#My Liege is Better Than Yours ╱ thread.

[lunaede]

He wants to get away quickly, without drawing attention to himself. He doesn't mean to upset anyone, certainly, but without Robin's assistance (and dare he say it -- encouragement) it is hard to eat something that was so... clearly hunted down and cooked. For Naga's sake, the head is still attached.

That seems that is not an option. He turns and looks at the shorter man, and cannot help but look baffled at being so blatantly called out. He blinks, frowns, and watches as Jakob brings the food back to the table. The... audacity of this action stuns him. The idea of eating this foul creation leaves him speechless, and he cannot help the grimace on his face as he thinks about consuming it.

That fish... with its hollow head, its dead eyes, staring up at him...

Frederick looks away. "Apologies," he says, because he will be polite even if this man is not. "I cannot eat that. I will do better not to waste resources again, I assure you."

With that, he takes no action to sit, and does not meet the gaze of the others at his table. If the purpose was to shame him it was accomplished, but not enough to force him to eat such a vile meal.

L + Ratio + My Liege is Better Than Yours

[kamisatomay018]

I really love your legend of the red string of fate oneshots ^_^

Can you do Xingqiu??

Please and thank you :)

Yes of course! Thank you so much for your support and suggestion!🫶 I’m sorry it took so long, I had a little writer’s block😭

Let us begin a new chapter of our lives, Hand in Hand..

Xingqiu x fem!reader

Based on the Legend of The Red String of Fate, slight angst with lots of comfort, Xingqiu is aged up to be an adult!

I hope you enjoy reading!

“Finally, I’ve found you again.”

You flinched at the familiar voice, getting shivers as you watched the red string once again appear, wrapped around your pinky finger. How had he found you again? How were you going to face him again? Hesitantly you stood up, turning around to look into those gentle golden eyes of his, bowing in respect. “My liege, what..brings you here..?”

Xingqiu chuckles softly, walking closer to you as he gently holds your chin, lifting your head up. “My heart and its desire for you of course.” You felt those familiar yet painful butterflies all over again, letting out a shaky breath. As much as every fibre of being begged you to stop, you took a step back, looking away. “My liege..this..is wrong. I can’t- we..we can’t.” Xingqiu frowns at your words, knowing that you wanted to be with him just as much as he did, only he did not care about social status like you. “Why Y/N? When the heavens themselves have fated us to be together, then why do you ignore the calling of your heart?”

Tears well up in your eyes as you look at him, the sheer pain in your eyes making his soul ache in agony. “My liege; you and I both know the reason. You are the esteemed descendant of the Guhua clan, the second heir to the Feiyun Commerce Guild. And I? I am just a poor artist, I am but a speck of dust in the glory of your existence. You deserve someone far better than I.”

He sighs at your words, approaching you again and gently cups your cheeks, wiping the pearl like tears in your eyes. “There is no one better than you for me. Status, money..such trivial matters do not concern me. My heart; my soul and my fate itself calls out your name, and I do not wish to forsake our future due to such meaningless materialistic beliefs. Your heart is pure, your eyes shine like the moonlight that guides lost souls in the darkest of nights. Leave be my social standing and look at me as just Xingqiu. Tell me, do you still wish to reject this bond?”

You unknowingly leaned into his gentle touch, trying so hard to fight the urge to give in already, to forget all the worries of your mind. But it was easier said than done, for in this world, only love is not enough to win every battle. “My liege, people would talk, spread vicious rumours. It would be catastrophic for the guild, for your family..” He smiles at you tenderly, holding your left hand in his, where the red string glimmered under the sunlight. “Who would dare to deny the bond that the ancient god of Liyue himself bestowed upon us? You’re afraid of possibilities that might never cross us. And do you really think that we mere mortals have the power to defy the divinity of this string that connects our souls together? No matter how much you try to deny this bond, to avoid me and hide from me, fate will always bring us together.”

“My liege, what do you mean by that?” He chuckles and holds your hand, leading you to sit down on the grass beside him. “Let me tell you a story from thousands of years ago; when the god Yue Lao first created the Red String of fate and what happened to those who tried to deny this bond.” You nodded at his words, listening silently.

Xingqiu looks into the distance, the gentle breeze blowing through his long blue locks. “Long ago, once there was an ambitious young man who talked to Yue Lao and insisted on asking him about who will he marry, thinking that he'll meet himself a rich girl. Yue Lao pointed at a poor-looking little girl who's taking a stroll with an old blind woman in a marketplace, showing him a red thread between the two, and tells the man that he'll marry her someday. Displeased, the man tells a servant to kill the two and then leave the village.”

Your eyes widened hearing the story, waiting for xingqiu to continue while wondering how he knows about such ancient folklore.

“Years later the man, now a promising public officer, marries a beautiful woman from a rich family who is very much the perfect wife for him save for two details: she has a limp and covers her forehead with a silk patch for undisclosed reasons. He asks his wife why and she begins crying, telling him that she is the niece of the family leaders rather than their daughter: her parents died when she was young and she initially lived with her old blind nanny, but one day a madman stabbed her caretaker to death in a local marketplace and wounded her, leaving her scarred and almost crippled. The man realizes that Yue Lao was right, tearfully confessing that he ordered the attack and asks his wife for forgiveness, which she gives to him.”

You look away from him, thinking about the story he just told you. In Teyvat, fate is one thing that cannot be avoided or altered. Since the day you and xingqiu first locked eyes and the red string appeared, you had been avoiding him, trying to convince your heart that he was a star while you, were nothing but a speck of dust. But every time you tried to avoid him, he would find you again. Destiny always brought the two of you closer, regardless of how far you tried to keep him. “I..I understand my liege…”

He looks at you with a fond smile, cupping your cheek delicately. “Please, just call me xingqiu. So you see, regardless of the world around us, I am bound to you, the promise between our souls is everlasting. You need not worry about your wealth, your reputation or even mine. Let our love win.”

You looked up into his warm eyes that shone ever so brightly like the son, gathering your thoughts together. Placing your hand on his, you uttered words so delicate yet firm as if they were woven by silk itself, stirring Xingqiu’s heart.

“But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

He smiles at you reassuringly, holding your hands “Your dreams are mine, your wishes are my honour. Let us forget about everything else and soar through the skies together, with our love being our guiding wind.” Each word he spoke reassured your soul, calming the raging storm in your mind. You closed your eyes momentarily, leaning into his warm touch. Then, you searched for one final answer in his eyes. “And what if I cannot love you enough?”

A soft chuckle left his lips as he shakes his head, intertwining your fingers together. “If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving be me. Clasp me close in your warm young arms, while the pale stars shine above, and we’ll live our whole young lives away in the joys of a living love.”

A tear escaped from your eyes, and you let every other lingering thought disappear, hiding yourself in the comfort of his warm embrace. “Then I promise to never let go of you. From this moment forth, I am yours.” A victorious smile lights up his face as he hugs you so tight, kissing your forehead tenderly.

“And I, am forever yours. Let us begin a new chapter of our lives, hand in hand.”

[thatlongspringnight]

A Crown in Springtime (Jungkook x Fem!Reader)

summary: When Jungkook caught the eye of the queen that night, he didn’t realize just how much it would change his life for the better.

pairing: Jungkook x female Reader

genre: arranged marriage au, lust at first sight, romance

word count: 6.2k

❂ amorentia in spring

⁂ hosted by: professor amora through @bangtansorciere​

⤐  au type: daffodil

⤐  themes: spring, honeymoon

⤐  kinks: Edging ⤞ Praise ⤞ Cunninglus ⤞ Fingering ⤞ Handjob ⤞ Thigh Riding ⤞ Hair Pulling ⤞ Creampie ⤞ 

Jungkook is nervous, it bleeds into him like the cold of midwinter, a stark difference from the blossoms of early spring that surround him. Even now, in the sunshine of early morning, he shivers, nerves leaving him tense as he feigns calm, leaning back on the veranda as though nothing has changed, nothing is different, letting the sun soak into his bones. 

But everything has changed. He’s more tense now then he was a day ago, when he was kneeling at the ancient altar, handfasting himself to a woman he barely knew for life, for the hereafter too….And not just any woman. His liege, his queen...now his wife. His father had talked of nothing else for the last two months...since...since the betrothal. All he could speak on was the arrangement, brooking no talk or protest from him, nothing but smiling and acceptance. 

A savior - his father had called her, the queen their savior, rescuing them from poverty. 

“She chose you.” It had been repeated so many times, the idea that he should be grateful, grateful for this arranged marriage. He should be full of joy even, plucked from obscurity to marry her. But...but he doesn’t know her, he can’t wrap his mind around why she would pick him She could have anyone after all...so why him? 

Before the wedding...he could count the number of times he had seen her on one hand. A - A little older than him, a couple of years, maybe - he hadn’t known a world where she had not been queen. She had grown up with a crown on her head, a sword in her palm, and the shadow of a dynasty weighing on her shoulders. A child queen raised on tales of her ancestors, long dead, war and conquest. He...He had heard that she had been in want of a husband.

His father had even suggested his older brother, his heir - but never once had his name been mentioned. Not until....not until that night - two months ago, when - when she had smiled at him, eyes alight in mirth and something he didn’t have a name for yet, asking him to dance after a dinner.

They had gone to court for the winter celebration, and he had felt her eyes on him during the meal, offering her a soft smile, as - as was proper.

She’d asked him to dance, first - his thoughts repeated, an honor, one that had given him the warmth of her palm in his, her eyes trailing up his face.

“Your hair.” She had murmured, a hand going to play with the strands. “Blue like the ocean.” His own personal magic, how the fae had manifested in him. He wondered how it manifested in her…

Either way…was that why? Was that why she had picked him? Not even two days after, she had offered his father...and the deed had been done..all leading up to yesterday, kneeling at the altar, him bedecked in clothes woven of silver thread, blue sapphires dripping from them, from the crown she laid on his head. Joining him at the altar, covered in gold. He felt like the moon, lit only by her golden glow. 

Somehow, somehow he had made it through, repeating ancient vows that dipped magick into his blood, feeling their bond form as sure and strong as the rope that bound their hands. Somehow that day had faded to night, banquets and being whisked away - a honeymoon in the mountains - early spring blossoms filling the air with perfume. 

A honeymoon, but still - no bride. The thought alone is enough to stir something, a gentle sigh making him jolt. Her, he knows its her, he can feel it, looking up to meet her amused gaze. The - the queen, his queen, he dips his head, scrambling to sit properly, to bow…

At least until her fingertips press his forehead, stilling him instantly.

“No Need.” her voice still shocks him, calm and easy - sweet too - like the last drops of sap from a tapped tree at the end of winter. “Especially not here.” 

“....Not here?” 

“You haven’t noticed?” She smiles now, and it makes him feel warm. “We’re all alone. No one dares to interrupt their queen on her honeymoon.” He’s watching her, stepping to sit beside him, legs dangling like his were just moments before. 

“And...and if we weren’t alone?” He curses how slowly the words seem to come to him, trailing and trembling in her presence, but he can’t help it. His position feels uncertain, her husband, but what does that make him. He’s no king. 

“Then you’d only need to nod your head.” She hums, a hand lifting up, moving to block the light, to let the sun’s rays break between her fingertips. “You’re a prince now, anyway, my darling, people will be bowing to you.” She says it so easily, like it doesn’t alter his entire life. “But….between us.” She continues. “I’d like it to be different.” This is the most she’s ever spoken to him, and he finds himself entranced at her lips, the way she forms words. 

“Different?” He mumbles, barely aware he’s asked.

“Different, friends at least.” She tilts her head to look at him. “Maybe even more.”

“F-Friends?” he questions, eyes widening. “With me?” “Is that so odd?” She snorts. “To want to be friends with my husband?” “....No.” He answers after a moment. “Well  - just a little.” 

“At the end of the day, I’m just a normal girl, you know.” Words he doesn’t believe, not even for a moment. 

The day passes, the coolness of the morning fading to a gentle heat, and he learns - Jungkook learns about his wife. 

More than he’s bargained for.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” She pushes her own plate of food at him. “Here, eat up.” They are lounging again, on the veranda, which seems to be her favorite place, his too, where the breeze is gentle, and the flowers bloom so heavily nearby it smells like a garden. “It will get cold and you won’t want it.” Its a simple pronouncement, one that makes him pout. 

“How do you know?” He answers her, watching how her lips twitch into a smile. “Maybe i want it cold.” “As your Queen, I demand you eat.” That pronouncement is met with him grumbling, before he sits up, a look in his eyes that makes her raise an eyebrow. 

“Feed me then.” Jungkook demands, a petulant lilt to his voice, even as he tries to hide his smile.

“What?”

“Feed me.”He gives her a grin, one that makes her heart beat quicken, not that he knows, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Come on - “ He throws her words from before back in her face. “Feed me or else everything’s going to get cold.”

“What a baby.” The woman complains, not at all fooled by the sweet look on his face. “You’re not playing fair, Jungkook.” His name, whenever she says it, makes his stomach flutter with butterflies. Still, he doesn’t even pout at being called a baby, too triumphant at her shifting to face him, reaching to pick up a slice of meat, offering it to him. “Your highness.” She mocks, and he could only snicker, enjoying the taste on his tongue.

It is delicious.

“So good – its delicious.” The smile he shot her was enough to make the woman feel a brush of something she chose not to name. Damn this boy, damn him for making doing something so simple as eating so attractive.

 It made her want to tease him, and that made her smile, something he notices. “You – you gave in really easily.” Jungkook spoke after a moment of comfortable silence. She had, this woman who had led his people in war, had fed him just now, without much protest at all. “Maybe you can feed me every day.” Did he enjoy it? Yes, of course he did, but unfortunately for him, the words seemed to click something into place for her.

 “Oh, you want me to feed you every day?” The woman purred, managed to snag a bite of her own food before setting down her plate. The air shifts, a shiver coursing through him, the trees seeming to shiver too. “Tell me something, Jungkookie.”

“W-What?” He speaks, a bit of alarm on his face as she leaned over him, her body suddenly very close. “T-Tell you what?”

 “Ahh..” She settles herself close to him. So close, their shoulders touch, and when she leans over, their noses nearly brush. “Tell me, are you sure you want this every day?” This time, when she offers him food, he is slower to take it, his cheeks warm. It feels heady, being close to her like this, and he wonders if this intimacy will ever feel anything other than clandestine. “Jungkook, I asked you a question.”

 “Ngh.” The boy looked up, his nose brushing hers. “I – I wouldn’t mind.” He breathes. Her chest was too close to his face, and the skin she exposed…it was right there. His lips could brush her collarbones if he looks straight ahead. Suddenly a warm day felt blazing hot. “I – I’m thirsty – “ He managed to speak, unsure of how he even got his voice to work.

 “Thirsty?” A teacup was balanced in her hand in an instant, her hold graceful…almost delicate. “Tea, your highness?”

“Don’t call me that.” He protests. “I – you’re the Queen - I’m just - “ “You’re my husband.” She answers, offering him a sip. “Your highness is an appropriate title.” 

“But to you, I should just be Jungkook.” He answers her, and she can only smile. 

“Can I taste too?” its a shift in conversation, but Jungkook nods, assuming she’d just…take a drink from his cup – which is why his brain short circuits the moment the cup was pulled away, replaced by her lips.

 Cherry blossom tea is at first just a hint of salt – one that fades to a mellow sweetness, floral notes and plum. Jungkook thinks to himself. Those grounded musings lost at her lips. She is kissing him, and he is overwhelmed, the taste of her and the cherry blossom tea an all too dangerous combination for him, leaving him lightheaded. She is kissing him -  and he could have whined, the angle of their bodies meaning he couldn’t move his hands from the ground, or they’d both tumble over.

 And he didn’t want to lose the fierceness of her kiss -  her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands hard enough for him to whimper, the sound lost as her tongue explored his mouth, stealing the taste of tea from his lips.

 He is on fire, he is in bloom under her touch.

 And then she pulls away, panting against his lips, her own cheeks flushed.

 “I like it – the tea. Its good on its own…but its better tasting it on your lips, pretty boy.” Jungkook could faint.

 “I – y-you can’t just….you can’t just say things like that!”

“Do you need a moment?” She is stretching out like a cat in the sun. “We should make flower crowns next, my prince.” 

Jungkook truly looks like a fish out of water in that moment, his mouth opening and closing in shock, and She could’ve laughed at the blush high on his cheeks. She had got him right where she wanted him, he realizes. The lilt to her voice was teasing as she gives him a knowing smirk. “What’s wrong, Jungkook?” 

 “I-“ He gulps, unable to speak, the taste of salt and honey still strong on his tongue from their kiss. It is too much- she is too much. “A-Actually, my throat is still dry.” He clears his throat once, then twice as if he was trying to prove it to her. “I might n-need another drink...”

 “Well, that is a problem, isn’t it.” She tilts her head to the side in mock sympathy and he nods, almost a little too eagerly, giving it away.

 “It is, yes. Maybe- maybe you could help me drink again?”

 “Hmm, I could...but you also have two perfectly good hands to use so.” She shrugged. “That sounds more like a problem than a me problem.”

 “But maybe I’d rather use my hands for...other things.” He is trying to tempt her- and failing miserably as she barely spared him a second glance, too busy focusing on gathering the materials for the flower crowns, something that he wasn’t as interested in now as he had been before.

 “Well that’s good, seeing as you’ll need them to make your crown. What flowers did you want?”

Making flower crowns was relaxing – that is the thought after a few minutes, as he hummed softly, twisting the flowers around the ribbon, grinning as they connected. It was unconscious, he sways softly, humming under his breath. He used to make so many of them, for the whole court…and his father would always pick his over his brother’s…

 “Ugh – “ The frustrated sound from beside him, pulls him from his memories, and he pauses, listening softly to the woman’s grumbles. Glancing down, he finds a bit of a mess, and it made him grin – he didn’t want to say anything though – not wanting to break her focus – that is until she hissed through her teeth, the flowers literally bursting from their ribbon, scattering around her.

 “Gah – “She grimaces, and he laughs outright, her head whipping around at the sound, finding him already wearing his…

 And it was beautiful…of course.

 “Having some trouble– “

“Its not easy.” She huffs. “You must be cheating somehow.”

“I did not!” Jungkook protests. “I just have more experience is all  - “

“I can’t do it.” She straight up whines, and Jungkook grins, giggling in earnest, scooting closer to her. How was she so cute, struggling like this, gathering up her flowers. In this moment she is just a girl, and he is just a boy - He can’t help but be brave.

 “Here...”He croons,�� reaching for her, pulling her closer so he can watch. “Let me teach you.” Only after does he realize how informal he’s being, shooting her a worried glance, only to be met by a little pout. 

 “I-I don’t need any help!” She curses under her breath, her stammer hardly hidden as she gives him a little glare. “I can do it!”

“Here.” His chin rested on her shoulder, hands gently taking hers in his. “You made your stems too short so they were harder to wrap.” Those flowers get set aside as he picks others from the pile. “These longer ones will work better.

 She was silent as she watched him manipulate her hands with his own, twisting the flowers so it entwined with the ribbon, the dyed material looking so good against his skin. 

 “...try?” The sudden baritone of his voice makes her jump.

 “What?”

 “I said, why don’t you try.” He has the gall to sound amused and she finds herself scowling at his grin. Even if she couldn’t see it- she felt it. “Let’s try to pay more attention when I’m teaching you, alright?”

 “Give me that.” She grabs the flower crown from him, ignoring the sound of his laugh, his body shaking next to her. Jungkook watches her, how she furrows her brows, grabbed another flower- daisies this time, and carefully winds it around the ribbon like he had showed her, focusing hard on her task.

She’s beautiful, he thinks to himself, wistful almost. Beautiful, and he’s hers. 

Beautiful, and wants him just as bad as he wants her - something he finds out the next morning, the veranda a place of more than just relaxing in the sunshine. 

“You should call me Noona.” Her voice is a purr against his ear, the kind that makes Jungkook shiver, tensing against her light touch. And it is like, fingers trailing his skin, delicate in the way they touch him, make him yearn for more...its...unexpected, how she makes him feel desirable and full of desire for her all at once. 

“N-Noona - “ He stammers, breath hitching at her fingertips parting the robe he’s wearing, dancing across his chest. “Ngh - you - “ “You’re so pretty.” She murmurs. “I wanna make you feel good.” He’s tensing at that, but the pit in his stomach is full of butterflies and aching, nothing like fear clinging to him now. “I don’t want you to regret...this...with me.” “This…?” he asks, confusion bleeding into his tone. “This...now?” “Now - and...our marriage.” She confesses, face dipping lower, lips ghosting across the juncture of his throat. “I want to make it worth it for you.” “Why is it worth it for you?” He wonders aloud. “I’m no one at all - “ “You’re magic itself.” She counters, and this time its a kiss against his neck, not just lips, this time her hand finds purchase on his chest, fingernails a dull scrap against his skin. It feels good, and he whines softly, adjusting to the feeling. “Beautiful, sweet - Strong.” She says, and she can feel his cheeks heat. “What, is it embarrassing to hear?” She sounds almost amused, blowing lightly at the strands of his hair, soft blue in the clear, cloudless sunshine.

“T-That - “ He nearly chokes on his own spit. “That - that’s taking it a little too far.” Its almost scolding. “How can you know that?’

“I want to know everything there is to know about you.” She answers. “And to show you all of me, too, if you...if you’ll let me.” 

“I want to...to see you.” He answers, honestly, after a moment. “You’re my wife after all, my bride.” There is a smile, hers, against his skin. 

“Such a good boy.” She praises, and he cannot help the pleased feeling under his skin, the way he nods, preening a little under her words. “Such a pretty, darling man.” Her hand, trailing lower, bringing new, ticklish feelings to his skin.

This type of affection wasn’t altogether new to him, romps with boys and girls in the stables up...up until recently, but this is different too, there is a feeling there he’s not used to, a longing coming from the woman that registers in his heart. 

He can feel her loneliness, the ache in her soul - and he wants to fill it as best he can. Maybe that’s what she had seen in him that night, that same feeling - deep in his heart - that deep alone that kept him up at night. 

So he kisses her, adjusting so he’s nearly in her lap, back to her chest, turning to catch her gaze. His lips meet hers and he sees her eyes widen, before his own shut, one of her hands coming to cup his cheek, thumb stroking idly against his skin. It’s sweet - soft, at least for a moment. But they’re both ravenous, he realizes, when it’s his hands that find purchase on the dainty silk robe that hid her form. Ravenous as she bites at his bottom lip, earning a whine, a whimper - when he looks up again, there is something molten in her gaze, and in his stomach. 

He wants her, and - 

“Ngh -“ he muffles the sound of surprise in his throat as she shifts them, so now it’s her, legs parted on either side of his thigh, sitting with her hands pressed against his chest. “I - I -“ 

“You?” She asks, like she hasn’t put them in a compromising position, little smirk at her lips. “Cat got your tongue, Jungkook?” Her thumb parts his lips, delight on her face as he opens his mouth, lets her press it to his tongue. “I’d be glad to have your tongue on my kitten.” The slang is enough to make him sweat, heat prickling against his skin. 

He’s wearing too many clothes - even if all he’s in is a night robe, the mid morning sun has left him languid and warm, her touch has set fire to his skin - and her - so close to him, nose brushing at the skin of his cheek, coaxing him closer, mouth meeting his with more fervor, hands tangling in his hair. 

She’s pulling at the strands, drawing a whine from his lips as her hips rock forward, as his hands find purchase on her hips - registering what she’s doing before his mind catches up. 

“N-noona -“ it’s a moan as they part, him panting softly, him trying his best to capture her lips again, only for her to evade. “I want to kiss you.” 

“Do you?” She asks, a soft hum on her lips as she brushes them by his ear, earning a shiver. “Badly?” 

“Everywhere.” He’s feeling bolder now, straightening his posture so he can give her more - tensing the muscles of his thighs as she rocks - rewarded with a surprised, pleased little noise, even more at how he shifts her himself, across the strength of his thigh, exposed now. 

“Not worried we’re going to get caught?” She asks, met with beautiful, darkened eyes. 

“You said that I didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing us.” He reminds. “Who’d dare interrupt their queen?” He mimics her voice from before, pleased when she laughs, when she grips lightly at his hair, tugging again just to make him whine.

“Brat.” But her tone is fond, like she’s seen him and found nothing displeasing in the least. “But you’re right, no one would dare.” She eyes him, noting the way his hands grip at her, eager to get her out of her clothes. “Don’t you try it.” She warns before he can act. “Seeing me naked is something that you’ll have to earn I’m afraid.” Even as she says that, her hand is grasping at the tie around his, her eyes meeting his own, seeking a silent permission he gives readily. 

The ribbon holding it closed is pulled away, her hand making contact with his lower stomach. Dipping lower, finding purchase on something that makes him hiss. 

“A-Ah - “ “Hard.” She poses, and its not a question, its an observation. He’s hard. “Pretty.” She tacks on. “Even your cock is pretty.” He feels like he could combust, head dropping to hid in the crook of her neck.

“N-Noona.” He whines. “Don’t say that.” 

“Come on, Jungkookie.” There is a note of challenge to her tone. “Are you just going to sit here while I touch your dick? Or are you going to help your wife, hm?  She glances at his hands on her hips, looking back up at him. 

Its enough, he’s back at it, biting his lip as she touches him, and her touch is light, light as she trails fingertips against the head of his cock, dips them down to grasp at him, pulling her hand away so she can lick her palm. He’s entranced, only shifting her hips because she told him to, entirely too focused on her damp palm meeting his skin again, dragging up, up, up.

But that’s not the only sensation. Its her, rutting against his thigh when he’s not fast enough, thumbing at his tip. He is conscious of his moans, soft and eager, and that’s about it, overwhelmed with the feeling.

“N-Noona - “ “Beautiful.” She answers him, and he can feel her - her essence against his skin, he’s flustered. “Lazy.” She teases and he whines, this time actually dragging her against his thigh. Again, then again, over and over - movements faltering as her drag up his skin sped up.

It - it was so hard to focus - 

“I-It would be easier if I was inside you.” He finally counters, words catching up with his thoughts - and that gets a reaction, her thighs clamping around his, her movement stuttering. “If y-you let me - “ “Already at the business of begetting heirs?” her palm slips from him and he whimpers. “Not yet, if you want it, I need it first.” She warns. She doesn’t mind being selfish, he already knows - and he doesn’t mind it either. 

“Then let me give it to you.” He’s pulling away, eyeing her. “Let me - let me worship you, on my knees, since you’re my...my queen - my wife.” and he is on his knees, already, something that clearly pleases her.

“Worship me?” She asks, perching up on her hands, legs stretched out in front of her. “You mean between my thighs, where you belong, right?” His cock is still hard, she muses, still throbbing and leaking, and eager - but making him wait was good, bringing him close to the edge and then not letting him…

Perfect.

“Can I?” He asks again, needing more than that from her. “Please - “ “You should talk less.” She answers him. “You’re wasting time you could be worshipping me.” It spurs him forward, but she meets him halfway. He is pushed down, pulled forward, till his nose was brushing against her core, silk robe falling around exposed hips and soon enough her legs were resting on his shoulders, holding him in place. He looked up, finding her flushed, seemingly eager. 

“This – this is what you want?”

“Come on, Kookie –�� You said you wanted to worship me, to be on your knees before me...So…why don’t you show me what that mouth does…besides teasing.”

 “Ngh -!” Jungkook flushes hard at the crude words that fall from her lips, his whole body uncomfortably hot. He wants to hide his face from her dark gaze but with the firm grip she had on his hair, he couldn’t move. Even then, he isn’t sure he could, trapped in her gaze the way he was. “V-Vulgar.”

 “I’m just telling you what I want, Jungkookie. You said you were going to….so do it.” The way she is looking at him makes that fire ignite in his blood again, a deep sense of desire and wanting.

 Because she is right. Jungkook wants to watch as she fell apart, her thighs trembling from around his head, his name like a prayer on her lips as her back arched with pleasure. 

 He wants nothing more.

 “Okay.” He murmurs, pressing sweet kisses to her thighs, intent on getting her just as hot as he felt. “You’re so wet for me, Noona.” Slowly, he ghosts his mouth over her core before going to press kisses to her other thigh, not missing the way she tensed and let out a little huff when he passed over her center.

 “I’d be wetter if you actually used your tongue on me.”

 “Maybe so.” He hums, letting his thumb brush over her clit, the corners of his lips twitching upwards at her soft whimper and he wonders if she tastes as sweet as the noises she makes, as sweet as the honey that he had tasted on her tongue earlier. Jungkook lets his gaze rest on hers before giving an experimental circle of his tongue on her clit, the woman jolting at the touch.

 “J-Jungkook-!“

 He doesn’t pause, his eyes still on hers as he wraps pretty lips around her pearl, giving a gentle suck, just to see how she’d react, a finger drawing over her entrance.

 Jungkook is not disappointed at her reaction, her hands falling free of his hair, digging into the wood of the veranda beneath her. She moans, a pleased – heady sound, her heels pressing into his back, pushing him closer and closer to her core. So – so she liked that, then,  Jungkook took note, returning to kitten licking at her.

 Don’t try to overwhelm her with the first thing you find she likes, take your time, savor her, till she’s aching with need - advice from his older brother about what to do with girls - he’d taken it, and it had always seemed to work. he took a breath, his warmth ghosting over her as he pressed his finger against her.

 “Noona – c-can – can I?” Jungkook asked, wanting to make sure.

 “Yes –! ngh – “ She tenses at the feeling of his finger. “F-Fuck… please – “ He slid a finger inside of her, the feeling making him whimper against her core. She – she was so warm, clenching around him...

 “O-Oh –“ He couldn’t help press his hips against the floor, searching for friction. How was it going to feel…buried inside of her, the hot, and wet and – and tight. He really was going to have to work her over now…because he doubted he was going to last very long at all. “Noona – you – you feel – so good.” Her thighs pressed against his face, and her head was tossed back.

 “More – Kookie – more, y-you can be more rough with me.” His name on her lips, the endearment not lost on him, spoken so fondly, with such need – Jungkook can’t help himself but give in to her desires. Sliding his finger out, till she whined at the empty feeling, this time her thrust two in, harder, teeth just lightly grazing her clit. If – if she wanted rough –

 “A-Ah! Jungkook!” the moan was sinful, and more of a cry, a shudder going through her as she tenses – “Ngh…ah..” He is thrusting his fingers into her, sitting up to press a kiss to her stomach, to bite lightly at her skin.

 “Noona – Noona – you’re driving me crazy –“ The boy pants, still rutting into the floor. “You – ngh – you sound so hot, I – I can’t – “

“Jungkook- “ Her voice sounds almost scolding. “Don’t – don’t you dare get yourself off.” He froze, not realizing she could tell.”

“B-But…But Noona –“ he whines, met with her hands in his hair again, pulling roughly.

 “No – you – you’re pleasuring me now. Just me.”

 Just her...

 Jungkook wanted to pout, to whine more at her scolding. It- it was hard to not lose himself over in the sound of her moans, the cry of his name falling from her lips. He couldn’t help that he wanted to be inside of her, actually inside of her- not just his fingers. To have her clenched tight around him.

 “J-Jungkook, move..” His wife gives a little wriggle of her hips, huffing at the stilling of his fingers. Brat. Trying to get off by himself- like she wouldn’t notice the shift of his hip and his soft whimpers against her skin. She gives him a cool look from his place between her legs. “Unless you want me to finish what you started on my own-“

 “N-No!” He blurted, his doe eyes wide at her implication. “No, Noona.” He repeated, slowly resuming his finger work, her shuddering in response. “Let- let me take care of you.” And then his mouth was on her again, sucking, licking, his fingers crooking inside of her- crooking his fingers to find that spot that’d make her see stars. He’d know just by the way-

 “A-Ah -“ Her grip on his hair tightened, holding him in place. “Ngh, K-Kookie, right- right there.” She moans. “D-Don’t you dare stop.” She could feel him smirk against her and honestly, she would’ve said something if it didn’t feel so fucking good, his tongue flattening against her clit before circling around the nub. She was close, she could feel it- that pleasure growing tight like a bow that was being strung. She was just about to fall until-

 Until-

 “S-Stop -!”

 Her gasp took him by surprise, her pulling him away from her immediately. Jungkook blinked up at her, confusion on his face. She had told him not to stop before... Had- had he done something wrong? “Noona...?”

 “C-Come here.” She shifts then, pulling him up to her so she could capture his lips with hers, tasting herself on his tongue. Her hands dropped to his waist, a whine in Jungkook’s throat, his hips bucking against her hand as she palms at him again, a whimper as she bites down on his lip.

 “Ngh, Noona, why...why’d you have me stop?” He felt his dick twitch in her hand and gods, he wishes he could feel her properly. “Y-You were close, a-ah, I could feel it.”

 “I was, you’re right.” Finally- finally, she moves, grasping his hand to put it against the tie of her robe.. “But if I’m going to cum...then I want to be doing it around your cock- not your fingers. I want you to see all of me.” That’s all he needs, pulling at it, undoing it - watching the silk slip from her shoulders, slowly exposing all of her.

She’s beautiful, but he already knows that. 

 “Jungkook.” Her voice is breathy, and her fingers traced patterns against the skin of his chest as he takes her in. “Kookie – you’re – you’re breathtaking.” He whines softly, hiding his face against her neck again, clearly flustered at her words.

“I -  I should be telling you that - “ He protests, but she is unabashed.  

“Jungkookie…” A hand dipped lower, finding purchase on his cock, swollen, pre-cum dripping.

 He is big. And even his dick was pretty, smooth and straight, with a gentle curve upward, She thinks wryly, wondering how physical perfection had managed to manifest itself so clearly in this man. Like every bit was crafted to draw a reaction from her, to make her long for him, yearn for him, need to have him.

She had known from the moment she’d seen him. 

“Noona- “ 

“I’m yours to take.” She answers the unspoken question, pulling him to her, till he is gripping at her hips, glad that he had something to hold onto so his hands wouldn’t shake, the pads of his fingers digging into her flesh as he shifted her hips upwards. Slowly, slowly, he sinks into her. Glad not to have to wait anymore, a whine on his lips at her heat that surrounds him and he feels her stiffen, her mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ of pleasure. “N-Noona -“

 She is hot and...and so tight around him, clenched like a vice, and he knows- Jungkook knows that he won’t be able to last very long.

 “Ngh-“ A gasp leaves her throat at him suddenly thrusting inside. “K-Kook -“

 “A-Ah, Noona, I- ngh, I can’t help it.” He leans forward, pressing kisses to her neck, her hands coming up to grip at his shoulders. “You- you feel so good.”

“Do i?” She asks, his reaction more than enough to clarify, hips setting a pace that seems to surprise her. “Ngh - you - you feel good too.” 

“A-And you’re beautiful.” Jungkook finally feels brave enough to say it. “I - I’m a little terrified of you, b-but I don’t regret this.” Its sweet, in its own way, and it makes her laugh.

“I hope you never do.” She is kissing him again. 

“W-What about you?” He asks after a moment. “Do you r-regret it?” “Never.” She answers against his lips. “Now, stop this idle worrying, let me feel your cum dripping out of me, instead.”

 “N-Noona – you – you can’t say that.” Jungkook works on steadying himself, methodical in his thrusts, her words echoing in his head. That thought – the feeling of her, he can’t help thrust as deep as he can, feeling her nails dig into his skin, her small pleasured sounds filling the air. He could feel her tense, like this, his name falling from her lips as she gripped at him.

 “K-Kookie – there – that’s it. Ngh – just like that.” She wasn’t shy under him, her legs wrapping around his narrow hips, drawing a soft groan from him.

 “It – ngh – feels too good.” Jungkook whines, only to have her pull him into a kiss…one he wasn’t sure was to silence her or himself. Whatever it was, it was messy, teeth and tongue and sounds of pleasure.

 But – but – he can feel it, that same feeling in his stomach, and he knew he needed to finish her, rewarded with her flat out moan, the loudest sound he had heard come from her, heady and high, when his fingers met her bud, breaking their messy kisses to toss her head back, a shudder coursing down her body.

 “J-Jungkook - !” There it is, the boy is triumphant, rubbing at her roughly – its what she wanted after all – still pounding into her, thrusts growing more and more sloppy with every move. He could feel her again – too, the way she tenses and tightens, but even in his triumph he couldn’t help the words on his lips.

 “Please, please – please Noona, please cum.” He is begging, his own mind hazy with pleasure. “Ngh – need you too…really bad.” He didn’t know what possessed him, slamming into her enough to make him wince, but it was enough.

 It was too much – the feeling of her falling apart, how tight she was, pulsing against him, too much – and he -and he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He empties himself in her, feeling very much so like a bucket, tossed to the ground, water spilled. 

“I told you no one would catch us.” She speaks after his breath settles, idly playing with his hair. “My dear husband.” “Y-You - I’m...I’m happy.” His words don’t fit hers, but they do all at once, telling her directly what she wanted to know. “That you chose me to give a crown to.” 

“Your magic sang to mine.” is all she says in return, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Your loneliness called to mine, because you were always meant to be mine...and i was always meant to be yours.” 

[ruby-whistler]

yes, i’m writing third life fanfiction because i can

grian and scar have become my second favorite dynamic duo right after the memento mori boys and no i do not take constructive criticism <3

even if you don’t watch the series reading this would be appreciated!

all of this is platonic, including platonic hand holding - no real warnings, just bonding and emotional comfort :]

Grian walked up the stairs of the sandcastle, dragging step after step with shoulders hunched in exhaustion.

Despite the slight frustration at its size now, he’d taken a liking to the building. It had taken him days to make, not even counting the effort it took to collect all of the sand and wood. It looked beautiful standing on top of Monopoly Mountain, he had to admit, and the way the hastily crafted sandstone glittered in the light made it somewhat of a lighthouse in the desert, reflecting the moon’s rays at night when the outside was most dangerous.

He reached the top of one of the towers, and his tired expression melted into somewhat satisfaction upon seeing a pink sunset fall over golden trees, his friend’s brown hair softly blowing in the wind.

“Hey, Scar,” he said, hoping not to startle the other.

His legs were hanging over the railings leisurely, the close distance to a deadly drop causing an uneasy feeling to settle in Grian’s stomach; Scar slowly turned his head and gave him a smile.

“Hey there.” He shifted, staying seated on the carved birch. His eyes were glazed over, and his smile slightly slipped off his face into a more neutral expression as he turned his head back around to stare at the horizon.

The silence was nice, Grian thought. That day had been a lot, and adrenaline drenches you of energy quickly. Redstone was caught in the loose threads of his sweater, and there was sand in his iron boots. Running through the desert and struggling to get past their own defenses was like smears in his mind, stained with an echoing explosion and panicked shouts.

“Anything on your mind?” he asked after a while, setting himself down besides Scar.

“I... Grian, are you ever... scared of me, now that I’m a red name?” his eyes drifted over to his friend, heels banging on the walls below them, with no concern of dirtying them - and really, why should he care?

It wasn’t like they would last long. Who focuses on gunpowder in their hair when they’re standing next to a killer, bound by invisible chains?

Grian should stop concentrating so much on the details. It might cost him a lot, someday.

“I mean I don’t... I didn’t want to kill people before. I just wanted to have a monopoly, to- control the economy through an elaborate scheme. I thought it would give us better chances at survival.”

Grian opted to ignore the plural in the last sentence, and hummed in agreement. “And now?”

Scar’s clothing rustled, head tilted forwards with his palms laid bare on his knees. “I don’t know,” he responded, looking into them like he was expecting red, “it’s like I have a drive.”

A moment passed as the two looked ahead in thought, no rushing on their minds now that the day was over. The world moves slower when the battlefield is empty.

“Well, I guess... I’m still gonna be there, aren’t I?” Grian responded, arms heavy and leaning back on his hands.

The promise remained unbroken for now, and so did assurance he would be there for Scar, no matter if he himself wanted it or not.

Well, what was it really that Grian wanted? He didn’t know anymore.

He had simply wanted to scare everyone, just wanted to have fun, once, and it landed him here, in a game of survival, with a reluctant murderer whose time was running short. Life doesn’t listen to what you want, and sometimes that is the only constant.

“Tell me, Grian, do you get a... thrill, from taking a life?” Scar lifted up his head, prompting eye contact. “You didn’t have to propose the trap idea, we wouldn’t have taken three lives today.”

Grian looked back down, conflicting feelings stirring in his stomach. “Well...” he started slowly, a smile creeping into his eyes, “Smajor did call me a chaos incarnate.”

Something of relief, of amusement, of straight up baffled laughter coming out of him, so hard he thought his lungs would deflate - standing on top of the hill, looking down upon the crater of his own creation, destruction caused by the victims’ mistakes and sheer luck.

He didn’t think before that he’d call three people losing a life lucky.

“Well, maybe I’m rubbing off on you?” Scar interrupted his train of thought.

“Uh-huh, sure. More like the other way around,” Grian retorted, nudging Scar’s shoulder with a chuckle. “You’re more of a danger to yourself than to anyone else.”

Scar snorted, rubbing his shoulder with his other hand. “Yeah, says the one who took my first life on accident.”

“I mean, that only further proves my point, now doesn’t it?” Grian ignored the stinging feeling of guilt at the mention of his mistakes, pushing it back with a bittersweet smirk.

“Guess you’re right about that one. I still have a few people on my hitlist, though, and they better be ready for me to be a danger to them. Us, I mean,” Scar corrected.

It felt nice, though Grian didn’t know whether to admit it to himself or not. Maybe it would’ve been easier to choose who to be aligned with, but so far, it hasn’t been the worst to be here.

“Just keep in mind I’m not killing anyone, and I’m not getting killed to save you from being an idiot,” he commented.

“Me? Be an idiot? Never!”

Scar’s wide smirk sparked something like quiet determination. The blueprints for a small creeper farm lay folded in Grian’s pockets. The day might’ve been over for most of the server, but there was still work to be done. A couple more nights awake couldn’t hurt, he told himself through heavy eyelids and bruised hands weighing him down, sleep could wait.

“I’m going to get some water from the river. G’night, Scar,” he lied, pushing himself up to stand.

“Can you answer a question, and please be honest with me - would you still be friends with me if it wasn’t for the life debt?”

Grian stopped in his tracks, turning back to his liege to look him in the eyes, an intangible expression on his face.

“Is that an order?”

The light was dissipating from the sky, and scattered torches below them seemed to be getting brighter. The night approaching made the small castle seem safe; a beacon of peace, for now at least. Fingers rhythmically tapped on the balcony as Grian shifted, eyes fixed on Scar’s line of sight.

“I don’t think so.”

There was an air of uncertainty to the words, much like anything spoken that day. New developments always sparked doubts. It was strange, to pretend anything was evident.

“I don’t think I would be here with you if it wasn’t for the life debt, no,” Grian said, and he knew it was the truth, but it felt like a decision to admit it.

There was no bitterness or disappointment on Scar’s face. Perhaps something in between.

Grian shuffled closer to his friend, now sitting comfortably - or as much as the gritty sandstone allowed him to - and put a hand on his.

“But I... am happy this is how things ended up, I think.”

“I think so too,” Scar replied with a brightness in his voice.

[milkiigalaxii]

He casted a glance over his shoulder and gulped softly. There was no way he would survive that fall, and no way could he just flee like this when there are hundred of securities all over the tower and he most certainly would not be able to outrun the Prime. He had to thread carefully if he wanted to remain in one piece.

" I-I just wanted to see you in all of your glory, my liege! " he explained quickly, his servo flying over his own chest plate almost dramatically, " It is a rare opportunity to see you in person. I must confess you look so much better in person than onscreen, " He added a little bit of bashfulness with that last statement before continuing, " Your personal medic's dedication to you is certainly admirable. However, she prioritized her job over her overall wellbeing. That is not very good. It could affect her performance, cause potential slip-ups. Knowing that, I simply can't turn a blind optic as a doctor. Now, you couldn't afford any mistakes from your personal medic while she's tending to you, could you? "

… Cute. No. Really. It was cute this little flaunt of polish was trying to gaslight him. He’d convinced a whole city he was their saviour, for fifty cycles!, toiling away in the dark for the good of Iacon, and this little upstart thought he had a chance.

He’d hoped being called out, that they’d just admit on the why’s. Were they a big fan? A loyal fanatic? Aggressive secondhand survivors guilt on him standing down here where the Prime’s failed against the quintessons? Arachnid got answers so much quicker. Granted, she also started stabbing early on.

“Alright” Sentinel sighs as he rises out of his chair, arms coming to fold behind his back, and slowly start advancing on the little red mech.

“You have ten seconds to give me your motive, or I will throw you out that window. Look behind you. Look down. It will take you two minutes to reach the ground, where the gravitational pull will increase your velocity every second. You will hit the sidewalk at such speed that no one will ever identify you as having been cybertronian. To which, I will send my medic some flowers and ask her if she is feeling well” The Prime beams, looming.

[officialleehadan]

Making a Queen

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Kat! Darling, thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Spider-Eating Elves

+++

“What was I thinking?” Shimra asked Halva, a little frantic around the edges and not entirely sure how her life had gotten to this point. “I’m an innkeeper’s daughter. I can’t be queen.”

“You will do very nicely as queen,” Isera said, very matter-of-fact and clear. She had forgone her usual white today, and was striking instead in soft green with gold about the hems. She adjusted the pins in Shimra’s hair, and checked to make sure her veil was neatly in place. “Sweet girl, every bride is nervous on her wedding day, and your wedding day is rather larger than you expected.”

“The steward told me there are nearly a thousand nobles, eight kings with their consorts, four queens with theirs, and representatives form every race that peoples the continent,” Shimra said weakly. Her gown was gossamer-white spidersilk, sewn with crystals that were almost to tiny to see, overlaid over thicker white silk embroidered with glimmering thread. The embroidery was exactly the color of the cloth itself, but made incredible, whirling patterns that seemed to move when Shimra looked at them too long. There were diamonds in her hair, throat, ears, and wrists. “This is more than even the most fanciful of daydreams.”

“You are the queen this land needs,” Halva said. Like Isera, she had forgone her usual garb and wore deep green to show off Isera’s pale. She looked very fine, and had agreed to stand for Shimra, along with Isera herself. Noble company for a girl born in the slums, but maybe appropriate, given that that slums-girl was marrying a king. “Take it from one who knows most of those nobles a little too well. We need new blood, and new ideas. We need that good, stout common sense and the courage to speak up. More than that, Grathneeds someone he can trust, and that’s you.”

“And you need him as well,” Isera agreed. She made another invisible adjustment, this time to Shimra’s hem, which flowered out like petals built of layer upon layer of that nearly-invisible gossamer. “You might have been happy with a lad down in the slums, but the job of ruling is so well suited to your talents. You would have run a fine inn, but you will run a better kingdom.”

It was… not exactly comforting, to realize that Isera was probably right. Shimra had always had a little more ambition than was sensible for a girl from the slums. Maybe she would have taken over her father’s inn when the time came, and maybe she would have been happy doing it but this…

This was a chance to do so much good for the people these nobles, even Halva and Isera and Grath himself, never truly thought of. She could be their voice where they never formerly had one. As queen, she could not be shouted down by anyone but Grath. Not that he ever would. Grath was gentle to the bone and respected her in particular and women in general to shout her down, even if they disagreed.

“Shim-lass, they’re right, you know.”

That was her mother. Hild Innkeep was no court flower, even gowned as noble herself in silks and jewels gifted to her by a very insistent elf-king. She looked magnificent, and as regal as any queen.

“You got my clever,” Hild told her with a gentle kiss to each of her cheeks. Shimra did her best not to tear up, and took a handkerchief when Halva offered one. “And you got your papa’s strong. Them two, they would have given you what you need to run our inn an’ run it well. They’ll also give you what you need to be a queen proper.”

“You aren’t mad, me leaving?” Shimra asked tentatively. Yes, she had a younger brother, but he was a child still, and not big enough to be much help around the inn. Gold was good, and she had plenty of it now from the income Intevar gave her as a duchess, but gold wasn’t the same as family to help. “Won’t see you much, especially if we have to leave on Progress like the council says. Let the kingdom see me.”

“Me? Be mad my girl-child will be a queen?” Hild chuckled ruefully. “Nah, sweet girl. I’ll miss you. We all will. But you’re to be a queen an’ that’s a duty like the nobles maybe forget. I’m proud of you, an’ so is your papa.”

“It’s time.”

Intevar stepped through the door. He matched his sister, but unlike Isera, he wore a slim, emerald-set crown, and a larger emerald at his throat. Shimra’s father, looking very fine, a little nervous, and so proud he could burst, stood beside him. He was to walk Shimra to Grath’s side and give her hand to the man who would be her husband.

The nobles argued that it should be Intevar, as he was her liege, but both Intevar and Isera threw a very public tantrum about disrespecting the honors of family bonds. Nobody argued much after that.

“Last chance to run,” Harrow Innkeep told Shimra with a fond smile that promised he was joking. He liked Grath, had met the young king a dozen times since the first time Shimra brought Grath down to the slums, and approved of the man as much as he approved of the king. “We could go out the window. Use that veil as a rope.”

“It would hold,” Isera told them both with a straight face. Shimra couldn’t tell if she was joking, but rather suspected she wasn’t. “Spidersilk is very strong, although it might not be long enough.”

“I’m not fleeing my own wedding,” Shimra told them all, but she was smiling again, at the jokes and her family who came together to make sure she was ready to pledge her life and love to her soon-to-be husband. She took her father’s arm and straightened herself proudly. “Besides, there isn’t time to kidnap Grath on our way, and anyway, that would leave Marn on the throne.”

“Perish the thought,” Halva muttered, but she was grinning, one arm around her wife. “Come on, Innkeeper’s Daughter. It’s time to become a queen.”

+++

And that's a wrap! Spider-Eating Elves is officially CLOSED! Keep your eyes out for the anthology, coming soon!

+++

Spider-Eating Elves:

Elves are beautiful, icy, and untouchable. Unfortunately, they always thought the same of humans. Worse yet, they also live in a forest full of giant insects, think tiny spiders are a delicacy, and have a strong-willed princess who is nothing but trouble.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Introductory Trouble

Lady of Grace

Lady of Stone, and her Girlfriend

Lady Retrieved

Monsters on the Wing

Spiderwebs and Cookies

Royal Match

Lines in the Sand

From One King to Another

Duchess of Pies

Twilight Silk

An Entrance to Make

Raise a Glass (Subscriber Only!)

The Oak and the Climbing Rose

Under the Willow Boughs  (Subscriber Only!)

The Brightest Flowers

Back Road to the Slums

Beneath the Sky (Subscriber Only!)

+++

More Stories!

+++

[epicseptic]

Erseptyl AU

This part one of a 3 part prologue for one of my aus. I won’t give away any details but this is my first time writing anything so its far from perfect ^^’

~~~~~~~~~~

It was early morning and the sun was already high in the sky, its soft rays of light peeking in through the closed curtains. The windows on the far end of the room were tall and let in just enough light to disturb the figure sleeping in the bed on the opposite side. Though the bed was elegantly decorated with drapes and curtains, they proved useless in providing shield against the blinding rays that managed to sneak their way past the windows' protective shades. The figure, who was still asleep, was wrapped up tightly in the wool blankets. They stirred lightly in their sleep and buried their face into the pillows, green hair falling over their face, completely shielding it from sight.

Only moments later, the door to the room opened and in walked a man dressed very properly in a beige vest and bow tie. His white dress shirt was without a single wrinkle, and even his moustache was perfectly groomed and curled upward to a fine point. Every detail in his appearance was put together with such delicate attention. With him, he carried in his hand a small tray with a teapot and a single teacup upon a saucer. The fine dishware had beautiful designs that were hand painted and appeared to be very delicate and expensive. The servant, who primarily went by JJ, carefully, and quietly, placed the tray on the nightstand closest to the door, careful not to startle the still slumbering figure. Then, he gently placed a hand on the individual's shoulder and gave it a soft shake.

Marvin awoke slowly at his touch. "Hmm...?" He hummed tiredly, attempting to open his eyes but immediately regretting it when JJ opened up the curtains, letting the sun mercilessly sting his eyes with it's harsh light. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut again and used his hand to shield them from the rays. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust, he attempted again to look at JJ, who was now pouring a cup of tea beside him. He really did move fast in the mornings. Then again, Marvin always felt like he was stuck in slow motion during the earliest hours of the day.

JJ noticed him awake a few seconds later, flashing him a bright smile to greet him. He set the teapot down on the tray once he was finished pouring it's contents into the fancy cup. The sweet aroma filling Marvin's nostrils already, threatening to further pull him out of the sweet, dark abysmal sleep he so longed to return to.

"Good morning, your Highness" the mute signed with his hands, briefly bowing to the prince respectfully.

With a heavy sigh, Marvin plopped his head back down onto the pillow, clearly disinterested in getting out of bed anytime soon. "Five more minutes, Jamie...." he whined. He was tired of having to wake up early at the same time every day. For once he just wanted to sleep in late without worrying about his responsibilities. The servant raised his brow, clearly unamused. JJ wasn't willing to deal with the young prince's stubbornness this morning, and he responded by placing the teacup right beneath Marvin's nose, letting the warm scent of tea do the talking for him.

He knew there was no way he was going to get any sleep with his favorite, mint tea tempting him out of bed so with a groan of reluctance - and possibly a curse under his breath - Marvin sat up against the pillows and rubbed his eyes, yawning tiredly. Finally, he accepted the tea that JJ had handed to him to help himself wake up. He always started his day with his favorite tea. It was Jameson's idea to use it as bait to get him out of bed each morning. Marvin was known to be uncooperative at times and thanks to how often he tried to sleep in and dodge his duties, this tea was a lifesaver.

While he was busy sipping his tea, JJ was busy by the wardrobe, pulling out a few outfits for him to choose from for the day. Marvin watched him bustle around the room, getting everything ready for him just like he did every morning; laying out his outfits, preparing his hairbrush and hair accessories, finding that cupcake that he had stolen from the kitchens the previous night... Why was JJ not surprised... All Marvin could do was shrug when he gave him a disapproving stare.

Even so, Marvin couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate how hard his valet worked to care for him. Not only was JJ a helpful member of his staff, but he was his best friend; someone that he felt he could trust with even the most personal matters.

JJ waited patiently for him to finish his tea before beckoning him over to the wardrobe where Marvin chose to wear a simple, plain white blouse with frilly cuffs and a corset wrap. He decided that a much simpler outfit would be more appropriate, and comfortable, to complete his duties for the day. His trousers were black and made of a soft fabric and he wore tall boots that came just below the knee and had the usual 4 inch heel he was used to wearing. He preferred shoes that gave him a little boost in height. It was apparent that he had a.... diminutive height. It was something he found to be a rather embarrassing topic if it was ever brought up and actually felt quite insulted that the gods would curse him with such short stature. What kind of king was so small? It seemed even the divines were mocking him.

After helping to get him dressed, JJ allowed him to take a seat in front of the vanity so that he could brush his hair for him. It was filled with tangles and very frizzy. It always looked like a giant, dramatic tumbleweed when he got out of bed in the morning. 

While he waited patiently for JJ to take care of his hair, he gazed into the mirror at his reflection, his sky blue eyes meeting the cold icy ones of his doppelganger in the mirror. For a moment, he wore a soft smile on his face but after seeing himself through the glass, that's when suddenly his mind started to wander again, and the smile quickly faded.... He stared into the eyes of his reflection, who only looked back at him with a harsh, lambasting stare of its own. It was only himself in the mirror, he knew that, and yet, it felt like a completely different person was looking back at him, judging him. Judging and criticizing him in any and every aspect....

By now, this was routine for him on most mornings; to remind himself of the burden he was forced to carry. This is how he normally started the day, being hard on himself and chastising himself for not doing better. For not BEING better, but unlike most mornings where he was able to ignore those thoughts, he felt especially troubled today. Today the worries he faced clouded his mind far more than usual and he found that he just couldn't shake them away. He criticised everything about who he was. His appearance, his intelligence, and most of all his worth. He just wasn't good enough. He wasn't "them"...

JJ must've sensed the tension in Marvin's silence but he didn't acknowledge it in fear of putting his friend through even deeper distress. He didn't want to seem intrusive or pull any loose threads. It was known to him that Marvin often preferred to keep quiet about things and not have anyone question him. Making a big deal out of the situation usually stressed him out even more and didn't help to solve the problem. Instead, the best thing to do was let him decide when he was ready to come forward and speak about it. Marvin felt more in control of his situation that way. The servant’s patience was rewarded in a way because it didn't take very much longer for Marvin to decide to open up.

"Do you think I'll ever be like them...?" He questioned, the tone of his voice was so soft that JJ could barely make out what he said. In the reflection of the mirror, his eyes met with the prince's as he gazed at him with bewilderment. Marvin must've noticed because it wasn't long before he spoke up again. "I mean my parents. They left me so early, I don't even know if I'm doing any of this right. All I did was pick up where they left off. And I'm doing my best but I don't know how to be a ruler. How do I know I'm living up to their success...?" By that time, Jamie had finished brushing through his long hair and set the brush down on the table. He approached the side of the stool so that he could make proper eye contact with the prince.

"Fret not, my liege. You are a hard worker and your people respect you for it. That is a great honor and you've earned it well. Your folks would be proud" he signed to him with a gracious smile, hoping to put his Highness at ease. Marvin often doubted himself and JJ knew that about him more than anyone in his staff. It was rather heartbreaking to see someone he truly cared so much about experiencing so much doubt in himself and comparing his own successes to that of others before him. Marvin did lack guidance, there was no doubt, but he was so young and had far too much expectation for himself.

"I suppose you're right..." As he thought about his words, he had to agree that he had a point. He was grateful that his people respected him but at the same it left him with a dreaded feeling of guilt. It was a respect that he wasn't sure he deserved. "But no one ever taught me how to run a whole kingdom... How do I know I am doing this right...?"

"Who's to say? You're doing it your way and it's working. If you ask me, I'd say you're doing just fine...." JJ signed.

On the table just in front of the mirror was a glass display case. He used this moment to open it up and remove a crown littered with jewels that was made specifically for Marvin.

He picked up the golden crown and moved back to his spot behind the stool and placed it gently on Marvin's head, being careful not to set a single hair out of place. Afterwards, he stepped back to admire his work, gazing into the mirror at their reflections to make sure that everything was centered and tidy.

Marvin too admired his own reflection. Before he had received this crown, when he was younger, he used to wear a small, elegant tiara but after he was put in charge he was urged to take the title as King. It was a title that he refused profusely. Perhaps he was afraid of the responsibility or maybe he was still trying to move on from everything that had happened to his parents, but for whatever reason, Marvin kept the title as a mere prince. However, a special crown was made in his honor. A crown fit for a King but not exactly something he felt he deserved. Still, he much preferred this to taking his father's crown.

Aside from it all, he was very much impressed with JJ's ability to seemingly turn anything into perfection. If only he could turn more than a person's appearance into perfection... Marvin knew that Jamie would never want to hurt his feelings, even with the truth, and that's why, sometimes, he could never truly know if he was being honest with him. He knew that he wouldn't hide things from him out of fear, but rather, he hid them to spare his feelings. JJ was a sweetheart and Marvin knew how much he cared about him, but all he wished was for him to tell him sincerely if he could do better, not just as a person, but as a ruler. Sometimes he felt that Jamie just didn't really understand the weight of it all. That was probably true. To lose your only sources of guidance as a mere child and have every responsibility of running a kingdom fall onto your shoulders... Though it'd been over a decade since the assassination, he never truly did know if he was living up to his name. Then again, his expectations for himself were much harsher than anyone else in the land but he didn't know how else to strive for the same success as his parents.

While his mind only got more and more muddled with thoughts, JJ had snuck off, taking the time to make his bed and straighten up the sheets for him. It didn't take him long and when he was finished, he came back to the vanity to notify the prince of his other priorities.

"My apologies, your Highness, but I have other duties to attend to." He gently knocked on the wood of the table, briefly snapping Marvin out of his thoughts. "Please come to the dining hall when you are ready. Your breakfast will be waiting for you. Now, please excuse me..." He bowed politely before taking his leave, leaving Marvin alone in the empty bedroom. The door clicked behind him and he glanced back to make sure he was alone. Then, he stood up and walked over to the tall windows where, in the center, there were two arched glass doors that led out to the balcony.

Marvin opened up the doors and stepped out onto the veranda, gazing out to the town below. It may have been a warm sunny morning but the breeze still carried a cool, refreshing scent on the wind. It was the kind of scent that you could only smell at dawn when the sun still hid behind the clouds and air was cool and humid and smelled like rain. The gentle wind that blew through his hair carried away with it some of his stress from before. He closed his eyes and leaned his elbows on the stone rail, feeling the air on his skin and taking slow, deep breaths to relieve the ache in his chest.

The tangled web of anxiety that he felt just a moment ago was now starting to unravel, allowing him to try and decipher just what it was that always left him feeling this way; feeling that he wasn't good enough.

Maybe the reason he was hard on himself was because he felt that he had nothing to show for all of his work. In mere seconds, his entire life had completely changed and he, all of a sudden, felt so heavily pressured to prove that he too could be a great king, just as his father had once been. He never noticed it until he stepped into power, but once he had taken the throne, he felt everyone's eyes on him. It was like he was performing upon a stage and his audience was just watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. The only problem was, one mistake could ruin his entire family name. He alone represented so much and his parents' entire legacy was on the line. He HAD to show everyone that he could be just as good a king as his father. In fact, he felt that the only way he would be worth anything was measured by great and noble achievements. Achievements of his that he felt could never compare to the deeds of his father. Perhaps he coveted that success...

He stood there with his eyes closed for quite some time, but soon he began to long for an escape. With another deep breath, he opened up his eyes and looked out to the city below. To be fair, he couldn't see many people, besides the castle staff, since the town was a ways down the road from the castle and many of the buildings made it hard to see what was going on, but the scenery still brought a fond smile to his lips. He caught small glimpses here and there of the townsfolk bustling about in the streets. There were farmers tending to and harvesting their fields, an on-duty soldier offering a flower to a small child by the gates, a man grooming the horses by the stables... There were children running by the shops in the circle and there were people dancing and playing music as if they were celebrating the new day. There were vendors passing out food, no doubt hot and fresh and Marvin could already smell the bread and cakes just by thinking about them.

Everything just felt so peaceful and it all brought him a sense of comfort...

Perhaps Jamie was right about everything. Maybe he did have everything under control after all. He gazed out at the town and everything was in order. The people were well and happy and they were all joyously doing their part to provide for themselves and their home. Everyone seemed so content. Maybe that was really all that mattered. 

He thought hard about it and settled that even if the job was tough, it was all worth it to see everyone so happy. It made the job feel a lot less lonely. Besides, it wasn't like he could just give up who he was. He was the prince, the heir and future king. Whether he was ready or not for this burden, it was his to bear and it was time he accepted that.

He was now starting to realize that maybe the only person he was trying to prove himself to was himself. He so badly wanted to prove to himself that he could be just as successful as the late king, but something that he often forgot was that such incredible feats of leadership didn't come overnight. And his life was only just getting started. There was still plenty of time to make his own accomplishments. And he could do it all his own way.... That would be the best part.

He just had to be patient.

He closed his eyes and took in one more deep breath, filling his lungs with that refreshing morning scent before it had finally disappeared for the day. It was calming and he soon felt all of the pressure from before leaving his shoulders. He stopped comparing himself to those before him and abandoned whatever harsh critical thoughts he had of himself. He wanted to face the day with a new mentality. He wasn’t a failure and he wasn’t going to be. 

As he stood there on the balcony, he made a silent promise to himself that he would never lose sight of what was important and make the most of every day, not just for him but for the people he swore to protect. The refreshing wind began to die down now, replaced by the less pleasant heat of the sun. Maybe it was time to head back inside, before it got late and the servants would come looking for him. He turned on his heel and entered the bedroom through the open glass doors. He closed them behind him and locked the door with the latch. 

He was on his way out and had approached the door that led out into the halls but just before he turned the handle, he looked back at the portrait above the vanity. Seeing it again made him wonder if they were watching him from their place up above but he knew, either way, that he didn't have to worry. Of course they were proud of him.... Even if he wasn't proud of himself yet, he knew that the most important people in the world were, and that was enough for him. His lips curled into a small smile before he inevitably turned away to head downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~

This is my very first ever written piece so plz go easy on me ;w; 

Tags:

@geekyfox2 @cryptid-bwoid @fanaticallyperfect @jack-and-sammy

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto VI (Beren in Nargothrond)

While The Leithian-related plot of this canto focuses on Beren in Nargothrond, almost the first half of it is a brief summary of the Silmarillion from Return of the Noldor through to the Dagor Bragollach. Which I love, since those events for the most part aren’t coverered in Tolkien’s other poetic works, and I prefer the poetry structure of the Leithian to Tolkien’s other (non-rhyming, more Rohirric-sounding) pieces of epic poetry.

This is a good place to note, for readers who are new to the poetic Leithian, that some names are different from the Silm (Tolkien started a revised version with Silm-consistent names, but he didn’t get very far with it). The Noldor are referred to as the Gnomes - a rough transliteration of their elvish name into a human language, drawing from the Greek for ‘knowledge’. Tolkien later rejected this on the basis that the word was already too associated with entirely different mental images, but given how transformative his use of ‘elves’ was (typical fantasy elves are now almost all inspired by his ideas of tall, beautiful, long-lived immortals), we might have completely different concepts of ‘gnome’ now if he’s gone ahead with it. 

The second big diiference is that Finrod is referred to exclusively as Felagund - his Dwarven honorific - whereas his father Finarfin is referred to as Finrod. Tolkien had a lot of difficulty with Finarfin’s name and it went through a pile of different iterations. There are also other minor differences, like Finwë being referred to as Finn.

Returning to the poem - it’s hard to pick a favourite part of the summary section; I love so much of it. This is the closest I’m ever going to get to the Noldolantë (Tolkien wrote a couple pages of another poem focusing on the Return of the Noldor, but I don’t like it as much).

The mists were mantled round the towers

of the Elves’ white city by the sea.

There countless torches fitfully

did start and twinkle, as the Gnomes

were gathered to their fading homes

and thronged the wide and winding stair

that led to the wide echoing square.

There Fëanor mourned his jewels divine,

the Silmarils he made. Like wine

his wild and potent words them fill;

a great host hearkens deathly still.

But all he said both wild and wise

half truth and half the fruit of lies

that Morgoth sowed in Valinor

in other songs and other lore

recorded is.

There’s such a wonderful sense of place and of mood in those lines; the Return of the Noldor has always been one of the most compelling parts of the Silmarillion for me. In the same way that Elves have a different sense of time than Men, Valar must have a different sense of it than Elves; they’re acting, but within their own sense of time, and for the Noldor, in the wake of the Darkening, the desire to do something rather than wait around for the Valar (who are looking more deeply fallible than they ever have before) to fix things must be extremely powerful. And Fëanor’s presence and words and fury, brought into that environment, is like fire to oil. To be active and purposeful in the face of disaster, rather than passive and directionless - that’s a powerful force. The poem also acknowledges that Fëanor’s not entirely wrong (“half truth and half the fruit of lies”), however deeply distorted his ideas about both the Valar and the Secondborn are. As I’ve said before, I think that Eru intended for the Elves to be in Middle-earth, not Valinor; the entire Leithian is centred around the value and importance of an elf-human relationship that continues to affect the history of Arda down through the Third Age (and, in its symbolic meaning, even further).

There’s also a line about the Oath: Who calls these names in witness may not break his oath, though earth and heaven shake. The texts on the Oath are somewhat contradictory on its breakability, though they are united on its importance and severity (it is decidedly not just words, or something that can be casually laid aside). The Silmarillion says “so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world’s end”. But that contradicts itself - it it can’t be broken, then there can’t be oathbreakers. Maedhros and Maglor’s final conversation at the end of the Silm is more illuminating to me: it’s not a matter of the Oath being physically or psychologically impossible to break (if it was, how did they go the 400 years of the Siege of Angband without actively attacking Morgoth?), but of fearing the fate they have called down upon themselves (the Everlasting Darkness) if they do break it. (Plus a lot of sunk cost fallacy, by that point.) Which is considerably less sympathetic: murdering innocent people in order to avoid the consequences of your own bad decision is, ultimately, the choice that innocents should bear the cost of your own choices, which is ultimately a form of cowardice. (Not to mention the inherently contradictory nature of saying “I’m going to do evil so that I won’t be damned,” which Maglor eventually realizes.)

(More of my thoughts on the Oath here.)

This is also one of the few texts we have that actually states the Oath (or rather, part of it; the invocations are not included) rather that describing it. I think all the ones we have are in Tolkien’s poetry; there’s no prose version.

The Kinslaying is not mentioned in this Canto; that’s saved for the Duel of Felagund and Sauron in the next one. But this canto does include possibly the only poetic rendition we get of Fingon rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim:

Fingon daring alone went forth

and sought for Maidros where he hung;

in torment terrible he swung,

his wrist in band of forgéd steel,

from a sheer precipice where reel

the dizzy senses staring down

from Thangorodrim’s stony crown.

The song of Fingon Elves yet sing,

captain of armies, Gnomish king...

They sing how Maidros free he set,

and stayed the feud that slumbered yet

between the children proud of Finn.

After describing the Siege of Angband and the Long Peace, the narrative moves on to the Dagor Bragollach, and specifically Barahir’s rescue of Felagund. (And in this account, as in the Silm, Orodreth is Felagund’s brother, not his nephew.) From there, it returns to the main story and Beren’s arrival in Nargothrond. It could not be more different than his reception in Menegroth:

When the ring [of Barahir] was seen

they bowed before him, though his plight

was poor and beggarly...

Fair were the words of Narog’s king

to Beren, and his wandering

and all his feuds and bitter wars

recounted soon.

Regarding Felagund’s fulfillment of his Oath to Barahir, and the betrayal by Celegorm and Curufin, and the abandonment by the Elves of Nargothrond, I’ve already written a fair bit in my (much earlier) posts on Finrod & Nargothrond and Celegorm & Curufin. I’ll add a few additional points here.

First, I do not think it was irresponsible of Felagund to leave Nargothrond to go with Beren. If his presence as king of Nargothrond was important (and I think it was; basically all of Nargothrond’s decisions after he leaves are bad, and he’s been the peacemaker and diplomat between different elven and human groups throughout the Silmarillion up to this point) that is all the more reason why Nargothrond is indebted to Barahir and his descendents, since Felagund would already be dead if not for Barahir’s actions.

Secondly - and I’m getting this from Philosopher at Large’s Leithian Script, which emphasizes it very heavily - Felagund, as liege-lord to the Bëorings, has certain obligations to them even outside of his oath, including providing military assistance in times of need. Usual chains of communication have been cut since the Bragollach, so Felagund’s only just now finding out that the Bëorings have, aside from Beren, been basically exterminated; and that Barahir and later Beren spent years fighting a very long-odds guerrilla war without ever asking or recieving assistance, while Nargothrond was safe and largely inactive. This is going to strongly enhance Felagund’s (legitimate) sense of indebtedness to Barahir’s kin.

Thirdly, Celegorm is often treated as something of a meathead (because he acts like one; all his decisions are terrible in both moral and practical terms), but this sequence makes it clear that both he and Curufin inherited their father’s rhetorical abilities; his speech is specifically compared to Fëanor’s speech in Tirion (Many wild and potent words he spoke, and as before in Tûn awoke his father’s voice their hearts to fire, so now dark fear and brooding ire he cast on them...) But ironically, the direction of Curufin’s speech is opposite to Fëanor’s - while Fëanor’s was about rallying the Noldor to fight Morgoth, Curufin’s is about discouraging them from fighting Morgoth, by frightening them, and he does it so effectively that it’s unlikely Nargothrond would have showed up at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad even without the additional motivation of being furious at the brothers. And continuing on that theme, the brothers are setting themselves against the first real attempt anyone has ever made to regain the Silmarils from Morgoth. A mission that resulted in Beren and Lúthien having one Silmaril, and the Fëanorians having the other two, would obviously be better in terms of their goals than all three remaining in Morgoth’s posession, but they don’t appear to even consider it. This is part of a long thread throughout the Silmarillion - every action taken directly in service to the Oath aids Morgoth and harms the Eldar.

The people of Nargothrond, by the way, really do not come off well here - they’re rejecting their king for someone who has just threatened violence against them all (Celegorm’s speech is basically threatening them with another Kinslaying here and now).

And as a final point - what Celegorm and Curufin do here is one of the worst crimes imaginable within their society. The sacredness of the relationship between guests and hosts (and they are guests in Nargothrond, having fled there from the Bragollach) is a major theme in a lot of pre-modern societies. People familiar with A Song of Ice and Fire will remember its importance there; for a more historical source, Dante places ‘traitors to guests and hosts’ in the ninth circle of hell in the Divine Comedy and goes beyond that to state that people who betray their guests or hosts go directly to hell even before they die, while their body becomes inhabited by a demon for the rest of their life. From this betrayal, to the usurpation of Nargothrond, to the attempted rape of Lúthien, to the attempted murder of Lúthien, to Celegorm’s servants leaving Eluréd and Elurín - young children - to die of exposure, everything we see from the brothers from this point on is them committing crimes that are literally unthinkable to elves. Which is to say that the Eldar might have found Dante’s explanation pretty credible.

[cyndecreativity]

Anniversary - Dark Souls 2

Velstadt watched a soft, warm smile claim the face of his liege. A smile that reminded him of the fires tended by the old women far outside Majula or the daughter of Lord Aldia. A smile the General recognized for he had worn one many a time himself. Even before last year’s Nehma’s day when he admitted the warmth to himself and his Lieutenant.

The smile faded as a young King approached his liege to pull his attention from his imminent Queen. Velstadt watched as the Kings exchanged pleasantries for a bit. The conversation seemed inconsequential. He returned to scanning the crowd.

“General Velstadt.”

He started, so focused on his duties that his personal awareness waned. He turned to the Lord Aldia’s daughter. A young creature, red hair covering half her face, a choice that made the girl difficult to read.

He offered her a neutral smile. “Lady Shanalotte. It is good to find you well.”

The girl smiled slightly. “And you, General.” She looked back for a moment, somewhat tense. “I had hoped to ask you about a delicate matter.”

Velstadt groaned inwardly. The delicate matters of teenage girls fell just outside of his abilities. “Why come to me, my lady?”

She looked back again. “My bodyguard, the Lieutenant. My… father, Lord Aldia, said you might know why she is acting so strangely.”

Fear clenched the General’s chest. His focus shifted entirely to the young Lord’s daughter. “Strange how?”

Shanalotte pulled a face – half of a face, anyway – and looked around the party. “I… am unsure of how to describe it. I’ve never encountered anything like it before.”

Velstadt swallowed. They had exchanged regular letters, a joy and relief for him when they came, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her words made it seem she looked forward to this charade of an event. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, my lady. I will go to her imminently.”

Shanalotte nodded absently as she turned away, her duty seemingly complete. Velstadt smiled at her back until she disappeared between a few dancing bodies. His eyes returned to scanning the room, a brief glance to his King, desperately searching for his Lieutenant.

“General?”

He tensed at the voice, frustrated at the interruption. “Lady Shanalo-“ He froze mid-spin toward the voice.

A tall, muscular woman sporting a long purple braid struggled with a confused smile. “Shanny is over enjoying the punch.”

Velstadt’s brow lifted, his mind coming to understand the vision before him. “Liandra?”

The confusion fell away, leaving only the bright smile. She nodded to him. “You seemed to enjoy my dress so much last time, I called in a favor with my friend. She had a few extra hours to whip me up a little something between all the other noble ladies in the area.” The braid spun out as she tugged the skirt of her dress to spin with her.

He smiled warmly, a familiar smile he caught on his King earlier, as his Lieutenant availed him of her charms, reminded him of the fire in his chest. She glanced down to the low cut V of her dress, a deep emerald green that accentuated her hair and eye colors, that did not attempt to hide her scars, that led to a flowy, gauzy skirt that she tossed about girlishly, playing with it as she beamed at him.

“Never felt so girly in my life.” Embarrassment crept into her voice, a self-deprecation that did not suit her at all.

Realization dawned on him; he had stood there like an idiot, dumbfounded as she flaunted herself in his direction with no discernable reaction from him. His fingers buzzed as he wrapped his fingers around her bare arms. “Liandra, you look beautiful. And I’d say you look more like a Lady.”

She laughed once, a twinkle in her eye as she glanced to the floor. “Thank you. But look at you!” She released her gauzy skirt to gesture at him, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “I think this is only the second time I’ve seen you without your armor.”

He glanced down. “Second? I’m sure it’s been more than that.”

A sly grin spread on her lips. He recognized that grin. But it did not disarm him as it once did. “I’ve seen you in your smallclothes far more often, that’s true.”

A blush spread on his cheeks despite himself. “My lady!” He cleared his throat. “Not in polite company, at the very least.”

She giggled and drew closer to him, forcing his hands onto her back. “Maybe later, in private?”

He stiffened as she drew closer. “It is our first anniversary. I… had hoped to celebrate.”

Hazel eyes lifted to his and he witnessed it again, an ember danced behind her eyes, as he saw in Vendrick’s eyes, as he felt mere moments ago. Even as the embers danced, she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Vel?”

He glanced around at the guests, searching for a brief glimpse of his liege. His hands slipped up the back of her dress, holding her tastefully. “Yes, my lady.”

She inhaled slowly and slid her arms around his midsection, a warm and provincial hug. “Thanks.”

His brow furrowed as he followed flashed of Vendrick through the crowd. “For what?”

Her hug shifted slightly, still base, but she worked toward tasteful. “For now.” She sighed gently. “For loving me. Even if it is just for now.”

Shanalotte’s words echoed in his mind. “Liandra, is something troubling you?”

The Lieutenant took a slow breath. “Not really. Just… Shanny needs a lot of looking after, you know? She needs a better parent than Vendrick or Aldia are willing to provide. I guess I been thinking a lot about what she needs to know and how she’s growing up so fast and… Will I have to watch her die or go Hollow like everyone else?”

Velstadt took a slow breath and dropped his eyes to his lover’s back. His fingers drifted to play absently with the end of her braid. Even as a warmth spread through his chest, he felt it fade into the void in his left shoulderblade. “Immortality presents unique challenges, does it not.”

Her head rolled against his shoulder. He pulled her tighter against him, propriety be damned. “I’m sure you understand the circumstances of Lady Shanalotte’s birth. Who is to say that she is not Immortal as the rest of us. Or that she can even go Hollow?” His hands rubbed her back in an effort to comfort. “And even if she isn’t immune to death or Hollowing… I’ll be there to hold you through the grief.”

Her hands slipped over his shoulderblades, jerking to avoid the Curse. “I’ve lost so many, Vel. My father, my brothers, my regiments. I was supposed to take care of them, too. And Shanny… I feel like her mother. Or at least her sister. I’m having to raise her, be the one that answers her questions, especially lady questions. I’m basically raising that girl. And… I don’t think I can lose a child.”

Velstadt pressed a kiss to the exposed area of her neck. She chuckled once, an exhalation from her nose, and lifted her head slightly. “You can do anything, Liandra. You are so much stronger than you think. It will hurt, that is without question, but you have the capability to survive it. And you no longer have to survive it alone. Remember that.”

He shifted his head to peak into her hazel eyes. “But, as I said, Lord Aldia and his brother created her to be immune to the Curse, to outlive the cycle. She was designed to usher in a new Age.” Her brow lowered. “Yes, I know, that does not preclude her from being treated as a Person. I merely hope to address your worries as to her mortality versus your own. There is no reason to believe you will have to grieve for her. It is far more likely she will grieve for you.”

Liandra’s eyes widened, brow piqued.

He allowed himself a chuckle. “You had not even considered that possibility, had you?” He drew a hand back to tuck a few stray hairs back into her style. “But I’m sure we will have died in glorious combat long before we succumb to the Curse. Lady Shanny will have to cry over our funeral pyres. If she even can.”

Liandra laughed once and pulled a hand to smack him lightly on the shoulder.

He grinned to his Lieutenant. “Merely a jape, my love.” She relaxed visibly. “Have I addressed your concerns?”

She took a slow breath. “Yeah, I suppose.”

He nodded down to their entwined bodies. “Perhaps we could engage in a more respectable distance, then?”

She sighed heavily and moved to kiss his cheek. A blush spread from her lips against his flesh and he scanned the crowd as a feeble attempt at distraction. She shifted her body away from him, moving to stand by his side, her hand slipped down to thread with his. Though such contact remained too personal for polite company, the loneliness he felt faded, replaced by the warmth of her hand.

[creamypudding]

Woeful WIP Wednesday

I last touched this WIP in August 2020. It was for the AkuRoku beard event I had tried to get underway for World Beard Day which is annually on September 1st. I never finished the story because it was getting very technical with beard related care products and a lot of sex. Like a lot of it. I have notes where they fuck each other like 4 times? On the couch, in the shower, in bed. I don’t know why I stopped writing it. It’s outlined but I ran out of steam and interest.  As much as I am a smut-writing champion you’d be surprised how often I write stories only to run completely out of steam once I get to the smut. Go figure. In this story Axel and Roxas are in a long distance relationship and have a wager on who can grow the better beard. It is rated T and stops a bit before the ‘good stuff’ was going to happen. Word count - 2385 If you enjoy this, or any of the other WIP’s it would be great if you would let me know. Cheers.

Homecoming

The date, time, and location were set; 1st April, 6pm, Olga's—a favorite haunt of their family and friends’, and the best place to get Polish sausages. Roxas stood a little way down the road from the establishment, his two suitcases; a small one stacked on top of the large one, in hand as he looked at his reflection in his phone's camera. He brushed at his Banholz beard; big, bushy and grew to about his mid-chest. He had oiled, brushed, trimmed, and shaped it to look its best, for today was a monumental day. 6 months ago he had been dared to grow a beard by his boyfriend, Axel. Roxas had agreed but only if they would have a competition to see who could grow the best beard, to be judged by a panel of their relations and peers. 

Roxas thought himself ready and walked on, wheeling his suitcases along behind himself. This competition was the precise reason why Roxas now entered the cozy restaurant. It had been booked out for the occasion and was filled with family and friends who all greeted Roxas with raucous cheers of— 

“Roxas! You’re back!”

“Good to see you!”

“Is that really you under there?”

“Axel! Axel, your competition has arrived!”

The suitcases were tugged away from Roxas and the throng of people around him cleared revealing, there, across the space, standing at the head of a banquet table laden with bigos, golonka, pierogi, schabowy, placki, pączki and a range of drinks like compotes, oranżada, piwo, and żubrówka, was Axel in familiar jeans and a black shirt with flame motifs that Roxas had bought him as a gift two years ago. They looked at each other across the space.

Voices sang out, praising the magnificent beards they both sported.

Roxas saw Axel’s thick, dark beard; a Bandholz, like his own. They walked toward each other and stopped in the middle of the floor. Roxas craned his neck to look up, Axel smirked down.

“You look like a real Viking,” Axel said.

“You look like a mismatched pirate. Didn’t feel like dyeing your beard?”

“It’s too much red. Makes me look like a tomato. I’ll show you the photos of when I tried.” “Cool.”

They grinned at each other and Axel threw his arms around Roxas, lifting him off the ground in a tremendous hug. Roxas’ face got smothered in the scratchy beard but he still giggled and when he dropped back to the ground hooked his hands around Axel’s neck and gave him a chaste peck on the lips.

They pulled apart laughing a little. 

“That’s something new to get used to,” Axel commented, rubbing his lips.

Roxas nodded and threaded his fingers through Axel’s.

“Come on everyone,” Sora, Roxas’ half-brother, shouted over the crowd. “Now that both our competitors are here let's get the judging going and then eat!” Cheers of enthusiasm rose and Axel and Roxas were ushered before the panel. 

Roxas and Axel were examined in turn, their beards evaluated for physical appearance: thickness, length, feel. And then for popularity, which opened up to the entire group of assembled people.

Roxas grinned up wildly as he was crowned Beard King and received a victory parade amongst the shoulders of his friends to wild chanting before he was dropped on his ‘throne’, which was just a high backed chair in the middle of the banquet table laid out. He was presented with an enormous hamper of goodies relating to beard care and then Axel took his seat next to Roxas and everyone joined in on eating all the delicious food before them.

Much talk was had over dinner regarding Roxas’ time away—as he studied in a different state and only came back home over the summer and Christmas breaks. He was caught up in everyone else’s lives as well and then after three hours of eating, chatting, and boozing, wished everyone a good night as well as thanking everyone for crowning him king and coming out, and then he wheeled his luggage to Axel’s red Kia Cerato coup parked at the restaurants car park and got in to go back to their place.

“What does my liege want to do when we get home?” Axel asked, fondling the tip of Roxas’ beard as he drove along the street.

“I want to go through that basket of goodies with you, play with your beard, and play with you. I’ve missed you so much.” Roxas clasped Axel’s hand and rubbed it against his cheek.

Axel stroked him when he stopped his rubbing motion. “At least we get three long months of being together until you have to go back to college.” Roxas groaned. “It’s going to be so good, even when I do have to go back because we’ll be able to video call and won’t have to keep this beard stuff a secret from one another anymore.”

Axel nodded. “Yeah. If I had known what we were getting into I might not have agreed to this. Six months is too long without seeing your… well… rugged face. I can’t really call you pretty now, can I? I didn’t actually believe you’d look so much older with a beard.” “C’mon, you didn’t even think I could grow one. Not that I know why. You’ve seen dad, he’s always had a really respectable circle beard.” Axel shrugged. “I guess I look at your baby face and just… could never picture it.” “I’ll make sure we take a lot of photos so you’ll never forget. Have I shown you photos of dad from when he didn’t have a beard? I get my baby face from him. Underneath his beard, you’d think he’s twenty years younger than he is.” “Can’t say I’ve seen those. So when you’re fifty you’ll look thirty?”

“You know it. I can be your baby-faced sugar-daddy.” Roxas cracked up laughing at Axel’s bewildered scowl.

“For one, you are only two years older than me, and two, at this moment I’m your sugar-daddy since I work.” “True, but once I finish my degree and start working I’ll make so much money that you’ll be able to go part-time and look after our fur-babies.”

A strangled noise left Axel’s throat. “This is why I love you so much. You’re willing to protect me from a grueling working life.” Axel quickly leaned over, Roxas also leaned in and they shared a small kiss.

Roxas giggled. “So tickly and hairy.” ----------------------------------------------------

They arrived at their small cottage-esque house which they were renting. It had an undercover carport, a disheveled wooden fence, dry grassy patches, and a dead flowerbed. The door opened up right to their living room. A hallway ran through the door on the right, leading to the two bedrooms, and bathroom, with a separate toilet, and to the left of the living room was a door which led to the kitchen and laundry. Their backyard was an overgrown monstrosity which Axel only tended to when the landlords came around for inspections. The house was drafty, they were pretty sure black mold grew in the vents in the laundry and bathroom, but it was affordable, small, and let them live together when Roxas came home over college breaks.

Axel helped Roxas get his bags out of the car, they stowed them away to deal with later and sat on their plush, tan faux-leather couch whilst rifling through the content of the prize basket.

“It was really nice of everyone to pitch in and get us this gift basket,” Axel said, pulling out a beard-care kit consisting of several brushes, some oils and waxes, and a few trimming essentials.

“What do you mean us? This is mine.” Roxas glared, but he couldn't repress the bubbling-inside grin.

“You're really gonna use all of this Beard Candy and King of Wood all by yourself?” Axel held up the respectively named balm tin and oil bottle.

Both of them giggled.

“I might.” Roxas grabbed for the bottle. “I am king of wood.”

“You're more candy, darling.” Axel snatched the bottle and shoved the tin at Roxas.

Roxas gasped with playful offended. “Not true. I am King Beard. Everyone thinks so. We had a vote, remember?”

“We did. You really want to keep all this to yourself though?”

“Nah. WHat’s mine is yours—Oooo! There’s dye and glitter!”

Axel looked at the packets Roxas held up and went diving into the basket. “Ribbons too. Who do you reckon snuck this stuff in?”

Roxas thought for a moment humming and hawing. 

“Sora!” they both shouted in unison and cracked up laughing.

Axel put the items he held down and got up. “You want anything, babe? Tea? Hot chocolate? Water?”

“A tall drink of something hot and sweet.” Roxas made eyes at Axel, who grinned broadly. 

A spark of lust ignited in Axel’s eyes. He stepped close to Roxas, bent down and kissed him, pushing him against the couch. The hairs against Roxas’ lips tickled. He wrapped his arms around Axel’s shoulders, pulling them chest to chest and Axel climbed up to straddle Roxas’ lap. Roxas pushed his tongue into Axel, who sucked gently. Both of them hummed and pulled apart. 

“I do actually want a drink though,” Roxas sniggered.

“On its way, sugarplum.” Axel slid off and headed to the kitchen.

Roxas’ cheeks were plump and hot from all the smiling. He had missed Axel so much. He listened to Axel banging away in the kitchen, as taps turned on and off, drawers and cupboards opened and shut, and container lids popped in and out of place. Roxas kept looking through the goodies in the basket. He really appreciate everyone's support, but most of all Axel's for doing this with him—even if they were pitted against each other. 

Axel talked to him from the kitchen. They talked about Roxas’ flight home, Axel's job and then Axel was back, carrying a tall mug of steaming liquid, gasped with whipped cream. He set that down on a coaster before Roxas and put a much more sensibly succeed mug down for himself, filled with what smelled like chili tea.

“It's so good to have your back, babe.” Axel leaned over and kissed Roxas, who cupped Axel’s cheek and stoked along where skin met beard. Roxas could taste the light spice on Axel's lips as he had been sipping his tea before he had come in.

Axel left small touches on Roxas’ arms, trailing up to his neck where slender fingers caressed and rubbed. Roxas melted into the touch and hungered with his kissing of his boyfriend.

Axel pulled away, licking his lips. “Have your drink. I slaved over it.”

“Oh, what hard work it was to push buttons, wait for water to boil, and open the fridge to get whipped cream out.”

“It was the hardest. I had to do it all without you there.”

Axel was being ridiculous but it twinged in Roxas’ heart. “Okay, I retract my previous sarcastic remark.” He grabbed his drink, snuggled closer to Axel, and licked at the cream and sipped, humming with appreciation.

Axel looked down at Roxas and simply said, “Yum.”

Roxas huffed out a small laugh and felt his cheeks turning pink. He was glad for his beard.

“You're giving me all sorts of ideas looking like that.” Axel quirked an eyebrow.

Roxas’ stomach knotted. Having been debited their webcam sessions made him feel excessively deprived of his boyfriend touch. “Kiss me.”

Axel obliged, leaning down, sucking Roxas’ lip onto his mouth for brief moments and then flicking his tongue over Roxas to lip, licking the cream off which gathered in his beard.

Roxas held his drink away from the both of them and gently pulled on the end of Axel's beard, drawing the other man in for another kiss. Roxas pulled away then, humming. “I've missed you, babe. Let's never have a comp like this again.”

“Your beard as itchy as mine feels?” Axel scratched at his chin.

Roxas chuckled. “No. It feels pretty good, but I mean the not being able to see each other bit.”

“Ahh, yeah. Agreed. I mean, this,” he brushed the fuzzy edge of Roxas’ beard, “is actually surprisingly attractive on you, but I get what you mean.” Axel leaned in and hushed against Roxas’ love, “Your voice in my ear is honey to me but seeing you touching yourself is my bread and butter.” Axel kissed Roxas behind his ear, making him shiver.

Roxas nuzzled Axel's cheek, making them both giggle because their beards tickled.

Axel clapped Roxas’ thigh. “C'mon, let's do some beard stroking and grooming. I want my beard to look like Nori from the Hobbit. Which dwarf do you want to be?”

Roxas laughed. They had been talking about the wacky beards of the dwarves from that movie trilogy for at least two months now. “Gloin. His beard is magnificent!, plus, I found a packet of beads at the bottom of the basket.”

Axel nodded. “All right, my glorious Norse God. Let's doll each other up.”

Roxas giggled with delight.

They spent the next two hours taking turns combing and braiding each other's beards. Roxas split Axel's dark, silky beard into three prongs, found done large clasps to target the end and hair-sprayed the shit out of the two outer parts of the beard to make them stand stiff and jut out from Axel's face.

Then it was Roxas’ turn. Axel sectioned parts off, braiding and beading the thick, wiry hair into the desired shape. 

They shared many kisses throughout and traversed down memory lane as they recalled the early days of growing out their beards and how itchy the first few weeks were. Thinking about it made both of them itch.

When their beards were all finished they took a photo as a keepsake.

“Are you sure you want to shave off our chin-curtains tomorrow?” Axel asked, touching Roxas’ dark blond hair.

Roxas burst out laughing. “Chin-curtains? Are you getting attached to yours? You've been doing nothing but complaining about it for months.”

“Well, I like all the touching. I like us sitting together and doing each other.” Axel couldn't keep a straight face as he said that.

Roxas rolled his eyes as he smiled brightly. “We can still touch each other no matter what.” He slid an arm around Axel's waist.

[13-blackbirds]

happy nagamas, @adorable-tactician-charlotte!!

Sorry this is a bit delayed!  Here is my offering of a little bit of Ferdinand/Hubert solstice fluffiness to end the festive season.

I hope you enjoy it and had a wonderful new year + holiday season! 

i’ll follow where you lead

"Why me?"

Ferdinand struggles not to sigh in frustration — it would be unbefitting of a noble to display irritation so crassly — and instead brushes a hand through his hair with a light shrug.

"Believe me, I would not have come to you if I were not out of options otherwise," he says.  "Bernadetta wouldn't even let me finish saying her name before she slammed the door in my face."  Admittedly, he'd been somewhat surprised her door had even deigned to open and thus been unprepared to make his perfectly persuasive pitch.  "Linhardt stepped on my toes four times as he fell asleep, Caspar could barely make it through five bars before running off in boredom, and Dorothea —" had laughed in her signature manner, making a quip about nobility that left him as confused and vaguely contrite as usual before swanning off "— was unavailable.  Alas, Petra is not familiar with the Enbarrian waltz variation."

Hubert's eyes are narrowing so Ferdinand hurries along in his explanation.  "And all other things aside, you are a noble and were raised as such.  I expect learning the proper waltz steps were a standard part of your education."

It goes unsaid that the only remaining candidate for dance practice partner in their House is Edelgard and Ferdinand has the distinct feeling that, however poorly Hubert appears to be responding to his request now, it would double if he impedes on Edelgard's precious time.  Not that he, Ferdinand von Aegir and future Prime Minister of Adrestia, is afraid, of course!  It's only that ... well, he had come across Hubert first and to be perfectly honest, he suspects Hubert, with the seriousness with which he undertakes every task, is a better dancer than Edelgard.  

And with the White Heron Cup only weeks away, and the honour of not only Black Eagle House but House Aegir on the line, he cannot afford to lose time instructing an unpolished practice partner.

Hubert's lips thin and his expression darkens further but he does not immediately decline, so Ferdinand presses forward resolutely.  "Surely, no matter our differences, we are both invested in seeing Black Eagle House prevail in the White Heron Cup!"

It takes a minute (during which time Ferdinand's smile is fixed to his face through sheer force of will) but Hubert eventually nods, reluctantly.  "Very well.  I already know that if I don't agree to this ludicrous idea, you will have no qualms about vexing Lady Edelgard with this and that I cannot permit."  It's certainly less enthusiastic than Ferdinand would have liked, but not unexpectedly so.  He decides to count it as a victory.

The going at first is hardly smooth as they both try (insistently) to lead, but Ferdinand has the upper hand when Hubert scowls at his admonishment since he is, after all, their Cup candidate.  Once Hubert accepts (not entirely graciously) that he must play the part of the follower, he turns out to be an excellent partner, his steps crisp and elegant, able to follow the nuances of Ferdinand's movements with minimal prompting.  Not even his commanding height advantage is as much of a hindrance as Ferdinand had feared. 

And when Ferdinand hears his name announced as the winner of the White Heron Cup (not that he ever had any doubt he would emerge victorious!), he instinctively looks first to Hubert, beaming.  He is pleasantly surprised, and warmed, to spy a miniscule uplifting at the corner of Hubert's lips that, for once, is devoid of any mockery or foreboding.  It's not a bad look, a tiny voice at the back of his head murmurs — Hubert should consider donning it more often.  Then he is swept away in Caspar and Petra's enthusiastic congratulations, the tiny voice silenced for the time being.

Little did either of them know at that time that the memory of those practice sessions would bring them much-cherished measures of peace and warmth through the hard battles and cold nights of the years ahead.

*

The first proper celebration of the winter solstice after the wars (one fought in the open to unify Fodlan and depose Rhea, and one in secret against Those Who Slither in the Dark) is a grand affair, the palace at Enbarr once again decked with thousands of lights, its halls filled with laughter and conversation rather than tension and war councils.  However, for all of its superficial similarities to pre-war traditions, the occasion differs greatly in one key way: it does not honour any saints or deities, but rather the return to peace, the passing of winter, and the anticipation of a new year with all of its hopes and promise.  Nobles and commoners, those with Crests and those without alike mingle freely, taking comfort in food and drink and the festive atmosphere on the longest night of the year.  

Ferdinand remembers, both fondly and with the ruefulness of hindsight he has now, the celebrations of his childhood in this very palace, standing proudly next to his father, a young boy so assured of his bloodline and his Crest and his future, accepting the flattery and accolades heaped upon him by lesser nobles as his due.  He is older now, feels even older than he actually is, and knows much better.  Outside, it has started to snow — the first of the season — fat fluffy clumps floating down gently, aglow in the moonlight. 

Unlike when he was younger, he not only knows the existence of darkness, but understands it intimately.  And among all the glittering gowns and finery of the attendees, his eyes are drawn instead to the slim cut of black velvet, trimmed subtly with gold thread, that marks Hubert's presence in the illuminated ballroom.  He is stationed, as always, at Edelgard's shoulder.  Ferdinand is nodding politely to Countess Bergliez's remarks about the new diplomatic mission from Almyra there that night, when he sees Edelgard murmuring something to Hubert, the Minister of the Imperial Household leaning down to hear his liege better — a most familiar sight.  Then, surprisingly, Hubert's eyes flash upwards, cutting his way, and Ferdinand nearly jumps at the tingle that runs down his spine when those dark eyes meet his.

He doesn't see the way Edelgard's lips curve upwards in amusement or the light encouraging hand she places at Hubert's elbow before walking off, alone, to continue her circuit of the vast room.  He sees only Hubert start toward him and, unconsciously, as though drawn by a thread, he excuses himself to meet Hubert halfway.

"Happy solstice," he says when they reach each other, smiling up at Hubert.

The smile he gets back, soft around the edges, and Hubert's rich "happy solstice" in return warms him more than the spiced wine he'd sipped at earlier.  The opening notes of a familiar melody radiates out from the musicians' corner and when Ferdinand glances over instinctively, he catches a glint of gold and red sweeping away from the maestro stand.

"May I have the honour of this dance?"  Hubert bows formally, pulling Ferdinand’s attention back firmly, and his voice is as steady as ever, but Ferdinand sees the tinge of red at the tips of his ears and is at once delighted and enchanted.

"But of course!" he laughs, taking the proffered gloved hand happily as other pairs, reacting to the music, begin to form around them.  "I'll even let you lead," he adds graciously, grinning, and Hubert responds with an amused chuckle of his own, acknowledging the shared quip.

It's not the darkness of this longest night that matters most, Ferdinand thinks as they sail together across the floor.  It's the reminder that the darkness is passing and he is lucky enough to pass it in the arms of one of his most cherished people.

fin

(and because I am bad at using tumblr, and I don’t know if I tagged you properly in the title, I’ll tag again here: @adorable-tactician-charlotte)

[lunaede]

july (and june) activity!

JUNE:

activity check +1, LANCE D -> D+

no additional classes accessed, no rank rewards

current class: soldier

JULY:

activity check +1, LANCE D+ -> C

classes mastered: SOLDIER, mastery ability Defense+

new classes accessed: LANCEFIGHTER & CAVALIER

rank rewards: blessed lance.

current class: recruit

according to my thread tracker, I have four owed threads on my side (L + Ratio + My Liege is Better than Yours, Everyone do the Askr!, eat the weeds boys, and Soup Store For Ants). If there is an error, you think I owe something else, or if you would like any of our threads to be dropped, please shoot me a message! in addition, I will be focusing on event threads this month, so it is unlikely I will be responding to non-event threads for the time being.

jugdral nation rise up!!!!

[fandralxthexstabulous]

Turn Left

We must go. We must find Thor.

He couldn’t. This was just- too much. Things were happening so fast. How long had it been since the disastrous not-coronation and Thor’s plan to sneak into Jotunheim to confront Laufey? Two days? Three? He almost couldn’t keep track anymore. Now Thor was banished, Odin in his comalike Sleep, and Loki was on the throne and holding it in an iron grip. And his friends...

His friends were being idiots was what they were. 

Listening to them, he could hardly believe it. Hogun and Sif were spinning each other up, insisting that Loki was behind the Jotuns’ attempt on the Vault, that it was Loki who had convinced Thor to go to Jotunheim. Except... 

Loki had pointed out something Fandral had been observing with increasing alarm over the last several decades. Thor was restless, arrogant, aggressive, and self-centered. Thor... would be a horrible king. Oh, perhaps he’d be a fine war leader, but he was no administrator, no peacekeeper. He couldn’t even keep a leash on his temper long enough to walk out of the remains of the Jotun palace when Laufey had graciously- and wisely- permitted them to leave without coming to harm. Loki’s stunt of letting a pair of Jotun warriors into the Vault, while perhaps ill-considered, certainly illustrated the exact flaws Fandral had seen in the Heir. 

Loki had also had a point that he could not make his first act as King be something that undid the Allfather’s final act, particularly when he was only standing in Odin’s stead on a temporary basis. There might be serious concerns over whether Odin would wake again, but until it was confirmed he wouldn’t, Loki was only temporarily Asgard’s King. Immediately rescinding the banishment on Thor, after less than two days, was a politically stupid move. It would certainly show favoritism on Loki’s part at least, and frankly, it would call his judgment into question. 

Fandral privately thought that while banishment was perhaps a bit harsh of a punishment, Thor absolutely needed to face some consequences for his hotheadedness and complete lack of awareness. And he wasn’t just thinking that because Thor’s idiocy had nearly gotten him killed.

He shuddered and rubbed his shoulder. While the healers had done damn good work and gotten him back in fighting shape practically overnight, the wound still ached a little, and there would be a nasty scar on both the front and the back. He’d been lucky. He’d been damned lucky. An inch or two lower, and that icicle would have shredded his aorta and he would have bled out before his friends could pry him off the icy spear. And if they’d been any slower in getting home, he might have died anyway.

And who do I have to thank for that?

Loki. Loki, who’d done everything in his power to persuade them not to go. Loki, who’d plied that clever silver tongue of his to keep Thor in check and appease the angry Jotun king. Loki, who had not only slain the Jotun warrior who’d nearly killed Fandral, but had seen how badly he’d been wounded and insisted that they leave immediately. 

I owe him my life.

His friends’ increasing restlessness, their outrage and resentment at finding Loki on the throne and unwilling to call back his brother, didn’t sit well with him. And then they’d been talking treason, for no good reason that Fandral could see. 

He’d been unable to talk sense into them. They’d convinced Volstagg to go along with this absurd plan of theirs, to sneak their way onto Midgard and find Thor. Fandral had pretended to agree, then slipped away when they separated to make preparations. The moment he was alone, without even a servant in sight, he reached for the trickle of magic he called his own- magic Loki taught me to use- and wove hair-fine threads of it into a gossamer web of a spell. A delicate creation, it would help keep them from thinking about him, or noticing his absence- at least at fist. If they started thinking too hard about him, started really getting uneasy about why he hadn’t shown up yet, the delicate spell would break. All it would do would delay the moment when they noticed he wasn’t with them and start wondering why he wasn’t there. It would just buy him a little time.

That was all he was going to need. 

His subtle dissuasion in place, he closed his eyes and focused on another aspect of his magic. This was a skill he was much better at using, a quirk of his power that let him know where someone he knew was. It wasn’t perfect- he had a lot of trouble sensing where someone was at a real distance, and if they were offworld, well, pretty much the only reliable sense he got from it was whether or not they were still alive, and it always took several minutes to adapt to being on a new realm- but he knew Loki was on Asgard and was most likely somewhere in Gladsheim, or the palace itself.

He followed the prodding of that inner sense down to the stables- the royal stables, not the ones used for mounts for the guard or nobles. There was Loki, actually in the huge box stall reserved for Odin’s warhorse, the eight-legged stallion named Sleipnir, apparently talking to the great creature. Sleipnir was giving every indication of actually listening to the young king.

There were no guards in sight, which he was grateful for. He approached, clearing his throat quietly before dropping to one knee, his fist over his heart. 

“My king,” he said. Funny, the words didn’t stick in his throat the way he was worried they might. Loki was, by rights, the king. For the moment, at least. He deserved Fandral’s respect, and his loyalty, and had the right to be addressed as his liege. That was how things worked. Whoever was holding the throne while Odin Slept was the monarch, and all the oaths of loyalty and service that Odin’s subjects swore to him were automatically transferred to his substitute during that period. Of course, if Odin died during his Sleep, then said subjects would have to swear new oaths of fealty to his successor, but not until then. For now, Loki was King. “I beg a moment of your time for a private word.” He emphasized the word a little. He’d long suspected that Loki had some way of concealing himself from Heimdall’s all-seeing eye, and if he did, Fandral hoped he’d use it now. He really didn’t want the Gatekeeper seeing this conversation. “I- fear I have troubling news.”

[astraseason]

@animaseason​ sent... 🗝 about Jakob ( prompt. )

“...it’s not right to speak of him like this behind his back.”

   you huff, hands threading anxiously through a pigtail as you bite your lower lip and avert your gaze shamefully. just who is telling people just where to pry where it is unwanted? why do you want so badly to indulge in the ugly, horrid feelings welling up within you? nobody needs your vitriol right now... they need the leader, unyielding and unflinchingly cutting to the root of the world’s problems.

“but... i must admit i am... frustrated,” it seems you are as weak as ever, if you’re speaking up. “i... allow me to preface this with the fact that jakob and i have known each other since we were children. i care for him very much, and... i am eternally grateful for all he has done for me.”

   gods, you’re so selfish for feeling like this, aren’t you? the man works himself to the bone just to make you happy, and you cannot even appreciate it fully.

“that said, i... i do not... i am... the amount of utter devotion he shows me... it puts me... i am uncomfortable.” you have to practically spit the words out, you’re so reluctant to speak ill of a longtime companion and the feelings you know he has for you. “i have spoken to jakob many times about how excessively he attends to me and asked him to tone it down, but... he’ll make the attempt for a day or two then go right back to what he was doing previously-- as though he’s utterly incapable of doing any less!”

   and even when the conversation does stick, the world comes to an end and you find yourself at square one all over again...

“it would... be one thing, i suppose, if jakob treated all things in his life beyond working under me with the same fervent passion, but... he does not. he’s courteous enough to aqua and the royal families, but... so cold and dismissive to absolutely everyone else; even felicia, gunter, and flora...! i... i don’t like being singled out like this. i have received numerous complaints about his conduct, but... he ignores me when i speak to him about that, too! it’s as though he doesn’t even hear me. i... truthfully, i am... scared. i have... heard stories about butlers so devoted to their lieges in nohr before, and... he’s not like those men, i know, but--”

   a soft shudder, and you shake your head, unwilling to speak about this any longer.

“i just wish he would take me seriously... at least, when it comes to his conduct. i know... realistically, if one of my retainers is acting so... possessively, for lack of a better word, that i ought to let him go. i have considered it. but... i think of the face he would make, and... i just... sentimental fool that i am, i cannot bear to do so. not now, while there’s a greater conflict than ourselves going on...”

[writerbyaccident]

Bargains (Part Two)

Part One: https://writerbyaccident.tumblr.com/post/182816070094/bargains

You sat in the garden, concealed under a weeping willow. At least, you had thought it was a willow tree, until you remembered that willow trees did not have dusky purple leaves. You were slowly becoming acclimated to the strange world you had found yourself trapped in, but that new familiarity brought along its own kind of fear. Fear that you would give in to the temptations of this wiling world, fear that you would forget the life you held before all of this, fear that you would remember, but just not care. That was why you sought refuge in the garden, it was the one place that you could attempt to collect yourself, try to keep your soul from slipping out of your hands.

At the moment, you were writing out your most important memories in the dirt, using a small stick you had found on the ground. You knew better now than to try to break off part of a branch yourself, doing so would only serve to attract the attention of every creature at the palace. The last thing you needed was for your liege to discover your secret ritual. He may not have explicitly forbidden you from sorting through your past, but you knew that that was only due to the fact that he believed this realm would do the work of destroying your memories for him. You paused at the thought, half convinced you hear him approaching. But soon enough your dread passed, and you continued in your task.

You were writing down the names of all of your friends and family that you had left behind, trying not to wonder if they remembered you at all. It was dangerous to be sharing their names, even if it was only with the earth, but it felt even more dangerous to let yourself forget them. Still, you were sure to write their names very small, so that only a person who already knew what they said could tell what they were. In addition, you were also laying in the dirt, covering the names with your body so that no one else could see them, not even the sprites that sometimes enjoyed spying on you. You knew it was a risk to get your gown dirty; he always told you that he could not have his pet appear slovenly before the court, but you knew that any punishment he could give you would be worth enduring. As you wrote down each name, small but precious memories came back to you. The tricks your dog could do, your best friend’s smile, the pancakes your parents would make you each year for your birthday. It took you a minute, but soon you realized that you had begun to cry. They were not sad tears though, not really. They were more of a melancholy nostalgia.

“Why are you crying, my dear?” You looked up, startled. Your sovereign had appeared before you without even the sound of his breath to warn you. He stood above you, looking down in exaggerated consternation. Taking in his sudden arrival, you noticed that his eyes were a haughty silver at the moment, his color for tightly controlled rage. Trying not to avoid his gaze, you slowly moved your hands towards the names, about to wipe them away before he could see. But before you could erase them, he called your name and commanded you to stop.

“Please,” you begged him. He paid no mind to your pleas, and instead moved to see what you had been writing. You prayed that he wouldn’t be able to tell what the words actually said, but your prayers provided little comfort. Peering down at the words, he laughed coldly.

“So this is your little secret? I have to say, I expected something more entertaining from you, pet.” His words were unbothered and condescending, but somewhere in his tone his anger was betrayed. With a frighteningly gentle touch, he grasped your arms and forced you to stand. You dropped your gaze then, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. It could have been rage, or amusement, or triumph; no matter what it was, you knew it would end poorly for you. All you could hope for was that he would spare the names written there.

“I-I just didn’t want to forget,” you whispered, knowing that your cooperation would be necessary in order to obtain mercy for your loved ones.

“But why would you feel the need to hide such a thing from me, love?” he asked mockingly. “I thought you knew our ways. The true power of names is only given when the holder of it gives it freely.” You looked up in desperate hope to see if his words were true, when he suddenly gripped your chin in his iron grip.

“However,” he continued, “I do believe that I could do something with these names.” His eyes began to change into a bright amber, giving him the fitting appearance of a feral animal.

“What are you going to do to them?”

“Well, there are quite a few options. I could visit their dreams, whisper things in their ears, force them to see their greatest fears come to life before them. Or,” he said, leaning to whisper in your ear, “I could show them every single thing that I have done to you here.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I won’t do it again, just don’t hurt them.” At your words, he only sighed.

“But you betrayed my trust, pet. I have told you time and time again, I refuse to share you. That includes with memories as well.” In a perverse parody of gentleness, he started to stroke your hair. Despite yourself, you leaned into his delicate touch and let his breaths dance upon your neck. “There is nothing left for you in that world, my dear. Thinking of it will only hurt our chance at happiness. You have given me your name, but until you give me every piece of your being, I cannot make you happy. I would worship you, if only you would let me.” You drank in his sweet words gladly, swaying slightly at their rhythm. They were so tempting, offering you a chance at escape from the cage you had found yourself trapped in. Dimly, you realized that he had begun to trail soft kisses all over your neck, and you closed your eyes in lazy contentment. As his kisses grew more passionate, a thread of heat rose within you, and you were suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. You leaned towards him in an attempt to catch his lips, but he moved back with a teasing smile.

“I have a bargain to offer you, little one,” he told you. “I will erase these names from my mind, so that I could not use them even if I wanted to. But in return, you will forget them as well.” You bit your lip in consideration, knowing that the specific wording of the bargain had to be thought over carefully. He was not asking to wipe away your memories, but that was only because he didn’t need to. Once you let go of these names, you knew that your memories would begin to fade with them. Slowly, all of your connection to your past life would be eroded, like a pebble in a stream. Your heart ached at the very thought, and positively roared at the realization that you would agree. You had given up so much already, the prospect of handing over more of yourself to this world and to this man hurt as no physical pain ever would. At your distress, your lord reached forward and cupped his cheek in his hand.

“I do this not to hurt you, love. You know that so long as you hold these memories within you, the pain will never leave. Do you not see-I am the only answer to your suffering, I am the only one who cares enough to heal you.”

“That-that’s not true,” you reminded yourself desperately. “They would save me if they could.” He smiled with patronizing sympathy.

“Then why haven’t they? I did not erase their memories of you, and the friend you saved remembers exactly what happened. And yet, none of them have even tried to find this place, much less find you.” You gave a quiet sob at his words, willing yourself not to believe them. But you knew that the Fae could not lie, so your tears continued, and he began to stroke your hair again. Looking up into his eyes, you saw that they were now a golden brown, warm with fond attachment. There was possessiveness hidden there as well, but you refused to let yourself see it.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “You do not belong there any longer, your home is with me. They are not worthy of you, they never were. You are a jewel among them, why else would I have chosen you? I am the only one who has ever seen your true worth. You are my match in every conceivable way: in your intelligence, in your compassion, in your beauty, in your nobility. Every sacrifice you make for them only proves it further. Let go of them guiltlessly, they are not worth your tears.” His words were gentle, a soothing balm to the anguish that you felt. After so long of trying to keep your walls up around your sovereign, he brought them crumbling down with sorely needed affection.

“All right,” you agreed. “I accept your bargain.” He smiled in gratification, directing you to look down at the soil. To your lack of surprise, the names you had written there had disappeared. You searched yourself for them, and found nothing. The memories were still there, but now they were further away. They no longer demanded your attention and subsequent suffering. Looking back up at your lord, you gave him a small smile. Only then did he meld his lips with yours, enjoying how he could now taste your full reciprocation.

[soartfullydone]

ONLY DO THIS IF YOU'VE REACHED A GOOD BUFFER WITH NANO. Me/Tamlin - "You were never supposed to be the strong one."

I’M SORRY IT’S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO ADDRESS THIS YOU’VE PROBABLY FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT IT BY NOW BUT HERE WE GO

*

The string of Cassandra’s bow gave a sharp twang as she loosed another arrow. The wooden shaft flew fifty feet, one hundred, and embedded in her target with a satisfying thunk.

But Cassandra didn’t feel satisfied. Not at all.

She still remembered Tamlin’s face when she passed over all other weapons in his armory and reached for the bow and arrows, hefting their weight, instantly feeling comfortable and attuned with them. She’d expected his lips to quirk in a smile that was as full of pride as it was regret. Instead, his face had turned to stone, a bleak shadow entering his eyes—no longer the brilliant emerald she’d come to know but a dull jade. 

From a distance, his eyes could’ve been any color at all, and in that moment he’d already seemed so far away. She’d reached out to anchor him back to the world, but the moment her fingers grazed his hair—now a faded wheat color instead of its shining gold—he’d flinched.

Her emotions were still churning in turmoil over the entire thing. Teaching herself how to aim and fire until she’d finally hit something hadn’t distracted her like she’d hoped. The burn in her upper arms, back, and shoulders was obvious, her brow was shiny with sweat from standing in the sun for hours—maybe she’d even gotten a sunburn for once—but none of it seemed to matter.

Not against the weight of everything being her fault.

She reached back for another arrow, only to find her quiver empty. It was fitting in a way, she mused as she gathered her arrows, one after another. Maybe all this wouldn’t matter in the end, no matter how hard she was trying to make up for what she lacked.

For what had happened at the Autumn Court.

The memory of Tamlin—her brave, strong, honorable Tamlin—roaring with rage at the sight of her, at seeing him on his knees before her, human and powerless, as she woke from a bloody death almost sent her to her own knees. Eris had done terrible things to her. His whip had cleaved her skin into pieces. His hands had burned as he held her face in a vice-grip. He’d forced her to sing Beron to an early death then muzzled her like a rabid dog, the fire in her throat ready to torch through her at his whim. All of it paled in comparison to making her watch as he played with Tamlin.

The new High Lord of Autumn did his dark work well. Cassandra and Tamlin had been broken that day in different ways, and she didn’t know how they would put themselves back together again.

But she was going to try, starting with this bow and these arrows. 

If she ever lost control of her voice again, if she was ever prevented from using it to save herself or her loved ones, then she would make damn sure she had something else up her sleeve. 

She was a siren, but she was also a halfling. It was time to find out what that other half was capable of.

A low whistle drew her attention. “I didn’t think you’d catch on this quick. Look at you.”

Lucien strolled over with that smirk he had, the one that managed to be impressed and condescending all at once. Cassandra had learned not to take it personally, not when he showed it to fae and mortal alike, but now it was impossible for it to matter. Lucien was trying desperately to act like everything was fine and normal, but she could see the strain around his eyes—russet and mechanical—as the threads he was grasping were starting to fray.

Lucien had never wanted to be High Lord of any court, and right now he was High Lord of Spring in name only. Despite losing his powers and immortality, Tamlin was still High Lord because he was not dead and the magic binding him to the role had not deigned to choose another—but no fae, even the most tolerant, would recognize a human ruler to obey or fight for. So Lucien had stepped forward out of love for Tamlin and his home to fill the power vacuum before the other Courts got any ideas. Cassandra could only hope that Lucien would hold on as long as possible before he broke like the rest of them.

At least all of Tamlin’s sentries had adjusted to the change in command. Lucien was a familiar face among them even if he was an Autumn fae and a questionable choice as a leader. All of them, including Cassandra, shared in their surprise at how seriously Lucien was taking the responsibility.

“You don’t have to sound that surprised,” she dead-panned to him before smiling impishly. “But by all means, keep on. I’m sure the sentries would love to see their acting-High Lord dance a merry jig until sunrise.”

“I can do that all by myself without your help, thank you.” Lucien heaved a long-suffering sigh. “If only the Solstice was that close.”

The reminder sobered both of them immediately. What would happen when the Summer Solstice came? Or worse, Calanmai? Could Lucien complete the necessary rituals to restore the land’s magic if Tamlin could not? She didn’t want to imagine what would happen to Spring if not.

“I hate to be the bearer of more bad news,” Cassandra continued, “but we have a more immediate problem.”

“Oh, good,” Lucien said with mock-relief. “Any chance this is one I already know about?”

Wordlessly, Cassandra picked up an arrow off the ground and extended it, fletching first, to Lucien. The top of the shaft was split, continuing down for several inches. She didn’t know where the arrowhead was. Buried in a tree or hiding in the grass, maybe.

Lucien sighed again, but this one was genuinely heavy. “For once, I am weary of magic.”

“Is that what kept them from breaking before?”

“Well, of course. Such a minor thing for a High Lord to do. Why would we worry about adding varnishes when magic can do it?” 

“So I take it, not something you’re wasting your own magic on?”

“Flattering as that idea is, no.” Lucien gestured a hand to his person. “The Cauldron did not deign to overflow me with abundance.”

“Right.” Cassandra twirled the arrow between her fingers, thinking. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard to employ someone to do it, particularly if they were around for the last war. You might want to consider something stronger than wood, too. I know iron does fuck all against fae, but it’ll be harder to break at least.”

“We should have the treasury for it. I knew Tam’s whole ‘low-staffed, low-maintenanced estate’ thing would benefit us someday.” He sent her a glare, but there was no real heat in it. “Thank you for bringing this to your liege’s attention, though I’m tempted to have you shot for it. I have enough problems.”

His griping brought a smile to her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Speaking of problems, are we going to war with Autumn?”

“It seems inevitable.” Lucien might’ve heard Cassandra’s heart stuttering with disquiet, but he definitely noticed how her shoulders tensed with anger. “I say that, but inevitable can still mean a long time to wait, by mortal standards. We could be at a stalemate for several years.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Lucien?”

“I’m trying not to scare you off.” Before she could argue against that sentiment, he continued, “We still have the alliance with Summer. Practically iron-clad at this point. If Tarquin isn’t going to cut ties with us over all this”—Lucien twirled a hand to indicate the entirety of their situation—“then I’m almost convinced nothing will.

“Autumn won’t dare to go against us while Summer’s guarding our gate, not until the rest of the courts declare who they’re for, assuming they don’t all just remain neutral.” A dark look crossed Lucien’s face as he looked to the north. “Still, there’s no telling what the Night Court will do. Rhysand won’t go to war for Eris, but to destroy Tamlin? I wouldn’t be surprised if he already had agents infiltrating the courts, stirring everyone up so they’ll do his dirty work for him.”

Subtle machinations and a knife in the dark is how Cassandra understood the Night Court did business. She didn’t want to meet any one of them unless it was to end them.

At the mention of Tamlin, her thoughts turned to her own problem.

“Have you seen him?” Cassandra ventured. “Tamlin, I mean. How… How is he doing?”

Lucien lifted a brow at her, his red hair glowing like fire in the sun. “Shouldn’t you know better than me?”

For some reason, she bristled. “Just because I’m technically human doesn’t—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lucien had the good sense to wince. “I meant, because you’re close to him in a way that I’m not.”

Ah. Now she was uncomfortably hot, and the sun had nothing to do with it. “You have known him much longer than me,” she pointed out.

“Well, then.” Lucien crossed his arms and turned toward the estate as he considered. “I’d say he’s taking this whole thing rather poorly, which is expected, but is handling it better than I could’ve hoped.”

“What a typical fae answer.”

“I didn’t—” Lucien cut off with an aggravated sound. “Tam is… He’s a hopeful person at heart, but these past fifty years have worn on him. What happened with my bastard of a brother”—Lucien sneered the word—“is but one of many wounds that’ve happened to him over those years, all while he’s been the Spring Lord.

“I’d bet my other eye he thinks he’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to Spring. Going from being all that he was to human—I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” Lucien rushed to add, palms up, “Not that being human is the absolute worst thing, but it’s close.”

“Thanks.”

“But it’s not self-pity he’s drowning in,” Lucien pressed on. “I think it’s worry. He’s terrified about what’s going to happen next. To these lands, to us, and especially to you.”

Cassandra felt despicable at the doubt creeping through her. “I’m not so sure. This morning, we were in the armory, and… And, I don’t know. I thought it’d give him some peace of mind that I was willing to learn how to defend myself outside my powers. But instead, he recoiled from me, and his face…” The wood of her bow creaked as she clenched it in both hands. “I feel like he regrets it. Sacrificing everything to Eris for me. That I even found myself here. Us. All of it.”

Lucien’s gaze darted to the bow in her hands and back to her own. Cassandra nearly recoiled herself as a hint of Tamlin’s earlier sorrow flickered in his good eye. But his voice was soothing and soft. “Believe me, Cassandra. That’s not it at all. Tamlin may regret many things, but saving you will never be one of them.”

“Then, what is it? If it’s about being mortal, then—then, I’ll help him in any way I can. I want to help him. I love him, and it kills me, it kills me that he’s distancing himself when he needs us the most. So if you know what it is, tell me, so I can go knock some sense into him and then get to the heart of the matter.”

“It’s really not my story to tell,” Lucien hedged before gritting his jaw in determination. “But I’ll tell you this. There was another human here, once. Tam cared for her, in spite of everything, and in spite of that, he couldn’t protect her. And she died.”

Cassandra felt her heart break, just a little bit. Oh, Tam…

She had always suspected that maybe there had been another before her. There were hints of a mortal influence around the estate that she had never been able to fully place, things she’d noticed because she had been raised in the human lands herself. That was one area of Tamlin’s life that she had yet to breach. She supposed now it was time to.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Lucien.” She turned and practically sprinted all the way back to the estate.

*

She found Tamlin, of all places, in the library, surrounded by towers of books. He didn’t look up as she entered on silent feet, and it sent a pang through her heart. Was it because he was trying to avoid her, or because he hadn’t detected her, his fae senses gone?

Glancing at the spines, Cassandra asked, “Are you trying to learn how to be human?”

Tamlin didn’t start like he was surprised to find her there. He closed the book slowly, and the cover revealed that it was more of the same. Human histories, human folktales, all things to do with the mortals and their way of life.

A few had been brought by Elizabeth, but the rest, Cassandra knew, had all been recorded by fae historians, who were poor replacements for the real thing. It was still a shock to find this many books about mortals in the library at all when Tamlin’s father had once enslaved them.

“I’m…” Tamlin began, not meeting her eyes. His hair shifted across his shoulders, no hint of a pointed ear peeking through the strands. Like her and other mortals, his ears were rounded now, and Cassandra had picked up that this change was one that he was particularly mortified about. “Just trying to make sense of all this.”

“When you do,” she said gently, “you should definitely let me know. I’ve been trying to figure out how to live for ages.”

Slowly, Tamlin raised his head, and Cassandra found that, mortal or not, she still wanted to fall into the depths of those eyes. They were different now, yes, but they were his.

Taking his reaction as an invitation to sit down, she did, nestling in a chair right next to him. Her quiver and bow clattered onto the floor, immediately drawing Tamlin’s attention.

Heart in her throat, she said, “She was an archer, wasn’t she.”

Tamlin was silent. It was horrible.

But then— “How did you find out?”

He sounded sad, but mostly tired. It was alright to have this conversation. “How do you think?” she quipped.

“To think Lucien is being entrusted with court secrets,” Tamlin said archly, “when he’s incapable of keeping his traitorous mouth shut.”

“He was just worried about you. I am, too, especially after this morning.” Cassandra didn’t feel the need to go into details. They both knew what she was referring to. She reached for his hand, and it was warm. That’s something Eris couldn’t take away, and she’d kill him if he tried. “I don’t blame you, not for anything. And I won’t tell you not to worry about me. Worrying is natural, and I can’t promise that nothing bad will ever happen, no matter how much we prepare for it. But you don’t have to shoulder everything yourself. We can worry together.” She leaned closer, hoping her words would hit her mark just as her arrow had. “And we can fight together, too.”

Tamlin’s brow was pinched, eyes flickering over her, searching. He squeezed her hand and said with equal parts apology and wonder, “You were… never supposed to be the strong one.”

“That’s the thing, though,” she said, touching her forehead against his. “We can be strong together, too. And weak. It doesn’t matter, just so long as we don’t shut the other out. I love you, Tamlin. As far as I’m concerned, Eris took the least of you, and I kept all the rest.” Cassandra cupped his face in her hands and drew him closer still. “What an idiot.”

They kissed, and it was an apology and an oath all in one. It promised an eternity that no amount of magic ever could. It was slow and deep and all-consuming because this was not an end for them, but a beginning. Because Eris had failed and they weren’t broken.

When they parted, Cassandra was in Tamlin’s lap, his arms around her and the book he was reading on the floor, forgotten. Tamlin pressed her closer until their bodies were flush together, her head resting under his chin. 

“I’m terrified of losing you,” he murmured against her hair, “and there will be nothing I can do to prevent it.”

“That goes both ways, even when you were immortal,” she told him, holding him fiercely and not caring a bit. The admission seemed to surprise him—he stirred against her, pulling back as if to see the truth of it on her face—but she refused to let go. Only buried her head in the crook of his neck. “But no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out. Right?”

Cassandra felt Tamlin inhale. Slowly, he nodded. “Together.”

None of their real problems were really gone. Eris was looking for the opportunity to strike, the Night Court was likely circling both Autumn and Spring like a vulture, but she felt a little bit lighter. 

Because Tam was still here with her, and they were both alive, neither of them running. The wall between them dismantled before it had a chance to truly be built. Lucien was doing all he could to keep the court together, and their people were choosing to be strong and stand with him, with Tamlin.

Right now, the world was far away, and that was enough.