#IT'S HAPPENIIIIIING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

netherzon · 2 years ago

Text

I Will Reign King at Sea

FINALLY, I have started posting the pirate Gerame fic I’ve been working on (research) for almost a year now! I’m really excited that I’ve finally gotten to start actually writing it, hopefully y’all like it too ^u^

Ao3 link here (with more tags), or you can read ch1 under the cut.

Thank you to my friend Lauri for helping with some of the translations <3

RE: historical inaccuracies, I am trying my best but also changing some things on purpose cause its fiction and I like the story better that way. I will try to add notes clarifying whenever I write something in a way I know is historically inaccurate. I’m also not a sailor, the boat terms are what I’ve picked up online. If you suddenly find yourself needing to sail a two or three masted ship, do not use this as a guide.

Chapter 1: Heimweh (Pt 1)

4,467 words

Coming to London had been a mistake.

It’s the first coherent thought Ludwig has as he’s coming back to consciousness, head pounding, still feeling like the Earth was swaying beneath him. They really went overboard last night. He can’t remember having a hangover this bad in years.

Why did I go along with Gilbert like that?

His brother had taught him to never turn down a free drink though, and the man had been pleasant enough company, even with Ludwig having to translate back and forth for everyone. He’d said he was a sailor, celebrating his last night on land before heading out across the Atlantic the next day.

Maybe it wasn’t London that was the mistake then. Maybe it was just going out drinking with Gilbert in London.

Too tired and in pain to open his eyes just yet, he runs through a checklist of his other senses first. Taste: bile, his mouth is dry, his throat is sore. Gilbert would say that’s the fault of subpar English beer. Touch: his clothes are damp, what he would expect after waking up on the side of the road or in an alleyway after the morning fog has rolled in. If he’s lucky it's only that, puddles and fog and maybe some beer, rather than something worse. He’d gone out in one of his nicest waistcoats after all. Sound: people are yelling, moving things all around him, creaking wood and the sound of water. He was probably still close to the river then, at least. He could find his way home with the river as a landmark. Smell: salt, just salt. It overpowered all the other smells he was expecting. He didn’t remember the Thames smelling like a salted herring had been shoved up his nose, but it was borderline painful.

And why can’t I feel the ground?

Something is wrong.

Slowly, Ludwig opens an eye. Instead of the sky he imagined, he is greeted by the sight of wood above him, dark and solid, coated with tar and keeping light out. The gaps between planks are sealed with a mixture of tar and rope.

It's to keep out water, his brain provides for him.

The ceiling moves, too. Or, no, that’s him. He’s the one moving. Whatever he’s lying on rocks slowly back and forth like a pendulum. A hammock. The kind they use on boats, so sailors don’t roll out of their beds in their sleep. Usually he might admire what an ingenious solution that is, except I’m not supposed to be on a boat right now why does it seem like I’m on a boat right now because I can’t be on a boat right now that’s not possible—

He sits up properly for the first time. Everything else is wood, too. The only light comes from open hatches in the ceiling and cutouts in the walls. Men are still rushing around, unaware of his mental crisis. They’re facial hair is neat (for now). Their clothes are plain but clean (for now). He can’t smell them through the salt crystals that have been growing in his nostrils while he was unconscious, but they look like they’d smell fine (for now).

Oh fuck, I’m on a boat.

Walking is harder than he imagined. Not only does the motion of the ship ruin his balance, but his shoes were also stolen. The wood under his feet is cold, and the tarred ceiling isn't foolproof. Every odd spot of slimy algae he steps in makes him cringe.

He wanders somewhat aimlessly, unsure where to go, or who to talk to. Though the ship is buzzing with activity, everyone else seems to have a task. It’s confusing. It's disorienting. None of the men pushing around barrels, taking stock of supplies, or turning in for their own break pay him any attention at all. He wants to find Gilbert, but he feels guilty thinking it, knowing how bad it would be if his brother were trapped here with him, especially when he doesn’t speak English.

For now, he settles on reaching the top deck. It feels like it could only have been a minute or two since he woke up here, and already he’s craving the feeling of the sun on his skin. He’s never thought of himself as claustrophobic before.

What a terrible time to learn something new about yourself.

The top deck has even more activity. Not only are people moving barrels around and counting supplies, but now there’s ropes involved too. The sky is blocked out by a spider web of hemp and canvas, sticky with tar just like the deck. The cold dampness of the wood is even worse up here. There’s no more protection from the sea spray or the wind, and they both cut through his clothes like a knife through soft butter. It makes him shiver in ways even the constant London rain hadn’t achieved. His eyes bounce back and forth: stairs, sails, ropes, wind, barrels, voices, boxes, rats, waves, people, salt, cannons. It’s a cacophony for all of his senses. The day feels cold despite the sun.

Somebody bumps into him, almost sending him tumbling back down the stairs. They barely spare him a glance as they disappear under the deck.

He squints against the sunlight, forcing himself to look beyond everything around him, but there’s nothing else to see. Just water. In every direction, all he can see is water, so bright reflecting the sun that it's painful to look at. Even his gaze is trapped on this ship.

“Ludwig!” he hears a familiar voice say behind him.

He turns to see his older brother watching him across the deck. He’s half guilty and half relieved. It was so nice to see something that made sense, someone familiar, his immediate instinct is to hug him and not let go until they reach land again. “Bruder,” he says as he quickly moves closer.

Gilbert doesn’t look to be in a hugging mood, however. His brow is lowered, his eyes dark and serious. His whole body was as taught as the rope he was pulling. His fists were clenched tightly, white(er) knuckles and all. It was the most upset Ludwig had seen him in a long time. He didn’t say anything else.

Ludwig reaches to loosen Gilbert’s grip. He takes hold of the rope, and wraps it around the first wooden peg he sees, uncaring what the rope or the peg are meant for. Then he takes hold of Gilbert’s hands. They’re blistered red and rubbed raw, despite all the calluses he’d developed in the military. The color stands out grotesquely on his pale skin. “Wie lange bist du hier?” Ludwig asks with concern. “Wie spät ist es?” He looks at the sky, as though the sun would tell him. In theory it could. There are people who know how to tell the time using the position of the sun and some fancy protractors. But he doesn’t have that skill. He’s never needed it before.

Gilbert remains silent. He notices now that Gilbert’s feet are also bare, like Ludwig’s, and he’s wearing the same loose white shirt and pants as the sailors around them, unlike Ludwig. Strange, he could’ve sworn last night Gilbert wore his—

“Sie haben meine Uniform geklaut," Gilbert chokes out, angry and miserable. One of the hands Ludwig is holding clenches into a tight fist.

Well, that explains things somewhat. Gilbert took a lot of pride in his uniform.

“Wer?” Ludwig asks.

“Ich weiß nicht,” Gilbert says with more visible anger this time. “Sie könnte geklaut worden sein bevor wir hierher geschleppt wurden oder danach. Sie könnte schon über Bord geworfen worden sein!” the thought makes Gilbert shudder, “Ich weiss nur, dass ich praktisch nackt aufgewacht bin und niemand mir sagen wollte, was Sie mit meiner Uniform gemacht haben!”

“Dann?”

Gilbert’s angry look focuses more firmly on Ludwig, and at the same time becomes a little softer, “Wie sieht es aus, Ludwig? Dann haben sie mich an die Arbeit gesetzt. Du bist Arzt, du bist schlauerer als das, Bruder.”

A slight smile reaches Ludwig’s face. Seeing his brother’s familiar defiant attitude brings him the first sense of warmth he’s felt since he woke up. “Medizinstudent meinst du,” he corrects out of habit.

He earns an exaggerated sigh in response. A gust of wind blows along with it. Behind them the rope unravels, and flies across the deck. There are shouts as one of the beams holding the sails twists suddenly around the mast, narrowly avoiding the mast behind it as it catches on other ropes which are probably important. A man is left dangling from the end of the beam.

Gilbert jumps back into action, grabbing the rope and holding it in place while Ludwig stands there in shock. An angry voice carries across the deck, “Who left the brace unsecured!?” Ludwig watches someone help the man hanging off the end of it climb back up. Gilbert turns towards him, mouth open to say something until he grimaces at something over Ludwig’s shoulder. That’s when the man from last night appears.

He storms towards them from the other end of the boat. The thumping of his leather boots on the deck announces his fury before he gets close. When he sees Ludwig’s face though, he suddenly smiles.

“Oh! You’re awake,” the man looks him up and down. “That's good! Would’ve been quite a waste if you’d died,” he jokes.

He looks a decade older than Ludwig, with a dark beard and hair made wavy by the salt in the air. His short blue jacket and mariner’s cuffs matched the color of the water and sky all around them. He had the cocked woolen hat typical of sailors. Absurdly, the shape suddenly reminds Ludwig of Apfelecke, and the stab of homesickness is sharp. A whole year living and studying in London, missing his home, and now he’s been dropped here, where the world is just salt water.

What do they even eat on boats? I don’t even know.

The man continues smiling jovially at Ludwig, holding out a hand to shake. Over his shoulder, Ludwig can see some other sailors pulling the dangling man back up. “I don’t remember what name I gave you last night, but you can call me Hal now.”

“You…don’t remember your own name?” Ludwig asks, thoroughly confused.

This question makes Hal laugh, but not in a kind way, “No, son, we go by many names in this line of work. It's a matter of…professionalism.” His mouth crinkles with a smile. Somehow he makes it seem predatory.

Ludwig makes a noise of acknowledgement, and intentionally glosses over how criminal that sounds. Whatever hope he had that this whole thing was a mistake is being tossed out the window. Or maybe tossed overboard, in this case.

He’d heard rumors of men being press-ganged for naval service, but none of the men here were wearing navy uniforms, and he couldn’t imagine what they’d want with him and his brother. There were so many disadvantages to this plan. It was obvious in the way Hal glanced past Ludwig and sneered when he saw Gilbert there pretending he knew how to secure the same rope he’d been holding earlier. He was looping it around itself in a facsimile of knot tying, all the while trying to hold it steady against the wind manually.

“If I may ask,” Ludwig glances again at Hal’s fine clothes, “sir, I’m afraid I don’t remember much of last night, how did my brother and I end up here exactly?”

Hal strokes his beard carefully, “Right, well, you’d have to talk to the Captain ‘bout that.” He points to the back of the boat, where there’s a set of doors leading inside the raised portion the wheel stands on.”He’ll be in his quarters, but you can go right in,” Hal smiles at Ludwig again. At least it feels less like he wants to eat him this time, “You have an important job here you know, ehm,...”

There’s a pause. “....Ludwig?” Ludwig says.

“Right! Ludwig. I knew that,” Hal claps a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shove towards the captain’s quarters. It's very hard for Ludwig to hold back a snort of derision. Instead he looks over at his brother, still fake tying that rope and fake pretending he’s not listening to their conversation. Ludwig knows Gilbert isn’t listening, but that’s not because he can’t hear them. He considers relaying the conversation, the situation, his suspicions to Gil, but Hal pushes him towards the other end of the boat, and he settles for eye contact and a confident nod. Gilbert frowns, but he nods back anyway, trusting his brother. Ludwig smiles softly. Whatever might happen to him, his brother will struggle even more with a language barrier here. Gilbert's relying on him to fix this for the both of them.

I’ve never failed him before, I don’t intend to now.

He trips over a coil of rope on the way over.

Hal and Gilbert watch his back as he walks. Hal turns away first, glaring at the way the pale-haired man stands there fiddling with the same damn rope. “Alright lad, I don’t know if you’re dumb or what, but frankly I don’t really care. All I need you to do is your damn job. We’re already sailing close-hauled to the wind, any more cock ups like that and it’ll start to cost us time, and that will cost us money.” He yanks the rope away and wacks the man in the legs with the end to make sure he’s paying attention. As slowly as he can possibly go, he demonstrates the proper way to tie it. “This. Is. A. Cleat. Hitch. Got it?” he enunciates, pointing firmly.

The other man’s face screws up in a sneer, “Ihre Mutter fickt Esel.”

Hal just sneers back at him, confused and annoyed that they got stuck bringing the village idiot along when he refused to leave the other man’s side last night, even after he got so drunk he could hardly stand.

If anything, Hal’s visible incomprehension makes the idiot angrier.

“Just go help them haul the yard up the main mast,” Hal gestures towards another group of men amidships.

As Ludwig stumbles his way to the captain’s quarters he reviews his scant knowledge of sailing, anything he ever picked up by chance. The forward motion of a ship relies on the wind. The big logs holding all the sails were called masts. Ships could navigate using stars. But other than that, his knowledge mostly relates to illnesses. They’d had a ship of sailors riddled with scurvy come into the college for a demonstration once. Ludwig had vivid memories of the physical exams they’d practiced, but that had no relevance to actual sailing.

Ludwig stops for a moment to take in the ornate mahogany door, complete with a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion. He bypasses this in favor of a straightforward knock with his hand.

The first thing he notices in the room is the small chandelier. The metal chain squeaks more than it doesn’t as it sways endlessly with the motion of the boat and the water. He’s drawn to the flames as they swing away and towards and away again from the wooden ceiling. Hot wax threatens to drip down onto the floor rather than the trays under the candle. He can already see several spots of hardened wax on the carpet. He’s forced to walk into the room at an angle to avoid any hot wax falling on him next. It all seems needlessly dangerous, especially in the room with the ship's most important assets.

On either side of him are heavy wooden desks covered in maps. Star charts, compasses, and miniature globes crowd out more mahogany, this time with a mother of pearl inlay. The Persian carpet under his bare feet is somehow equally uncomfortable as the cold, unyielding wood up till that point.

A third desk stands across from the door. Behind it sits a man with even more gray in his beard and an even bigger hat than Hal had. His skin is so pale it seems like he hardly leaves this room. He puffs on a long black pipe as he watches Ludwig approach. Behind him is a painting of a ship caught in a storm caught in a golden frame. It makes Ludwig wince.

He coughs a little, as the smoke replaces the fresh air in his lungs. The man watches him in silence. “You are the Captain, correct?” Ludwig asks.

The man grins at him, and reaches out a hand to shake, suddenly as genial as Hal had been. His voice is gravely, and not very forceful “Captain Nicholls, and you?”

“Pleasure to meet you Captain Nicholls,” he replies mechanically,” my name is Ludwig.”

The Captain raises a curious eyebrow, “Well then, Ludwig, what can I do for you?”

A bit of the tension leaves Ludwig’s shoulders. Whatever confrontation he’d been expecting, this isn’t it. “I’m afraid my brother and I were brought onto your ship by mistake,” Ludwig leaves out the part about how drunk they both must have been.

His relief doesn’t last very long. Captain Nicholls belly laughs at Ludwig’s statement, throwing his whole body back and making the chair creak in harmony with the chandelier. Ludwig fights the urge to tense back up. What was so amusing about his statement?

Relax. Even if they meant to do this, normal people don’t kidnap other people for no reason, and there’s no good reason for them to kidnap you or Gilbert. You have plenty of arguments in your favor still.

The laughter sends the Captain into a coughing fit. The wet, hacking cough tugs at Ludwig’s brain. It reminds him of other people they had examined in school. The ones that had growths in their lungs at autopsy. When Captain Nicholls finally regains control of himself, the expression he fixes on Ludwig is disdainful. “With all due respect, lad,” the word makes Ludwig frown, “I wouldn’t have let you and your drunken hooligan friend stay on my ship if it was a mistake.”

This only makes Ludwig frown harder. “So, you meant to kidnap us?” he asks for clarity.

The Captain waves a dismissive hand, “You make it sound so sinister when you say ‘kidnapping’. We prefer 'press-ganging’’ in the business.”

“The business of kidnapping?”

“‘Press-ganging,’” Nicholls insists. He puffs again on his pipe in a way Ludwig can only describe as ‘smug’.

Ludwig’s fists are clenched. He takes a breath and forces himself to relax again. It only partially works. “So, the business of ‘press-ganging’ then?” he forces out of his gritted teeth.

The Captain shakes his head, “Oh no, the business of sailing, lad.” Ludwig hears something in his jaw pop. Whatever it is, if his medical studies have taught him anything, it’s not supposed to be doing that.

He forces himself to breathe deeply for a moment, to calm down enough to present his case. He straightens his shoulders, attempting to dredge up his composure and dignity in the wreck of some of his finest clothes and bare feet, “Alright, sailing then. Whatever the case is, you’ve made a poor decision bringing my brother and I along. There are some things you should know.”

“Oh?” the Captain raises an eyebrow again.

“First, my brother does not speak English. He’s hardly of any use to you if he can’t understand orders. Second, neither of us has experience in labor jobs like this,” he leaves out Gilbert’s experience in the military, not to mention surgery wasn’t exactly easy, “I was studying medicine when you brought me here, neither of us has any knowledge of ropes or knots or anything. I had never even seen the ocean before moving to London. Neither of us even knows how to swim!”

His voice grows more confident as he speaks, and the Captain nods along, seemingly thoughtful. When he’s done, chest heaving in rhythm with the rocking of the boat, the Captain smiles at him again. “That was a nice speech,” the condescension practically drips from his tongue.

They stare at each other for a moment, Captain Nicholls waiting for reality to settle on Ludwig’s shoulders. Each second the weight gets heavier. Ludwig’s frown deepens.

Deep breaths. Ludwig closes his eyes, “If this wasn’t an accident,” calm, “and you don’t believe me when I explain how useless we are to you,” Ludwig’s cold blue eyes settle on Captain Nicholls again, “what do you want with us then?”

The Captain leans in closer, “Glad you asked!” He grins, showing off his tobacco stained teeth.

“You see,” as he speaks he fiddles with a cane leaning against the desk, “I know you don’t have any skill at sailing. That’s fine. That’s not why we brought you here. You have other skills that are even more valuable on a voyage like this, especially since the doctor I usually hire has passed, god bless his soul.”

He grasps desperately at the last loose thread, “What do you mean ‘doctor’? I’m not a doctor. I’m still just a student, you cannot seriously expect me to act as the ship’s doctor.”

The only response is an eyeroll, “Well I definitely didn’t bring you here because you’re a musical prodigy, lad. You look like a practical guy. Think about it. My ship needs a doctor, but we couldn’t find one in time. Until my first mate ran into you at a pub the night before we set off. Real unfortunate you become so gullible after an extra drink or two, but that’s not my fault.”

The Captain’s demeanor is relaxed and self-assured. Completely and one hundred percent content with the fact of Ludwig being trapped. Convinced absolutely of his security in this situation. Ludwig can do nothing as Captain Nicholls leans back in his chair, and hammers in the final nail, “You’re not going anywhere, lad.”

Ludwig steps back, forgetting the room around him as the feeling of helplessness grows. Unaware, he stumbles underneath the chandelier. A drop of hot wax hits his ear, but the feeling barely registers in his mind. Where the burning warmth hits his skin, he sinks into an icy resignation.

“Oh don’t look so down, it's not all bad,” the man continues, “the ship’s doctor is a very important position. You’ll be exempted from a lot of the grunt work around here. You even get your own cabin. Most of the other crew don’t have luxuries like that.”

“What about my brother?” a second drop of wax hits his foot, “He’s still not of use to you. He deserves to be let go,” another spike of heat hits his arm. His fists clench. It’s his last bargaining chip, but if it means his brother doesn’t have to go through this, then it's worth it.

“I’ll stay willingly if you agree to take my brother back.”

The Captain plants his cane firmly on the wooden floor, groaning as he stands up from his chair. A bit of tobacco spills out of the pipe still clenched in his right hand as he leans against the desk to regain his balance. Ludwig briefly contemplates offering him his arm for support. But only briefly.

Thump thump thump he makes his way around the desk until the sound of his cane is muffled by the carpet. There is nothing physically between them now.

Up close, he can see the wrinkles set deep in the man’s face. There are liver spots peppering his cheeks and neck. His eyes are even lighter than Ludwig’s, so washed out and pale they look silver, and he’s almost two heads shorter than the blond. He reminds Ludwig of a Moorente. The ones he and his brother used to hunt in Hagenburg.

“Perhaps you are right,” it sounds like the Captain is about to agree with him, but at this point Ludwig knows to stay on guard. “Your brother really is pretty useless to me, huh?” he jokes.

Ludwig fights hard to keep a neutral face.

“But you should think carefully about what you’re asking of me, lad,” his eyes are as cold and cruel as sharpened steel. He speaks slowly, “It's not of any use to me to return him to London either. We’ve been underway for half a day already, I won’t turn the ship around just for you two.”

Ludwig frowns openly now. “I won’t make this easy for you. You want me to treat your men, but I don’t have to. You can hold me here, but if you don’t let my brother go, there’s nothing you can force me to do for you,” his voice is firm.

All he gets is a smile. The warm light of the candles reflects a harsh contrast in the Captain’s eyes. “You forget that I’m Captain on this ship. I give the orders here. It’s your job to follow them. Maybe you’re valuable enough to get away with disobeying, but you’ve already acknowledged yourself that your brother is not, and if he’s really as useless as you say, why should I keep an extra mouth to feed from my scarce holds when there are plenty of hungry fish he could serve better?”

He, no, he couldn’t — all the air leaves Ludwig’s lungs in a rush. He’s never been punched so hard before.

He could, he would, he thinks despairingly.

And who would ever even know out here? Who would ever even believe me?

A sickening grin stretches across the Captain’s face. Ludwig isn’t known for emoting, but given the right circumstances even his thoughts can be easy to read, and the Captain is clearly entertained by it.

The threat hangs heavy in the air between them, as they stand suspended above water, as the water is held up by the Earth. It is an immutable fact of the universe that Ludwig loves his brother, and so there is nothing else he can say. There is nothing he can do but concede. This battle isn’t worth winning at that cost. It never would be.

“I…” the resignation chokes him. He swallows, “I understand.”

“Is that any way to address your Captain, Ludwig?” he can see the man’s stained teeth again.

The Captain wants him to feel the humiliation in every possible way.

Ludwig spitefully lifts his chin instead. “I understand, sir,” he says, but he makes sure to look down at Captain Nicholls as much as possible. He thinks Gilbert would be proud.

As he storms out of the room, he takes pleasure in the drops of hot wax he watched fall on the Captain’s own silk waistcoat and trousers.

I hope they burn.

~Historical Notes~ *while medical schools did exist at the time, its actually much more likely Ludwig would have been trained through an apprenticeship with a doctor instead. Going to a special school wasn’t really required, and you could also start much younger.

*You were more likely to be press-ganged by the navy, but it wasn't unheard of for merchant vessels or even pirates (foreshadowing) to do this, especially when it came to valuable jobs. Surgeons and carpenters (who acted as surgeons if the ship didn't have an actual surgeon) were some of the most important people in a crew.

~Translations~

L - "Wie lange bist du hier?" -> How long have you been here?

L- "Wie spät ist es?" -> What time is it?

G- "Sie haben meine Uniform geklaut" -> They stole my uniform

L- "Wer?" -> Who?

G- "Ich weiß nicht. Sie könnte geklaut worden sein bevor wir hierher geschleppt wurden oder danach. Sie könnte schon über Bord geworfen worden sein! Ich weiss nur, dass ich praktisch nackt aufgewacht bin und niemand mir sagen wollte, was Sie mit meiner Uniform gemacht haben!” -> I don't know. It could have been stolen before or after we were dragged here. It could've been tossed overboard already! All I know is, I woke up practically naked and nobody would tell me what they did with my clothes!"

L- "Dann?" -> Then?

G- "Wie sieht es aus, Ludwig? Dann haben sie mich an die Arbeit gesetzt. Du bist Arzt, du bist schlauerer als das, Bruder.” -> What does it look like, Ludwig? Then they put me to work. You're a doctor, you are smarter than that, brother.

L- "Medizinstudent meinst du" -> Medical student, you mean

and lastly G- "Ihre Mutter fickt Esel" -> Your mother fucks donkeys

Thanks for reading C:

#gerame #hws germany #hws prussia #hetalia fanfiction #my writing #I'm gonna get better at writing action I swear #Alfred should show up in the next chapter #tw: kidnapping #sorta #not really but also definitely #its finally happeniiiiiing #tw murder threats #if you remember awhile ago I had that poll about dialogue in other languages #in hetalia fics #well that was for this #hopefully its not too difficult to tell what's going on since I left Lud's thoughts in english

10 notes · View notes

readychilledwine · 7 months ago

Text

Kissed by Fire pt 3

Summary - Amelia Archeron, the oldest of the made sisters, sacrificed more than her sisters would ever understand, and more than she would ever allow them to know. Now, they want her to sacrifice her one chance at happiness, too.

Warnings - Amelia was a prostitute, body insecurities, mentions of abuse, and the author's loose understanding of chess, but using it more as symbolism and foreshadowing

A/n - it's happeniiiiiing. Things are short and sweet to allow me to make a giant scene where Eris and Amelia meet in the next chapter, and we get to hear Eris say my favorite Eris line to her 🫠

Series Masterlist ✨️ Eris Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist

Rhys sat across from Amelia, a chessboard set up between them.

He was ruining a game he and Azriel had been playing before he left for the Mountain, but he could not think of any other way to explain to Amelia how powerful and valuable she was, and this was a language the oldest sister would understand after years of playing with her father.

“Lower fae with minimal powers,” he grimaced at the term, “would be like the pawn pieces.” He held one obsidian Pawn in his hand. “They're able to move one space toward but can not go back. Lesser fae can sometimes winnow, but if they make it is another conversion entirely, and they will be worn magically from the effort.”

Amelia nodded. She watched as Rhys picked a bishop, “Low fae with more magic singing through them would be like a bishop. Larger winnowing patterns are possible but still limited.”

“Most fae who prefer to call themselves by their race, such as my illyrians, would be similar to a knight. Capable of larger movements and typically able to jump exactly where they want, granted, most would rather just fly, so winnowing is not a skill the Illyrians truly care about.”

“All brawn no brain,” Rhys smiled at her statement.

His hand moved to a rook. “High fae would be similar to the rook. Typically they're able to go wherever they like within reason, but the jump may be difficult and use more magic than expected.”

He ignored the king piece, the least valued piece in chess, and moved to the queen. “You, my dear Amelia, are the queen piece. There is no limit on your movement,” he paused, ensuring she was looking at him. “Through our world or into another if wanted.”

“Lovely. What exactly does that mean?”

Rhys smiled at Amelia, watching as she rotated in her seat to stare at the map of constellations he had charted many years ago. “It means you can lead whole armies into new worlds and territories by just looking at one of those strings that holds the fabrics of our world together. It means the realm, our world, can communicate to you where to go when you ask and you can get there regardless of the distance with less than half the amount of effort it takes for a High Lord to winnow from Spring to the Night Court.”

He paused, looking at the map with her. “It means you could pull one of those strings and open a rift to a new world. If they are out there.”

“And why is this such a useful skill that you all are now fighting about taking me to Hewn City?” Amelia clocked Rhys straighten slightly, eyes glaring.

“You've been listening to conversations not meant for you again.”

Amelia leaned forward, wrapped in that sweater that made Rhysand's skin crawl anytime he saw it. “Perhaps you all should not discuss someone like they aren't sitting in the same home as you. Who is Eris?”

Rhys sighed, leaning forward to meet her at eye level and show her he would not, and would never, be intimated by her. “Eris is Lucien's older brother. He is a heartless, cruel, and selfish asshole.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I've been around my fair share of bad men, Rhys.

“Not that were over 500 years old and used words for warfare. Eris likes powerful things. He will see you as an object for collection.”

“Sounds familiar," Rhysand glared at her serpent smile, "You assume I would allow myself to be collected.”

“I assume it would be best to protect you and not risking him charming his way to you.”

“So, he's charming.” Rhys could help but laugh, watching as Amelia smiled too, the air feeling lighter. “I still think you should let me go.” She batted her lashes at him, watching as his chest stilled and smirked.

“You are dangerous as well. Batting those pretty eyes to get your way. Have you always been like this?”

“No,” she replied softly. He watched her mind go back to a simpler time, chasing a young Feyre through the market in fine clothing before going back to the night she sold everything to keep them alive. “I was made dangerous.”

Amelia stared at the scrap of the clothing Feyre was holding up to her. She could have sworn this was Rhysand mocking her, attacking her despite the period of almost friendship they'd had the past week.

“I'm not wearing that,” Amelia curled into herself, hugging herself tighter. “That isn't even a dress.” The dress, if she caved to Feyre's desires and called it that, was surprisingly white. But it would cover nothing.

Amelia had worn dresses like it before. Dresses meant to entice and entertain. Dresses meant for seduction. Dresses meant to flaunt. She hated them every time. Her mother and grandmother had beaten modesty into her, and her former line of work had ripped it apart. She had hoped in this new body, this new life, she could go back to the safety fabric offered.

Rhys had promised never again. He promised her safety. This dress wasn't safety. “Ask Rhys if there's something else I can wear.”

Feyre's smile fell. “I am high lady of this court-”

“Then if it was your idea, I will remind you that you are my sister. My baby sister. Asking me to wear this is so violating, Feyre. I would never ask that of you. Regardless of my status over you." The one you constantly hang over my head was left unspoken. It was resentment on Amelia's end, just annoyance at Feyre's newfound entitlement.

“Do you not want to reclaim your body? Hybern took your human body from you. Don't you want to own what you have now?”

Amelia could hardly believe what she was hearing as she mentally called for Rhys, and he appeared. “I do not have to wear that to reclaim myself.” The High Lord's eyes were wide as he took the dress from Feyre. They were communicating silently between them, the female glaring up at her husband.

“I had a different dress commissioned in case you said no to this one. We do allow choice in this court,” Rhys started slowly, taking Feyre's jaw in his hand. “If your sister likes this one so much, she can wear it herself.”

Amelia couldn't help but smile at the two of them. Despite her and Feyre never being as close as she would have liked, seeing her happy, seeing Feyre smile, brought Amelia joy. “You look beautiful when you're happy, Feyre.” You watched her sister flush and Rhysand smile wide. “Even if your mate is mediocre.” The male's mouth fell open as Feyre began to laugh, eyes sparkling at the sign of life coming back to Amelia.

“Lia! You can't say that,” her voice was laced with giggles as Rhysand stood there in shock, seemingly too stunned to speak. “I think you broke him.”

“Good,” Amelia kissed her brother's cheek softly before taking the dress, caving to Feyre's wants for once in her younger sister's life. “He needs to be humbled every so often. I will wear this once. Then, I want things that cover a bit more. We can compromise on design." Feyre sighed as Amelia kissed her temple, that once motherly love healing a small part of her. "I am going to freeze in this."

“What do you want in return?”

“Freedom for the night. No brooding male following my every footstep. No wings hovering in the distance. Just freedom for one night.”

Feyre did not give Rhysand time to fight. “Deal!”

Eris hated Hewn City. He had since he was first brought to the Mother forsaken place as a child, but now it reminded him all too much of that mountain. Of Amarantha.

He wondered how Rhysand had the strength to be down or if the strength was just another finely crafted mask the male wore.

His usual room had not changed since he was last here over a hundred years ago. Eris threw himself on the bed, allowing a few moments of rest on the dark sheets and blanket before he would have to get dressed into the fine trousers and jacket he had packed himself.

He had no worries about Keir. Dealing with that male was easy. If he believed he was benefiting from whatever he was offered, he normally took the bait without question.

He had packed an exquisite outfit, smiling at the amount of his father's money sewn into each thread. He checked it over, ensuring nothing was loose and out of place before getting dressed. He could already hear the music, the laughter, and smirked, knowing he was late and would walk in while Rhysand was already sat on his throne.

He walked along the palace walls, waiting until the doors opened before entering. Azriel was the first to spot him, immediately going to Rhysand and whispering in his ear. He felt those violet eyes on him studying him, but nothing mattered to Eris as much as what he saw.

There, on the dance floor, was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. For Eris, nothing else mattered. There was no one else there.

It was just her.

That beautiful creature, laughing too hard to be deemed appropriate. Smiling larger than she should. Dancing with every male that asked.

She was an enigma, and Eris was more than ready to dive into every complex piece of her.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects

Kissed by Fire:

@justdreamstars @coralseacourt @kemillyfreitas @impossibelle @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @isa1b2h3 @glaciuswduo

@mybestfriendmademe @st4r-girl-official @fandomarchiveilyd @chasing-autumns-chill @tequilya @skyesayshi @maddybraps @acourtofbatboydreams @homeslices @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @believinghurts @going-through-shit

#acotar #eris vanserra #acotar x oc #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra x archeron!oc #eris vandaddy #eris x oc #eris x archeron!oc #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra x oc #eris acotar #eris fic

201 notes · View notes