#Has anyone seen the viscount lately?

[thinkinonsense]

Bewitched

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to make the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a title. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elderly age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

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[writtenfangirl]

Dancing

A short one this time! I just wanted to write a really fluffy piece without drama although, yes there is a very small conflict if you squint hard enough. I wanted to write another fic that made me feel good just cause life's been extra hard lately.

Although I have a ton of ideas for this one so a sequel if people really enjoy this. I briefly wondered making Y/N be Lady Whistledown and pairing her up with my favorite Bridgerton brother to see what would happen.

TW: People being mean. Gossiping mamas. Cressida Cowper mention.

The ball, as most balls tended to be as the night waned, had grown stale and boring. The dancing had ceased despite the wonderful string quartet that played their music and people had broken off to their own parties. As the guests become accustomed to the taste of alcohol, words began to flow with reckless abandon. 

“Did you hear? Viscount Dotsfield has a bastard with a scullery maid!”

“The Earl of Blackfield is said to engage in… relationships with Sir Lockling.”

“There are rumors going around that one of the Colton daughters has a French paramour whose name is Ravilli. An ambassador of sorts…”

Gossip is what fueled the ton, the very lifeblood that had men and women of varying ages coming to these balls in the first place. No one in the ton wanted to be caught unaware and one could never be too careful of the rumors that could be fabricated about you. According to Y/N’s mama, the only people who didn’t come to balls and to the gatherings hosted by members of the ton were those of them whose reputations were in ruins. You were either gossiping or you were the one being gossiped about. 

So she came and endured even if she was bored out of her mind. 

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t use to anyway. She was a woman and women were seen and not heard. Not only that, but she was a wallflower. Wallflowers were hardly seen at all.

“Lady Y/L/N.”

She knew that familiar voice, smooth and deep yet somehow still bright. If sunsets could speak, Y/N imagined they would have his voice.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Y/N said as she spun around, hiding her smile behind her bejeweled fan. “I half expected you to have taken your leave by now.”

“Under usual circumstances, I might have. But I have yet to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” Benedict said with a crooked smile. “And my mother has always told me that dancing is one of men’s greatest assets to encourage affection.”

“There’s hardly anyone dancing,” Y/N said bashfully.

“All the better reason to do so.”

Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew Benedict was only speaking to her because his mother asked him too. She’d always rather liked Lady Bridgerton and she had a penchant for forcing her sons to dance with the wallflowers. At every ball Y/N attends, her dance card, though usually empty, always had three names: Anthony Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton. Colin Bridgerton. 

And there was no man who made he heart beat faster than Benedict Bridgerton himself. Because it was Benedict who offered to fill up all of the other spaces in her dance cards even though he didn’t have to.

All the Bridgerton brothers were kind to her but Benedict was more than that. Anthony and Colin were polite but Benedict laughed with her and conversation flowed between them like water from a fountain. And though she knew Benedict was unlikely to return her feelings, she occasionally let her delusions run wild. She often spent her days imagining what their future would look like. Would their children have his eyes or hers? Their hair would probably be different too. And their noses—

“Y/N?”

Blast! What a bloody idiot! She shouldn’t have let her mind wander like that! And now Benedict was looking at her expectantly with those luminous blue eyes and she couldn’t focus her mind to remember what it is he’d asked of her.

“Yes?” She asked, fighting to stop herself from sounding so breathy.

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned with an outstretched hand. 

The dance. She’d forgotten about the dance!

She briefly wondered if she could find a way out of it. Getting on that dance floor would shift everyone’s focus on to them and she already knew what people would say. 

“The Bridgerton charity case.”

“Of all of the young ladies, he chose her?”

“He deserves better.”

She glanced around nervously. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any heed but those conversations would instantly stop the moment she and Benedict stepped on the dance floor alone. 

And she knew that if she were to reject Benedict’s advances, her mother would kill her. Though Anthony was but a Viscount, his fortune was considerable large. His father before him had managed their estate well and Anthony was known to make cunning investments that grew their already large fortune, a fortune that would also provide cushy lives for the rest of his brothers. Perhaps not the large estate of a Duke but certainly nothing to scoff at. And Y/N didn’t doubt for one second that the rest of the Bridgerton brothers weren’t as smart as Anthony was when it came to their finances. 

It’s why Y/N had constantly heard her mother’s say, “you will marry a Duke or a Bridgerton. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Luckily for Y/N, her mother wasn’t around to see her reject Benedict. 

Still, with the way Benedict looked at her, it was hard to say no. 

“Just one dance,” Y/N ceded with a sigh, slipping her gloved hand onto his. 

His smile widened considerably. “You mustn’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N huffed. “You look perfect everywhere you go.”

“Oh?”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn the world. Damn herself. And damn Benedict Bridgerton. 

“You think I look perfect?” He asked, cocking a brow in question. 

“U-uh, I m-mean, that is to say, I don’t—“

“You truly must calm your nerves, my lady,” Benedict said with a chuckle as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. “I am only teasing.” 

Y/N could hear the stream of gossip stop as members of the ton watched them. There was a pregnant pause and then the chatter began once again. She couldn’t hear the full conversations but she heard enough. 

“…fat…”

“…ugly…undeserving…”

“…he is too kind…”

It made Y/N want to curl up into a ball so that the earth may open up and swallow her whole. 

“Pay them no heed,” Benedict muttered as he pulled her close, his hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand found hers. “Focus only on us. And tonight, you look beautiful.”

“Only tonight?” Y/N joked in a bid to ease the coil of tension tightening around her core. 

“Every night.” Benedict’s tone was too serious to be called teasing. 

Soon the new music started, washing away the ton’s horrible words. She could still feel their watchful eyes on her skin, felt the way they judged her. 

“Focus on me,” Benedict muttered before he began their dance by swaying them back and fort.

She let the music fill her, weaving through the muscles in her body. Their dance was a complicated one and though she wasn’t an accomplished dancer by any sense of the word, with Benedict leading it was hard to fail. 

In and out, push and pull, with complicated lifts and turns yet somehow always finding their way back to each other. It was as if their bodies were magnetized, attracted only to the other. As the music swelled, she forgot all about the gossiping ton and their prying eyes. Instead she only felt Benedict’s body heat, the hard chords of muscles hidden beneath his jacket, his hands steady around her waist. 

His gaze on her felt soft, like staring at the afterglow of of dusk. She was never much of a drinker but Benedict always had the ability to make her feel drunk, as though each of her inhibitions left her the moment his luminous blue eyes landed on her. 

When the last notes of the song echoed between them and Y/N and Benedict detached from each other to curtsy and bow at one another, the entire ballroom erupted into applause. 

A soft gasp left Y/N’s lips. She’d completely forgotten about the ton watching them with Benedict commanding all of her attention. 

She raised her head, meeting Benedict’s eyes once more. 

“You were marvelous,” Benedict muttered with a grin as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss against it before leading her out of dance floor. The ton’s eyes had grown less hostile and more appreciative on and, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt exhilarated. 

“I would like to call on you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” Benedict said, letting his voice be carried throughout the ballroom. His words brought on another wave of whispers. “If you would let me?”

Y/N was absolutely sure she would be the center of gossip tomorrow. Perhaps until the end of the season if Benedict’s intentions are what she thought them to be. 

To call on her would mean Benedict would like to get to know her better, to suss out if she would make a good wife or not. And with him a Bridgerton and her a lowly Y/L/N, they would make waves with the ton. She could practically feel Cressida Cowper glaring daggers at her back.

But she didn’t care about that right now. She was still riding the high of their beautiful dance. She was no great beauty, that much was true. But with Benedict, she felt beautiful. And his opinion mattered to her more than the Queen’s and the whole ton’s combined.

“Of course you may call on me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said graciously, ignoring her fast beating heart. “I’ll have the cook prepare that raspberry marmalade you enjoy so much.”

Benedict grinned. “I am much obliged. I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you have a good evening.” He took her hand again, placing another gentle kiss on her knuckles before he straightened and walked away.

[xo-cod]

could you tell us more about ghost and price in the au? 👀👀 i love bridgerton so much 🥲💕

of course nonnie, i hope you enjoy. idk if i'll ever write it but it's so fun to think about lmao. i included gaz/soap/könig just in case :) 🤍

continued from: here

price: the leader, the gentleman of the bunch if you will. but just as witty and cunning as the rest of his comrades, though that side isn't often shown. he lacks affection and warmth after years of spent alone, he's especially learnt not to trust and rely on people. bears the burden of his team, holds many responsibilities from his higher position that keeps him occupied. upholds his honour and role in society as the viscount but he is unmarried and purely looking for someone that ticks off the boxes for being a viscountess, at best looking for an understanding of sorts since love is a fickle thing and he doesn't believe feelings should be mixed with business. that's not to say there isn't a heart that beats under all that armour. perhaps you may be his undoing

ghost: maybe the brute would interest you, his devious ways certainly able to spark a light in someone. he's blunt and brash, harsh and cold. doesn't really converse to anyone that isn't his companions, fiercely protective and loyal to them, holds them in a high regard. he is knighted like all of them, fulfils his duties during the day and fights during the night. the years of abuse have taken its toll on him, doesn't believe he could love or that it could be reciprocated. he bears a dark past, harbouring secrets he's vowed to keep to the grave but perhaps you may be the one to tempt his heart, to show him the true love he's always yearned to have. to ease some lightness in the darkness he carries

gaz: the mastermind, he is the sarcastic witty type when conversing. being of a higher class has brought about many attention, attention which isn't something he rather enjoys. gaz is a man of few words, usually appreciating intellect of an individual someone who challenges him and keeps him thinking. his time is mostly occupied with his responsibilities but there's a soft ache that runs through him in the stillness of the night all alone and away from the buzz of society. something in him dares to linger on a dream, a hope that perhaps he isn't an unlovable as he thinks himself to be. perhaps you may be the one to secure the viscount

soap: lastly the playboy! he's got that devilish smirk that results from having a decent conversation to all hot and flustered in bed. but to him sex doesn't equal love. he's rather emotionally closed off, love has usually been full of pain so he gave up. sex is good enough, gets rid of the physical need of a soft body and he doesn't see them again afterwards. he does allow himself the pleasure but of late as he grows older he finds himself wanting more, something he can't seem to find in the other ladies in the town. maybe you'd be the rare diamond he's after, able to quench his desire for a lover

plus könig: the earl, he's calculating and calm. rarely ever seen conversing with others outside his circle. societal events aren't much his thing and he won't go if his presence isn't required. könig again doesn't care much for love, looking for a countess and nothing more. he too doesn't much believe in love, won't allow his heart to even entertain the thought so he closes himself off away from others. he just needs someone that's compatible on paper, to secure his right in his position. but maybe you could teach him that love isn't black and white, that perhaps he too can indulge himself for once in his life (tolerates the 141, personal beef with ghost)

it's a fun idea to think off, sorry if it's repetitive. i haven't yet fully thought this out so there are mistakes but i hope you liked it anyway :)

[auraisereigh]

"Hello to you too, Star"

Chapter 7, Part I

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson reader Blurb: On a free day Star decides to clear her mind. wc: 4.9k ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Actually quite peaceful. Star's magic alert. Star's logic? Let me know if i missed something. Uses pronouns: she/her. i use Star as a nickname as y/n sounds weird, and i'm awful with names.

A/N: I loved writing this one so much that i had to divide it into two parts because i wrote so much for this chapter.

Star's masterlist main masterlist

I wake up completely sore and worn out. Seems like I had a whole war while I slept, why not?

It's been a month since the first Assembly meeting and we've fallen in a good routine. We've been having meetings almost daily, we've started rebuilding and we have one person working in the forge now, Mainly making daggers. Better than nothing.

Today was one of those rare days we didn't have a meeting planned. We covered what was needed yesterday. Viscount Tecarus has responded to my letter, though I have yet to read it as it arrived late last night.

If there's one thing that changed the most this month it's the mess in my room, I've left all the paperwork in my dad's office but that still leaves all the empty plates, discarded clothes, notebooks and pretty much anything else you can think of.

Problems for later.

Once I get dressed and tidy up just a little bit, I make my way to dad's office.

Lord. Another meal, another note. Brennan has been leaving me meals and notes all month, not that I've been bothered to check on him, I haven't seen him at all and I wanna keep it that way. It still stings, that I so easily trusted someone just because of a mutual friend.

Naolin. I finished his grave a week ago. It took a while to find the right flowers but with my magic they shouldn't wither.

It's a simple meal, some bread, cheese and ham, a glass of orange juice all neatly placed on the corner of my desk, the note also neatly placed next to it. Those notes get longer the longer he keeps going with this.

"Heard you have a free day. Take some time to rest, you've been busy. Maybe you could read? Naolin used to tell me that you love folklore. And tonight you could go star gazing. Maybe you'll see Naolin."

B.s

I sigh and put the note down. I open the drawer of the desk and take out the bottle of medicine the healers gave me after I got a reaction to some kind of food. I swallow it with the orange juice.

Felix appears in the doorway. He leans against the doorframe and looks at me. He's taken it upon himself to look after me even though I insisted I didn't need that.

I hold up the note and raise a brow. I haven't told anyone about the notes and meals. It always happened when I was too tired. "Something I should know?" My voice still holds that hoarsness that comes with just waking up.

"Brennan has been released out of confinement. He's been questioned a few times and we don't see the harm, so we're giving him the benefit of the doubt." I raise a brow. What questions did they ask him? "Why wasn't I called in for the questioning?" I argue.

"You're too emotionally involved with him." He says calmly. "Oh really? I had every right to. This is my house, his mother killed my fathe-" he cuts me off. "And that's why we didn't come to you for the questioning. Trust me, I did the questioning too. He's harmless. He just wants to stay out of his mother's sight, he doesn't agree with what she's done and for all she knows her son is dead."

"It's her thinking that her son is dead that resulted in my city being burned down." I say back. "An action he did not have control over." He argues back, his voice saying that he will have the last word and that that was that last word.

He sighs deeply as he walks closer and stops next to me. He takes the note and reads it. "He's mourning the same person as you. He's a caring man. Just try to trust him, he's not his mother and you shouldn't judge him for his mother, he doesn't do that with you either. Nobody chooses their parents." He looks at me as if I'm the same. I frown at him but before I can say anything he talks. "You have a day off. Eat, rest, do something you enjoy, maybe get out of this fortress for a while. You've been cooked up in here for more than a month." He says gently before leaving me alone in my dad's office.

☆

I have to admit that meal was good, despite the person who brought it. I had been keeping all of the notes in a envelope that I shoved in the back of drawer. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm doing that.

I took Felix's advice to get out of the house. I glady took my bow with me outside to have some peace of mind. The chances of me actually killing something are pretty much zero but it's the idea that I have it say a certain someone would come looking for me again. I still hadn't figured out who that was but I also haven't told anyone, not even Brennan. But I have heard that voice before, you don't forget such a ruthless voice.

There's enough forest in Aretia for me to avoid the area where Brennan and I spend two weeks together.

Instead I take the route alongside the river that leads to a beautiful lake. There are still a lot of animals out, they dare more now that the woods don't get used as much. Despite all the chances I get I don't shoot or even try to shoot at an animal. There's no point, I've done it enough for a While. Truth is that I only took the bow with me to feel safe.

The walk to the lake is quiet, the kind of quiet I've needed for a while now. Just the sound of the water streaming pass by helps sooth all the emotions I've been feeling for a while now.

By midday I arrive by the lake. It's still as beautiful as the last time I saw it. The water is a deep blue that streams to the river. Here and there are rocks, and at the back of the lake is a giant mountain that creates a waterfall down the mountain. And all of it is pretty much covered up by forest so it gives that hidden, magical feeling. Not many people know this place exists and as there's a mountain most just assume it ends there.

I sit down by one of the larger rocks and lean against it. It's been a month since I've been able to just sit down and relax, to not have to think about anything. Where it's just me and my thoughts.

I have so many memories here, most with Naolin, some with my family. This lake holds so many emotional strings for me. And for once it doesn't feel necessarily bad, it feels.... Freeing. No one is here to watch me, I can just let go.

I watch as my magic swirls over the lake in red veins. Almost like they're part of the water, just in a different color.

I've always been both fascinated and scared of it. No one knows where my magic came from. According to dad it's not inherited from his side of the family. I've spent hours in the library to find something but I came up with nothing. As far as I know it's limitless, almost anything that I can think about is possible with it, it's just a matter of control.

I gaze over the lake, over the red swirls that trail over water and rock.

My mind Wanders to a memory.

☆

Its Almost sunset now. The sun has almost dipped behind the mountain creating a beautiful reflection from the mountain to the lake. I've been here for hours now. Practicing my magic by an old book that my dad had been given by Viscount Tecarus of Cordyn.

I hear a crunch behind me and my head snaps up but I calm down once I see the familiar face with the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. A smile finds it way up my face as I stand up and run towards him. I jump in his arms and he catches me like it's no big deal. My arms wrap around his neck and he holds me tight.

"Hello to you too, Star." Naolin's familiar voice speaks up. It's been months since I've seen him. Now that he is officially a lieutenant and stationed on an outpost he barely has time to ask for leave.

"I didn't know you would be coming." I whisper. "Surprise." He says softly. He puts me down and his hands go to my cheeks. "I'm gone a few months and you grow up." He jokes which gets a small laugh out of me. He looks over to where I had been sitting. "Ah we're being obsessive again." He states, he eyes the old book.

His hand takes mine as we walk to my sitting spot. We sit down and he takes the book, going through what I've marked.

I stare at him. It's been months and he's here now.

"Anything useful?" He asks as he closes the book. Guess we're not practicing anymore. "Nothing that I didn't know yet." I respond while I stare at him.

His dark brown eyes, I swear they're so dark there almost black but you can see the brown in them. His dark waves of hair, messy from flight.

"You're doing that again." He laughs and I snap out of my haze. My brows furrow and confusion takes over my face. "What?" I ask confused. He laughs and flicks my nose. ow. "That face." He motions to mine with his hand. "That look on your face When I'm just back. Like I'm a ghost that you can suddenly see." He jokes and I can't help but crack a smile. "You can't blame me. I never see you anymore. Might as well be a ghost." I joke back but I know he knows I missed him. The letters I send to him say enough.

His smile goes from the joking one to the caring one. "Come here." He says softly, opening his arm to come closer. I don't hesitate, I've craved his touch for so long. To see my best friend for so long, when I didn't even know if I'd see him. He's on the front lines, for the same he dies.

His arms wrap around me and his head leans on mine. We stay like that for a long time, staring at the lake. Here and there we make a small conversation but I'm just happy that he's here.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog @bangtanxberm

[thekatebridgerton]

Shelley Conn aka Mary Sharma played prince of hell in the new season of Good Omens, so here's an idea of the AU where all the siblings are demons who were send on Earth to cause chaos and lusty shenanigans. And their spouses are angels send to stop the sin. But nothing goes with Ineffable Plan, angels fall for demons and vice versa. Now they are on their own side. Also Newton is Cerberus because I just love all the jokes from Greek mythology fandom about Cerberus being a cheeky three-headed corgy.

You know considering how many Bridgerton fans are also Good Omens fans, this woul be great. I do think @seaowl does have a au that goes along those lines so make sure to check out that blog too.

Since I personally haven't seen GO. This ask is going to go in a slightly different direction. Although I do love the idea of Kate having a 3 headed corgi.

But back to the topic if I had to do a Angels and Demons 2024 au it would be more along the lines of both angels and demons being undercover as regular humans in this little town of Mayfair. And just for kicks and giggles neither the angels or the demons know that the people they are falling in love with are holy/demonic. Since the only way to reveal something like that would be with a kiss.

Each pair gets a person with holy potential that they either have to corrupt to hell or elevate into sainthood before they can go back to their respective realms and attain wings or horns.

So lets explore this, shall we. ?

Angels and demons 2024 au

Kate and Anthony get assigned to Edwina, a young debutante who is both angelic and devilish, meaning she could go either way. Kate poses as Edwina's stepsister who just came from India to help her debut, and Anthony poses as the devilish Viscount who is after her hand. Kate's mission is to get Edwina safely married to a good man so she can lead a kind and honest life and Anthony's mission is to corrupt Edwina so she falls into sin and debauchery.... Its just that somewhere along the line, Kate and Anthony lose track of the fact that their mark was Edwina and not each other, because lately all Kate seems to do is attempt to convince Anthony that there is good in him, while all Anthony seems to do, is try to seduce Kate into tasting sin, betray Edwina and let go of her determination to go back to heaven I mean ... India.

Benedict and Sophie get assigned to Posy, another debutante, so firmly under her evil mother's thumb that Benedict thinks turning her into a evil mini Araminta will be easy. Except that Sophie, the family maid, has been working on keeping Posey good since Posey was a child. So Benedict immediately decides that for Posey to completely turn evil he just needs to corrupt the saintly maid first. If Posey sees Sophie as a fallen woman, she's obviously going to let go of any desire to be good. But corrupting Sophie turns out to be harder than Benedict thought, because she's kind and thoughtful and Benedict finds himself drawn to her light. Meanwhile Sophie is almost sure that Benedict is a demon sent to torment her, with the way he's tempting her into letting go of her morals..

Penelope and Colin were not assigned to anyone they're just there as backup for the other members of their squad to help them if the mission gets difficult. Penelope does this by using Lady Whistledown to influence things in the angels favor, Colin does it by intentionally popping up around his siblings and stirring up chaos. And since they're both always near the drama or keeping track of the drama, the have become friends, and maybe even feel some attraction for each other... Which promptly ends in more drama when Penelope asks Colin to kiss her, ( thinking he's a regular human) and they both discover that they're fighting for opposite teams!! Way to wreck a friendship

Phillip and Eloise, used to be assigned to George and Marina, their missions were technically successful as George died a war hero and Marina took a voluntary swim in the lake. The thing is that, because heaven and hell can't decide if George and Marina should be together in the afterlife, the tiebreaker mission is their orphaned twin children. Phillip is posing as their aloof but loving uncle and Eloise is posing as the Nanny who is here to encourage evil deeds and seduce their father figure... Can't imagine which team will win this particular battle of wills

Michael and Francesca were assigned to John, who died as perfect 50/50, meaning the mission failed on both sides and both Michael and Francesca blame themselves for it. And are currently taking out those saintly sinner frustrations on each other.

Daphne and Simon also sent to Earth as backup, more on the admin side of heaven and hell than anything else. These two were so bored with their duties of reporting the issues of their team to the higher ups that they intentionally sought out a challenge in the ballrooms of London and found each other. They delayed their first kiss for so long that they found out that their partner was an angel/ devil AFTER they were married in a church. And since any marriage for an angel and a demon with another non-human is valid in every realm, they are absolutely panicking and can't get it anulled

Gareth and Hyacinth somehow ended up with Lady Danbury as a mission and promptly gave up. They do not get paid enough to take on THAT so early in their careers. Which just means that both Gareth and Hyacinth have been spending most of their time on earth running away from responsibility and trying to justify to their family exactly why they haven't found a way to send Lady Danbury to heaven or hell. The perfect excuse? Hyacinth is trying to reform Lady Danbury's grandson/ Gareth is trying to seduce the daughter of Lady Danbury's best friend.

Gregory and Lucy want their missions yo fail because they both think they're not ready for a promotion. Their assignment is Hermione and Lucy is doing everything in her saintly power to make Hermione think that falling from grace was all her idea, and Gregory is doing his devilish utmost to manipulate Hermione into going down the path of goodness and decency. Its just so annoying that for all Lucy keeps talking about supporting that, her actions are all about supporting Hermione's worst tendencies. Lucy thinks that if Gregory really wanted Hermione he should just seduce her properly so Lucy can report she failed on her mission and go back home. But now Gregory seems to be onto her, fine, if he's going to wreck her plans, so is she. Time for the ' be Gregory's friend and convince him to corrupt Hermione' plan all while Gregory is on the ' Be Lucy's friend and convince her to stop enabling Hermione plan' which turns into the ' oh no I'm falling in love with this person' panic mode.

This was a fun ask, I wanted to keep it short but the au ran away with me. What do you think anon.

In the meantime that's all the tea I got on this au

[hanzajesthanza]

While Geralt was dreaming the dream in Toussaint with Fringilla, Dandelion was dreaming it with Anarietta. Only, Geralt managed to wake up on his own because he had the hanza (and other stuff). But Dandelion didn't have anyone, he was alone, he was separated from the others and never returned, so the dream consumed him, and he didn't wake until he was forcefully removed from the situation. Or maybe it's not that deep... Why do you think Sapkowski removed him from the equation?

i've seen others explain this more straightforwardly, reasoning that dandelion simply isn't be able to ride with the rest of the company to stygga castle simply and practically because he's less suited for combat than... well, as regis puts it:

‘(...) I’m going with him.’ ‘Me too,’ Cahir said at once. ‘And me and all!’ Milva barked. Dandelion pressed to his chest the tube with the manuscripts which, lately, he wouldn’t be parted from for a single moment. He lowered his head. He was evidently struggling with his thoughts. And the thoughts were winning. ‘Stop meditating, poet,’ Regis said kindly. ‘For there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re even less cut out to participate in a bloody swordfight than I am. We weren’t taught to carve up our neighbours with a blade. (...)’

though this thinking is undeniably correct (what would dandelion be able to do in the harrowing final battle if they had brought him? no, the strong must protect the sweet...) i think the matter is simultaneously a little deeper than that, as you nod to.

dandelion is more connected to the enchanted valley of toussaint and the city of beauclair than the rest of the company, including geralt, is.

for starters, he's heavily thematically linked to the aesthetics and activities of beauclair:

‘’Pon my word, there’ll be everything at Beauclair,’ Reynart de Bois-Fresnes assured them. ‘Balls, feasts, banquets, revels and poetry evenings. You’re friends of Dandelion’s, for heaven’s sake … Of Viscount Julian’s, I meant to say. And the Lady Duchess is most fond of the latter.’

doesn't the aforementioned just embody dandelion? these activities are truly his domain of existence, and he takes perfectly to this natural environment, like a fish to water:

He [Geralt] found Dandelion in the knights’ hall. The poet was wearing a crimson beret, as big as a loaf of sourdough rye bread, and a matching doublet richly embroidered with golden thread. He was sitting on a curule seat with his lute in his lap and reacting with careless nods to the compliments of the ladies and courtiers surrounding him.

more importantly, dandelion connected with the duchess six years ago, before the invasion from nilfgaard began. considering the timeline, this is before the majority of the short story "something more" took place, in other words, it's "pre-ciri" in geralt's life, it's the time of the short stories, where everything was more open to exploration (for both the author and the characters). though he's not the only one of the company who has been to the valley in years past (angouleme hid from pursuers in toussaint before), this history in beauclair is why he's unable to leave.

because the other members of the company are simply enchanted by the valley... but dandelion is enchanted by the duchess herself:

And the Duchess and Lord Dandelion … Ha, Beauclair is strange indeed and spellbinding, full of amatory enchantment … You shall see for yourselves. As the Duchess and Lord Dandelion learned then. They noticed not, from verse to verse, from word to word, from compliment to compliment, posies, glances, sighs … To put it briefly: both came to an intimate understanding.

anna henrietta herself, as the ruler of this little enchanted valley, is like a fairy queen of a fairy land. she's the object from which all the magic emanates, the most powerful and important individual who not only rules, but symbolizes and embodies toussaint's dreamlike state.

you mention "the dream"; relating back to regis' analysis about toussaint, love, and destiny:

"The dream that the Witcher is dreaming, I humbly submit with respect, is an enchanting and beautiful one. But every dream, if dreamed too long, turns into a nightmare. And we awake from such dreams screaming."

anna henrietta herself is like this, dream-like:

Anarietta thanked them with a faint nod of her head, decorated with a diamond-encrusted tiara. She had so many diamonds on her that she could have scratched glass just by passing. Beside her sat Dandelion, smiling foolishly.

and then, owing to her fickle nature, turns into a nightmare, from which one wakes screaming:

The pointy-nosed duchess suddenly fell into a fury, and one of the barons fell out of favour and was escorted to the tower for some imprudent word. Few–apart from those directly involved–seemed bothered by the matter.

what's truly captivating about anna henrietta and dandelion, though, is that unlike geralt and fringilla, they seem to have truly fallen in love.

geralt and dandelion, of course, are always opposites and run contrary to one another. dandelion's flightiness and noncommittal (and misogynistic) nature during the time of the short stories is a direct contrast to geralt's yearning and committal to yennefer, for him no other woman will ever compare. consider the events of the short story "a shard of ice," where geralt (arguably) attempts suicide when he believes yennefer will not choose him. can you imagine dandelion committing suicide, over a woman? for him, it would be like committing suicide over a sandwich or some other such consumable meal: for which the individuality of which is largely unimportant: though pleasurable, easily replaceable.

but in beauclair - a kind of fairy tale, magical, opposite-land, they reverse roles. geralt and fringilla are in a lustful but loveless relationship, using the other for information and playing a "long con" where they manipulate one another to get what they want, whereas dandelion and anna henrietta are seemingly truly in "love." for instance, compare and contrast geralt leaving fringilla's bed willingly, denying her sex (ch. 4) with dandelion allegedly enjoying breakfast in bed (ch. 3), likely the bed he and anarietta share.

this kind of role reversal is even noted by dandelion himself during his confrontation with geralt in chapter 3; consider "blind" as being in love, and being "an attentive and astute observer" as being a non-romantic.

‘Aha,’ Dandelion said slowly, tightening his lips. ‘What a curious reversal of roles. I’m a blind man, and you meanwhile have suddenly become an attentive and astute observer. It was usually the other way around.’

dandelion doesn't leave beauclair, because unlike geralt, well, maybe as regis says when they're looking around the foot of mount gorgon:

‘I’m no longer searching, I’ve found it.’

this brings us back to - what else? - sapkowski's favorite motif: woman as grail.

of course, ciri is "grail" in the broader story of the witcher, and the pursuit of her is NOT for romantic love but for either power or familial love (depending on which search party you're talking about ;)), but the search for the grail is also embodied by romantic love for a woman, as sapkowski discusses the concept in his world of king arthur, and also how he depicts it in "something ends, something begins." it's even dandelion who explains the concept to the dejected galahad:

Galahad thought again, frowning. "And the Grail?" he asked finally. "What has become of the Grail?" "What is Grail?" "It's something we're searching for," explained Galahad, setting his sad eyes on the troubadour. "Something that is the most important. Without which life has no meaning. Without which we're incomplete and imperfect." The bard pressed his lips and looked at the knight with his famous gaze, a wise gaze mixed with a jovial honesty. "You fool," he replied, "you've been sitting next to your Grail for the entire evening."

dandelion's own words about anna henrietta are enough to understand his motivations for staying:

"We set off in pursuit like idiots, like madmen. But I didn’t utter a word of complaint, Geralt. I didn’t call you a madman. I didn’t ridicule you. For you had hope and love in you. You were being guided by them on this reckless mission. I was too, as a matter of fact. But I’ve caught up with the mirage, and I was lucky enough that the dream came true. My mission is over. I’ve found what is so difficult to find. And I intend to keep it. Is that insanity? It would be insanity to give it up and let it slip through my fingers."

dandelion doesn't leave because he found what is so important, his own "grail." and he and geralt part ways, because whereas dandelion has found what will complete his quest, geralt is still looking for his grail - his daughter ciri.

though of course, dandelion, by his own foolishness, loses his grail... just as geralt recovers his! just as geralt returns to beauclair with ciri, dandelion is sentenced to execution by his beloved duchess. (and losing the grail isn't unheard of in the witcher - i recall percival's (apropos namesake) humorous story from baptism of fire, of exchanging an opal goblet for a mule).

again, they take contrasting roles to one another - in the last two chapters of the saga, geralt has completely changed. he has the stony countenance of a weary man hardened by his losses and horrors, the responsibility of a married man with a daughter. dandelion in contrast, though he's indeed achieved character development throughout the series, remains mostly similar to his beginning state in worldview, expectations, outlook.

‘Geralt, no,’ groaned Dandelion. ‘Don’t do anything, I beg you … Don’t get involved …’ The Witcher turned his face towards him, and Dandelion didn’t recognise it. ‘Get involved?’ he repeated. ‘Intervene? Rescue somebody? Risk my neck for some noble principles or ideas? Oh, no, Dandelion. Not any longer.’

but tl;dr, dandelion remains a dreamer in beauclair because his character's purpose is to run contrast to geralt. dandelion finds what he's looking for, and thus can enjoy the dream. geralt had not yet found what he was looking for, and thus was trying to fight the dream, resolving to wake up and pursue his destiny:

‘Beauclair, they say, is naught but feasts, balls, junkets, boozing and amour. A fellow, they say, only grows idle and stupid, and wastes time, instead of thinking about trade. And one should think about what’s really important. About the goal guiding us. Without let up. Not distract your thinking on mere bagatelles. Then, and only then, is the intended goal achieved.’ ‘Indeed, Mr Fierabras,’ the Witcher said slowly. ‘I’m content with our shared journey. I’ve gained a great deal from our conversations. Truly a great deal.’

[bleachanimefan1]

The Midnight Masquerade Part 6

His Butler, Capricious Part 2,

"I've narrowed it down to one suspect. The Viscount Druitt, Aleister Chambers. He just recently graduated from medical school but has never gone into practice." Sebastian said. "Lately, he's been hosting parties at his home."

"I've heard that he's into black magic." Madame Red smirked.

"So, you're suspicious that he's holding these parties for some ritualistic sacrifices of noble prostitutes." Lau spoke.

Over the past few days, Ciel went through some gruesome training, learning how to be a proper lady. Surprisingly, Cassandra was somehow pulled into it, if it didn't go well. She was plan B. She hated every minute of it. She couldn't sit the way she wanted, eat the way she wanted, slouch. It was torture! Cassandra was pretty sure Madame Red was getting back at her for accusing her. The day of the party was tonight, and they were picking out a dress. Sebastian and Madame Red was fitting Ciel in a frilly pink and white dress with a small pink hat, black arm length gloves, now wearing a wig in pig tails, matching his hair color. Cassandra picked out a solid red dress with black arm length gloves, wearing a dark blue rose in her hair. 

She noticed Grell looking admiringly at the dresses on display and walked over to him.

"Find something you like?" She asked, smiling, startling Grell.

"Oh! I was just looking at them! They're all very lovely." He told her.

"Well, maybe you should wear one." Cassandra smirked.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly-"

"Why not? I've seen you in a dress before. You definitely make it work on you."

"That's very kind of you to say." Grell laughed.

"Although, if you had to choose what would you wear?" Cassandra asked him.

"Red, as always." Grell told her.

"Of course." Cassandra smiled.

"It's time. Tonight is the last party of the season. This is our last chance." Ciel said.

The night of the party came, and everyone arrived at the viscount place. Inside, there was many aristocrats and nobles talking and eating and drinking.

"You two are going to be acting as my nieces visiting from the country." Madame Red told Ciel and Cassandra then looked at Sebastian. "And Sebastian here will be Ciel's tutor."

"I still don't understand why I have to act like your niece!" Ciel shouted.

"Because I've always wanted a girl!" Madame Red smiled.

"You're kidding me!" Ciel exclaimed in disbelief.

"You don't want them to know that you're a Phantomhive, do you? Besides, I've heard the Lord Druitt has an eye for any pretty little thing in a skirt. And we do need to catch his eye, right?"

"By any means necessary. Do you remember saying, do you not, sir?" Sebastian sneered. Ciel glared at him. They split up and began to look around trying to find the viscount.

"First thing first, we need to locate this murderous viscount." Sebastian spoke. 

"At least we won't run into anyone that we know-" Cassandra spoke before a familiar high-pitched voice shouted, cutting her off.

"Ah! Your dress is so lovely!"

Sebastian, Ciel and Cassandra jump and stood completely frozen in shock. They quickly turned to see Lizzie talking to a woman not too far away in the crowd.

"L-Lizzie!" Ciel sputtered in shock.

"Why is she here!?" Cassandra whispered in shock as well.

"Come with me, master-I mean, mistress, this way!" Sebastian urged pulling Ciel along with him quickly.

"Ooh, you in the pink! Your dress is beautiful!" Lizzie called out. Ciel tensed up and Cassandra quickly pulled him along with her with Sebastian, trying to get away from Lizzie. Lizzie tried to push past the crowd of people, to follow after the three, but lost them. Sebastian, Cassandra and Ciel, took cover, hiding, beside a table.

"If anyone finds out about this..." Ciel murmured, clenching the tablecloth tightly in his hand, panicking a little.

"The Phantomhive name will be ruined for generations." Sebastian replied. 

"Let's go join Madame Red." Ciel replied. As they looked for her, they saw Madame Red surrounded by a small crowd, laughing and drinking some champagne, while Grell stood beside her.

"Well, she seems to be having fun." Cassandra spoke.

"There you are!" Lizzie shouted.

"Can't she just get lost!" Cassandra growled in annoyance. Sebastian grabbed Ciel and Cassandra by their arms and pulled them away. He stopped by a waiter. "You, there. That young lady over there requires some assistance." using them to distract Lizzie. Then he took Ciel and Cassandra outside to the balcony.

"Why do these things always happen to me?" Ciel panted.

"Lord Druitt! Looks as gorgeous as ever tonight!" A woman sighed. Cassandra looked and saw a tall handsome man with lavender eyes, short blond hair in an elegant white suit, an ascot tie, white gloves.

"Hey, there's our target." Cassandra pointed out. Suddenly, music started to play, and people began dance. "Great. How are we going to get to him through all these people?"

Sebastian smirked and took Cassandra's hand. "Then we have no choice but to dance our way over to him." Cassandra's eyes widened, stepping back a little.

"You're kidding me, right?" she sputtered, blushing a little.

"I am one hell of a dancer. And this is a great time to have a little fun." Sebastian pulled her along with him and gracefully danced through the crowd. Several people stopped and watched in awe as they watched Cassandra and Sebastian dance together. Grell, noticed and silently watched a little envious. Cassandra glanced over at him, giving him an apologetic look as she continued to dance with Sebastian. Ciel tried to follow them while slipping through the crowd, trying to avoid Lizzie. The music stopped and Sebastian and Cassandra stepped away from each other. Ciel collapsed on the floor exhausted.

"Why was that song so long?" He panted.

"How could you become exhausted so easily, my lady?" Sebastian helped Ciel up until they heard clapping. The three saw the Viscount, making his way over to them.

"Hello, Viscount Druitt, it is an honor to meet you." Cassandra spoke, softly and curtsied. Aleister turned seeing her and Ciel standing next to her doing the same thing.

"My, now, looks like I have a lovely little dove. You're dancing is exquisite." He smiled, stepping closer to Cassandra, ignoring Ciel. Plan B it is then. Sebastian glanced over to Ciel.

"My lady, allow me to fetch a drink." and he told Ciel and walked away, leaving Ciel with Cassandra.

"How nice of you to say." Cassandra smiled.

"I do hope that you're enjoying the party." Aleister smiled, taking Cassandra's hand, kissing it.

"Oh, no, thank you." Cassandra cringed in disgust. Aleister blinked.

"Excuse me?" 

"Um, yes, I am! It is quite lovely." Cassandra quickly corrected herself. "Sorry, I'm a little nervous. I've actually been waiting to talk to you all evening."

Aleister smiled, moving a little closer to Cassandra. "Oh? Are you looking for something a little more entertaining?" He placed his hand on Cassandra's waist and his fingers quickly slid downwards. Cassandra shuddered and twitched uncomfortably. Do not slap him! Do not slap him! Do not slap him! She felt his hand slipping down lower. Cassandra made a small laugh, and she quickly grabbed his wrist and slowly laced her fingers entwining with his. Aleister blinked a little in surprise.

"What kind of entertainment are we talking about?" She smiled.

"Would you like to know?" Aleister tilted Cassandra's chin up to him.

"Yes, I'm simply dying to, my lord. Don't tease me."

Ciel tensed up when he saw Lizzie running over to him. Cassandra noticed as well. No! Go away! Aleister turned Cassandra's head back to him.

"Has something gotten you distracted, my lady?"

"It's nothing."

Lizzie was getting closer. It's all over! She's going to blow everything! Just as Lizzie was about a few feet away, a large cabinet slammed down in front of her from out of nowhere. Sebastian was wearing a masquerade mask, concealing his face.

"Lady and gentlemen, if you will all gather around. This evening's magic show will now begin." He smiled. Ciel quickly moved away from Cassandra. Sebastian looked over to Lau.

"Pardon me, sir, will you assist me?"

"Assist you? Certainly." Lau walked over to Sebastian.

"Where did he come from? I don't think I requested any parlor tricks this evening." Aleister wondered. Cassandra gently grabbed his hand, drawing his attention to her.

"Hey, this party is getting a little boring. How about we sneak off and do something a little more exciting?" she said seductively, smiling, innocently.

"Come with me, my little dove." Aleister smiled. Cassandra wanted to gag but still kept a smile on her face as Aleister pulled her with him as they left the room. Ciel and Sebastian watched them as they left.

The crowd cheered in amazement when Sebastian finished his demonstration, revealing himself to be unscathed, as Lau stabbed the cabinet with several knives.

"Sebastian, follow them." Ciel ordered.

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian smiled and he vanished from the crowd, disappearing.

Aleister took Cassandra to a dark room. Cassandra stepped inside when he gestured her to go in first.

"We're going somewhere I'm sure you'll find very amusing." He told her stepping inside as well, closing the door behind her. Cassandra smelled something strange in the air that was almost suffocating. Her vision started to get hazy, and she started to lose control of her limbs. Cassandra coughed as she collapsed to the floor, covering her nose and mouth with her hand. She strangely began to feel sleepy.

"What is this!?" She demanded. Cassandra saw Aleister turning around with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"You'll soon about to enjoy yourself, my little dove." He sneered.

Cassandra tried to fight against the poison, trying to stay awake. I can't go to sleep in here! Not with this pervert!

"I am surprised that you're holding out this long. Normally, every woman I brought pass out within an instant."

"You...are not getting away...with this." Cassandra spatted out. Her eyes grew heavier. Her vision went dark, and she fell back, collapsing down to the floor. 

Help me...

Someone!

It felt like hours had gone by. Cassandra gasped and she opened her eyes only to find that she had been blindfolded. She tried to move her hands, but they had been bound together and so were her legs. 

"And now for all that you've been waiting for. Tonight's crowing jewel!" Cassandra heard Aleister announce and he pulled the curtain up. Cassandra was sitting in a cage and there was a group of people sitting in front of her wearing masks. He's a black-market dealer! Cassandra felt her heart beating in her chest, nervously, as Aleister continued.

"I'm sure she'll make a lovely decoration or a sweet little pet. You can keep her whole and healthy or sell her for parts if you want to. Her eyes are a lovely shimmering shade of green that will add to your unique attraction. The bidding shall begin momentarily."

Cassandra felt the blindfold loosen as it was untied and her eyes widen, a little scared. People began to bid going higher and higher. Cassandra closed her eyes.

No!

Suddenly, the entire room went dark as all the candles went out by themselves.

"W-What's this!?' Aleister exclaimed in shock. There were loud bangs and clangs in the darkness as people screamed, falling to the floor as they were hit. The person was heading closer and closer to the where Cassandra was. The candles magically lit themselves back and Cassandra's eyes widen as she saw Sebastian standing in front of the cage, unlocking it.

"S-Sebastain?"

"Are you alright, my lady?" Sebastian asked. Cassandra's eyes widen in shock as she saw Sebastian pry the bars with brute strength. He stepped in and started untying the ropes and helped Cassandra out.

"Yes. But how did you find me and how did you do that?"

"I am simply one hell of a butler. What kind of butler would I be if I can't follow my master's orders." Sebastian smirked.

"That doesn't answer my question!" Cassandra shouted at him. 

"At least we've managed to capture the culprit." Sebastian ignored her, pulling Cassandra with him. Just as they were about to leave, Aleister managed to wake up and he pulled out a gun pointing it at Sebastian and Cassandra.

"Such as waste to kill such a pretty little dove." and he fired the gun. Cassandra quickly pushed Sebastian out of the way. Sebastian's eyes widen in shock as he reached out to her.

"No!"

He saw Cassandra fall to the ground and immediately rushed at Aleister knocking him out and tossing the gun away. Sebastian quickly turned and saw Cassandra still lying on the floor and ran over to her.

"Cassandra! Are you alright?" He bent down and saw that she was still breathing. He began to check her over but didn't see no gunshot wound. Then Sebastian blinked in surprise when he saw Cassandra sat up in no pain at all, confused, but also relieved. She quickly began to pat herself down, checking herself as well.

"I'm alive? Thank God, he was a lousy shot." she sighed. Sebastian stared at her, silently, frowning, suspiciously.

"Yes, so it would seem." He spoke and stood up, pulling Cassandra up with him. "Let us get out of here." The two left and contacted Scotland Yard and they came and arrested Aleister and the rest of the black-market bidders.

Then the next morning came. Ciel couldn't believe it himself and slammed his hands down on his desk in shock as he stared at the newspaper in front of him.

"It can't be!" He exclaimed.

"Jack the Ripper strikes again!?"

[bridgertonbabe]

Violet meddles au: I think the children become aware that they’re being manipulated after the third marriage and resolve to stop her nefarious plans but when they hear how those plans are proceeding , they panic. We all know Bridgertons (especially the male ones) don’t think well when our under pressure.

Oh they're all well aware that their mother's manipulating them; they just can't prove it. And while some immediately fall into Violet's trap and things play out much to everyone's collective satisfaction, some of the siblings prove to be bigger hold-outs than others. Some are too stubborn to let themselves be bested by their mother - and some aren't as smart as they think they are and assume that Violet is purposefully trying to keep them apart from their respective lover, even though she's actually pulling their strings in making them buck up their ideas and make an honest man/woman out of their beau.

You'd have Anthony thinking he could simply disarm and convince the Bagwells and Mary Sharma into staying in Britain instead of leaving for India, but he is left perplexed by their insistence of their move to the other side of the world (little knowing that Mary, her youngest, and her son-in-law have no intention of moving whatsoever; they're in on the ruse Violet concocted and are sticking to it and letting Kate genuinely believe they're going to leave the country until the viscount gets his shit together).

Meanwhile Colin thinks his friends-with-benefits situation with Penelope will undoubtedly beat out her humouring Roger's courtship - so he's left flabbergasted when Penelope doesn't show up for a rendezvous and instead has a letter delivered to him. She informs him of her vested interest in his cousin's courtship, seeing as Roger wants to have a family just like her and he isn't embarrassed to be seen out in public with her. (Roger is in on Violet's scheming too, and while at times he wonders if he is genuinely leading Penelope on, he does observe the piercing gazes she exchanges with his Bridgerton cousin in the park and in ballrooms and he's quietly assured that it's only a matter of time before Colin finally pulls his head out of his arse and pushes him aside to ask the pretty redhead to be his wife.)

And as for Francesca she's fairly confident she doesn't even have to do anything to intervene in the suggested arranged marriage between Michael and her Rokesby cousin, Elizabeth. Michael had already professed his love for her and her alone and as much as he took on board his mother and aunt's advice, she was sure he would dismiss any notion of being married off to anyone that wasn't her. What she wasn't expecting, however, was to overhear Michael asking Helen and Janet if he could offer Elizabeth marriage via letter of if it would be politer to ask her in person. Francesca pulls him aside, asking what the hell he's playing at and reminding him that he's supposed to be madly in love with her, or so he keeps telling her. Michael wearily agrees that of course he loves her, but there's only so many times his heart can take having his marriage proposals rejected by her. He's tired of being used to Francesca's own advantage and has accepted that she'll never properly return his feelings; so he may as well move on and find a bride for himself instead of pinning all of his hopes on his late cousin's bride. (Helen and Janet, while in on the plan, at this point become anxious that this strategy isn't working as Michael is genuinely prepared to put the wheels in motion of asking Elizabeth Rokesby for her hand in marriage, and they fear Francesca will simply stand back and let it happen - though luckily Francesca bucks up her ideas enough to not just accept all of Michael's previous proposals but propose to him herself just to make it clear she's all in.)

[eli-is-reading]

alright, time to try talking about weyward cus i finished it like a we k ago.

SPOILERS ABOUND!!

weyward for anyone who isn't aware is a novel about three generations of witches from the weyward lineage.

altha weyward- a witch on trial in 1619 for the accusation of murdering a man by way of making his cows go insane

violet ayres - the daughter of a viscount, growing up in the midst of the second world war, and her struggle with an abusive father, a younger brother fighting to get their father's affection, and her cousin, a manipulative creepy british army soldier, on temporary leave from libya.

kate ayres - violet's great niece, a young woman who escaped her abusive boyfriend's house in London to her late great aunt's small ancestral cabin in the countryside, named weyward cottage.

these women navigate through their complicated lives in a patriarchal society full of abusive men who try to hurt them as they slowly discover their powers and as we slowly find out about the history of the weyward family along with them.

now, the things I've loved about weyward:

-a LOT

so the word weyward is in reference to the original name for the three witch sisters in macbeth, and the references to their theater origin SHOWS.

the story takes place in and nearby the old town of crow's beck. a lot of the people living there have roots in the town going back to at LEAST the 17th century. that part makes it so that even when we go through different times, we hear the same family names, making a callback to theatrical plays where there is usually a small cast of actors playing multiple characters and joining the chorhses at certain points. it is even mentioned in the book: when kate goes to the village cemetery, she finds the graves have all the same names and thinks of them as a cast of players in a show.

this makes me REALLY want to watch a play based on this book, and i hope as it's getting pretty big online it might actually happen!!

- i loved their concepts of witches and the way they are women from the beginning of humanity with abilities tied to nature and understanding of medicine that help humanity survive. i especially love their connection to insects and the way they even use their connection to animals for sometimes nefarious means that are honestly always pretty well deserved, and creepy in the best sense.

i honestly loved so many things about this book that I can't say everything right now but these two things were some of my faves.

things i would've changed or wish to have seen more of:

- there are motifs of crows all over the book (i mean, the town is literally called crow's beck) and there is even am idea that the family have been raising crows for years and each woman has a specific crow with white specks that is connected to them and follows them around; think familiars - although that name is mentioned as a negative view made by the patriarchy, that's actually also about the name witches and the idea of a "witch's mark" as a symbol of evil.

i really wish they were to talk more about these crows, the idea was super cool and I'd love to have it expanded and the relationship between the weywards and crows to be further examined.

- i honestly have no idea right now of what else I'd change. it was really a great book

final thoughts:

weyward is a lovely book about female empowerment, nature, the problems with the patriarchy, and the way women with strength are treated by a society and men that wish to see themselves at the top of the food chain. it is a book worth reading till the end, because even when it seems everything is painful and bad, it has a fantastic conclusion and a gratifying power take-back for every woman there.

I'm excited to see what emilia hart comes up with next and it is obvious how great of a writer she is, her prose is absolutely beautiful and feels easy to read even when it waxes into poetic.

10 crow feathers out of 10.

[dailywhistledown]

Dearest reader,

The festivities were certainly as delightful as the company, for this writer was fantasied by the chaos and scandals that laid in their midst. Who knew that one night could pose so many opportunities for my comments? It were almost as if you made it too easy for me to fixate on the wrongdoings of our latest social elites.

It was difficult to miss the proximity of a Miss Kate Sharma and Viscount Bridgerton -- though, this did not last for long, as it appears the two had a disagreement, and thus parted ways with anguish in the air. Who knows what is truly in store for these love birds, but one things for certain -- if love is in the air, then he will not like the intentions of Simon Basset and Colby Ledger who made sure to indulge in Miss Sharma's company whilst the Viscount was 'pre-occupied'. However, was such company bait for Viscount Bridgerton to see what he was missing? It is evident that we have not heard the last of this feud.

As per Bridgerton nature, a Mr Colin Bridgerton appears to have gotten himself into quite the predicament. Our 'wallflower' Penelope Featherington appears to have caught his eye. This writer has her reservations, after all, why would it take him this long to notice his close friend, of whom he had been writing to over his travels? We all know writing to anyone other than family is forbidden, and Mr Bridgerton is no less familiar with this rule. Hidden in the shadows Colin stole a kiss, though it did not last long before Miss Featherington was seen fleeing the scene. Do we feel he has perhaps broken her heart, so soon? It was lucky to see a certain Montague was there to look after dear Penelope -- be careful Colin, you may be too late for this wallflower.

Did anyone notice the frown that remained on a certain Daphne Bridgerton's face this evening? It is certain that this diamond was left high and dry by someone who has caught her eye. Prince Luis -- who appears to have caught a fair share of ladies eyes this evening, for right, or wrong reasons. Sadly, Luis seems pre-occupied preparing to court a Phoebe Pendlebury. This writer is certain this is of new knowledge, a rather fast paced engagement, don't you agree? This writer awaits the reaction of Phoebe's brothers, Arthur and Graham, whom were not consulted prior to such arrangements -- let the chaos commence.

Keeping with the Pendlebury's, it appears they are all having troubles with love. Graham, his wife no where in sight, and flirting with no other than Lady Eleanor. Scandalous -- just the way this writer likes it. Though careful Eleanor, we wouldn't want you to taint your own name, with a married man, no less. Arthur, reunited with former love Amelie, fighting against all in which they believed to be true, turns out to be a lie. Will these lovers reunite? or will there be problems to arise when she realises Arthur hasn't simply waited for her? This writer saw Defne speaking with the lord, perhaps it's her turn in love?

Marquis Hector Darrington, and his wife appear to have returned to London. This reader is happy on such occasions, especially with Sophia's prior history with the Viscount. I do wonder what his reaction may be to her premature return, in the midst of him having trouble in love. Though, the couple do appear to be having their own troubles -- I do wonder if this is because of jealousy, or something more? With Sophia's past, we are sure to expect scandal.

This writer does not miss a thing -- such as the kiss between a certain Sebastian and Clara. A rather sweet display, though will her brother Kerem agree to such indecencies? Though a certain Kerem, his fiancee not in sight, so perhaps he has his own problems to fight?

A certain Edwina Sharma was seen speaking with Prince Friedrich, though, it appears she was none-the-wiser of his heritage. For one night only, Friedrich got to live a 'normal' life, but this writer has sadly, burst that bubble. Rather sweet sights seen between the both of them. Though, naïve as Miss Edwina may be, had not noticed how fond a certain Miss Agnes is of her.

The evening brought many people together, including old flames Owen and Delilah, and newer potentials such as Andrew and Florence.

This reader is keen to see how the above cope with scandals being revealed, for we know , it'll be as scandalous as the night prevailed.

For I am sure scandals will follow suit, and for what is it worth -- i'll be watching.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

And for our next trick, an excerpt from Silver Glass! (Warning for period-typical racism and homophobia)

When the ladies retired to the drawing room Phil was prepared for an ordeal. It wasn't the ordeal she expected. The middle-aged woman and the constantly-smoking young woman found a newspaper and began to argue over racehorses. Mrs. Lennox took advantage of their distraction to turn to Phil. "Miss Patton, isn't it?" she said with a wide smile. It didn't hide the fear in her eyes. A more complete reversal from her attitude earlier could hardly be imagined. "What a charming dress! You must tell me where you bought it." She sat down on the settee and practically pulled Phil down beside her. Phil looked at her coolly and waited for her to say what this was really about. She didn't have to wait long. "Is that Mr. Soo your fiancé?" Mrs. Lennox asked. "Such matches would never happen in America, of course — we American women have more pride — but I suppose everything is allowed over here." Her first words bowled Phil over. Her next ones brought back Phil's desire to box her ears. It was a minute before she collected herself enough to speak. "No, Mr. Seo is just a friend," Phil said, and mentally kicked herself when this made Mrs. Lennox give her a knowing smile. Out of desperation she said, "I'm engaged to someone else." This wasn't strictly true — she had approximately as much chance of marrying Leopold as of flying to the moon — but it wasn't quite a lie. Last year, when she had realised the real nature of her tangled feelings towards him, she had decided she would never marry anyone but Leo. Mrs. Lennox simply smiled even more knowingly. Phil was disgusted to realise that to this woman, little things like engagements and even wedding vows didn't matter. "Has he always been interested in photography?" Mrs. Lennox asked next. Phil wondered if she was dealing with a lunatic. "For as long as I've known him, yes. Why?" With one of her fake giggles Mrs. Lennox said, "We both know what I mean. How much will he ask to keep those photos hidden?" Phil did some very quick deductions of her own. Fact: Mr. Seo had seen something incriminating last night. Fact: Mrs. Lennox believed he had taken pictures. Fact: she believed he was going to blackmail her. The situation was so absurd that she couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Lennox misinterpreted her reaction. "He's already given them to Lennox?" She ground her teeth and said a few words that were better-suited to a barroom than a drawing room. "Let me be perfectly honest, dear: my husband is a disgusting… Well. I'm too delicate to say the word. But he is still a viscount, and I'm not going to let him divorce me. If he tries to ruin me I can ruin him. But if he has photos? That's a different story." Phil made a note to ask Mr. Seo if there was any truth in the vague accusation. Lord Kilskeery had struck her as nothing but a very ill man. After five minutes with his wife she thought she knew the cause of his illness. "You're completely wrong," she said. "Mr. Seo has no photographs of you and he isn't a blackmailer. Your husband hired him…" because he thinks you're poisoning him "…to solve a mystery." Mrs. Lennox finally wiped the smile off her face. "Really?" She seemed to have suddenly had a realisation. "I never thought Lennox was such a fool. Paying for it when Eames is begging to do it for free?" Phil didn't have to understand this to know it was extremely offensive.

Adding Glass's taglist: @writingpotato07, @oh-no-another-idea, @sarahlizziewrites, @lightgriffinsect, @kittensartswriting, @acertainmoshke, @author-a-holmes, @sam-glade, @late-to-the-fandom (Let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

Trick or Treat? 🦇

*spins the wheel* Trick!👻

🎃HAPPY HALLOWEEN🎃

[fayes-fics]

Sonnet #29

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: Your husband Benedict and you have a late night tryst in the billiards room of Bridgerton House.

warnings: 18+, smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, oral sex (m to f), fingering, d/s dynamics, possessive/dirty talk, light bondage, drinking, dangerous use of Shakespeare, Anthony’s gonna need to rebaize that billiards table.

word count: 3.6k

author note: Not betaed. I haven’t written anything in years and this may be riddled with anachronisms, sorry. It also turned out less explicit and more romantic than I thought it would *shrugs*. The swaggering, cigar smoking, whiskey drinking Benedict from Anthony’s stag night, is the inspiration for this fic. Especially that cravat. The title of ‘my lord’ used here is part of their d/s play.

Benedict Bridgerton is missing. It has to be after 1 AM, probably later. You’ve woken to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Throwing on a robe and lighting a candle, you head down the backstairs of Bridgerton House. Keen not to disturb anyone but eager to find your errant husband. You’re visiting his family for the week, and tonight the brothers were celebrating their reunion.

You round a corner into the main hallway, then stop short. A drunken Colin is staggering slowly up the grand staircase, falling back almost as many steps as he advances. You bite back a giggle as he eventually stumbles onto his hands and knees, crawling the remainder of the steps. It must’ve been one hell of a Bridgerton boys' night.

Passing Anthony’s study, you’re surprised to see the door wide open. A quick peek reveals the Viscount passed out, head down on his desk. Light snores puffing condensation onto an empty tumbler in front of his nose, his hand still loosely wrapped around it - another casualty of the night's celebrations.

Still no sign of the one brother you are seeking. 

You slip silently down the hallway and into the billiards room you know they had been carousing in. The room is quiet, dimly lit by only a handful of candles. There is a lingering scent of cigars and expensive alcohol. Billiard cues lean haphazardly against disarranged chairs. Quite a party, it would appear.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice makes you gasp.

Benedict.

You hadn’t seen him in the shadows. He leans forward in a chair, the low candlelight now catching his face, a bemused expression tugging at his handsome features. He looks alluring with his sleeves rolled up, a glass held casually in one large hand.

“The bed is cold without you, darling husband”, you chide affectionately, snuffing out your candle and placing it aside.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I was about to come up. Can you believe my brothers don’t have the stamina to celebrate properly?“ he quips, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Care to join me for a nightcap?” He adds, nodding at the decanter on the side table next to him. 

Without waiting for an answer, Benedict pours a glass for you and tops up his own. He knows you enjoy a quality whiskey when it’s on offer. And the Bridgertons always have excellent whiskey. 

He holds out the glass expectantly, beckoning you over. You move forward and take the drink, straddling his legs and lowering yourself onto his knees with a gentle smile. Benedict responds with his crooked smile, which always catches your breath. His free hand rests lightly on your robe-covered thigh as you take a sip. Smokey, almost caramel notes glide over your tongue. Oh yes, this is the good stuff. You can’t help the hum of satisfaction at the taste.

He raises his eyebrow before taking a slow, deliberate draw himself. He’s slightly inebriated but only enough to be playful. You wonder how he has held his liquor so much better than his brothers. Surely some strategy. You finish your drink lazily, feeling content just perched in his lap.

“We have never spent time here alone”, he rumbles quietly, glancing at the door. His hand becomes a firmer touch. From the slight glint in his eye, you can tell that his thoughts are turning intimate. It’s still surprising that just a few suggestive words have you wanting him. The feeling is so sharp and sudden. 

“Indeed we have not”, you murmur, leaning to place your empty glass aside and take his glass to do the same. Your mind flashes an image of you stripping bare for him in this very room. It’s the catalyst to push further into his lap and grab his face, locking your lips onto his. He tastes like cigars and the smoky sweetness of the drink - a delicious combination. You can’t help but deepen the kiss, running your tongue into his mouth and swallowing his slight groan. His hands move to grip your hips and pull you closer.

“Remind me to buy a whole case of this whiskey”, he smirks, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. You reach up into his hair and tug gently; it never fails to make him a little rougher in his ministrations.

“Clearly, I have been neglectful this evening”, he mutters against your collarbone using a slight edge of teeth. Oh yes.

“Please”, you whisper hotly, bringing his face back to yours for a bruising kiss. You hope he can read what you’re asking for.

His hands move, and you feel his thighs flex as he stands. You wrap your legs around him as he carries you a few steps across the room. It seems like no effort for him; the power in his athletic body never fails to impress you.

“Please, what?” He teases as he gently sets you down on the end of the billiards table.

“Talk to me”, you demure, not meeting his eye. Your hands move to release the buttons on his waistcoat. 

Benedict lets out a chuckle. “I rather think I’ve said more than you tonight”, his fingers gently tugging the ties of your robe.

“No, I mean… talk to me…. the way you did last week” you feel your cheeks burn as you finally dare to look him in the eye. You see them grow darker, and his nostrils flare. Now he’s catching on. He yanks off the waistcoat you have unbuttoned, then cups your face with both his hands.

“Oh, what did I do to deserve you?” He wonders with a hint of awe, giving you a brief gentle kiss. 

Before his whole demeanour changes. 

You feel a ripple of excitement in your belly as he sweeps a thumb up to your lips. His grip on your jaw becomes a little tighter.

“Tell me,” he drawls, “just how lonely were you up in that bed, wife?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Did you touch yourself?” 

You shake your head as best you can, with his hands around your face.

“Good girl” He looms closer, and you have to brace your hands onto the smooth felt of the billiards table behind you. 

“Although, clearly not that good”, he tuts, “coming to me so wantonly. And in my brother's house. Anyone could walk in right now. There’s no lock on that door. Is that what you want? To have my brothers watch as I take you right here?” You whimper at the images he concocts.

His thumb hooks into your mouth, and instinctively you pulse your tongue against it. He growls as you catch it gently with your teeth. He releases his grip and takes a half step back.

“Show me yourself. All of you,” he commands.

This. This is why you crave him so much. He can intuit your deepest desires. 

You scramble off the table and quickly wrestle off your robe and nightgown, letting them fall to the floor. You love the sharp intake of breath he takes as you obey. He drops his eyes covetously to take in the sight of you completely nude before him, flexing his fingers. The sinful gaze has you throbbing already. 

“Get back up on the table” his words are a harsh staccato. You do as ordered, sitting in the same position as before, perching on the raised edge of the billiards table. He pulls your knees up and apart, stepping between your legs. His kiss is urgent and deep, his tongue pushing and rolling into your mouth. One of his hands is in your hair, guiding your head to angles he wants. The other kneads at your breasts, snagging your nipples between his fingers. It’s possessive; the excitement buzzes right down into your core.

He grabs both your wrists, running his nose over your pulse points before bringing them together in front of you like you’re in prayer. “Hold right there, don’t move.”

You watch as he pulls roughly on the knot of his cravat. He hastily unwinds the material until it slips away from his neck — the golden silk glinting in the low light. You gasp as he loops the long strip of fabric around your wrists. Loose at first, then pulls tighter as he ties the ends in a bow. The material is soft but unyielding. 

This is something new. You peek up at his expression; there is a hunger but also a questioning vulnerability.

“My lord“, you exhale. It’s your permission for his silent request to continue.

“You are so perfect”, he groans, diving in for another hard kiss before pulling your tied hands above your head. He lowers you gently until your shoulder blades are resting against the green felt of Anthony’s billiards table. If only he knew what his younger brother was doing right now.

“Stay there. Do not move until I allow it; keep your arms above your head”, Benedict warns.

He hovers over your prone body. The material of his britches brushing lightly against your open thighs is the only contact you have. You squirm, needing him to touch you somewhere. Anywhere. Instead, he uses his words.

“Look at you, Mrs Bridgerton. I can see how desperate you are for me to touch you.” He inhales deeply, “I can smell your need for me. This is how I want you. Always.” His voice seems impossibly low.

“Benedict…” you pant. 

“I want to keep you like this for hours. Naked, at my mercy. Bound in my silks. My muse, my masterpiece.” His speech ghosts air over your skin; this is a special kind of torture.

Finally, he leans down the last few inches separating you and captures your right nipple between his teeth. Your cry is guttural, and he holds your hip bones down harshly as you try to cant up, seeking friction. He soothes the bite with his tongue. He attacks your other nipple with the same fervency. You are so aroused there’s an ache tugging like a hook deep inside. 

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you chant, knowing that crude word he taught you will rile him. You need him now.

He groans at your curse but says nothing in response. He drags his mouth slowly and sinfully over your rib cage and stomach. Pausing to swirl his tongue around your belly button, he continues down. You hear his knees sink to the floor as his nose trails into your pubic hair. He breathes deep, animalistic, and so so wanted. He drops lower and licks a sharp line through your folds. You cry out, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to bite at the binding on your wrists. 

“Don’t,” he growls. You snap your head back, looking down your body to his face between your thighs. “Don’t you dare look away,” he lightly bites the meat of your thigh, “watch me do this.”

He hauls your legs over his shoulders. One strong arm wraps around your left hip, his hand resting low on your belly. He holds your gaze fiercely as he swirls his tongue slowly around your clit and then applies gentle suction with his whole mouth. By god, he is so good at this. He languidly takes his time, running his tongue all over, varying pressure, pulses, kisses and even little nips against your heated flesh. He never lets you break eye contact. If you try, he stops, and you whine for more. He sucks hard and takes you to the edge, then backs off to gentle kisses, not letting you over. Your whole body burns with anticipation.

“Have mercy,” you breathe.

Two of his long artistic fingers plunge into you. You cry out at the invasion, clenching down on them. He quickly locates that spot which makes you lose all sense. He rapidly strokes, his other hand bearing pressure on the same area from the outside, curled around your public bone. He glows with primal satisfaction as you scream open-mouthed with every stroke.

“Yes, my love, scream for me” his voice is ragged and muffled against your skin “you are so beautiful like this. Wake the whole house; I don’t care. My good girl, mine .” 

He runs his teeth against your clit, and it sends you over the edge, calling his name. He holds your hips firmly open as your body spasms, his strength fighting against your bodily urge to close your legs and curl up against the convulsions. He gently kisses your overheated soaked folds as you slowly come down.  

Benedict stands up smugly, peeling down his braces, watching your body shiver with mini aftershocks, admiring the whimpering soaked mess he has made of you. He quickly removes his shirt while rounding the other end of the furniture. Just as you come back to yourself, strong hands grab under your shoulders. You gasp loudly as he hauls you bodily to the centre of the billiards table. He can be so strong and overpowering when he wants to be. He leans down and kisses you softly to calm your surprise, stopping to marvel at the view down your body, sprawled naked across the green felt, your hands still bound above your head. 

Wanting nothing more than to wrap yourself around his body, you stay lying obediently, just as he had ordered you to. Your eyes track his movement as he stalks back around the table, admiring the flex of his now shirtless torso. It's probably considered scandalous for a lady of good society to be so enamoured with their husband’s body, but you revel in it. He is a beautiful man you have coveted since the day you first saw him. Whenever you have no social commitments to fulfil, at your sanctuary out in the country, your home, you will spend hours wrapped naked around each other, just luxuriating in the pursuit of sensual pleasures and mutual satisfaction. Those are your favourite days. 

A hand encircles your ankle, shaking you from your brief reverie. 

“I hope you were thinking of me,” he smiles indulgently, the sweet husband breaking past the dominating mask you love that he wears for you sometimes, like tonight.

“Always,” you reply, as easy and truthful as breathing.

After a shared moment, his expression turns sinful as he starts to flick open the buttons of his britches one-handed. You watch covetously, wishing you had permission to get up, to use your hands. To reach out and touch him, help him disrobe. 

“I want to touch you”, you whisper plaintively, voicing your thoughts as you watch.

“I know you do, my love”, he smirks, “but not tonight. Tonight you do as I say. You watch me.” You moan as he drops that last piece of clothing from his body. His cock is so perfect and beautiful, standing proud against his body. You want nothing more than to fall on your knees before him and take him into your mouth. He knows he is denying you one of your favourite things by making you lay passively waiting for him. He effortlessly mounts the billiards table, stalking slowly over you on all fours, like a big cat rounds on its prey.

“If only the world could see you now,” he purrs, “my demure wife begging to touch me. You are doing so well, my good girl, not moving those hands, even though I know how much you burn to,” he teases hotly, making sure you look down and watch as he grabs and strokes his hard cock to prove his point. Your breath is so uneven now you can barely make a sound except a pitiful whine. He bows down and kisses your breasts, running his tongue up to your throat, softly biting your earlobe. 

“Please, please….” for what seems like the hundredth time, he has you pleading.

Slowly he lowers his body onto yours. The feeling of his weight, the woodsy masculine scent, all his heated skin finally upon yours overwhelms. Your hands itch to move, grab, hold him in place, but you fight it and obey.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are in your submission? It’s like poetry.” he breathes into your neck.

He reaches down to push your legs wider apart. You press your hips and breasts up hard against him, chasing all the touch you can. You feel him nudging at you and almost want to weep in relief. The moment he pushes into your body is everything—the solid weight stretching you, curling your toes. You let out a long keening sound, shutting your eyes to concentrate on the heavy sensation.

“Look at me”, he orders as he inches in further. Your eyes flutter open to meet his. They are blown wide with lust and devotion. One hand cups your jaw.

“Haply I think on thee…” his voice cadence changes; it’s a gentle lilting sound. His eyes don't leave yours as he bottoms out inside you. 

“…and then my state, like to the lark at break of day….” he slowly withdraws almost all the way. You realise faintly he is reciting actual poetry. A sonnet….? 

“From sullen earth sings hymns…,” His beautiful words settle over you, sinking into your thoughts, heightening every feeling. He kisses you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth as you feel every inch of him slowly push back into you, dragging along all the right spots.

“At heaven’s gate….” he slowly increases the pace and strength of his thrusts, peppering your face with kisses. You moan threadily, pushing your body up against his, kissing wherever you can, twisting your hands against their binding, snagging in your hair.

“Oh god, Benedict”, it’s a plea for more, everything. The hand on your jaw moves, and he traces your lips with his thumb. As he looks down on you, a sheen forming on his brow, you fiercely wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking hard on the fleshy pad. He growls and thrusts into you harder, deeper. You feel yourself climbing as he hits that spot repeatedly, the one that makes you feel electric, a live wire of pure lust. You desperately want to grab his hips, impale him so deep he can't leave your body. 

“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings….” His voice is wavering now. He hooks both arms under your shoulders and rests his forehead on yours, never breaking eye contact as you both pants heavily into each other's open mouths. He’s taking you so hard, hitting that place where it hurts so good with every stroke. You beg for more, wanting to feel this ache lingering tomorrow, a physical reminder of this, of him, you will carry secretly. 

“That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” His voice breaks into a long groan as he finishes his sonnet. Without stopping his movements, he reaches one hand up and, with an expert tug, releases the knot binding your wrists. You sob a relief and instantly move, wrapping your arms tight around him, clinging to him, digging your nails into his back muscles, cresting your legs high around his hips. Your desire coiled tight.

“Please, my love,” he implores needily, “please come for me; I need to feel it.” The brash character he played for you earlier slipping away; it's just Benedict. Your husband, the love of your life. He moves one hand down to your clit and rubs tight circles. You know you are crying out loudly now, uncaring of anyone overhearing you. 

Your orgasm hits you hard like a blinding light, fracturing and reassembling. Liquid hot and throbbing everywhere, from the static on the back of your head, through the fingers you are scraping over your husband's back, to the waves of wet warmth where you pulsate with a vice grip around his cock. You hear Benedict roar your name, losing all sense of finesse in his movements, and in your heightened state, you hiss encouragements, a litany of things you would never admit to saying, sucking the fingers he had between your legs. He snaps, stilling suddenly, his slack mouth hooked onto your chin. The feeling of him coming is visceral. He curls his body in and around you, still pulsing hard inside you, its warmth spreading.

“Fuckkk, I love you”, he curses, panting hard, not wanting to pull out.

“I fucking love you too,” you counter lightheartedly, revelling in the use of taboo vulgarities, still intoxicated by your high. You bask in his responding laughter, feeling it inside too as he slowly pulls out of your body. He plants a kiss on your forehead, still chuckling deeply.

You lay limbs tangled for more than a few minutes, getting your breath back and enjoying the afterglow. Gently Benedict helps you climb off the billiards table and assists you into your nightgown and robe. Unseen by him, you pocket his cravat, your souvenir. He pulls up his britches, looping the braces over his shoulders, barechested, grabbing the rest of his clothing and bundling them over his arm. He grabs your hand, gives it a tender kiss and guides you out of the room into the hallway.

Straight into the path of Anthony. Arms crossed, looking foreboding and much soberer than last time you saw him. However, there is an intense blush on his cheeks. He scowls at Benedict, but he won't look you in the eye.

“Brother, I suggest next time you feel the need to exercise your… spousal duties, kindly consider exactly where the secret door from my office leads to”, he hisses. “And check it’s actually closed.” 

tagged by request: @mothdruid @foreverlonginguniverse

[ageofthespicylizzard]

So he's in the process of building a library to aid in his goal of disappearing into the stacks like it's nobody's business... I should've known... that absolute nerd.

Thinking about Varric's comments on the elven library in trespasser and just how feral he would go if someone gave him access to the NY public library. It'd be like setting a kid loose in a candy store. Wanna see a disappearing dwarf? you're about to, cause he'd vanish into the stacks like its nobody's business.

[this-is-golddust159]

I’ve not seen anyone talk about this, and frankly I can’t stop thinking about it, so here goes.

Season 1 Anthony is slightly man-whorish, but with Sienna he not only has his physical needs being met, but his emotional ones as well. They were never going to have a real chance at a long term relationship, but it was much more than just sex. And when Sienna realizes this, finally telling Anthony they are done once and for all, he’s left heartbroken.

We start season 2 with Anthony clearly being exhausted by his Viscount and familial duties. And his attempts to find a suitable wife, of course.

In an effort to find some sort of relief, and release, he’s living up to his reputation of being a “Capital ‘R’ Rake”. But, while his physical needs are being met, he’s left unsatisfied by the empty sex. We see him going through a string of sex workers, always leaving looking miserable.

The last time we see him leave after one of his late night romps, he rides home slowly. Miserable. A shell of a man, truly.

And then he sees HER.

A mystery woman riding through the park. She’s confidant, and not playing by societies rules if her riding astride and not sidesaddle is any indication. And he’s immediately intrigued. There is something about her that captivates him. We see him having fun and smiling for the first time in a long time.

And after that, we don’t see him going to brothels. He’s not paying for sex. Simply SEEING her was enough for this man to change. Sure, he has no idea who she is initially, but it still shook him to the very core.

Of course, we know it takes them an infuriatingly long time to finally admit their feelings for one another. But throughout the whole process, she never bows to him. She remains strong willed. She challenges him. She is his perfect match.

And by god, when they do get together we see him SO blissfully happy. He’ll be a better Viscount, brother, and father-figure for it.

[theladyofdeath]

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Ten}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain - Feyre x Rhysand - Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary: (see TVWLM masterlist!)

A/N: Thank you for reading! I call this one "the chapter of sexually charged dances". We would love to know what you think! x

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

My Lovely Readers,

We are well into the season and we have not yet had one proposal. Perhaps the young ladies of the ton are not as charming as they thought.

That includes the Queen's Diamond.

Has anyone noticed she has not been seen with the Prince as of late? Perhaps the youngest Archeron sister takes after the eldest.

A true shame.

Until the next ball,

The Suriel

<.>

Nesta followed her sisters into the ballroom that belonged to a rich, elderly woman that Nesta loathed. She was a scornful old thing, always frowning and nitpicking every young lady that swept across her view. Rich she was, however, and the ballroom with walls engraved with gold proved just that.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Elain asked, beaming. It had been nearly a week since they returned from Lord Cassian’s country home and the air between Nesta and Elain had remained thick.

It did not matter now, though, because for the first time that week, around Nesta, Elain was in a fairly good mood. 

“Ah, there’s Lord Cassian,” Elain said, giving him a wave from across the room.

Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes as men began approaching Feyre, asking to fill her dance card. Nesta only grew surprised when one of those gentlemen turned out to be Rhysand.

She caught her by the refreshment table only after a handful of dances had taken place. “Who’s your next dance with?”

Feyre stilled, glass of lemonade halfway to her lips. “I’d have to check my card.” She began walking away from the table.

“Are you sure it isn’t the Viscount?” Nesta asked, following, and her eyes narrowed on her youngest sister, who’s own eyes flared wide. “I thought nothing was going on between you two.” “There isn’t, I’m just dancing with him—”

Nesta interrupted, “And what about the prince?” Feyre cleared her throat, taking the sip of her drink at last. “I ran out of room on my dance card before he approached me.”

Not believing a single word she was hearing, Nesta gaped. “You told Prince Tamlin no?”

Her only reaction was an irreverent shrug.

Closing her eyes, Nesta released a frustrated sigh. “Feyre, you must—”

“Nesta.”

Elain’s voice had both Nesta and Feyre turning towards her, and when Nesta’s eyes found the man standing with her, she felt her hackles rising.

Feyre was the one who greeted them. “Lord Nazari, so wonderful to see you.”

He nodded his head politely. “You look lovely this evening, Miss Feyre.” His eyes slowly slid to Nesta’s. “As do you, Miss Archeron.”

Nesta gave him a tight lipped nod.

Feyre was soon swept back onto the dance floor by a lord with extensive wealth…but nothing more to offer. He’d jumped in line, his name much farther down her card than he was willing to wait, apparently.

“I was hoping to steal you for a dance, Miss Elain,” Cassian said, his voice low. 

“It would be an honor,” Elain began, kindly, “but, if I may be honest, I am still winded from my last turn about the floor. Perhaps some lemonade first, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Cassian smiled with an incline of his head. “Of course. I shall return shortly.”

He had stepped away toward the refreshment table before Elain turned to Nesta. “I would like for you to dance with Lord Cassian.”

Nesta’s body stiffened. “What?”

Elain’s back was straight, her head held high as she stared at Nesta. “I want you and Cassian to share a dance.”

“For what reason?” Nesta asked, lip curling in a way she knew was not at all lady-like.

Her brown eyes pinched slightly and she looked down at her gown. “He is a good man, Nesta. He has not danced with a single other lady tonight, while I’ve danced with many young men. He is steadfast in his pursuit of me.” Elain sighed and looked over at her eldest sister. “You are his only obstacle.”

The words stung as they hit Nesta in the heart, precisely where Elain had aimed them. Elain and Nesta had always been inseparable, especially after their mother had died. Nesta had gone above and beyond for her sisters, though no one would argue that Elain was more receptive than their younger sister to Nesta’s tutelage. Now it felt as if…there was a wall between them.

An obstacle.

“I am not an obstacle, Elain, I merely want him to be worthy of you,” Nesta sighed, looking around at the rest of the room. “There are too many people around, we should discuss this at home.”

“Your lemonade, Miss Elain,’ Cassian said, returning and holding a glass out for her.

She smiled, taking the flute from him and took a small sip. Exhaling, Elain said, “Lord Cassian, Nesta was just telling me how much she’d enjoy to dance.”

Nesta’s eyes widened as she met his gaze.

He was just as shocked as she was, it seemed. Nesta had to admit that she enjoyed seeing him just a little bit speechless. He cleared his throat, “Is that so?”

Nesta hesitated.

Elain shot her a look.

Nesta’s jaw locked. “Yes. Of course, my lord.”

“Well,” Cassian said, slowly raising his hand as if she may burn him. Perhaps she would. “Then by all means. May I have this dance, Miss Archeron?”

There was no going back now.

If she said no, if she refused to do this, Elain would never forgive her.

Nesta placed her hand idly in his. 

It had been years since she danced, but that is not what nerved her. Even with her gloves on, the fabric thin, she could feel the warmth of his hand, the roughness of his fingers.

He did not look at her once as he led her to the center of the floor.

The soft, opening notes of the song began, trickling from the corner and Nesta immediately knew the waltz. People were beginning to move around them, and Cassian’s hand settled on the small of her back. Tugging her into motion, the two of them melted into the sea of people. Nesta noticed that he was more graceful than she expected, however she was quickly distracted by the call of the song consuming her. It was heightened by his touch, by his hand in hers and against her back. She swore, it felt like his hand was pressed to her bare skin, as if no dress were there. It took her breath away.

“I must say, I’m surprised you don’t have a dagger in my back already.”

Nesta’s face turned to his, finding him already watching her.

The look she leveled him was cold. “I like this dress too much, I’d hate to get blood on it.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she thought better of it, but Cassian’s laughter silenced those worries.

“I know you’re making a joke, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if I did find you brandishing a knife at me one day,” he said, hazel eyes locked on hers.

He spun her around as the music amplified, the crescendo filling her soul and reminding her feet where to go. Cassian led effortlessly, and she melted into it. 

“Pity,” Nesta said, far too aware that their eyes had not left one another’s. “I do love the element of surprise.”

Cassian did not laugh. In fact, he did not do anything except to lead her through the steps of the dance, his eyes intent, his lips softened.

Nesta tried not to let it bother her. No - bother was not the right word, it was the complete opposite and that brought about an element of fear.

She swore his hand in hers grew tighter, the hand around her back brought her closer to him. Her heart beat a little bit faster and Nesta was suddenly only aware of him.

Everyone around them vanished. The vast room became empty and it was only she and him and the music. Those eyes remained in hers, and she could not read his thoughts. She did not know what he was thinking, nor was she sure that she wanted to.

She was not a master of men, but she did know them well enough to know that there was something in Cassian’s eyes that was not wholly pure.

She feared her eyes betrayed her, reflecting something similar.

Nesta took a deep breath, not leaving any room for the feeling in her chest as she tore her eyes from his.

It did her no good, as she felt his eyes linger on her face, could feel them trace her every feature, as if he were truly taking her in for the first time.

Which she imagined, this was the first time he’d been so…close to her.

“You are…unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

Nesta’s eyes found his again, but she didn’t speak. She only watched him, unable to process why her heart was racing in a way it never had.

“Nesta,” he whispered, and she blinked.

Releasing a shuddering breath, Nesta said, “MIss Archeron. Don’t… Don’t get too familiar, my lord.”

“My apologies,” he whispered, but she had a feeling that he was not sorry in the slightest. “I just-“

The music stopped and everyone clapped. Nesta dropped her hands to her sides and took a step back. She bowed, and before he could say anything more, Nesta walked away.

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the refreshments table and poured a glass of lemonade. 

She prayed her heart would not burst completely out of her chest for all to see.

<.>

Elain smiled as Cassian and Nesta danced beautifully across the floor. As the song came to an end, Cassian was pulled out of the room and toward the patio by a herd of gentlemen.

She would not pursue him.

She would let him be with his friends.

She would be patient.

Yet, she longed to be back on the floor dancing the night away. There were very few things she loved more.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Elain?”

His quiet voice had her turning with a smile, and she greeted Azriel with a curtsy that she knew he thought wasn’t necessary. 

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling brightly. “And you? I have not seen you yet tonight. I was beginning to think you were not in attendance.”

“I must admit that I’ve just arrived,” Azriel grimaced, scratching at the back of his neck. “I got caught up—”

“Sketching?” She asked, chuckling. 

Azriel’s eyebrows raised and he found himself laughing quietly as well. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Elain’s laughter skated across his skin. “What were you working on?”

“Shading, actually,” he replied, looking at her and trying to decipher whether she really wanted to know or was just humoring him.

“Shading?” She asked, sipping on a glass of lemonade he hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “Well, I surely hope you washed your hands before arriving tonight.”

His head tilted to the side as he asked, “Why is that?”

“Because I’d hate for you to get charcoal on another one of my gowns.” The little smile she gave him had his heart stuttering. “Would you like to dance with me, Azriel?”

Azriel froze, and for a moment she thought that she was going to be told no. Embarrassment flooded her body, but then he smiled and said, “It would be an honor.”

He held out his hand.

She took it.

With a handful of other couples, Azriel and Elain took to the floor. A few people glanced their way as they passed, dominantly at Azriel, and Elain began feeling as if this was indeed a rarity.

She had yet to see him dance. Perhaps he simply did not.

She was the exception.

“It has been a while,” Azriel confessed, taking her hand, the other resting behind her back. “If I forget a step, forgive me.”

“No need for forgiveness,” Elain assured him, quietly. “Your presence here with me is enough.”

He looked at her then, and an emotion she could not quite place filled his hazel eyes. She was going to ask him what was the matter, but then the music began to play. 

Azriel hesitated, but then he began. As the man, it was his duty to lead, but as discomfort showed in his features, Elain whispered with a smile, “Relax. Follow my lead.”

It was unheard of, certainly, but Azriel, standing nearly a foot taller than she, looked relieved.

He was right, his first few steps of the dance were clunky and out of time, but Elain helped him catch up. As they smoothed out, she smiled and said, “See? Like an old pro.”

“Not quite, but you’re an excellent lead,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

She was about to reply when he suddenly spun her. Even knowing the dance well, she’d not been thinking about the upcoming move, but all the other ladies around her spun out as well.

When she twirled back to facing him, she was laughing, but her laughter died in her throat when she saw how bright his eyes were shining. Elain longed to reach up and touch his cheek, but she kept her hand on his shoulder, where it should be. “You are…very handsome, Azriel.”

The light in his eyes vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. He smiled, though it wasn’t the one he’d given her in the sitting room when he’d drawn her, the one that was full and made her heart skip a beat. “Thank you, Miss Elain.”

Miss Elain.

She blinked, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

“I never did get to see that drawing you did of me,” she said, trying to bring the glimmer of happiness back into his gaze. “I’d like to, if you don’t mind.”

“Would you?” He asked, one brow arched. “Perhaps I will send it with Cassian next time he calls. You may keep it, if you would like.”

Send it with Cassian.

Elain wasn’t sure why, but her heart fell at his words. Of course, it made sense. Cassian was the one courting her, the one she expected to propose, not Azriel. Yet, the thought of him not being the one to bring her her portrait—

Elain spun out again and when she returned to Azriel, their bodies had become closer than before. She swore the tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink, but then she was certain that she had imagined it.

That light still remained absent from his eyes.

Elain was just about to ask what was wrong, if she had offended him in some way, but then the music stopped.

Azriel stepped back, leaving Elain’s arms in frame, and bowed. “It has been an honor, Miss Elain.”

Miss Elain.

As he departed, Elain decided that she did not like it when he called her that. She did not like it at all.

But she did like dancing with him.

She liked that very much.

<.>

Feyre had just danced with the world’s oldest, single Baron. He had to at least be in his nineties. Widowed, surely. She was surprised he did not fall dead in the middle of the number. 

Feeling in need of a refreshment, she stormed to the table and asked the young man behind it for a lemonade. He filled a champagne glass with lemony, sugary goodness and she turned only to run right into Rhysand.

It was becoming a habit.

Running into him.

“We have only danced once this evening,” he noted. “Is it time for round two? After that last dance, you look as if you need a dance with me.”

She wanted to throw her lemonade in his face, but he had a point. Prince Tamlin had been glancing at her all even, and if she dallied for too long, she was sure that he would eventually make his way over to her. After taking another drink of her lemonade, Feyre set the glass down on a table behind her. “Someone thinks rather highly of themselves if you think I need a dance with you,” she said, offering her hand to him.

Smirking, Rhysand took it, bringing it to his lips. Feyre gasped quietly as his mouth brushed along the back of her glove, those violet eyes on her the whole time.

Those eyes burned through her, just as they had the night she’d thought of him.

Her skin heated as he backed up, dragging her with him onto the dance floor, not even waiting for a new song to begin. They fell into the spinning mass of bodies easily, neither of them having to think about what their bodies were doing as they began the dance.

“I don’t believe I told you earlier,” Rhysand said, his hand against her back curling slightly, wrapping around her hip slightly. She hadn’t realized how much larger he was than her until their dance earlier. His arms had swallowed her, his form towering over hers. At the grip of his fingers, she looked up at him. “You look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

Feyre’s cheeks heated. “Our agreement does not mean you should feel the need to lie to me, my lord.”

“Lie to you?” He parroted. “Am I supposed to deny my attraction to you? I can assure you, Feyre, I am not lying when I tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her mouth dried out. She didn’t know what to say, had never had anyone tell her outright how beautiful she was, especially not having Elain as her older sister. And Nesta… She was devastatingly beautiful, but in a different way, a way Feyre could never hope to be.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and she could feel the hard muscle beneath his fine tunic as she said, “Thank you, my lord.”

The dance continued and he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he breathed, “This is when you’re supposed to compliment me, too.”

She pulled back, glaring at him, but found him grinning down at her. A full smile, one that she’d only seen once or twice.

It was the most brilliant thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

“You…” she began, unsure of where she should go with it. She eventually settled for a simple, “You look nice this evening, too, my lord.”

“Please stop with the my lord business,” he chastised, as he spun her around and caught her once more, their bodies nearly pressed up tightly against one another’s. She had imagined what that would be like, her body formed perfectly against his. His grin widened. Magnificent. “But, thank you, although I feel my compliment was much better.”

Feyre scoffed.

“Is that why your cheeks have been pink since our dance began, Feyre darling?” He asked, voice low. “Because of your undeniable attraction to me?”

“Undeniable attraction?” It took everything in her not to bark a laugh. “I can assure you, my lord, your ego should be your dancing partner, not I.”

Light danced in his violet eyes. “My ego does not please me as much as you do. I fear you are irreplaceable.” 

Feyre had nothing to say to that and she was grateful that she did not have the chance to have to come up with a retort. The string quartet crescendoed, and Rhysand spun her around the floor. He spun her until her back was to him and she raised her hand. His hands held hers, one in the air by their heads, the other over Feyre’s stomach. Her shoulders went back against his chest. Heat flooded her body. 

Looking over her shoulder, her gaze found his. It was powerful and all-consuming and she couldn't look away.

Her body flushed as she thought of what she’d done while she thought of those eyes and as if he could read her mind, he asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Feyre’s breath shuddered out of her as she whispered, “Nothing, why would I be thinking of anything aside from this dance and a proposal from my future husband?”

His words were so low, she felt his warm breath against the side of her face. “Then why is your chest flushed and your breathing ragged? Why are the tips of your ears pink and your pupils blown out?” His lips were on her cheek as asked, “Why do you look like sex?”

She knew she should have ripped from his hold, regardless of the fact that the dance wasn’t quite over yet, but instead she melted into him deeper. She breathed, “That is…so inappropriate.”

“Who is society to decide what is or isn’t appropriate for a young lady?” Rhysand led her into a twirl and she spun out, her skirts flowing around her and then was back into his arms. “A lady should decide for herself what is appropriate and inappropriate.”

The song slowly ended and the couples around them began to part, but Rhysand’s arms tightened around her. “If you could do anything, and damn the consequences of propriety, what would you do?”

Her breath caught in her chest and she looked to his lips before she could stop herself. “I..”

“Miss Feyre.” A ruddy-faced young man stood next to them, Lord Something or other, and he bowed as he said, “It seems I’m next on your dance card.” “We aren’t finished,” Rhysand said, not taking his eyes from Feyre.

Feyre was once again having a hard time pulling her gaze from his.

“But my name is—”

His protest cut off as Rhysand turned his head to glare at the man and he relented, backing away. “Maybe the next song, then.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, Feyre pushed from Rhysand’s grasp. “What was that?’

“I wasn’t done dancing,” he said, stepping towards her again, regardless of the fact that they were still in the middle of the dance floor. “And you didn’t answer my question. What would you do?”

Feyre stepped back, out of his grasp, heading for the exit to the gardens across the room.

After bursting through the doors and out into the cool night air, she hoped she didn’t cause much of a stir, didn’t attract too many sets of eyes, as she hurried down the stairs and into the gardens beyond. She took a turn, and then another, and when she was alone she stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

What would you do?

He knew. He knew exactly what she would do, knew exactly what she was thinking. He knew—

“You know,” a voice crooned from behind her, low and amused. “It’s rude to run out of the ballroom, away from a gentleman.”

Feyre spun around and met his violet gaze. “It’s also rude to stalk young ladies when your presence is unnecessary.”

He laughed, quietly. “I am not pathetic enough to stalk. Believe it or not, I am here to make sure that you are okay. You look as if you may faint.”

She didn’t move as he approached her.

“Perhaps I was too forward,” he said, that mesmerizing voice of his still low, practically purring. “Perhaps I misread every emotion that passed between us as we danced, as we touched.” He stopped just shy of her. “But, I do not think I did.”

No, he didn’t. He had it exactly right, which was far worse than if he had been wrong.

“I…require a moment alone,” she replied, chest heaving.

He gave her a once over, seeing that she was okay, and said, “I’m afraid not, Feyre darling, it would be irresponsible of me to leave you out here on your own, especially in such a delicate condition.”

Trying her hardest to steady her breath, Feyre stepped back. “I am in no case of delicate condition. I am just in need of a moment to breathe, which you refuse to let me—”

Feyre hadn’t even noticed the stone bench there, not until she began to topple over it, directly toward the fountain behind it. The fall would hurt, she’d be soaked, and the entire ton would know that she and Rhys had been out here by themselves—

A hand wrapped around her wrist, catching her and then strong arms she was coming to know all too well wrapped around her, likely saving her from both physical and reputational damage. Rhysand set her back on her feet, but did not let her go. Feyre opened her eyes to find them standing by a tall statue of the Cauldron. The monolith it sat upon was over six feet tall itself, the Cauldron atop it nearly just as tall.

Rhysand looked down at her. He brushed a thumb along her cheek. “What would you do if you could do anything, Feyre?” He asked, voice like midnight velvet as it brushed along her flushed skin. “If you were not you, what would you do?”

Feyre warred with herself, caught between two paths. One would take them back inside the manor, back to the dancing and lemonade and leering gazes of men who thought they were entitled to her time, just because she was the Diamond. The other…

The other could very well change Feyre’s life.

Violet eyes tore down what was left of her walls.

Damn the consequences, he’d said? So Feyre did.

Gripping him by the front of the tunic, Feyre hauled his mouth down to meet hers.

Rhysand was shocked for all of two heart beats before he groaned into her mouth, hand leaving her face and diving into her hair, as his arm tightened around her waist.

She kissed him.

It was all hunger and wild chaos and utter desperation. Feyre felt no shame. Perhaps she should have, but all she felt was desire.

Her body pressed up against his and her arms went around his neck. She held him closely and for that moment, everything felt right.

His mouth, the taste of him, the way his tongue swept between her lips felt even more incredible than she had thought it would. Everything she had made up in her mind that night did not even compare to what was happening now. 

When they broke apart, Feyre gasped. Her chest rose and fall, rapidly, her heart beating wildly within her chest. 

“That is what I would do,” she breathed, and added, “my lord.”

Rhysand laughed quietly as his forehead fell against hers. “What is it that I have to do to make you do that again?”

“Ask,” she whispered, sliding her hands into his hair. Gods, she wished she wasn’t wearing gloves. She longed to know what the thick locks would feel like as they slid between her fingers. “All you have to do is ask.”

His thumb brushed across her lower lip as he murmured, “Gods, Feyre, you are…” He shook his head. “I told you before that you looked breathtaking, but I was wrong.”

For a moment, Feyre’s heart went cold and she wondered how she could have so misread the situation.

“Out here, in the moonlight, you are the most radiant thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Her heart started beating again as a breath whooshed from her. Desire pooled, low in her belly and her fingers tightened in his hair. “Kiss me again, Rhys.”

And so he did.

__________________________________________________________

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[hirikka]

spin tales like dandelion seeds

Written for @lexa-gui for the @geraskiersource Secret Santa exchange! I hope you enjoy!

Rating: T

Summary: Jaskier has managed to hold out under Nilfgaard’s questioning for weeks without revealing anything that might put Geralt in danger. Their new tactic—a truth potion—may have some unintended consequences when Geralt arrives to save the day.

Also on AO3

It has been… well, Jaskier’s not actually sure how long it’s been since he was last given food and water. Long enough that he drains half the mug before he registers the odd taste, and by then it is too late. He curses his own stupidity; he should have expected that they would try some sort of magic to get him to talk. All his efforts not to talk or, when silence failed, to tell nothing but lies, and it is all going to waste because he was careless. He wants to scream, to rage or cry, anything to let the hopeless frustration out, but he keeps quiet. He’s not sure exactly what the potion is meant to do, but if he pretends to be ignorant, they won’t know he’s trying to fight the effects.

Footsteps distract him from his thoughts, and the sound of the heavy bolt sliding in its lock is the only warning before the room floods with light. Jaskier winces at the brightness, hunching back into the corner of the room, and waits—

“Good evening, Julian.”

Jaskier glares up at the man—the mage—and doesn’t speak. The mage is followed by a guard, who leans against the wall, hand on his sword hilt.

“We’ll start simply,” the mage says, “to see how effective the potion was. What is your name?”

Jaskier almost scoffs. They know his name; they’ve taunted him with the fact that they know exactly who he is. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Also known as Jaskier the bard.”

“Good. Why were you in Sodden?”

Well, that’s easy enough—they already know this as well; it’s how they found him, why they captured him even before the mage realized exactly who he was. “I was spying on you, obviously.”

“Who are you working for?”

“At the moment? The Redanian Secret Service.” The potion wants him to speak, so Jaskier takes advantage of that, hoping that he can stall them for long enough for the potion to wear off or for him to come up with a better plan. “I’m also under contract with Oxenfurt—although they may have rescinded that, since I haven’t gone back there in months and I certainly haven’t written—”

“Enough,” the mage snaps.

“You asked,” Jaskier mutters, peeved at being interrupted. He receives a fist to the gut for his troubles and oh, perhaps that was why he hadn’t been antagonizing them before. But if they become frustrated enough to beat him senseless, he won’t be able to tell them anything. Won’t have to risk saying something that might harm—

“Where is Geralt of Rivia?” The mage’s tone is deceptively casual; Jaskier knows exactly how desperate they are for this information. Has spent countless painful hours telling them again and again—“I don’t know,” Jaskier spits. “As I’ve told you, I haven’t seen Geralt in over a year. He sent me away.”

“Sent you away?” the mage prods.

“Yes. Blamed me for all the wrongs in his life. Said it would be a blessing for life to take me off his hands.”

“What wrongs would those be?”

Jaskier doesn’t want to think about what Geralt said on that mountain; the pain of those words hasn’t faded in the intervening months, but he can’t stop the words from spilling out. “Oh, all the times he was caught up in human affairs: the djinn—and his subsequent relationship and falling out with his sorceress—the child surprise…” Jaskier just barely suppresses a wince. He hadn’t meant to mention Ciri, hoping to keep the topic away from her for at least a little longer.

“The child surprise… He didn’t want her?”

“No,” Jaskier says. “He didn’t want to be bound to anyone or anything—which is, quite frankly, a load of horse shit considering his wish with Yennefer, and I honestly think he’d be a great deal happier—”

“Stop talking.” The mage takes a deep breath. “I can see why the witcher sent you away.”

“That’s not fair,” Jaskier objects. “You’re the one who asked.”

“Stop talking before I start removing fingers.”

Jaskier grits his teeth, trying not to flinch too obviously. They’d broken his fingers several weeks ago, and he’s fairly sure they’ve started to heal wrong. He may never be able to play again even if he survives this, but there’s still hope. He doesn’t know if he can survive without that.

“Our sources say that the witcher has claimed his child surprise. Where would he take her?”

“I don’t know!” Jaskier says, for what feels like the millionth time. “I didn’t think there was a force on the Continent strong enough to make Geralt claim that child, so how should I know where he would have taken her?”

“Let’s rephrase then, what places does he consider safe?”

“Geralt doesn’t consider anywhere safe,” Jaskier says. “He’s a witcher. Most people hate him, and he’s convinced even the people who don’t hate him should… There were times where I thought he felt safe when we were together, but perhaps I was just imagining that. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

“What places did he visit most often?”

“Well, larger towns tend to attract more monsters, and there were always contracts to be found along the Yaruga—drowners and such. He didn’t have particular places he sought out, exactly. He went wherever there were contracts to be found.”

“There’s no place he went to every year?”

Jaskier shrugs—as much as he can with the way his arms are bound. “If there was, he never told me about it—not so much as a name. Probably didn’t want to risk having me show up uninvited to ruin more of his life.” He’d never allowed himself to examine that particular thought before, and it hurts more than he’d expected. Geralt had always kept him at arm's length. Jaskier had thought for years it was just caution—a natural response to years of abuse and hatred—but maybe it had really been Jaskier that was the problem.

The mage and guard leave while Jaskier is still lost in his thoughts. Perhaps they’ve finally realized that they won’t be able to pry any information from Jaskier. He hopes so; he’s lost track of how long he’s been here, but he’s so tired. He knows the chance of getting out of this alive is vanishingly slim and, while death has never before seemed a comfort, at least it would be a release from the pain.

**

Geralt waits until the mage portals away before stealing into the keep. The mage is only there for a few hours a day, from the information Geralt has gathered—too many places to be and not enough magic users with the power left to have one stationed in all of the army’s outposts. The battalion of guards falls easily beneath his sword. He keeps his mind on the present and doesn’t let himself think about why he is here—who he is here for.

There is a moment when he stumbles, the lute smashed on the ground in a corner sending a pang of regret and sorrow through him. It is enough time for one of the soldiers to slash across his arm, but he hardly notices the pain as he tears through the few remaining soldiers with more raw fury than skill.

Once the last body falls, Geralt turns and heads down into the dungeons. The smell of blood and rot reach him first as he pulls open the door into the dank room at the bottom of the keep. He keeps his breathing shallow as he paces down the corridor. The first few cells are empty, doors standing open and waiting. The fifth and final door is closed, with a figure slumped in the corner. He doesn’t move at the sound of footsteps, but Geralt can hear his heartbeat, racing with fear in anticipation of his captors’ arrival. The wave of relief is stronger than Geralt expected, and he has to force his hands not to shake as he pulls out the key he’d taken from a guard and unlocks the door.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says.

The slumped figure jolts to his feet, blue eyes wide and wild. “Geralt? What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” Geralt says. “Can you walk?”

“Can I walk?” Jaskier repeats. He looks slightly dazed, something off about his expression that Geralt can’t quite identify. “I don’t know.” He takes several wobbling steps forward, wincing in pain. Broken ribs, Geralt guesses. Jaskier sways on his feet, and Geralt steps into the cell to steady him.

“Come on,” Geralt says.

“Is this a trick?” Jaskier asks, squinting at him. “Because honestly, I don’t know what you are hoping to achieve if it is.”

“Not a trick. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” Jaskier frowns. “I’m hardly worth the risk—I know you’re too noble for your own good, sometimes, but what if this had been a trap?”

“I… was worried. Wanted to make sure you were safe. When I found out you had been captured, I came as quickly as I could.”

Jaskier blinks at him for a long moment. “Hm, well. I suppose if they were able to create a glamor or hire a doppler or whatever, they would have probably tried that sooner.” He makes a face as they pass the first of the fallen soldiers. “Also they probably wouldn’t have killed all these people.”

“Hm,” Geralt agrees. He focuses on making sure Jaskier keeps his balance while trying to catalog the bard’s injuries.

“You shouldn’t have taken this kind of risk,” Jaskier says conversationally. “You must have known that I wouldn’t have been able to tell them anything that would actually help them find you… Although I suppose if you are going around attacking their keeps, they won’t have to look very hard.” He waves a hand as he talks and then lets out a whimper as the movement jostles what looks like several broken fingers.

“Careful,” Geralt growls.

“Really though,” Jaskier continues, undeterred. “You never actually told me much about your life; I’m not sure what you thought I would be able to tell them.”

Geralt frowns at him. He can’t see Jaskier’s expression and he wants to get them farther from the keep before calling for Yen so he can’t stop, but: “I wasn’t worried you would tell them something. I was worried about you, that you’d be hurt, or worse.”

Jaskier’s steps falter for a moment. “Oh, well. That’s… What now?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t exactly—” Jaskier waves a hand. “Go. If Nilfgaard thinks they can use me to get to you. They just wanted information this time. They believed that you wouldn’t risk coming for me, but now… they’ll be even more determined to capture me. And next time it will be a trap.”

“I thought— I’d planned to bring you back with me. Somewhere safe.” Geralt watches Jaskier for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction. “I know you probably want nothing to do with me, especially now…”

“I always want to be with you,” Jaskier says. “A few broken bones isn’t enough to change that. I just thought you’d want to be rid of me.”

Geralt can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Jaskier was tortured because of him—could have died because of Geralt—and all that on top of the pain Geralt knows he caused. “Then you’ll come? Let me keep you safe.”

“Of course,” Jaskier agrees. “I love you, Geralt. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Before Geralt has even a moment to process that, a portal swirls open in front of them, and Yen’s voice from the xenovox tells them to hurry.

**

Yennefer rests her chin on her hand, looking far less concerned than Geralt feels the situation deserves. “One more time,” she drawls. “Why do you think Nilfgaard would have enchanted Jaskier to think he loved you?”

“I already said—I’m not sure it was meant to be me that he fell in love with.”

“Right. They wanted him to fall in love with one of his captors so he could, what? Reveal your secrets? Surely you have more faith in your bard than that.”

She’s not wrong, Geralt knows; even in love, he can’t imagine Jaskier giving up secrets that would put Geralt in danger. “Maybe it was meant to make him fall in love with me. Jaskier thought I could have been a doppler; maybe they were planning to bring in someone to impersonate me. And if he thought he was in love with me…”

“What? He would tell you where you would hide? Honestly, Geralt, having someone impersonate you wouldn’t actually have been useful to them. And even if they did think they could get something out of that ruse, why would he need to be in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt grits out. “Who knows—they could have been plotting anything.”

“Hm.” Yennefer raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Does it matter why?” Geralt asks. “We just need to find a way to fix it.”

“Alright,” Yennefer sighs. She closes her book and places it on the table. “Let’s go see if there is actually something wrong with your bard.”

**

“Wait here,” Yennefer orders. “The hovering is distracting.”

Geralt pouts but doesn’t argue. Yennefer magnanimously does not tease him for the expression; there will be plenty of time to tease once she can assure him that Jaskier isn’t under the influence of any lingering magic.

“Ah, hello, Yennefer. Thank you for healing me.”

Yennefer isn’t quite sure what to do with this sincere version of Jaskier. “How are you feeling?”

“Still a little sore, but much better,” Jaskier says. “Also quite afraid that I’ve ruined things with Geralt, possibly irrevocably—which is somewhat ironic considering what he said the last time we parted, but he saved me so he can’t hate me completely—unless he does now. Oh, wouldn’t that be just my luck?”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer interrupts. “Calm down.”

Jaskier blinks at her, looking a little dazed, but doesn’t say anything else. She still thinks Geralt was wrong about the curse, but that wasn’t normal, even for the normally chatty bard. “Take deep breaths,” Yennefer instructs as she crosses the room, perching on the corner of the bed. She reaches out, scanning first his injuries—all healing well, thank Melitele; she had been worried that her magic, depleted as it was, wouldn’t be enough to mend him. Once she’s satisfied with that, she probes with her magic, looking for any signs of something amiss. There is an enchantment, faint and fading, but still strong enough to have influence. She tugs at the spell, unraveling it to see exactly what it was meant to do, and lets out a startled laugh when she realizes what it is. She draws the spell out, releasing Jaskier from its hold as Geralt slams the door open.

“Why, uh, why are you laughing?” Jaskier asks. “Am I dying?”

Geralt makes a wounded noise, and honestly, Yennefer is so tired of the dramatics.

“You aren’t dying,” Yennefer says to Jaskier. She stands up from the bed. “You’re healing well. You’ll be tired, so I expect you to take it easy.” She gives him a wicked grin. “No strenuous activity for the next few days.”

“Strenuous?” Jaskier repeats, sounding somewhat strangled.

“The spell is gone as well,” Yennefer adds, keeping her tone casual.

“He was enchanted,” Geralt says, voice flat.

“Yes,” Yennefer agrees. “They gave him a truth spell.”

“A truth spell?” Geralt asks, sounding stunned. His attention is fixed on Jaskier.

“I swear I didn’t tell them anything of import,” Jaskier says, clearly misinterpreting Geralt’s reaction. “I promise, Geralt, I didn’t.”

The pain in Jaskier’s voice snaps Geralt out of his shock, and he sinks onto the bed, sitting at Jaskier’s side and staring at the bard in wonder. “You love me.”

Jaskier flushes, ducking his head. “Ah, right. I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You meant it,” Geralt says.

“Well, yes.” Jaskier’s voice is steady but his hands shake. “It doesn’t have to change anything—”

He’s cut off when Geralt takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “What if I want it to change things?”

Jaskier’s blush deepens. “Well, that, um, that can be arranged.”

Yennefer suppresses a snort of amusement, deciding that she’s seen more than enough of this. “Remember, Jaskier, nothing strenuous.” She winks at him before leaving the room, the door cutting off his outraged spluttering.