#PARTICULARLY when allegiant came out

[saltpepperbeard]

I’m confused about what that anon thinks therapy is because most of the time I talk to my therapist about how my current week has been and how that’s affected me. Like I’m getting a massage this weekend and I talked to my therapist about that earlier this week. OFMD being canceled was probably mentioned in a lot of therapy sessions this week!

First of all, HI BONNIE HELLO BONNIE <3

Second of all, deadass! 😭

I really do think it was just an all-out attempt to make me feel Some Kind of Way/provoke me however possible, but lol Nah. Because yeah, it was just ridiculous shdjklsdhjkls.

Me: lost something very important to me. is subsequently sad. just so happens to have a therapy appointment that same week. brings it up because it's on the list of Things That Have Made Me Sad over the past few weeks, as one typically does in therapy.

Random people on the internet: 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

[afterglowsainz]

i'mgonnagetyouback | max verstappen

part 2

summary: after you and max broke up you released an album about it and when you go on tour, you didn't expected max to be there front row after being dragged by his new girlfriend's daughter

warnings: none

word count: 877

a/n: this is kinda told in max's pov (?, also heavily inspired on taylor's eras tour and i slightly changed the lyrics of the song to relate it a bit more to max

the lights were out in the stadium but there was barely any darkness. the lights of flashes from phones and twinkling colored light bracelets illuminated the allegiance stadium in las vegas, every person there waiting for the one and only y/n y/l/n.

if you would’ve told max months ago that he was gonna be at her ex-girlfriend’s sold out concert the same weekend he was racing in vegas, he would’ve laughed in your face. but here he was, waiting with the other 69,000 people for her to show up on stage and sing all her hit songs, including the ones that she wrote about him after their breakup.

he had to remind himself that the only reason he was doing this was because of his new girlfriend's daughter, who begged them for weeks to take her to y/n’s concert or she would simply die. she was y/n’s biggest fan because, of course, karma had to do that to max. so there he was, in the vip section of the stadium without y/n’s knowledge, next to his new girlfriend and her daughter.

the lights on the bracelets turned off and the stadium went a bit darker than before, announcing the start of the show. when a huge clock on the stage came up and it reached the number zero, y/n came out singing the first song of the concert and the crowd went wild. max was immediately mesmerized by her. she hadn’t changed much since they broke up, that much he noticed, and she was as beautiful as ever.

he had to control himself not to sing along to her songs to not give his girlfriend a bad impression, even though her daughter was singing all her songs by heart. he just nodded and move along with the rhythm, avoiding the gaze of his girlfriend who was very well aware of her boyfriends history with the singer on stage.

y/n was singing her most famous songs and a few that were more lowkey, and when they reached the acoustic set of the concert, she was carrying a wide smile while playing a few keys on the piano. max smiled at the sight of her.

“hello, vegas!” she shouted at the microphone, making the whole stadium scream. “welcome to the acoustic set.” she smiled. “i’ve been meaning to sing different surprise songs every night, some that i haven’t played in a while, some others brand new. this one particularly is from my new album, i hope you enjoy it.”

max stopped breathing for a second. it was very well known with the public that y/n’s new album was about their breakup and she hadn’t sung any of those songs until tonight. he didn’t know what to do with himself or how to behave, so he simply crossed his arms and stood a bit further into the vip section. in the location he was he had a perfect view of her, but she hadn’t seen him all night.

soon enough y/n start singing one of the songs from the new album that max new for a fact was about him. he hadn’t listen to the whole album because he just didn’t want to relieve the breakup. in his defense he did try to give it a listen, but it was just to overwhelming for him so he had to stop listening mid-album, but this one he knew.

Lilac short skirt / The one that fits me like skin

max submerged himself in the lyrics and y/n’s incredibly familiar voice. only now she wasn’t singing just for him, but for thousands of people.

Whether I'm gonna be your wife or / Gonna smash up your car, I / Haven't decided yet / But I'm gonna get you back

a rebel smile appeared on his face, incapable of hiding how much she meant to him, how much he had missed her. seeing her there, singing her heart out on stage for a crowd of people who were crazy about her, god, how could he lost her?

I can feel it comin', hummin' in the way you move / Push the reset button, we're becoming something new / Say you got somebody, I'll say, "I got someone too" / Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you

the smile on her face while singing the song she wrote made his smile even greater. he didn’t know the song fully like his girlfriend’s daughter, but he knew; he lived it, just as much as she did. in that moment in time, he felt connected to her in a level that no one in the stadium was.

I hear the whispers in your eyes / I'll make you wanna think twice / You'll find that you were never not mine / I'm gonna get you back

when the song finished, the multitude exploited in praise and y/n’s smile grew on her face. max completely forgot about everyone else and joined the crowd, screaming for her and applauding. y/n stood up from the piano and did a small bow before leaving the stage for her next set of songs.

it was as clear as day for max and it struck him like lightning. he was gonna get her back.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Danny's final Interview with Tim Drake for the Wayne Enterprise's Space Program Operation Janus Crew... Demon Twin AU.

Danny had been waiting for his offer letter from WE to be officially part of the Janus Crew. He'd done all the standard rigorous testing and passed with flying colors. He'd talked to every single head engineer and interviewed at all levels to prove that he was the man for this mission. It was as good as gold, so Danny was surprised when he got a call from the PA to Tim Drake, the CEO himself, to come in for a final interview. Just a formality and mostly just to meet the man who was going to be the poster boy for their program. Makes sense, but is unnerving, nonetheless.

The second he walks into the office space, Tam Fox seemingly does a double take, blinking a few times when he explains that he's there for a final interview. She nods and he proceeds as if nothing about that was weird.

Tim Drake has four laptops in front of him and a scattering of papers, but looking up to see Danny, he closes them all and the image of a scattered young man trying to run a Fortune 500 company is replaced with some one of deadly capability.

"Danny Fenton. Great to meet you, I appreciate you coming by today." Tim says, but Danny can see the sharks fin in the water.

"Of course, I'm excited to be part of the Crew." Danny throws back, making it clear right away that Tim needs to cut to the chase if Danny's not going to be an astronaut with WE. NASA will take him back in a heartbeat if WE is going to try and play games.

"We're excited to have you, everyone speaks of you like the next Armstrong or Aldrin. I just had a few questions, as an informality, that I wanted answered."

"I feel like I've answered every question there could be about me, but go ahead. I'm an open book."

"Great. I suppose I'll start with asking about your adoptive family, the Fentons. Were they good to you when you transitioned to their home?"

"...It's not common knowledge that I'm adopted. Mom and Dad are fine. We have a strained relationship now because of my teenage rebellion but I still go home for most holidays." Danny is on edge, but also a bit excited? How did Tim find this out?

"I see. I'm an adopted child myself, you can understand maybe why I asked. Do you have any relationship with your birth family?" Tim asks, but its clear he's asking something else. Danny calls it how he sees it.

"What are you trying to find out? I mean really, you're very polite but this doesn't have to do with my job."

"I'll cut to the chase then. Do you hold any allegiance to Ra's al Ghul or the League of Assassins?"

"Woah." Danny blinks.

"Woah as in you're surprised I found out, or Woah in surprise that you've been found out?"

"Woah as in, what the fuck, I haven't thought of his name in decades. I escaped pretty young after being abused from birth."

"That's what I needed to know. You have a sister through the Fentons, and a cousin that I suspect is a clone, any other siblings?" Tim asks, his to the point question making Danny's head spin. How the fuck did this guy know about Dani?

"How do you-"

"Any other siblings, Danny?" Tim repeats, cutting him off.

"...Yeah. I should have a twin running around out there. But if this has to do with whatever crazy bullshit he might be up to, I swear i'm not in contact with him or his family. I haven't been since I freed myself."

Tim looks like he's contemplating something, his eyes are still evaluating Danny as though he were a frog in freshman year Bio.

"I have a little brother, Danny, and it's interesting. He's not particularly fascinated by space but he likes to keep up with all the astronauts. I took it upon myself to research you once you came on the roster two years ago for this position. I know you're capable and I had no doubt that you'd be the man for the job. Then I saw your picture."

"You... saw my picture?"

"My brother watches out for Astronauts because he holds onto the hope that someone from his past might be one some day. That it might lead to their reconciliation." Tim clarifies.

Danny can't do anything but stare. No. No way.

"I told Damian not to look into the astronauts for the Janus Crew. Want to guess why?" For the first time, Tim's eyes look soft around the edges. Danny stays silent for a while, head reeling from this information.

"...Is he. Is he free?" Danny finally asks.

"He's left the league and burned all allegiance he held for them, if that's what you're asking. Came to join his dad, my adoptive father, when he was about ten. So just a few years after you made your own way out without him."

"That's... That's good. I'm glad. He's healthy?" Danny can't help himself but inquire. He'd loved his brother until it literally broke him.

"Most days. He runs an animal sanctuary, has a girlfriend and a best friend, gets along with our large family."

"Woah." Danny's near speechless again.

"I'm telling you this because... He's going to find out Friday with the press release of you being our Crew Leader. He'll see you and no doubt try to contact you. I want you to have the choice of reaching out to him before that, or at least make your peace with what you have to say to him if you don't want a relationship."

"Why?"

"Because I don't care to see my siblings hurt. Here, it's my personal line, below it is Damian's. Reach out to me if you'd like for me to plan a meeting spot, reach out to him if you'd prefer I stay out of it. I understand completely if my questions have led you to not trust me." Tim offers him a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it, Danny takes it with shaking hands.

"I... See. Okay." and then after a moment, Danny added numbly "Thanks."

Tim stands and Danny follows, they're both walking towards the door and Danny can't help but feel like he's waiting for another shoe to drop. Tim has a look in his eye like Jazz might on his birthday.

"One last thing before you go and you're officially listed as our star Astronaut: I took care of those pesky case files and lab reports for you. The white ones. It is quite literally impossible for that heinous shit to every bother you again."

"Wait, What? Why would you do that for me? You couldn't have known-"

"It's what family is for. Have a good day, Janus Crew Lead Danny."

[fabled-fiction]

Temptations of the Wolf

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Being a Targaryen meant sacrifice. Being a Stark meant sacrifice. Both these houses know the service of duty well. But when war is amiss, and two leaders of these respective houses meet to discuss allegiance, feelings for one another bubble to the surface and get in the way. Oh how the winds of war turn would be lover on would be lover.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: MAYBE POSSIBLE SPOILER ISH FOR EP 1. Angst, Foribbiden-ish Love, Use of (Y/N), proof read only by author.

A/N: I AM A HOTD TV SHOW PERSON ONLY!!! I did research on wikis to try and write Cregan correctly, however I am but a simple man that writes fanfiction, so mischaracterization isn't totally unavoidable. ENJOY!

A dragon does not get cold.

A dragon does not feel the cold as they have fire brewing under their scales, penetrating not only their bones but also their soul. The soul of a dragon is a fiercely burning one, said to run so hot that their touch alone melts the thickest of ice.

(Y/N) Targaryen knew of this fire better than any dragon. Or that is what the people of King’s Landing had quickly grown to best know them by. Growing up within the tense house of Targaryen, especially during war times, justly called for you to have more than just a spine of a predator.

To survive amongst dragons, you must be able to breathe their fire.

Making every other tense occasion feel as though you were walking on air.

Perhaps there was another reason as to why you felt no fear as you flew North. A reason that bore the Stark symbol.

That is why, as Polarxes rode through the winter chill, with the wind daring to snip at your skin you felt calm. At peace almost, even as the great Wall came into view.

It was realized that in order to keep the throne that was meant to stay in the hands of your brother Aegon, relations had to be made. Families and Houses had bent the knee for King Visery’s heir not long ago, and it was soon made apparent that your family would have to make the same bend the knee again for Aegon. Just to make sure that loyalties lied with the correct Targaryen.

Whilst you particularly did not care for such politics, or politics in general, your mother had other plans. Seeing as you and Aemond stood as…the most intimidating of the family it was an easy decision to send the both of you out to ensure alliances were made and pacts bonded.

You knew that the decision to send you to the Wall was laced with more than just truce in mind. Your mother was a cunning woman, and recalled the times that whenever the Starks came to make your acquaintance you favored the nip of the cold family over the burning of the dragon pit. The touch of their ice, and the gaze of one particular wolf.

As your dragon landed, her talons digging in to break, you took a moment to yourself to feel the snowflakes rest on your warm cheeks and melt into the white of your roots. The cold felt nice on your skin that had grown used to the humidity of King’s Landing. To feel at ease in your skin, to have even the opportunity to cool off was an unknown blessing of this trip.

“I hope the ride here was not too tiresome for your dragon here, the winds can be quite hard in preparation for the change of season.”

Looking down at the boy, who looked no older than four and ten years of age, you smiled as you slid off your dragon with ease. She shook her head in response, her ivory scales offering her a sort of camouflage to the elements around her as she settled down. The heat of her breath alone melted whatever ice laid around her, the rest becoming swept up as her wings folded in. 

Whilst you looked at her with admiration, you could tell that this was the first dragon the boy had ever seen. It was a mix of awe and fear that flooded his eyes, which you did not doubt also kept him frozen still in fear of her eating him to remain warm.

“Do not worry about her, she is not the dragon that will eat you alive should you make one wrong move.”

A wolf does not get cold.

A wolf does feel the cold because the wolf knows how to bear the frigid winds. Their fur having grown to shift with the winds that come with winter. They stand strong against the chill of winter, and stand headfast at the front of the storm. 

The gaze of a wolf alone makes one question whether or not the storm bends to the wolf’s howl.

Cregan Stark knew that his house would come to be called upon soon enough. That is what comes with the winds of war. He just never felt bothered enough to actually busy himself with the calls of the storm.

But it became increasingly hard to ignore as a dragon landed at the gates of the Wall.

Especially when it was a dragon he recognized, that held a rider that had occupied his mind in the dark of the night as he stared into a fireplace. The lick of flames taunting him the same way a certain Targaryen had whenever in their presence.

He had begun to regret not knowing what exactly this storm of war would make him face.

The warmth of a Targaryen was hard to ignore, it made the men wish for the comfort of home as they were reminded of just how cold winter really was when left in their absence. A reaching hand hoping to grasp onto the hearth that was your soul. 

Even as he looked up toward the wall, the announcement of your presence was made when he felt sweat beghin to build on the back of his neck.

Turning towards you he noticed the sea of men that had parted to make a runway for you,almost as if they were presenting you to him. Or maybe it was the other way around as he noticed the way your predatory gaze ate up every inch of him.

He should have felt intimidated just by that alone.

You stood there before him, adorning only the one coat that seemed to mock the furs that he had adorned in order to retain even a fraction of the heat that you held onto. Your head was held high as you looked upon the Stark, giving him the smallest courtesy bow as your hand reached to shake his. He should not have been so eager to be in your presence upon the precipice of war.

Cregan Stark was no fool, he knew the reason for your visit. But still, appearances seemed to be becoming more and more important in this age.

“Lord Stark, I hope I am not intruding? There were some important business I’d like to discuss and well…dragons are faster than ravens.”

He offered you a curt smile as he stood to his full height, hoping to give himself an advantage on the conversation. Or at the very least to provide some distance to distract from the pit that had been lit a flame from your very speaking of his name.

“You’re not intruding in any way. Would you like to take this discussion somewhere more private, if the matter happens to be so important?”

You were not used to the Northern accent. The regality of the South had become your norm as you dealt with many affairs there, instead of bending to the will of the many Lord and Lady that wanted an audience with the great Targaryen rulers of the day. Thus you were used to their customs, clothing and accents.

Everything about the North always took you by surprise, and assaulted every sense that you had.

Cregan Stark was no different. If anything he made the divide even more stark as you set your gaze upon him.

He stood tall, and unbroken as he looked at you. The Wolf of the North was everything that had been said about him. Tall, broad, strong…handsome. His steeled eyes locked you in your place almost instantly. You weren’t sure if it was because you feared a single wrong move from you would provoke the beast or because you wanted to soak in every minute of his undivided attention. Never had you met someone with the same resolve as you, nor the same gaze.

You knew now why people were so intoxicated by you.

He always had that effect on you.

Taking his hand, stepping onto the lift you couldn’t help but be drawn to the cold that laid on his hands. The chill that ran up your arm from his touch alone made you want to keep a harsh grip on his gloved hand.

When the both of you were locked in, it was only then did your hands regretfully break apart by the jostle of the cables.

“I’m sure you know why I have made the trip all the way out here?” 

“Was it not to take in the view atop the wall?”

The chuckle that left your lips resonated throughout the cart, it made Cregan want to fill a book with quips that would draw similar sounds out of you. He smiled to himself as the ride came to a halt, and the two of you made the trip to a balcony overlooking the edge of the forsaken wall.

“ While that is a plus, I have come here as a courier from the Queen Mother. Whilst I believe you are busy with the responsibilities of defending the South from that of which come from those blasted woods, it would shock me to find you do not know of the developing situation within my family?”

His suspicions were confirmed. While there was no doubt you had come to discuss the usurping of the throne, it lifted some weight off his shoulder to know that you had been the one to broach the topic first. For some…unknown reason he felt hesitant to the idea of bringing up a topic that would only bring a scowl upon your face. Or any topic for that matter that would cause a crease to form between the bridge of your gaze.

But upon the question he found that you were calm and collected. As if you had not just brought up the topic of a deed that often led to disorder amongst the throne and council. Many of the men that served the wall had been sent here for just the discussion of mutiny alone.

Your confidence alone shook him, and confused him at the same time.

“I’m sure even the farthest reaches have heard of your brother taking his seat upon the Iron Throne. I'm confused however on what this has to do with me?”

Taking your gloves off, Cregan watched as you placed your hands on the edge of the ice that formed this pocket amongst the wall. Your shoulders dropped along with your head as you took in a deep breath. It was interesting to take in your mannerisms when it was just him instead of him and an audience. You behaved…well like a dragon. A foreboding presence that did not easily reveal their intentions, a ticking trap of anguish and fire. A continuous stream of steam left your nostrils as you took a moment to contemplate.

The dread that spilled from your exhale had Cregan convinced there was something more amiss this meeting of allegiance. 

“I truly do not care of the affairs of my brother, he has rarely acted on his own accord. Thus why I am here, to gather support of others that will make sure whatever whims he does hold are defended from those that aim to make all of this harder than it has to be.”

Looking at the palm of your hand that had been grasping the ice with a fury, you noticed that it had only now just started to turn pink. Whereas you were sure if anyone else had dared to meet flesh with ice, it would be purple and dead by now. It was a calming reassurance to feel the calming touch of ice. When looking into Cregan eyes, you felt a similar calm as his brows furrowed into a look that resembled something of sympathy.

He understood more than anyone the weight of duty.

“If I may ask, it seems as if you do not have much desire in the battles that are brewing? So why come here to make a play with a house that is known to keep their oaths?”

Of course he knew the weight of duty. The Stark house was known to be one of the most noble houses when it came to keeping a promise. They had bent the knee for your half sister years ago, so why must you have come out all this way to try and turn their tides? You truly did not want to come out all this way, only making the trip at the request of your mother who had become a thorn in your side ever since you made your indifference to the throne known.

You knew coming out this way would not sway the Stark, but instead sway you. 

“Who wishes for war? Only mad men desire a battle that would take their life,” Taking a moment to compose yourself, you straightened your back.

“Which is exactly why I come in hopes that you share the same sentiment.”

Your eyes seemed to hold all the emotions of the seven kingdoms. Cregan took a moment to compose himself, and remind himself that he was the Warden of the North. He does not need to consult himself on ways to keep the blaze of your heart lit. He had a job, just as you had yours.

Which is why he felt himself faltering.

“A Targaryen that does not wish of war? You are a rarity amongst your family (Y/N).”

Your name should have felt foreign to say. It was not dressed with honorifics, and he meant it. The lack of title that came before your name was with the purpose of bringing this conversation down to a more personal level. 

He watched as you tensed with him saying your name. But he knew it was not in offense, he could never offend you. It was in realization of the fragility of this conversation.

His informality was sealed when he rested his hand on the small of your back. The both of you just took in the moment to look beyond the wall. Cregan knew that this simple action could warrant reaction from you, it would be justified for you to take his hand and his tongue for even speaking to you in such a casual way.

Instead you melted into his touch, turning to face him.

He took this as an invitation to invade your space once more, taking a step forward to move a piece of hair that threatened to obscure his view of you.

“You flatter me, Lord Stark. But a compliment such as that will only do so much to sway me. I was sent here for a reason.”

His title wavered on your tongue as you spoke to him. This just drew more a response from him as he did not move, humming almost in agreeance as his hand found its place on your cheek. For a moment he felt jealous of the leather that dressed his palm, for it had the honor of holding you truely.

“Hmm yes, you were sent here for a reason. But could there not have been another? One that you hold instead, that trumps the duty you feel to your house?”

He was always good at reading you.

Perhaps you should have felt unease in coming here, to think it would just be a simple trip to the Wall that would just lead you to return home with nothing but a word that the Starks were not aligned with your house.

You were blinded by the urge to see him, the want to make his acquaintance one more time before the realm tore itself apart. “Cregan…”

His name fell from your lips with a whisper, as if you were praying to the gods above to harden your resolve.

“Tell me the real reason you came here.”

He was incredibly close now, his presence shadowing over yours. He covered you in a shroud of snow, his touch almost paralyzing you as you remained locked in a fight of wills.

Who would win? The fearsome dragon or the unbending wolf?

“To speak with you. There are…alliances that need to be made in order to keep my family from tearing itself and the world apart.”

This earned a frown from him as he leaned even closer to you. He assaulted every sense you had now. His eyes burned into yours, rivaling your gaze as his scent came over you. There was a reason you favored the smell of leather and musk. It reminded you of him.

“Could you just this once make a decision that was not dictated by your family, but rather made in lieu of what you wanted?”

Your hand reached up to hold his wrist of the hand that grounded you. Your touch was searing, Cregan knew that had you touched his skin he was sure there would be a burn where you had touched him. And he would wear it with honor.

He wondered if a kiss from you would be just as searing. If steam would rise from the both of your lips as you became one.

The fan of your breath over his cheeks threatened the very resolve he was known for.

This very act alone could be considered taking a side. The both of you would seal your fate if you fell blindly into your passions right at this second. A thought crossed the wolf’s mind, how truly awful would it have been to give in, even for just a moment?

Your hand on his cheek, a mirror of his own action, made him clasp his eyes shut as a shaky breath escaped his own trembling lips. 

He looked beautiful, in this very moment, you thought.

The both of you were so close, the desire of one thing burning in your mind as you stared at him.

You were never one for politics, but could that argument alone be excuse enough to betray the whims of your family for a single kiss from a man that would stand against them?

You wished to lite his lips ablaze with the passion of your touch.

He wished to swallow the fire that burned in your throat.

A dragon does not feel the cold.

A wolf does not feel the cold.

But right in this very moment they both wished the winds would freeze them in place, if not to hold onto the memory for just a moment longer.

“Cregan..”

“(Y/N)..”

The side of his nose seemed to fit perfectly against yours as he leaned in. Your hand rested up against the nape of his neck perfectly, anchoring both of you in this stance. 

Just as the both of you felt a graze of the other, there was the annoyance of another made present.

The squealing of the lift cables broke the silence, and thus breaking the tender moment of the two of you.

It wasn't until they came to a halt did you finally step back, and Cregan was left to imagine the moment for only a second before opening his eyes to the reality of the situation.

“Lord Stark, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of house Velaryon has arrived to speak with you.”

With a small huff of a laugh, you straightened your cloak and looked out over the wall once more. 

This would probably be the last time you saw winter…the snow…and him.

Feeling his hand grip your chin, making you face him you could only chuckle as you held his face again. Only this time with longing and remorse. You were already mourning any possibility you had with him, and he knew it too as he looked down at you.

“I wish it were that easy…”

Leaning forward, you played with fire one last time as your lips came to rest on the corner of his. It was a quick moment, only giving yourself enough of it for the small gesture. You knew if you lingered for even a moment the Northerner would take it upon himself to seize whatever he could. And then you truely would be gone to the whims of a lovely passion.

Pulling away, you watched as he held where you had kissed him, before breaking away from your eye as you made your way to the lift to leave him.

But when his hand found your wrist, you could feel the fire brimming in your throat.

“Just…think about what I said…before its too late.”

Looking over your shoulder, you couldn't help but take the moment to study his face. Commit it to memory. Perhaps that is truly what you came here for. Not some silly test of allegiance, for you already had that answer before you even mounted your dragon.

No…it was to take in one last memory of the cold.

[iamnmbr3]

What's you take on the whole wand situation?

It never ceases to amaze me how well Draco's wand worked for Harry when he had trouble with Hermione's wand and they've known each other for years.

Not only did the wand work, he also defeated Voldemort with each I find so funny for some reason.

And we need to remember that his wand was made of unicorn hair, which makes it extremely loyal to its owner so how the heck did it work well enough to defeat one of the greatest wizards of all time?

J.K.R can claim that Harry disarmed Draco all she wants, I call bullshit. To me it feels they share a deep connection which is why it worked

I KNOW!! It is insane that JKR, Queen of the Anti-Drarry Squad, wrote this in canon. So fitting that she should be cursed to accidentally canonize queer ships she hates lol.

The bit about Hermione's wand is super interesting for several reasons. Harry never wins the wand from her, but because they are very close and compatible and because she loves Harry and wants the wand to work for him, it does. Not perfectly. But way better than the Blackthorn Wand, which he didn't win AND which came from a stranger who had no compatibility with him and felt no allegiance or emotional connection to him. So we see that the compatibility of the wand's owner with someone and, crucially, the emotional bond they have with you, also influences how their wand responds to you.

This has huge implications when it comes to Draco's wand. Draco's wand is made of unicorn hair, which, as you correctly point out is known for its loyalty and affinity for its original master. This is not a fickle wandcore that is easy to just win in a quick duel. Not only that, but hawthorn wands are particularly tricky to master.

Plus, if wands could switch allegiance too easily then it would've come up earlier. If just disarming someone is usually enough to do it then any class where such things are practiced would have huge repercussions. Not to mentions fights between enemies. It would be a huge problem for Death Eaters or Aurors. Snape would've lost mastery pf his wand to the Marauders pretty early on in his school career. (Harry also would've lost mastery of HIS wand to Snape in the end of book 6.) This would make wizards extremely cautious about dueling each other. Thus, the character and desires of the wizards and of the wands and the specific circumstances must play a much bigger role. Some wands must be more loyal than others too. For example I can imagine the Elder Wand being relatively fickle. Or the kind of wand that would choose Peter for example. But a unicorn hair wand?

Furthermore, Harry doesn't even really fight Draco. He pulls the wand right out of Draco's hand. And Draco...lets him. He has fast reflexes. He's a Seeker who is nearly equal to Harry in ability. And we see how quick he is at spells and how well he holds his own against Harry during their duel in book 6. Yes Harry - who is a deadly dueler - beats him in the end, but they go several rounds. Draco, in fact, holds his own against Harry for longer than anyone except for Snape. Much longer than Voldemort ever does for example. So if Draco had wanted to get off a spell to blast Harry away from him when Harry was totally unarmed and literally just trying to pull the wand out of his hand - he could have. But he doesn't. He lets Harry take the wand.

And the wand's loyalty transfers seamlessly to Harry. Not only does it work for him. It works PERFECTLY. It feels "friendly" in his hand. In a way even Hermione's didn't. He is deeply compatible with the wand and the wand obviously is actively friendly to him. This clearly reflects Harry's fundamental core compatibility with Draco (they're soulmates your honor!) and also Draco's true loyalty and affection towards Harry.

The Hawthorn Wand isn't betraying its former master. It's honoring his wishes by protecting the man he loves.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Five

Word Count: 6.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond, graphic depictions of medieval abortions, choking (and not in a kinky way), p in v, facefuckin (oral, m receiving), choking (in a kinky way), fingering

Series Masterlist ��

A/N: okaaaay let’s go, please for the love of god, read the warnings. Apologies in advance to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for this one ily 😚

Everything had changed.

 King Viserys was dead. Aegon thrust on his throne in place of Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. And the maidservants and staff had been locked up for the entirety of it, to quell the spread of rumours. Only when the staff pledged their allegiance to Aegon II as their rightful King before the now Dowager Queen Alicent, were they allowed back to their duties, threatened with death on the basis of treason if they were found to be doing anything they shouldn’t.

 It was the most surreal, frightening experience of her young life. To be clutched at Hedi’s side, shaking and trembling, wondering if she’d ever see her siblings again.

 She wondered if her brother had succumbed to his illness and if her sister was winding herself to the ground with grief, as she had when their parents had died.

 She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for.

 Everything had changed.

 Aemond pulled her body up from the bed to rest on her knees, to support her weight on her shaking arms and the motion had his cock brushing rather uncomfortably against her cervix. Her entire body felt hot, a stagnant, heavy feeling filled his chambers, as if it were humid inside. His thrusts were harder than they’d ever been before, making her skin ripple with movement of his rhythm.

 A series of hurried and half-pained breaths are all that left her, her cheeks stinging with heat as her tears ran over them.

 “What are you crying for, sweet girl” he grunts, delivering a particularly hard thrust, his large hand slapping her buttock and gripping tightly, “I know you like your Prince’s cock, don’t you, you little slut”

 Slut.

 Whore.

 She whimpered, his fingers digging into the meat of her skin roughly, hoping it would be enough of a response for him.

 Since his father had died, plunged into a civil war between his family. He’d been unpredictable. He would start the day calm enough, sometimes frighteningly so. But now that the days were becoming shorter with the weather, a looming dark cloud forever over King’s Landing, as if the Gods knew the trouble that was afoot, Aemond temper came with the storms and the rains.

 Destructive. Washing away everything living thing in his path.

 He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, roughly pulled her back up to meet his bare chest. Aemond’s fingers curled so tight around her neck, that for a split second, she thought that he might actually lose control and snap. But he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingertips harshly tearing at her thin and delicate skin, “Fucking answer me”

 He adjusts the endless thrust of his cock up into her, now they are controlled, deeper, as if trying to hide further and further inside.

 She could feel her air stuck beneath his hand, desperately trying to break free. Felt her head begin to get hot and foggy, vision blurred and her lips move but a barely audible sound is all that came out.

 “Yes…” she whispered. Just saying whatever she could to appease him.

 She had been afraid of him before. Many times. But now, the way he was now, she feared that he might actually harm her and that the damage might be irreparable.

 Aemond laughs against her back, the vibration of it humming uncomfortably in her body.

 Still with one hand around her neck but loosening his grip so that she can breathe once again, she almost weeps at the relief. Aemond chuckles darkly and pushes her back against the bed, grinning when he sees the familiar sheen of tears on her cheeks, watching her breasts rise and fall with the intensity of her breathing. He eases his other hand down her body, over her feminine hips, taking the meat of her thigh in his grasp to spread them apart once again, sighing contently at her glistening cunt, ready to take him again.

 “You are a terrible liar, sweet girl” he coos down at her, lowering his face so that his hair brushes against her nipples. A flash of fear passes her face, but Aemond seems to revel in it.

 He did say once, he would have her fear if nothing else.

 He pulls her by her hair to the edge of the bed, where her head briefly hangs over the edge. She whimpers at the tug on her follicles and it sends a prickling pain down her spine. He no longer holds back his grip like he used to. He swats her cheek, again not in the usual soft manner, but as a means to punish her for the outburst.

 “Shut up” he commands, standing in front of her.

 She looks up at him from where she’s laid as Aemond stands before her, holding his cock proudly by the base, shining with her slick. He prodded his tip against her lips, looking at her wide eyes beneath him. He smelled of sex, of her and his arousal mixed with one another. His hand comes down to her jaw, thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth and Aemond sighs when he feels her hot, shuddered breath against his cock, twitching with excitement.

 He does it slowly, and plunges into her mouth, watching how his cock disappears down her throat, where the skin around her neck bulges where it's nestled. He feels her breathe through her nose and smirks, knowing that she’s doing as he had instructed her the first time, grinning at her endless obedience.

 “Good, sweet girl…” he growls, burying himself to the hilt within her warm and wet mouth, the head of his cock rammed down the smoothness of her throat.

 Hand still at her jaw for leverage, he cants his hips slowly, grunting heavily at the friction he gets from this angle and the sound it makes. But she herself makes no sound. Not even when his heavy stones sit warm against her face, briefly blocking off her air. Aemond watches as she takes it, her saliva coating his cock just as her slick had.

 Continuing to use her mouth for pleasure he runs his hand down her body, cupping his hand at her sex and running his fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness on them.

 “Perfect fucking cunt”

 He sinks two digits inside of her, his palm delivering friction to her clit at the same time, and he both fucks her mouth and her sex with the same rhythm, taking immense pleasure in the way her body responds.

 It’s out of her control. He plucks the pleasure from her without her even thinking about it. She whimpers around his cock, deeper than she ever thought he could be in her mouth. Her neck bobs with his shallow thrusts and his other hand rests against it, pleasuring himself through it.

 “Fuck-take it” he moans loudly, nearing his climax with accelerating and shocking speed. He fucks his fingers into her faster, intent on making her shake and writhe beneath him. Aemond increases the intensity of his thrusts with it, outright moaning as her mouth trembles around him.

 She whimpers, her insides clenching uncontrollably, painful pleasure taken forcibly from her core, but any sounds she makes are stuck in her chest with the slow, methodical drag of Aemond in her mouth.

 Aemond smirks when her body shudders with overstimulation, more sounds muffled in her chest, giving her some reprieve when he pulls his fingers free and her body sags once again against the bed. Not a moment later, Aemond pushes his hips flush against her face, his seed painting the walls of her throat with a shuddered moan. He feels her gag a bit, still with his cock in her mouth, but he enjoys the slight friction it gives him.

 He stays seated in her mouth for a moment, his hand running through her hair.

“You are so good to me” he breathes as he comes down from the high.

 She felt the warmth slide down her throat, the proof of his twisted, sick attraction to her.

 And when Aemond pulled her up, to kiss her on her lips, she wanted to weep. It was too sacred. A kiss. Something that should be done before all the things he had done to her. Something to bind a love, a marriage. A respect for one another.

But he had kissed her so fiercely, to taste himself on her mouth, and she had known then there was no love. No care. No respect.

 “You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

There were few things in her life that were consistent up to now.

 But her moon's blood had always, always arrived on time.

 No matter how many times she willed it to come, stepping into the privy multiple times a day to find her hand completely dry, void of the usual slick of red, it would not come.

 Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay.

 That was when that hurtling drop of panic erupted in her gut.

 She didn’t understand at the time, what Princess Helaena had said. And she thought of how foolish and stupid she’d felt.

 Cold Tansy.

 The womb quickens.

 Tansy tea. In other words.

 Moon Tea.

 The liquid that so many women used and still used…had to be prepared with a flame before consumption. Had to be brewed fresh.

 She felt dizzy.

 She hid in the privy, so unbearably torn apart by the revelation that she almost made herself sick. Bile rose in her throat but it never came free, and she wretched, her body tearing her apart from the inside. She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine.

 She tried to muffle her cries with a hand over her mouth, but the hurried sobs inevitably broke free.

 Alanna flung the privy door open and upon seeing the crumpled mess of her bedfellow on the floor, promptly shut it again with both of them inside.

 "Gods…" Alanna whispered, bringing her into a hug, a friendly hand stroking her back.

 If the maidservant hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed. Alanna didn't like to be hugged, or any physical contact at all, even going so far as to lay on the far side of the bed to avoid touching. She found it uncomfortable.

 But right now, it was needed. And the maidservant flung her arms around Alanna, tightening her grip on her as if she was the last person in this realm to be on her side and help. Her hands had clamoured at her back, needing this closeness so badly it hurt. Alanna only shushed her and allowed her to sob.

 "Please…do not tell Hedi…" she begged, with tears still streaming down her face, voice thick with despair. Alanna pulled her face back and sighed, using her thumbs to wipe her cheeks.

 "We have to tell the Quee-"

 "No, I-I need…I need this job. I have to-" she stammers through her weeping, struggling to catch her breath, emotions running higher than they would normally, "-my siblings, th-they need me. They will send me away without my wages and no reference, I-”

 "Shh, shh, alright I will not tell Hedi or the Queen" Alanna cooed, rocking her shoulders softly.

 "Do not tell anyone, please…I-I could not bear it…" she cracks her bleary eyes open, her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm again. Her lashes are all stuck together from her tears, cheeks red raw.

 "Who is it, the man? You could not marry?..." Alanna asks carefully.

 It was a nice thought. But one that would never happen.

 She shakes her head, "I cannot say…"

 Alanna sighs, obviously quickly running out of ideas.

 "I can deliver it. I helped my mother when she had my brothers-"

 Everyone would see. Everyone would see you are the Prince’s whore. A child with silver hair.

 "My condition will soon start to show…" she says, resigned. Her hands shake against one another, held as if in prayer to the Gods, "Hedi has such sharp eyes…what am I to do…"

 Alanna was quiet for a long time, trying to wrack her brain for what to do. She knew she could not have the baby, nor could she tell another living soul in the Keep as it would mean she would no longer have a job, no more funds to send to her family and an even smaller chance of a future.

 “Have you any money?” Alanna asks, “there is a woman in Flea Bottom who helps whores when they need it…but…” she says carefully, watching her fellow maidservant’s reaction.

“What are you suggesting?...” she responds with a weak and shaky voice, her grasp on Alanna resting at her arms. Alanna looks visibly pained by the suggestion. Every one of them were devout, pious, to even suggest such a thing as…

 “How much is the procedure…” she asked, making Alanna widen her eyes, surprised that she was considering it.

 “One gold dragon, but it is dangerous-”

 “I cannot afford one gold dragon, ‘tis more than I earn in a year!”

 Alanna sighed, “Whoever the man is, go to him. Appeal to his better nature…he cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all”

 She really appreciated Alanna’s advice, but there was a twisting pain in her gut at what had been suggested. It was something she had heard of women doing before, in desperate times. It could be dangerous. But this woman had done this procedure plenty of times, on women who survived and lived to keep on working.

 There was a chance.

 There was a chance she could keep the job. In servitude still of Aemond, but with the knowledge that she could just drink Moon Tea, prepared correctly, and never have to do this again.

 A future.

 One gold dragon was an incredible amount of money for a common maidservant, well over a year’s wages. It was entirely intentional, gold dragons as a currency was something specifically reserved for the upper classes, and if she was to be found with it…it would arouse suspicion.

 She had to be careful.

 Should she approach Aemond…?

 …How would he react to it?

 Would he dismiss her? Send her to the streets, her and her bastard? Left on the cobblestones to die.

 He cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all.

 Appeal to his better nature.

 It cannot be.

 The words of Princess Helaena were like an incessant bell, echoing around her mind. It was all-encompassing and it took every little bit of strength she had left to not crumble under its weight.

 There was only one problem.

 Aemond was nowhere to be found.

 The Dowager Queen looked out at the skies, darkened and stormy. The rain was loud and oppressive. Thunder and lightning clapping across the sky, sending an intolerable humidity and uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to sweep about the Keep like a disease. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, opting to fiddle with them instead of destroying herself.

 Her heart was filled with worry.

 Aemond had not returned.

 She waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, not knowing if a day had passed or not. The sun had yet to make its appearance, stuck beneath layers and layers of clouds, towering high above King’s Landing. It was impossible to see a thing. Despair hung so low to the ground that it obscured everything.

 Alicent’s nervous face met the gaze of Ser Criston, who had knocked and walked past the threshold of her chambers.

 “What is it?” she asked nervously, unsure if she wanted the reply.

 Ser Criston stood straight, hands at his side, one perpetually on the handle of his sword at his side, “Prince Aemond has returned”

 She moved swiftly through the Keep, the skirts of her deep green dress in her fists and rushing to find her second son.

 Something was wrong.

 Down the long corridor, Alicent came to a halt halfway, her chocolate brown eyes wide at what she saw. Aemond had rounded the corner, absolutely sodden through his clothes, hair wet and tangled, trying with an annoyed air about him to tear his leather overcoat off his person. A maid followed closely behind, picking them up from where he’d thrown them.

 His eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face, which was still covered in drops of rain. His jaw was forever clenched, his lone eye ablaze with fury but also something deep and worrying inside. Shoulders hung on him, as if he had the weight of the world on them.

 “Aemond…” Alicent’s soft voice called to him, hoping to break him from his darkened trance. But he continued on, long legs striding to his one comfortable place. His one haven in the hellhole he had made.

 Her son towered over her as he strode by and she knew something horrible had happened. A mother’s gut feeling never wavers, not once. She knew her boys, in her bones. And she knew Aemond had a temper, but rationales that there was always a reason for it.

 She held his forearm to attempt to calm him. To bring him back.

 Aemond didn’t say a word, huffed and tore his arm away. Not even the soft embrace of his mother could help in what he had done. The sin he had committed. His failure.

 He refused to stop, to explain what he’d done. Everyone would know by the morrow and he need not be there for it, he reasoned.

 Right now, he wanted the safety of his chambers and the warmth and security of being buried inside her. She offered an indifference, a closeness he could not get anywhere else.

 His mother attempted once more to reach out, and without looking at her he roared, as if cornered, “Leave me!”

 He dared not to see the broken and disappointed look on her face, as he knew she would have by the morning. He felt like a child all over again. Weak and feeble. He remembered the way he had crawled to his mother’s arms and found solace.

 But he was not a boy anymore.

 Instead he would find solace the way a man would.

 The way a man should.

 At least as far as Aemond was concerned.

 The little maidservant had jolted noticeably when the chamber doors slammed shut with a force that shook the very stone walls. She held a jug of warm water in her hands, instructed to draw a bath upon Aemond’s arrival, and with the sheer shock of him storming past the threshold had some of it fall onto the stone floor below.

 With parted lips in surprise, her eyes met his form, standing before the now locked and closed doors. He was tall and foreboding, like looking at a wild animal, especially with how uncharacteristically unkempt he looked, with that fierce look in his one eye. His body vibrated with an unseen rage, his chest rising and falling quickly like he had been running. He smelled what she thought was dragon, a musky animal-like smell that clung to his riding leathers.

 He said nothing.

 “Your grace…” she greeted with a quiver to her voice.

 She would never see the internal battle in his mind. The pendulum swinging between kinslayer and dutiful Prince.

 Kinslayer

 Kinslayer.

 She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles were white.

 “Undress me” he commanded, with a low growl.

 She swallowed hard and set the jug aside, brushing her hair that she had unbraided over her shoulder. Daring not to meet his eye, she stepped forward, shaky hands reaching out for his leather doublet, the silver clinking quietly in the chambers. Aemond closed his eye, inhaling deeply when her scent flooded his very being.

 So feminine.

 Weak.

 He was about to drift into the calming waves that her presence offered, floating idly in the depths of her touch when-

 “May I speak plainly, your grace…” she asked meekly once she dropped the leather from his shoulders.

 She had never asked to speak out of turn. Not once. And Aemond opened his eye again, half lidded and looked down at her, his gaze remaining in its stoic manner. But she didn’t meet it, too afraid to, as she folded his doublet over the armchair.

 “Speak then”

 Her hands found one another, fiddling nervously with the skin at her palm, her head lowered.

 “I…wondered if I might request some-”

 “Look at me when you are speaking to me” he interrupted.

 His voice drove fear, deep into her core and she felt the dragon in her womb begin to wake from its slumber. He took her chin in his fingers once more and forced her to look up at him. Her wide, glassy eyes finally met his and she could feel her entire form tremble, and thought, he must be able to feel it too.

 “I wondered if I might request some funds from you” she finally said, in a quiet, mousy manner.

 She had known then. That now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. But by then it had been too late. His fingers tightened on her chin, to keep her there, to watch him as his brows furrowed in frustration.

 “You said you had sufficient funds”

 He said in an accusatory way. As if her chance before had vanished.

 She inhaled, filling her lungs with the last bit of courage she had.

 Her lips quivered, and the words left her mouth too quickly.

 “I am with child”

 His entire form seemed to go cold, as well as his expression, hooded even further in what she could only assume was anger.

 “You are lying” he dared to accuse, with a firm and ever-tightening grip.

 You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you sweet girl.

 She felt the tears hot in her eyes, entire body shaking. The babe within was hot in her belly at the proximity with their father.

 “I am not” she responded with a quiver to her voice, “I…do not have the funds to…have the procedure…to…”

It was difficult for Aemond at this moment to pin down a specific emotion. So much had happened in the course of a mere few days. For him, for the realm. For the lives of every soul in Westeros it felt like.

 In the morning, everyone would know what he was. A disappointment. Weak. A failure to his family. He would see the sullen look on his mother’s face, when she found out that her entire bloodline was now thrust into danger, on account of what Aemond had done.

 He would lose his place in his mother’s good graces.

 Fathering a bastard. A blatant disregard to his duties as a Prince.

 Just like Aegon had been.

 He could not bear it. To be a kinslayer as well as that.

 He wanted control, something that had been slipping ever so carelessly from his grip since Lucerys was crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. He wanted control of his life.

 Of her.

 And her admission didn’t give him the safety he so craved.

 To think of a bastard in her belly. His bastard. The storms returned to Aemond’s one eye at the thought of even seeing her swell with it. It could not happen. It could never happen. To be reminded of his failures.

 She gasped loud, breath caught in her lungs, as his hand gripped her throat and squeezed. Previously, in the throes of passion, he had squeezed the sides of her neck, so as not to cut off her air entirely. But this time, his grip around her was so tight that his thumb pressed against her pulse point. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to his to pry his hand off her. But he never relented. Not once.

 Ordinarily, a primal part of his brain would adore to see her swell with his child. To see her breasts grow heavy with milk and her stomach taut with his little dragon inside. If she were his wife. If she were highborn, a real lady.

 But she had dared to exist in a moment of Aemond’s most tumultuous times.

 The realm had played a game. Aemond was a loaded cannon and the game was to see which gunner could fire his rage in the right direction.

 And it had been her. Her mere existence as a woman.

 She could feel her head become heavy with the lack of air, her hands clamouring desperately at his to let her free, fear climbing its way up her spine, both at the situation and the look in Aemond’s eye. Calm but with a white hot rage inside.

 He shook her by her neck, “You are mine” he growled at her face, his grip tightening.

 “Until the day you die, you are mine”

 She wished she could die.

 He would never let her go. He would never let her truly live. She would never have a husband. Have children to raise. No ordinary life.

 Gods, take me away, she prayed silently, closing her eyes, as if she felt Aemond might kill her right here and now.

 He pushed her away forcefully, wanting to be rid of her presence as if he could by the click of a finger. Could not bear to see her and her supposed betrayal of his servitude to his family.

 She crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand around her neck from where he had grabbed her tightly. The stone floor hit hard on her body, air flooding her head. Aemond, frustrated and wronged, scrambled for the purse on his side table, unknowing and uncaring of the contents. All he knew was there were sufficient funds there.

 He threw it to her crumbled body and watched as she wept on the floor, thinking her pathetic, naive. Weak.

 He huffed and began to unlace his breeches, the only thing now on his mind was a bath, to wash away his sins of the days past.

 “I expect you to return to your duties tomorrow” he said flatly.

 She gasped, choking on her breath as she cried, staring ahead at the purse full of coins.

 “Now leave”

 Not wanting to look at him any longer, she shakily took the purse and held it to her chest. Somehow regaining the use of her weakened legs as she stood to lunge herself towards the doors. Away from him.

 Only when she had regained her breath and strength from the force of her crying, did she look into the bag Aemond had given her.

 Four gold dragons and several silver coins.

 It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. And would likely ever see all at once. She lost her breath at the sight of it, something foreign curling in her gut.

 What she could do with this much money.

 She could leave. Leave this job and go somewhere far. Perhaps even across the Narrow Sea. Away from him, from this life of being his whore. Something for him to release his violent temper upon in the hour of the wolf.

 She held the purse tight to her chest and decided. Made a decision, for the first time in her young life.

 Promised herself that she would have the procedure and flee, far away.

 No more of this, she thought to herself, stroking her sore neck and walking with purpose back to her quarters. For the first time, she’d felt anger at herself, for putting up with the torture for so long. Felt overwhelmed by what the past few days had given her as her fate.

 It cannot be.

Sleep didn’t find her that night.

 A red painted house with the curtains drawn, ask for a woman named ‘Sarria’, is what Alanna had instructed.

 She had kept her hair down and wore a dress she would normally wear to prayer, not her maidservant uniform, not wanting to be recognised as staff for the Red Keep.

 She clutched the purse close to her chest, the coins jingling softly inside with every step she took. It was like he had given her life. A chance. How unfortunate that it had to come from him.

 The air was crisp and it was an overcast day, still so early in the morning that the sun was barely peeking through the narrow alleyways. She had decided to come early, before the market stalls had gone up in Flea Bottom, before the rush of customers would flood the streets. Less chance of being seen entering the home. Perhaps less chance of the Gods knowing what sin she was about to commit.

 But the Gods were everywhere. Could not be caged in as men could.

 After a moment of deliberation, she knocked on the narrow door, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. The red painted house had their curtains drawn even though it was morning, as Alanna had said, perhaps to hide the sins inside. Like a brothel.

 A woman with greying hair had answered, standing in the doorway but not quite showing her entire body, possibly in a manner of guarding. She had bright blue eyes, framed by wrinkles of her years, and she looked impossibly tired from what she had seen over the course of her life. The older woman had looked upon her with curiosity, seeing such a small delicate thing at her doorstep.

 “What can I do for you, child?” the woman asks in a soft, gravelly voice.

 “I wish to see Sarria” she answered quietly.

 The woman’s face fell into a soft frown, a sad one. And her eyes looked her from head to toe, swallowing thickly.

 “Come in, child, quickly”

 Wracked with anxiety, she stepped across the threshold, greeted by a familiar earthy and minty smell that emanated through the home. It was dark and dank, from years of not seeing the sun. The woman shut the door quickly behind her, placing a bolt across it to lock.

 Rather surprisingly, she took her cloak and folded it over an armchair in a friendly gesture, now finally being able to see her young face.

 She guided her to the opposite side of the house, where the smell of mint was stronger. The kitchen was somewhat dusty, but well used. She saw two stoves, lit, with a pot of something brewing hot on top, with the stench of something akin to mud.

 Moon Tea.

 “You have coin, I assume” the woman says, capturing the maidservant's gaze from the pots. The maidservant inhaled sharply, clutching the purse still, fingers gripping it tightly as if it were the last thing in his world. Reluctantly, she nodded and handed the purse to her with shaky hands.

 The woman eyed the contents, perturbed.

 “Are you a whore?” she asked.

 “Excuse me?...” she asked, not quite sure what she meant. The words of the other maidservants clear as water in her mind.

 “At the brothels” the woman said, to which the maidservant shook her head quickly.

 “No…”

 The woman furrowed her brows, “Only whores receive gold dragons, child. Where did you steal this from?”

 She swallowed thickly at the accusation, “It was gifted to me, I swear…” she answered meekly.

 The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, holding the purse in her hand as if weighing it. Humming, she took one gold dragon from it and put it in a pocket inside her apron, reluctantly giving the purse back to the maidservant.

“Tell nobody of this, and if you do, I shall deny ever having seen you. Understood?”

 She nodded in return, too scared stiff at the moment to speak.

 The older woman led her to a back room, separate from the rest of the home. A room with no windows and a wooden dining table in the middle. She watched as the older woman spoke to another, much younger woman, one who had long dark hair, also wearing an apron.

 The younger woman approached her with a solemn look, but a reassuring smile, and took her hand to lead her to sit on the dining table. The table was clearly cut from one large piece of wood and weathered over the years, with a big burn mark in the middle of it.

 “This is my daughter, Cassia” the older woman says, “she will assist you, make sure you are comfortable”

 Both of them were soft spoken, careful. It was like being inside a Sept, it was so quiet. They tiptoed around her, like she was a terrified animal, fleeing at the littlest sound.

 They covered the table lengthways with a blanket and propped some hefty cushions at the top and middle.

 “Lay down” they instructed.

 She felt the first signs of fluttering fear in her gut when she laid her head against the pillow, her hands fisting her dress in nervousness as she laid flat against the table. The older woman adjusted the other pillow beneath her bottom, raising her hips. The maidservant swallowed and flinched when the woman named Cassia began to stroke her hair, whispering ‘relax’.

 But it did nothing to quell the nerves.

 “Bend your knees” the older woman said in a soft tone.

 Reluctantly, she raised her knees, but unconsciously clenched them together in sheer terror.

 “Will there be pain?” the maidservant asked through hurried breaths.

 “There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again”

 Cassia held one of her hands and she squeezed back tightly, grounding herself to where she lay, memorising the pattern of the beamed roof. Counting from one to ten over and over in her head as a means to calm herself.

 This was freedom. After this, she would never go back.

 She would leave.

 Cassia and her intertwined hands, her pupils shaking as they stared up at the ceiling.

 “Will…you tell me what you’re doing?” she asks, without moving her eyes as the woman gently parts her legs and carefully lifts her skirts.

 The woman was quiet for a moment, “It is best not to know” is all she answered.

 Cassia held a cup of a warm, milky looking liquid to her lips, gesturing for her to finish the cup before the procedure, her other hand stroking her hair.

 “What is it…?”

 “It will dull some of the pain” Cassia’s kind eyes looked down at her. There was that reassuring smile again.

 As she drank the musty liquid, feeling her muscles eventually relax, Cassia gave her a wooden pestle, covered with a rag.

 “In case you need to scream”

 She took it graciously, holding it near her chest tightly.

 The patterned ceiling began to blur, and all she felt was the cold touch of the tool against her insides, travelling impossibly further up inside her. Eyelids heavy and breathing hurried but calm, there was only the uncomfortable feelings of a stranger on her most intimate and forbidden of areas. The milky substance left a film on her tongue, seemingly numb now, as were her limbs from the effect of it.

 All the while, she felt the soft caress of Cassia’s hand in her hair, soothing her.

 Cassia guided the wooden pestle to her mouth.

 Her body tensed when the sharp object was cutting, tearing, something inside her. And she’d bit down harshly, her screaming and crying muffled somewhat by the rags that were tied around it. She could feel the little dragon within her fight back, their flames licking at her insides in desperation. A deep desire to exist.

 It is here she realised what Cassia was actually here for. She was not here for comfort, or to make her feel reassured.

 She was here to hold her down.

 And she did, a solemn look on her face as she refused to look down at the little maidservant in pain.

 She nearly made herself sick with the screaming and crying, praying for the pain to stop. And it didn’t stop, not even when the old woman visibly placed the small, slender knife into a steaming bowl of water, the thick waves of steam lingering to the floor and blood slipping off the blade in ribbons. It was a dull, deep ache, in a new place, somewhere chasmic within. It felt like a hole had been torn open, blood pouring from within.

 It was all she thought about as she felt a familiar sticky red liquid begin to coat her inner thighs.

 A knife, the weapon.

 Cassia took the pestle from her mouth and began to prepare the bandages. The little maidservant stared up at the ceiling, praying in a quiet whisper. For forgiveness. From the Mother, for not allowing her babe to be born. To her own mother, for she’d be disappointed in her eldest daughter, for what she’d done to protect herself and allowing herself into this situation. To her sister, for not being there to protect her, knowing all she does now.

 Knowing truly what men want.

 Carefully, and with a deep, warm thrumming pain in her core, both women sat her up. The maidservant shook excessively, deeply troubled by the experience, and her glassy eyes went everywhere else but their eyes, not wishing to see the judgement in them.

 They pressed a red rag against her, as women do with their moon blood, and kept it there while more bandages were wrapped around her legs and hips to keep it there, to stem the ever heavy bleeding.

 There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again.

 All will be right again.

 She didn’t forewarn her about the pain in her heart though.

 The two women pulled her skirts down, pressed her cloak to her back and gave her the purse again, and she clutched it tightly. Now that it was done, she would go back, sleep, pack her things and be gone by the next morning.

 “Rest now, child. Heat a brick for the pain” the older woman said.

 And without looking into her eyes, the maidservant nodded, and pulled the hood over her head, “thank you…”

 Should she thank them for such a sin?

 Her vision never quite returned to normal the entire journey back to the Keep, and several times she had caught herself from tripping over herself. It felt as if every single pair of eyes that walked through Flea Bottom were trained on her, as if knowing all the dark, sinful things she had done, walking around her in silent judgement that was reserved for women only.

 The pain in her core seemed to dull as she walked through the Keep, quickly making for her quarters. Alanna was at the front door before she could open it, having just finished her night shift, with wide eyes, looking about her form, but settling on her pale expression.

 “Prince Aemond has requested y-” she starts.

 No more.

 “Tell him I am not well” she replied flatly, softly pushing past Alanna into her quarters and shedding the layers of her clothes, the call of her bed and the sheets too great to refuse, “I have been ordered to rest”

 Alanna swallowed, “I shall take your shift, for today only”. It was clear Alanna has no desire to do it, for he frightened the other maidservants significantly.

 If only she knew.

 They lock eyes for a moment and Alanna can see the utter exhaustion behind her eyes. She squeezes both her hands, giving her some semblance of comfort and the little maidservant wonders at all if she should tell Alanna about her plans.

To leave this wretched place once and for all.

 “Thank you, you are a good and kind friend…” she replied with a shaky voice, giving a sad, reassuring smile to her fellow maidservant. Alanna gave one back and immediately put her apron back on, leaving the little maidservant to herself in the quarters to recuperate.

 She placed the heated brick beneath her mattress and shed her clothes down to her chemise, the front slightly tainted with a patch of blood where she had begun to leak through. So she placed some dark blankets against the sheets and placed herself finally in her bed, pulling the linen up to her chest and allowing herself to sink into it.

 Hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the thought of what she had done, feeling the evidence of it sliding in warm blood out of her. She thought of her family and how she longed to see them again, hoped that her little brother was alright and recovering.

 This was freedom, this choice she had made.

 And she thought of where she might go. Somewhere where the sun shines all the time, where the clouds are light and fluffy, where she can feel the sea breeze against her skin.

 Somewhere away from him. Where he could not find her. Torture her.

 Sighing happily at the thought, she sank further into the mattress, closing her eyes to rest off the uncomfortable ache and drained emotions of the day she had so far.

 Sleep, the calling.

 She felt her heartbeat softly in her chest, calmed. And her breath, slow and relaxed. Felt the warmth of the brick beneath the mattress soothe her and the soft hand of sleep curling around her body to take her. It felt like floating into nothingness, airy and free.

 Her name.

 Someone was calling her name, somewhere.

 Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound.

 “Mother…”

 Grief breeds grief.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles  @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr   @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx  @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost​ @heavenly1927​ @madislayyy​ 

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[hatosaur]

i realized that i hadn't said anything here so this is a bit belated but i'm super unhappy with the casting choices of tlou hbo, and just the general direction it's going toward.

in abby's case, it's been well-pointed out at this point her body type is a narrative device, a catalyst for showing just how her dedication and obsession with tracking joel down and killing him. i don't doubt that kaitlyn dever will be working out for this role but i can only imagine she'll end with a sort of lean muscular physique that will hardly illustrate the point of the body type, rather than one that takes fat into consideration. dever is far too small to achieve it, and what's more is, i think it's super unethical to bank on someone working out in order to fit a role. the announcement of the casting came about a month after the trailer for that new kristen stewart movie, the one where she falls for a bodybuilder, came out. there are fully actresses who lift and bodybuilder and have similar body types, and yet their choice leaves us wanting.

dina's case feels a lot more sacrilegious. isabel merced isn't jewish, nor has any of dina's defining features. granted, i'm well-aware that neither cascina caradonna, her face model, nor shannon woodward, her voice actor, are jewish, but i feel like this is what made the casting choice matter all the more. dina's a character whose heritage matters to her character, and there was such a clear chance to have her be portrayed by a jewish actor.

like a lot of people, i think that they chose the more palatable route, considering the massive backlash against both abby's body type and dina's more prominent features, which is both incredibly sad to see but also infuriating. particularly with the issue of neil druckmann's batting for jewish rep under the veil of his allegiance with israel. i obviously can't speak for the feelings of jewish fans but i imagine to pull the rug out from underneath us on a character that he has said is a connection to his jewish like this would be like spit in the face.

the whole thing has just made me disinterested with season 2 of tlou hbo. there are already issues with the games' representation of people of color, and seeing as i could tell there was a small (i cannot stress how miniscule) attempt to "fix it, i'd held out hope prior to this but...no.

IN ALL HONESTY, i'd already been content to not engage with s2. i was skeptical enough from the get-go when it was announced, but truth be told, too many red flags are cropping up. obviously, there's the zionist stuff that i think, right now especially, literally everyone can do without (though i'm sure neil and craig are rubbing their hands together over how the people NEED a great "both sides are bad, completely and totally biased view of the conflict in palestine" story), but even to like pirate is a no-go for me.

all of this to say, since i've already gotten some people asking, you shouldn't expect me to draw or indulge in any of the content from it.

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Elain was up with the dawn, which normally wouldn’t have been such a big deal had Lucien not kept her up all night. He’d wanted to inform his closest circle that he was married, as he needed several witnesses to agree to sign their document before the ceremony that afternoon. Elain wondered if Lucien saw what she did—their silent disapproval, this frowns as they agreed, their pinched gazes even as they tried to offer Lucien their validation.

He risked their allegiance with his marriage and Elain suspected he simply didn’t care. 

She wished she could remember all the major players in Lucien’s reign. She wasn’t a historian—what she knew was far more limited, much broader. Still, when Hybern’s eyes had fallen on her, she’d felt recognition in the back of her mind. Whether that was good or bad, she simply didn’t know.

And she never would. 

Elain had stood in front of that mural for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to just touch it. Go home. 

She’d never even come close, though she couldn’t admit that to Lucien. Let him think it was a close call, if only to remind him she could leave him if she wanted to. It was crazy to stay in a place that didn’t have the right kind of indoor plumbing—water was pumped in and out, but there was no waste removal like home, and Elain didn’t love using the pots. 

But the idea of going back to her lonely, confusing existence filled her with dread. And as she’d stood there, Elain had seen her future flash before her. Married back in the states, with Graysen and the two children she was certain he wanted. And while it wasn’t a miserable existence, she knew she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been if she stayed with Lucien.

And Elain knew she’d never wondered what-if about Graysen. In the end, that realization had been the one that pushed her over the edge. 

The kind of love she felt was rare. Elain didn’t want to lose it over some misplaced sense of propriety. Even if that meant being dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn so Lucien could parade her around, proud as a peacock, that he’d managed to secure a wife no one approved of. Unconcerned and undeterred, Lucien then took Elain outdoors to his massive lawn and declared with much delight that it was all hers.

“Do whatever you wish with it,” he said with a broad grin.

“This is all happening rather fast,” Elain told him as Lucien turned to look at her, hair blowing in the wind. He hadn’t tied it all back yet and Elain found she liked him best this way. Maybe it was how Lucien felt when the scarf came off her head, allowing him to see her unbound hair. No one else did—and they never would now that she was married. 

“How is it done in your home?” Lucien questioned. He’d begun phrasing his interest in the future as just her home—like it was someplace past Brittania that she might visit, if she wished. Elain didn’t mind it.

“For you,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t respond, sliding an iron band onto her third finger. He turned her palm upward, tracing an invisible line to her wrist where the faint blue of her veins lay just beneath her fair skin. “Vena amoris. It connects to your heart.”

“Where I’m from, men get on their knees to ask a woman to be their wife,” Elain told him, heart hammering in her chest. 

He wouldn’t.

He would. 

Lucien slid to his knees like it was nothing, hands skimming the sides of her body as he went. Gold sunlight caught against the copper of his hair, adorning him as surely as any crown might. 

“Do they beg?” he questioned, bunching the fabric of her dress between his fingers. “Marry me. Please.”

“What if I say no?” she questioned, wondering who the Emperor was right then, him or her.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Say yes.”

Elain smiled, reaching for his hands to tug him back to his feet. “Of course I will.”

“The men of your home must have the nerves of the gods to withstand the waiting,” he told her, a shaky smile spreading over his otherwise handsome features. “I didn’t like that.”

“It’s good for you,” she teased, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I don’t see how,” Lucien grumbled, snaking an arm around her waist. “What else do they do in your home?”

Elain considered it before biting her bottom lip. “Nothing worth mentioning—”

“Tell me anyway.”

She sighed, knowing Lucien was going to go overboard. “Typically, when they ask, they present their potential wife with a ring which you already did.”

“Jewelry?” he asked, eyes sharpening.

“Just a ring, Lucien,” she insisted hastily, but he wasn’t listening to her, starry-eyed as he plotted.

“Just a ring,” he repeated, gaze sweeping toward the fountain. “We’ll be married this afternoon, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Rome as my wife and their Empress at our first game. Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” she admitted, stomach tumbling at the thought. Lucien’s excitement was palpable. 

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Lucien murmured, “You’re going to love it.”

Elain wasn’t so sure. She knew the coliseum hosted some of the most violent sporting events in the ancient world and Elain had never had the stomach for blood and carnage. This was important to him, but also to the city he lived in and the people she needed to support her. Elain vowed she would smile through it all, and clap for the victories that belonged to Rome, if only to endear herself. 

Which gave her an idea. “Lucien?” she began, reaching for his hand. He looked between them, lacing her fingers with hers while rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. “What if we gave the citizens of Rome a gift?”

He cocked his head to the side. “What kind of gift?”

“Something generous,” she asked. “A day's wages?”

“A week,” Lucien countered, as if Elain was going to complain about it. “Courtesy of my new wife.”

With his free hand, Lucien tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “Very shrewd of you.”

“I thought it would be nice not to be slaughtered in my sleep,” she replied with an easy grin. 

“My new wife, champion of the people,” he murmured with obvious, unguarded affection. “Rome is lucky you stayed.”

Elain poked him in the side, finding nothing but hard muscle beneath the white of his chiton. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No,” he replied, though they both knew that was a lie. Lucien had been away for three days, and Empires didn’t run themselves. He needed to get back to work before someone started suggesting he was the wrong choice and decided to do something about it. 

And Elain needed to track down Arina, who wasn’t in her bedroom. No one would look at her when she asked where her friend had gone, which could only mean one thing. 

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back inside before practically running down the halls, skirts gathered in her hands as she passed important statesmen, servants and would-be philosophers, all of whom turned to look though they said very little to her face. She needed to memorize their names and get to know them, but that was a future problem for future Elain. 

Elain made her way to the suite occupied by Eris Vanserra within the palace. He had his own estate in the city he could have spent time in and yet he’d remained here—for how long, Elain wondered? 

Flinging open the doors, she expected to find the pair of them half naked in bed. 

“Surprise,” Arina said as light from the hall flooded into the otherwise dark bedchamber. Arina was dressed and sitting in a nearby chair, legs folded beneath her. “Did you expect something different?”

“Some one different,” Elain replied pointedly, eyes drifting to the unmade bed that had clearly held two people in it. “You’re alive.”

“So are you,” Arina said, arching a pale brow. “Where did he take you?”

“Back to the mural,” Elain murmured softly, closing the door behind her. “I told him everything.”

She expected Arina’s anger, for her friend to rise to her feet and begin yelling. Elain thought she might have deserved it—after all, Lucien could have killed them both if he hadn’t believed her. However, Arina remained in her chair, hands folded in her lap. 

“You didn’t go back.”

Elain bit the inside of her cheek. “What is there to go back to?”

Arina was too calm. “Your fiance. Your job. Air conditioning?”

“That last one is a good point,” Elain agreed solemnly. “It’s hot for June, right?”

Arina shrugged. “Not as hot as it would be back home. Global warming and what-not. I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you I also decided to stay.”

“With Eris?” Elain questioned, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice. Heat crawled up Arina’s skin, warming her soft brown cheeks as she peered down at the floor.

“He’s a good man.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Elain replied, taking a step toward her friend. “I’m just surprised that you want to stay for him…or any man, really.”

“You and me both,” Arina replied, wincing softly as she shifted in her chair. “But I’ve thought about home, and…I was miserable back there.”

Elain went to her, then, grabbing a purple pillow from a nearby chaise to kneel on the floor at Arina’s feet. Resting her head against her friend's shin, she nodded.

“So was I.”

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Arina admitted, reaching for the scarf that hid Elains hair to tug at the fabric. “But everything moves slower here. People are alive, you know? And I’m tired. If Eris wants to support me while I torment him, why should I say no?”

Elain laughed. “Maybe he likes a little torture.”

Arina nodded. “He must if he likes me. We can worry about that later, though—for now, we need to figure the customs out here and quickly. Eris said Lucien intends to marry you.”

“This afternoon,” Elain said with more satisfaction than was maybe warranted. 

“You know how Romans are. Some of them will be out for blood. We can’t give them anything to work with and no reason to doubt us. I don’t want to be sent to Capri.”

Elain couldn’t help the strangled laugh that escaped her. Capri had been where Emperor Tiberus lived due to his fear of the political machinations of Roman politicians and their penchant for assassination. Commodus had later used it to exile both his wife and sister. Elain doubted Lucien would have her exiled anywhere, though if he died, she would certainly be right behind him.

“We need to be careful,” Elain agreed, looking at her friend. They were already viewed with suspicion as outsiders and would be convenient scapegoats for anyone looking to whip up anti-Roman sentiment in a bid for power. “Lucien is giving the citizens of Rome a weeks worth of wages as a wedding gift.”

“That’s…that's a good idea. Was it yours?”

Elain beamed. “It was. Today, all we have to worry about is this wedding. Tomorrow we’ll go to the games and let people see us. If we have their support, killing us will be far more difficult.”

“Until the propaganda papers start circulating,” Arina grumbled.

“So give them nothing to talk about. We’ll be the perfect Roman wives,” Elain replied, her plan solidifying. “We’re charming. We’re smart. We can get enough patricians to like us.”

“Lets hope.”

It wasn’t entirely traditional. Elain had no household for Lucien to walk toward, and instead had a processional through the city, complete with the high red and gold banner of Rome itself, as he walked through the city toward his brother's estate. Eris had agreed to act as her father given her actual father wouldn’t be born for centuries, and she had no other family. Having him on one side, and Arina has her matron of honor on the other, made Elain feel a little less alone. 

 She was made to wait in a long, elaborately embroidered white tunic belted around her waist with a hercules knot. Pinned in her hair was the traditional orange veil hastily dyed the night before specifically for her, and on her feet a pair of matching orange shoes. 

Elain’s thick hair had been secured within a yellow hair net which kept it off her neck before it had been parted and plaited six ways, and the whole thing secured with the hasta caelibaris—a ceremonial pin shaped to look like a spear of celibacy. Elain had resisted the urge to giggle over it given she hadn’t been celibate, even after arriving in Rome. Though, she doubted anyone was going to give her too much grief given she was marrying the man in question. 

A wreath of roses had been placed atop her head, the thorns all carefully plucked before they’d been woven together. She felt rather pretty despite the strangeness of the customs and how nervous everyone was as they watched for any ill-omen that might curse the wedding. More than a few women had commented that Lucien had chosen a good day in June, and Juno herself seemed indifferent to the whole thing. Elain still made an offering before stepping outside just to be safe—there was something supernatural at work given she shouldn’t have been there at all. Perhaps it was the gods. 

Crowds gathered both behind the procession and on the margins, curious as to who their new emperor had chosen and to see a wedding among the patricians play out. Weddings weren’t uncommon, and though they were often somewhat public, Lucien was making a loud spectacle. Food was free, a mimicry of the feast being prepared for those that would participate in her wedding celebration, which caused excitement that nearly became pandemonium when it was announced all citizens would receive a week's worth of wages as a gift from Elain herself.

Newly named Helena, Elain knew she’d find a likeness of her face on newly minted coins in the coming months. Lucien had informed her in a letter delivered by a rather lovely servant, that he wanted to have her portrait commissioned for one. 

Elain stood beneath the shade of one of the massive stone pines, delighting in a cool breeze. It was hot, of course, but her nerves were making her far sweatier than the heat. Even as she saw him approach, dressed in white and gold in his own toga virilis, replete with a cape pinned around his shoulders. His red hair was neatly pulled off his beautiful face and adorned with a crown of golden laurel leaves marking him as more than just a mere groom but emperor too. He looked it, right then, eyes fixated wholly on her like twin burning stars. He was a mirage beneath the heat, shimmering along the edges of his form as he made his way with single-minded determination. 

Elain kept herself still, trying to maintain an image somewhere between joyful and fearful which was the expectation for a Roman bride. It felt like the entire city was watching, picking everything about her apart to find fault or flaw they could talk about in the morning. Foolish as it was, she wanted them to love her.

I gave my whole life up for you. 

Lucien made his way up the long, stone pine lined drive in the blink of an eye. He inclined his head when he saw her, unable to hide his wolfish grin. 

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. Elain nodded nervously, looking up at him through her lashes. It wasn’t fake modesty—she was terrified right then. Was she making the right choice? Was she doing the right thing?

The wind picked up around her, ruffling the veil round her face not viciously, but like a fussy mother. Lucien’s smile widened.

“The gods favor us.”

Elain decided to take Lucien at his word, though it certainly felt like he was right. Everything went as it was supposed to—he spoke the words to Eris, her faux father, with smooth practice as Eris suppressed an eye roll. Everyone was dressed in clothes similar to her and Lucien in order to trick evil spirits looking to curse them with bad luck, and Elain tried to imagine the outrage it would cause on modern day internet forums. 

No one spilled wine over the guests so Elain could be the only one in white. Had Nesta been there, though, Elain knew her elder sister would have marked everyone simply to be petty. There was cake and wine and more food than any of the guests could have consumed in a lifetime. Lucien’s entirely family had come—famed Roman General Helion, and the divorced wife of the former emperor, Amera.

Lucien’s mother was absurdly beautiful and incredibly kind, welcoming Elain with a wide smile and a hug that made her miss her own mother. Helion, too, looked far younger than she knew he was, aging seemingly in reverse. It was a good omen for her future with Lucien given he favored his father so heavily. 

Jurian, his most loyal friend, was also there with his wife Vassa whom both Elain and Arina took an immediate liking to. Lucien and Jurian had just enough wine to make them boisterous without being embarrassing, and Elain caught herself watching them laugh as they exchanged jokes, strangely enchanted by the pair of them. 

There were others—men who laughed as they swore they’d never marry, eyes straying toward another man they’d brought with them as a friend—though the heated glances made them seem more like lovers. Senators brought their wives, who were gracious and kind to Elain as they shared little bits of wisdom for making the most of a wedding night—and Senator Tarquin’s rather lovely bride, who slipped Elain a piece of parchment with a recipe for  birth control.

“Just in case,” she’d murmured with a wink.

Amera offered to step in as Elain’s mother to allow the pair to play act the strangest part of the marriage ritual—the part where they play acted The Rape of Sabine Women. Elain knew of it vaguely—back when Rome was little more than a small kingdom and in need of women, Roman men had kidnapped women from nearby tribes who were raped and then made to be wives. Whether it was truth or mere legend was still debated, though the Roman’s clearly loved it.

Lucien grinned the entire time he tried to pull Elain from his mother, who put up a rather weak fight in the end. Around them, everyone laughed and jeered as Elain eventually fell into Lucien’s arms, elbowing him just hard enough to knock the wind from his gut when he held her against him.

“A kiss?” he murmured, ignoring the people around them.

She surged upward on tiptoes, kissing the man she’d thrown her whole life away for. “A kiss,” she agreed, tasting the wine on his mouth. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be too drunk to do your husbandly duty.”

“Never,” he swore, placing a hand over his heart. “I won’t disappoint you.”

The procession back through the city was far sillier. A perfect, starry sky greeted them when they stepped out into the cool air, hands clasped and smiles on their faces. As they passed the gathered crowds, people tossed walnuts which Lucien explained was a good omen for fertility. Elain couldn’t contain her amusement, giggling into his arm as they went. 

“You don’t want children?” Lucien whispered as they went, careful to keep his voice quiet.

“I’ll explain it all later,” she promised, catching sight of the Emperor’s palace atop the hill. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, ethereal and unreal even in its construction. Elain knew if she asked Arina, her friend would say it was meant to project strength and stability or whatever, but it all felt like a dream to her. Even when Lucien lifted her into his arms, carrying her over the oil and fat coated threshold in a tradition that still survived nearly two thousand years later. He broke bread over her head while his friends and family cheered, and then it was all over. Taking her past a small chaise set out for their spirits to couple on, Lucien closed the door to their bedroom with glittering eyes.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he admitted, brushing crumbs off Elain’s veil. “Really?” she asked, stepping closer so she could press her cheek against his chest. 

“I kept expecting you to change your mind and beg me to take you back to the mural,” he admitted, holding out his hand so she could see the faint tremble. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lucien,” Elain swore, taking that hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Trust that, if you trust nothing else. I found my way to you once, and I’ll find it again and again—in every life.”

“Let's worry about this life,” Lucien murmured, leading her to the bed. 

Elain only smiled.

LUCIEN:

“This feels wrong,” he said, staring down at Elain’s naked body. “Are you sure—”

“Just get it over with,” she snapped, head turned to the side so she didn’t have to watch.

Straddling her waist, Lucien hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Elain told him through clenched teeth. Her hair was a tangled mass around her beautiful face, lips stained red from his mouth, cheeks flushed from an evening of pleasure and, perhaps, a little too much wine. “Lucien, please.”

Lucien readjusted the dagger held in his sweaty fingers. “I didn’t imagine I would be maiming my wife the morning after I married her.”

Elains smile was grim. “Do you want children or not?”

He did. Oh, but how he did—not mentioning that it was the expectation placed upon her the moment Lucien made her his bride. Elain would need to have a least one healthy child in order to please both the city and the gods and prove their union was blessed. 

A fact made more difficult when Elain, breathless and distractingly naked, had informed him she had a little piece of metal in her arm that would prevent her from having children for a decade. In order to circumvent that, it needed to be removed. Elain explained a physician would have done it for her back home and Lucien, ever practical, had decided it ought to be him.

He couldn’t explain her life to anyone, nor did he want rumors circulating about her. The problem now was that Lucien didn’t want to take that knife and wound her, even if she was asking him to. And Elain had said she couldn’t do it because she hated blood, leaving the pair at an impasse. 

Elain looked up at him before pushing at his chest with her small hands. Ignoring the arousal that surged through him, Lucien fell theatrically to the side as Elain got out of bed, threw on a shift, and marched right out the door. It wasn’t quite morning—very few people would be up given the partying that had gone on well into the wee hours of the morning. Lucien didn’t bother putting on anything himself, partly because he expected her to return alone.

He hastily threw a blanket over his half hard cock as Arina strolled in with exasperation. “Give me the dagger.”

Lucien offered it up as Elain sat in a chair, arm outstretched. He couldn’t help but watch as Arina dragged the tip of the blade against Elain’s perfect skin, causing blood to rise up and slide toward her wrist. Elain hissed, head turned and eyes squeezed tight.

“Good thing you didn’t get an IUD,” Arina muttered, the words meaningless to him. “Then you’d be fucked.”

It seemed like it took forever. Lucien’s heart was in his throat watching, ignoring the fact that he had driven his own blade through a hundred men or more in his life. Something about watching his wife maimed, even if she was asking for it, made him want to vomit.

Arina pulled the little piece from Elain’s arm between long fingernails, grimacing the entire time. “Wash that really well,” Arina urged before dropping the bloody speck into Elain’s open palm.

“This seems like the worst place to have a child.” 

“You’ll be first,” Elain called after, earning a dismissive wave of her hand before Arina was gone. Lucien stood, then, making his way toward Elain who was taking Arina’s advice. While she used a pitcher of water to rinse the blood from her skin, Lucien examined the little object with fascination.

“How does it work?”

She glanced over. “I’m not entirely sure. It uses hormones, I think, to block—”

“Hormones?”

Elain looked upward for a moment. “I forgot there is so much you don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but it basically…blocks…the things your body does to create life.”

“And you wanted that?”

Elain offered him a pretty smile. “I did, yes.”

The unspoken words between them were, of course, that now she did. Whether out of duty or love, Lucien didn’t dare ask. She’d grow into it, he decided. There was time to consider the possibilities, to see her delighted at the prospect of being a mother—of raising another potential Emperor, even. 

“Are you going to escort us to the games today?” Elain asked once she’d wrapped a little bandage around her arm. Lucien nodded, not bothering to inform her that he would much prefer to keep her in bed for the next month uninterrupted. There was something primal about the desire which felt debasing. He should be above such things.

And yet he wasn’t. Lucien thought about her the entire time he bathed and dress, adorning his military dress uniform rather than another chiton, partly because he wanted to project power to his people.

And partly because he’d need it. He wanted his new wife to understand what it meant to be married to a man like him. He wanted her to be proud of him. 

Lucien wanted everyone else to be afraid of him.

That last part was practical. There was hurt feelings among the snakes in his court who felt he’d betrayed his very station by marrying a woman who wasn’t born and raised in Rome. Lucien had heard their objections before ignoring them—tradition wasn’t the end all, be all after all. Not one among them adhered to tradition all the time.

Merely when it suited them best. 

Now they wanted to complain because it was their families snubbed, ignoring he had no duty to them at all, nor did he care to elevate them to annoying heights. He’d made his decision and today he’d silence the dissenters and stir up pro-Roman sentiment among the ordinary people and the soldiers within his walls. 

Lucien was itching to redistribute some of their ancestral lands to more loyal senators. And he would—so long as he had justification. Maybe he’d use his wife to inform him of the gossip at court so he could better make decisions. Lucien was fairly good at picking through it himself—he’d learned from a young age that if he spoke very little and maintained good eye contact, people would just keep talking and talking and talking. He’d been collecting secrets his entire life.

Elain was waiting for him, freshly bathed and dressed in pretty yellow that nearly skewed orange thanks to whoever had dyed it. She looked up at him from her spot in front of a mirror, carefully wrapping her stolla over her shoulder while leaving her neatly braided hair out. 

“It’ll be hot today, even in the shade,” he warned, kissing her cheek. He wanted to do more, though that would have to wait. 

“It’s always hot,” Elain replied with an easy smile. Was she happy? Truly? Lucien was trying so hard not to think about it because when he did, fear wormed its way and tainted his joy. He could face down a line of men pointing spears directly at his face, but he couldn’t ask his wife if she truly wanted to be with him.

What if she said no? 

“It’ll cool,” he promised, taking her hand as she rose to her feet. “You look beautiful.” She beamed. “Are you going to war?” she questioned, pressing her palm to the heavy breastplate strapped against his chest.

“Something like that,” he replied. Lucien led her into the hall where they met up with his brother and Arina, both of whom were the center of the majority of the floating rumors. Lucien had been smart—though no one would have cared if he bedded Elain here, they would have begun to talk had he not married her. Arina was quickly being relegated in the minds of those that mattered as a mistress, and mistresses didn’t command the same respect a wife would. 

Eris needed to either remove her from his bed or marry her. Judging by the look on Eris’s face, Lucien suspected it would be the latter. Deciding to discuss it later, far out of the ear shot of those around them, he nodded his head, indicating it was time to go.

Elain walked dutifully beside him, crowned with pretty green laurel leaves pinned neatly into either side of her head. She looked like a goddess, a thought he kept quiet even in his own head lest any of the gods decide to peer inside. They may have brought Elain to him, but Lucien knew that could just as easily take her away.

Beside her, Vassa had begun talking animatedly, unconcerned with Elain’s rank or status. Jurian, keeping just a step behind Lucien, took the opportunity to say, “They’ll call you mad for this.”

“Only if I lose,” he replied, stepping into the streets with a grin. “Which I won’t.”

“Careful, lest Minerva hear you and decide you need to be humbled.”

“I welcome her wisdom,” Lucien informed his friend, “though it is Mars who watches me today.”

Mars had been watching him for a long time, though truthfully, Lucien had always considered Minerva a more welcome patron. She was far cleverer than him, of course—but Lucien considered himself clever, too. You didn’t become Emperor without a little of her favor, after all. 

The city was alive even in the early morning heat. Musicians and other entertainers had come out, drowning out the excited chatter as people filed toward the towering coliseum. It had been a good decade, if not more, since an Emperor had last hosted games for the people. Beron had been too busy lining his own pockets with the taxes he collected to care, and Lucien knew keeping the people fed and entertained was the easiest way to ensure their loyalty. 

Passing the tax collectors, Lucien saw the line to collect Elain’s gift stretched down a whole city street, wrapping itself into the next as people waited with unabashed excitement. He intended to repeat the gift once his coins were minted, forever associating the generosity with Elain herself. 

Forever known as Augusta Helena. 

Lucien followed Elain up to their seats, shaded beneath a canopy already unfurled to keep those in the stands shaded, too. The noise was deafening, delighting him as Elain leaned forward over the rail, elbows resting against the stone so she could take it all in. Beside her, Arina did the same, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kept forgetting they’d never been, had never seen any of the glory of Rome. He’d kept them secluded, and thought they’d made their way into the city earlier in their stay, this wasn’t comparable to a little shopping at the market. 

Lucien was allowed to make a speech, though he chose to keep it short. He welcomed Romans to the first day of his week-long celebration, thanked the gods for the glory bestowed upon them, and introduced his wife to a roaring crowd of people before he sat himself down and waved on the beginning of the spectacle. 

Elain didn’t like blood—she’d told him so just that morning. Now, as the gladiators filed out, Lucien tried to imagine the entire thing through brand new eyes. What did they do in her home for fun, he wondered? Did they not have something similar she would have enjoyed? Elain’s light dusting of freckles were stark against the paleness of her face when the first man fell to the sand, throat cut inelegantly but efficiently. It wasn’t the most brutal of killings, but it was the first. 

The crowd roared out their pleasure, screaming in a cacophony of noise for their preferred champion as blades clashed and the dirt beneath their feed muddied. It was merely a warm up—all the warriors were slaves captured from rebellions or outright wars and made to fight for the amusement of Lucien’s people. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to him—they were too new for anyone to be terribly attached to. 

They were waiting on a different gladiator—Lucien had seen the graffiti coming in, had noticed the posters of his shirtless form slapped against buildings. If he looked at the crowd, he’d see children holding little dolls sold just outside the stadium along with the banners that would wave through the air when he arrived.

Lucien was looking forward to the fight. And when famed Gladiator Rhysand stepped out, bare chested and adorned in his strange tattoos, the crowd erupted with excitement. The former Thracian General had started off as just another low-level slave fighting because that was the only way to stay alive.

Rhysand was a freed man, now. Not a citizen, but he had wealth and property and from what Lucien could discern, a rather nice existence for someone who should have been slaughtered on a battlefield. He didn’t entirely trust Rhysand—nor anyone who had once tried to overthrow Rome’s hold on their lands. In the back of his mind, he always assumed they’d try again if they were ever able, and just like Beron before him, he intended to keep a watchful eye on Rhysand’s comings and goings. 

Convincing him to fight hadn’t been difficult thanks to Lucien’s promised quarry. On the other side of the arena, blonde hair shining beneath the sun stood the traitor Tamlin. Rhysand had asked to kill him when Jurian had gone on Lucien’s behalf to secure his presence in the arena. Tamlin the Betrayer—he’d sold them out to invading germanic tribes, promising them land and wealth if they sacked Rome but left once they’d taken what they wanted and executed all opposition that would allow Tamlin to rise to power. 

Unlike Beron, who had exiled Tamlin, Lucien wasn’t so forgiving. They’d been friends. Lucien’s name hadn’t been on the list, though he doubted he’d have been spared should a hostile army sweep into the city. Nor did he think Tamlin would have mourned too terribly if he’d been collateral damage. 

Tamlin’s father had been the cause of Rhysand’s capture, and it was rumored that Rhysand had been the one to kill him. Lucien hadn’t been part of the Thracian campaign and so he couldn’t say if it was true or not. There was no other reason Rhysand would want to kill Tamlin, a true born Roman citizen, if it wasn’t though.

It was interesting to watch the people of Rome rally behind Rhysand even as Tamlin came out adorned in Roman garb. Food was hurtled from the stands, landing at their feet as Rhysand threw up his hands and spun in a circle, yelling words lost to the roaring crowd. Tamlin didn’t bother, ever stoic even in defeat.

He’d been promised freedom if he survived and Rhysand knew it. Lucien glanced over at Elain, her eyes fixated on the warrior. 

“What do you think?” Lucien asked, lips inches from her cheek. 

“Where is he from?” she asked, and too late, Lucien wondered if she understood the markings on his body. Rhysand claimed they were for luck in battle, though Lucien very much doubted that was all they were. 

“Thrace. He was royalty, or so they say.”

She only nodded, turning back to watch. Rhysand raised his curved blade over his head and the fight began with Rhysand taking the offensive and Tamlin the defensive. Tamlin held a heavy shield in one hand, sword in the other. Lucien had seen Rhysand break through a shield before, though never one held by a former Roman trained General. Truthfully, Tamlin should have been crucified, his remains left out for the vultures to feast upon until his bones were bleached by the sun.

But this was far more entertaining. Rhysand’s citizenship was on the line—though he didn’t know it. Lucien had decided if he won, he’d make Rhysand a citizen of Rome, no longer obligated to fight in the arena if he didn’t want to. He might have fought harder had he known what was truly at stake for him—but Lucien didn’t want this victory tainted.

He wanted to see Tamlin slaughtered out of hatred rather than self-preservation. And he wanted, more than that, for Tamlin to know it had been him who’d ordered it. Lucien forgot about his wife half recoiling beside him, disturbed by the brutality of what she was witnessing.

Down below, though, was a symphony of violence. Weapons clashed loud enough the clangs could be heard from where Lucien sat, jarring his teeth with a familiar phantom pain. 

“Don’t turn away,” he ordered Elain when she gasped, eyes closing as she turned her face into his shoulder. “Watch.”

“I can’t.”

“You must,” he said, well aware eyes were on them. She couldn’t be seen as weak. Elain went back to watching, looking as if she wanted to vomit all over the floor. She could cry about it when they were alone again—but for now, she would watch.

Beside her, it seemed Arina did have the stomach for it. Her eyes were bright with interest as she leaned forward, tracking the movements of Rhysand so carefully that Lucien caught his brother glancing over, eyes pinched at the corners.

Maybe he ought to be worried if Rhysand became a citizen. Or perhaps he’d finally stop embarrassing Lucien and just make her his wife to prevent a future in which Arina found herself in a gladiator's bed. 

Turning his attention back to the battle, Lucien witnessed Rhysand plant his sandaled foot flat against Tamlin’s back, kicking with such force that Tamlin’s sword flew from his hand as he was knocked to the ground. Panting, onyx hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, Rhysand made his way toward Tamlin.

The once respected General looked scared. That moment of fear, even if he didn’t beg, dishonored him. The crowd roared as Rhysand swung a powerful thigh over Tamlin’s body, using tattooed knees to pin his arms to the ground. Lucien wished he could hear what words Rhysand spoke, sword raised high over his head.

And then it was over. He drove his blade through Tamlin’s throat, drawing forth gushing blood. Rhysands swung again, removing Tamlin’s head from his body as the crowd leapt to their feet, stomping their feet and screaming so loud the gods could not ignore them. Lucien, too, was on his feet, clapping as Rhysand turned to him, head raised in his hands.

I did as you wanted, those violet eyes seemed to say.

Lucien merely nodded in return. Well done. 

It took time to set up the next portion of the games. Lucien left Elain in the capable hands of his brother so he and Jurian could descend into the stinking underground of the coliseum. Jurian kept one hand on his sword as Lucien walked, a warning to anyone thinking they might try and get the better of him. 

Rhysand was waiting, wiping sweat from his brow with a filthy rag. It merely spread the blood on his face around, making him look truly terrifying.

“My winnings?” Rhysand asked by way of greeting. His face was obscured by shadow, though somehow the blue of his eyes were as vivid as the burning torches hanging from the damp walls. 

“Delivered to you this evening, as promised,” Lucien said, extending out a hand for Rhysand to clasp.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am. I’d see you made a citizen of Rome, if you wish.”

Rhysand hesitated. “A full citizen?”

“Full citizen,” Lucien agreed, hoping this gesture of goodwill would not backfire on him. “With your own estate and lands to oversee.”

Rhysand didn’t hesitate, offering a slick smile Lucien didn’t quite trust. “That’s very generous. I’m humbled by the offer.”

Lucien only nodded, gaze turning back to Jurian. “Leave it to me.”

Rhysand nodded, stepping past the pair of them to leave. No one stopped him—he was no longer bound to the chains and cells of this place as he’d once been. Jurian watched, brows bunched together.

“I don’t trust him,” Jurian finally said as Lucien tried not to breathe in the overwhelming stench of rotting blood and human misery.

“He’ll fit right in, then,” Lucien replied. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Jurian reminded Lucien as several overseers began to walk toward him.

“I know I don’t. I want to,” he said with a grin. “Besides, the people will be speaking about it for years.”

“Assuming you aren’t killed.”

“Take care of my wife if I am.”

Those were the last words spoken between them. He knew Elain was going to be irate when he stepped out, but at least she wouldn’t look away. There was something familiar about the nerves racing through him. Lucien still remembered his first battle, brand new in his fathers unit, wondering if he’d survive. Lucien knew he would, now. This was how Roman men were tested, how they proved they were made of something strong. Something unbreakable.

He wanted Elain to see him—that was vanity. But he needed his city to see. 

Stepping into the arena, Lucien threw his hands in the air with an easy grin. He didn’t dare look toward the seats he knew Elain occupied—he supposed he was cowardly for that. The roar of the crowd was deafening—and intoxicating. All he could feel was the steady gallop of his own heart and his desire to taste blood. 

Across the arena, Lucien watched as Brannaghan was brought out. Dark eyed, pale, and filthier than he’d been when he’d first been rounded up, he was an outsider. A Briton who’d led an unsuccessful revolt and hadn’t had the guts to kill himself before iron cuffs were clapped around his wrists. 

It was as fair of a fight as Brannaghan would ever get. His sword wasn’t rusted or broken and he was allowed the armor of his people. Of course, there were no trees in the arena, or woods for him to ambush Lucien in. It was a fair fight—and one they both knew he’d lose. 

At least make it entertaining.

It wasn’t fun when the political prisoners gave up quickly, hoping for a clean death. Lucien would make him suffer if he fell to his knees, sword cast aside. The only honorable death was one fought well.

Brannaghan’s eyes glittered, body wrapped in crude leather. Lucien had heard the people of Brittania often painted their skin blue, a luxury that hadn’t been afforded here, though he wished it had. The more barbaric he looked, the wilder the crowd would be. 

Lucien looked at the crowd, just as wild as they’d been for Rhysand. I am your Emperor! He wanted to shout it, though no one would hear. He’d wait until his victory was assured. Lucien turned his gaze to the man in front of him as the doors allowing exit closed. There was no way out—and Lucien would rather die than beg to be rescued. Only one of them would leave alive. 

With the sun beating down on him and the smell of sweat and blood, Lucien raised his sword. He half wished he had Rhysand’s confidence to go shirtless in the arena, though courting disaster made it far more likely. 

Lucien offered a taunting smile to the male, coming closer. “I heard you fucked your sister,” he said by way of greeting. 

The man snarled in fury, running toward Lucien with his sword raised. Lucien could have driven his own right through Brannaghan’s undefended chest. Already, Lucien saw his weaknesses—this was not a man who was used to fighting up close. At least, not like the Romans did. He was an ambush fighter used to guerrilla tactics.

Lucien knew how to kill a man face to face. He was disciplined, had been trained from boyhood to cast his nerves aside and obey instinct rather than whatever urge demanded he run and hide. Lucien deflected easily, watching as the man stumbled a step before regaining his composure. The crowd cheered as the fight began in earnest. Lucien kept his sword in one hand, the other used to keep his balance. Overhead, Lucien could feel Elain’s eyes on him, could practically taste her displeasure in his mouth. If he didn’t die in the arena, he was going to die in his bedchamber.

What a way to go, he thought, blocking another blow with ease. There was another, and another—Brannaghan was tiring himself out, sweat dripping down his temple to splash on the sandy ground beneath them. Lucien wanted more even as his bones vibrated from the force of the strike. And when he pushed forward, deciding it was time to put on a show, Brannaghan simply could not contend with the superior training of a Roman soldier. 

He didn’t quit, though. Even when Lucien kicked him to his knees, sandal flat against his chest, Brannaghan swung his sword. He managed to slice a thin, shallow line against Lucien’s exposed thigh though he hardly felt it at all. He only realized when the crowd jeered. 

“Your downfall will be sung of,” Brannaghan spat.

Lucien grinned, driving his blade through Brannaghan’s chest. Fisting the man’s hair as he gasped for air, Lucien murmured, “Roma in aeternum viva.”Rome will last forever.

Lucien pushed him back, letting him fall to the ground as blood poured from the wound. He, himself, was also coated in blood though it was well worth it. Lucien raised his hands, delighted by the roar of the crowd and the warm victory racing through him. This was what he needed, he thought as the doors opened and he was welcomed in.

Lucien stepped into the gloom, eyes adjusting to the dark. He didn’t realize everyone was keeping back not because they were awed by his greatness, but because his wife was standing there with murder in her eyes. 

“My turn,” she hissed when he came closer.

“My love,” Lucien replied, pulling her against him for a messy, bloody kiss. Elain tried to push him away, but Lucien wasn’t having it. Holding her face between his hands, Lucien pressed a second kiss to her forehead. “Spare me my dignity before you end me.”

“You should have told me,” she said, eyes glancing around dim, dank space. Lucien nodded, hand on her lower back as he began guiding her out. This was no place for someone as beautiful as Elain. 

“You would have said no,” Lucien reminded her, refusing to remove his hand even when she began making her way up the stairs. Elain spun quickly, eyes flashing.

“Because it’s foolish. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he reminded her. She needed to let it out—that was fine. Lucien didn’t mind her chastising simply because he loved the sound of her voice. Let her yell, so long as she was yelling at him. 

“Lucien, I swear—”

“My love,” he tried again, reaching gently for her shoulders to turn her around on the stairs. He should have had himself changed from his armor, but Lucien wanted Elain back beneath the sunlight and far, far away from the threat of violence, the smell of death, or even just the filth that populated beneath the coliseum. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you actually sorry? Or are you saying that because you want me to stop being angry.”

Lucien blanched. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“What if he’d killed you?”

“He wouldn’t have,” Lucien replied.

Elain huffed in exasperation, gathering her skirts to continue going up the stairs while Lucien trailed after her. “Why are you angry with me now?”

“You could have died—”

“No,” he said, catching her to push her gently against one of the wooden beams, their mouths inches apart. “No, I could not have. I just got you—not even Plutonis himself would dare to try and take you from me.”

Elain didn’t try terribly hard to shove him away, though Lucien still put space between them. “I was scared.”

“Don’t be,” Luicen murmured, wishing he could scoop her up against him and put her in his bed. “Trust I’ll always return to you.”

“Don’t do that again.”

Lucien grinned. “Don’t make me lie to you—”

Elain shoved him ever so slightly, like a kitten trying to take down a lion. Not that he’d ever say so. Kittens still had claws and she could take one of his eyes out if she wanted. Lucien had no doubt Elain wouldn’t if he pushed her.

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I fight better knowing you’re watching,” he replied, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. “Let me make it up to you with some food. The lions are coming soon. Don’t you want to watch the lions fight?”

She narrowed her eyes. 

“This isn’t over.”

“Oh, how I pray you’re right.”

ARINA:

Arina had her meager things placed in a small bag and was nearly to the door when it swung open, the edge nearly catching her in the cheek. Eris paused, light from a nearby lantern illuminating his beautiful face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice lethal and soft.

“Back to my bedchamber—Eris open the door.”

He’d locked it, though, closing it behind him before positioning his larger body between herself and the only exit out. Arms crossed over his broad chest, Eris looked at her, lips pressed in a thin line. 

“No.”

“Eris—”

“Must we do this every night?” he asked with just a hint of exasperation. “Must you force me to beg you to stay—”

“People are talking—”

“So let them!” Eris snapped, waving a hand in the air. He seemed so very Italian to her right then, annoyed and scowling as he was as he gesticulated with his hands. All he needed was a cigarette and he’d have been perfect. She’d have flipped him off as she rolled her eyes and he’d have yelled after her, something mildly offensive without angering his mother were Arina to tell. 

But he wasn’t Italian—not yet, anyway. 

“Eris—”

“Are you afraid, Arina?” he asked, advancing quietly. 

She didn’t respond, unwilling to admit out loud that yes, she was deeply afraid that he was going to get everything he wanted and not make good on any of the promises he’d made to her. She’d held out this long, for all the good it did her. People just assumed anyway, and her reputation was damaged as if she had. It shouldn’t have mattered. Arina wasn’t a virgin even without sleeping in Eris’s bed.

But no one cared back home. They cared here. She’d staked her whole life on remaining here—with him. And now it felt like he was making a mockery of her. 

“Are you in a hurry?” Eris questioned and christ, when had he gotten so close to her? “I can’t marry you until my fucking brother is done with his celebrations or we would be.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a liar,” she dismissed.

Eris’s brows shot upward. “What did you call me?”

She was stepping into dangerous territory, but it needed to be said before she lost her mind. “You keep saying you want me,” she half whispered, holding her ground even as he advanced close enough their faces were inches from each other. “I think you don’t want anyone else to want me, but you want to see if you could do better—”

He kissed her, fingers sliding in her hair to fist her hair roughly until her neck was arched back. He didn’t stop even when she whimpered, stepping her backward until her knees hit the bed. Whatever shred of dignity or control he’d been holding on to was gone, leaving behind only the base urges of a man Arina wasn’t sure she’d ever met. 

She liked him, though. Liked the way his grip softened just enough not to hurt her but not so much he wasn’t keeping her in place. Unaware, she supposed, that this was exactly where she wanted to be. 

With his free hand, Eris shamelessly groped her through her dress, palming her breasts until Arina gasped and pulled back just far enough he had to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no,” he warned her.

It annoyed her.

“Then go find your brother and have him sign the contract that makes me your wife,” she replied, shoving him back just far enough that she could breathe again. Releasing his grip entirely, Eris stalked to his desk and opened a drawer previously locked by releasing a latch just behind. She should have figured that out.

A moment later, Eris held a piece of parchment in hand like it was his most prized possession. There was triumph on his face as he brought it to her, eyes ablaze. “It’s been signed.”

She took it from him, fingers trembling. “Liar.”

“Call me a liar again, Arina.”

“Why wouldn’t you say something?”

Eris shrugged, taking the rolled up parchment back from her with nimble fingers. “You change your mind every other hour. Why would I say a word while you decide?”

“Undecided because you don’t seem concerned.”

Eris shrugged again. “Why would I be concerned? I know how this ends.”

“And how does it end, Consul?”

He liked that more than he wanted to admit. Desire flared over his features as he prowled forward once again. “You know how it ends.”

“You haven’t touched me.”

“I’m not a monster,” he replied, cupping her face in callused hands. “I hoped you’d come to me.”

“You should know better.”

“Come to me anyway,” Eris murmured, pulling her close again. 

“I stayed for you,” she whispered, watching his eyes go wide. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It feels like too much,” he admitted, his mouth brushing her own. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You don’t,” she confirmed, watching his lips curl into a smile. 

“Is this how I can expect the rest of my life to go?” Eris asked, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. “Are you itent on tormenting me?”

“It does you good,” she said, though in truth being able to talk to him that way felt like safety. Eris would let her, trusted his feelings and hers enough that it didn’t bother him. And perhaps, deep down, Eris understood why she swung back and forth the way she did. Sometimes Arina thought she was insane to stay here when going home made the most sense. 

Eris didn’t respond, kissing her instead as though his life depended upon it. Maybe it did. Maybe he needed to have her this way to prove himself. Or maybe he was simply a man who was tired of waiting and Arina was trying to subscribe too much thought behind his wandering hands. She, too, was tired of pretending she didn’t want him.

She wanted Eris in a way she’d never wanted any man. Desperately. Frantically. Like if he wasn’t inside her literally that second she might explode into a million pieces. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Eris whispered before his mouth consumed her again. Arina was addicted to this despite how new it was. Here, though, secluded and alone, Eris gave in to whatever impulses he felt. His fingers found her hair, pulling it from the half twist so it tumbled over her shoulders. She, too, was moving outside of her own awareness as she pulled his chiton over his head. The most important thing to her was they didn’t stop kissing. She thought she might die if they did, though it made undressing him so much more difficult.

She considered, briefly, demanding he strip to nothing while she watched. Maybe she’d spread her legs out and touch herself to motivate him. Eris pushed her back to the bed, coming with her in a graceless heap that made her love him more. All the slick, smooth edges were worn off here and she felt like beneath his polished exterior lay this half-wild man that she was sworn to marry.

“Eris,” she whispered into his mouth, his name caught and swallowed but Eris’s own greedy lips. He groaned, pressing his hips against her own so she could feel his erection. Arina wanted to see it, too. Arina wanted to know if Eris was as good at other things as he was with his mouth.

“Take this off,” Eris all but begged, trying to find the hem of her gown twisted around her legs. Arina almost laughed, tugging the fabric over her head.  

Eris leaned back, watching as Arina slowly pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Eris whimpered, eyes made of molten flame. 

“Is this what you want?” she asked, lifting her hips to shimmy out of the dress. 

“Yes,” he all but panted. “Take all of it off.”

“You first,” she replied, eyes roaming his bare, toned chest. He worked out—she could see the defined muscles of his abs and shoulders and wanted to trace them with her tongue. When did he have the time—somehow, Eris seemed above that sort of thing.

And yet there he was, yanking the layers of his clothes off with those strong hands she’d been staring at ever since they’d first met. Arina was breathless and Eris was starting to realize he had an effect on her—maybe the same she was having on him. Eris took a breath and then stood, revealing himself fully.

“Oh, come on,” Arina whispered, earning an unrestrained grin from Eris.

“Is it how you imagined?”

“I don’t lay awake at night dreaming of your cock,” she lied., His cock was perfect, thick and large. He knew it, too. “This was supposed to be your shortcoming.”

Eris chuckled, crawling back up the bed where she was still wearing a matching set. “I have no shortcomings.”

She didn’t respond, delighted when Eris ripped off her shift and pushed apart her legs. It was clear he just wanted to look and Arina found she didn’t care at all. 

“Fuck me,” Eris whispered.

To which Arina replied, “I’m trying.”

His eyes snapped to her face and just like that, he was kissing her again, hungry and desperate. She was naked, pressed against him skin to skin. Arina could feel the blunt head of his cock lodged against her thigh, and though she wiggled, trying to get him closer, Eris had no intention of letting himself touch her between her legs.

Not yet, anyway. Arina wasn’t used to someone who wanted to draw things out, to wring as much pleasure as they could from their partner. And though she knew she shouldn’t, Arina couldn’t help but compare Eris to every man she’d ever been with before. They’d have been fucking her by now. Warm affection rose through her—she wanted to give him something.

“Eris,” she panted, pushing at his chest. Eris, misunderstanding what she wanted, fell off her to his back with a breathless apology.

Straddling his chest. Eris’s eyes went wide, fingers skimming the sides of her body. 

“What are you doing?” Eris breathed, perhaps expecting her to sink herself along his thick length. It was tempting, and yet not right then—not yet. Holding his gaze, Arina lowered her mouth to his chest and licked a path toward his navel. Eris inhaled sharply, fingers fisting the bed sheets beneath them.

“Arina,” he pleaded, realizing what she planned to do. 

Lips hovering inches from his twitching cock, she murmured, “I can stop if you want.”

Eris’s exhale was rough, and yet no words escaped him. 

“That’s what I thought,” she replied, just before tracing the vein running under his cock with her tongue.

Eris moaned, eyes wholly focused on her face. He was watching, eyes half lidded, fingers splayed over his stomach. Arina licked again, tongue teasing his slotted head. Eris’s hips bucked, hands reaching for her hair before pushing her toward his aching, swollen cock. 

“Please,” was all he managed. Arina was so impressed he knew the word at all, let alone might beg her to taste him. Widening her jaw, Arina managed to take half before it was impossible to breathe and her gag reflex rose to the surface. It seemed bad form to vomit in his lap, so Arina pulled back, using her hand to make up the difference.

Eris didn’t seem to care, for what it was worth. “Fuck,” he groaned, fingers fisting in her hair. He set the pace, guiding her up and down his shaft while she focused on licking and sucking, enjoying herself far more than she’d ever done before. Maybe because it was him, and Arina liked everything about him, or maybe she simply enjoyed giving him something. 

Clearly Eris wanted something similar because rather than coming down her throat, Eris pulled her off him with a ragged gasp.

“I’m going to finish if you keep that up,” he growled, holding her wrists over her head to keep her from escaping him.

“Isn’t that the point?” she taunted, pushing against his grip just to see what might happen. Eris’s hold tightened, mouth inches from her own.

Eris kissed her again, his free hand teasing her bare breast. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She shivered, delighted he was having as much fun as she was. She was more delighted still when Eris replicated her own action, tongue dragging down her stomach.

“When was the last time someone licked this pretty pussy?” he asked, fingers spreading her apart. There was no way she was admitting the truth to him. 

Eris was smart—he guessed anyway, if that near feral smile was any indication. “Oh, baby,” he crooned, thumb rubbing over her clit. “Neglected, are you?” “Yes,” she panted, writhing beneath his warm breath curling over sensitive flesh. 

Eris looked up with those dark, amber eyes. Teasing her with his fingers, he said the three words she was desperate to hear. “You’re not anymore.”

She would have done anything he asked of her after that. Eris could have told her to lick his feet and she probably would have. He didn’t, though. Eris didn’t ask anything at all, spreading her legs wide before pushing them toward her chest. And then he licked with the sure confidence of a man who not only knew he was good at this, but that liked doing it.

She could have wept. 

She might still, because Eris wasn’t rushing the way she was used to. It took her a moment to relax, waiting for him to raise his head and ask her if she was close or close enough he could stop. Instead, she got a soft moan of approval when one of his fingers slid along her opening, teasing without fully penetrating. 

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, lifting her body to give him better access. Eris’s hands slid beneath her ass, holding her off the bed, eyes half closed as he licked and sucked like his life depended on it. Release was building, molten in her stomach as it skated up her spine. 

She’d wanted to last longer—Arina wanted to drag this out, just in case he changed his mind. Eris teased until she couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing his hair to shove him closer. He half laughed, like the whole thing amused him, but his tongue remained flat against her clit until she came loud enough the everyone in the palace almost certainly heard her cry out his name. 

“Fuck me,” Eris breathed, looking up from between her legs, mouth glistening and red. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Arina nodded, her body still convulsing, arms still shaking and vision blurry. Eris helped once she flopped onto her stomach, grabbing her by the hips, one hand flat on her back to keep her face in the pillow.

“Very good,” he praised, knee pushing her legs further apart. “I want to feel my wife come on my cock.”

This was happening—she’d long forgotten that it was Eris behind her, rubbing the head of his cock through her slick folds. And when he slid himself into her, pushing so far that Arina forgot to breathe, it didn’t matter to her. 

Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?

“Gods take me,” Eris groaned, digging his fingers hard enough into her hips she was certain he was going to leave bruises. She tried to respond, but the words stuck to her throat. He didn’t move for a second, letting her adjust to the stretch, to the fullness of having him share space with her. 

The moment passed and Eris pulled himself out to the tip before slamming himself back into her. Arina’s cheek pressed unforgivably into the pillow. His pace was brutal and somehow perfect, made better when a ringing slap against her ass cheek pulled her off the bed.

“Do you like that?” Eris asked, reaching for her hair and wrapping it around his wrist. Arina arched her back, biting her lip so hard it hurt. “Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck me, Eris,” was all she could think to say in response. He slapped her ass again, interrupting the pleasure she was all but drowning in with a bite of pain. As it faded, more pleasure rode to take its place, muddling what was happening until her brain was confused and silent. 

Pulling her back further with her hair, until she was practically balanced only on her knees, Eris bit his teeth gently against her shoulder. “I want to fuck every inch of you. Every hole. I want you to feel my cock every time you sit down, every time you swallow.”

Arina moaned in response, delighted by his filthy words. Did he know this was her exact fantasy? Was it his, too? Arina thought so, based on the way he moaned, pushing her back down and releasing her hair so he could continue fucking her. Arina was so close again, unable to remember a time she’d come twice if it wasn’t from her own hand.

Eris’s hand slid up the curve of her ass, rubbing until he found the tight hole. His thumb pushed, creating friction and pressure at exactly the right moment. Arina came, screaming into the pillow before she realized what was even happening. All she knew was she was drowning in pleasure, shipwrecked and run aground.

Eris came not a minute later, his thrusting erratic and messy. She barely registered it until his body covered her own, mouth pressing messy kisses against the side of her neck. She could have slept like that, his body weighing her down like a blanket.

“Was it good? Did you like it?”

She didn’t know how they twisted so she lay cradled against his chest, he flat on his back. All she knew was he was holding her, mouth to her cheek as he sucked air in and out of his nose. 

“Yes,” she panted, kissing whatever bit of skin she could find. “It was perfect.”

But what she meant to say was, you were perfect. 

[incorrect-mtg]

A meeting in Korozda

One does not earn the moniker "Thousand-Eyed" by letting things slip by. In the ruins and dark alleys of Ravnica's Undercity, every bug is another potential set of eyes for her to keep track of those going through Golgari land. Which is why she noticed an anomaly immediately.

A hooded woman exploring the broken down ruins of Korozda wouldn't be a cause for alarm. It had almost become a familiar sight, after it was brought up to the surface. But this was no surface explorer carefully mapping their way: it was a local. One she quickly recognized.

The most noticeable thing, at first, was the lack of any signs of allegiance. In the wake of the invasion, the Swarm had broken down into my factions and each was quick to establish their own symbols to identify their presence. None of which the stranger carried on her. And then Izoni was able to get a look of her face. She looked human, but the height and facial structure were eerily familiar. The kind of details a cheap disguise wouldn't cover, particularly if there were more important things to hide.

So she followed and, at the right time, she struck.

She pushed her target against a wall, a knife on her throat and making sure her sight was blocked before calling on her swarm to follow. A tidal wave of insects and arachnids spread around them, covering the walls and the ground, their chittering and buzzing drowning all sound.

"You have a lot of gall, to return here" she says her knife digging into flesh "Give me a reason I shouldn't just kill you right now and feed you to my pets?"

A moment of silence, followed by a sigh, "I can't. Or at least if our roles were reversed, nothing would convince me."

In the blink of an eye the magical disguise is unmade, revealing distinctively organic scales and head tendrils.

"For what it's worth" Vraska says, eyes locked to the wall in front of her "I did not come here for a fight, Izoni."

"Oh? So what is this? A scouting mission? Doing some groundwork for the next invasion you will bring from beyond the Blind Eternities?" she asks, her pets increasing in loudness with her anger.

Through their eyes, she can see Vraska grimace and close her eyes.

"That wasn't me. As soon as I could, I fought the phyresis."

"How comforting. I'm sure the Simic would be interested in how you did it, even. Now, why are you here?" she insists, even as her mind connects some dots. Vraska had been the best of the Ochran. With access to disguise magic, if she'd wanted to go unnoticed, she'd have done it.

So she… Had let Izoni find her. This was a trap-

"I wanted to talk to you," Vraska replies, bringing her thoughts to a halt "how are the Golgari?"

"You… You came for ME. And that is your question?" she asks incredulously, her anger only growing when the answer is a nod.

"It will take generations for us to recover from all the deaths and compleations. Generations more for us to be a proper guild again" she says, her anger winning out against the knowledge she should not be talking to the gorgon any longer "millenia of knowledge is gone for good, there are literal species of Kraul that you helped eradicate. You want to know how the Golgari are? We are broken. We are a nest you covered in phyrexian oil and set on fire."

As she rants, she see Vraska is deliberately holding back any reaction. It only makes her angrier.

"Thank you," Vraska says once she is done, in a tone Izoni might even call meek "One last question… Do you have any hope? For the Golgari?"

Izoni sneers in response. She almost wants to say no, because that is how she feels sometimes. But she is nothing if not prideful.

"The Golgari are dead" she says "but death has never stopped us, and that isn't about to change now"

"Good" Vraska answers, before taking a deep breath "take care of them, Izoni. Be better than me or Jarad. You won't have to worry about me again."

Then she nods and everything goes wrong.

Izoni feels an attack against her mind only a moment before it breaks through, using her own magic to disperse her swarm. Her thoughts grow cloudy.

"You won't remember we were here" Vraska says, finally able to turn and look her in the eyes "Good luck. Goodbye Izoni… Goodbye Ravnica."

Those are the last words Izoni hear before she falls asleep.

[paeliae-occasionally]

AITA Tag!

No one tagged me but I enjoyed the first one so much that I have decided to do it again.

Rules: Make an Am I The Asshole post (look at r/aita for examples if you haven’t seen them ) for an OC

From Kell:

AITA for “Betraying” Xaeren before his ritual to kill a goddess?

Ok so I met Xaeren when I accidentally stole a rune and money from him in Daliva. I didn’t know who he was at this point, but I used that money to buy passage on a ship to Zairel where I forged papers to get into the lysandri school of magic. At school I heard of Xaeren. An assassin, the most powerful caster in generations, a traveller and a storyteller. He had recently returned to the city and people were intrigued. Anyway, I had carried the rune with me all the way to the school, not knowing what it was and Xaeren found me there to reclaim his property. We spoke for a while, I gave back the rune and realised he really wasn’t as malicious as some stories made him out to be. I was struggling at school and he offered to teach me magic and in return I would give him information about a variety of different higher level spells house lysandri kept.

He was particularly interested in the work of Muliva Kazi and the magestones and he told me he planned to kill the goddess of death. I laughed this off at first but the deeper we got in this the more serious he seemed. He taught me so much magic and he was always kind to me but I began to realise how powerful he really was and that I might be getting in well over my head.

I asked him exactly what he wanted me to do and he told me he would never put me in danger, but if I wanted out I should tell him then because soon it might be too late.

I chose to join him. I wanted to learn more magic, to grow more powerful and succeed as a mage and he was my path to that, if it all got too much I could easily cut and run back the the lysandri mages.

This became more complicated when the lysandri mages found out about his plan and labelled him a wanted criminal for crimes against the natural order. He had found a way to kill the goddess and I had agreed before the mages came into it but this made me start to question my allegiance.

The day before the ritual I told him I could not do it. I couldn’t sabotage my entire career, my entire life as a lysandri mage just for his unachievable project so I left him. He was angry saying I had betrayed him, that I was his way back but even in the end he didn’t push me to help if I wanted to leave.

They told me he died in the ritual and took the goddess with him.

I just wonder if anything would have been different had I been there for him. I don’t regret putting my career first, I am now a high mage and a member of the ivy council because of that decision. Still I wonder was it wrong to leave him there after all he did for me?

So AITA for ‘betraying’ him before his ritual to kill the goddess?

Tagging the Tag list~ (join here)

@thelovelymachinery, @an-indecisive-nerd, @the-letterbox-archives, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @winvyre

@happypup-kitcat24, @wyked-ao3

And some more lovely mutuals:

@drchenquill, @the-golden-comet, @willtheweaver, @tildeathiwillwrite, @theink-stainedfolk

@thecomfywriter, @mysticstarlightduck, @glassfrogforest, @aintgonnatakethis, @falco-underscore-77,

@telltaletoad, @storyteller-kara, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @crow-with-a-typewriter, @thelovelymachinery,

@oliolioxenfreewrites, @ominous-feychild and @honeybewrites

[yuridovewing]

do you know how disappointing it was back in 2016 when the apprentice's quest allegiances list came out and sparkpaw was in there, and it was nice and interesting cause now the tigerstar descendants plotline can have a parallel in a firestar descendants one, and her prefix is really cute (and i particularly loved it cause i'd used it for an oc i felt sooo vindicated) and then you read the book and the authors basically expect you to not like her in favor of her nothingburger brother and feel sooooo sad for him

[flusteredmoonn]

all of the girls you've loved before

summary: "but i love you more," in which the song provides insight into how their previous experiences with love have shaped the way they are in a relationship.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble?, headcanons?, slightly canon divergent, mentions of abuse; no descriptions, ooc!marauders, afab!reader, x reader.

words: 1.0k+

discography. request.

james potter

james grew up surrounded by love, particularly from his parents. for him, this was a fundamental part in shaping the way he views romantic love, and the way he approaches romance through the duration of his time at hogwarts. the boy was so loved growing up that he doesn't quite understand when his friends don't experience the same thing or feel the same way towards love, at first, but then quickly comes to the realisation that he can step into the roll his parents served in loving him as he grew up. this makes him fill in the emotional roll of a parent within his friend group, which is why he becomes so full on toward lily in their second year.

he becomes persistent in his want to impress her and have her validation. in his second year of schooling, she teaches him to validate himself, even if that lesson came from her lack of attention toward him and her friendship with severus snape.

however, over the course of the next four years, for better or for worse, he wore lily down, eventually getting into a relationship with her. their relationship was the definition of healthy, until it wasn't. in the beginning, they were inseparable, they could be mistaken for almost the same person. though that was very quick to fade out as the intensity of their final exams began to weigh on them.

this breakup hit him hard, because of the idea of her he had in his head for almost the entirety of his schooling. he was forced to let that go, and so he grieved the relationship and his attachment to her. though, she did teach him lots about love, and the importance of communication in relationships, especially romantically, which he carried later into his life. this is why his next relationship is probably one of the healthiest relationships that anyone around him had ever seen.

sirius black

on the entirely opposite end of the spectrum, sirius never had a good role model of a relationship in his youth. his parents' marriage was one of convenience, it was loveless, which was expected because they were cousins. as a child, it was the kind of relationship he expected to find himself in when he became an adult. he expected to be married off, probably to one of his cousins, before he had even finished his schooling at hogwarts.

he hated the idea of being in a relationship just like his parents' one. they seemed to loathe each other, but because of their allegiance to voldemort, they had to constantly be in each other's corner. they had taken their indifference and dislike for one another out on both sirius and regulus, which was formative to their perception of a healthy relationship. though, this was until sirius had met james, and then had met his parents. his world was flipped upside down, his perception of what love looked like was completely changed.

so, in his aspiration for rebellion, he had decided to become a heartbreaker. and he did. part of him felt bad about the girl's he had lead on. but he knew it made his parents upset. he absolutely didn't, he just hoped when he returned during half term that he had reeked of mischief. although, he was changed when he had his first serious something with mary macdonald. she had taught him to be patient, and that not all relationships are as upsetting and distressing as his parents. that love can be something exciting and that is isn't meant to be heart wrenching.

unfortunately, as the war began to rage on, they were dawn apart. the order's agenda was rigorous, they were more frequently than not sent on opposing missions, especially because sirius was promised to voldemort by his parents, and eventually it drove them apart. and he descended into madness, suddenly he had no one he could trust. trust had become so important to him, but when he loves next, he loves ten times as hard. because he doesn't want to feel so alone again.

remus lupin

similarly to sirius, remus never had a solid example of what a healthy relationship looked like. especially not with his condition. and as a result of this, his relationship with his parents was strained, to say the least. though he never outwardly said it, from a young age, remus had known that his father feared him. he grew up surrounded by people in relationships, but none of them seemed truly happy. and he could feel the contempt both of his parents had for him, of course, his mother did love him, before the attack, and he held on to that, it's what got him through his years prior to hogwarts.

at hogwarts, this boy was very quickly loved, and frankly adored, by those around him. particularly, from james and sirius, these two boys showed remus, for the first time in a long time, what it was to be loved. and he cherished the feeling that the knowledge provided. they had taught him how to be a regular kid, a revealing revelation for remus. james and sirius taught remus the joy of causing mischief, how he felt like a normal kid after watching his friends at quidditch practice, and then they'd play fight and roll through the mud.

romantically, this boy had only observed that sort of love. he saw the admiration in his friend's eyes when someone they fancied walked past, or the hushed whispers of some of the girl's in the common room gushing over which boys they found the most attractive. he knew that love was delicate, but ultimately, in a romantic sense, he never had someone to directly show him how to feel it. though, he supposed it wasn't all that different to the love he felt for his friends, or when he thought he fancied one of his classmates.

this man loves in such a wise, and committed sense. truly beyond his years with how mature of a relationship he desires, and in the way he loves.

[pendwelling]

Hello!

Have you seen the art for the new season of the TWSB webtoon?

Someone made a comment about how the new artist made the difference between the styles of Venetiaan and Riester are more obvious, and I remember you mentioned you wished that would happen, so I'm really curious about what you think.

Hope you have a nice day!

YESSSSS ABSOLUTELY

I was outdoors when the chapter dropped (which was additional torture in its own way bc I was literally counting down live hours and minutes till the season launched with some friends LMAO) and went so crazy taking screenshots while walking..... I've seen all the available chapters so far and YEAH. YEAH!! IM REALLY REALLY HAPPY ABOUT THE CLOTHING..... OH MY GOD............... THE ARTIST RLLY KNOWS WHAT THEYRE DOING!!!! They even admitted to being a fan of the original novel and you can tell!!

Jesse has such a distinct fashion and visual culture to his wardrobe that the Riesterians don't have and it singles him out as a foreigner in another country so so so well. When the webtoon was initially announced, the fashion was one of the biggest things I was anticipating and I'm glad the new season is able to tap into this (surprisingly very!) important detail of the novel!

Some minor?? not really but just in case spoilers for future events (im pretty sure? I talked about this subject before BUT IM DOING IT AGAIN BC I JUST LIKE THIS ASPECT OF TWSB SO MUCH LMAO, SORRY IF THIS ENDS UP BECOMING LONG NONSENSE)—but the clothing that characters wear is pretty significant in the story in terms of symbolism, provenance, culture, and/or allegiance, particularly with characters like Prince Jesse Venetiaan and Sir Johann Geens who come from the Divine Kingdom of Venetiaan. The most obvious of the cultural differences between countries of the continent can be seen in little things like how Johann greets Jesse in the style of the Divine Kingdom upon first meeting him [ch69][in ep48 of the webtoon, is depicted as a bow at the waist, with the arm folded at the elbow and tucked near the stomach/torso], which even Jesse remarks is completely different from what is done in the Empire. When they are first getting to know each other, Johann actually switches with how he addresses Jesse, from calling him" Your (Royal) Highness" [(왕자) 전하]—unlike the Riester characters, who refer to Jesse as "Prince-nim" [왕자님] (which is what Johann also uses when he isn't slipping up with his addresses)—which is similarly what Riester citizens would call Cédric, who is their own nation's prince: "Your (Imperial) Highness" [(황자) 전하]. There is a very clear denoting/admission of allegiance and nationality in the way people address important titled individuals (tho Johann is a bit of a peculiar case for very specific reasons), and in the way they DRESS!

When Johann finally becomes accepted as one of Empress Frédérique's men, he notably starts wearing Riester outfits instead of Venetiaan ones [ch121]. Previously, since he came from Venetiaan, he would usually dress in that kingdom's style (the webtoon, however, shows his first appearance in an attire that is a bit more ambiguous..? Personally, it looks Riesterian, but I can give it a pass since he's currently ragged LMAO and also dispatched from the Vatican in the Neutral zone, not to mention theres also the possibility of Jesse's wardrobe just being fancier since he's royalty so he might not be the best example of Venetiaan fashion wkskks [depending on how the webtoon artist will further take this]). But in his character profile from the author, it is distinctly mentioned that he initially starts out wearing Venetiaan-style clothing (until, again, ch121 where he makes his first appearance in imperial attire, ft. a summer coat)!

///ch100+ territory/// — As for Jesse(Yeseo), even when he is granted the title of "Marquis Sérénité", he is still not fully considered part of the Empire due to his extremely complicated position as a friend of the Crown (he even refuses naturalization himself), yet also as the diplomatic hostage from the opposing kingdom. People may call him a Marquis and may respect him as so, but he is still referred to as Prince-nim, and as Moon of the Kingdom (and as other perhaps less than tasteful titles from time to time), and is still generally dressed in what his staff believes to be the familiar clothing of "his" home country. It isn't until much later when [REDACTED IYKYK] happens that this association of "Jesse Venetiaan" with the Venetiaan Kingdom switches over to that of the Riester Empire—to where the style of address used to refer to him then changes to be respectively associated with RIESTER, and his wardrobe also changes to match this.

It might not seem important at first glance, but the clothing in the series is a detail that I really really love and one that I find adds so much more layers and meaning to the world, especially when paired with all these other nuances. It also marks significant shifts in statuses and relationships!! "Jesse Venetiaan" is no longer just a diplomatic hostage Prince from a foreign country, the lone resident of the Cold Palace—"Jung Yeseo" is a dear friend of the Crown, the Marquis of Sérénité, the Palace Lord of Juliette, the Little Moon of the EMPIRE! and his gradual shift in clothing reflects his position in his environment, in his status, in his identity, and in the trust and affection that the people around him have for him.

AND GGHUHAGAHHHHHH DOES THE NEW SEASON OF THE WEBTOON DO A REALLY FUN JOB WITH HIS CLOTHING SO FAR 🥹🥹🥹🥹 I like how DIFFERENTLY he is dressed from everyone else!!! When he stands beside Cédric and Christelle he really sticks out! Jesse is wrapped in long pieces of fabric that drape across his torso, wrapping around the waist and pooling down to his legs—his sleeves are loose but wrapped snuggly at the wrists (large sleeves are particularly a staple of Venetiaan noble fashion [ch447]) and his collars are round and taller like that of a cheongsam (not to be confused with imperial uniform collars tho), without any neckties in sight, and he wears very obvious knotted buttons as opposed to the more simple round ones!!!!! It's neat, it's really really neat! Riester costumes take a more militaresque/uniform kind of look for characters like Cédric and Élisabeth, but outside of formalities, they and other characters clothe themselves in dress shirts, button-ups, vests, coats/justaucorps—and most distinctly THE NECK ACCESSORIES.... The accessories between the Riester and Venetiaan characters are so distinct haha! It definitely comes down to their differences in collars—Venetiaan's round cheongsam-like collars wouldn't pair with cravats and ascots, after all. Season 1 often dressed Jesse in outfits that felt more Imperial than Divine Kingdom, so seeing this new change is very cool. (Oh I feel like I should also note that while I often use Johann as an example, he's admittedly a bit of an outlier bc he's noted to not care for neatness and, like many others in the cast, often leaves some top buttons popped open. He's really suited for Riester costumes in that sense haha!!) Yeseo, unlike the Original Jesse, isn't much one for some excessiveness for Yeseo's fashion, while fancy, is less on the eye-catching side, but I do hope to see some fur robes and hats one day from other characters if not him!!

In all the webtoon chapters for Season 2's launch (ep46~51), Jesse hasn't gone through that many outfit changes (there are about 3), and while it's a small amount, it's still really cool to see how different his attire is from the Riester characters, which really hammers down how much of an "outsider" and foreigner he still is at this point in this story—still trying to set himself apart from the tidal waves that are the Main Characters—where the kids are still getting to know each other and are figuring out what they want from one another. FASHION AS A NARRATIVE TOOL........ I JUST FIND IT NEAT.....

Early TWSB is very fun, and I'm glad I get to experience it all over again through the webtoon!! I hope you're enjoying it too 🥹🥹 And I noticed I really went off on a tangent wkdjkdkd sorry about that.... I'm just so so so excited for the visuals of this season, and knowing that the adaptation team (the artist in particular) is a fan of the original source material gives me some hope that this story will be in safe hands, alongside that of the writer, who I will be cheering on too. Season 1's HGN has a very cute and pretty style that is really well suited for modern-day story settings (evident by the art posted on their socmeds!), and I wish them luck in any future endeavours!!!

I think I'm gonna head to bed soon.... I've been drawing and thinking about TWSB the whole day bc of the webtoon wkdjkkdk and I think it's time to pass out :') Anyway YES CONGRATS ON SEASON 2!!! (I WILL BE KEEPING AN EYE OUT ON THE CLOTHING! IM HAVING LOTS OF FUN!!)

I hope you've had/are having a nice day too!!!!

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Do you have any headcanons about Rohan’s folklore? What kind of fairy tales did they have (if any)? Superstitions? Thank you so much, and welcome back! Love to see more of you on my dash! 😊

This is such a great and fun question! It’s a big topic and one with a TON of room for creativity. I can’t say that I’ve built all this out in my HC yet, but I can give a start/framework based on a few things that I already had in mind or that make sense to me.

For folklore, which I think of as the culture expressed through poems, songs, stories, etc., I can imagine three big categories. (These categories exclude straight-up history, which the Rohirrim also document and transmit through song, poetic sagas, etc.)

Legends: These would be traditional tales that have some basis in historical fact but have become embellished or fictionalized over time. The Rohirrim have a TON of these about their most famous ancestors, like Fram, the slayer of the dragon Scatha, or Mahrwini, who led refugees out of enslavement at the hands of the Easterlings and wandered Rhovanion for years before eventually settling and establishing the Éothéod. These were all important people who did big things, but the legends really amp them up to an 11/10 on the hero scale.  

Myths: These are stories, songs, etc. that have no basis in history or science but are used to explain the unknowable things about the world around them, like where stars came from, what happens when you die, etc. Some of the Rohirrim’s myths overlap with the mythology of the elves and Gondor (i.e., the Silmarillion) because those stories are in wide circulation and were adopted. So they’ve got tales of Béma (Oromë) riding among their ancestors, teaching them horsemanship, etc. But they also have some that their own ancestors invented, like the tale of the herd of magical wild boar who raced across the plains and created the tracks and gullies that rain would fill to create the Entwash and the Snowbourn rivers.

Fables/fairy tales: Much like us, they have a bunch of entirely fictional little stories – often centered around animals of Rohan – that were created to teach children important lessons about morality, ethics or safety. So they might have a story about Wrenna, a little bird who wouldn’t share a bounty of summer berries with his fellow birds and then froze to death when they wouldn’t let him back into the flock’s root nest once winter came. This is meant to teach the importance of group cohesion and fulfilling commitments for mutual support and allegiance.

Superstitions are really fun to think about, and I find them much easier to come up with on the fly. Some of the superstitions that I like (based either on traits of Rohan that were already directly in my HC or that I’d adapt from real life) are:

They leave little hunting-related offerings for Béma when they’re hoping for his intervention in life events.

They never pick or display white flowers, as those are associated with death.

The day in spring when the first foal of the year is born is considered a particularly lucky day. Any human babies born on that same day are thought to be destined for greatness.

If you ever sound your horn indoors, you’re inviting defeat in your next battle.

Every stable has a small statue or carved figurine of Felaróf, the first of the mearas. People rub Felaróf’s nose when arriving at the stable in the morning to guarantee themselves a good ride, so the nose of every statue always ends up being slightly shinier/a different color than the rest of it.

If you sneeze once, it means a friend is thinking of you and will bring you good news. If you sneeze twice, an enemy is thinking of you and you should check to make sure your sword is sharpened. (If you sneeze three or more times, you’re just sick and need to go to the healers.)

I could make those all day, but then this post would be even longer than it already is, so I’ll stop there. But if anyone else wants to throw in ideas, please do! And thank you for the Ask! ♥️ It’s nice to be back and chatting about Rohan again with you all! 🗡️🐎👑

[snapmite1998]

The Lethality of the Dawnbringers

The Dawnbringers are more than just a squadron; they are a highly efficient and lethal force within the ranks of Crimson Dawn's military. Once brothers in arms fighting for the Republic, they now fight under the banner of Darth Maul, serving a darker purpose. Under the leadership of Slick and his second-in-command, Shade, they had honed their skills in unconventional warfare, turning their back on their origins and embracing their new identity with unwavering resolve.

Their armor—repainted in black and red, adorned with fearsome designs and metallic horns—stood as a testament to their newfound allegiance. Each member, once a mere soldier, or rather in their minds, another expendable pawn, in an army of millions, had become a specialist in their field, transforming the squad into a unit of terror and precision.

The Dark Side Reinforcements

Adding to their lethality was the inclusion of several Jedi who had fallen to the dark side, now serving as part of the Dawn. These Force users, corrupted by the allure of power and freedom from the Jedi Code, brought an added element of fear to the battlefield. Their lightsabers hummed with crimson fury, cutting through the chaos with deadly finesse.

The presence of dark Jedi within their ranks was both a boon and a potential source of conflict. They wielded immense power, but their unpredictability and ambition often clashed with the disciplined approach of the former clones.

The Conflict

In the heat of battle, power struggles were not uncommon—a clash of wills within the dark ranks. One such moment arose when a particularly ambitious dark Jedi, hungry for greater control, attempted to assert dominance over the Dawnbringers. His name was Aldorin, a former Jedi Knight turned dark acolyte, known for his volatile nature and insatiable thirst for power.

As the Dawnbringers held their ground in a strategic position, Aldorin approached the squad with a malicious intent. His eyes glimmered with dark energy as he attempted to subdue them through sheer force of will, the air crackling with tension.

"You will serve me, or you will perish," Aldorin declared, reaching out with the Force in an attempt to bend them to his will.

Slick's Defiance

But Slick, the seasoned leader of the Dawnbringers, would not be easily cowed. He had faced betrayal before, and his resolve had only been strengthened by every challenge he’d overcome. His brothers looked to him now, trusting in his leadership and determination.

With a swift motion, Slick drew his blaster, his aim steady and unflinching. In a single decisive action, he fired, sending a bolt of energy straight through Aldorin’s chest. The dark Jedi’s expression shifted from arrogance to shock as he crumpled to the ground, his crimson lightsaber clattering uselessly beside him.

Slick stepped forward, staring down at the fallen figure with unyielding intensity. "We serve Lord Maul and his cause, not your ambition," he declared, bending down to retrieve the fallen lightsaber—a trophy of his victory and a symbol that no one, not even a force user, could dictate the fate of the Dawnbringers.

The Aftermath

The squad, emboldened by their leader’s bravery, regrouped, ready to face whatever came next. The acquisition of the crimson lightsaber served as a potent reminder of their independence and strength. The Dawnbringers were not just tools of destruction; they were an unstoppable force of allegiance to their own ideals and their leader’s vision.

With the battle still raging around them, they pressed onward, their lethal efficiency on full display. Together, they carved a path through the chaos, their reputation growing with each successful engagement.

The galaxy would come to know them not only as warriors but as a squad unmatched in both loyalty and lethality—a dark mirror of the soldiers they once were, now a harbinger of doom under the emblem of Crimson Dawn.

[ivorydragoness44]

Darth Maul x Reader: Rescue

Word Count: 1,621

Warnings: Mentions of abduction, canon violence, injuries/wounds, angst, Reader tied up (bound at the wrists), and fluff.

Notes: I feel like I don’t write hurt/comfort enough. Hah, and I may have enjoyed writing Maul going from absolutely feral to a softie too much.

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

  Abduction was not a part of your plans when you had arrived at the docks in Mandalore that morning. All you wanted to do was oversee the new shipments as they were unloaded from the ships. It had been proceeding well at the time. There even came a moment when you knew you would unleash compliments about the operations to Maul. However, you never got the chance to return to the palace. The group appeared to form out of thin air. Those on the docks did their best to fend them off, but they were out-numbered and caught off-guard.    Hours had passed since then. There was no telling where you were aside from the small room you were being held in. The room smelled of a stale light scent. You much rather not figure out the source of it, whether it was still in the room or elsewhere. It was particularly unpleasant. For this, despite your hesitance, you did not breath deeply.    This group, your captors, did not skimp out on details. A scratchy fabric bound your wrists together, rather than a cuff or chain of some sort. Likewise, you never caught a glimpse of their faces. Each one wore a helmet for one reason or another. That was the only similarity they had in common. All of their styles of clothing varied, creating no sense of uniformity. From is, you could only assume they were bounty hunters. Bounty hunters held no allegiance. Or so you were told by Maul once.    Your body had ceased aching long ago. However, you knew that you would develop bruises eventually, if not already, from knocking around their ship and being tossed to the hard ground. Oddly enough, you would find yourself left alone with only yourself and your thoughts. They knew you were not going anywhere. Wondering about your capture definitely became one of your first questions. Were you a part of a random and spontaneous napping, or was this all well-thought out? You did not recall doing anything wrong or harming someone in any way. If it had been planned, they likely knew that you held a significant importance because you lived in the palace. Beyond that, they held no detail further than that. And for that reason, they would not see their fate until it was too late.

  Your eyes became heavy again, exhausted and in dire need of sleep. It would have to wait though. You dared not to let your guard down, whether someone was in the room with you or not.   The door opened, and your head snapped back up, wide awake. A group of them ushered in, but just as quickly turned away from you. Weapons drawn, they faced the now shut door in defensive stances. There they stared, waiting in the dense silence.   You swallowed dryly in your confusion and fear. What could they be preparing for?    In the distance, beyond the outside of the room, came a mixture of muffled yelling.    Now it had occurred to you. It could mean only one thing—    Another more chilling scream cut off mid-breath.    —or someone.    Such a sound should not give anyone a sense of hope and impending relief as much as you felt it. But it did.    While they were distracted, you huffed quietly, wiggling your body against the wall in an attempt to sit up straighter.    The yelling and pistol fire neared. The ones in the room shifted on their feet.    In an uncomfortable effort, you pulled and twisted at your bindings. Surely the fabric should give to some extent. As much as it scratched and irritated your skin, you persisted. Your breathing hastened with each second. Glancing between them nearly made you dizzy at the speed of your paranoia. You could not be caught freeing yourself. Not now. Timing was on your side. You hoped. Their priorities had changed. It all appeared to be in your favor.    The door only just slid open, its sound breaking the room of its tension. One of their own flew through the small opening, crashing into another. As they clamored on to the floor, a growl coursed to your ears, and your heart leapt. Maul.   For the tiniest fraction of a second, your eyes met. The usually clear orbs were clouded with a fiery haze, but sharp enough to pierce through any armor.   Launching himself at his closest opponent, it was hardly a challenge. They were in the midst of falling from their wound when he slashed his blade at the next one.    All you could do was gawk as he hunted and slaughtered each individual down in his unhinged rage.    Maul blocked and deflected what bolts shot toward him with unmatched precision. The light and dark sabers in his grasp painted the space around him. His deadly accuracy created a singed scent permeating through the room.

   When the last one fell, you slumped in relief against the wall.    Maul surveyed the room with critical eyes. Deactivating his sabers, he clipped them to his belt and rushed over to you.    The echo of his cybernetics hitting the floor rang in your ears even as he knelt in front of you.    Reaching for your bindings, he ripped it apart effortlessly as if the fabric was entirely fragile and could turn to dust by simply breathing on it. It was discarded away from you in a haphazard pile on the floor.    Delicately, Maul took ahold of your hands. As they lied in his palms, he inspected your wrists wordlessly. The skin was more scratched up from your attempted escape endeavors. The determination was definitely there. Visible and clearly irritated. He looked to you then, his eyes impossibly soft. A stark contrast to his earlier menace.   He placed a gloved hand to your cheek. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice low and strangely calm for your current surroundings.    Everything happened so fast. After hours of waiting, for anything, it all ended within moments. A whimper caught in your throat. Barely audible, but enough to be noticeable by the zabrak in front of you. Mixed with the tears welling around your eyes, your braced state broke.   With heavy arms, you reached up tiredly to him.    Leaning into you closely, Maul gently nuzzled his face to yours as your arms hung over his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I have failed you,” he said, hand cradling yours to his chest.    You shook your head slowly, his nose poking into your cheek. “You didn’t. You’re here,” you whispered, tears now burning your eyes.    “And I shall take you out of here and back to Mandalore.”  

 Scooping you up into his arms, Maul straightened to his full height. As he turned with you toward the door, you could see the aftermath of his rage more closely. A light steam still lifted from the durasteel and other armor of your captors’ fatal injuries. It was ghastly. Thankfully, he walked you out of the room and into a long hall. The ease for your eyes, however, was short lived. No matter where you looked, you glimpsed a wreckage of unmoving bodies littering the floors.    Resting your head on his shoulder, you wanted to focus less on the carnage, and more on your rescuer. With a single hand, you placed your palm on his exposed chest. Feeling his warmth and hearts beat was a familiarity you needed after all of the previous events. Your senses became enveloped by him and only him. The fabric of his tunic brushing your cheek, the singular sound of his cybernetic feet making contact with the floor. Simply being with him again gave you comfort. You were safe. You were loved.    “Rest now,” Maul spoke soothingly. “We’ll be home soon.”    Your eyes grew heavy again.    When the sounds of the outside struck your ears, your interest peaked, if only a little.    “Lord Maul—” A mauldalorian.    “Prepare the ship. We go back to Mandalore immediately.”    And with his words, your eyes drifted closed.

   Eyes opening with a slow flutter of eyelashes, initial confusion swept over you. There was no clue visible to you as to how much time had passed since you were carried over to the ship. As long as you were safe, you did not really care.    Letting out a wide yawn, you felt your body’s arrangement. Your entire form was curled up snugly into Maul’s embrace. Resting between his arms and legs, it was no wonder you had not moved.    Peeking up at him, you gave a soft smile. “You’re still here?”    Maul’s head was surrounded by pillows. It made the intricate headboard of the bed non-existent to your eye-line. You could only imagine how many were supporting his back.    “Of course. And I don’t plan on leaving you any time soon.” His tone was calm but direct. And after what you had been through, you were certain neither of you were going to leave the other’s side for the next few days. Or longer.    One of his hands began caressing up and down your arm fondly. A simple comfort that even he needed deeply. You were with him. Alive and safe under his protection.    “I was scared,” you muttered into his chest. A chest that stilled in his breathing, becoming solid in his momentarily tense state.    “They can’t harm you. Never again. I’ve guaranteed it. For now,” Maul’s voice grew unbelievably silky, “you can continue to rest. I will remain here for as long as you need me.”    You hummed contently, your fingers curling around a fold in his tunic. “Then, I guess you’re not going anywhere.”    He chuckled. A pleasant sound to finally hear. “As you wish,” he smiled, kissing your forehead with the utmost tender touch.

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

Thank you for reading! I hoped you enjoyed.

Also, a huge thank you for this commission. I really did enjoy putting this concept all together.

For those of you who may be interested, yes I do take writing commissions. You can check it out here if you’d like.