeniable that it had to be the sea monster that had taken them.

A part of Glorfindel had always known that, sooner or later, he would be picked to be delivered to the pernicious pestilence haunting their home. His adamant refusal to wear the protective amulets or steer clear of the river had branded him an insurgent and a sceptic, and a community ruled by fear could and would not abide such disruptive, potentially dangerous faithlessness.

Thus, on the night of lovers, he was called upon to do what was necessary to keep a society from which he had almost entirely withdrawn safe. This would be his last act of heroism.

Glorfindel felt relieved and almost happy as he walked, flanked by the mayor and the councilman, down to the cave. Maybe, he thought, he’d be able to find out something about his lost lover; either way, he’d be freed of the torturous half-life he had been leading.

As he entered the cave, he was surprised and more than just a little touched to find countless candles burning in every nook and cranny.

The villagers had carved well-wishes into the melting wax or written down their prayers on little scraps of paper that were now buried under the slow-moving tide of pristine white, dripping off every wall.

“We have to…” the mayor looked up at Glorfindel with undisguised misery as he lifted the length of rope he had been kneading in his sweaty hands. “You can keep the clothes to prevent chafing.”

Chuckling wryly, Glorfindel shook his head slowly. He had promised his last possessions—the garments on his back and the bells in his hair—to the two brave men who stood by him as he set out for his last expedition.

“I hope that you’ll at least get a tankard of ale each for these,” he said as he laid the adornments he had cherished through many a hard year into their unworthy palms. “Now tie me up and leave. For all I’ve done for this village and for you, I think that I deserve the dignity of meeting my fate without having to worry about an audience.”

They complied readily, desperate to get away from the dark water lapping rhythmically against the sloping ground of the cave.

In their furious haste, they were less gentle with this season’s sacrifice than he’d have deserved, but Glorfindel was unfazed by the nails scraping heedlessly across his bare skin and the sharp bite of the rope into his tense flesh.

“Where…”

The councilman pointed at a few worn, discoloured pillows at the far end of the cavern, just a stone’s throw away from the frightening, liquid threat of the purling underground lake.

“Tasteful,” Glorfindel commented as he was heaved, pushed, and dragged to the designated spot. In his mind, images of his first successful attempts at seduction danced as if to taunt him.

He was no stranger to promiscuous poses and elaborate bondage, and—on this lonely night of lost love—he could truly appreciate the irony.

“I am ready,” he declared. “Withdraw and save your lives. Think of me fondly, and don’t let this ruin your evening. Go light a candle in my honour. Maybe, look the other way if you come across a particularly adventurous couple, I don’t know…”

He huffed—it annoyed him that he was still the one trying to comfort and calm the men who had condemned him to an undoubtedly horrid demise, but he couldn’t bear their sad, mournful gazes.

“I am not dead yet,” Glorfindel grunted when nobody moved. “Remember me like this—beautiful, alluring, and very much alive!”

Tensing and squirming against the irregular, badly tied knots, he averted his face which finally convinced his two hangmen to scamper away like the vermin they were.

“Let’s hope this monstrosity makes haste at the very least,” Glorfindel mumbled and leaned back against the smelly cushions as much as he could without cutting off his circulation.

Thankfully for the integrity and safety of his limbs, Glorfindel did not have to wait long until minute ripples on the hitherto perfectly placid surface of the lake heralded the imminent arrival of whatever lethal foe was lurking in the murky depths.

“Ah, a new one,” a voice resounded. To the intended victim’s utter astonishment, it sounded tired and impatient rather than gleefully wicked. “Why do they keep pawning their unwanted villagers off on me?”

Spellbound, Glorfindel twisted as much as his bonds allowed to see a shimmering, mesmerising creature cleave through the water.

“Eh, same as ever,” the aquatic being muttered and launched itself out of its watery habitat, twirling like a falling star and filling the stale, damp air with a fine powder that tasted sweet and cloying on Glorfindel’s tongue as he drew a deep breath. “What is it that you truly desire? Do not even try to lie to me—the spores you’ve just inhaled force you to tell the truth.”

“I want to know what happened to my love,” Glorfindel replied immediately, not even trying to struggle against the sudden heaviness pervading his limbs and befuddling his racing mind. “All I want is to find out where Erestor went.”

With a muted splash, the creature fell back into the arms of the inky lake until only a pair of brightly flashing eyes—as eerily familiar and yet entirely foreign as the accents of that enchanting voice—were visible.

Taking the monster’s silence as an invitation and unable to stem the tide of words that had been unleashed by the potent dust he had ingested, Glorfindel kept babbling about the one he had loved and lost, detailing Erestor’s indescribable beauty and admirable wit and sighing longingly.

“I know that you’ve taken him, and I’d beg you to reunite us!” he finally pleaded.

“You think that I have killed your lover,” the creature mused, its words setting off a flurry of bubbles, dancing over the glassy surface of the water. “And you’d be willing to meet that same fate?”

“Yes. Life itself is worth nothing if it’s to be devoid of all joy and love!”

“You have ever been such a soppy fool! I should have known that my sacrifice would come to nought due to your reckless stubbornness!”

Heaving itself from its fluid realm once more, the creature drew inexorably closer.

“Who made those knots? What a mess! Just look at your beautiful skin!” Razor-sharp claws sliced through the rope without hesitation, and Glorfindel sat up, rubbing the sore spots his writhing had left behind.

“Erestor?” he cried as he now fully faced the well-known and desperately missed frame of the one he had sought for endless months.

There was no doubt about it, that visage—gleaming like mother of pearl and gold in the flickering light of the white candles—was the very one he saw in those terrible nightmares that haunted his every moment of respite.

“How? Why? What has happened? How have you come hither? Have you been enslaved against your will? What can I do? I have missed you so much, you can’t imagine! Oh Erestor, my love! Or…did you leave me of your own accord? Was I not a good husband to you? You should have told me that you were unhappy—I would have done anything to alleviate your dissatisfaction—”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?” Erestor interrupted, and—not waiting for an answer—pressed his cool, wet lips against Glorfindel’s burning mouth in a gentle caress that grew frantic and heated almost instantly.

“Why?” Glorfindel whispered against the fragrant skin for which he had yearned with every fibre of his being.

“Old enemies came for you—you were out, at the market if I recall correctly—and they spoke terrible threats…” Erestor explained sheepishly. “You were always too rash to heed the warning signs of the deeper, darker secrets of the world.”

“But—”

“I’ve offered myself. What else could I do? The town needed you more than they did me!”

“I needed you! To hell with the accursed village—they’ve left me here, bound and naked, to be eaten by some fearsome monstrosity!” Glorfindel cried passionately.

“So they did,” Erestor agreed, anger and regret turning his eyes into splintered onyx. “It seems that I’ve been mistaken in my assessment, a rarity as you well know. I did not expect you to waste your time bemoaning my loss.”

“How dare you?” Glorfindel roared. Not minding the sharp protrusions on Erestor’s fingers or the dangerously pointy teeth flashing in the semi-darkness, he grabbed his lost husband by the shoulders and shook him vehemently. “I have never stopped looking and waiting for you—loving you—and if that ass of a mayor had not been so laughably terrified, I would have found out the truth much sooner!”

“Do they really think I’ve killed all these people?” Erestor inquired, leaning against the comforting, dry warmth of Glorfindel’s chest.

When the golden-haired sacrificial offering of beauty and valour nodded, he tossed back his head and laughed heartily.

“Believe you me, I did no such thing. It is in my power to grant one wish to those who seek me out in exchange for something they treasure—and what idiotic things they were—and so, I’ve helped every single person you’ve thrown down here escape the prison of paranoia and worry into which you’ve seemingly turned our once peaceful village.”

Glorfindel stared until his eyes overflowed with hot tears, leaving warm streaks of salt and salvation on his sculptural, freckled cheeks.

“I am so happy to see you—have you been well?” he asked breathlessly. “You should not have offered yourself that without consulting me! Of all the things to lose, I’d rather lose a limb than you!”

“I can see that now,” Erestor admitted. “I am sorry for doubting your love and your strength—they were very persuasive, and they tapped into my secret insecurity that someone like me—cerebral, somewhat scrawny, and undeniably mean—could never keep the love of one so glorious, handsome, and popular as you. It was all so new, and they made me believe that you’d soon grow tired of me anyway…This sacrifice was meant to be my parting gift.”

“And you dare call me a fool?” Glorfindel rasped as he bundled his merman husband—long, iridescent tail and webbed hands—onto his bare lap fitfully. As soon as that smooth, cool skin collided with his own heated flesh, he felt his body and all its dormant desires and impulses flare back to life.

“My love,” Erestor said warningly as he felt the testament of Glorfindel’s enduring, evidently unconditional ardour press against his scaly rear, “this is hardly the moment. I still have one wish to grant you—choose wisely!”

“Do you enjoy this life?” Glorfindel asked seriously, cupping Erestor’s soft cheek and searching his petulant gaze for any signs of dishonesty.

“Yes,” Erestor admitted after a moment’s reflexion. “It is strange, certainly, but I like it well! You’d…you couldn’t understand…”

“Then my wish is to join you!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “It is my turn to offer my life for your happiness. Make me what you are!”

So, that was my contribution to the YOTP for February!

I hope you've enjoyed this! Lots of love!

-> Masterlist

[drippingmoon]

Aquiver, Aglow: Beta Call Post

After being one of the biggest parts of my life for some years now, I'm very very happy to announce 'quiv is ready for its beta stage. I'm gonna echo my previous post: writing this story has been a soothing experience for me, and I'd love for this to apply to everyone. Never heard of 'quiv? No problem, new eyes are often wise. Old acquaintance? No pressure on you. Take a cup of steaming tea, or maybe not since it's summer, lean back and just tell me whatever crosses your mind. Believe me, it will help me enormously. And the stress is all with me, not you. So while I'm asking for help, I truly wish whoever gives me a hand to have a pleasant experience🥰

Sign-up period: till July? I might be more flexible, depending on the applicants, and there won't be any selection (a maximum of 7 people), which means you can start on the day you sign up

Deadline: October (SOFT deadline, since ideally I want to do another round of line edits then proofreading in November), with the possibility of extending until December (and don't sweat it if you need more)

Long story short: a human child restores faith to an angel, who in turn restores faith to Heaven.

Long story long: There's a place beneath Heaven where, in a shoddy little cottage, a mother and her child live. They are to wait for her promised day, when angels shall descend and devour their souls. For faith has been broken. Memories of kindness and warmth remain mere whispers, cracked under two centuries of prayers answered with bloodied chapels and trails of corpses, and callous wings plucking souls out of their once faithfuls' chests.

Tyrone knows his Mother is just waiting for the day the angels will come. She wishes to sacrifice herself to see her child out of the Promised Lands, so she fills his childhood with horrible stories meant to make him afraid and get him used to the inevitable. She succeeds. Tyrone is afraid, but of everything. Most of all, of the loneliness that keeps him company, and disperses only at night. Because, under the stars, he sees an angel on the rims of Heaven, taking care of her field of clouds, a mirror to how he toils over his wheatfield. That’s when he first feels they are the same. So when she falls one day, he asks not that she spare him, but that she stay.    And, slowly, the nights turn so very warm.

It’s been two centuries since the angels knew where they wished to go. They live suspended in time, caught between memory and hatred. Anne, their Angel of Lies, has only ever cared for Heaven. For them, she’d draw their anger onto herself, if only they acknowledged they were still hung up on humanity. She’s tired. She’s old. Even the stars have closed their path off to the angels, and she doesn’t know what to do. So when she is met with sincerity for the first time in centuries, she wonders if she’s found a way. If nothing else, anger would reanimate Heaven, and for a little while stop the angels’ slow fall towards death. She listens to a child’s quiet wish, and agrees.    Curiosity, she calls it.

They begin by using each other. With time, this no longer holds true, and they learn something. It was a thin line between that and caring about one another. And warmth, as it were, comes with sorrows shared.

GENRE: character-driven dark fantasy with humans, angels and stars interspersed with peaceful moments

WORD COUNT: 195k (standalone)

STATUS: sixth draft

WARNINGS: violence, gore, suicidal thoughts, abusive relationships, terminal illness

What I'm looking for

Content criticism, as in character arcs, plot development, your fav and least fav parts, and mainly if you think there are too many feathers in the story

The sky's your limit actually. Every thought counts 🙌

Typically you can ignore typos, but if any of them really pisses you off, feel free to shout at me

Same with line edits. The style is meant to be experimental at times, but not at the cost of intelligibility. So if I went overboard somewhere, please do shout but otherwise it's due a line edit

You get

Return betas! No time limit; and of course no word count limit

To save Private Jan (my penname lol) because there's no way I can afford editing prices, so we're pulling off an Atlas here no matter how many drafts I'll have to go through

Hopefully a great time?

You can just contact me in the DMs, but I'll put up a Google Forms as well for whoever would prefer that. Also, you can request a sample (the first/first few chapters) to see if it's your thing.

And that's it! Hope to see volunteers, and thanks so much for your interest! Have a lovely day🥰

[blackjackkent]

Rakha has two pieces of news to deliver to the myconid sovereign.

"I have slain the creature called Glut," she begins matter-of-factly. "It was scheming to slaughter your circle."

Narrator: You are one with Spaw. Your throat tightens, then relaxes. The air is serene, your mind untroubled.

Rakha's eyes drift half-closed. Her breathing slows. Her mind quiets. Yes. This was why she came back instead of pressing directly on to Moonrise - just the hope of this sensation again. The peace. The serenity, as Spaw called it. A silence that shuts out the beast urge at the back of her mind and leaves her quiescent and calm.

"((*the songs we sing now carry your spirit...*))" murmurs Spaw's voice, interleaved with the calm melody. "((*I first named you Peace-Bringer. I now name you Kin Spirit.*))"

If there was more time, if there was no vegeance still waiting ahead of her... she would happily live in this cloud of spores forever if it would silence her mind like this.

But of course it does not last. It passes, and the low, everpresent growl resumes in the back of her skull.

"I've brought you Nere's head," she mutters. With one fist she lifts the decapitated head as if delivering a meal at an inn.

Spaw reaches out and takes the head with surprising gentleness into its enormous, slimy hands. "((*the drow sought to shatter our Circle*))" it intones, and she can feel the intensity of its strange, alien emotion resonating through her bones. "((*in dealing death, you have brought this Circle life. and thus we name you - Life-Chanter. as our Circle grows, so shall your song. wherever you go, only listen - and you may hear it...*))"

The song rises in a sudden crescendo. The myconids in all directions are swaying in a fervent, desperate rhythm, spores filling the cavern to a choking density. But she does not choke; she breathes and the world fades out, her mind as silent as her surroundings, everything gone but the song laced through with memories, scattered words from all the greatest comforts she has known since she became conscious on the Nautiloid...

...peace-bringer. in dealing death, you have brought this Circle life...

...attack with purpose and savor your kills...

...even a feral wolf has a caring hound at heart...

...when darkness falls, you make your own light...

...you seem like a good soul... you deserve a chance to save yourself...

...there are answers out there... we’ll find them together...

...hearing all you’ve done inspired me... I want to join you...

...I don’t judge you for what happened...

...you will not walk alone into this night, remember that...

...I know what it is like to be burdened by forces outside of your control.. we are alike, you and I...

...I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you...

...the best plan is the one that works...

...in death, new life, always...

...courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it...

...you truly are a soul that steels my own...

...i’m deeply proud of you...

...there will be another time for us...

...

...

She isn't sure how long she has drifted in this haze of peace, but eventually a sour note sounds within the melody, then dissonant chords mix with Ethel's cackling laugh and Alfira's screams, and she hears Sceleritas's obsequious whine against her ear--

...i'm sure Master will be better soon... a fellow of your fine breeding is never down for long... i cannot wait until your next act of shameless barbarity...

...

She wakes slumped against the wall beneath one of the enormous, overhanging bioluminescent mushrooms. She is soaked with sweat from head to foot and trembling like a leaf; for a moment she cannot focus her gaze. Then Wyll comes into view, crouched next to her, his hand on her shoulder.

"All right?" he asks gently.

Her mouth is dry; her tongue feels heavy and thick and her voice is a little slurred when it emerges. "My head hurts."

He passes her a waterskin from their packs, watches intently as she sucks down a mouthful greedily. "Not surprised," he says wryly. "That was a hell of a trip those 'shrooms sent us on."

"A biological attack..." Lae'zel rasps weakly from Rakha's other side. "We must-- strike-- take the initiative..."

"Oh, please," says Shadowheart, further down the wall. She's sitting up, sipping from another waterskin and grinning very faintly. "Better to thank them for the free sample and move on." She squints at Rakha. "Though you look a bit like you've seen a ghost."

Rakha shakes her head slightly. "I wonder if they bottle it," she mutters.

It isn't meant as a joke, but Wyll and Shadowheart both laugh anyway.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Hare and The Tower

Chapter Seven: The Lady Hightower Part II

AN: I LIVE *in mushu voice*. I know took me awhile again, but the bills don’t pay themselves unfortunately. This is a long one folks, hope you like it and buckle up. Has not been proofread (I’m exhausted), we die like men.

Trigger Warning: SMUT - MINORS DNI, age gap, mentions of infertility

Word Count: 6.4k

Taglist: @riviaborns​ @dogmatic255​ @amethystwonders11 @sidechrisporn​ @snowymarvel1205​ @helloimlateforeverything @ladysindar @sweetwanderlust05 @newandykes

If you wanted to be added to the taglist just leave a comment.

Summary: Three blissful years of being Lady Hightower pass and questions, whispers, and unwanted noses begin to worm themselves into Jesmyn’s marriage due to a particular matter. Or more specifically, lack thereof. It all comes to a head during a hunting trip where Jesmyn gains an unlikely ally in her midst.

Chapter Eight: Wifely Duties

116 AC, Westeros

A deep, peaceful silence hung upon the early noon air. The quiet was disturbed only by the soft creak of wooden wheels rolling, the clopping of four sets hooves trotting against the dirt road, and the occasional page turning of a book. Inside the carriage sat two travelers, a husband and wife.

“If it pleases you, I can you give another book,” Otto said, waking Jesmyn from her daze.

She blinked her eyes a few times, the interior of the carriage coming into view. Dark red velvet lined the seats, the sides and doors were left bare, matching the silver exterior.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for quite some time now,” he remarked, with an amused expression. “I shall keep my book recommendations to myself, my lady wife is none too impressed,” he noted, lightly laughing.

A strained smile appeared on Jesmyn’s face as she shut the book, gently placing it down on the plush cushioned bench. Turning her head, she stared out the decorative grated window scanning the passing countryside as their carriage moved down the road. An audible sigh came from Jesmyn, her face pinched and lips pursed. She had a restless night sleep. The knots of anxiety in her stomach kept her awake, tossing and turning.

“My love,” Otto called softly. “I beg of you, tell me what troubles thee. You have not been yourself this week,” he said, snapping his own book shut.

Jesmyn didn’t respond immediately to her husband. Instead, she remained stony faced and kept her focus on the trees who’s leaves were aflame with red, purple, and gold. After another moment of silence she finally turned away from the window to glance at Otto, his entire face a mask of concern.

“Unburden yourself Jesmyn,” he pleaded, eyes filled with worry.

Jesmyn’s expression was uncertain, her eyes wavering before she shook her head from side to side. Uneasiness crept into her stomach causing her to shiver. The carriage ride was making her want to lose her breakfast.

“If not for me, then for you,” he said, with care to his voice as he can tell that she was troubled by something.

She took a moment, gathering her courage. Her fists clutched her richly decorated emerald gown.

"Otto? Are you….happy with me? As your wife?" Jesmyn asked, her voice hesitant.

Instantly, his expression softened, “More than I can put into words. I’ve never been happier Jesmyn,” he declared, his face lighting up.

“Despite, me not bearing you a child?” she pushed, trying to swallow her words.

“Yes, for I haven’t asked that of you—”

“It doesn’t matter if you asked me of it, it’s expected!” she snapped, her nostrils flaring slightly.

Otto's brows raised, stunned by her sudden outburst as an uncomfortable silence poured into the carriage. After recovering from the initial shock, Otto stared at Jesmyn and quickly she dropped her gaze to the floor. The back of Jesmyn's neck felt hot and wet with embarrassment.

“Forgive me, Husband. It’s unfair of me to take my frustrations out on you,” she apologized, exhaling heavily.

“Is this what has been bothering you, Jesmyn? Otto asked, trying to move back into her line of vision.

“Yes,”

Still avoiding his gaze, Jesmyn nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a gentle touch on her knee. Her eyes shot up, meeting a pair a gentle blue eyes.

“Come here,” Otto beckoned.

Silently, she quirked an eyebrow at the demand, but rose from her seat. However, just as she stepped forward, the carriage rolled over what must have been a deep hole in the road caused the carriage to jolt. Jesmyn was sent her flailing into Otto’s arms with a tiny squeal. Jesmyn’s fingers tightly clutched themselves into his cape, akin to a death grip. It made a smile appear from underneath Otto's mustache and beard.,

“Where is this all coming from Jesmyn?” he asked, gently running across her cheek.

“Tongues are wagging in court, Otto,” she answered, leaning into his touch.

“Name them and I’ll shall have them silenced,”

“And give them the satisfaction of knowing their words bother me?” she asked, with a scoff. “I think not,” she said, shaking her head.

“What words are these tongues speaking?”

“The lack children I haven’t had,” she explained. “For three years, we’ve been husband and wife, and there’s nothing to show for it,” she continued, placing her hand on her stomach. “Do you know what they say about me when they think I’m not listening? When I’m not present?” she asked. "'The Lady Hightower, so young and vivacious, but as barren as an old maid'," she recited, her lips tightening into a bitter smile.

Otto’s jaw clenched, his temples rippling with anger, “You remain steadfast on your decision of no tongues being cut?”

With a faint smile, Jesmyn nodded her head, “We have coupled with each other many times, Husband,” she continued. “Yet, you…you never finish inside me, Otto,” she remarked.

Gently, he took her hand in his, “It was my belief, you did not want me to,” Otto answered, stroking his finger along her skin. “When you spoke of your aunt and her fate, there was this terror in your eyes,” he recalled. “As your husband, it is my duty to love, honor, and protect you. Not instill fear within you,” he said, bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

“And as your wife, my duty is to bear you children,” she countered easily. “The next time we join with each other, I want you to…finish in me,” she requested, feeling strange having to say such a sentence aloud.

Otto only hummed in response, “Is this my wife speaking her wishes, or is this the members of the court?” he asked.

“Both,” she answered honestly. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when Aegon is in my arms,” Jesmyn remarked. “Secretly, you wish it was a child of our own,”

“I cannot deny such a sight was pleasing to me,” Otto admitted.

“Then, I shall not deny you any longer, Husband,”

A smile broke out on Otto’s face before his lips planted themselves onto of her forehead.

“Do you mean it?”

“I do,”

With a grin, Jesmyn laid her head down on his shoulder, nestling into the crook of his neck. Softly, he kissed the top of her head again. Jesmyn wished they could be alone like this all the time. She would give anything for such a dream to be bestowed on them. But alas, that was far-fetched and unrealistic. So, she would settle for the private moments like these, it made them much more cherishable. For the first time in a week, all the racing thoughts in her mind were quiet. She was at ease and with the gentle rocking of the carriage, Jesmyn believed she would be able to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

"How did I ever get to be so lucky to have met someone as beautiful as you?”

Jesmyn raised her head, "My handsome Otto," she began, cupping his cheek with her hand. "I am the one who is lucky. Most girls can only hope to meet a caring and compassionate man in their slumber, but not I. I don’t have to dream,"

Wordlessly, Otto leaned forward to meet her lips in a soft kiss, like it's the first time and the last time all at once. Jesmyn’s eyes fluttered close as she skillfully parted his lips, a low moan vibrated in his throat. Her fingers curled themselves into his dark hair and tugged gently, savoring the way their lips danced together. Otto’s thumb ran over her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. Instinctively, he pulled her tighter against his body, moaning softly as Jesmyn’s curvaceous frame pressed against his.

Sliding his hand down her back, and then across her rear, Jesmyn was left feeling wholly intoxicated, as her head tilted to keep up with Otto’s hungry lips. Quickly, the kiss is not as playful anymore. His hands slipped under her cloak, skimming over her breasts on its way to her waist and she gasped sharply, breaking the kiss. Feeling his tongue brush across hers, a whimper escaped Jesmyn as she deepened the kiss. Their tongues glided against each other languidly.

Undeterred, Otto continued trailing kisses across her cheek then down to the delicate skin of her neck. His breath warmed her skin, helping dispel any trace of the chill from outside. Sighs of pleasure escaped Jesmyn’s mouth at the sensation of his carefully trimmed beard scratching lightly against her. Otto’s hand caressed its way up her side and brushing over her breasts. She pulled away slightly, her blood heating up, her dress starting to feel much too tight with her speeding breaths.

“Too much?” Otto asked.

“Not nearly enough,” she quipped, then her mouth was on his.

Their kiss deepened and his hands moved back to her chest. Gentle, but determined squeezes from his hands sent a gush of delight through her and a delicious ache inside her blossomed further. Otto’s thumbs grazed her nipples through the fabric of her dress, eliciting a soft moan from her. As their kiss reached a natural ending, she gasped for breath. Her arousal was lazy yet burning, almost simmering beneath her skin.

Jesmyn brought her hands up to the collar of her cloak, unfastening the ties, slowly. A coy smile growing on her lips as Otto watched with bated breath.

"Jesmyn," he warned, swallowing thickly. "The footmen are just outside,” he reminded, never making a move to stop her.

A mischievous glint shone in her eyes, “Well then, I guess we’ll to be quiet,” she whispered, carelessly discarding her cloak to the other side of the carriage. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said you wanted to fuck me a carriage?” she recalled, her lips curved impishly.

It was safe to say their sex life was far from bland by any stretch of the imagination. Though you wouldn't be able to tell that by how normal they acted in public. A proper lady in front of court, but a whore behind closed doors. They partook in all manner of positions and kinks as they indulged in their own private fantasies. Otto was open minded to almost anything she suggested, and Jesmyn was up for most the things she was intrigued by.

Her shy smile seemed to taunt him with need for his touch. Otto pulled her back towards him, throwing caution to the wind.

"Gods help me," he breathed. "I can't say no to you," he stated, slightly shaking his head. Otto cupped her breast and her mouth fell open, gasping. "I can't say no to this," he rasped, giving the mound of flesh a squeeze.

Slowly, Jesmyn coaxed his hands downwards, hiking up her skirts to her knees.

“You best get to work then, Lord Hand. Your wife demands it,”

~~~x~~~

With the help of a footman, Jesmyn stepped onto the earth for the first time in hours. Inhaling deeply, she let out a happy sigh, grateful to no longer feel cramped in a confined space. The sun shined high in the sky, light spilling through the branches and illuminating the forest floor. A brisk blast of wind cut through the air, sending cyclones of decaying leaves twirling across the plain full of tents both large and small. The Kingswood was buzzing with activity from servants, nobles, and guards.

“Stepmother,” Alicent greeted, holding her swollen stomach.

“Your Grace,” Jesmyn said, with a curtesy.

“You look to be in better spirits than earlier,” she remarked, eyes trailing over her.

Jesmyn smiled, “I am,” she answered, nodding happily. “Fresh air and a carriage ride cures all it seems,” she quipped.

Jesmyn’s cry of pleasure was swiftly muffled by Otto covering her mouth with his, melting into a muffled moan of orgasmic bliss. Her body spasmed against his thrusting fingers as she rode out her climax with jerky movements. Gradually Otto slowed his thrusting fingers until he came to a complete stop, leaving Jesmyn a heavily panting mess. The post-orgasm buzz left her feeling tingly all over, bordering on numb.

''Otto,” Jesmyn said breathlessly, smiling at him and conveying her affection without words.

“It’s a mystery how I didn’t realize it sooner,” Otto stated, coming up beside her. “The Claricks are renowned for their archery and hunting parties,” he recalled.

She patted his bicep, “I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to me, my love,” Jesmyn reassured, smiling sweetly at him.

Alicent’s lips quirked up halfway in grimace, “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and continued walking to the large tent.

“We should follow,” Otto suggested.

“You go ahead Husband,” Jesmyn said. “I think I’ll linger out here for a moment, I wish to enjoy the fresh air,”

He smiled at her, “Not too long though,” he warned, reaching to graze her chin. “I will not have you getting sick in this weather,” he said.

Jesmyn mirrored his expression, “I won’t, I promise,” she reassured, gazing up at him.

With a nod of his head, he turned around and followed the same path as Alicent. Exhaling softly, Jesmyn scanned the trees of the King’s Woods and from the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approaching her. She looked to her left and instantly regretted she did.

“Good brother,” she greeted, forcing her lips to curl upwards.

“Jesmyn,” Hobert responded shortly.

“I thought you would be in the tent with everyone else,” she said, interlocking her fingers together. “Otto is inside already,” she informed.

“I could say the same about you, Good sister. You should not be stray from your Lord husband,”

Jesmyn’s temple throbbed and she bit her tongue to refrain from saying something improper.

“I am my own person, Hobert. I see no reason nor need to constantly hover over my husband’s shoulders,” she replied, and Hobert let out a scoff. Her body stiffened at the sound. “Good brother, if there is something you wish to say to me, then say it,” she said bluntly. “I’ve always known of your dislike for me. You wanted Otto to marry a Lady from The Reach to your strengthen ties there, but he didn’t. He chose me, a Lady from the Riverlands,” she finished, turning to look at him.

Hobert met her gaze, “I misjudged your father, Lord Clarick. I knew he was an ambitious man, but it seems I foolishly underestimated his cleverness,” he began.

“I do not follow,” Jesmyn said, her brows furrowing.

“He was smart, trotting you out to give your condolences and comfort your dear friend Alicent. And in doing so, he planted the seeds,” he continued cryptically. “The young, elegant Lady Clarick known to be soft spoken and everything a highborn lady should be,” he described resentfully. “How could he ever resist you? My brother was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame,”

“You’re not suggesting my father used a man’s grief to elevate himself and his house?” Jesmyn said, her lip curling in disdain at the implication.

“It’s as I said before, your father is ambitious and it’s quite a feat he managed to get The King’s Hand to marry his barren daughter,” Hobert sneered.

“I am not barren!” Jesmyn hissed lowly.

“If you are not barren, Lady Hightower,” he retorted mockingly. “Then what else could it be?” he hissed back. “Alicent has given birth to the Prince with another child on the way,” he pointed out. “Three years of marriage and how many children have you pushed out? None. I grow impatient waiting for nephews and nieces,” Hobert stated.

“You grow impatient?” Jesmyn asked incredulously. “I am not some broodmare, who’s only purpose is to lie on their back!” she argued.

“So you’ve forsaken your wifely duties?”

“I’ve done my wifely duties, several times over!” she bit back, her eyes narrowing. “This air has grown foul, I shall take my leave,” she remarked, glaring at him one final time.

Turning around, Jesmyn made the short walk to the large, crimson and gold tent where all the nobles have gathered. She crossed through the open flaps and was greeted with the sight of lords and ladies engagedly conversing with one another. As her eyes swept through the crowd, one head stood out from the rest. Her father’s. Jesmyn made a beeline straight for him, she needed to know the truth.

“Lady Hightower!” a female voice called, stopping Jesmyn in her tracks.

She looked over her shoulder to see Lady Redwyne, sitting with Alicent and other ladies of the court.

“A circle of vultures more like,” she thought.

“You must come sit with us,” Lady Redwyne said invitingly, stroking the dog in her lap. “Your presence has been sorely missed,” she added.

Jesmyn flashed the middle aged woman a smile, although on the inside she felt nothing but dread.

“Of course,” she agreed happily, moving to the circle of chairs. “May I?” she asked, gesturing to an empty next to a lady and she nodded. “Thank you,” she smiled gracefully.

When she lowered herself into the seat, Jesmyn noticed a man with dark brown hair, also sat with the circle of ladies which she found odd. No man would ever willing subject themselves to sitting through ladies gossip. Then, she saw his cane and realized why he sat with them. Jesmyn raised her gaze to his face only to see he was already staring back at her with his beady eyes. His stare was unnerving and his face resembled a weasel to her, quickly she averted her eyes and focused on pulling her gloves off.

“Isn’t that right Lady Hightower?”

Jesmyn’s head snapped up, looking in Lady Redwyne’s direction.

“Forgive me, what were you saying Lady Redwyne?” she asked,

“I said Prince Aegon will need to have playmates soon,” she repeated, her lips tugging into a grin. It made Jesmyn’s skin boil. “Tell us, when will the Prince have an uncle or aunt to play with? Soon, I hope?”

A gentle smile formed on her lips, “The gods have not blessed Lord Hightower and I with a child yet,” Jesmyn answered calmly, her nails digging into the fine material of her gloves.

All eyes were on her and she hated the contemptuous or pitying stares she was receiving from the ladies circle.

“Hmmm,” Lady Redwyne hummed, as if she were mulling on the thought. “If it’s herbal remedies you need, I am more than happy to tell you which ones to ask for from the maester,” she suggested.

“Lady Redwyne, your concern is appreciated,” Jesmyn began diplomatically. “However, matters relating to my bedchambers are simply inappropriate,” she said firmly.

Jesmyn had to will herself to not let her eyes water up.

“I am just trying to help Lady Hightower,” Lady Redwyne insisted. “For a woman quite young—”

“Lady Hightower is correct,” Alicent cut in, silencing the older woman. Jesmyn’s eyes snapped over to Alicent’s. A subtle apologetic expression displayed itself across her face. “Let us move onto a different topic, she demanded softly.

No sooner than those words left Alicent’s lips, a woman brought up the latest style of dresses, effectively pulling the attention away from Jesmyn. As the rest of the ladies excitedly chatted with each other, Jesmyn let her eyes drift to Alicent. She smiled along to the conversations and for the briefest of seconds their eyes connected. Jesmyn mouthed only two words to her.

“Thank you,”

~~~x~~~

“Might I steal my father away you, my lords?” Jesmyn asked, smiling pleasantly.

Her own words echoed in her head as she and Lord Clarick sat under a pavilion away from King Viserys’ tent. Silence was shared between them, the only sound which could be heard was the wine trickling out of a pitcher and into their waiting cups by a servant.

“What troubles you my child?” Lord Clarick questioned curiously, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand.

“Hobert Hightower levied an accusation against you that I know to be untrue,” Jesmyn said, bringing the goblets to her lips.

He chuckled, “This should be entertaining to hear,” he remarked. “What did your good brother accuse me of?” he asked, his eyes a light with glee.

“He claims you strategically used me during the time I was comforting Alicent when her mother died,” Jesmyn informed, with a scoff. “He thinks it was your plan for Otto to set his sight on me and begin to court me. It’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

“No, it not,” Lord Clarick disagreed, sipping his wine and making her head whip to him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to happen, and it happened,” he said proudly.

“You admit it?” Jesmyn asked incredulously.

“I took advantage of nothing, though your lord husband cannot say the same, can he?” he quipped. “Jesmyn, you comforted Alicent on your own without having to be told, because she is your friend. I only stressed to you to give your condolences to Lord Hightower, and to make small conversation with him,” he explained casually.

“Now Jesmyn, when you visit Alicent in her quarters, make sure you speak and give your condolences to Lord Hightower,”

“Of course, Father,”

“Unbelievable,” Jesmyn breathed, shaking her head.

Tense quietness fell over them and Jesmyn looked into the sky. Birds flitted about in the blue, cloudless expanse above the tents of the royal hunting party.

“Why the fuss?” Lord Clarick asked, laughing a little. “Your happy, Lord Hightower is happy, I’m happy, and you made your house richer,” Lord Clarick pointed out.

“Do you think he knows?” she asked worriedly, before drinking deeply from the goblet. “I’m scared to think of what he would, if he realized…” she trailed off, draining the rest of her cup.

“Does he know about my underlying motive? Perhaps,” Lord Clarick guessed, swirling his wine around. “Otto gains nothing from confronting me about it. He’s happy and in love, he’ll leave it be,” he assured and shifted in his seat. “He’ll be happier once you give him a son,” he commented, pointing at her.

“Oh not this again,” Jesmyn thought.

Fortunately, before Lord Clarick could get another word out, one of Alicent’s handmaiden approached their pavilion.

“Lord Clarick, Lady Hightower,” she greeted, dropping into curtsy. “The Queen has summoned you, my Lady,” she informed.

Jesmyn glanced at her father briefly, and placed her goblet down before rising to her feet.

“Lead the way,” Jesmyn said kindly.

She followed closely behind the handmaiden, wondering why Alicent requested her presence. Just as she and the maid drew closer to the tent, Rhaenyra suddenly came storming out. Jesmyn’s head swiveled, following her path but the soft call of the handmaiden made her turn around. Holding her breath, she went inside the tent, silently praying she would not encounter the same thing almost an hour ago. This time Alicent sat alone.

Jesmyn curtsied, “You wished to see me My Queen,” she said.

“Yes, please sit,” Alicent encouraged, gesturing next to her. She directed her attention to the handmaiden. “You may go, thank you,” she said, as Jesmyn sat down.

“I must say this is unexpected, Your Grace,” Jesmyn admitted, with a slight chuckle.

She shook her head, “Please, there’s no need to be so formal, Jesmyn,” Alicent stated, making Jesmyn’s eyes widened.

“Jesmyn? Not Stepmother or Lady Hightower?” she asked, a sardonic laugh leaving her.

Alicent nodded, “How are you?” she questioned, a genuine look of concern on her face. “Lady Redwyne…well, you know how Lady Redwyne can be,” she commented.

“I am not barren!” Jesmyn said defensively, keeping her voice low.

“I know, I know,” Alicent reassured, discreetly placing a comforting hand on top of hers. “However, it’s been three years Jesmyn,” she said quietly. “Have you any difficulties with childbearing?” she asked in a hushed tone. “I can be discreet, and have the maester help you,” she explained, sincerity shining in her eyes.

“Alicent, I have no issues with childbearing, none that I know of,” Jesmyn answered, just as quietly and Alicent’s brows furrowed.

“Then, what is it?” she asked, with a puzzled expression. “The marriage was consummated, yes?”

“It was,” Jesmyn answered slowly, feeling awkward speaking about this with her. “But when it was, there was not any intention of a pregnancy,” she explained.

Alicent’s confusion only deepened, “My father gave you a choice?”

“One time, I told your father my fears of the birthing bed and it stayed with him,” Jesmyn said, smiling a little. “So kind and caring, he is. Otto has never been forceful about having children,” she informed, her lips curling up a little more.

“Really?” Alicent asked, her mouth stretching into a thin line.

Jesmyn nodded, “When we…lay with each other, it’s always been for pleasure,” she said, her cheeks growing hot in embarrassment.

“Pleasure?”

“Yes,” Jesmyn responded, lightly laughing. “Sex doesn’t just have to be about having children,” she said lowly, as if it was obvious. “You don’t have to lie there and let a man have their way with you,”

“And, this has been your experience?” Alicent asked, and her demeanor slowly beginning to darken.

“Yes,” Jesmyn answered simply, a sly grin forming on face.

With her post-orgasmic high fading, Jesmyn’s eyes flickered down to her husband’s crotch. There was a prominent tent in his pants. Letting out an airy giggle, she grinned and reached down to palm him, earning a small grunt for her efforts. His hips rose quickly to follow her hand.

"Husband, it appears you've have a bit of problem down here," she whispered hotly into his ear. "Would you like your lady wife to assist you with it?"

Sparing her a glance, "It’s as I said, I can never say no to you," he said.

Smirking, Jesmyn methodically pulled the drawstring of his breeches loose. With one final tug, his erection sprang free and upwards. Leaning back, she watched smugly as his member jerked from side to side, free of any touch, searching for the warm comfort of her body. The head of it was pulsing red with need. Wrapping her fingers around his member, Otto released a stilted groan, his breath quivering.

Jesmyn did an experimental stroke and he bucked up into her hand. Precum leaked steadily from the tip, Jesmyn had to fight the urge to lick it away. Grinning, she licked his earlobe as she took him in her hand once more, slowly stroking him from base to tip over and over again. He was hot and solid in her palm and she felt him pulse in response to the steady rhythm of her pumps.

“Does that feel good, my lord?” she asked, lightly biting his earlobe.

Otto’s eyes were shut, lost in ecstasy as his hips thrusted up in time with her strokes. Jesmyn was certain he did not hear a word of what she just said. So, she let go, and a most rare noise came from her husband, a whimper. Otto’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving.

“W-Why did you stop?” he asked, out of breath.

“You didn’t respond to me,” she replied with faux innocence. “How am I supposed to know if I’m pleasing my lord husband if he doesn’t answer me,”

“Being cheeky are we?” he remarked, with a frustrated huff.

She shrugged, “It was a simple question,” she said playfully, before glancing back down to his crotch. His shaft still standing tall, fully erect, and throbbing. “Shall I continue?” she asked innocently.

"Enough, Jesmyn," he groaned, his patience reaching its limits. "Get to it—"

Jesmyn squeezed him an inch, the subsequent moan was music to her ears. Maintaining her grip, Jesmyn resumed pumping him, slowly stroking his thick shaft. With each stroke Otto’s composure loosens further, his noble visage crumbling away bit by bit. Her own heart rate quickening, her lust starting to flare up.

By now, her hand is coated, no, drenched in clear, slick precum making it slide with ease and glimmer in the light. Otto was leaking so much it was overflowing from the head and dribbling all the way down over her fist. Jesmyn did not take her eyes off her husband, looking him up and down: enjoying the rosiness of his cheeks, the light sheen of sweat sparkling on his face, his heavy breathing, and the occasional whine with each thrust into her hand. If there is one thing Jesmyn adored, it's seeing her husband turn into putty because she was only one who could make it happen. It’s an enticing sight that she couldn’t resist.

Otto beckoned her with his fingers and she obliged, leaning forward to meet him halfway with a deep kiss. He moaned quietly against her mouth

"Mmmm…Jesmyn…" he breathed.

His lips slid over her own, their tongues gliding against each other languidly. Otto’s grunts and moans tell her all she needs to know—he in was close to coming. Jesmyn wanted the perfect moment to pull him over the edge. She drew back, moving her mouth to his ear and pulling the lobe between her teeth.

She started to stroke him faster, "Come, Otto…come for me…" she whispered in a husky voice,

He groaned, pulsing and throbbing in her grip.

"Fuck!" Otto growled.

Jesmyn repeated her command, his body tensing as he buried his face into her neck. Not a second later, her wish was granted, and she lets out a most blissful moan as her husband climaxed. With a loud, muffled cry of her name, Otto came; his seed leaving his shaft in long, hot, pearly ropes. The noises emanating from Jesmyn’s hand growing wetter as he couldn’t stop thrusting through his climax.

"Oh… gods…"

As Otto panted from his release, Jesmyn released his member from her grip and pulled away to admire her work. Raising her hand, drops of cum trickled down her skin. Otto’s eyes were still misted with lust, his swallows becoming more pronounced as he watched her slowly lick the white substance from her fingers and moan lowly.

“Simply delectable,” she purred.

Her eyes then fall upon his cock once more and the sight gives her pause, if only a short one.

"My, my, you've made quite a mess," she lowered herself to hover just before his base. "So naughty, guess I'll have to clean you up," she dragged her tongue across his length, immediately relishing in both his taste and his warmth as she moaned to herself again.

Then with little warning Jesmyn took his cock into her mouth, lips sliding over the head and engulfing his girth. The erotic movement coaxed out a strained hiss from Otto’s throat.

“G-Good girl," he praised her, wrapping a hand in her hair. “Such a good girl,” he bit out, shoving her down deeper and grunting gutturally as her tongue grazed the underside of his cock.

Their heavy breathing was disguised by the racket of the carriage.

She grinned to herself at the memory, “Not to pry, but is it not the same for you?” Jesmyn asked, tilting her head.

“Yes,” Alicent answered quickly, her mouth turning upwards into a smile, but appeared closer to a scowl.

~~~x~~~

Night hung over the Red Keep, the stars brightly shining in the dark sky. Many nobles who attended the royal hunt, retired to their rooms to rest from the all festivities over the course of the past several days. Within one wing of the castle however, slumbering was the very last thing on the mind of two of its occupants. Illuminated only by a gentle roaring fire coming from the fireplace, two silhouettes were cast onto the wall. The light from the flames made the sight of their lovemaking all the more alluring.

The lewd symphony of wet skin slapping against skin in a sharp, fast rhythm flooded from the bedchamber of The Tower of the Hand. Low grunts resounded off the walls that were almost primal in nature, accompanied by the distinct sounds was heavy panting and pitchy moans.

"So...fucking good…" Otto panted mindlessly, with each thrust filling the room with the erotic melody of his wet cock plunging into Jesmyn’s womanhood over and over again.

''Mmh…yes—'' she moaned out. ''J-Just like that!'' she mewled, his balls slapping her exposed clit and sending shivers up her spine.

"Like this?" Otto asked, his voice laced with arousal.

His question was punctuated by a harsh thrust that made Jesmyn’s face contort in pleasure. She nodded quickly, goosebumps racing up the back of her neck as he continued to press himself deep inside.

“Gods, yes!” she whispered, so sultry she sounded like a whore from the Street of Silk.

Jesmyn’s hips bucked back with every deep, hard stroke Otto railed her with. Her hands fist the sheet, twisting them between her fingers as her head lolled back. Otto grunted in reply, plowing his hips forth harder and making her breasts bounce lightly from the force. The rough pace made Jesmyn moan all the more, eliciting hot cries from her. Otto’s callused grip on her waist was nearly bruising as he dug them punishingly into her skin.

“You’re going to look so beautiful with your belly full of my seed!” he bit out, his voice deep and lustful as his cock sheathed itself inside her dripping folds. "You'll have so much of me inside of you," he growled into her ear, grinding his cock against her.

The only response Jesmyn could give was to whine pathetically. Drawing back all the way to the tip, Otto slammed his hips forcefully back into her and caused her arms to give out beneath her. Jesmyn was sent flopping face first into the sheets, gasping and moaning as she took him from behind. In this position, her ass was pushed into the air, letting Otto's cock sink even further into her cunt. The action forced a strangled groan to rumble deep within Otto’s throat.

A strong hand connected with her right buttock, a loud smack resonating in the air and a pleasured whimper left her lips. The sting of the slap had left her skin tingling and hot. Otto struck her backside again, harder, and the muscles of her inner walls fluttered around his member before clamping down upon him.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

Otto’s hands roamed up and down her back and ass, squeezing the soft flesh. One hand traced along her spine before tangled itself in her hair. He gathered a handful of her raven coils and gave it a sharp tug, pulling her flush against him. Jesmyn moaned loudly, her back arching enticingly for him to pound into her harder.

Otto groaned into her flesh as clenched tightly around his cock again before biting down hard on the crook of her neck. He reached around her, cupping one of her plump breasts from behind. Gripping onto her nipple, he began to roll the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger ripping a helpless cry of pleasure from her throat as she arched into him. Jesmyn gasped between breaths, shutting her eyes tightly as she felt his mouth sucking and licking at the side of her neck.

Gasping, Jesmyn circled her hips against him and ground into his cock as she panted his name in a plea. She brought a hand up to drape behind her, her fingers threading through the nape of Otto’s hair.

“Ahh, don't stop. Please—harder, fuck me harder!” Jesmyn cried, as he speared into her and made her into a quivering mess.

She felt him smirk against her skin. Otto released her hair, his large hands gripping her hips before increasing the speed of his thrusts. Jesmyn turned her head in Otto’s direction and wordlessly he captured her lips with his in a messy, hot kiss all the while driving his cock deep within her. Jesmyn’s lips parted, their tongues dancing and giving her a taste of her own arousal from when he feasted on her earlier.

The room was alive with sound of wet slaps and loud moans and groans as the lovers melded into each other, his shaft hitting her deepest parts like a battering ram.

“Yes, yes!'' Jesmyn breathed, throwing her head back, her breasts bouncing. ''I-I'm so—'

With a high, faltering cry, Jesmyn’s climax exploded through her, coming hard over his cock. Her folds contracted tightly around his pulsating member and immediately pushed him over the edge. Otto let out a roar, harshly bucking his hips into her and depositing himself deep inside of her with each powerful thrust.

Jesmyn could feel the thick, plentiful ropes of cum shoot inside of her, painting her insides white. Her walls milked him for every last drop of cum she could squeeze from him. Grunting harshly, he thrust into her with each and every last spurt, emptying himself. Doing his damnedest to make sure his seed took root. Then, he moaned in delight, his cock finally stopped spurting.

He pulled out with a gasp, the both of them collapsing down onto the bed, spent. Otto rolled off Jesmyn, laying next to her. Slowly, she could feel strings of his seed starting to leak out of her, no doubt dribbling onto the sheets beneath them. Wisps of hair were stuck to her face, and her cheeks were flushed with heat. Jesmyn’s legs shook from the aftershocks of her orgasm while her chest heaved, trying to catch her breath. Lazily, she turned her head in Otto’s direction still shuddering from his own climax, his hair wet with perspiration.

Taking a minute to recover, Jesmyn rolled over onto her side, she pressed soft, slow kisses onto her husband’s lips, one he gladly returned. Both of them still breathless from the coupling.

”Hmm...'' Jesmyn hummed, finally drawing back from the kiss and flashing a satisfied smile. ''Amazing as always, Husband,”

A small, proud grin formed on his mouth and he pulled her onto his chest planting his lips on her forehead. Idly, he ran his hands through her hair or down Jesmyn’s side, before resting on her rear and grabbing a handful of the flesh there. Her skin glowed in the light of the fireplace, moist and smooth. Jesmyn nuzzled her face onto his collarbone.

“Do you think I would be a good mother?” she wondered quietly.

Still partially lost in the afterglow of their coupling Otto had taken a few moments to respond. He cupped her face, tilting it upwards so they’re eyes would meet.

“You would be an excellent mother,” he corrected, pressing a lingering kiss onto the top of her head.

Chapter Nine: Most Wondrous News

[korememeprompts]

UNDER THE CUT ARE ROLEPLAY PROMPTS FROM EPISODES 15-19 OF MAGNIFICENT CENTURY, change pronouns as desired / preferred.

“ my children, I promise you. your mother will make sure that those who she has knelt before will kneel before your mother when the time comes. I swear I will. “

“ I will be happy, later. not now, someday. “

“ I can’t stand seeing her face. “

“ darkness fills my heart when you speak of her like this. “

“ we must tighten her reins this time, she must understand she is not unrivaled. “

“ this matter is too big to be arranged for a few coins. “

“ he will be back anyway, I will wait inside. “

“ I was saddened by your words, I would not be unfair to you. “

“ but I promise from now on, I will make you happy. “

“ I have a family thanks to you, I am ready to give my life to keep my family in peace. “

“ nobody has lived there for sometime, it will need renovations. “

“ draw up the documents and bring them to me. “

“ you should have some too, they are very good. “

“ why are they doing this ? why do they see me as the enemy ? I keep quiet, I obey. “

“ you can’t fulfill my wishes, you aren’t powerful enough. “

“ tell me, don’t be shy.”

“ as long as you uphold your respect, and grace. “

“ i want to go there every day and create a palace worthy of you. “

“ when will this storm inside you die down ? “

“ you looked as if you have forgotten the paint and were daydreaming. “

“ understood. it would seem as if I’ve rubbed salt in the wound.”

“ is there no end to my problems ? one goes and another comes. “

“ are you trying to embarrass me infront of the entire court ? “

“ please don’t let anyone see me like this, everyone will gossip. “

“ the weather is good today, let us go to the forest and hunt.”

“ let us make many children, let us have a big family. “

“ then let us make the first child now. “

“ where are you, my love ? “

“ i am not you, I won’t fall. “

“ the more I accept my fate the more evil rains down upon me. “

“ we need to give birth to be treated as human beings in this palace. “

“ if there is no prince, then we do not exist. “

“ you mean be quiet and die. I can do that too. “

“ I will look at you from afar, you won’t be able to see me. “

“ listen to my heart, hear its voice. “

“ I won’t be able to breathe until the night we are sleeping in the same bed. “

“ but then I fell to the flames of a beauty with eyes like the sea. “

“ you are my most precious jewel. “

“ please, keep me in your loving embrace. “

“ as long as I breathe, I shall never take this necklace off. “

“ be on good terms with me, it shall be for your own good. “

“ this is not what you think. “

“ you are a fraud, everyone knows that. “

“ it must. it has to be a son. “

“ we have to conform to court customs, I have to play this game by the rules. “

“ never upset her. do not break her heart. always make her happy. that is how you will pay me back. “

“ I will name my prince after my father. “

“ I am bored to death, lying all day. I want to get out a bit, and get some fresh air. “

“ live in peace, don’t make me worry about you two. “

“ I feel like a bird, soaring above the clouds. “

“ focus on the target, release when you’re ready. when you’re ready, now wait –“

“ don’t give me wooden swords again. “

“ no, you are not a child. you will use steel swords now. “

“ hold your hand steady, now draw the bow. can you see the target ? “

“ don’t worry, this isn’t the royal palace. there is nobody around. “

“ don’t get too excited for your second son. what matters is which prince is the heir to the throne. “

“ I drew this to remember you, your voice and your beauty. “

“ I will also never keep quiet about my love. “

“ my dear, the rose thinks it and your cheeks are alike. “

“ forgive it for these words. “

“ consider me burning in flames for your love. “

“ my children must be waiting for me. “

“ you are creating troubles out of nothing. “

“ we stayed the night in the forest. it was like a dream. “

“ he brought light and beauty to our palace. “

“ go and find out why they haven’t come back yet. “

“ they will do malignant things to me again, they will slander against me. “

“ a smile on your beautiful face is enough. a smile for me, I do not want anything else. “

“ this chamber is now mine. “

“ you are one to be feared. “

“ only my enemies need fear me, never you. “

“ I will watch everything like a hawk. “

“ what would you do if the payment was not made ? “

“ this is a cruel twist of fate, just as I was trying to forget –“

“ I’ve found you, how can I go. “

“ if they hear us, they will kill me, you and the children. I beg you, go. “

“ try to understand me, please trust me. “

“ you are so close and yet I am not even allowed to look at you. “

“ they say it might go on for days, his majesty takes his time when hunting. “

“ mother, will you also come ? “

“ it feels like I’m the baby, everyone looks after me, ‘ don’t do this’ , ‘ don’t do that. ‘ “

[anastpaul]

SECOND POINT The Lord does not wish us to be lost, therefore, He never ceases to warn us to change our habit of life, bv threatening to punish us. “If a man will not turn, He will whet His sword,” (Ps vii: 13)’ “Behold, ” He says in another place, “how many because, they would not leave sinning, when they were least expecting it and were living in peace, thinking to live for many long years, have been surprised by death which has suddenly come upon them.” “For when they shall say peace and safety, then sudden destruction cometh upon them. ” (i Thess v: 3). Likewise He says: “Except you repent, you shall all likewise perish. ” (St Luke xiii: 3). Why, therefore, does He give us so many warnings before He sends the punishment, if He does not wish that we should amend our lives and so avoid dying an unhappy death? St Augustine well observes that he who says to thee: “Take care,” wishes thee no ill. It is, therefore, necessary to prepare our account before the day of reckoning may arrive. My Christian brother, if before this night arrives you should die and your eternal welfare should be decided, what do you think? Would your reckoning be in order, or would you not, indeed be rather willing to give anything to obtain from God, one year, one month, or at least one day more?! And, wherefore, now that God does give you this time, do you not seek to make your conscience free from everything? Is it because you cannot think this day can be the last for you? “Delay not to be converted to the Lord and defer it not, from day to day. For His wrath shall come on a sudden and in the time of vengeance, He will destroy thee.” (Ecclus v: 8, 9) . If you wish to be saved, my brother, sin must be left behind, therefore, as a day will come when you must leave it, why do you not leave it now? inquires St Augustine. Perhaps you are expecting death but for those who are obstinate, death is not the time for pardon but for vengeance. “In the time of vengeance He will destroy thee.” When someone owes you a large sum of money, you immediately take the precaution to provide yourself with a written security, saying to yourself: “Who knows what may happen?” And why do you not use the same precaution concerning your immortal soul which is of much more importance than the large sum? Why do you not say of your soul: “ Who knows what may happen?” If you were to lose that money, you would not lose everything and even if in losing it, you should lose all your inheritance, still you would have the hope of regaining it. But if in death, you should lose your soul, then indeed would you lose all and there would be no hope of ever again rescuing it. You are so diligent in keeping an account of your money, lest by chance any should be lost. if a sudden death were to befall you and if death should come upon you unawares, while you are at enmity with God, what would become of your soul for all eternity?

(via Thought for the Day – 10 September – CONSIDERATION V, Second Point – “Except you repent, you shall all likewise perish. ” – AnaStpaul)

[dream-meister-translations]

DREAM MEISTER & THE RECOLLECTED BLACK FAIRY

ALMA PAST #1

━

I was born in a small village on the outskirts of Norpli, Land of Clergymen. Allegedly, my cries echoed loudly from the moment I was born.

My father was a confessor, and so naturally, from a young age I found myself imbued with knowledge of confession and penance.

Equally naturally, for any boy growing up in such an environment, I had followed in my father's footsteps and became a confessor myself.

Working full time at the nearby church, I also made it my duty to take care of the orphaned children left at our sanctuary.

It was a humble but very impassioned way of life.

ALMA : Now, during this period of purification and enlightenment, you will clean the church for four days and four nights until it shines as bright as the day it came to be.

ALMA : With this penance, your sins shall be redeemed, and your soul will be as pure as freshly fallen snow!

CHILD : Ugh! But four days is so long!

ALMA : Stealing your friend's snack is a serious sin, you know?

CHILD : But...

ALMA : It may seem trivial to you, but all stealing is one sin under God.

ALMA : This you must understand.

CHILD : ...Y-Yes, Father.

ALMA : Alright, now go!

??? : Do you truly think that boy will reflect on his actions, Alma?

ALMA : Hm? Oh, Chris! Good morning!

CHRIS : That kid… He stole from his friend once already. I scolded him in much the same way. I truly wonder if he’ll ever learn his lesson...

ALMA : It's okay. He came to confess on his own this time!

ALMA : He finally understands that what he did was wrong. I have faith he won't do it again, hahaha!

CHRIS : Well, as long as he’s learning... The penance you hold for confessions is far too lenient, Alma. Just like your father's.

Chris was actually one of the orphans living at the church. Being so close in age, we got along well.

And we did so in spite of my carefree nature and Chris's astute seriousness, or perhaps we got along so well because of it...

Yes, I think that so. I think that was exactly why.

ALMA : Hahaha, you worry too much…

ALMA : There is no such thing as a person with a truly evil heart. Sure, they may be tempted by the demons from time to time, but...

ALMA : But so long as one has the will to change, anyone can redeem one’s self. And once they do, they can live the life of a truly righteous man once again.

CHRIS : ...The way you say it, Alma, I can’t help but believe it.

CHRIS :  I will never forget the time you spent three days and nights talking to that man whose sins had shaken the world to its core, and in the end, you made them repent.

ALMA : Oh yeah, that takes me back! He sure could talk a lot! Hahaha!

Being a confessor felt like a destiny of the highest calling. Being an arbiter of the people and enabling them to save their own hearts was my greatest joy.

I would talk to many people in my days as a confessor, from many walks of life, and with each and every person I met, I felt with ever more certainty that there were no inherently bad people.

Often times, the mistakes they made, the sins they would commit, would be a direct result of their unavoidable circumstances.

ALMA : Right! Well, then, let's see who has come to confess today. I'm looking forward to it!

CHRIS : Looking forward to it…? Would it not be more peaceful if nobody came?

ALMA : You might be right, hahaha!

WELL-DRESSED MAN : Excuse me. Is the confessor here?

ALMA : Yep, that's me! Are you here to confess your sins?

WELL-DRESSED MAN : Oh, I’m not here for me, but rather… my son.

MOODY YOUNG MAN : ...................

ALMA : Alright, got it! Then let's talk over here!

Today, as it was every day, I could cleanse another person's sins and purify their heart.

My heart was so full of hope for that…

[g-raynard]

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

--W.B. Yeats _______________________

A Deep Sworn Vow

Others because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your face.

--W.B. Yeats ____________________

Down By the Salley Gardens

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

--W.B. Yeats ________________________

Never Give All The Heart

Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O Never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

― W.B. Yeats __________________________________

Sailing To Byzantium

I

That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees--- Those dying generations---at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

--W.B. Yeats _____________________________

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi} Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

--W.B. Yeats

_____________________________

[from The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats: Definitive Edition, With the Author's Final Revisions, Macmillan (January 1, 1956)]