#I simply cannot stop myself from contemplating it

[birdhaslostit]

(tune of Sound of da Police) WOOP WOOP THATS DA SOUND OF THE

[text to speech generator] white boy of the month.

WOOP WOOP THATS THE SOUND OF DA BEAST

[messrsrarchives]

as a fandom, i think we need to clarify again what reclaiming a space means.

because it is not removing ourselves from the artist, especially not one as problematic as jk rowling. it is impossible for us to separate from her views as they are the forefront of her person and are heavily embedded into her works. to separate entirely is not possible, and to strive to do so is, in my opinion, optimistically ignorant.

we cannot separate art from artist when confronted with two-dimensional female characters that we have to bulk out through fandom. we cannot separate art from artist when gender norms are prevalent in the works (see here: rita and umbridge - villain women - being described as masculine). we cannot separate art from artist when queerness is attacked in her works (see here, less vividly: harry being treated awfully at a primary school called. stone. wall. (arguably a reach, i agree)). we cannot separate art from artist when names likes cho chang and kingsley shacklebolt are a thing. we cannot separate art from artist when, in books published during the irish troubles, the one irish character's entire personality is blowing stuff up.

the nazi imagery (see also: jkr denying the holocaust), the antisemitism, the oppression of women, racism.

her entire transphobic platform that has now gone on to harm cis women (which, by the way, trans people have been screaming for years that transphobia harms cis women, and we weren't listened to. see again: rita and umbridge. if you are not feminine and pretty, you are bad).

we cannot separate art from artist and we shouldn't.

reclaiming a space means that those marginalised communities? every single one of them? every single person who was harmed by her works and her subsequent platform? they can find a space in fandom.

they can find works that represent them, works that rectify the harmful stereotypes in her books, works that are inclusive and safe that still allow us to engage with the world that we love.

they can be safe.

you can engage with fandom however you want. whatever ships, headcanons, stories, ANYTHING. you can engage with it however you want.

as long as your wants do not harm others.

and even then, we cannot stop you from doing that. all we do is ask that you acknowledge that this is not reclaiming.

you cannot reclaim a space that causes harm by causing harm, no matter how indirect.

we cannot separate art from artist, no matter how badly we want to.

we can 'separate' our works from her views, absolutely. we can say that these works do not align with her views and alleviate the harm caused by what she wrote, i agree.

but that is all.

her merchandise, her parks, her books, her films, her reboots. everything with her name on and her bank account attached?

we cannot reclaim those. we cannot separate those.

and i will not pretend to be perfect. i will not pretend that i don't have merchandise, or even that i haven't considered purchasing more. i was literally contemplating going to see cursed child a few months ago, arguing with myself to try and justify why that would be a once in a lifetime experience for me.

but so was starting hormones. so was getting my top surgery approved. so was coming out and subsequently moving out of an abusive home. so was changing my name. so was living.

going to see cursed child would have been a once in a lifetime experience for me, yes. but at the cost of funding a woman who does not want me to have the same lifetime as cis people. at the cost of providing money to a woman that does. not. want. me. alive.

and it's so easy to say that one person doesn't make a difference, and i agree! i have literally said this before!

which is why i have used the collective we throughout this post.

but i also think, it's worth acknowledging that one person can make a difference. and that one person is jkr.

it is not reclaiming a space to simply say that you do not stand with her.

it is not reclaiming a space to exist as something jkr hates - i am not reclaiming this space by existing in it as a trans man. my existence is not a form of protest.

boycotting is.

it is not reclaiming a space to say "fuck jkr" and then profit her.

it is reclaiming a space when your actions reflect your words.

and that is the bare minimum.

we cannot change the source text or the views that went into them. we cannot change jkr's personal views or the way that she chooses to use her money.

we cannot use the term "reclaiming the space" to feel better about our actions, and to avoid accountability. not when funding her account.

and i don't want to hold people to account. that's not my goal; never has been, and never will be. i am not typing this to cause further harm, or to point fingers, or anything like that.

i am typing this to clarify what i mean when i say reclaiming a space, and ask that those who disagree do not enter the space i have forged for myself here.

to ask that those who put once in a lifetime experiences over me living a full lifetime do not enter my life. here for a good time, not a long time, right?

i am not in this space to explain why jkr is a bad person. i am not in this space as a form of protest. i am not in this space to explain to people that their actions have consequences - that's for teachers in nursery to explain.

i am in this space because it's fun.

and i feel annoying talking about it. i feel like i'm annoying people by bringing this up time and time again, but, to be honest, i hope that they feel the discomfort. i hope that they do get annoyed, and i hope that they recognise that any annoyance they feel about me speaking up about transness in the marauders/hp fandom does not come anywhere close to the annoyance i feel watching these videos.

because i shouldn't feel the need to take a step back from engaging interactively in fandom.

i shouldn't need to cater my online experience in a fandom that claims to be all inclusive, to get rid of people that aren't?

and these conversations are uncomfortable and, yes, to the people that it addresses, they likely are annoying.

but it makes my space feel safer. it makes me feel safer. it's allowed me to talk to now over 100 trans people in this fandom about their experiences, and made me feel less alone in this.

so yeah, i feel annoying. but i won't apologise for making my space feel safer, and i certainly won't do so to people that have shown inconsistent/no regard to the safety of these marginalised communities.

this is me ✨reclaiming my space✨ if you will

[littlesparklight]

Hi, I have a Question about Odysseus and Circe:

Does Odysseus really need the Moly herb? Why does Odysseus need to drink Circe's potion? Is Odysseus not allowed to simply walk up to Circe, refuse any drink and threaten her at sword point to turn his men back from being pigs? Or is there something I'm not getting...

Without the moly he's susceptible to magic!

Unless I'm wrong from how I'm reading the text, neither the men nor Odysseus need to drink/consume anything Kirke has drugged to be affected by her magic. The drugs and the magic are two different things; the drugged drink she serves the men makes them forget their homes/past, whatever the point is to that, but seems to have no further connection to her touching them with her wand to transform them.

And I mean... allowed and allowed. Sure he could, literally nothing is stopping him, but it'd be a bad idea.

Kirke isn't mortal. Isn't a mortal woman to whom a sword is that dangerous. Isn't your regular nymph. She's a goddess-nymph at the least, or a minor goddess - her magic isn't the only power she has.

Now, yes, Hermes says "she will be frightened" after Odysseus proves impervious to her magic, and the narrative repeats that when Odysseus confronts her.

However.

"She will then be frightened and will desire you to go to bed with her; on this you must not point blank refuse her, for you want her to set your companions free, and to take good care also of yourself, but you make her swear solemnly by all the blessed that she will plot no further mischief against you, or else when she has got you naked she will unman you and make you fit for nothing.’" (Samuel Butler's translation)

Whether we're taking Odysseus at his word - twice - that he's retelling this bit exactly as it happened/the emotions of Kirke sincerely represented or not, Hermes makes it very clear. Kirke is not harmless or really under Odysseus' power even if she's "frightened" by him holding her at swordpoint after he's proven impervious to her magic.

Note the oath as well. Even if Odysseus is honestly a credible threat to her while he's holding the sword at her and in possession of the moly herb, he cannot do so indefinitely. Kirke and her power(s) aren't so easily neutralized.

I can imagine her retaliation after being threatened this way, even if it's not a true threat to her, would be quite spectacular if she hadn't been maneuvered into the oath. Gods aren't very forgiving when they've been humiliated, after all. Kirke seems to have gotten fond of him, however, so it's probably that more than his ability to keep her under control (which he can't) that keeps him (and his men, after) safe.

(Now, I've seen posts here and there noting that Odysseus tells the most fantastic parts of the Odyssey himself and he's a noted liar. And sure, you can contemplate if he's being truthful, and how much he is so, exactly because of this. If I was going to take a stab at it myself, I'd say everything basically happened exactly as he said it did, but he might have done some authorial editing - Kirke being afraid could be one of those little touches of change.)

[oneofafew]

Okay, I have a weird request. What if F!MC tries to confess her feelings to Ominis, but he completely rejects her. Like, full stop. Gently, of course, he is a gentleman, but he tells her that he simply cannot return her feelings.

Oh my heart hurts already! The angst x

This took a turn. It’s still the outline but I figured he needed a good reason to turn her down. My stubborn boi.

And when I say short it’s SHORT but I love the concept and may expand on it later x

“Ominis can we talk?”

She’d found him sitting alone in the common room, it was late and everyone else had long gone to sleep it wasn’t unusual to find the blind boy awake during the late hours, he relished in the silence and tranquility the night brought

Ominis raised his head turning in the direction of her voice a small smile tugging at his lips, he nodded “Of course” he replied shifting over on the sofa for her to sit beside him “what’s on your mind?” He asked once she’d sat down, he could feel the nervous energy radiating off of her

Silence. He could practically hear the gears turning in her brain as she formulated her next words, he waited ever the embodiment of patience and grace

“I … I think I’m falling for you” she said her voice barley a whisper, her gaze firmly planted on her hands in her lap, the longer the silence grew the larger the lump in her throat became, the butterflies in her stomach seemed to multiply with each passing second

His brow furrowed for a moment as he contemplated her words, he looked almost pained as he rested a hand on her knee sending the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy once again, he let out a sigh and spoke his voice wavering slightly

“I’m sorry … I can’t … I can’t reciprocate your feelings”

Her head spun as she felt the proverbial rug tugged roughly from under her she shifted in her seat her eyes raking over his now stoic face searching for answers, for any further explanation she opened her mouth to respond but he seemed to sense it and spoke first

“It’s not you, you’re wonderful, you’re truly something special…it’s my family … it’s complicated”

She stared at him for a moment the tears that welled in her eyes threatening to break free any moment, his voice so gentle and calm only served to highten the blow of his rejection

“I don’t care about them! I can look after myself Ominis!”

Ominis shook his head withdrawing his hand from her knee this time swallowing before he rose to his feet she found herself swiftly following her hand reaching for his

“Please Ominis”

He froze for a moment before turning back in her direction, she was momentarily glad he couldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks and started when he raised his hand from her grip and brushed a tear from her cheek in an all too gentle caress that make her nauseas for all the wrong reasons

“I made a Promise to myself and I’ve got to keep it - I will never take a lover, I’ll never marry and I certainly won’t ever have children, my family line will die with me and I refuse drag anyone else into it” his voice was clipped as though he’d rehearsed the line many times over and still it pained him to say it out loud

“I would be a fool to lead you along just to spare your feelings now, when I see no future for us, I won’t destroy our friendship for something that can never be”

They stood in silence for a moment as his words washed over her, she wasn’t sure why but she could feel heat rising in her cheeks a subtle anger or frustration bubbling beneath the surface she bit back a retort her fists clenching at her sides

“I’m not asking -“ she started but Ominis held up his hand silencing her almost instantly, before she could truly work herself up

“No you’re not listening to me, I will not engage in this discussion further, I’m sorry. ”

With that he turned and she stood frozen to the spot as she watched the boy she loved walk away from her his figure blurred through her tears her stomach twisting and legs threatening to turn to jelly right under her as she collapsed back onto the sofa wiping furiously at her eyes.

Ominis lay awake in his bed the curtains drawn around him his heart hammering in his chest so furiously he thought it would break free of his rib cage as he thought of the possibilities.

No.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

She deserved so much more.

[geeoharee]

More of my 'Sherlock Holmes through the lens of Discworld' thoughts, because why have one fixation when two will do

This week Holmes solved the case of The Blue Carbuncle, i.e. 'I stole a gem and hid it somewhere very stupid and now I cannot retrieve it from that place, oh no, this has all gone wrong, I am dumb'. The thief in question is James Ryder, a servant for the gem's owner who is framing John Horner, a plumber he called round to fix something in the house.

Anyway, not very important except to say Ryder does not get away with the crime even a LITTLE bit - he loses track of the gem immediately and it ends up in Holmes's living room and so does he. Horner meanwhile is sitting in a cell with the police not believing that he has no idea what they're on about.

When Holmes tells Ryder that he knows he stole it, Ryder collapses completely. He was already sitting down in a chair and somehow manages to fall on the floor, they have to give him brandy, then he begs pathetically:

Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's sake, don't!"

He does the obligatory First Person Narration Of The Whole Story that Watson always puts in here, and concludes:

"My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now—and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

He is a horrible little man and he would have sent Horner to prison with no remorse whatsoever if he hadn't lost the gem, but honestly you can't help but feel a bit sorry for him anyway. Holmes certainly does, chucking him out of the house on the basis that he probably won't do it again, Horner will go free anyway if Ryder doesn't testify and "it is the season of forgiveness" - as well as the famous line "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies." He's not a cop. He can do things like this, if he feels like it.

The Discworld connection is to the Hedge Argument Murder. (Incidentally, if you google that, the FIRST result is that there have been several of these in real life, before and after the book came out. Hedges are serious business.) Sam contemplates copper-ness in Night Watch...

Keep the peace. That was the thing. People often failed to understand what that meant. You'd go to some life-threatening disturbance like a couple of neighbours scrapping in the street over who owned the hedge between their properties, and they'd both be bursting with aggrieved self-righteousness, both yelling, their wives would either be having a private scrap on the side or would have adjourned to the kitchen for a shared pot of tea and a chat, and they expected you to sort it out.

And they could never understand that it wasn't your job. Sorting it out was a job for a good surveyor and a couple of lawyers, maybe. Your job was to quell the impulse to bang their stupid fat heads together, to ignore the affronted speeches of dodgy self-justification, to get them to stop shouting and to get them off the street. Once that had been achieved, your job was over. You weren't some walking god, dispensing finely-tuned natural justice. Your job was to simply bring back the peace.

Of course, if your few strict words didn't work and Mr Smith subsequently clambered over the disputed hedge and stabbed Mr Jones to death with a pair of gardening shears, then you had a different job, sorting out the notorious Hedge Argument Murder. But at least it was one you were trained to do.

People expected all kinds of things from coppers, but there was one thing that sooner or later they all wanted: make this not be happening.

In this lovely Christmas story, Holmes sees a man who wants more than anything in the world for this not to be happening - to just be able to take it all back - to be forgiven. Even though he's not particularly deserving. And because he's not a cop, he can give it to him.

[ivoryminitower]

FFXIV Write 2024 prompt 1: Steer

I do not think my husband understands what hunting is.

He called what we did last night hunting, though what we were hunting was cows.  He did not want to wake the farmers who owned the cows, and thought the cows would make too much noise if we scared them, so we equipped as Dancers and threw our rings.

It was typical of all the hunting we have done in this place he calls Oklahoma.  There are no fates here, no truly large beasts, nothing that with our skill and our strength and our weapons we cannot kill with a single hit.  What Husband calls hunting I might instead call gathering.

There are different things I miss of Eorzea at different times.  What I missed last night was La Noscean buffalo.

But we needed beef for the meat pies we sell, and since the stores do not take gil and we do not yet have many dollars, we get our beef from hunting these tame beasts on farms.  Husband says it is not stealing since our kills respawn.  But that makes it all the more like gathering.

After killing cows over and over we had enough beef to work with, along with animal hide and milk.  But it left me restless.  I needed something more to do, to feel that I did something worthy of myself with my evening.

"Can I not actually fight one cow, Husband?"

"They're too clustered and close to the house, my love.  We don't want to raise the alarm."

"What about that one?"  I pointed to a cow that was standing apart from the others.  Unlike most of them, that one at least had horns.

"That's a bull.  Might be quieter than the others if it's charging you."  He glanced across the field.  "But try to kite it away from the house a bit, just to be safe."

It was bigger than the others, and it had horns, but it would still be an Earth animal, and not as strong as me.  So I changed to what Husband calls my "Earth-normal" gear, simple low-level hempen clothing and leather Pugilist gloves.  Perhaps, I thought, it would give the bull a chance, and me a challenge.

I walked around the cows, away from the house, then slowly approached the bull.  It noticed me.  It stared at me.  It made a snorting sound.  Then it started to run.  A slow trot, at first, then it picked up speed.

I stood in its path.  When it got close enough I grabbed its horns.  It tried to keep on charging at me, but I kept my distance from it.  It tried to shake its head to fling me away, but I held my grip.

It was more work than any other Earth kills had been, but I still did not feel challenged.  I could probably have killed it with a single Bootshine.  Simply to see what would happen, I suddenly released its horns and slapped it across its face.

To my complete surprise, it stopped.  It grew quiet and stared at me.

Husband approached as the bull and I faced each other.  He looked the beast over.  "Huh.  My mistake.  This is a steer."

"What is the difference?"

"A steer is a bull without the bull parts.  He can't breed.  Takes some of the aggression out of him."

"You are saying I picked to fight a cow that cannot fight?"

"Pretty much, yeah.  But I hear they're good for steaks."

I switched to my Cryptlurker Monk gear.  I contemplated the sorry bull, then punched it in the head.  As its body faded, I said, "You had best know how to cook a good steak, Husband."

(Based on Echoes of Home, hosted on Wattpad.)

[secondsonaym]

The Vessel Project - Shamura's Foreword + Fragility [Narinder 1]

(read on Ao3 here)

-----------------------------------------

This night marks one year since we came into power. Since we took the crowns for ourselves. Since we promised to do better than those we had overthrown.

  I am a contemplative person, assuredly, but my mind does not desire to dwell on that time. Though much of it was spent in the throes of belief, of devotion, that all proved to be wasted energy. The ones we trusted had been using us… Using everyone. 

  How do you think it feels… To find out the ones you had put so much trust in, the ones who promised to make everything better… Were in fact, doing the exact opposite, all to uphold their status quo.

  It’s devastating. And then, you pick up the pieces they dropped, and place the expectation on yourself to make something better from nothing but scraps.

  How does one wrench something holy from something so broken?

    I hate it.

    However… I cannot simply let it sit in me untouched. 

  So I am writing this record, with the assistance of my siblings to fill in the gaps, in the hopes that having it in a physical form will quiet the growing itch in my brain.

  I, Shamura, now bearer of the Purple Crown, bishop of War and Knowledge, commit this to writing:

    This is the story of five children and five birds.

  Five children who did not know of, nor deserved, the hell they would be put through.

  And the five birds that orchestrated it.

    This is the fall of the quintet that shall never be spoken of again… Lest the wounds they have marred the land with open back up.

    And hopefully… This will be the rise of those who broke free of their blind devotion in order to make the right choice for everyone in the land.

Fragility

Shamura has turned the pen to me in order to start this recollection off. I suppose it is only fair, as I had ended up in the center of it all. Therefore, the actual beginning would start with my perspective. 

  I… Have not had the proper time to contemplate or process things myself, I must be frank. Unification of the sects has been very busy work, and the manner through which I acquired the Red Crown… Was harrowing.

  So forgive me if I ramble.

  It all began eight years ago, when I was but ten years old.

------

    A hazy crackle split the air as I stared down the coast of the hill. Though it was the height of summer, the warmth I felt was not from the sun’s rays, but the burning town below. 

  The screams had stopped long ago. Everyone who had been in the town had either managed to flee or had succumbed to the heat and smoke, laying in the rubble and waiting to be found among the ashes at a later point.

  I was not from the town, no. I had been in my spot since before the fire started, and I watched it light up in the early hours of the morning. Nobody noticed me, and I ignored the distant screams for help.

  “What have you observed, Narinder?” Came the voice of the one who had started the blaze.

  “All it took was a spark.” I replied, not turning away, still transfixed by the colors of the flames. “One small ember, and the entire thing went up.”

  “Fragility,” He said, and I finally turned to face Him. “That is today’s lesson.”

  The fire-starter stood in the shade of a nearby tree, His snaking neck twisted down so his head would not catch in the branches. Amidst the dry greens of the surrounding area, His snow-white plumage and red-patterned robe stood out, even in the shadows.

  “Sir,” I began, my tail slowly waving as I considered my words, “How does fragility of a town apply to fragility of life?”

  “Think about it, boy.” He said, “A small mistake causing a fire just like this one… And that’s all it takes to kill any number of people. There’s no telling when it would happen. The same can be applied to mortal bodies.”

  “Bodies?”

  “A strike to the head a bit too hard… A blow at just the right spot in the spine… A stab from somebody’s concealed weapon. Things one cannot predict, nor act fast enough to defend against. One false step, and one’s life is forfeit. Much like that stray spark.”

  I looked back to the flames, pondering His words. I now understood just what He meant, but something gnawed at me.

  “What of the survivors?” I finally asked.

  “Mm? We let them live, of course. They won the draw. They were lucky. So they can carry on.”

  Lucky… That word stuck with me. That’s what He had said when we first met.

  I recalled why I was with Him to begin with: Raiders from the sect of Chaos, destroying the village I lived in, killing my family, and somehow leaving only me behind. He had taken notice, attracted by the death and finding me out in the wilderness all alone. He offered me a place by His side after hearing my story.

  “You are a lucky boy,” He had said, “to have seen so much death without even a scratch.”

  I had only been seven at the time, and in my grief refused to agree with Him. I did not believe my survival was lucky. It felt punishing. To be without those I had known my whole life.

  But three years later, as I watched the town steadily crumble into dust, I knew that He was right.

    The habits of life and death were fickle, and it was not that we channeled these forces by the act of existing, not at all. We pulled them up from the depths of the earth, and begged them to let us have the experience of the world. They wrote the terms of our stay, and when time was up, it was up. There was no fighting it.

  That was how He operated. He did not take lives directly, and instead left it up to chance. 

  “I am not a facilitator of the whims of the world.” He had explained one night, when I had asked Him why He refused to stain His hands. “I am merely the one who rolls the dice. If Death wishes to take what it is owed at that moment… Then so be it.”

  “It is time we head back to the temple.”

  My attention snapped back to the present when He finally spoke, arching His neck out from under the cover of the leaves. He took a few steps back the way we had come from, only pausing to see if I was following.

  I gave one final look to the scene below before I turned and hurried after Him.

  We walked in silence for a fair distance, my mind mulling over today’s lesson. Not all of the things He taught me were through demonstrations such as this, but it was usually ones of this manner that left me thinking on things longer.

  It was odd, His manner of teaching. He did not have me write notes or physically experiment with things around me, and instead merely had me observe the world as things happened. But I suppose that was to be expected, due to the nature of His sect.

  Of the Old Faith, the sect of Death was small and quiet compared to the others. Our Lord did not ask for loud, expressive devotion, and merely requested we observe Life and Death in their equilibrium. For Death was not something you could shed belief in. It was always there. 

  Acknowledgement of Death is an inherent belief in it.

“It’s laughable, how they must reinforce their belief through acts of flagellation.” He had commented, when we had once caught sight of a ritual of War. “But I suppose without that reinforcement, it simply wouldn’t exist. It does not exist unless it is manifested by the living.”

  The ritual was… brutal. A person, marked a ‘traitor’ by the rest, stood chained in place, while the worshippers of War circled them. One by one, a worshiper would approach and hold a knife, going for parts of the traitor as they screamed.

  “No eyes to look to the illusions of the enemy,” Said the one who gouged them out.

  “No ears to hear lies of the enemy,” Continued the next, slicing them free.

  They continued like that.

  “No tongue to parrot the falsehoods of the enemy,”

  “No fingers to hold the enemy’s weapon,”

  “No heart to be changed by the enemy’s fake promises.”

  With that final chant, the knife went into the traitor’s chest, and they stopped crying out. Blood pooled, creeping into the crevices of the stone below them.

  Though we watched, He did nothing. He did not need to mess with the body in order to claim the soul. It would come His way eventually.

“Narinder.” He suddenly spoke, once again pulling me from my thoughts. “Go hide in the shadows. Now.”

  I did not question Him. Without a word, I stepped quickly and softly into the dense shade of the treeline, standing still while fixing my eyes on Him.

  He stood still for a moment, long neck stretched towards the canopy. It would have been an unsettling sight, were you not used to Him.

  “Zuriel, darling, what is it you want?” He asked, a lingering touch of irritation in His voice.

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Came His voice, right back at Him. But I had been watching Him the whole time, and His mouth had not moved in that instance.

  At once, a figure appeared out of the shade near Him, an unsettling mess of browns and greens, disorienting to the point I was unsure what I was looking at initially--But when I caught sight of the bright green diamond perched upon its head, I got a good idea as to the answer.

      Zuriel, the bishop of Chaos. I had only ever heard of the other bishops through descriptions from Michael, but He had stressed that coming into contact with them was not a wise idea. No wonder He had told me to hide.

  “Why are you spreading death in my land, Michael?” The new arrival asked, still in His voice.

  It lowered its head, threading its beak into the scruff of plants it wore around its collar in a preening motion. It did not seem angry or impatient in any form, despite the question it had asked.

  “You should know why.” He replied coolly. “Death is fickle. Death is random. It just felt right.”

  “I do not care for your current fixation with fire.” It answered, eyes slowly raising back up to look at Him. “Reminds me too much of that time a few centuries ago where you had an interest in lightning strikes.”

  “Hah,” He laughed, but His voice was hollow. “It is merely what I am channeling my energy into, Zuriel. Worried I am encroaching on your domain of Chaos?” 

  “Three years is but a blink to the likes of us, Michael.” It said. “That’s why we can tell something has changed in you. Something has felt so suddenly… Wrong.”

  “Surely you did not come all this way to scold me.” Was all He said.

  “There is a summons for you.” Came its response after a slight pause. The voice it was using was different now, steady and controlled with some strange metallic tone.

  “Ah. From Raziel, why am I not surprised.” He sighed. “What does she want now?”

  “All of the bishops are requested.” Zuriel continued in its new voice. “To discuss the plans of the vessel project.”

  He was silent for a while, staring down at Zuriel and tilting His head at a few different angles. I saw Him steal a glance to where I hid, but He otherwise did not acknowledge me.

  “Why am I to be summoned?” He finally asked. “Raziel knows full well that I am not interested in her latest plans for power.”

  “You and Phanuel share these sentiments. But as long as our lives are, they are not eternal. We must consider other options. You are not expected to do anything, but you are required as a witness. Everyone else shall be bringing their selected disciples.”

  He let out a slow sigh, neck straightening fully to the point it hurt my neck to look up at Him. He stared into the overhanging leaves for a while, before finally coiling His neck again, looking down at Zuriel.

  “Very well. I assume the meeting place shall be Raziel’s temple?”

  “Correct. At moonrise.”

  “I will make my way when it is time, then. Thank you, Zuriel. May your day be as unpredictable as a rushing river .” He bowed His head, speaking the formal farewell of those in the Chaos sect--a gesture of politeness, on His part.

  “ And may you find calmness in night’s mimicry of the end. ” Zuriel returned with the words of our own sect, and the voice of Michael.

  And with that, Zuriel turned and vanished into the same shadows it had appeared from. 

  He stared after it for a while, and I could see spots on His neck where feathers were standing on end. He was angry, but trying His best not to show it. Whether that was out of mercy for me or that He simply didn’t find it productive, I did not know.

    “Narinder.” He called after a long moment, turning His head in my direction. I stepped out of my hiding spot and closer to His side, eyes wide with curiosity but hesitant to say anything.

  “Let us resume our return to the temple.” He mumbled. “When we get there, you are to study your verses for the rest of the evening. I have business to attend to, as you likely heard.”

  “What is the ‘vessel project?’” I couldn’t help but ask, though immediately clapped a paw over my mouth. How foolish, I thought, for being so nosy! He was surely to reprimand me, for slipping back into what was probably my most frustrating habit when I was younger.

  But He merely looked down at me for a moment, before pulling a taloned hand out from under His robe and setting it on my shoulder.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Narinder.” He said, repeating the phrase I had heard so often in the past three years. “It is best you remain oblivious… If just to this one thing. Now, let’s be on our way.”

  We returned to the temple some time later, Michael using His power over shadows to make the otherwise long trek a matter of minutes. It was still early in the afternoon, but few others were present in the temple’s foyer. The ones who were, bowed their heads in reverence as He passed, though he paid them no mind, as he usually did.

    “Welcome back, My Lord.” 

  As we reached the inner room of the temple, we found Ariel waiting for us. She was one of the acolytes in the temple, usually responsible for giving sermons to the followers and managing the temple’s upkeep. She also looked after me when Michael did not have any lessons..

  “Sister Ariel,” Michael nodded towards her. “I have business to attend to with the other bishops. I will be leaving just before moonrise, so I trust you will be able to look after the temple in my absence?”

  “Of course, My Lord.” Ariel agreed with a bow. “And what of Narinder?”

  “His lesson for the day is finished.” Michael explained. “He is to study verses until it is time for bed.”

  “Then I would be glad to assist him.” Ariel said as she turned to smile at me. I returned the gesture, though not as widely… Smiling just wasn’t something I was used to, is all.

  “I will be in my quarters making preparations, should you need me.” He said as He turned and began to walk to one of the large doors at the back of the temple. “But see to it that I am not disturbed by anyone else.”

  Ariel bowed until the door closed with its heavy thunk, and then turned to look at me once again.

“How was the lesson, Narinder?” She asked, moving to a nearby table and beginning to clear its clutter. She took a leather-bound book that sat between a pair of bookends and set it in the middle of the cleared space, before gesturing for me to take a seat on the bench in front of it.

  “Today’s lesson was about fragility.” I said as I sat down. “He set off a spark, and it caught on the wind, catching on the thatch roof of a building, and then… The entire town burned. We watched it for a while.”

  “Mm, quite a profound lesson to learn.” She hummed, opening the book and flipping a few of its pages. “And some of the townsfolk managed to escape, yes?”

  “Mhm. Lord Michael said they were lucky.”

  “That they were. But you recall one of the key tenets of Death, yes?”

  “ Life and Death intertwine. Where Life sits, Death is perched on its shoulder. Where Death walks, Life follows in its footsteps. ” I recited.

  Ariel looked down to me with slight smile, before taking her own seat next to me. She took another book from the bookends and began to carefully leaf through it, so I turned to the scripture she had set in front of me.

  They were lines I was already quite familiar with, but considering my instructions from Michael, I looked over them anyway.

  Do not worship Death without respect for it as well.

Those who do now acknowledge its place, 

who see it as malleable, 

go against the pillars of this land.

  To bring back what has Died,

To make it Live again,

Is an affront to how things should be.

Memento mori. Invideo vitae.

  Those last two phrases were at the end of many verses, and I had learned their meaning fairly quickly after arriving at the temple: Remember Death. Envy Life. 

  “Death is always present. You musn’t forget it, as horrible of a thing people may think it is.” Ariel had explained when I asked her upon first reading it. “Life is so much easier for people to embrace, that Death is often overshadowed in importance. If I were to explain it, I would say Death is jealous of how much people like Life. Death is not malicious, it merely exists. And yet everyone seems to fear it.”

  “You’re odd.” Ariel’s voice suddenly broke in, snapping me from my thoughts.

  “Wh-What do you mean?” I stammered, looking to her in surprise.

  “There!” She said, pointing at me. “That! You hardly ever act like that anymore. Ten years old, and you already have the pensiveness of… Well, somebody as old as Lord Michael! And you hardly ever ask questions anymore… When you first arrived, it was kind of hard to get you to stop.”

  Was that… Odd? 

  “I stopped asking questions because Lord Michael didn’t like them.” I mumbled, eyes turning back to the verses, but not really reading them. “He always seemed annoyed when I asked Him something. So I stopped.”

  “Then I’ll need to speak to Him about that.” She sighed. “You’re the first child to really come to the temple, so I wouldn’t be surprised if He’s a bit… Inexperienced, dealing with children.

  “Kids your age… Don’t really act like that, is all. Asking a lot of questions is normal. ” She continued, in a bit of an apologetic tone. “But I guess without other kids for you to hang out with, you’re instead picking things up from the adults around you.”

  She set a gentle hand on my head, giving me a few slow pats. The gesture was kind--much like Ariel herself--but I didn’t exactly feel much assurance from it.

  After a moment, she withdrew her hand and sighed, before going back to the book she had been looking through. Despite trying to focus on my assignment, I kept finding my eyes flicking back to her, noting flashes of color between the pages of her book.

  “What… Are you doing?” I finally asked, having to push the question past my lips, which instinctively tried to seal shut any form of question.

  Ariel smiled again, managing a laugh. She then moved her book over on the table so I could see, and I found my eyes widening in surprise.

    Flowers… The pages were covered in several small flowers and petals, slightly dried and crinkly around the edges, but still recognizable. I carefully took the corner of the page and turned it, finding more of flowers of different species on the next page. 

  “It’s called flower pressing.” She explained as I slowly went through the book, taking time to examine each page. “You take a flower and press it between something, usually the pages of a book, to flatten it. It’s a method of preserving their beauty.”

  “And Lord Michael is fine with this?” I couldn’t help but ask. Wouldn’t something like this be considered against the teachings of Death? To keep something past its life?

  “Yes.” She answered. “In fact, He is the one who suggested it to me, when I expressed my interest in the blooms. The flowers are very much dead, Narinder, but they can still be acknowledged and admired even past that.”

  “Oh.” Was all I could really say in response. 

  I flipped through a few more pages, before pausing on one in particular, eyes shifting between it and Ariel’s clothing. The same bright red flowers she wore on her hip and collar were pressed on a page, striking against the pale color of the paper.

  “These are the same ones as your…”

  “They’re called camellias. There’s many of them on the temple grounds… I think they’re my personal favorite.”

  “They’re pretty.” I said with a nod, giving the book one last glance before closing it and sliding it back in her direction. “Thank you for letting me look.”

  “You’re welcome, Narinder.” Ariel said. “Perhaps you’d like to try it yourself at some point?”

  “Maybe.” Was all I said in response. I didn’t exactly see the point in the hobby other than it being, well, a hobby, so it wasn’t much to my interest. 

    I was about to turn back to my verses, when a sound split the air. Clutching my stomach, my fur stood on end, and my face flushed in embarrassment.

  “Narinder…” Ariel said, though her voice lacked any hostility. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  I lowered my head, hunching until my shoulders were level with my face. 

  “Um… I had breakfast before Lord Michael and I left.”

  “And you were out all day.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t eat anything while you were out?”

  “No.”

  Ariel let out a loud sigh, brow furrowing slightly. 

  “Of course. Because He doesn’t get hungry, so it wouldn’t cross His mind that--” She started to grumble, before shaking her head to calm herself.

  She stood up from her seat, pushing her book of flowers aside before reaching out for my hand. I took it and stood up after her, and she then began to lead me in the direction of the temple’s kitchen.

  “Let’s get you some dinner, then. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

  “Do we have any squid?” I couldn’t help but ask, eyes lighting up. 

  “Of course you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to have some.” She laughed. 

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “I know, I’m just teasing, dear. Well, let’s see if we can find any.”

[mountain-lion-gremlin]

so after some contemplation (and a nice, very warm shower - along with decompressing by watching some Laat Week Tonight lol) I've decided that it's probably best for me to stop overthinking and letting myself fall into a mental spiral from the whole situation.

Because I was.... heavily unregulated and sort of unreasonable over the whole thing. I have incredibly bad anxiety, and it got to the point where I was imagining that he was forced to do things (such as change his discord settings and stop talking to me) when in truth that is highly unlikely.

I cannot put it aby better than I was spiraling, and needed to find stability.

Like how the hell am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to know what's happening? It doesn't help me to be so attached and so incredibly worked up from everything I notice and see. I felt like I was being almost downright creepy. I was driving myself into a very bad mental state, and i need to step back.

Stop being so incredibly attached to something I simply do not have control over.

So, obviously i will continue to be here and wait for when he returns. But I need to detach from this idea that i actually know him and his whole life, down to everything happening in his everyday life and that this is incredibly "abnormal". I simply need a break from this, it's too much mental strain on me and probably even him.

I sent a message asking if he was okay, and that's all i can do. Spiraling out of control won't help me or him at all.

[doodleoogles]

Dec 1st

"Don't say anything else." She stopped me mid-sentence, as she pull a cigarette from her purse. "That's not going to work" was all she could say before lighting the cancer stick.

I stared at the half empty bottle of beer I was holding. She knows me too well. Years of friendship meant countless stories about life, love and everything in between. She knew some of my exes, was there during certain downfalls and cheered on the blissful moments when we were still working together. I lost count of how many drinks we had when we celebrated the fun times and even more when things go haywire. We were both survivors in different areas of our lives. I guess that meant if there's one person who can tell what will really work for me when it comes to the guys I choose, it's her.

Of course it doesn't mean I couldn't decide for myself, matter of fact, I've made waaaay too many decisions on my own - some of those resulted in shattering lives of others, worse was my own. This time I wanted so bad to hear it from someone. Despite hearing the answers from other close friends, it's still slightly different when someone says it out loud - straight to my face and with such genuine stare.

"Definitely he could be on the road to changing himself and becoming a man that is long overdue for someone his age." She shrugged, "but then again, men knows no age. They can be over 40 and still think differently".

"True. Couldn't blame the family for being too supportive. That's a really healthy environment to grow up in." I said as I watch at the smoke from her cigarette billowing above our heads. "I told him he could've done something early on to try and give back to them. Not that it's mandatory"

"Or simply put, have some shame." her tone was firm. As a mother of four wonderful girls, I know she understood. "And surviving is not the kind of life to dream about. We should be living everyday. At this day and age, you simply couldn't be living without a stable source of income know what I mean?? Like an actual goddamn job. The reason he's taking all the time he needs is because there's a fallback, there's a support system just waiting to carry him back up if he fails. You'll never truly fight for a good life, if it is being spoonfed but for how long? Can you wait that long?"

I cannot. I felt my head ache for a bit. There is really no love anymore. That's not the person I fell for years ago. I never knew this side of him when we were close friends. If I'd known it, I never would've pursued him and risk ruining everything between us and our circle of friends. It was a mistake to try but how else can I find out what he's really like? I hate to break another good thing going on but then I think about what is actually making me happy in this relationship is not really him. It's the friends we have around us. As much as I want for things to stay the same, I have to admit the fact that they will not be. These people don't need to take sides but there will definitely be changes before everybody moves on.

It's the first night of December. The lights are bright from the Christmas decorations all around us. Christmas songs are playing in the background everywhere you turn. Almost everyone has this irritating lustrous look in their eyes. It's the season of long holidays, family get togethers, forgiveness, celebrations and here I am contemplating on how to break a heart with minimal casualties. I have always been selfish, needy, chaotic ball of a person. Even when my intentions are good, they always come out wrong.

I thought this time would be different but life, as always, have other plans....

[writethiswaywithme]

A Voyage Within

I might share with you that getting to know Him was not as easy as I initially thought. Why? Because I believe my trust was as strong as the stone I had before. Yet, I was wrong.

I talk to Him, yet my heart can't speak as deeply for I am like a shallow ocean having a little depth. And I cannot deny that this is how I previously made known with Him.

In my very first week, I questioned Him about the reason behind this incident befalling me. There isn't a single day when I don't contemplate Him, as I harbored doubts about His presence.

Yet, a scripture once said to me, "The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need." It was the very first scripture I encountered and it bestowed upon me profound wisdom.

Since then, I have drawn closer to Him every day. He has consistently given me answers because I did not stop talking to Him. It's as if I am drawn to everything that comes from Him.

On a daily basis, He serves as a constant reminder for me to remain calm and not to be burdened, assuring that He will grant me rest. He expressed the importance of trusting Him and letting all the worries and concerns go.

I did. It's like taking a medicine every day to make me calm. By simply reaching out to Him, He readily provides what I need. Just imagine the immense power He possesses, the unwavering consistency He exhibits, and how faithfully He fulfills His promises.

I felt like I was wrong for allowing weariness to overcome me due to my lack of faith in Him. But He understood me and He continues to keep me strong unlike before, when I was lost.

Nevertheless, in this chaotic season I find myself in, perhaps it is a blessing in disguise for me to stand firm by myself and unraveling the mysteries along the way.

Instead, this season should have been lean, as it will bring brighter outcomes at the end of the day. There hasn't been a single day when I haven't been learning, as each day unfolds as a new voyage of discovery.

Therefore, I must say to you, and to anyone who reads these messages, the importance of gratitude for whatever circumstances befall you. Simply reach out to Him, for He patiently awaits your presence by His side.

[siravalondulac]

xxi. and so the devil returns whence he came from

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle is faced with what words can do word count: 4123 warnings: detailed descriptions of wounds and death, mentioned and attempted rape

masterlist

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The day had been uneventful. The week had been uneventful. Hopping from town to town, from inn to inn. The only constant in her life was Starlight at this point.

(She did not know how the horse always found its way back to her, but she was glad for it.)

One of the inn's other guests, Lucas, had situated himself at her table and had struck up a conversation. He was… nice, she supposed, but she had barely any energy to entertain him.

Pulling at the chain of her necklace, she was about to excuse herself, when a hooded figure appeared beside their table. Looking up into his face, her breath hitched.

“Hey, Lucas? Could you leave me alone with my friend here?”

The other guest looked up in confusion at the hooded figure, but eventually slipped out from the bench, and gave way for him to sit down across from her.

Benjiamin had not changed since the last time she had seen him. A scar ran across his right eye - his beautiful, deep brown eye with that golden spot in it.

“Elle-”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered angrily. “If anyone recognises you, you're dead.”

“I had to come see you.”

“How did you find me, anyways?”

He hesitated. “I never lost you.”

She furrowed her brows. There was no way he had known where she was when she did not even know.

“Elle, look - you’re in danger.”

“I am the Golden Paladin, when am I ever not-”

“No, it’s more serious than that,” he threw in. “I received a letter from Lord Tywin. He told me to move my troops towards the Twins, and to prepare to catch stray wolves, whatever that means. He said that we will soon be rid of every opposition in the Riverlands.”

Every opposition. Her grandfather must not know what had gone down between her and Benjiamin, or he would not have shared such important information with him.

And- The Stark troops were marching northbound, that one was widely known. But she had also been moving in the same direction through those past few weeks. What if her grandfather had found out?

Tywin Lannister, the mastermind behind the Rains of Castamere. Whatever he had planned, it couldn't be pretty.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Without hesitation, he pulled a scroll out of his pocket and laid it down before her. Reading through it, the words stated exactly what Benjiamin had said. She prodded at the red wax sigil.

“Thank you for letting me know, I suppose,” she said carefully. “But why?”

His lip trembled, and he seemingly had to collect himself before answering.

“I- I want you to come with me.”

“So you can take me straight to-”

“No! Please, just listen to me.” He shifted in his seat. “I want you to come back with me to High Anura. I can protect you there, just- Just until this whole thing is settled. Lord Tywin, King Joffrey, none of them will be able to touch you there.”

“I can protect myself quite well.”

“For now, but Lord Tywin's words worry me. Everyone knows what he is capable of, and I cannot bear to see you harmed.”

“Why do you care so much,” she hissed, “what happens to me?”

She almost expected him to scream it back at her - words she had never expected to hear, least of all from him. But he simply played around with the golden ring on his finger.

“I-” he began, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “I have been thinking, these past few weeks, about the last time I saw you.” His eyes met hers. “You had the chance to kill me, and yet you did not. Why?”

Why had she not killed him?

It was a question she herself had been contemplating. It should have an easy answer, and yet, for some reason, she had been struggling with the situation.

This was not a sept, she reminded herself. Not a sept.

“I do not kill,” she finally said. “I never have, and I do not intend to start now.”

“But I am your enemy.” He leaned forward, arms pressing into the table. “You have suffered so much from my actions. I am sure the gods would allow it.”

“Well, Benjiamin, some people have principles they stick to, no matter the resistance. You might learn something from that.”

“I've been thinking about that…”

“My principles?”

“Yes.” He leaned back again. “You are so stead-fast in everything you believe in. Nothing shakes you, nothing can divert you from your path. I respect that, and I- I wish I could be like that.”

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised. The demons battling inside me have yet to find their equal.”

“And you're still here.” She had rarely seen Benjiamin so… She could not even think of a word. “You stay strong, even with everything going on. This is a strength I could only dream of.”

“What are you trying to tell me here?”

“I- I want you- I want you to teach me. How to… be strong.” He let a breath loose.

“So that you can kill people without remorse from now on?”

“No, I-”

“What do you want, Ben?”

He looked scared. “I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.”

She leaned forward, meeting him half-way. “Then you need to figure that out on your own. Find me again when you have an answer.”

They were too close again. She did not want a repeat of their interactions in his tent, in any shape or form. Quickly, she averted her gaze to scan the room.

People were watching them. Some of them in pure interest, some of them with their hands on their swords.

“You should leave,” she whispered. “Stark forces are near. Best get out while you still can.”

“Elle-”

“Go home, Ben.”

He took a deep breath. Then he pulled something else from his pocket and laid it before her on the table.

Her dagger. Much cleaner than she remembered, but her dagger still.

She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Thought you might want it back. I don't have much use for it anyways.”

He stood up, and disappeared through the door.

She left shortly after him, saddled Starlight and rode off through the narrow forest paths.

Her dagger was nestled firmly against her arm once more. She had never expected to see it again after her flight, mourning it and the memories it carried despite whom she had gotten it from. Or perhaps because of whom she had gotten it from.

But now, with the lion above her heart and the snake on her wrist, she felt secure again. Like her parents were looking over her, even from afar.

She wondered where she should head to. Honour would dictate she turn north and find the Stark forces to warn them of what was coming. She had the letter Benjiamin had forgotten in the inn in her pocket - perhaps if they read it they would believe her.

Or not. It was, after all, a missive written by one enemy, sent to another, and found by a person none of them had ever met. It was not unlikely they'd rather imprison her than listen to her.

Her quiet speculations were interrupted when Starlight suddenly stopped. The mare rightened her head as her ears pointed up. Elle cocked her head, trying to listen to what had made her horse react like that-

She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know you're there, Benjiamin. You can come out.”

Nothing happened for a few moments, then trees rustled and Benjiamin emerged, sitting upon a black stallion, the hood of his cloak removed and revealing his dark, messy hair. A bow was fastened to his saddle, the quiver hanging around his waist.

“I suppose I was not as discreet as I had wanted.”

She laughed incredulously. “Have you been following me?”

“And what if I have, little Paladin?”

She cursed that wicked smile of his, not knowing if she wanted to punch or kiss it off his face.

“Where are you headed?” she asked.

“Wherever you go.”

“And if I go to Robb Stark?”

“I know you would never intentionally endanger someone. Even your worst enemy.”

She took a breath to calm herself (her nerves, her mind, her heart), before she urged Starlight to continue down the path.

Benjiamin and his steed fell into step beside them, the path thankfully wide enough to allow her to keep her distance.

“I-” she started. Should she even talk to him? “I thank you for returning my dagger to me. It means a great deal to me.”

“You're welcome. Though I still do not know how such a beautiful object came into your possession.”

“My father gave it to me.”

He chuckled. “The only thing my father ever gave me was this ring.” He raised his left hand, on which the golden sigil ring she had noticed before was located.

It was the first time he had mentioned his father, and she longed to ask him more about the man. His mother had not been a good influence on him, but what about his father? Where was he? What did he think about the man his son had become? She wondered if he was even still alive.

But she did not ask. Because she did not care. Not at all. The less she knew about the man that had haunted her sleep for moons, the better.

They rode in silence for a while, then. She refused to look over at him, not even allowing herself to steal side-ways glances.

“Elle, I have to tell you something.”

He sounded serious - too serious.

“What is it?” She tried to hide the concern in her voice.

“I-”

The pounding of hooves sounded from behind, accompanied by shouts.

“Shit, how did they find me?” he said frantically.

“How did who find you?”

“Stark soldiers. They have been after me for a day now, but I thought I had shaken them off.”

One of the soldiers came hurtling around the bend, and without sharing another word, they both had set off.

She had known, deep down, that being around him would throw her into one of these situations sooner or later. Despite their… truce, he was still the feared and hated Butcher of Sallydance to all around them, no matter what positive feelings she might start to develop for him. She had merely hoped-

“You have to leave me,” he screamed over the winds, his black cloak billowing behind him, as his bow string snapped forward. “If they see you with me-”

“They already have!” An arrow whirled past her own head. She only barely suppressed the urge to scream. “There, into the forest.”

She made a hard turn to the right, Benjiamin directly behind her.

The woods were her friend, she had never once been betrayed by them. They both would be safe there, would manage to escape the soldiers, and then talk about what to do next.

An arrow landed in the tree beside her with a loud thump. Benjiamin answered with one of his own.

The land to her right dropped off sharply. She steered Starlight further to the left, careful not to endanger them both.

She wondered if she should simply surrender to the Stark soldiers, and try to convince them to spare Benjiamin. It was unlikely, but if she leveraged her identity as the Golden Paladin - and as a knight! - it might work. Could tell them Arya Stark was alive, as well.

Her mare could only run so fast through the trees and roots and bushes. Perhaps she should dismount and continue on-

Something hard slammed into her side and threw her off her horse. All the air was knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground and immediately started hurtling down an incline. Things scratched at her skin and pulled at her hair as she fell further and further and further.

Finally, after what had felt like forever, she slowed and came to a stand-still. Looking up, she saw another body laying in the leaves on the ground.

“What was that for?” she said angrily.

Benjiamin groaned as he turned his head to her. “The arrow would have otherwise hit you.”

“And there was no other idea in that smart brain of yours?”

“I'm- I'm sorry.”

There was no time to be angry now, she told herself. She could always scream at and punch him later, when they were not in mortal danger.

“Come, this way.” She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her body.

Benjiamin righted himself slower than her, yet still followed her on uneasy feet.

The trees around them grew sparser yet taller; foliage covered the entire ground, and the half-gone forest canopy let in the warm autumn sun. If she had had the time, she would have stayed and stared at it.

“We must move faster,” she told Benjiamin. “Otherwise they will catch up with us.”

Why was he so slow? Was he not realising how dire their situation was?

“Yeah, yeah, just- I just need a- a minute.”

He sounded out of breath, and when she turned around, fully intent on grabbing his arm to pull him after her, she saw him stumbling. And clutching his left side.

“Ben, what- What is it?”

“Nothing, I just-” He braced himself against a tree, before he slid down against it. “I just need a moment to rest. Then we can continue.”

She knelt down beside him, having an inkling of an idea what happened, but not wanting to believe it. Until she was forced to when he removed his bloody hand from his tunica.

The arrow.

“No, Ben-”

She quickly pulled the sticky fabric up. The skin and flesh was ripped apart, blood oozing out of the wound. Her hands were dripping in the red substance simply by being too close to it.

“You need a healer, Ben, and quickly. If we can get you on a horse-”

“I like when you call me that.”

“What?”

“Ben. No one's ever called me that.” He smiled.

“This is really not the time-”

“It is. I have to-” He tried sitting up straighter, yet only winced in pain.

“What you have to is see a healer. Or even better, a maester.”

She tried her hardest not to let it show, to keep her composure for herself and Ben, but she was slowly becoming distressed. Frantic, even. And she shouldn't be - this was her enemy, the one person she had grown to hate like no other. She did not understand why she was feeling this way.

“No, please,” he tried once again. His hands shifted, and he quickly slid a piece of metal over one of her fingers. Looking down, she instantly recognised his golden ring. Before she could question him over this, he had already closed his hand around hers.

“Return this ring to my father.” His voice shook, almost from exertion. “Please. I beg you. Tell him I’m sorry.”

“You tell him that yourself, Ben.”

She tried to remove the ring, to not accept what he was implying, but his bloodied fingers held hers in a tight grip.

“There is something else.” He was trying to distract her. “When you were- At my tent, you talked about every title you have gathered. Every thing that you are. Knight, criminal, lady, witch - I would like to exchange lady for princess.”

Her mouth dropped open, the tear on her cheek forgotten.

He tried to chuckle, but was quickly forced to stop by yet another wince. “Yeah, I figured out your little riddle. The lion kind of gave it away.”

She tried to overplay her sob with a chuckle. “It was a bit easy, I suppose.”

“Have to make it more difficult next time.”

Yes. Next time. There would be a next time.

“But… You have not told anyone.”

Because if he had, she would certainly have been dragged away by Lannister soldiers long ago.

“I just thought-” He coughed- “that perhaps there was a reason you kept yourself hidden, Cerelle.”

A strange feeling spread inside her stomach at the mention of her name. She had felt it before, when Jon had said it at their parting. How it came to be or what it meant she did not know.

He laid a hand on her cheek. Something laid in his eyes, a look she could not quite place. Yet before she could ask about it (or enjoy the feeling of his skin on hers) the pounding of hooves sounded across the forest floor.

She ripped around, attempting to stand up and place herself before Ben to protect him, but before she could do anything, a soldier had already grabbed her arm and dragged her towards him.

“Now, who do we have here?”

He pressed his face close to hers, closer than any sane person would. She punched him in the throat with her free hand without much thought, making him lose his grip on her and dropping her to the floor.

She readied herself to jump up and run back to Ben, when a male voice said, “Restrain her,” and two pairs of hands wrapped themselves around her arms, forcing her to kneel amongst the leaves on the ground.

“Let me go!”

A man stepped into her field of vision. He was tall, with a prominent beard and dark hair looking out from under his helmet.

“To think I'd ever find you, Butcher,” he said, drawing his sword. 

“Please,” she screamed out. “Don't harm him.”

The man turned around to her. “I see you've found yourself a friend. Or perhaps an accomplice?”

She wanted to glare at him, to tell him who it was he was talking to, but her gaze wandered further. To Ben, cowering on the ground.

Something strange laid in his eyes. Fear. Pain. Conviction. And two words.

Forgive me.

“Whore's more like it. She's pretty, don't you think?”

His whole expression had changed, to a version of him she had never thought she'd see again. Had hoped to never see again.

The man laughed. “On that we agree.”

“She was far too easy to catch. Women are simple creatures - make them think you've changed, that you're good, and they follow every word you say.”

“Ben, what are you-”

“She didn't even know who I was. Had a real good scare when she saw me kill a whole family in front of her. I doubt she will forget it or the fucking I gave her afterwards any time soon.”

He was lying. He had to be. She would remember such a thing. All their encounters were burned into her memory, doomed to haunt her until her dying day. She would remember if… If she had not suppressed it. If- If having sex- If having been raped by him had not been so traumatic her own mind had fabricated a lie to indicate she had been in control. That whatever had happened had actually been enjoyable, the way it had done with-

The man stepped closer and looked down at her, terrifying her with his smile.

“She doesn't look like any whore I've seen.”

“You should have seen her before me - most virtuous and pious maiden to ever grace this land. I had so much fun ruining her.”

The soldier grabbed her face. “You do seem like I'd be enjoying myself with you.”

“She's free to use. Just don't damage her face - I far too enjoy looking at it.”

Free to use. She had never told him about her past desire to wait until marriage, nor how it killed her inside on some days that she was no longer a maiden, no matter how consensual it had been. He couldn’t know, couldn’t even suspect-

The man finally let go of her, slashing his blade through the air as he turned towards Ben. “You are in no place to make demands, Butcher. Not after you’ve just killed two more of us.”

He tried to stand up, to draw his sword, yet he quickly fell to his knees again. The soldier laughed as he threw him over, Ben hitting the earth with a soft thump and a loud groan. Blood soaked his clothes, his hands, and the ground beneath. She thrashed in the arms holding her down, trying to run over to him and protect him, no matter what he had said previously.

“Looks like the great Butcher is wounded.” The man seemed almost giddy. “Shall we release him from his suffering?”

“You will regret ever crossing me once my men arrive,” Ben growled.

The man kicked him in the stomach, laughing. “What men? You’re alone.” He raised his sword.

“Don’t touch him,” she sobbed.

Bewildered, the man looked over to her. “So loyal, even after everything you have said about her.” His gaze focused on Ben again. “I think I will quite enjoy making her mine. Fucking her until she has completely forgotten you’ve ever existed.”

Ben laughed, yet it sounded false. “Do it, I do not care. She knows nothing about my plans, she’s useless to me.”

The man laughed. “Too bad I won't make you feel the same pain you have inflicted on me.” He kicked him in the stomach, directly onto the wound. “You're already too far gone. So we'll make this short.” And with that, he buried his sword in Ben's chest.

She screamed.

His body became limp, head rolling to the side, its wide eyes looking at her as the life faded from them.

“Silence her.”

A fist slammed into the side of her face. The hands around her arms let go of her as she fell forward to the ground.

Distantly, she heard the men laughing, might have even seen two more joining in the mockery had she not continued staring at the body. Unable to look away. Thinking of how the blood had felt on her hands. Weeping at the pull around her heart.

She had failed yet again. Someone had died because of her yet again. And she did not even know why he had betrayed her. He couldn't- He couldn't have meant what he said. Then why-

Someone grabbed his lifeless body and threw it into a ditch a few metres ahead. The water splashed on the impact as a hand wrapped itself around her neck, pulling her up.

The man holding her shifted his grip to her throat, pressing down on it shortly to see its effect, and grinned at the desperate look in her eyes.

“Now let's get to you, whore.”

Her tunica had likely already ripped from how desperately she wanted to get out of the hold the soldiers had on her, and she wouldn't be surprised if her voice would soon become sore as well.

“No, please! He lied, I'm not a-” She took a shaky breath. “A whore.”

She clawed at his hand, yet it remained steadfast. It pressed down on where her scar had been, threatening to restrict her airflow, throwing her back to Braavos, to that empty warehouse-

“Of course you’d think that.” He started petting her hair. “Poor girl, Imma treat you well.”

“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, ripping herself out of his grasp.

The man quickly grabbed her hair before she could fall back, tilting her head backwards to force her to look into his eyes. “You should be glad someone wants you after your dalliance with…”

He trailed off, his gaze dropping to her chest. One of his hands came up and grabbed her necklace, inspecting-

Her necklace.

The tumble down the hill must have dislodged it from its hiding place underneath her tunica, laying it bare for all the world to see.

“A Lannister,” he spat.

If she had not been panicking before, she was now. The man had hunted Ben for an entire day and mocked him as he had killed him. There was no telling what he would do to her - a woman he saw as a whore.

He threw her to the ground, immediately laying his sword on her throat, every sign of a smile wiped off his face.

“Wait,” another man said. “Perhaps we should bring her to the king. He'll already be furious that the Butcher is dead, maybe she will soften the blow.”

“He already said she knows nothing.”

Something warm trickled down her neck.

“Maybe she is important,” another man said. “If the Butcher was interested in her, the Old Lion might be as well.”

The man seemed to fight with himself, before grunting and removing the blade. She took a deep breath.

“Tie her up. She's riding with me.”

previous | next

author's note: hope you had fun, here's this chapter from ben's pov

also can't wait for tomorrow, we're meeting someone very familiar

[the-nameless-juan]

CORE - THE SUMMER LADY

WOE - REVERSE 9 OF WANDS

WEAL - The Hanged Man

WITHIN - Reverse The Lovers VI

WITHOUT - The World

YOU ARE AN INFLUENCER [COMPLIMENTARY]

DONT DIE ON THIS HILL

STOP CONTEMPLATE RECONSIDER

JUST TALK

OUR WITHIN AS SEEN WITHOUT

What is the nature of influence, of inspiration, ask yourself, am I something a younger more naive version of myself would like to aspire to? Contemplate this as you plan your next moves and goals. Life isn’t fair many say, but rarely do people stop and think that they should do something to change that. If you want change, it’s best to start with yourself, and work outwards from there. Don’t try and impose it on others, but do talk if they ask, you would be surprised what can be accomplished by just talking. But remember, some will simply not listen, and take your improvement as an attack on themselves. You cannot force improvement on others, just as other an not force regression upon you. Take stock of influences and influenced, and choose your next steps.

[casspurrjoybell-23]

The Raven - Chapter 27

*Warning Adult Content*

By the time Henry finally visits the tower, it is well past sundown and his heart is weighed down with immense guilt.

He cannot stop wondering whether that strange noise outside his room earlier had been his precious Caleb.

The sheer idea that his ruby-eyed boy had been distraught enough to make such a heart-shattering sound has a bottomless pit growing within the prince's belly.

Had Caleb come looking for him, only to find him entertaining the princess in his bedroom?

Henry needs to be more careful and considerate of his raven's feelings from here on out, he does not believe he could survive losing him to such a misunderstanding.

Prince Henry holds his breath as he lightly knocks on the door at the top of the tower, hoping his sweet Caleb is not upset with him.

Henry slowly opens the barrier between them when his love's voice is heard in his head.

The breath rushes out of him as his gaze lands upon the sight of the beautiful midnight-colored raven sitting on the windowsill, those mesmerizing scarlet orbs staring out at the garden in typical Caleb fashion.

"Caleb?" Henry calls, his voice revealing precisely how unsteady and unsure he is at this exact moment. "Are you alright, love?" he asks carefully, his heart hammering loudly as he awaits a response.

Unsure how to answer the question truthfully, the raven replies with a short nod, his gaze still transfixed by the flowers below.

Both boys remain silent for several moments, contemplating how best to relieve the palpable tension so unbearably pulsating between them.

Deciding to simply be straightforward and honest, the raven tells his prince...

I am experiencing emotions that I am not aware of how to process at this moment.

"Will you tell me about them?" asks Henry, a small wave of relief crashing into him at the sound of his little bird's voice in his mind.

The fact that Caleb is speaking to him could only be considered a good sign, right?

Perhaps there is still a chance to save whatever this is between them.

Henry steps further into the room, closing the door behind him and eliminating much of the space between himself and the raven.

He wishes to be as close as possible, yet he would not want to make his ruby-eyed boy feel uncomfortable with the close proximity, given the strain between them at this time.

The raven nods once again, a light sigh echoing in Henry's thoughts as the raven jumps directly into conversation, baring his soul to the prince all at once.

I was at your room earlier and heard you laughing with a female. Although I want to trust you, I am having difficulty understanding my emotions, he says as truthfully as possible. I have never experienced this before and I do not know what to do about it, I do not think I like feeling this way, Caleb admits quietly.

Caleb was outside his room when the princess was there.

It must have looked far worse than it really was, the prince already realizes how this discrepancy could cause unwarranted heartache.

Henry can only imagine the unfamiliar thoughts and feelings overwhelming his little bird right now.

Hoping to offer Caleb some comfort, he says...

"If you will shift into your human form, I would love to hold you while I explain myself."

As the raven immediately shifts, the blond scoops him into his arms, holding him impossibly close.

Wrapped around each other in a reassuring grasp, both boys sigh in relief, the fear of their relationship ending suddenly soothed.

Caleb presses his face into Henry's shoulder, seeking more contact and comfort from his prince.

Henry seats himself upon Caleb's bed, pulling the other boy into his lap without untangling their limbs from each other.

"My mother insisted I spend time with Princess Elaina," he explains, gently running his fingers through the long black hair he adores so much.

"The princess was overly clingy while we toured the castle, her incessant need to touch me making my skin crawl. So I excused myself to my room for a few minutes alone, hoping that creating some physical distance between us would calm the obsession so obviously possessing her. Unfortunately, the princess followed me to my bedroom. Because I had not closed the door properly, she invited herself in without bothering to ask my permission."

Henry's brows furrow, the disdain for his previous interactions with the princess evidently displayed on his handsome features. He continues...

"I believe that my mother instructed Princess Elaina to do so, as, for a while, my mother hovered outside my bedroom door. I engaged the princess with small talk to not upset my mother so early on in Princess Elaina's stay."

Caleb nods slowly, his expression scrunching as he thinks over Henry's words.

"So, my feelings are... unjustified?" he asks, the simple thought that he had overreacted soothing him immensely.

He really should have more faith in his prince, however, he has never before been in such a situation.

And if he has learned anything about emotions, it is that they cannot be controlled, it is best to allow them to be felt to their extent in order to save oneself the damage it may cause to keep them contained.

"Caleb," Henry says, tenderly tipping the other boy's chin upward to meet his eyes. "Your feelings are valid. Whatever you feel is okay, please know that. There had simply been a misunderstanding in this case and I thank you for allowing me to explain myself."

"To clarify, you still do not want to marry the princess?" asks the black-haired beauty after soaking in the new information.

Finally, his overworking mind can rest.

"Never, love," the prince replies, smoothing back Caleb's hair. "She is still a female, which is definitely not my cup of tea. And most importantly, she is not you."

Henry places a soft kiss on the other boy's forehead, followed by one on his nose.

Soon, Caleb's entire face is being littered with kisses, much to his delight.

"Do you forgive me?" Henry whispers, his lips still brushing against the pale skin of the boy seated in his lap.

Looking deeply into those crystal blue eyes, the raven responds...

"There is nothing to forgive," before meeting Henry's lips with his own.

Their kisses grow more passionate as their hunger for each other builds, their hands wandering over untouched territory for the first time.

The prince's hand slips beneath Caleb's shirt, his fingers tenderly caressing the soft skin.

A noise of approval escapes Caleb's mouth as Henry's lips make contact with his neck.

"Let me make it up to you," the blond whispers against his lover's ear.

He waits silently for a nod of confirmation before removing the raven's shirt as he gently lays him back against the mattress, his lips and hands roaming freely down his chest.

The little noises coming from Caleb are like music to his ears, spurring him on.

When Henry has removed the remainder of Caleb's clothes, he takes a moment to admire the boy's beautiful body before descending once again, his mouth greedily moving lower on the now exposed pale skin.

Though wholly inexperienced, the way that Caleb's hands tightly grasp the bedsheets and the pleasured gasps and moans filling the air prove that he cannot be entirely terrible at it.

"Henry," Caleb cries out in profound pleasure, losing himself to the feelings consuming him as Henry continues to draw him closer to a release he has never known before.

Caleb definitely is not upset with him anymore.

[lastoneout]

How my fiance prefers to shop:

Efficiency above all else, our priority is getting in and out as fast as possible. (Doesn't matter who's with him or if he's alone, it's the same.)

Only go into areas or aisles where you need something. Make sure the path you take is efficient as well, walking down aisles you don't need anything in is to be avoided at all costs.

Beeline to those needed things, grab them, only contemplate items/scan coupons if absolutely necessary .

Immediately go to the self check-out. Try to get the one that is quieter than the others and doesn't yell when you move things around in the bagging area(we actually shop at a specific store because it's the only one near us where the self check-out is quiet and lax about moving things, for my fiance this is the most important thing to keep in mind when deciding where to shop).

Leave.

How I prefer to shop:

Alone. I struggle to do things, anything, when someone is watching. I don't know why but I simply stop being able to perform tasks if someone is watching me.

I am extremely forgetful, so my System involves writing a list, but also going through almost every area/aisle and looking at things so I give myself the highest chance of remembering anything I may have forgotten. Also going up and down every aisle is soothing?? Idk it just is.

I go through them in a specific order, produce first, then up and down each aisle like a snake, and then we hit dairy and meat(which is usually in a weird place) and then go to the check out.

Meandering is intentional, again I need time to remember things. I will stand there and consider if I need/want things or if I don't for several minutes if needed.

Take time to laugh at any weird products you see. (I'm a whimsical bitch.)

Take time to scan coupons.

Take breaks to think through each recipe I plan on making so I don't forget anything because, I cannot stress enough, I will forget why I'm even there if I don't build in as much time for remembering as possible into my System.

Check out with a person. I'll go for the self check-out if I need to, but I don't really enjoy them because there's not enough space in the bagging area for all my groceries + and I'm bad at bagging things + the loud noises + high concentration of people + not a lot of space especially if you have a cart + feeling that I'm going to do something wrong + PRESSURE TO GET OUT OF EVERYONE'S WAY is distressing.

Leave.

How I shop when I am following my fiance's system:

Awkwardly follow him around despite the fact that I'm the one with the shopping list and he doesn't like people walking behind him.

Second guess everything, feel bad about frivolous purchases, get stressed out. (<- He doesn't make me feel bad for spending money, I grew up poor and with abusive caregivers and am struggling to not feel awful about buying things I want and/or potentially doing things Wrong somehow and getting in trouble. The rest is just the whole "I don't like being watched while I do things" issue.)

Feel pretty bad about wasting time and walking inefficiently, almost run in to people because for some reason this style of shopping makes me lose my spatial awareness.

Have to double back a lot and still end up forgetting half the things I came to get.

Go directly home after because not shopping how I want to is, for some reason, extremely exhausting.

Not complain because while I'm a neurodivergent introvert my fiance is even more of a neurodivergent introvert and also that people are weirdly hostile to him in public because they don't like the way he looks?? So I know he's going to crash harder than I do when we get home from dealing with lights and sounds and strangers glaring at him and/or giving him shit for wearing an N95 which happens constantly when I'm not standing directly beside him(me being a short girl-adjacent creature with a buzz cut who uses mobility aids tends to make people think I'm recovering from cancer and leave us alone).

So yeah we just have competing access needs re: shopping that clash in a weird way, and the world would probably be a better place if neither of us ever had to go to the grocery store. (He also apologized when I explained why I act weird at the store, and we're gonna work something out to try to minimize Shopping Stress for BOTH of us.)

there's getting diagnosed for real and then there's having your fiance show you youtube shorts by autistic people talking about their habits and going "YOU!! YOU DO THIS!!!!!!"

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (3/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: Lemon, 18+

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage, talk of potential pregnancy

Word Count: 2461

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: Chapter three! I thought this entire fic would be around three chapters, but we're not even close to done yet!

Enjoy

The guest room isn't so bad. He becomes very acquainted with the unused room as his wife had elected to ignore him for the foreseeable future.

After the fourth night that he'd slept and attended meals with his parents without (y/n), Walburga brings up the absence of his wife in her own  special way . "You cannot sleep in a different room than your wife."

Regulus holds back from rolling his eyes, "you and father do not share a bedroom."

Walburga's ever-present frown deepens, "We already have a son."

Even after all these years, he hates that she pretends Sirius never existed.

"So this is about sex," he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

"It is."

"These things don't happen overnight."

"They don't happen if you do not participate in the happening," Walburga taps her manicured fingernails on the table. 

"What do you want me to do? I can't force her to sleep with me." Besides, if they did continue to have sex, he will unquestionably use contraceptive charms to ensure his wife did not conceive. 

Walburga studies his face, "If you do not try, you will not see success."

In an attempt to change the subject, he blurts out, "She is miserable here--"

"She will be content soon. Once she has the first child."

Orion takes this opportunity to speak up, "possibly you should take your new wife out of the country."

"Out of the country?" Regulus frowns.

"Take her out of this house on your honeymoon. Maybe visit Paris. It couldn't hurt after the past few days."

Honeymoon... he was hoping that he could avoid taking (y/n) on one of those. But, if Orion thinks this could make (y/n) happy... well, he supposes he can sacrifice the time.

***

Walburga catches him before he can make his way out of the dining room. 

"You must not cast those charms any longer."

Regulus would rather his mother not tell him he can and cannot use contraceptives... 

"Who says I did?"

Walburga squints angrily, "Next time you do your duty as the next Master of the house, make sure you give your seed time to take hold within your wife."

He draws his lips into a tight line, turning to leave the conversation before it became any more invasive.

No promises would be made to his mother or anyone else over the use of contraceptive charm. There was no need for a child in this present time. Things of that nature could wait.

***

"What are you doing here?" (y/n) asks when he walks into their shared bedroom.

"It's nice to see you too, wife."

She rolls her eyes, turning back to her novel.

"You were not at dinner tonight." Regulus unbuttons the top of his shirt.

"I wasn't hungry," she says without looking up from the book.

Regulus continues to undress, removing the cufflinks from his dress shirt. 

"Mother was wondering where you were."

"I'm sure she was."

He watches her for a moment. "We will be leaving soon."

(y/n) looks at him confused, "Who will?"

"You and I."

"Leaving where?"

"On our... honeymoon."

"What do you mean?"

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, "I'm taking you to Paris on our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon..." (y/n) looks like she's contemplating giving him a  flat-out   no.

"I can tell you are tired of the house. The apartments I've secured are much  lighter  than Grimmauld Place. Moreover, it has an excellent view of the city."

"I don't know..."

Regulus steps forwards, taking her hand in his. "Just spare two weeks at the least." The pad of his thumb rubs underneath the ring on her left hand. He's secretly pleased to see she has not taken it off despite the state of their relationship currently.

"Regulus," (y/n) tries to move away from him.

"Please," he breathes out the word, "please, I'm trying."

(y/n) analyzes his face, "what would we do in Paris?"

"I could think of many things we could do."

She doesn't respond to his suggestive words.

"Is that a yes?"

"I'll think about it."

"We're leaving tomorrow. I've already made the arrangements."

"You can't just-- just--"

"I thought you'd be happy to get out of the house."

She sighs, her fingers worrying the dark fabric of her skirts, "Ok."

"Excellent," he brings her hand up to his lips, "I look forward to sharing your bed again, Mistress Black."

***

Dressed in a violet dress, I stick out, standing next to my in-laws and husband. Which is fine by me. I rather stick out than look like I'm a part of a funeral precession  every damned day .

"Are you ready?" Regulus holds his arm out to me.

I gently place my arm on his, nodding.

"Owl, if you decide to stay longer than planned," Orion looks to his son first than to me. He's got a small smile on his lips. I smile back politely.

"Naturally," Regulus says before apparating us away from the house.

I hate apparition. Hate it with my entire being. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly doesn't stop the uncomfortable movement of tumbling through time and space.

When I'm able to open my eyes, my fingers gripping Regulus's arm uncomfortably tight, I'm met with the sight of a large brick building.

"Are you okay?" Regulus steps in front of me. Cupping my face, he looks at me with concern.

I open my lips slightly, trying to find the words despite my churning stomach, "I just-- I just need a moment."

He nods, not letting go of my face. Then, almost absentmindedly, his thumb brushes against my cheek.

"I'm fine now. Where are we?" I squeak out, trying to distract him from continuing to touch my face like so.

Regulus snaps out of whatever was happening between us, his hands dropping from my face as he turns to look up at the building. 

"This is where we will be staying." He hesitates for a moment before gently grasping my hand in his, "Do you mind?"

I shake my head no.

"Let me show you the apartment." Regulus helps me up the three steps of the building before holding the door open. He motions towards the staircase, placing his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the large staircase.

Regulus unlocks the heavy wooden door, pushing it open for me.

The sunshine in this room shines brighter than in Grimmauld Place. Probably due to the airy curtains and the creamy champagne color that the walls are painted.

It's a complete contrast to the rooms we share at Grimmauld Place. 

"What do you think?" Regulus gently pulls me into the room.

I turn to admire the white comforter of the bed, running my fingers against the soft material. 

"It's beautiful."

Turning, I catch Regulus's eye. He's leaning against the dresser, watching me intently.

I bite the inside of my cheek, "What are you looking at?" 

"Am I not allowed to look at my wife?"

"Obviously, you are. If looking is all that is on your mind."

He actually smiles, looking down at the ground momentarily, " we are  on our honeymoon."

Rolling my eyes, I begin to walk past him towards the bathroom. However, Regulus's fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from exiting the conversation.

"Regulus--" I find myself in his arms, his fingers tilting my chin towards him. Even as I despise the way he's dragged me into his arms, I can't say I hate the feeling of his body pressed against mine.

"Do you want this?" I hate that he's so diligent with asking for consent before he kissed me or initiated any--  activities . It would be so much easier to hate him if he was a beast of a man.

My contemplation of his question only lasts a few seconds before I lean up to kiss him.

Regulus makes a sound of surprise but quickly regains the dominance, his hands cupping my face. 

Slowly, he begins to back us up towards the bed, pulling me onto his lap as he sits down on the white comforter. 

"No," I pull away from the kiss, still straddling his thighs.

Regulus's lips are red as he looks at me confused, "You don't--?"

I shake my head, "I'm starving."

He smiles, tucking a flyaway hair back behind my ear, "We'll find you some food then."

***

(y/n) sips her tea. She hasn't spoken a word to him since he brought her to the wizard cafe.

"How is your food?"

She sets her tea down, "good."

Regulus strums his fingers against the table.

"Did you want something, Regulus?"

"Not particularly. Are you ready to get back?"

"Why are you so eager to get back?" Her smile is small, almost teasing.

"'m not eager..." Regulus frowns, straightening the lapel of his jacket.

"You've hardly touched your food," she looks pointedly towards his plate.

Regulus looks down as well, "I don't find myself quite as famished from our traveling, wife."

(y/n) rolls her eyes at his comment, "For your information, Regulus, I had to skip breakfast to pack for an impromptu trip my husband sprung upon me."

"I could have easily bought you a whole new wardrobe here if breakfast mattered to you that much."

"That would have been a waste--"

He chuckles, "money is not an issue for us, darling. You may have anything you desire simply by asking for it."

(y/n) bites the inside of her cheek, "Just because it is easily obtained does not mean it is not wasteful to live like this."

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, looking away from (y/n). 

***

Lounging on the bed, he watches her. The chiffon robe she wears leaves little to the imagination as she walks by the open window. Regulus is certain she'd be mortified to find out it's nearly transparent when the morning light hits the fabric. He's enjoying the show, but he hates that anyone outside could see her.

"(y/n)," Regulus stretches his arms above his head.

"Yes?" She turns, the fabric of the robe shifting.

"Come here, please."

She frowns, hands coming to her waist, "why?"

He shifts on the bed, "because you're walking by the window  practically naked."

(y/n) crosses her arms across her chest, "Regulus!"

A small smile tugs at his lips, "Come here, darling."

She slowly makes her way to the bed. Regulus tugs her down to the bed, caging her in with his arms before she can make a noise. (y/n) looks up at him, the robe revealing her beautiful body.

Regulus trails his fingers down her neck towards her breast. Then, rolling her nipple between his fingers, he watches keenly at the way the nub hardened under his touch.

"Reg--"

He cuts her off, "do you want this?"

Her mouth opens and closes before she replies, "yes."

Regulus ducks down, kissing her deeply. He presses his rapidly hardening cock against her thigh.

"Have to be quick," he shoves his sleep pants down enough to free his cock.

"Why? What do we have to do today?"

He chuckles, "nothing that can't be pushed back. Do you want slow then Mistress Black?" Regulus's fingers drag down her jaw, fingers gently angling her face towards his.

(y/n) frowns back, "I--"

"You don't have to be embarrassed. I can make you squirm under me for however long you desire."

Slowly, he pulls the string of her robe loose, the material exposing her torso completely to his gaze.

"Is that what you want, darling?" He spreads her thighs so he can kneel between them.

Her mouth is parted slightly, chest heaving as she watches him drag his cock up and down her slit. 

"Please--"

"Such a good girl." Regulus inches in, entranced by the way her body welcomes him.

(y/n)'s fingers pull at his hair as he bottoms out, "Merlin--!"

"Not my name," he slowly pulls out before thrusting in hard.

(y/n) snorts, "was that a joke? Did you just make a--" he thrusts in again, "a joke?"

Regulus smiles down at his wife, "possibly."

He doesn't expect her to giggle, and he especially does not expect his stomach flip-flopping at the sound of that giggle. To distract himself from this onrush of new emotion, he leans down, kissing her with feverish passion. The softness of her lips, the way her tongue moves shyly in an almost submissive manner with his, and the way she completely surrenders herself to his kiss doesn't help him as the sudden adoration he feels for this woman continues to skyrocket. Love isn't the word. Love maybe would never be the word, but he feels like when they express passion through their sexual encounters, he maybe could be feeling something  like love . 

"Oh, Regulus," (y/n) moves her hips in time with his, the push and pull of their lovemaking intoxicating.

His fingers move to play with her clit, rolling the bundle of nerves and making her squirm underneath him. The way she grinds her hips hard against him with each skilled movement of his hands on her delicate flesh feels magnificent. She's breathtaking, and he can't even find the words to tell her how--  how much he enjoys this. 

Maybe enjoys it more than he's ever enjoyed it before.

"Don't stop," (y/n) whimpers.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he ducks down to kiss her as he pushes her over the edge. The feeling of her pulsing around him propels him towards his own release.

"Merlin--" He continues to thrust shallowly, burrowing his face in her neck. (y/n)'s fingers move tenderly across his back and shoulders as he comes down from his high. Regulus could stay like this forever.

"Are you going to--?" Her voice breaks his small paradise.

He frowns, "yes."

(y/n) stares at him before pushing his shoulders lightly until he pulls out, landing on the other side of the bed. "If you're going to do it, do it now. I want to take a bath."

He has a feeling the bath has something to do with washing away any trace of what they just did. Nevertheless, he does as she asks, wandlessly casting the charm.

***

After ignoring him for the rest of the morning and afternoon, reading on the sunny balcony, she appears to be in a better mood when he comes to get her for dinner. 

"Do you wish to get dinner with me?"

(y/n) softly closes the worn novel before looking up at him. Her face is sweet, lacking any of the anger it held earlier when they quarreled. 

"I would."

Regulus expects her to continue the conversation. Instead, she walks by him without another word. Placing his hands on the balcony's railing, Regulus looks out towards the city. The chaos of the muggles and their  cars  feels an awful lot like the current feeling in his head.

[sachingja]

men of his kind, with no status and no familial ties to bind him into any sort of relation, and with a tender hand for the fortune others could only dream of all their life — they make do, because they rarely get what they really want. the lies, it is all just smoke and mirrors; most of his life, dmitry has been lonely, an orphan on the streets of saint petersburg, until a rather fortunate string of events brought him from paris all the way here, into this small, secretive room, shrouded in the warm glow of desire, the one he has never quite known to be so enrapturing. wanting for the sake of wanting, and not just for another warm body to keep him adequate company for a night or two, that custom is perhaps particularly foreign to him, but he cannot say that he dislikes it. and yet, it renders him helpless in the face of his own, foolish longing. well, he thinks sourly, wistfully, a little too drunk on her presence and her taste and her scent, the feel of her soft skin beneath his rough fingertips. one day he would have to pay the price, after all, one he had fixed for others in the first place, never himself, he never would have quite thought — it doesn't matter now, does it? he is here, either way. perhaps walking straight into his own demise, but no one could ever say he didn't do it with a smile on his lips, and that well-rehearsed, wicked-charm in the blue of his eyes.

she has a way of enchanting him, of making him forget the danger that lays beyond these four walls, out of the grasp she has on him. in here, everything is easy, instinctual, and dmitry has little care for anything else. what does other suitors or her father, god forbid, have to do with him? neither know his name, nor who he really is. if, when, once he has left, they will barely remember him by anything but the money he pulled out of their pockets. or, as he looks at katherine now halfway across the room, out of reach once again, something far more valuable than that. would she leave with him? would she want to run away with a man who has nothing but the words in his mouth and the touch of his palm to her cheek?

but she wants more, she has told him before. more than a line of suitors and countless marriage prospects. he scoffs, " i do not flatter myself any more than anyone else, " and he tilts his head carefully, studying her — the dress she is wearing has come somewhat undone, and a hot thrill runs down his spine and into every limb at the knowledge that he is responsible for it. " nor do i intend to. i have simply followed your invitation here, and the evening has unraveled itself with little of my help. " he shrugs ( obnoxiously, maybe ) but it is the truth. how could he ever deny her?

a single step forward, slowly, as if not to spook her or displease her, or, worse, send her off to those other pathetic men, none of who deserve her.

" please, there is nothing for your father to ruin concerning myself, and i have nothing he could take from me that hasn't been tarnished yet. " his smile is a thing devoid of any mirth or color, and he wishes he could touch her, reach for her again, but he knows better than to forget himself again. though there is nothing he would want more than just that, katherine in his arms and the rest of the world oceans away, just the both of them, here, or somewhere else, far more secluded, the tangible promise of intimacy he has been yearning for. " well, " he contemplates, his voice gentle and careful. all of a sudden, the room feels much smaller than it did just minutes before, katherine just mere feet away. " is that what you want? if that is what you want, we shall stop this here and now, and i will take my leave, you have my word. but if there is a chance you might think of me as much as i think of you, that you perhaps might long for me as much as i long for you — we will never speak of it, but you will know this does not have to end here. "

A POOR LITTLE MOUSE AN INCH AWAY FROM ITS DEATH BY TRAP, OR A DOE IN THE WOLF'S MAW ; there is no way to tell for certain the heiress has not been gullible in her choice to believe the con man in his silent promise not to turn his tricks on her, leaving her as destitute as he did his previous victims. and yet here she is, an easy and near willing prey at his feet, the desolate drawing room the scene of her destruction if not his nascent upholding of a vow.

a shaky breath slips from her kiss-swollen lips, the light shrug of her shoulders an attempt to appear nonchalant. ❝ I do not know enough about your foreign customs to say. ❞ and yet despite her refusal to answer him properly, she allows him to indulge in another kiss and that is where her true response lies ; with him she would undoubtedly not take offense, but with any of the gentlemen whose names are scribbled upon her dancing card she would balk at the first touch of bare skin upon bare skin. a stubborn and spoiled rich girl, katherine has never been left wanting for anything, everything a girl her age could wish for served on a silver platter at her every whim. anything but this, anything but him, and now that he is at last within her grasp ( in literal fashion as her fingers rake through his locks ) the restraints of society binds her hands.

she argues with the trait of defiance so well rehearsed it has become a habit, tumbling off her tongue without a second thought spared. ❝ you flatter yourself. this is not why I invited you here. ❞ dishonesty, however, the heiress is less versed in, and the sound of her lies are like nails on a chalkboard ─ impressively hard to miss. to say she extended an invitation for his sake alone ( come to my father's party, where there will be free flow of spirits and a wealth of riches to plunder ) would be quite the blatant lie ; their first meeting under the cloak of night had awakened something in her, a curiosity of such depth she fears even a biography of his life from his first breath till now would not be enough to slate her thirst.

despite the hot current of want coursing through her veins, katherine's mind remains as vigilant as ever ; if only a little hazy at the edges with desire. ❝ and you forget yourself too. my father, ❞ the con man's disgust is mirrored in her pronunciation of this title, though an attentive ear would pick out the notes of a daughter's admiration twisted in amongst the disdain. ❝ would ruin your life. mine too, I suspect, were he to find us here. ❞ she does not tell dmitry that he already threatens to, in the oh so cliché form of marrying her off to any man willing, all against her wishes. instead she only pulls him closer by the lapels of his suit, a final wanton kiss pressed upon his mouth, before she weaves her way out of the warm embrace of his arms. a bookcase across the room offers support against her back, as her chest heaves with the breaths of a woman undone. cheeks flushed, she pins him down with her gaze. ❝ I must be married, and I cannot be if I allow you to ... act. ❞