#HE WAS SO INSISTENT THEY KEPT IT CAUSE IT WAS A GIFT FROM HIS UNCLE AND NOW HES LOST IT ALREADY

[realcowboysdrinkjuice]

arthur is so gonna go apeshit next episode when shilo gets back like mf opened his eyes when he heard him being taken away wtf is he gonna do when he’s half dead and emizel is kidnapped and full dead (again)

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Trick or Treat…or Else

This is unfinished because I felt like I kept screwing up Jason’s characterisation a bit. Gotta work on that.

Jason glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall to his left, it’s was 2:57 on Halloween. His patrol wasn’t due to start for a few more hours, but something tugged at him that cause him to feel like something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad feeling just yet. He just knew that whatever is was put him on edge.

“Haven’t you taken enough pictures, Danny?” Tucker laughed through the screen of the computer Danny had set up in a four way call between himself, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz.

“I could never have too many pictures of my little princess!” Danny retorted as he snapped another photo of little Ellie in her Halloween costume.

“Ahem!” Ellie puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips. The pose made her look even cuter, Danny thought.

“Oh my apologise,” Danny grinned cheekily, “my little badass.” He corrected himself.

Ellie, decked out in her mini Red Hood costume. The child sized leather jacket had been a gift courtesy of Sam, while the mini Red Hood helmet had been designed and built by both Tucker and Danny working together to ensure it would be perfect. They might have gone a little overboard however, since they’d managed to incorporated a real working com unit, an air filtration system in case of a gas attack, night vision, heat vision, and an emergency beacon should Ellie wander off and get lost that only Danny or Tucker could access. Danny had also hand painted two nerf guns for her, and gave her hand painted ‘grenades’ that were just glitter bombs. Ellie had insisted, just in case she was ‘forced’ to choose ‘trick’ from Trick or Treat.

“Danny,” Jazz voice held a fondness to it, “if you keep it up with the picture not only will you no longer have any space on there, you guys will be too late for the trick or treating.”

“Oh no! I don’t wanna miss it,” Ellie ran to Danny and started tugging on the sleeve of his costume, “let’s go!” She looked up at him and though the helmet obstructed Danny being able to see Ellie’s face, he could feel it in his bones that she was giving him those big puppy dog eyes of hers.

After a dramatic show of sighing in defeat, he picked up his daughter and said, “alright my starlight, but let’s say bye to the others first though.”

“Bye Uncle Tuck, Aunty Sam, and Aunt Jazz!” Ellie waved her little gloves hand at the screen from her place in her dad’s arms.

Tucker, Sam and Jazz all waved back and said their goodbyes and wishing her a fun time trick or treating. Danny bid his friends and sister farewell and ended the call.

“C’mon Little Hood, let’s go bug our neighbours for candy,” Danny beamed at Ellie as he put her back down and held out her candy bucket which had been a plastic black pumpkin from a dollar store. He’d hand painted a red bat symbol on the front of it for her, so that it would match her costume more. Ellie held the bucket in one hand, and held her dad’s hand in the other as they exited their apartment.

The clock had ticked over to 3:20pm the next time Jason spared it a glance. The trick or treaters would be put and about now. Most cities started later, but in Gotham there was always the risk of a rouge attack, so many parents would go out earlier, just to make sure they were home to avoid being out when it started to get darker.

Jason stretched his arms above his head and marked his page before putting down the book he’d just been reading. He stood up slowly and made his way over to his front door, checking that he had some Halloween candy at the ready just in case someone knocked on his door before he took off for the night. Jason knew that his building had several families with children under 14, so the likely hood of getting at least one truck or treated was pretty high.

When he was satisfied that he had everything in place he returned to the couch, picked his book back up and waited.

“Trick or treat!” Ellie cheered as the door opened.

The middle aged woman who opened the door let out a small gasp, “oh my,” she said with a smile, “Red Hood, I didn’t know you’d be patrolling our building?” Her tone was teasing as she reached somewhere past the door to grab some candy for Ellie’s pumpkin.

“Of course ma’am!” Ellie happily played along, making her own attempt at a deep ‘man’ voice, “crime could be anywhere!”

“Well I certainly feel safer knowing you’re out there protecting us Red Hood,” the woman laughed, “have a good patrol.” With that she closed the door, and Danny and Ellie Bahn making their way to the next ‘civilian’ as Ellie had started to call their neighbours.

Five groups of kids had come to Jason’s door so far. It was getting later, and he knew he’d need to start getting ready soon. Just as he was weighing the pros and cons of heading out on patrol early another knock sounded from the door to his apartment.

[multi-fandom-trash-22]

An Ocean Away ~ Sebastian Sallow x Reader

A/N: Song fic oneshot from the (unofficial) Bridgerton musical "Ocean Away" with reader and Sebastian Sallow. This idea has been in my head since I've listened to this song and seeing as though I don't know how to make animatics, a fanfic is the next best thing lol. I know there's a bunch of bs going on with those who made the unofficial Bridgerton musical but I still love the songs so meh. This fanfic will have spoilers so don't be mad if you haven't finished the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Reader POV~

It's finally here. The winter ball.

After the tragic events that took place last year, the Professors decided to host a ball to boost the students moral and help them forget about it a bit.

It'll be hard for me to forget. I still blame myself for Professor Fig's death.

Life's been hard since last year. My whole world was so full so quickly, only to have some of it ripped away from me just as fast.

Another person I've lost is Sebastian.

I managed to convince Ominis not to turn Sebastian in for the incident with his uncle. He wasn't happy about it, but I knew he didn't want to send his best friend away. No matter how strong his moral compass may be.

Though Sebastian stayed at Hogwarts, he started to drift away.

He didn't seem to want anything to do with Ominis and I no matter what we did to try to speak to him.

When summer finally came, we didn't hear from Sebastian at all.

We kept ourselves company with each other however.

Ominis and I became quite close during summer break.

The summer months flew by quickly. It was time to go back to school.

I was dreading it at first. The halls reminded me too much of all the hardships from the year prior.

My friends really helped me through everything. They were the perfect distraction when I started to fall into a slump.

When the Professors first announced the winter ball at the beginning of the school year, many students were excited.

Only 6th years and up were able to attend.

That was a few months ago. With it being the end of December, the ball was finally apon us.

Sebastian still hasn't spoken to Ominis or I. I see him less and less in class and in the halls.

Ominis and I decide to go to the ball together. Only as friends of course.

Ominis dorned his house colors, wearing a deep emerald green tux with a velvety texture. He looked quite dashing.

We decided to match our outfits. I enlisted the help of Natty and Poppy to find the perfect dress to wear.

My dress was also a deep emerald green to match Ominis. He even gifted me a snake necklace to wear.

"It will help us match more." He insisted.

It doesn't feel very wintery to me but I don't mind that much.

The dress itself was sleek like silk. It hugged my body in the right places and left room where need be. The back of the dress was open quite low. The dress also had a slight train to it. Little gold flecks could be found in the dresses fabric, causing it to sparkle when I moved. It was gorgeous.

The girls and I get ready and meet up at the top of the stairs.

I smile when I see Ominis and call out to him to get his attention.

"Hey! Ominis!" I shout over the crowd of people waiting for the Great Hall doors to open.

"Hello (Y/N)," He smiles back at me.

I lowly whistled when I looked Ominis over.

"Looking good, Gaunt." I smirk.

He rolled his eyes with a grin of his own before gesturing to me. "I'm sure you look amazing as well."

I laugh a bit and chat with him and the others as we wait for the doors to open.

All chatter soon ceases as the creaking of the large doors could be heard.

The students start steadily filing into the now decorated Great Hall.

Gone were the long tables and benches. It was a totally different room.

The usual floating candles were now dazzling chandeliers. There was a beautiful black marble dance floor in the middle of the room. Flanking it on the left and right are circle tables with white table cloths and sparkling snow globes as center pieces. Where the podium usually is at the front of the room, there is a band surrounded by instruments. Behind the makeshift stage, there are long tables set up with food and drinks set up. In the corners of the room, there are pine trees dusted with light snow. Last but not least, the ceiling was enchanted to snow. Soft small snowflakes drift towards the ground, melting before it hits the floor.

I am awestruck at the beautiful scenery in front of me.

Smiling, I turn to Ominis and excitedly describe the room around us. Ominis softly smiles at my enthusiastic description.

We make our way to one of the tables and I ask Ominis if he'd like anything to snack on or to eat. He politely nods his head and I make my way to the snack and drink table.

As I'm waiting for my turn to get Ominis and I something, I can't help but take a moment to appreciate the decor and hardwork the Professors put in to give us a memorable night.

My mind drifts to the events of last year. Surprisingly I only think of the good times. Which leads me to once again think of Sebastian.

"I wonder how he is doing..." I feel my face drop into a frown at the thought before I take a deep breath and focus on the now.

Finally getting to my turn for ordurves and refreshment, I stop as I go to grab two butterbeers for Ominis and I.

I smile lightly as I remember my first butterbeer. Sebastian and I had just finished defeating a troll in Hogsmead and were treated to complimentary butterbeer.

Other than Rookwood interrupting us, the rest of the time we chatted and got to know eachother more. The first leap towards our friendship.

I realize I'm slightly holding up the line so I quickly grab our butterbeers and some pumpkin pasties and head back to Ominis.

When I get there, I notice our friends have also seated themselves around Ominis.

We chat for a while before Ominis stands.

"Everything okay Ominis?" I question.

He holds his hand out before responding, "It wouldn't be much of a ball if we didn't dance. Care to join me?"

I smile widely and jump up and grab his hand, rushing towards the dance floor.

As we take our stances, I think I see a glimpse of Sebastian behind him.

Not wanting to worry Ominis, I keep it to myself for now.

The music starts and I try to keep my eyes away from where I saw Sebastian as we start our waltz.

"Why is he here? He can't speak to us yet he decides to come to a ball?" I angrily think to myself.

I quickly sneak another glance at Sebastian. His face is emotionless, not even glancing in our direction. My eyebrows furrow at that.

The music picks up the pace as we move our feet quicker. It feels as though the music is in tune with my emotions. Or vice versa.

My anger starts to swell. After all this time holding it in, it's starting to spill out.

"I did so much for him. What do I get in return? Ignored! Not to mention I let go that he called me ignorant and never even apologize. Maybe he didn't apologize because he truly thinks I am ignorant. Ugh!" I let out a loud sigh as my thoughts keep racing.

Ominis starts to sense how off I was.

He dips me out of nowhere.

I gasp and look at him with wide eyes.

"You seemed a tad distracted." Ominis grinned.

It takes me a moment of shock before I start laughing.

He lifts me back up and we continue dancing.

"I was. I'm okay now though. Thank you." I genuinely smile at him.

I'm not going to let Sebastian ruin my night.

~Sebastian POV~

I grumble to myself as I make my way down the stairs towards the Great Hall.

I don't know why I even decided to come to this ball. I don't have time for this while trying to search for a cure for Anne.

Ominis had sent me an owl. He told me (Y/N) and him were going and would like to see me go as well.

I battled with this idea for a while, hence why I'm a hour later to this thing than everyone else.

Fiddling with my tie, I glance down at my outfit once more. I'm wearing a dark green vest with a green tie under a black suit jacket.

I sigh before finally waltzing into the ball.

As I enter, the musicians start playing their instruments.

People start getting up from the circular tables and making their way to the dance floor.

I see Ominis immediately. His light hair being an easy target.

I frown down at my old clothes after admiring Ominis's velvet tux.

My frown drops as does my jaw once I see (Y/N). She looks exquisite.

Clearing my throat, I pull myself together. At that moment, I think our eyes meet.

It's only a fleeting moment before she quickly looks away around the room.

I lean against the far wall and try not to stare at the two.

People all around me are coupled up and flirting. I roll my eyes at that.

Turning my attention back to my two old friends, my eyebrows furrow.

They're laughing. Having the time of their lives while I'm sulking against a wall.

I sigh and make my way to the refreshment table.

Going to grab a butterbeer, I stopped and smiled. I remember the day (Y/N) told me she had never had a butterbeer. It was after we defeated a troll in Hogsmead. We talked for hours that day, just getting to know eachother.

My smile drops as I remember the rest of the events from last year. We both went through hell. And I had to drag her into mine when she had her own to go through.

I down the drink and make my way to the back of the room once again.

I see some suspicious looking students off to the side, laughing to themselves before pulling out their wands and raising it to the ceiling.

My eyes widen and I quickly make my way towards them. I'm too late however as they already shot a spell from their wands.

I glare at them before they dart out of the room, still cackling.

As I look up at the ceiling, I notice the snow stop falling and clouds start to swirl.

~(Y/N) POV~

Ominis and I are still laughing and dancing before a loud boom rings above us.

I quickly look up and notice the ceiling now swirling with clouds.

"(Y/N)? What's happening?" Ominis questions as he starts to pull his wand out.

I turn to the doors and notice a couple students peeking around the frame laughing.

I sigh, "It looks like a couple of our peers didn't think tonight was entertaining tonight. It looks like they tampered with the ceiling enchantment."

Ominis nods in understanding. He does continue pulling out his wand though.

"Maybe we should get to the side then. Who knows what they did." He activates his wand to help him find his way back to our table.

I hum in agreement and start to follow him before another loud boom of thunder is heard.

As I look up once again, it starts pouring.

I gasp as I'm quickly drenched with rain.

All the other students start shrieking and running out of the Great Hall, not wanting to ruin their expensive outfits more than they already are.

I start to make my way with the students before I stop in my tracks.

Taking a deep breath, I hold my arms out and smile up at the ceiling.

"This is what I needed." I think to myself.

Spinning in circles, I start laughing with pure glee.

~Sebastian POV~

I start to make my way towards Ominis and (Y/N) after the two students run out of the room.

I'm about 10 feet away as it starts to pour.

Ominis quickly makes his way out of the Great Hall. (Y/N) starts to follow after him and the rest of the students before she stops and smiles.

I raise an eyebrow at her peculiar behavior.

I walk up to her and grab her hand, stopping her from spinning.

"What are you doing? You're going to make yourself sick." I state and slowly remove my hand from hers.

I know I'm in trouble when her smile drops and she glares at me.

"Oh. Finally decided to speak to me?" She crosses her arms in anger.

I sigh and push my hair out of my face from the rain.

"Can we not do this now?" I plead.

She raises her brows and tilts her head slightly.

"Then when are we going to do this Sallow? Last I checked, Ominis and I weren't good enough for you to speak to." She spits at me.

The use of Sallow instead of Sebastian hurts more than I was expecting.

I cast my head down in thought before meeting her eyes once again.

"I...I'm sorry." I try.

She deadpans and raises an eyebrow as if to say 'is that all you got?'.

I take a deep breath and try again.

"I shouldn't have shut you out. Either of you. After last year I...I didn't want to drag you guys into anything else you'd regret. I hate that I brought you both into my idiocy last year. I'm not giving up on Anne and I'm willing to do anything I can to save her." I explain with a frown.

I hang my head at her lack of response.

Suddenly a hand is reaching out towards me.

I look up at the girl in front of me in confusion.

My confusion is doubled when I see the bright smile spread across her face.

"I've always been there for you Sebastian. I will continue to be there for you. Instead of pushing us away to keep us safe, let us make that decision ourselves." She earnestly says.

My eyes start to tear up and a smile starts to spread on my face.

"Now are you going to dance with me or not?" She smirks.

I laugh and grab her hand, pulling her towards me.

"I would love to." I whisper.

We start to dance slowly, our eyes not leaving each other.

The band, seeing us continuing our dance, started playing their instruments once again.

Some students rush back onto the dancefloor and continue to dance in the rain whilst laughing all around us.

"I've really missed you." I confess, brushing a wet strand of hair out of her face.

She softly smiles and rests her head on my chest.

"I've missed you too." She replies.

Resting my head on top of hers, we continue to sway, music and laughter all around us.

Best winter ball ever.

~Fin.~

Hello! I hope you liked this story. This idea has been in my head for the longest time so it was nice to get it out lol. Anywho, thanks for reading!

[ziamo-xo]

Name: Ziana Kavya Mohan

Age: 30

Birthday/Zodiac: March 30th 1994 / Aries

Face Claim: Simone Ashley

Occupation: 9th grade Language Arts teacher / Owner of The Vault

Neighborhood: Oak Gardens

Gender & Preferred Pronouns: Cis female & she/her

Brief Bio:

Ziana Kavya Mohan is the eldest daughter of Dev Mohan, born on March 30th, 1994.

Born in Portland, Maine she lived and thrived there — academically she was top of her class throughout middle and high school, socially she was a butterfly and very much seen as popular, and she was a high school volleyball all-america team pick all four years. 

For many years, she was unsure of what her father, grandfather and uncle did for a living, only loving the fact that they would always return with gifts.

As she got older, Vikas wanted her to play more of a role in the family dealings, learn the ropes of their businesses and what not.

Ziana didn’t want to, she wanted to focus more on her friends and playing volleyball…not visiting other states and watching/listening to her dad have conversations about finances and data she didn’t care about.

The one person she could talk to about all of this was her Uncle Max, building a bond with him she didn’t have with her own father.

Ziana would agree more and more to visit these other places, making it once a month to every weekend and every summer. 

She would go to volleyball camps in Blue Harbor during the summer to keep up her skills, and when let off of her leash she would go out and about, checking out the town and trying to meet people her age.

After graduating high school, her father insisted she go to college for…you guessed it, BUSINESS.

Z agreed….but didn’t let him in on the fact that she would be taking it as a minor, subbing in education as her major. 

Having come to enjoy her time in Blue Harbor, she chose to attend the University there, feeling like she was breathing for the first time on her own.

Z frequented many clubs and bars while she attended University….outside of Volleyball practice that is. 

During her junior year was when her Uncle’s accident occurred, which caused her to take frequent trips to Chicago to see him while he recovered.

Ziana graduated top of her class, again, and continued to apply at the local high school in Blue Harbor—trying to stay close to her Uncle.

Eventually, her father found out that she had been lying about what she had been up to, telling her she needed to come home immediately or he and Vikas would be paying a visit to forcefully remove her from the school and her home. They did not take kindly to her lying for so long and getting away with it.

What she didn’t know by agreeing to it was that she was also going to be forbidden to talk to her Uncle Max as well, Dev had been plotting against him for some time and seeing how close the two had gotten had only further pushed him to find a way to shut his brother out.

She finally got his trust in her up enough for her to be left to her own devices again, having bought The Vault as a way of showing she was serious about really going all in with the family business.

Ziana has been back in Blue Harbor for about a year now, living in Oak Gardens and starting back in living her double life. On top of working at The Vault, and going back to teaching, she’s been trying to find her Uncle Max. 

Her father has kept information about him to himself, but she’s heard through others in town that he could be the one running Static.

[spoke9]

Miguel Algarín

New Year's Eve December 31, 1975

Richie playing the maracas

is the universe becoming fluid

and the Nuyorican Café

floor becoming platform

for the shape of art

to mimic so that the artifact

becomes direct message

         no symbols of

         but the very thing itself

the knife in the belly

and the blues singing soft

shoes of pain as my gut

kicks my nerves insisting

on its pain vomiting more pain

about gifts that on a Christmas

day reached a dead child

too late to be played with

but it wasn't the deliverer's fault

it was his uncle who kept forgetting

that Christmas falls with love

not on a calendar but on the tenderest

feelings where the self of all others wants

love and sharp edges that awake

the internal mind into a self-created speech

that reaches over into your listener's system

and reschedules his entire psychic set,

I once had a friend who in one afternoon

traced all of my spinal short-circuits

and rearranged my electrical flow

into more fluid work than the switch-on,

switch-off, I'm overloaded crisis

that results in nausea, asphyxiation and the

swallowing of my tongue

          hay algo

          hay un epileptic fit

trying to reduce me into a trembling

mass of jellied nerves, formless,

shuddering, there, on the subway floor

while hundreds of passengers masochistically

look on both enjoying my crisis and feeling sorry

for me, the poor wretch, lying on the dirty

concrete subway floor imploring my muscles

and nerves to keep cool and cut the short-

circuit tongue down my throat menace

out and institute a no-nonsense

coherent I'm a mechanical and predictable

human being behavior modification program

to counter my muscular violence against myself

which keeps calling attention to itself while the

transit cop is almost breaking both my legs

by throwing his full weight on me as he

tries to hold my legs still and my mouth open

grabbing at my tongue, yanking it out,

shaking my shoulders, slapping my face,

working to neutralize the short-circuit

in my spine till Dr. Psychiatrist starts

to define my mind and its connections

into a State Asylum where I can get more

medication than I do out on the streets

or have the medication forced on me by a

well-meaning nurse who relates herself to me

through an every four hour give him his

dosage routine

          hay algo

          it’s 11:59 p.m. 1975

and I got one more minute of talk

before 1976 finds me shooting up and down

behind the Nuyorican Café bar trying to

decide if nuclear war will ravage

New York before I find out just how

to divide the line so that it repairs

short-circuits that block the world

from coming together! it is 12 a.m.

the new year’s been bombed and over the T.V.

the hottest news release tells us that at La Guardia

Airport an explosion was so strong that tiny,

invisible slivers of glass have penetrated the skin

of many but the slivers are so fine that

it cannot be detected where they’ve entered

the body

and here it is 1976 enters in like a

glass sliver undetected yet causing pain.

[casspurrjoybell-21]

Pirate Chains - Volume 1 - Strong Tides

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 9 - New Life - Part 1

Nyx

I awoke to the sensation of movement beneath me and groaned as I opened my eyes.

The sunlight was streaming through the circular window of the cabin, indicating that it was past dawn.

I turned to find that pirate Agenor and I had fallen asleep in an embrace.

His arm was under my head and the other draped over my shoulder. My heart raced as I wondered if he had been hugging me in my sleep.

To my surprise, he chuckled softly and I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

I did my best to tune out his presence and remained motionless.

After a few moments, I felt him rise from the bed and heard the rustling of objects on the nearby table.

The door then opened and closed, signaling his departure.

With a deep sigh of relief, I allowed my tense body to relax.

My head throbbed with a pounding headache and my right shoulder ached, undoubtedly a result of the arm-twisting incident from the previous day.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling but as soon as I tried to adjust my position, my lower back and head protested in pain.

I was a complete mess and it struck me that I had begun to complain more frequently about my ailments.

I let out another sigh.

It was early morning, yet I already felt exhausted and dirty.

I longed for a warm bath to wash away the grime.

As if the situation couldn't get any worse, I became aware of a new discomfort.

I had an erection.

It was unbelievable.

That vile pirate had been kissing and licking me the previous night and now I was waking up to this.

Stranded in the middle of the sea, captive in a pirate's cabin, tied to a bed with an erection.

I cursed him, over and over again, for causing me such embarrassment and disgust.

An overwhelming sense of anger and frustration bubbled within me.

The first thing that came to mind was how weak and vulnerable I felt.

It seemed that recovery from starvation wouldn't happen overnight, no matter how many strange tonics I drank.

I couldn't remember the last time I had slept this much.

I was used to waking up in the middle of the night to send off one of our fishing ships before dawn.

I wondered if the work was still running smoothly and if my mother had managed to get my uncle to help her.

He was a shrewd businessman but he had his own business to run, so I wasn't sure how much assistance he could offer.

I was supposed to be gone for just a few days but Terry insisted that I needed a vacation.

As usual, my mother had agreed with him and pressured me to go sailing with him in hopes that we could improve our relationship.

She also knew how much I missed sailing.

I couldn't help but curse under my breath.

How long would I be kept in this state?

I had no idea what the future held for me and this collar, I held it tightly in my hands.

Was this some twisted joke?

He could have just locked me up in a prison cell but instead, he went and did this.

My fingers traced the skull engraved on the collar.

Was he trying to say that I was nothing more than an animal to these pirates?

Or, the thought made me shiver, was he planning to sell me as a slave?

The possibilities of what could be going through that nefarious pirate's mind were endless.

I was aware that slavery existed in the black market but I had never been exposed to it.

I had heard stories of people being kidnapped or taken as payment for debt, only to be sold to slave merchants.

They were then transported to remote and uninhabited lands, where they were forced to work in mines or dig for gold.

Rumors stated that they were treated worse than animals and that none of them ever returned.

The thought of ending up in such a fate filled me with dread and hopelessness.

My mind was consumed with thoughts and fear as I reached for my necklace and looked at the pendant.

It was a silver locket with a mermaid etched on it, a rare piece gifted to me by a wealthy merchant.

I opened the locket and found a tiny portrait of my late father and mother on one side and my dear Raya on the other.

I stared at them for a moment, tears welling up in my eyes.

I closed the pendant, held it tightly in my hand, pressed it against my chest and swallowed my tears before drifting off to sleep.

I awoke a few hours later, the sun had risen in the sky.

I sat up in the bed and looked around.

To my surprise, there was a bucket of water under the window, with a piece of cloth hanging on its side.

I quickly moved towards it and soaked the cloth in the water, preparing to wipe my face.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if the bucket and cloth were meant for Agenor and not me but I quickly dismissed the thought, remembering how dirty I was and began cleaning myself.

I also noticed that a chamber pot had been set nearby, within my reach.

I was almost certain that it was for me to use.

The thoughtful gesture made me feel relieved, as it meant that I wouldn't be sold that day.

However, it also meant that I wouldn't be leaving the Martina just yet.

As I finished cleaning myself, I rinsed the blue handkerchief and tied it around my head again.

It wasn't completely clean but the pressure it provided on my head helped ease the discomfort.

I tested the length of the chain and I could only take a couple of steps further.

It didn't even allow me to reach the table or the chairs around it.

Within my reach, there were only a few wooden boxes in the corner next to the bed, the window and that was about it.

From a standing position, I could see the sea.

I stood there, staring and listening to the soothing sound of the waves. I heard the door open and turned my head.

A small head popped in and smiled at me with wide eyes, as if he had seen something unexpected.

"Morning, mate," he said.

I stared at him.

He was a very young person, probably around fifteen.

What would a young person be doing on a ship like this?

The thought made me feel uneasy.

He glanced behind him, then walked backward into the room, quickly closing the door and running towards me.

Up close, he was the same height as me but still had a youthful appearance.

He had curly brown hair and hazel eyes.

He stared at me closely, moving his head back and forth to examine my body.

It made me feel uncomfortable but I held my ground.

"Wow. You're alive and in one piece. Overall, anyway. I guess I won then. Hey, so tell me, which one was it?"

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, confused.

"Which finger? It must be a finger if you're still standing. So, which one? Did he break it? Cut it? Or was it a toe? You don't look like someone who has just lost his dick or a ball," he said, with a grin on his face.

He suddenly grabbed my hands and I immediately yanked them away and stepped back.

His words and behavior made me feel uneasy and I didn't understand what he was talking about.

His sudden grab of my hands also startled me and made me feel uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're..."

"Hold on a moment," he said, examining me from head to toe.

"Don't tell me he didn't hurt you? God, you're the luckiest one ever."

I glared at him, confused as to how any of my current circumstances could be considered lucky.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You defied the captain. You stood up to Agenor and still kept your head and limbs. Do you know how many times that's happened? Never. I lost a bet because of it. I was sure you'd end up with a broken leg or a chopped finger. There's a bet going on about whether you'll be found hanged or missing a limb. A lot of people will be disappointed. Some even gave you nicknames," he said, with a hint of sarcasm.

His words only served to infuriate me further.

"I'm chained like an animal. I can't go home for God knows how long and my head feels like a hurricane whenever I take a breath. And yet you're calling this luck and making bets about me losing my head?"

"Oh... Sorry about that," he said, looking genuinely remorseful.

I sighed, not surprised by the behavior of a pirate crew.

I waved my hand dismissively at him.

"Just leave me alone. And kindly stop betting on my fate."

"Oh, I wasn't apologizing for that. A bet can't be stopped once it starts. I'm apologizing for yesterday," he said and I gave him a confused look.

"About your head. It wasn't personal, mate. I just go by Agenor's orders."

He hesitated for a moment before announcing with a proud smile...

"I'm Maren."

For a second, I wasn't sure what he meant, then my eyes widened as I realized.

"You're the one who threw me on the deck?"

[angstymdzsthoughts]

I was rereading the creepy JFM au--specifically the WWX is pregnant before the marriage and isn't sure about the father post--and it says that the only thing Lan Yuan shares with his father is the regal arch of the Lan eyebrows. The thing is, JFM is a Sect Leader, so it's entirely possible that one of JFM's close ancestors (I was thinking his mother) was a high-ranking Lan with all of the Lan features. Features that were then + 1/2

+ Features that were then partially passed onto JFM including the Lan eyebrows. The Lan eyebrows, proving to the world that Lan Yuan is Lan Zhan's son, all the while proving nothing to those aware of the situation and causing even more tension for years to come. 2/2

-

He was able to keep Jiang Fengmian away the first month after Lan Yuan's birth. Lan Wangji took a not insufficient amount of petty joy when he told the Jiang sect leader that Wei Wuxian had requested only female visitors be allowed to see her. Of course he had done so while allowing himself, Jiang Wanyin, his brother, and his uncle into the Jingshi without a word. (He had sent Madam Yu a fine set of calligraphy brushes as a thank you for how she scolded her husband for 'pouting like a child over a young new mothers’ completely reasonable request'.)

However even he knew that he could not deny the man an invitation to his sons one month celebration. Not inviting one of the great sects would be seen as a great insult and it would become a political incident. It would also deny Wei Wuxian's siblings from coming to celebrate and break his wife's heart.

She was anxious and fearful in the days leading up to the celebration. He found her tracing her fingers over their sons’ tiny eyebrows every hour of the day. Each time he took her hand and kissed her fingers and promised that he would not leave her alone with that man ever again.

The celebration started off well. The receiving hall was decorated elegantly and Jiang Yanli had been happy to share some of Wei Wuxian's favorite Yunmeng recipes for the cooks to recreate. A'Yuan was delighted by the gold bracelets on his wrists and all the new faces around him. Wei Wuxian was in high spirits and laughing at the small mountain of gifts and red envelopes they received. Lan Wangji normally hated events like this with too many people who wanted to talk to him about pointless things, but now he proudly walked around and showed his son and wife off to everyone present. He stayed by his wife's side and Jiang Fengmian kept his distance.

It wasn't long after they had finished shaving A'Yuan's newborn hair away that an outer disciple named Su She approached and told him his grand uncle needed to speak with him alone.

"Don't worry, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said with a smile. "My feet are getting sore now so me and A'Yuan are going to sit down for a small rest. I'll be right here until you come back."

The thought of leaving his wife and child alone while Jiang Fengmian roamed around was unacceptable. "I will ask xiongzhang to stay with you until I return."

Wei Wuxian laughed at how silly he was, but he saw how her shoulders relaxed at his insistence.

Lan Xichen was delighted to stay by his sister in laws side until Lan Wangji returned. He’s told Lan Wangji that watching his little nephew has now become his favorite way to spend time.

It took far too long to find his grand uncle among the sizable crowd. The place Su She told him his grand uncle would be proved to be false. The longer it took the more his stomach tensed until it felt more like a stone. He reassured himself that he was just uneasy being away from his family.

His anxiety proved to be right when he found his grand uncle- who had not requested to speak to Lan Wangji alone at all. Lan Wangji could hardly get out an apology for the misunderstanding before he was rushing back to Wei Wuxian.

To his growing horror he finds his brother first - alone. Lan Xichen sees how upset he is and immediately starts to apologize and explain that an argument had started and he needed to mediate it. Lan Wangji didn’t care. He would have words with his brother later but Wei Wuxian being alone was more important. 

Wei Wuxian is right where she said she would be. Sitting down, holding their son, pale as a ghost and not looking at Jiang Fengmian who was far, far too close for Lan Wangji’s liking. It looked like Wei Wuxian was trying to hide Yuan from the older man by holding him close and curling her body around him. Jiang Fengmian had his hand on her shoulder, leaning in to try seeing the baby better. Not having any luck, Jiang Fengmian lifted his hand to move the silk blanket Lan Yuan was wrapped in.

Lan Wangji was honestly shocked that he didn’t immediately drive his sword through Jiang Fengmian’s chest.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji wished that his voice had come out calm and composed, but it didn’t. His emotions were too wild to manage that.

Wei Wuxian stood and ran to his side without hesitation. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying choked out. Lan Wangji could now see just how close to tears she was. Lan Wangji could not hold back the vicious glare he threw Jiang Fengmian’s way. His anger only grew at the undeniably smug curl of the sect leaders lips.

“It seems that A’Xian has become tired from all of todays excitement,” Jiang Fengmian said pleasantly. As if he was a concerned father. As if he hadn’t spent years planning to ensnare Wei Ying. As if he hadn’t raped her for over a month!

Lan Wangji was very suddenly rethinking the value and merit of his clans rule against taking life.

“Sect leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen greeted. He very rudely cut in between them and began talking to the other man using social etiquette as his weapon. Lan Wangji loved his brother very much in that moment. There would still be words between them later for leaving Wei Wuxian’s side, but Lan Wangji knows deep down that he himself deserves a thousand times more blame for all of this.

He had promised not to leave her side. He told her he would protect her and she would never have to interact with Jiang Fengmian again. He had failed her so completely that he may never forgive himself.

Lan Wangji didn’t bother announcing the end of the celebration or addressing any of their guests to thank them like he should have. His brother would handle it. His only priority was getting Wei Wuxian and Lan Yuan to safety, far away from smug smiles and dark eyes.

The trip to the Jingshi seemed to both take an eternity and a few seconds at the same time. Wei Wuxian had began to quietly cry halfway there. He hadn’t seen her cry since their wedding night when she confessed that the baby may not be his.

Once inside the Jingshi, Lan Wangji held Wei Wuxian close. He waited until she was ready to tell him what had happened.

"He said..." she began before her voice broke. "He thanked me. For- For giving h-him a healthy son. Said he was proud...”

Lan Wangji felt rage fill his stomach like fire crawling up his spine and spreading through his body. That sick, twisted man dared to try laying a claim of his son and wife!

"He said- He-" Wei Wuxian let out a whimper that broke Lan Wangji's heart. "He said that Yuan h-has his mothers’ brows."

With that, Wei Wuxian's knees gave out and she would have collapsed to the floor if Lan Wangji hadn't been holding her. Their son, stressed from seeing his parents so upset, began to cry alongside his mother. Lan Wangji held the two of them in his arms as if that would be enough to keep them safe from the world.

It was a lie. It had to be a lie. Jiang Fengmian was a sick minded monster who saw what he wanted to see. He wanted to see Cangse Sanren when he looked at Wei Wuxian and he wanted to see his families features when he looked at Yuan. That's all it was. Just an unhinged man grasping at thin air to find a way to put a claim on their child. Lan Yuan is not that mans child.

Later he will tell Wei Wuxian this. He will tell her as many times as she needs to hear it. He will love her and their son and any child they have in the future with all his heart and never let anyone deny that they are his.

But for now he will hold them close while they cry and hate himself for failing to protect them.

[essieqt]

Fellow Yami simp here, hello!

May I request some Yami HC's with a s/o that's a royal? Like he felt about them before and then how he started to develop feelings and ultimately how their relationship stsrted? Thank you so much in advance!

Hello! I absolutely love doing anything for Yami! I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you like it ! :)

You and Yami didn’t interact much before you were together. You were always quiet, so he mistook you for being just another stuck up royal. Given that your Uncle was the King of the Clover Kingdom, no one could really blame him for assuming this.

Truthfully you didn’t interact with anyone much, most royals stayed away from you, due to your reputation as a bit of a Black Sheep. Sure you had the tendency to out drink the king himself at parties.. And there was that one time you started an illegal gambling ring inside Clover castle that caused a bit of a rift amongst the servants.. but the way people avoided you really was undeserved. That’s royalty for you I guess.

To Yami most people were what he would consider tiny, including you, so on the rare occasions you did interact he would always call you things like “Pint Sized Princess”, and “Little Miss Royal” to try to get a reaction out of you.

You and Nozel were around the same age growing up, so when he had missions you would offer to babysit Noelle for him. Despite his distaste for his sister you always adored her so on the night before her 16th birthday you went over to the Black Bulls base to surprise her with a gift.

You spent a few hours chatting and reminiscing with Noelle in the common area of the Black Bulls base before Magna announced they were going to be play a drinking game to celebrate Noelle’s Birthday, granted Noelle wouldn’t be able to take part, but the Black Bulls loved any excuse to celebrate with Alcohol.

“You gonna play too, Little Miss Royal or are you too high class?” Yami taunted you, causing you to chuckle. You were never one to turn down a challenge, especially when it came to something you knew you’d win.

The game kept going well into the night, long after a majority of the squad and even Wino Witch passed out you were still going strong. “ You sure do know how to handle a drink, Princess. I’ll say I’m impressed.” he teased you. Oh, but the Captain wasn’t just impressed, he was bewitched by the fact that this woman less than half his size kept drinking with him toe to toe for hours.

Your vision had started to blur about an hour before, but you absolutely refused to give in. Sure it was no secret that you loved to drink grown men under the table for fun, but something about this man drew you in. The way the sound of his deep chuckle reverberated in his chest made your knees weak, the way he would flash you a smile when you took another shot without flinching was addictive.

After that night you found yourself visiting the Black Bulls base almost every weekend, taking part in the various drinking games they would play. Week after week you found yourself to be the last one standing with Yami, during this alone time your conversations changed from him teasing you about your status to discussing your lives, and dreams.

Yami couldn’t help but pay attention to you now any time you were in the same room, the way you carried yourself, the small blush that would cross your cheeks when you noticed his gaze on you became addictive. He began to notice the way other royals, other than Noelle, avoided you. The way people spoke in hushed whispers when you’d walk by. He couldn’t help but be reminded about his time when he first came to the Clover Kingdom. The way you held your head high and didn’t pay it any mind made pride swell in his being. “Now that’s a strong woman.” would often cross his mind.

At first you were unsure whether or not The Leader of the Black Bulls shared your affections. Over time the glances he often gave you in passing grew softer and became more frequent. When he’d pass you a beer your hands would often touch, lingering longer than would be considered normal. You were never one to not dive into things head first, but in this instance, for the first time in your life, you found yourself hesitating, unsure of how to handle the situation.

“ Seriously, half the servants went on strike because of your gambling ring?” The captain could hardly contain his laughter and as you recounted the story. It was such a strange feeling for you to be able to tell that story and not feel ashamed, truthfully anytime you were with him you felt anything but ashamed.

“You’re a little rebel, aren’t ya princess?” he grinned at you as he took a long drag of his cigarette. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” You replied to him as you stood up, the liquid courage in your belly was fueling your actions as you walked over to Yami then took his cigarette out of his mouth, planting a kiss on his lips. The captain pulled you in heightening the intensity of your kiss.

In the early days Yami insisted that you kept your relationship a secret, he didn’t want to cause trouble for you due to him not being of noble descent. Eventually he finally gave in after you told him for the millionth time you didn’t care what anyone thought, because after all you were the former bookie of the infamous Clover Castle gambling ring.

Once you two went public he would often be extra handsy with you when around anyone of noble descent, he absolutely loved the appalled looks followed by the hushed whispers that would follow. He absolutely loved touching you, but getting a rise out of the pompous royals was an added bonus.

He finds your rebellious nature incredibly sexy and often greets you with “Started anymore illegal gambling operations lately?” Before pulling you in for a kiss.

He still calls you Half Pint Princess and Little Miss Royal, but now the names that once made you flustered, never fail to bring a smile to your face.

This man absolutely adores you. He wants badly to tell you that you are the sun that lights up his whole world, but words often fail him, so it usually comes out as “You’re the best drinking buddy, ya know that Little Miss Royal?” followed by him planting his lips on yours.

[boop-le-snoot]

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

[realcube]

BABYSITTING WITH HIM

characters ♡ oikawa, tendou & sakusa

tw ♡ children, cursing & mentions of arson

TŌRU OIKAWA

♡ he is pretty much a professional babysitter, or so he thought

♡ which is why he accepted when you asked if he could help you take care of your nieces/nephews for the weekend

♡ i mean, he takes care of his nephew all the time so how hard could babysitting possibly be? it was basically a free pass to spend the day with you 

♡ however, he began to regret his decision as he sat on your couch and realised that he wouldn’t be able to get even somewhat intimate with you when there was constantly an annoying little boy clinging to his arm, asking him if he had any games on his phone

♡ “sorry, kid.” oikawa smiled, clenching his jaw to hide the rage but it wasn’t very effective, “i’ve not got any games. maybe you could go play with your toys or something.” 

♡ he let out a sigh, making the mistake of thinking that would be the end of their interaction

♡ “can’t you just download some?” the boy retaliated

♡ you snickered, watching as the energy visibly drained from oikawa, yet he still wore his frighteningly bright grin

♡ “i’ve not got any storage.” 

♡ “then delete some of your apps or photos.” the boy said with a shrug, then proceeded to point at oikawa’s home screen, which happened to be a picture of him and you in front of an ethereal sunset, “start with that one. you both look like dorks.”

♡ you and oikawa’s unified gasps of offence were enough to show the boy that he was able to do exactly what he intended; piss y’all off

♡ hence, with a final mischievous snicker, he dashed off

♡ “i hate kids.” oikawa muttered, inspecting his homescreen to see if he really did look like a ‘dork’, “what is his problem?”

♡ “what if our kids turn out like that?” you joked 

♡ his eyes widened momentarily, turning to look at you with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression, “our w--”

♡ “mr kawa!” a cry could be heard from the kitchen so without hesitation, you both hopped to your feet and rushed over there as quick as you could 

♡ once you both reached the area the yell came from, you were fortunately not greeted by anything gruesome 

♡ instead, you both got to behold two children trying to reach the top shelf with the power on friendship; the taller boy was standing on a chair, while the toddler held it still 

♡ however, his grip on the jar of the Nutella must’ve loosened at some point as it now lay dejectedly on the ground, half spilled across the tiles and the other half drenching the toddler, not that they seemed to mind though 

♡ in fact, it looked like they were having the time of their — albeit, short — life

♡ the container was only plastic, hence you didn’t have to worry about shards when you darted over to the poor, chocolate-covered baby and scooped them up into your arms, “are you guys, okay?!”

♡ “yeah.” the boy chuckled, noticing that holding the toddler was transferring the chocolate onto you too

♡ “if you wanted nutella, you could’ve just asked.” oikawa sighed, helping the boy get down safely from the chair before putting the object back at it’s intended spot at the dinner table 

♡ “you could have gotten seriously hurt! i thought you would know better than to do something like this.” you scolded, becoming even more furious as the baby continued to playfully slap your face with their grimy hands, “please don’t do that again.”

♡ before they boy got the chance to do anything besides murmur a vague apology, oikawa interjected, “they won’t get the chance.”

♡ and he was right

♡ after cleaning everything up (including the child, which took forever), you didn’t let either of the rascals out of your sight until your duties as babysitters were complete 

♡ “i think we handled that pretty well.” oikawa mused, gathering his stuff along with you as you both got ready to leave

♡ “yeah, maybe we should do this again sometime.” you suggested, but it was followed by a few second was complete silence

♡ until you both burst out laughing 

♡ “yeah, never again.” you agreed

♡ “the kids can take care of themselves.” oikawa said with shrug, offering his hand to you, before you both strutted out of the disaster house

♡ ever since then, it was a common inside joke between you to, when in the vicinity of a kid causing mayhem or being a nuisance, whisper to each or exchange a look that says, ‘it’s a great day to not be babysitting.’  

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ at first, you thought that asking tendou for help babysitting would be a bad idea bc he is just as hyperactive as the damn kids sometimes so he’d probably not be the best influence 

♡ and you knew this bc one time you happened to run into him while out in the park with the kids and you asked him to watch them for literally a minute so you could run to the bathroom but when you came back all you almost had a heart attack because tendou was teaching them fkn tricks on the monkey bars 

♡ however, you then realised that if the kids were busy committing arson with uncle tendou, then they wouldn’t be bothering you 

♡ so here you are, playing monopoly with your boyfriend, a seven year-old and a one year-old

♡ well, it was less like monopoly and more like debate class since none of you could agree on the rules

♡ “well, uncle ten,” the older sibling began, in a very matter-of-factly tone, “if i burn your property down, then i  don’t have to pay you for landing on it.”

♡ “but then you also go to jail.” you pointed out

♡ “not if the police don’t catch me.”

♡ you burst out laughing, meanwhile tendou kept his business face on, “good point, but watch this.” tendou spoke as he rolled the dice, though no matter what if he got a number between four and seven, he would end up landing on somebody’s property

♡ he got a four

♡ picking up his piece, he moved it across each square individually and once he was due to land on your property, he knocked his piece over

♡ “whoops, i slipped.” he chuckled, though his friendly aura immediately dropped as he looked you dead in the eye and said, “i’m suing.”

♡ “you can’t sue me because you tripped!” you yelled 

♡ “i guess i just fell for you.” he said, resulting in the kids both making gagging noises before he stuck out his hand, “100 monopoly dollars, please.”

♡ “like i said,” you tried your best to stay strong and not laugh at his shitting pickup line, “i’m not giving you any money, you fell!”

♡ “i guess we’ll have to take this matter to court then.” tendou said, tapping the shoulder of the one year-old who was currently chewing on a 500 bill which you quickly had to confiscate 

♡ “judge, do you think (y/n) owes me 100 monopoly dollars for poor health and safety conduct?”

♡ “yes.”

♡ “that is the only word they know how to say!” you cried, begrudgingly handing over the money 

♡ “thank you, angel.” tendou cooed, adding your singular bill to the pile he had already stored up; the winner of the game had already been decided 

♡ and although you and the seven year-old kid both cried later after getting your asses kicked in monopoly (the one year-old cried too but they were just hungry), you all went out to get food and actually had a pretty good time

♡ it became a routine for tendou to help you babysit whenever he got the chance and y’all would always play table top games

♡ also when tendou got accepted into culinary school, he’d teach/show the kids what dishes he has learned to prepare and let them help by stirring the pot, adding spices etc etc

♡ and even when he moved to Paris, on special occasions, a box of chocolates would suddenly appear at the kids’ door and all the little pieces would be shaped and moulded into some of their favourite characters or made out of their favourite flavours 

♡ and at one point the kids even insisted that you teach them how to make chocolates so they can send some back to uncle tendou <33

♡ they weren’t the best, but when tendou received the misshapen, slightly stale chocolates at his apartment, addressed from you and the children, he cried

KIYOOMI SAKUSA

♡ his first response when you asked if he could help you babysit was ofc ‘ew no 🤢’

♡ needless to say it took a lot mansplain manipulate malewifing to convince him to come over 

♡ but once he did, obviously he was in his full protective gear; there was no way in hell he was going to catch whatever germs the little goblins have

♡ honestly he almost sprayed a chid in the face with hand sanitizer when they came running up to him with open arms, trying to give him a hug 

♡ which was unusual because the kids don’t tend to be overly friendly with new people, but you just brushed it off and figured that sakusa must’ve been an exception

♡ during his time babysitting, sakusa spend most of his energy trying to avoid the children at all costs that it basically became a game of tag, with you helping the child try to reach sakusa, and him hiding

♡ but honestly you couldn’t complain since the whole time the child was playing, they were safe with you rather than playing with fire 

♡ until later you were reminded of their odd fondness for sakusa when they insisted that sakusa carry them to their bedroom when it was their nap time

♡ and as you were shifting through the books, looking for a story to read, it hit you why they seemed to be so familiar with sakusa

♡ it’s because he looked exactly like the prince in one of their favourite story books; same hair, both tall and they even had similar moles to each other

♡ upon noticing this, you immediately showed sakusa and was quite amused

♡ in fact, he found it so cute that he gave both you and the toddler a lil’ kiss on the cheek, as a parting gift — mask off and everything

♡ he ended up reading the story and the kid fell into deep slumber by the time he reached the second page

♡ letting out a sigh of relief, sakusa slumped onto the ground, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut for a moment, “what a day.”

♡ you shuffled over to you could lay down beside him, “indeed it was, prince sakusa.”

♡ “shut up.” he teased, poking your rib slightly before absently intertwining his fingers with your own

♡ next thing you knew, you were both awakened by the sound of a grumpy toddler...

[midnightwitch92]

Was Anne Boleyn Stalked by Henry VIII?

There are many versions of Anne’s story. Some say that she was a cold-blooded temptress who set her sights on Henry in hope of gaining power. Other’s claim that she was a romantic heroine who fell for the wrong man. I don't believe either of these versions. I think Henry was a powerful, entitled stalker who obsessively harassed and tried to bully Anne into becoming his mistress.

She was originally engaged to Henry Percy and all historical accounts agree that theirs was a love match. Unfortunately for Anne, Wolsey forbid the marriage to happen and sent Percy away because Henry wanted her for himself. This was the start of Anne’s hatred towards Wolsey and probably even Henry. Percy was married off to someone else severing any hope for him and Anne.

Anne even left the court for a year after Henry made his intentions known. He was the one making all the moves, not the other way around. He bombarded her with gifts and love letters that give us some insights. We don't know how Anne responded to these letters, but the letters from Henry tell us that she was polite but unresponsive when he approached her about being his mistress. It is often said that Anne was playing hard to get but those letters make me think otherwise. I think Henry’s massive ego couldn't handle the rejection so he just insisted that she was teasing him.

Later on, in 1525, she returned to court and had another romance with a poet called Thomas Wyatt, but he soon backed off when he realized Henry was persuing Anne. I think it’s entirely possible that Anne and Thomas were in love but kept each other at arm's length so Henry could not separate the two of them. Just look what happened to Henry Percy. If I were Anne I’d keep my feelings to myself for fear of losing the man I loved.

It’s important to remember that Henry had a very warped sense of chivalry and an even worse understanding of what it means to be in love. Saying no to Henry was dangerous. I sincerely believe that KOA was the only queen that truly loved and wanted to be with Henry and he treated her like dirt, despite her devotion to him. The same applies to the other queens and mistresses. He would interfere and break off engagements, pursue them against their will and cause them and their families great grief if they refused to comply. In his pursuit of Catherine Parr he had, Thomas Seymour sent away so he could marry her. The same might have happened with Jane Seymour. In all the adaptations of Henry viii, Richard Burton might be the best example of this. He relentlessly showers Anne with words of love while ignoring her dislike of him and screaming at her when she speaks of her love for Percy. There are scene’s where he reminded me of Killgrave from Jessica Jones, insisting that one day she will love him and that if she just gives herself to him he will be her slave. It’s really unsettling.

Something that got me thinking in some versions is the idea that Anne insisted on marriage because she wanted to be Henry’s queen. On the one hand, she had seen how he disposed of his mistresses and wasn't about to meet the same fate as her sister. Mary Boleyn had been his mistress for some time before being discarded. This damaged her reputation, ruined her marriage prospects and she was mocked as the great prostitute. Anne was certainly ambitious and to a certain extent, she must have enjoyed the power she held over the king. If she was going to have to get with Henry it makes sense that she would set a high bar.

On the other hand, she could have asked for marriage as a way of trying to dissuade him. She knew how powerful KOA was and that a divorce would be near impossible. Perhaps she was praying every day for him to tire of her and set his sights on the next pretty thing in court But with his obsession in full force for seven years and her father and uncle pushing her towards him for their own gain she could hardly wriggle out of it when he did as she asked. I doubt she ever loved him at all. I think she may have just grown to accept her fate in the end.

I’d love to see a version of their Story where Henry is the Joe Goldberg to Anne’s Guinevere Beck. Same for the other queens. Living with Henry would be more like a psychological thriller than a romance as they fight to stay alive

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[theandrogynousdragon]

It is four-thirty am and I can't sleep so here I am writing fic lmao. This one is for the lovely @reachfolk , enjoy bestie 💕

Meeting with a wandering clan never failed to comfort him, even if this particular clan seemed more wary of outsiders than most- they kept eyeing Lydia and Lucien distrustfully, even after Ruaidri had vouched for them. He decided to give the group of Cinder-Hearts the benefit of the doubt; for all he knew, their camp had been raided recently. As it happened, he and his friends were not the only visitors, a young woman roughly Mairenn's age was also present. She bore the mark of Nimaigh on her face, her bright copper hair braided in the manner of an accomplished flame-dancer, her hands stained from alchemical work. He liked her already, even though seeing her brought a bittersweet longing for home.

Ruaidri wandered nearer to her when he realized she was having trouble communicating with the clan's alchemist. "Myself... wanted... glow... flower?" the girl said hesitantly in reachspeech, pointing at a bowl full of gleamblossom seeds. Her words had a strong Nordic influence to them, but he could still understand her, and there was definitely no cause for the alchemist to be so, so callous towards the poor girl.

"Idiot girl," the man growled, "play-acting at being a true daughter of the Reach! I will not sell to Nord pretenders, Silver-blooded usurper, whore's daughter! Take your blood-coin and leave!"

Ruaidri neatly stepped in front of the woman (she looked close to tears, because even if she hadn't understood a word the alchemist said, the man's face was plain to read.) and pointedly rested a hand on his sword hilt, drawing his shoulders back and making himself a wall between a girl his little sister's age and a fool's hatred. "If you have a problem, friend, speak so the one you have issue with can understand. Or does your clan not believe in courtesy?" Ru said, smiling with too many teeth.

"The girl is a, a usurper, you fool! A filthy Nordic half-breed! She doesn't deserve to wear the mark of our gods, probably doesn't even follow them!"

Ruaidri drew his blade, laying the tip almost casually on the man's shoulder. "Oh, I see now!" he said, faux cheerful. "You're a bigot! What a wretched life you must have!"

"Now, see here-"

Ruaidri pressed the sword tip to the alchemist's jugular. "No, you see here, you miserable ass. How dare you, reject and debase this girl just for her father's name! A daughter of the Prydyni has come home, has been returned to us by the grace of the gods, and you, in your small-minded prejudice, are more concerned with the person her mother joined with to survive, than the fact she returned at all? How dare you! If this girl is a Silver-blood by birth, then is it not remarkable, cause for celebration, even, that she gave up that life to join her mother's people? You should be ashamed, you complete bastard!" The alchemist opened his mouth, and Ruaidri pressed at the sword hilt just enough to scratch; a very clear warning for a very stubborn man. He bared his teeth in a snarl, daring the man, or indeed anyone else, to do or say something stupid. (What he did not know: for a single moment, all his teeth were dragon-sharp.) Then he sheathed his sword and briskly herded the girl away.

The girl's name was Alexandria (Alastriona, his uncle's voice insisted.), and she thanked him quietly through sniffling. (Lucien patted her back awkwardly, like he didn't know what to do with his hands.) She had wanted the seeds for a friend, as a thank-you for teaching her how to braid her hair in the proper style for her magical strengths. Ruaidri immediately handed her a small satchel of his own gleamblossom seeds, pressing it into her hands.

"Oh, but, are you sure? I don't want to just take your things, I-"

"Consider it a gift, sister. Welcome home."

[millllenniawrites]

gold rush (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part two of dear love of mine

words: 2.6k

warnings: reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; afab!reader; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; pining; awkwardness and slight secondhand embarrassment possible; everyone is unreliable; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: WE’RE FINALLY GETTING INTO THE STORY IM SO EXCITED also we get a lot more Poe in this chapter which I hope you guys like!! as always, if you wanna be added to the taglist, there’s a link in my bio :) 

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You didn’t see General Dameron or Lord Barnes until dinner that night.

They’d been busy moving their things in. Two more carriages had arrived shortly after the men, but they were mostly carrying Lord Barnes’ staff. With the grandeur of his presence, you were surprised at how little his servants had to carry into your home.

It did make you happy to see that he was keeping those loyal to his father employed through the renovation of his home. You had discussed the very topic at length with Mister Kirk, who had informed you just how easily those servant jobs can be lost.

And how difficult it could be to regain them.

You couldn’t imagine not having your staff with you. Your Ladies Maid, Char, had been the only new edition to your household that you could remember since Siena had been born. You were one big family. They were paid, certainly, but family all the same. No one else had been around through grieving your father’s death. No uncles, no aunts. But the people that had looked after your family since before you were born had been there every step of the way.

At the very top of the staircase you had tumbled down with Ana only hours earlier was a large circular landing, branching off into two halls. The western wing held your sisters’ bedrooms, yours, and the room your mother had moved into in her grief.

The eastern wing was seldom used these days. Since your father had passed, it had been empty except for the staff and your rare journeys to your father’s study for records and estate paperwork. It was perfect for your guests, separate enough from the rest of your family that your eldest sister’s virtue could be ensured without having to turn away the Lord of the land you lived upon.

He would be quite the match for her indeed, if he could get around to actually proposing.

Though you knew that you should have been focusing on Lord Barnes and how best to nudge him in your sister’s direction, your thoughts returned to the General.

You wondered how he was filling his time before dinner. You’d offered them a tour — well, Mister Kirk had offered them a tour on your behalf — but they’d both declined. Perhaps their trip had been long. Ana had not mentioned where they had been voyaging from. It could have been far. Lord Barnes had a few homes. The men in town had said as much when you’d been not-eavesdropping at one of the spring balls.

Only to assure yourself and your mother that Ana would be kept and cared for when they did marry.

Fussing with your hair could only provide distraction for so long. Sat at your vanity, you fiddled with brushes and clips and jewelry that Char had so neatly arranged that morning. Your room was beautiful, smaller than your eldest sisters and made smaller still by the shelves you’d insisted on lining the walls and packing with books. There was no shortage of beautiful trinkets, littered among the stacks of paper. Among your favourites, a bronze compass your father had gifted you and a necklace that had belonged to a distant grandmother you’d never met that appeared more like water droplets than stones.

Every time you allowed your eyes to wander, you could see the General gazing back. Your short glimpse of him had cemented itself in your memory, not allowing you a moment of respite.

He had to know how handsome he was to walk the way he did. Never mind how short your interaction was. You’d seen enough.

Another beautiful man, not unlike the Lord Barnes. The money, the fame behind his title and his bloody victory, meant nothing to you.

But there was something about those eyes…

Perhaps your sisters’ company would distract you.

Before you’d fully registered your decision to move, you found yourself out of your bedroom and at the bottom of the stairs. Your sisters and mother loitered in front of the dining room, chattering amongst themselves.

You slid in between Siena and Ana, linking your arms with theirs. “Are we awaiting something?”

Ana bumped her forehead into your shoulder. “You, silly. Shall we sit. Chef said she was almost finished with supper.”

Your mother opened up the doors to the dining room. This was one room that you were truly proud to inherit. Since you were of an age to sit up without assistance, you’d all sat at the same table. Your grubby hands had smudged across it’s surface. You’d traced the curved edge with the end of a fork at more than one of your father’s terrible business dinner meetings. It was as much of an heirloom than anything else your parents could leave you.

You sat first, at the head of the table opposite your mother as you had since your father had vacated his seat. Your sisters joined you in their chairs with their backs to the window, Siena closest to you.

She leaned across the corner of the table, whispering behind her hand, “How old do you reckon the General is?”

With a roll of your eyes, you whispered back, “Too old for you, dear sister.”

As if summoned, the man himself walked through the door with the Lord Barnes in tow. The General was no longer in a military uniform but a loose white shirt, the sleeves unbound. Barnes was dressed, jacket buttoned and hat tucked under his arm. Truly opposites.

To your dismay, the General sat beside you, leaving the seat next to your mother to Barnes.

“Thank you for joining us, gentleman.” Your mother lifted her wine glass to them, and you followed her lead.

As your servants set your meals in front of you, Lord Barnes broke the silence. “I must say, Miss Dean,” The title caught your attention, though he had directed it to Ana, “It is refreshing to see you after so long of reading your words. Though it was a necessary evil, I have needed to gaze upon you for some time.”

He was bold. So quick to flatter, and in front of your mother, no less. But you weren’t afforded the time to process his words before the General was cutting in.  

“A need, you say?” He echoed. “You aren’t perhaps attempting to rewrite Shakespeare, are you, Finn?” The Lord shot an amused look to his companion, who continued, “Does the line not go something like, ‘So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground’?”

Your mother and Siena both sighed, as if you were the only one that could see the General’s clear attempt to flaunt his abilities. It seemed he was determined to be as infuriating as he was beautiful. And you simply would not have that in your home, disrupting your sister’s love.

“Did you have a lot of time to study literature while on the front lines, General?” You asked sweetly, glaring daggers across your plate. “Or was your time spent reading in an office far from the dying cries of your men?”

Your mother politely engaged Lord Barnes in a conversation as the General’s eyes flared. “I studied classics in school, Miss Dean. I can assure you, though I am a few years removed from my education, I do believe I remember the details of my years of study.”

“Did you attend a private school before joining the military, General? It would be a shame if your father had paid good money for you to quote sonnets on the battlefield.” Siena kicked you under the table but nothing could distract you from the fire behind the General’s eyes.

“I did, though it was of my own merit, not my father’s coin.”

“Lord Barnes!” Siena said loudly, forcing you to keep quiet as the rest of the table fell silent. “How long was your journey today? I don’t think you said.”

“A few hours. And please, do call me Finn. I think that we will all be getting to know each other quite well in the next little while and I must admit I am not used to the title, even after a year.”

“Then we shall.” Ana’s sweet voice broke you out of your anger. The way she gazed at Finn would have stoked the flames if not for how truly happy you were for her.  

Siena perked up as she discovered a way to insert herself into the discussion. “Do you have a favourite, General? Of the writers you studied?”

“The King himself, of course. Shakespeare. I couldn’t possibly pick another. Do you know of another writer that can so excellently balance the comic and the tragic, Miss Dean?” He addressed you, causing Siena to slump down in her seat. “For if you do, I certainly would not mind a recommendation. This summer shall be long without anything stimulating to discuss.”

“Oh General, don’t get her started on the greeks!” Siena faked a swoon, the back of her hand pressed to her brow as she deflated in her chair. “She truly won’t stop chattering if you do.”

The light behind his eyes shifted, the defensive fire from before becoming a curious simmer. “You’re well read.”

You chuckled unbecomingly into your wine. “You sound so surprised, General. Is it more shocking that I am beautiful or that I am a woman, as well as educated?”

Evidently taken aback, he took a moment to compose himself before responding, “I will admit that while both of those traits may make you… distracting, Miss Dean, they do not surprise me. I simply expected the future matron of these grounds to be more focused on her people, rather than a man’s education.”

“Are you accusing me of neglecting my duties, General Dameron?” Your sharp tone silenced the room.

He seemed as if he might be ill over the table before quickly recovering. In a soft voice, he said, “Of course not, Miss Dean.”

His grovelling could not quell the need in your gut to put him in his place. “I would hope not. Though I understand that perhaps the concept is foreign to a man such as yourself, women are more than capable of a trick known as multitasking.”

With a small, apologetic smile into his soup, the General ducked his head.

A rush of untapped power surged in you at his bowed head. You breathed deeply to keep from further injuring him, taking a bite of the soup in front of you.

It tasted of nothing. Chef had rarely disappointed in the years she’d worked for your family, so you were certain it must be you. The sourness of your exchange had need to be cleansed from your palate, perhaps.

A trip to Father’s study would do just the trick. And while you were there, you could brush up on your reading to ensure you were thoroughly prepared on the next occasion the General dared to test you.

“I do believe I am finished.” You pushed your seat back, standing and sweeping from the room without so much as a backward glance.

***

You clutched your skirts in one hand to keep from tripping as you ascended the long staircase that lead you up to your room, your nose in your book. The house was quiet. After your outburst at dinner, it couldn’t have been terribly comfortable to stay seated in that room.

Mrs Wex had not yet extinguished the candles that lined the hall, which left you to navigate in their dull glow. It wasn’t needed. You could have found your way to the room that had been yours since you were a child in the pitch dark. Or asleep. Or bound and barely able to move.

The violent thought was enough to stop you in your tracks. Perhaps it was time to put the books away and get some rest.

You turned down the hallway to the west wing, tucking your book under your arm. It was one that you’d read enough times to open and begin at any place without really missing any of the story, so you weren’t terribly worried about marking down the page number.

A shadow at the end of the hallway moved.

You didn’t have a chance to raise your book up to defend yourself or scream before the shadow held out his hands and stepped into the candlelight. “Miss Dean, it’s me.”

Your hand flew to your throat. “General Dameron,” The words were breathier than you intended, but you pressed on, whisper-shouting, “What exactly do you think you are doing?!”

The General’s sharp features stood out in the wavering light. His hands trembled. Quickly, he straightened himself and let his hands drop. “I was…” He glanced over his shoulder, back down the long hallway. You followed his gaze and noticed your door ajar. “I was searching for a servant. I hadn’t noticed how late it was, so I took care of my task myself.”

Before you could comment on the strange ‘coincidence’ of your room’s disturbance, you realized how close you were standing to him. Your gaze traced down the column of his throat, to the collar of his shirt that he had left unbutton, exposing his chest.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to look into his eyes. “It is not proper, General Dameron, for us to be alone together.”

He bowed, stepping away from you as if his proximity was the offending matter, not his presence itself. “I shall leave you then, Miss Dean. Goodnight.” With a slight duck of his head, he walked quickly to the end of the hall with his hands clutched tightly behind his back.

You gazed after him. He was a curious man, confident and near-boastful one moment, and almost shy the next. It certainly was not becoming of a General, who you would have more likely assigned the former description. It would not inspire confidence in men for them to witness their leader so bashful in the presence of a woman.

Once he was surely out of range, you entered your room. Everything was as it should be, nothing disturbed, aside from a folded square of parchment sitting atop the covers of your bed.

You unfolded it. The ink was still drying, but through the smudges, you read:

Dear Esteemed Host,

On behalf of myself and my colleague and friend, Lord Barnes—

In the margins, he had scrawled: Would he be as insistent on being address as Finn in the written form? I suppose we will not ever know.

You continued on reading.

On behalf of myself and my colleague and friend, Lord Barnes, I thank you for your most gracious invitation to reside with you for this tumultuous time in our lives. Though your mother is the owner of this property, I understand from your wonderful staff that it is you that truly manages the grounds, while your mother looks after your sisters, so I thought a formal thanks to be required.

I also think an apology is in order for my behaviour at dinner.

You had never known a man to apologize. For anything. You sat in the shock for a moment before returning to the letter.

I had not intended to offend, though I do believe this was the result of my actions. I truly look forward to further opportunity to hear of your studies and perhaps share some of what I have learned, should you wish to hear of it.

Your humble servant,

      General Poe Dameron

You hadn’t known his name. Poe. He’d scrawled the characters messily, perhaps through force of habit. It fit somehow, warm on your tongue as you whispered his name into the night air.

Perhaps you could entertain his questioning. It couldn’t truly hurt. Could it?

[passable-talent]

Part 7 of the Dai Li series please!!! Excellent work again, as usual- I'm DYING XD

guess how long it took for this request to come in?

eleven minutes!! thats a new record!!

and so we return... ANOTHER whole month later!

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |

“I need you to tell me what happened to Iroh.”

Zuko kept your gaze, his eyes almost wide. You didn’t look away, couldn’t let yourself. A few heartbeats passed, and he looked away, shame clear on his face. 

“He was put in jail,” Zuko said, closing his eyes. “I visited him often, but when I went to help him break out during the eclipse, he was already gone.” Slowly, his gaze returned to you. “I wish I could tell you I knew where he was.” It made sense, what he was saying, and you knew he wasn’t lying. You had hoped something else had become of Iroh, that day, that maybe he’d escaped after securing yours, but some part of you knew that he was likely jailed in the Fire Nation, if not dead. 

Broken out, though. He had made it out- just like Zuko. Maybe, someday, they’d see each other again. 

But for now, you were satisfied. Zuko, though responsible for Iroh’s imprisonment in an odd way, was ashamed of it. And you wouldn’t hold against him actions that he was paying for. Your heart beating, yet stinging like a raw wound, you fell back into his chest, spending any long moment you could in his arms, the sky darkening around you and revealing its stars. 

The days before Sozin’s Comet just felt odd. 

Four days from the comet, you went to a play, which didn’t mention you at all. That pissed you off- you were instrumental to their escape from Ba Sing Se! Who the hell else would’ve protected Katara from Azula if not you? Not to mention Zuko died in it, which surprised all of you, most of all, Zuko. 

His upset from the night before bled into the next morning, when he attacked Aang. The terror in your chest, when you saw the fire struck toward the avatar again, was thick and visceral. You never thought you’d see him attack Aang again, not after Ba Sing Se, and you didn’t understand what had happened that made him so violent, so suddenly. 

But when you attempted to come to Aang’s aid, and stood between the avatar and the prince, you caught his gaze. That malice that you’d seen in Ba Sing Se, that you’d hated so much, that you expected to see now, in a prince gone mad- it wasn’t there. 

Zuko wasn’t doing this out of hatred for Aang. 

It stunned you enough that the prince slipped past you, continuing his attack. You watched as a spectator, until they dove into the attic, your mind swimming. What could Zuko be thinking?

Okay, so he was confused at Aang’s complacency. Real interesting decision making process there, Zuzu, attacking him to resolve such an issue. 

Three days from the comet. You run a drill- which didn’t make much sense as an actual plan, you had to say, but not many of these other teenagers had the benefit of actual military training like you. Your job was to draw fire with Sokka and Suki- and, though Sokka didn’t admit it, to be an earthbender who could throw up a shield at any time. It was fun training, which you hadn’t really gotten to be a part of for a while. 

Two days from the comet, and Aang is missing. 

Which is really, really, really bad. 

Like, sure, the kid wasn’t exactly super ready to face Ozai, but he’s still the avatar, right? That’s still got to count for something. And he’s missing, leaving a very gifted and still extremely underqualified gaggle of teenagers to face the Fire Lord. 

So you went to the Earth Kingdom. Zuko took you to an old friend named Jun, who seemed to go way back, back to before you’d met Zuko. She seemed like she’d be helpful, but then revealed even more deeply unsettling information- Aang was gone. Which was much, much worse than missing. 

So, facing the Fire Lord without the Avatar. How fun. 

And yet, there was a glimmer of hope, in the form of an old, smelly sandal, which really made you wonder why the hell Zuko still had it. And, really, now that you thought about it, how Zuko even got it. The Shirshu could definitely catch a scent from that- anyone with a half working nose could. 

One day from Sozin’s comet, and most of it was already gone, spent chasing a shirshu across the Earth Kingdom. Appa was the best, letting you sleep on a massive paw, and though he was itchy, it was much better than taking the time to set up your beds. Though, your rest didn’t last long- quickly you were ambushed, a ring of fire surrounding you. Four men looked down upon you, and though you didn’t recognize three of them, you did know King Bumi, and assumed that the others must be friends, if he were in league with them. 

“Well, look who’s here!” Bumi said, a snorting laugh following his words. You saw relief and joy on Sokka and Katara’s face, and so you knew that your assumption was true. It seemed like, for the first time in a few days, you were about to catch a break. 

“What’s going on? We’re surrounded by old people.” A smile cracking your face, you had to be grateful for Toph, and her outlook on the world. 

“Not just any old people. These are great masters, and friends of ours!” She bowed to an old man with long white hair. “Pakku.” 

“It is respectful to bow to an old master,” he said, returning her bow, “but how about a hug, for your new grandfather?” You raised an eyebrow as the siblings reacted with surprise, but not too much, like that was a normal thing to say, if exciting. Following their conversation, though, you picked up enough details to figure out a bit of the history that they must’ve had. 

“And this was Aang’s first firebending teacher!” Katara explained, and Sokka went on to explain the name of the third. 

“Master Piandao,” he said, and you smiled brightly, even if it was to yourself- this was truly a lucky day. 

“So, wait, how do you all know each other?” Suki asked. 

“All old people know each other, don’t you know that?” Bumi said with another snorting laugh. 

“We’re all part of the same ancient secret society,” Piandao explain, causing your gaze to shift to the matching uniforms they each wore. “A group that transcends the divisions of the four nations. 

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Zuko interjected, and you looked sideways at him, wondering how he knew that. He had a smile on his face- he looked hopeful. 

“That’s the one!” Bumi answered.

“The White Lotus has always been about philosophy, and beauty, and truth,” Jeong-Jeong began, and as you crossed your arms over yourself to protect them from the wind, you were glad that such a society exists in such a war-torn world. “But about a month ago, a call went out that we were needed for something important.”

“It came from our Grand Lotus,” Pakku said, diverting his eyes to Zuko. “Your uncle. Iroh of the Fire Nation.” While Zuko’s expression softened, yours brightened- Iroh was as trustworthy as you had always known him to be. You were glad to know that he kept peace just as much as he preached it. 

“Well, that’s who we’re looking for,” Toph said. 

“Then we’ll take you to him.” Reaching Jun and her shirshu, it felt sure that you were going to see Iroh again. But when you followed her for a day, the inevitability of it dribbled away. Yet here, again, your hope renewed, that you could see him again, and be reminded that there was at least one adult in the world that you could really, deeply trust.

“Wait,” Bumi shouted, shoving himself to the midst of the conversation, “There’s someone missing from your group. Someone very important... where’s Momo??”

“He’s gone,” Sokka said, clearly deeply troubled by having Bumi’s nose pressed to his face, “and so is Aang.”

“Oh well, so long as they have each other, I’m sure we have nothing to worry about!” Bumi said, prompting you to wonder what the king had seen and experienced to allow news such as a missing avatar to not startle him. “Let’s go!” 

It was a surprisingly far walk to the Order’s camp, in which the old masters caught up with their friends, and filled each other in on details. You kept quiet, having not personally known any of them. 

The sun came up as you reached the camp, and Zuko entered his uncle’s tent, to wait. You sat outside with Toph, but decide not to practice your seismics- whatever was happening between Zuko and Iroh deserved to stay between them. 

A nice stew was your breakfast, the gaang all sitting around its pot, with Iroh sitting at the head of the group. You’d sat between Zuko and Toph, one leg propped up on its foot with the other extended in front of you. Iroh had given you a long hug when he saw you- delighted that you had continued your path alongside the avatar, and secretly even more delighted that Zuko’s path had also lead him back to you.

“Uncle, you’re the only person other than the avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord,” Zuko said, and though you heard his mistake, you only smiled into your stew. 

“You mean the Fire Lord.” Because you could count on Toph to do it for you. 

“That’s what I just said,” Zuko snapped, but it was merely his temper, not true anger. “We need you to come with us.” Iroh seemed to consider for a moment. 

“No, Zuko, it won’t turn out well,” Iroh began, and you lifted your head, ready to hear true, unfiltered Iroh wisdom. 

“You can beat him,” Zuko insisted, before looking sideways across the rest of the group. “And we’ll be there to help.” You gave him a smile, but ultimately turned your attention back to Iroh.

“Even if I did defeat Ozai,” he began, “and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History will see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to grab power.” Slowly you brought another bite of your stew to your lips, but once you had, your chopsticks slowly maneuvered around your fingers, finding a way to fidget as you considered. “The only way for this war to end peacefully is for the avatar to defeat the Fire Lord.” You let out a quick breath, recognizing the sense in his words, but feeling worry reveal itself. Wasn’t Aang... gone? Off world?

“And then... would you come and take your rightful place on the throne?” Zuko asked.

“No,” Iroh said, quickly, like he’d been prepared for such a question. “Someone new must take the throne- an idealist with a pure heart and unquestionable honor.” He was speaking directly to Zuko, and you understood before he’d had to say it. “It has to be you, Prince Zuko.” 

In all the time you’d known Zuko, you had known him as a lot of different things. Refugee. Waiter. Friend. Crush. Traitor. Enemy. Prince. Fire Nation. And in all that time, you’d realized his lineage, as the eldest child of the Fire Lord, and certainly most sane. Yet, in all that time, you’d never considered what he was poised to become: the Fire Lord himself. 

In that moment, you nearly felt the need to bow, or scoot away, as though you were reminded of his royalty, the true meaning of the term ‘prince’. Wasn’t the bloodline of the Fire Nation royals considered to have been made royal by the spirits? 

Inferiority didn’t even begin to cover it, but you’d worry about that another day. 

“Unquestionable honor?” He asked, looking away from his uncle. “But I’ve made so many mistakes.” At long last, days after you felt like you had finally forgiven the prince, you were put in a position where you could accept or deny the way he had hurt you in the past. But you weren’t just an earth kingdom citizen, not anymore. You were world-travelled, a soldier, a warrior, a friend to the future fire lord and the avatar alike. You knew the mature and good and right thing to do. And in that moment, it wasn’t to hold above him the things he’d done to you, but instead to recognize the way he’d overcome them. You shuffled closer to him. 

“Yes, you have,” Iroh admitted, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’ve struggled, you’ve suffered.” Gently, you took one hand from your bowl, and laid it on his, where he’d left it on his knee. He didn’t look at you, but his fingers slid around yours slowly. “But you have always followed your own path. You have restored your own honor. And only you can restore the honor of the Fire Nation.” 

“I’ll try, uncle,” he promised, and you knew he would make good on it. 

“Well, what if Aang doesn’t come back?” Toph asked, and you once again thanked her for saying the things you couldn’t seem to get past your tongue.

“Sozin’s comet is arriving, and our destinies are upon us,” Iroh declared, using his chopsticks for emphasis. “Aang will face the Fire Lord. When I was a boy, I had a vision that I would one day take Ba Sing Se. Only now do I see that my destiny is to take it back, from the Fire Nation, so the Earth Kingdom can be free again.”

“That’s why you’ve gathered the members of the White Lotus,” Suki said, her words prompting you to look around at the dozen other old masters, who would be more than capable of pulling your mighty home city from the grasp of a few Fire Nation soldiers. 

“Yes,” Iroh agreed, turning his gaze back to the prince. “Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Fire Lord falls, you can assume the throne, and restore peace, and honor. But Azula will be there, waiting for you.”

“I can handle Azula,” Zuko said, malice written across his face, but this time for your first real enemy. 

“Not alone,” Iroh insisted, “you’ll need help.”

“You’re right,” Zuko admitted. “Katara, Y/N. How would you like to help me put Azula in her place?” A devious smile spread over Katara’s face.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile as their gazes turned to you. 

“She’s had it coming,” you said, cracking your knuckles of your free hand into your thigh. 

“What about us?” Sokka asked, from between Toph and Suki, “What’s our destiny today?” 

“What do you think it is?” Iroh asked, halfway to his next mouthful of stew, and for a moment you saw Mushi again, being cheeky back at the Jasmine Dragon when he suggested you do something that would put you in Zuko’s path. 

“I think that,” Sokka began, considering, “even though we don’t know where Aang is, we need to do everything we can to stop the airship fleet.”

“And that means, when Aang does face the Fire Lord, we’ll be right there if he needs us.” Toph’s attitude, as though she would take on the comet herself, and win, filled you with a sense of hope. You could win the day. 

You rested your back against Appa’s saddle, leaning over the side to say your goodbyes to the Order. 

“So if I’m going to be Fire Lord after the war is over,” Zuko said, once again reminding you of such an insane fact, “What are you going to do?” 

“After I reconquer Ba Sing Se, I’m going to reconquer my tea shop!” You couldn’t help but laugh, remembering the place you’d fallen in love with Zuko, back before the world had fallen down around you. You could imagine going back there, when it was all over. “And I’m going to play Pai Sho every day!” His happiness, his hope, was infectious. 

“Goodbye, General Iroh,” Katara said, and you leaned down on your elbow, as though you could give him one last hug before you left. You already had- but that didn’t curb the impulse. 

“Goodbye, everyone. Today, destiny is our friend. I know it.” You could believe him. For that moment, you were filled with strength, and the feeling that though the day would be hard, it would be won. It had to be. 

Appa kicked off from the ground, and you crawled to the front of the saddle, closer to Zuko. 

“Hey, Zuko?” You asked, taking a deep breath. 

“Yes?” he didn’t look away from Appa’s path, but turned his head toward you. 

“When this is all over, I...” you swallowed, hard, but kept yourself from putting it off any further. “I’m ready to love you again. I think I already do.” 

And then, in that moment, for Zuko, there was a thousand more reasons why he needed to win the day. 

-🦌 Roe

stay tuned (aka request) for the series finale... 

edit: | part 8 |

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[jentrevellan]

I'm so happy to finally share my fic for @dasmutquisition! I had so much fun with this one, it's unreal. I hope you enjoyed @sumiIong

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins

Relationship: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)

Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Teagan Guerrin

Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, Making Love, trapped together (sort of), strong woman, anxious Alistair, generic Cousland, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, newlyweds, Morning Sex, D in the V, Porn With Plot, Dorks in Love

Language: English

Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition

Summary: Alistair and the Warden spend the first night not only as husband and wife but as King and Queen.

Notes: Thank you @curiousthimble for being my beta!

Read on Ao3

Doin' the Fondue

The great hall in Denerim Castle was loud and filled to the rafters with people. Nobles, elves, dwarves and peasants alike were squeezed in, all clamouring to see the newly married couple. Up on the dais, overlooking the crowd that was slowly getting rowdier and rowdier with the ale and wine that continued to flow, Alistair - now King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden - slouched in his throne and took a gulp of wine.

He was terrified.

Oh, the ceremony had been a delight, and he had adored proclaiming his love in front of the Maker and the witnesses in the Chantry. But as soon as he had stepped into the hall for their wedding feast, his gut started churning. Because he knew what must come next after the merriment had ended.

He glanced at his wife beside him. His wife! Despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the thought of his Grey Warden companion, Lady Cousland, now being his wife. It didn’t seem wholly real. Indeed, most of his life the past year hadn’t seemed real. So much had changed, and now he was married.

Alistair took another sip of wine from his goblet and his new wife glanced at him, a small frown on her brow. She already knows me so well, he thought. No one else would be able to tell that anything was amiss, but she had always seen straight through him and knew when even the smallest thing was bothering him. One of the many traits he loved about her. Although it did mean that it was impossible to keep any sort of secret from her. Even the good kind of secrets.

As he picked at his food, his new wife and Queen accepted many gracious gifts from guests. All curtsied or bowed and she was most eloquent in her response. Truly, she was more prepared for this life as a monarch than him. Her noble upbringing was a far cry from how he was raised. But wherever his trepidation lay about ruling, he knew that with this woman beside him as his Queen, that he could do anything.

She laughed heartily at a joke Teagan was telling her, and he watched as she wiped away a tear. Alistair glowered at his uncle and reached out for his wife’s hand. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy from the wine.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He nodded his head to Teagan. “Just wondering what was so funny…?”

She blushed prettily, and a jealous hand gripped his gut. He would not easily forget his uncle’s flirtations when he had first met them in Redcliffe, and ever since, a fit of strange jealousy and need to claim her as he always came about when he was in the presence of both her and Tegan.

Waving a jewelled hand, she shook her head. “It was nothing. Rather crude, actually, so I told him off for lowering the tone of our conversation at our wedding feast,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “Now what’s the matter with you?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me at all. Absolutely nought.”

“Alistair,” she said seriously, leaning in close. Her tone made him want to listen, but her golden gown with its tight bodice had pressed her breasts pleasantly together and were well within his eye line that he couldn’t help but glance down. A treacherous blaze of desire coursed through him, and with her puckered lips, her brow furrowed in concern, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and -

A chill went through him. He wanted her, oh yes, most desperately, but Tegan caught his eye and winked, and a shudder of repulsion went through him as he turned his head to see half of the court watching their interaction. He pulled away from his wife abruptly and reached for his goblet of wine, again and took a huge mouthful.

Ever the gracious lady, his wife smiled faintly and pretended that nothing had happened. But the look she quietly gave him as he peered at her over the rim of his goblet made his gut clench with guilt. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt rotten about being the cause.

The dinner continued and as the servants were generous with topping up his wine, Alistair kept emptying his goblet. His wife, on the other hand, declined and stuck to watery lemonade and with dread, he realised that she was not drinking the same as him because it was expected that she needed to stay sober to conceive.

It was like a weight was pressing down on his chest, and he struggled to breathe, and it was getting worse as the evening wore on. Soon he stopped eating and drinking and just watched everybody that approached the dais to offer their congratulations or present gifts to the newlyweds. One item that was given to the new Queen was a selection of herbs which, as the kindly elderly noble had explained “would help the womb quicken”. Alistair had almost retched at her words, and instead began a small coughing fit, which required his wife to smack him firmly on the back a few times harder than she would’ve done normally.

At one point, a small child approached, dressed in a simple cotton tunic, as white as a cloud. Her hair was braided down her back and entwined with flowers. She stood before the queen who rose from her throne and leant over the table to adjust a flower in the girl’s hair. Alistair watched as his wife’s face lit up with warmth as she listened and spoke to the child. He wanted to give that to her. But… but…

“Let us bed them!” Tegan suddenly announced, and there was a scramble as the court got to their feet hurriedly, to be one of the select few to follow them to their chambers. The women reached the queen and she shot Alistair one swift look of alarm before resigning herself to their insistent tugs as they all but pushed her out of the room. Alistair followed with a group of noblemen, including his uncle.

“I bet you’re looking forward to this, m'boy,” Tegan grinned, falling into step beside Alistair, as they made their way through the halls of the castle.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied flatly, his face feeling warm not just from the wine.

Tegan clapped him on the back. “You are one lucky man, my boy,” he said with a sigh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so quiet in all the time I’ve known you. Your mind has been elsewhere this evening - and I’m not the only one to notice.”

Dread tugged at him as he climbed the stairs. “Yes, you’re right and I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry!” Tegan repeated with a snort. “You’ve no need to be sorry. Most men are as quiet as a mouse in anticipation of their wedding night. And one can’t certainly blame you: your wife is simply lovely.”

“Yes, thank you, Tegan,” Alistair ground out, shrugging his shoulder lose of his grip. But rather than be offended, the man laughed and Alistair clenched his fists. Never before had he been so tempted to knock his uncle around the head.

They arrived at his chamber door and inside more nobles awaited eagerly. The king’s bed had been arranged neatly, but there was no expectation for him to sleep there tonight. Instead, he eyed the connecting door where he knew his wife would be waiting for him, surrounded by the noblewomen.

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, looking around the room, but the men just laughed, and chatted, some making obscene gestures. He grimaced, hating the sheer manliness in the room. His manservant came forward to help him undress from his finery and removed his crown. Once he had been disrobed save for his smalls, he threw on his white cotton nightshirt and ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow.

There was a faint knock at the connecting door, and one of the servants hurried forward and exchanged whispers with the servant on the other side. Alistair paced anxiously and took a very keen interest in a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. The men around him were talking about absolute filth, and he squeezed his eye tight shut, in the vain hope that his ears would squeeze shut too.

Finally, the connecting door swung open and the servant stood aside. Alistair was rooted to the spot, fear coursing through him. Are these people… going to watch ? He thought with horror.

He was quite content with where he was until Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. “Nervous?” he said with a wink.

“Yes. No! I mean, no !” he said hurriedly, his face burning.

“There’s nothing to be scared about. She’s going to be a wonderful wife to you in so many ways…”

“Shut up,” Alistair groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. Honestly, he was this close to hurling Tegan out the window.

But before he could entertain that thought further, the men in his room were pressing him through the door and - oh Maker no - were also following him. He entered the queen's bed-chamber to find a gaggle of ladies with rosy cheeks flutter their lashes and lick their lips seductively at the men. But Alistair was anything but aroused when he finally turned to the large, four-poster bed, to see his wife and queen.

She was a perfect painting of innocence and virginity in crisp white sheets with a matching white nightdress. Her hair had been unbound and combed neatly and she sat as still as a statue, her back and posture absolutely perfect for a queen. The covers were pulled up to her lap, and her hands rested delicately entwined: her sparkling wedding ring the only jewellery that remained.

He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly walked around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers down amidst the chatting of the court and when he finally sat beside her, a good arms-length away from her, the court finally - finally - turned to leave. Several clapped, the women exchanged knowing looks with the queen, who smiled politely in return, and the men, now incredibly drunk, ambled from the room, wishing Alastair luck and reminding him of how lucky he was.

Finally, blessedly, the last person left the room and closed the door with a gentle click .

☆☆☆☆☆

To the new queen’s dismay, the first thing her new husband did as soon as the door had shut, was leap out of the bed as if he had been scalded. She frowned as he strode towards the door, and for an awful moment, she thought he was going to leave. But no: he reached to a small side table and found a key and locked the big oak door to her chambers, followed by locking the conjoining door from the king’s bedroom.

Still not saying anything, Alistar strode around the room, pulling open curtains and wardrobes, trunks and cabinets.

“What in the world are you doing?” she finally asked, her patience running thin. The man had barely spoken to her since their vows in the Chantry in the morning, and now he was examining every nook and cranny of her chambers?

He paused by her bookshelf and flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “Checking,” he replied, before shifting a few books.

“Whatever for?”

He sighed in exasperation. “To make sure that we are alone! Andraste’s arse, I thought they were going to stay at one point and watch to make sure we… we… erm…” he coughed and busied himself by peering under a chaise lounge.

She got out of bed and dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but she had to admit that the same fear had crossed her mind. Even though she knew that wasn’t the common practice, sometimes nobility did take things a bit too literally…

“We’re safe,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips.”There’s no spy, no peephole, no nothing but us.”

Alistair finally stopped his fidgeting and turned to her from across the room. For the first time in a long time, they were utterly alone. Normally, they would’ve fallen into each other’s arms by now, but something was stopping her, and she could tell that something was also stopping him. They stood on opposite sides of her room, the bed imposing and glaring at them, whilst the distance between them felt as vast a chasm. And that was something neither of them had experienced before.

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands clasped before her.

Alistair also seemed to be studying his fingernails. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

She played with the hem of her pure white night-dress and frowned. Conversation with her now-husband had never been this stilted. So she switched tactic to one he would hopefully relax with: humour.

“You know, for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought they were all going to stay and watch,” she said with a wry smile. She knew they wouldn't - being brought up as a noble lady had earnt her some education in these things - but Alistair needed not to know that. For it worked:

“Maker! You did too?” he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think they would, but I began to doubt myself.”

She took a step towards him. “Hence your paranoia about spies?”

He nodded. “Yes, hence the… paranoia ,” he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, but there was a smirk on his lips, which made her heart soar.

The man she knew was peeking through, so she took another step closer. “It’s an archaic tradition anyway,” she said. “I know for a fact that they do not practice it in Orlais.”

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps the only redeeming factor of the Orlesians.”

“Hmm, that and the cheese,” she smiled and finally, finally , her new husband met her eyes.

They both burst into laughter and she saw his shoulders sag. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don't want to,” she said earnestly.

His face reddened. “But I do! I do want to! With you, that is! I just… it’s just…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he sought out the right words.

“The pressure of it all?” she supplied.

“Yes!” he gasped, relieved. “To know that we cannot come together unless it’s for a purpose. That purpose,” he mumbled, pointing to her stomach.

He was going inside himself again, so she took his hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Think of it this way… it’s for the good of the country that you fuck me senseless any time of day and night.”

Alistair spluttered at her bluntness but she just laughed as she slipped her hands from his and moved past him. There was a small table laden with food - to help keep up their energy for their excursions, no doubt - so she helped herself to a goblet of wine and poured one for her new husband. “You’re probably one of the only men in the world who can use that excuse,” she smiled, popping a grape in her mouth.

“You…” he grinned, walking over and taking the other goblet from her hand. “You are a minx.”

She pretended to be shocked. “You’ve only just realised? And here I thought you only married me because you knew I was.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, kissing the top of her head. “One of many, many many reasons,” he replied.

They stood content in silence, their thoughts elsewhere when she finally spoke again. “I meant what I said. We don’t have to do anything we’re expected to do tonight.”

He gulped but nodded. “I… I know. And I appreciate that, but please don’t think it’s because I don’t want... need you,” he said quietly, his grip on her tightening.

“It’s not like we’ve not done it before,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Even if this gown pretends to be evidence to the contrary.”

“Yes, and we have done it, many, many times…”

“And we will many more,” she confirmed, popping another grape in her mouth, the sweetness washing over her tongue. She turned to him: “but not tonight.”

“Thank the Maker I married you,” he murmured, downing the rest of his wine.

“But I do have a wicked idea…”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“We should take all of this food and eat it… in bed.”

He laughed, so genuine and delightful that her gut warmed pleasantly. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the cheese board and marched over to the bed. He threw her down, and she tried to not be too aroused by the action, but her pert nipples through her night-dress gave her away. Determined to make sure Alistair was as happy as could be, she reached forward and pulled him onto the bed and instead of kissing him, grabbed a handful of cheese and squashed it into his mouth.

The King of Ferelden snorted with laughter as he tried to eat the cheese, before doing the same back at his new queen. He pecked her on the nose and rose to collect more food and wine, and soon they were sitting leaning against the headboard, a delectable spread of food between them. And they gorged.

☆☆☆☆☆

The sun peered through the lattice windows of the queen’s chamber. The light was white and bright and brought Alistair blinking out of his deep slumber, momentarily confused at his location. He looked up at the canopy above him and duly noted the olive green drapes of the Queen’s bed. He’d never slept in here and was momentarily disoriented until he remembered the day before.

In his arms, still and sound asleep, was his wife. Her hair was splayed on the pillow and tickled his nose. He couldn’t see her face, but today it felt more real: this woman who had become his friend and companion, lover and hero of Ferelden, was now his wife… his queen . He gently propped himself onto his elbow, so as not to wake her, and gazed down at her face, noting the way the sunlight accentuated her high cheekbones. This wonderful, beautiful and exquisite woman is my wife , he thought with quiet awe. His chest flipped with uncontained joy and gone was the trepidation of the night before.

He studied her face as she slept, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sighed contently in her sleep. He lay back down and pulled her close to him, tightening his grip on her, and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicatingly sweet scent. The silk nightdress was so smooth and thin, and his hands couldn’t help but wander up and down, his fingers gently brushing the material over her skin, like water. Without realising it, he found himself rutting against her arse, which was tucked up cosily to his groin. He tried to still himself, she's still asleep ! But his wandering hands could not be stopped as one slowly crept up her torso and cupped a breast. The shift was so thin, that he felt her nipple harden with the barest of touches and that’s when he realised that her hips were moving too.

He pushed himself up to an elbow again, and her eyes, dark and hooded with desire stared back at him. Her lips parted with a hitched breath and he flicked her nipple with his thumb. Moving his hand downwards, he swallowed her breathy moan as his fingers teased the hem of her smalls, mouth crashing down on hers in simple, uncontained desire.

They had not so much as kissed since they had said their wedding vows in the Chantry, he realised. And as his tongue licked her upper lip, he swore to himself that he would never leave it so long to kiss her again. Her mouth opened with a sigh and their tongues danced as he continued to rut, and she squirmed against him as his hand finally slipped into her smalls in search of her bud.

He stifled a groan as he found her hand already there, gently touching herself. His fingers joined hers whilst they moved their hips and she guided him with her hand. He slipped a digit inside of her and she gasped, squirming against his erection, straining against his smalls, and he pictured feeling her growing wetness around his cock. With impatience, he slid her nightdress up so she was exposed and he pulled his cock out and rubbed it blissfully between her cheeks. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk as he rocked his hips, gaining pleasant friction with her arse.

“More…” she whispered, as her fingers joined his, pumping inside her. And with his control waning, he obliged eagerly.

Alistair rolled her onto her back and pulled her hands over her head as he pinned her down. Her legs fell open for him, and as much as he wanted - no needed - to be inside her, Alistair knew what his lady wife needed more was to be spoiled. If it were up to him, the king would love to stay buried between his wife’s legs for the rest of his days, as her taste was so sweet. He trailed kisses down her neck, and her hips lifted up to meet his, and his resolve almost broke as her core was teased against his cock. But being a Warden had one excellent perk: incomparable stamina.

He continued down, kissing her heaving breasts as they rose and fell erratically with her breathing. Playing with one in his hand, he took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, her perfect bud hard and round in his mouth. With his hand, he squeezed her other one tight, and had her gasping: but he was nowhere near done. He let go of her breast in his mouth with a pop and glanced up at her to see her mouth open and delicious, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He grinned and kissed her stomach, then pulled back and positioned himself on his elbows, taking in the sight of her splayed out on the bed, rosy cheeks and breathy moans all for him. He pressed his lips to her knee, then with each kiss, his stubble tickled the inside of her thigh as he moved up her legs, finally reaching that gloriously warm and wet apex in between that was just begging for him to taste.

Desire surged through him and without wasting any more time, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and licked her dripping wet folds. She cried out in pleasure as he rolled his tongue over her, and her fingers grabbed his head, nails digging into his scalp as he worked his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelt, and her hips rose up to meet his mouth, jittering as she climbed higher to her peak. He wanted to spoil her because she deserved it and more. So he reached up with one hand and squeezed a breast and flicked a nipple again, loving the way her hips bucked in response. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp and raked his chestnut hair as his other hand kneaded her arse, lifting her up so he had the best angle to eat her out.

He teased and tortured her with his mouth, and finally sucked on her clit.

“Ah...ah...Alist-ah!” she cried out, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. He tasted her orgasm on his tongue and without missing a beat, rose and positioned himself at her entrance. Her eyes flicked open to look at him as she felt him move, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her exquisite mouth. That was all he needed.

So tormentingly slowly, Alistair finally entered her, the warmth and wetness so indescribably perfect that he couldn’t help but let out a moan. He fit her perfectly and when sheathed completely, he paused and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was still fast from her orgasm and he captured her mouth with his, letting her taste herself. Then he rolled his hips and started to slowly make love to her, not once tearing his gaze from her face. He noticed every single expression that flickered before him as he thrust and teased: a hand on her hip and another once more on her breasts.

She wrapped her legs around him and he plunged unbelievably deeper inside of her, making them gasp and moan in unison as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time. As they moved, the pleasure and pressure mounted, but Alistair had much more control than a boy still wet behind the ears - he wanted to give her so much more before he -

“Ah!” he gasped, as she took him by surprise. She had crossed her ankles behind his back and with her strong legs, twisted so that he was forced to roll and let her sit on top of him. Incredibly, they did not lose touch, and the angle was different but just as pleasurable. She smirked down at him as she pressed her hands to his chest and began to slowly roll her hips, her breasts rising and falling beautifully as she took him. Alistair was entranced as he watched his love move quicker with a growing need and he held her hips tightly to control her pace. But she didn’t need any assistance, as she moved faster and faster, his thrusts coming up to meet hers, flesh slapping flesh. Her moans crescendoed, and the erotic sight before him of his wife move above him with a wonton need to claim her pleasure...well he could feel his control slipping. He wanted to spill himself inside of her, and see his seed drip down her legs…

“Fuck!” she cried, reaching her second orgasm, as Alistair dug his fingers into her thighs to stop himself from joining her peak of pleasure. She fell back and Alistair seized his moment to regain control and topped her again.

Fully sheathed once more, he deliberately moved slowly, as he knew that if he picked up the pace then he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But she caught his eye and licked her lips.

“Please, Alistair,” she panted, her hands digging into his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Mmmm?” he replied, biting her earlobe and slipping out of her, making her whimper.

“What do you want?” he teased, stroking himself as she looked up at him with uncloaked desire.

“It’s more than what I want ...it’s what I need ,” she whispered, sitting up to meet her lips with his, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, making his muscles tense in anticipation.

They kissed delicately, fervently, noses touching, breath mingling. “And what do you need?”

She pulled away and lay back down on the bed, her legs falling open. She traced one finger down the length of her, and his eyes followed.

“Take me, my king,” she begged, touching herself in front of him.

Almost roughly, because he couldn't bear to not be in her again, he flipped her over, brought her to her knees and lined himself up to her entrance. He kissed her salty back, sleek with sweat and breathed in her ear. “As my queen commands.”

He thrusted inside, and she took all of him. She threw her head back and he grabbed her neck, pulling her up to him for a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrusted fiercely, the globe of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. She moaned in his mouth as she touched herself; legs shaking as he pounded into her over and over; sweat mingling, with moans loud and needy, filling the chamber. He pumped with such animalistic need and she cried in pleasure and she gripped the bedsheets for support as he took her, unrelenting in his passion.

With a shaking arm, he reached around and touched her pearl and she cried out, her orgasm sudden and huge.

“Fill me!” she pleaded as she continued to come.

He snapped and finally, wonderfully, he reached his peak too and exploded inside of her, his vision blurred and black at the edges, as he emptied his seed inside of her - for the first time. And Maker, did it feel incredible to finish like this; in a union of bodies so perfect and natural.

Alistair, as breathless as if he had just swam the length of the Waking Sea, collapsed on top of her, laughing with joy.

“I...I love...you,” he panted, their legs entwined and he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began.

They stayed like that for some time, and Alistair was tempted to fall asleep just like this, but she wiggled underneath him.

“Mmmm, as much as I love you inside of me,” she murmured;” you are crushing me somewhat.”

He reluctantly slipped out of her, trailing kisses all down her back and arse, making her hairs stand on end and her toes curl. He gathered her into his arms, the sheets around them a total mess, but he was loath to care as she lightly ran her fingers over him. His limbs felt like jelly, all loose and relaxed.

“Hey, Alistair?”

“Hmm?” he replied, barely opening his eyes.

“There’s some cheese leftover from last night.”

He sat up suddenly and looked over to where she pointed.

“Cheese for breakfast?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Cheese for breakfast,” she confirmed.

fin