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[garrysroyalsatin]

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[gladiatorcunt]

summary: aemond targaryen x afab childhood friend wife!reader

cw: intentional heavier valyrian usage (i used translators so if i’m wrong, please just pretend that i invented the language and i’m right), slight breath play-ish, reader isn’t related to aemond in any way (they’re just from a different royal family from elsewhere , visited as a kid and met aemond), pregnant!reader, the breeding and praise kinks aren’t explicitly stated but they’re more in his actions, flashback mention of teen aemond having a typical teen boy reaction and getting a boner bc he saw his crush bent over, aemond drinks reader’s breast milk like a vampire and cums, this au-ish storyline has been a long standing maladaptive daydream but this is just a kinktober post, stuck in the wall was also supposed to be included but i cheated and just mentioned it/same with the waxplay lmao, implied wax play later on, kinda unsafe and unrealistic sex (obviously), written with no thoughts

wc: 1.4k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my works

kinktober masterlist

It’s been six moons since you discovered that you were with child. Your husband, Aemond Targaryen, had been smug beyond belief when the maester estimated that you conceived on your wedding night.

You were not prepared for how your body would transform in the coming months. You have to empty your bladder more often than not and a burning in your chest keeps you awake. One of the more annoying problems was the tremendous ache in your breasts.

Aemond awoke to your quiet groans, sitting up in bed was not easy for you these days.

With a yawn, not even bothering to put on his eyepatch, he sat up in bed beside you.

“What have I told you about making good use of me if you need something, raqiarzy? (beloved). You should still be resting.” He chides you.

“How can I sleep when my tits are full to bursting, Aemond?” You reply with a slightly bratty tone, and he gives you a brisk pat on your behind to settle you. It was gentler than his strikes usually are, he considers your health with every action after all.

He sighs and lumbers out of bed to light a candle, as naked as he was when he succumbed to slumber. The newfound influx of hormones guides your attention to hone in on his cock flopping in the air as he walks back to bed. The dried wax from your love making last night still stubbornly clung to both of your bodies. You would definitely need to take another bath in the morning.

“Ao līs daor emagon ryptan issa se ēlī jēda, issa jorrāelagon. (you must not have heard me the first time, my love)” Aemond reminds you, unable to stop you from getting up and sitting in front of your vanity.

If your husband did not know better, one would think that you were opposed to any night time…. activites. The tired amusement in your eyes beckons him forward, but he stays lounging on the bed and watching you run your fingers through your hair. Aemond resorts to teasing to obtain your attention, adoring how you always fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“It feels as if it were only yesterday that we reunited all those years ago, you had gotten lost and ended up falling in a hole in the city’s walls on your visit.”

Your hands pause on their way to grab your hair brush, casting a weak glare towards him out of the corner of your left eye. You clear your throat but you make no attempts to hide your embarrassment at the thought of the past. Aemond holds eye contact with you through the mirror, resting the hand not holding his head up on his hip.

“I was six and ten, wallowing in nausea and nerves. Do not pretend that you were faring much better, husband. We had not laid eyes on each other for nearly a decade.”

You do not mention the sizable tent in his trousers he had carried around after he helped you out of the wall.

“At that time I was convinced the way I would see you again would be in death, there was only relief for me.” He says firmly, and you shyly peel your gaze away from the mirror.

As exhausted and drained as you are, your heart melts at the unwavering affection in his words. Aemond clearly grows bored of playing cat and mouse, because suddenly his torso is pressing flush against your back.

“If you can’t sleep, at least allow me to distract you from your discomfort.”

He cups the front of your neck and gently squeezes, you huff but understand his unspoken request and arch your back against him.

“Refrain from teasing me, valzȳrys (husband), for tonight at least.” You lean your head back and look up at him as his other hand drifts down to tug the bodice of your nightgown down.

Your slip of Valyrian earns you another quick squeeze. You gasp and Aemond seizes the opportunity to gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit into yours. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow and he pinches your nipple in appreciation.

“Hmm. I will do my very best, darling.”

You have learned by now that such assurances mean tragically little.

Aemond takes stock of your chest, sliding the hand cupping your throat to be able to grope at both of your breasts. He rolls them around in his palms and kneads them as if he were in the kitchen handling dough. You moan at the sheer relief and his sapphire eye seems to sparkle at you in some kind of wink.

“These heavy tits must be remarkably sore, so full and with no one to drain them of their milk.”

You nod helplessly, more than ready for him to abandon his games and do just that.

One of his hands temporarily abandons your breast to push your head back down so you’d look at the mirror. You sit there, enraptured in the sight of milk beading to the tips of your nipples and leaking out.

Aemond catches it as well and groans, pinching at your nipples a bit meaner and squeezing your tits tightly to coax more milk out.

“Gevie (beautiful) , all this food for our future dragon. You are glowing brighter than any moon, raqiarzy (beloved).”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, never being able to take compliments with grace, and gaze down at your lap. A firm hand sinks into your hair and pulls it so you return your gaze to your sticky tits. Aemond swipes his fingers through the milky trails running down your tits. He whorishly brings them to his mouth and sucks them dry, smirking at you in the mirror as he grunts.

Your ornate vanity chair is swiftly turned around, and your lap is drowned in white hair when he falls to his knees before you.

“Aemond, what are you-“ Your words are cut off by a greedy mouth latched around your right nipple. Your husband is being mindful of his teeth and starts to rapidly suckle.

His free hand pets at the hair above your mound absentmindedly. An agonized groan floats through the air as his sucking picks up speed. You clutch onto the back of his head with both hands and run your fingers through his fine hair.

“Gods, Aemond, thank you thank you thank you. Such a devoted husband, I love you.” You do not say it often, your shy nature comes into play regarding that sort of thing, but the immensity of it must take a toll on your husband.

His groans are muffled by your teats and you have to swipe away stray drops of milk that dribble out of his mouth as he drains you.

Somewhere along the way he switches to your other breast when the previous one had nothing more to give. Your cunt howls in need for additional stimulation but the feeling of your chest pain fading away urges you to let your dearly beloved have his fill of your body. There are times in which you say it is his right.

You notice that Aemond has been grinding his weeping cock against the floor. He appears to have synced his thrusts to his suckling, and seeing how drunk he is off your milk meant for his future child makes you just as ravenous as his cock is for a hole to fuck.

Your arms wrap around Aemond in a fierce hug, surrendering yourself to your cunt’s way of thinking. Even if he wanted to pull away, your grip gave him no means to do so. His face is squished into your tits and his eye rolls back, continuing his suckling and writhing.

He rips his mouth away from you to loudly exclaim, and you are startled by how his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and his form locks up. Aemond weakly thrusts his hips through his apparent peak, the burst of fluids spewing out onto the floor. A few spurts of it lands on your legs, and in the depths of your depravity you eagerly scoop it up to shove in your mouth.

You run your fingers through Aemond’s hair again to assist him in coming back down, and once he does you are quickly swooped up in his arms and delicately thrown back onto the bed.

“Do not confuse a curse for a blessing, issa dāria (my queen). My cock is likelier to grow wings and take flight than it is to run out of seed to stuff this puffy cunny with. Sir sagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys (now be a good wife), and endure it for me, hm?”

You will be greeting the approaching dawn with countless more pieces of dried wax.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Saving Grace | Rhysand x Reader

Summary: The war between humans and Fae is about to happen, and you, desperate to save Autumn Court, your home, from the destruction to come, are going to attempt a political alliance with the current High Lord of Night Court’s son, Rhysand.

Word Count: ~ 2k

Warnings: toxic family, political marriage, Beron being annoying, nothing too bad

A/N: the notes you see in the beginning are from another outside character you will meet more later, not me. im trying out something new for this series, so lmk what you think and how you’d want it to go in the future (FOR ALL THE RHYS GIRLIES I SEE YOU) hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It starts anew, as any other tale would.

It is only fair for me to warn you now, that even as I write to you from the box of my new home, the solitary walls pushing in on me until I turn into something else, something new and changing, that you should not proceed.

Our doom was set into place the moment we opened that letter, and so I’ll give you another warning, my dear reader.

You have more power than you think. Be careful how you use it.

~

“I believe you’ll enjoy the letter on your desk, sister.”

Eris spoke in a dry tone, only a hint of his hidden flamboyance underneath the snake's skin he wore most of the time. He had just passed by you in the hallway of the grand palace we called our home in the Autumn Court, something most of the royal family took for granted, even I did to an extent.

Even makeup and magic couldn’t hide the effects that the looming war had on him, the bags under his eyes slightly visible, and the usual cunning spark in his fiery gaze dimmed to some degree. All of your brothers had experienced the same thing to some point, even Lucien.

The rumors were getting worse, and word breaking free everywhere if the human slave revolts. You saw the glimmer in the eyes of the humans that your father enslaved and forced to work here, and even though you could never say it, lest you be beheaded or worse, you thought it was about time their species stood up. You couldn’t imagine being forced into such cruel conditions and not doing anything about it.

Submission never came easily to you, though.

It still doesn’t.

You tried to smile up at Eris, even as he strode past without another word. Relationships in this family were rough, considering how the males just tried to take each other out with every given opportunity. Had you not been born a female, you might’ve suffered the same fate.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the letter on my desk could be, even as you walked to my room. It could be anything, from lunch with a friend, to an opening for a job opportunity anywhere you could help. You wanted to help people, help your struggling Court pull itself together with war on the horizon. Rumor had it that the mortal king, Hybern, was gathering his forces still and that he wouldn’t let go of any of his slaves. Not even one.

Pushing open your already ajar room door, you strode quickly over to the desk, still a bit cluttered from all the different things our mind was trying to think about at the same time while working and writing letters to friends and allies in neighboring courts.

A letter lay on your desk, and not just any letter, but a valuable one, based on the stamp and rich, violet wax that shimmered slightly.

A Night Court stamp.

Considering Night Court wasn’t the closest ally, if an ally at all with Autumn Court, you weren't exactly sure what it meant at the time, or why Eris thought you might be excited about it. How would he even know what was in it, now that you thought of it?

You grabbed the cold metal letter opener, sliding it neatly under the wax, and popping it off satisfyingly. Sliding the warm parchment from its sheath, you unfolded the letter, the details of it surprising you.

The High Lord of Night Court had delivered a letter personally to you, and the contents of it? Nothing but strange.

In short, it was a formal invitation to a Solstice Party, a night where you’d heard that supposedly other spirits would cross over the night sky, making a beautiful scene for all those able to witness it. However, the true reason became apparent at the bottom, where a single sentence blasted holes through all of the male’s fake formality and politeness in the previous statements.

“I’m certain that you and my son would get along quite well.”

An alliance. A political marriage.

That was what he wanted.

To strengthen his alliances while he could before the war began, and to blast away any humans standing in their path. His son might as well have been in on it for all you knew, probably willing to marry you and produce an heir, treating you like breeding cattle. You’d heard rumors of Illyrians before, and they weren’t pretty. Especially not the ones who lived in the mountains.

But the real question was, why would he send it to you, and not your father?

Was it a test? A way to test the boundaries and see if you would go tattle to your father at the littlest prod? Or maybe a way to see how far you were willing to go to ensure the safety of your court during this war.

You didn’t believe in slavery. You never had. But for your court, your home, and all the other courts as well to possibly be destroyed by unruly humans? That would be disastrous. Their species didn’t stand a chance, anyway. Not when they had inferior strength, weapons, and not a lick of magic.

But still…in the case that they did manage something, the reassurance of an alliance between your courts could help.

The only question was whether to involve your father or not. If you did, he would probably refuse to trade you away for an alliance with Night Court, waiting for a better deal from a people that had more items to trade or land to offer. Sure, Night Court had the most land and soldiers, but there were little to no trade routes running openly through the area, leaving little economic profit other than what they earned on their own. The Illyrian Steppes were too harsh for anyone to handle, and Hewn City could barely be counted as an economy it was so small.

In that small moment, you made a decision that would change both of our existences, the decision to hide it. Your father wouldn’t understand, and you were doing this for the better of your court. You were doing it to help him, to save your people from what you suspected to be carnage ahead.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring at the letter for so long until you heard your door creak a bit wider open, and you immediately whirled, putting the letter face down onto your desk. Lucien cocked a brow, his hazel eyes immediately going to the letter in what looked like suspicion.

“Hiding something?”

He asked, and you rolled your eyes, biting your lip slightly in what looked to be an expression of a flustered female.

“I don’t think you’d like to read the letters of my most recent lover, Luci.”

His expression immediately changed, going to being a bit caught off guard himself, before he shook his head. He gestured for you to follow him, and before you did, you slipped the letter between the small crack of the shelf and the desk itself. He only gave you a withering glance at that, and you glared back.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else finding it. Imagine if Beron found it.”

You said in a wry tone, and Lucien let out an undignified snort at that while he led you down to the dining hall, the first bit of laughter you’d managed to coax out of him in a while. You must’ve lost track of time while thinking, a common habit of yours.

“Yes, I don’t think he’d appreciate a letter from one of your notorious lovers.”

He said in a quieter tone, probably not wanting anyone else to overhear. Rumors of the royal family spread too quickly for their good, especially when the human servants were paid by others, sometimes journalists, to spill the drama.

Most of it, of course, was made up simply to get money, but sometimes…the rumors were true enough to make you be a lot more secretive with what you did and displayed in public, and even behind closed doors. Eyes and ears were everywhere, after all.

“Notorious is a strong word.”

You mumbled in an amused tone, right as you entered the dining room, your father at the head of the table, your mother to his left, Eris to his right, and all your other brothers seated miscellaneously. Lucien sat down in his spot, and you sat in yours that was beside his, your other brother to your right.

“I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Y/N.”

Your father’s monotonous but still annoyed voice rang out from the head of the table as he began to eat, signaling everyone else could as well. You stabbed a potato with your fork, taking a small bite to give yourself time to formulate a coherent response to it, something that you could use to distract from the letter you’d gotten. Unless…

Swallowing your food, you spoke.

“I received a letter.”

The sentence alone was a challenge. The normal response would be a formal apology for your tardiness to dinner, which was more like an event you had to attend than any family activity. You didn’t go on, another challenge. Making him wait for you to speak.

The silence grew oppressive, and you continued eating. Your brothers watched, some openly staring in confusion, Eris only glancing once with something of a warning in his eyes, and Lucien stared down at his plate, probably already having figured out that the letter he’d seen you hide hadn’t been one from a lover.

Your mother then pinned you with her sharp gaze, the intelligence behind her submissive figure clear in the moment. Even if your father wasn’t smart enough to see it like you did.

“What did it contain?”

She asked, intervening between you and your father. Your father didn’t so much as glance at her, now scowling and staring at you. You put your fork down on your napkin, swallowing a mouthful of delicious food before speaking again.

“I’ve been invited to Night Court.”

You spoke, looking up to meet your father’s gaze, unwavering. He seemed to tense at that, and the news you’d shared with him.

“Why.”

He demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“For the prospect of seeking out an alliance in your stead. Though with the coming war, it might be my last chance to see Night Court at all.”

Everyone tensed at that, your casual but realistic words hitting right where they should’ve. Reminding everyone of the insecurity in the court, that the coming war could kill you, or take out Night Court. The latter Beron wouldn’t mind, but the former…you were a valuable trading piece for him, one that he didn’t want to dispose of through your possibly untimely demise.

Beron swallowed, sighing through his nose as he broke his stare to glance down at his plate, clearly considering it. Eris then spoke up.

“If I may, she has a point, father. An alliance with the Night Court and their considerable armies could prove useful during the battle to come.”

He spoke, glancing over at you with a clear look of “You had better know what you’re doing.” You didn’t know why he was helping you, considering he’d probably looked inside the letter. His words to you, that you would enjoy the letter, only supported that theory. For whatever reason he wanted you to go into Night Court wasn’t clear, but he was helping you nonetheless.

Beron finally spoke, everyone holding their breath.

“Very well. You will remain there 2 months at most, but at any hint of attack, you will return here immediately.”

You gave a dip of your head in obedience and appreciation, before going back to your dinner as the tension remained in the room. You had told your father of the alliance prospect, but nothing of a political marriage. A half-truth at best.

You were going to Night Court, to woo the heir to the throne and convince him to marry you for an alliance, all in time to save your Court before the first attack came.

The real question was, would you be quick enough?

We’ll see.

[ellewritesalright]

The Lost Princess - Part 2

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Part 1

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hi folks!! I hope you've all been good--it's been a busy time for me but I'm so excited to be posting part 2! Just a reminder to everyone that the story is inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. Once again, I hope it makes sense lmao

Warnings: mentions of sickness, death, drowning, violence, the Kerch indenture system. Me rambling. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word count: 2901

.........

The dreams were worse tonight.

The once gentle, whispering voices turned to screams. Someone was calling for you, crying into the pitch black night with a painful tremor in their voice. You wanted to call back but couldn't find the strength. Honestly, when have you ever had that kind of strength? You're not brave, not like you should be. There were times at the big house where you would get so angry with the other servants, angry enough that you felt ready enough to cuss them out, yet you never did. You were too afraid of the consequences that stepping out of line would yield.

Your nightly visions only further prove your cowardice. In the dark of your nightmare, there was no hope, and you woke up shaking and nauseated.

The streets below the window of your room were still populated despite the late hours. It was the end of the week, though, and you figured people were using the night to let loose. The lantern beside your bed had long burned out, and you rummaged in your trunk for the pair of shiny candlesticks and matches you had stolen from Devisser's home--the wax had almost all burned out but there were still the holders. The brass would fetch enough money for you to survive maybe two weeks. It was not enough, though. Nothing was ever enough. You could have stolen his wife's entire collection of jewelry and you still wouldn't be able to get a ticket out of Kerch. No amount of money could strike your name from the lost indentures list.

There was always that Brekker that the shopkeeper had steered you towards. If he could do what she said and help you get to Ravka then you should find him as soon as possible. You had nearly gone to see him several times in the last few days, but you always chickened out. You would head over to the Crow Club with every intention of meeting Brekker, and yet, you could never bring yourself to go inside.

You were about to light one of the candles but instead you packed them away and pulled your day clothes from your trunk. You probably looked disheveled as you hit the streets, but not less composed than most of the people around you. A man stumbled past you, drunk, before he leaned into a post and emptied his guts into the street. The barrel really was a lovely place. You should have come sooner.

You pulled up the collar of your jacket to protect yourself from the wind that seemed to pick up the closer you got to the Crow Club. People were milling about the streets, their chatter and whispers carrying through the crisp air. What kind of secrets did they share? And how long would it take before their secrets infected the entirety of the barrel? In the short time you had been here it seemed you had heard the phrases "I heard it from" and "I assure you it is true" a thousand times. Everyone was a gossip, which made everyone dangerous. All it would take for you to be found by Devisser or the stadwatch was a rumour about your origins. Speculation about you might lead to the uncovering of your deserted indenture or people might think you were a runaway Grisha. The last thing you needed was for people to think you were valuable or worth notice. You were just another face in the crowd; your only goal was to go to Os Kervo.

The club was bustling with people as you arrived. You stood back a bit, biting at the inside of your cheek. For a moment you debated whether you should just go home, but you couldn't seem to make up your mind. You could only wait. As for what you were waiting for, you had no idea. A sign from the saints, maybe? Anything at all that would tell you to trust the club and the Brekker inside of it.

A young man stood against the building, staring directly at you as you eyed the crow sign above the door; it swung in the breeze, as though it was about to take flight. The man had been outside before when you passed by, watching you closely then as he was now. He called out to you.

"Have you finally plucked up the courage to come inside this evening?"

Your stare snapped down to him. He palmed a pair of pistols at his waist, but there was no threat in the action. It looked like more of a comfort or a habit that he had. He had never interacted with you before, just stood watch.

"I don't know," you answered, truth in your words. You stepped closer to the building, closer to the man. "I was thinking about it."

"Well, you look cold, perhaps you should think about it inside," he smiled.

A short scoff escaped you and you moved to stand before him. "If I entered the club I wouldn't need to think about entering the club."

"Sounds logical to me." He tilted his head at you. "What are you afraid of?"

You paused. There was nothing innately scary about the club. You weren't a gambler nor were you a drinker, so you wouldn't be trapped in a cycle of either if you decided to go inside. What you were doubting was the person you were supposed to see. If you were to believe the shopkeeper, this Brekker could be the key to your future. He could help you attain your lifelong dream of finding your family in Os Kervo. It was the idea that you might finally be getting what you wanted that made your stomach turn to lead.

"I just… I have to ask a big favour of someone I've never even met and I don't know how they'll react," you decided to tell him. It was close enough to the truth, and he considered what you said.

"There's no use in worrying over it, then," he said. "It sounds like something you just have to do."

His words were encouraging, and you smiled at him.

"If I may, who are you asking a favour of?"

"Someone called Brekker."

His mouth desperately wanted to curve into a smirk and you could tell that he was doing all he could to stifle a laugh. This reaction made your fear return, and you frowned up at him. He noticed your pointed look and managed to clear his throat.

"What's wrong with Brekker?" You questioned.

"Nothing at all. It's just funny to me that you're so afraid of seeing Kaz."

"You know him?"

"Know him? We're great friends. You're gonna love the man." He leaned towards you, raising a brow. "In fact, why don't you and I go inside and meet him right now."

His tone was playful with a hint of deceit, but you could tell he was not entirely dishonest. If you had to go out on a limb you would say that he was not trying to lead you astray.

You nodded, and he grinned, leading you inside.

……….

The breeze caught the curtains in Kaz's office. He had been doing the books when Inej came in, giving him a report of the whispers on the street. She was still there, explaining to him about an actor that Pekka Rollins was training to be the missing princess. Apparently the actor was very convincing, and--to add insult to injury--she had been one of the ones Kaz auditioned and ultimately turned away. But if he rejected her it must have been for a good reason. Still, the thought of Pekka fooling the old lady and getting the reward put a sour taste in Kaz's mouth. That reward was his. She was his pigeon.

Inej was interrupted by the door squeaking open, making a wedge of space just big enough that Jesper poked his head in.

Kaz spat his name, glaring daggers into his friend's face. "What could possibly be important enough for you to be here? I told you to watch the door."

"I was watching the door," Jesper replied, "when I came across someone who wanted to meet with you."

"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone right now," he dismissed, turning back to Inej. He knew he was being harsh, but the information he had just been given put him in a foul mood. He would likely seethe for the rest of the night, snapping at anyone who bothered him.

"Oh, you'll want to see them, I can promise you that." Jesper opened the door, gesturing for someone to come in with a "here we are, my dear."

You stepped past the threshold and immediately Kaz felt his anger diminish. After waiting for nearly a week since that day in the shop, you had made your way to him. There was apprehension in the muscles of your shoulders as you took in the room. Your eyes fell on him and he stared back, studying your features properly for the first time. There was something uncanny about your face, and you certainly looked more like the missing princess than everyone else he had seen for the job. You murmured a quick introduction, eyes darting to Inej but quickly falling back to him as you told them your name and began to explain why you were here.

"I have an issue I was told could be solved by a man named Brekker. I assume that's you." You tilted your chin at him, uneasiness in your stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell that you were nervous.

"You assume correctly, Miss Vos." He motioned for you to sit in the armchair before his desk, and he stepped behind the surface. Jesper and Inej stood by the wall, and you glanced over your shoulder at them before meeting Kaz's waiting stare. "Your issue?"

"I need to go to Ravka, but I don't have the money for travel papers. Also… it's not exactly legal for me to leave the country."

He half expected you to lie, to say something other than what he had overheard in Eugenia's shop, but you didn't. You either trusted him enough to be honest--which didn't seem likely judging from the way you sat with your spine as rigid as a marble post--or you had no other choice but to be frank with him. It was probably the latter.

He looked down at you, responding smoothly, "Normally I wouldn't be able to help you with something like that, but as luck would have it, I can obtain the proper documentation."

Your shoulders relaxed a bit, your face softening. But you had barely any time for ease as he spoke again.

"However, my offer is conditional," he said, leaning into the desk. You swallowed, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. "Have you heard the rumours of a missing princess?"

You gave a quick nod.

"And have you heard of the Grand Duchess Marien?"

"I know the name."

"Good. Then perhaps you'll know that the Duchess is the mother of the late king," he explained. "She's been searching for any leads on the missing princess."

"I don't see the relevance of this."

"I can help you get to Ravka, but only if you help me by posing as the princess."

You scoffed. "That would never work."

"Why not?"

"I-I was brought up in servants’ quarters, not a palace--I wouldn't even know where to start if I were to pretend to be a princess."

"That's where we come in," he said, nodding to Jesper and Inej. You looked at them, and he kept on, saying, "We can teach you everything you'll need to know."

"This is ridiculous. I'll find my own way," you huffed, moving to stand. Kaz was quick to react, his cane blocking your path to the door.

"Sit down," he ordered. Your glare, piercing as it was, could not rival his. The sight of yours did nothing to intimidate him, whereas--after a long, unblinking moment--his had the required effect. You took a seat.

Kaz pulled a book out of his desk drawer, flipping to a dog-eared page. He turned it around, motioning for you to look. A portrait of the royal family peered up at you, and you stared at it with pursed lips.

"The princess was six years old here, and though the resemblance is not exact, it is there," he explained, pointing at the youngest girl in the image. She stood beside a little boy, hands folded atop his shoulder. You stared between them for a moment. When you looked up at Kaz he swore he saw a glint of sorrow in your eyes. You recovered in a split second, shaking your head.

"No way." You crossed your arms, casting an irate stare at Kaz. "I'm an orphan. I don't have a family. I know for certain that I don't because if I did I would remember them--especially if they were a royal family."

There was a bite to your voice, a bitter sting of something which seemed to pain you. It was hopelessness that marred your words, and yet a lack of hope should have led to despair or exhaustion, not bitterness. Perhaps you hadn't lost hope. Perhaps it was the slim possibility of hope he presented that made you recoil. He could work with that.

Kaz sat down in his chair, levelling with you in the aim of coaxing information out of you. He wasn't trustworthy enough when he stood over his desk. If he wanted you to be vulnerable, he had to show vulnerability, and sitting would do that. He even briefly considered sending Jesper and Inej away but figured you seemed comfortable enough already with them in the room. They weren't as imposing as him, he supposed.

"What do you remember?" He asked, trying to be gentle with his words. You stared at the wall over Kaz's shoulder at a painting of the harbour. He saw Jesper start to fidget where he stood and even Inej looked slightly disinterested, but once you started to speak they listened carefully.

"I was ten or so when I was pulled from the True Sea. A group of fishermen found me floating on a barrel, said I probably jumped from a slaver ship. I was barely breathing, at least that's what they told me. They wrapped me in blankets, gave me food and a name; I still can't remember what my old one was."

You picked a bit of fluff on your pant leg, averting your stare even further. Your words were ghostly, devoid of all feeling like you had rehearsed them your entire life, and yet there was a faint tremor to your voice. How curious.

"When we got to shore they handed me over to their boss, a mercher named Devisser. I worked in his second home on the southern shore until a few weeks ago. Almost all of my memories were made in the kitchens of that place; I don't remember anything before the fishing boat." You met his eyes again, folding your hands in your lap, a neat little pile of rough knuckles and calluses, nothing fit for a princess. "Look, all I want is passage to Os Kervo. I don't even need to be taken all the way there, just as long as you get me to Ravka."

"And we can help you," Kaz insisted. "If you pretend to be the princess, learn the etiquette, the history, you can get to Ravka in mere months."

"I don't want to lie to make my way in the world."

"But if you think about it, It's not really lying," Jesper jumped in then, and Kaz held his breath. If he ruined this for them… "For all any of us know, you could really be the princess. I mean, you look like her, right? Plus, you've got family in Os Kervo, she's got family in Os Kervo."

If it weren't for the softening in your brow–your thoughts rolling through your mind with Jesper's words–Kaz would have put a stop to his friend. But, as it was, you seemed to be coming around to the idea. Jesper was playing on your lack of childhood memory in order to alleviate your guilt about tricking an old woman, and Kaz might have commended him for it if he really wanted to.

"We can show you to the old bat; if she says you aren't her granddaughter then there's no harm, no foul." Jesper smirked at you, "Plus, you'll have made it to Os Kervo where you can look for your real family."

You stared between the three of them, perhaps measuring the degree of sincerity in each of their eyes. In a rare attempt to be like Jesper, Kaz let his expression fall, making his face friendlier–or, at the very least, neutral. When you looked at him he looked back with eager eyes. They ought to do the trick.

"Are you in?" He asked.

"Why not?" You sighed, folding your arms. "If it gets me to Os Kervo…"

Jesper was grinning behind you, Inej had a small smile, and Kaz felt his mouth nearly imitate them. All the anger he had ten minutes ago had melted away. Pekka Rollins was far from his mind. The only thing that mattered now was making this amnesiac orphan into a princess.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the upcoming parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @clockworkballerina @happyhauntt @mysticalfuncollectorus @aislinrayne @littleshadow17 @tooru-bread @katrina0-0

[small-sinclair]

For you

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: mention of blood, gore, Bo being obsessed with reader, mention of him wanted to drink blood, he’s a bit unhealthy, beheading in graphic detail!!!! (Maybe you can read this as I’m being a vampire if you squint?)

Let me know if you want more Obsessed!Bo Sinclair!

When he found you bleeding on the floor and crying in the House of Wax, he felt his heart shatter. He felt as if his world was falling apart because he couldn’t keep you safe.

“You’re hurt,” he whispers silently to himself, pain in his voice. There’s still blood in his hair from the latest kill, but the wild and untamed eyes turned worried and hurt when he sees your leg scrapped. Though it wasn’t it big or major, you still cried from the pain.

He knelt next to you and caressed your cheek. He thumbed away the stray tears that fell, and it felt like acid burning through his skin and bones. “Who did this to you?” He asked gently, his voice mixed in venom and silk. “Who did it?”

You leaned into his touch. “It doesn’t matter—“

“Sweetheart,” he starts, lifting your chin with his hand. “Tell me. Who did this?” You could see blood and red starting to fill his blue eyes. “Point to me where he went.”

You didn’t need to tell him anything as he heard the girl running away screaming from Vincent. He looked at you then at Vincent, and he slowly raised your hand to kiss it. His lips were soft and cracked against your skin. “I’ll be back, my sunflower,” he whispers in your skin. “I promise. Her head will be yours.”

He doesn’t let you say anything else as he stands up and leaves. He’s a hunter, born and raised. The taste of blood and bone will be forever stained in his teeth and tongue.

“She’s mine,” he hissed at Vincent as he walked past him, stealing the dragon-headed knife handle. He knows the girl can’t leave. She’s trap in this maze his mother created.

He’s like a wolf approaching a rabbit as he enters a room. He sees the girl trying to escape, and he only smirks. He loves it when they run and escape. Bo drew closer to her, the knife tight in his hand until his knuckles turned white. Flashes of you crying and bleeding in front of him made his heart burst and boil. The cries from the girl muffled away in his ears and her pleads go unheard. With a mighty shove, he had her on the ground. She coward away from him but he stood over her. He could see her lips moving, but her words didn’t reach him.

The only thing he heard was your broken sobs of pain and the acid tears that touched his skin. You’re his sunflower, his deity, the one he’ll hunt for. He felt like he failed you when he saw you hurt. Your tears and blood stained on his paints. He’s not worthy of your blood. He can’t be. The more he thought about you crying, the more he wanted the girl gone. He didn’t her in town. He didn’t want you to see her ever again.

He raised the knife high and brought it down. He felt the skin and the blade cutting, but it wasn’t fatal. He stabbed again and again, over and over, until she laid barely breathing and tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt the warmth of the blood on his face and smiled like a devil. He twirled the knife with his fingers and brought it over the girl’s throat, cutting it deep. Even when dead, he didn’t stop. He cut deeper and deeper under her head was clean off. He grabbed a fist full of her hair and lifted it high. He tilted his head to the side and examined the girl and her face without a care in his eyes. Bo stood with her head in his hand and walked back where you were.

Vincent was next to you as he helped bandage your leg. He frowns when he saw you, but his smile returns. He felt like a servant bring an offering to a royal as he came closer with the girl’s head hanging from her hair in his hands. He promised to bring you her head, and he was going to keep good. He would carved your name in his skin with a rusty spoon if you ask him— no, command him. You’re his everything, and he’ll serve you until the bitter end. He’d lick your blood off the floor and worship the ground you bled on if it pleases you! The very thought of it made his heart flutter just a bit along with the idea of you letting him taste your blood. He wanted to feel closer to you… he wanted to know how you would tasted.

He stands a couple feet away from you when he falls to his knees. You look over and horror fills your eyes once you see the girl’s lifeless eyes looking at you. You want to scream, but you can’t. You couldn’t.

Bo place the head between you and him as he lowered his head to a bow. “For you,” he says in a low voice. “Her head as promised.”

You can’t speak as you look at the head then back at Bo. He’s done it. He’s gone to far in loving you that it’s become unhealthy. The puppy blue eyes that he flashes, the hearts dancing in his eyes, and the sweet rose petals and daisy voice no longer feels safe. He did this for you.

Just.

For.

You.

Sickness fills you but your eyes roll back and you fell in Vincent’s arms.

[picaroroboto]

For the past couple days, I've been unfortunately cursed with thinking about Zenos yae Galvus. I don't even particularly like him - not that I dislike him either, Zenosfuckers you can put your scythes down - but it seems to me like a lot of the fandom either greatly misunderstands him, or doesn't even care to try to understand him, which from an objective standpoint as someone who cares deeply about writing in video games kind of pisses me off. But I'm more pissed about the fact that I'm apparently going to keep thinking about this issue until I actually write a character analysis of him.

Q: "But, what even is there to analyze with him? Isn't he all about wanting to fight the WoL and nothing else?"

Well, you wouldn't be wrong with saying that. That motivation is at the forefront of his character, and even if you look closer, everything about him comes back to either "violence" or "lack of understanding of others". But there are more meaningful sides to his deceptively simple character. That question of meaning is what I really want to look into - what does his character mean, what symbolic or thematic role does he play in this story?

Q: "Better question: why are you posting this on your art blog/Fate meta sideblog?"

Good question, with a stupid answer: I have all of 6 followers on my FF14 sideblog, and around 150 here. Let's go under the cut so they don't have to read a wall of text, unless they want to.

When you look at and compare FF14's villains, you can see a very clear change, no doubts thanks to the change in main writers. ARR Gaius and Thordan are more or less two-bit villains - Gaius's memeable iconic Praetorium speech gives us insight into how fascists try to justify themselves but little into Gaius's actual personality, while all Thordan gets as far as depth of character is an NPC in a sidequest remarking that he wasn't always a bad person and was probably doing what he thought best for his nation. Nidhogg is a little more understandable, since revenge is a relatable motivation to anyone who's been hurt by others. In Stormblood, Zenos and Yotsuyu are both presented as deserving of pity even as they do terrible things. Come Shadowbringers and Endwalker though, the story takes a greater interest on why villains like Emet-Selch and Elidibus do the things they do, and the player is allowed more options to try to understand them and see how similar they are to the WoL. Hell, Hermes and the Endsinger are barely "villains" at all, with the level of sympathy the story shows them.

What I'm getting to here is that Zenos, with half his arc in Stormblood and the rest in Endwalker, is sort of caught in the middle of this shift. He played the role of the rival character in Stormblood really well, but come Endwalker, he's standing on a stage full of heroes and villains with grand causes and deep motivations, as the guy whose sole motivation is fighting for pleasure.

It seems he's not unaware of this contrast himself - when Jullus confronts him for ruining Garlemald for no good reason, he retorts with "Would you be happier had I a good reason?" Zenos makes no attempt to justify his own actions and doesn't care that his reason seems incomprehensible and unforgivable to others. Yet in that same cutscene Alisaie hits him with the fact that if he keeps living solely for pleasure, he'll die alone. When next we see Zenos, he's alone at the Royal Menagerie waxing philosophical about what he really sought in the battle with the WoL.

See, what really motivates Zenos isn't just the thrill of battle - this guy has gotten Battle High and the joy of human connection confused. Really.

Even before he gets so perturbed by the idea of dying alone, there's other suggestions, like his proposal of friendship to the WoL when they fought in Stormblood, and then later his dying words in which he explains that he never understood others - at his core, he's just lonely. I know there's an official side story that tells it, but you don't need to know the exact details to glean that he had some sort of tragic backstory. Sad, but not a surprise, considering he's the prince of the Garlean Empire, raised to take the throne and continue the Empire's legacy of violence.

At his core, he's a very lonely person, but also a thing of violence, raised using violent methods for the purpose of causing more violence. Violence is how he lives and breathes - the only way he gets any sort of connection with others in a world of hurting and being hurt is the brief connection warriors dueling as equals can sometimes find. Don't deny that this sort of connection exists - FF14 is great at making fights that are both fun and tell a story. Hence, why he goes crazy for the WoL, but also refers to them as "friend". In their fights, he senses (or thinks he senses) similarity between him and them. Beneath all the madness is a pure, genuine joy in seeing the self reflected in the other...but he also instantly gets on the train to projection-town, population Zenos, and assumes the WoL is exactly like him, ignoring or failing to notice that they also fight for deeper meanings. The worst part is, he doesn't even notice that what he's actually seeking in fighting them is connection until Alisaie's aforementioned callout.

So he goes and angsts for a while, then turns into a dragon again and flies across the universe to help us kick the Endsinger's tail feathers, then issues his challenge for that duel he'd been longing for. But what's changed is that he starts with a question - "Such pleasures you sought for their own sake, and for no other reason, is that not so?". Dying after the duel, he's full of questions too: "Was your life a gift or a burden? Did you find fulfillment?" Alisaie's suggestion that he'd die alone actually spurred him to realize what he actually sought in the WoL, and now he's asking all these questions in an attempt to, for the first time in his life, genuinely connect with another human being.

The questions aren't important just because they're a sign of how Zenos has changed in Endwalker - they're actually the thematic heart of Endwalker! ARR may have had "Answers" as it's theme, but EW is the expac of questions. Namely the biggest question of all: What is the meaning of life? Different characters have different answers to that, leading to the grand-scale symbolic conflict being the Endsinger's despair - her belief that there is no meaning in life - versus whatever reasons the WoL chooses to live for, left, as always, up to player interpretation.

When you look deeper, Zenos isn't actually as out-of-place in the symbolic conflict as he first seems. His depressed worldview - that metaphor about drowning in a swamp again - seems to align with the Endsinger's view about life being meaningless. But he aids the WoL in defeating her. In that way he serves as part of the answer to her question about the meaning of life. He may have resented life at times, but he still found meaning in chasing pleasure. Not the strongest or most beautiful reason to deny oblivion, perhaps, but it did enable him to help the WoL triumph. I think of Zenos's philosophy as being connected to the concept of "Amor Fati"...largely because this quote explaining it sounds like something he'd say, or at least agree with on some level:

"and if our soul has trembled with happiness and sounded like a harp string just once, all eternity was needed to produce this one event—and in this single moment of affirmation all eternity was called good, redeemed, justified, and affirmed."

So he does have a meaningful role in Endwalker, as the "Amor Fati" against the Endsinger's "Memento Mori". I think that in this the story shows that his reason for living, while somewhat shallow, is not necessarily a morally wrong thing in and of itself (setting aside for a second all the people he hurt in his pursuit of that). It's just that, since it is a lonely pursuit that denies everything except for his target, it still feels empty. The core of the counterargument against the Endsinger's despair is that both pleasure and fulfillment are necessary to live a meaningful life in a meaningless universe, and that's why Zenos is here in Endwalker. Why he even exists in the story in the first place.

Even if you're one of the people who deeply hates Zenos...well, you probably wouldn't have read this whole thing if you did, but I still think it's important to read into characters you dislike, because every character in a story is written for a reason. Plus, trying to understand even their worst enemies is one of the WoL's key traits as of ShB and EW. With his last breaths, Zenos was trying to understand the WoL too - carrying this understanding of him with you as we move into our next adventures is the least you can do for your "friend".

[gotstabbedbyapen]

What are your top ten Greek Mythology headcanons?

Ooooh I have a lot of Greek mythology headcanons, so it took me a while to select the top ten 😅 But I've finally done it!

Here is the final list:

10. There is an Eurotas River "tradition" for all the couples in the Spartan royal family.

I like to think it's "tradition" for all members of the Spartan royal family to find the love of their lives at the Eurotas River (Lacedaemon & Sparta, Amyclas & Diomede, Hyacinthus & Apollo, Helen & Menelaus, etc.)

The idea came to me because of the role and presence of this river in Apollo and Hyacinthus' myth (Ovid's version) and Menelaus and Helen's story (Euripides' play). HyaPollo had frequent river dates and MeLen swore fidelity with one another by the same river, so it's fun to think that the other Spartan couples also meet and spend their time together here.

9. Persephone is everyone's childhood friend.

This is also true in the mythos! Persephone grew up with Athena and Artemis in Sicily, her domains overlapped with her other siblings, the Homeric hymn to Demeter has a list of her nymph friends, and every once in a while someone is said to be Persephone's playmate.

She's a true social butterfly lol

8. The second generation Olympians also share traits with their grandparents.

I love to think that the younger Olympians inherit something from their Titan grandparents, you know? Here are some of the ideas:

Ares is loving and protective over his children like Rhea.

Persephone is intimidating and wield her scythe like Kronos.

Hermes is crafty and cunning like his great-grandfather Iapetus.

Apollo has Coeus' deep, intelligent gaze and Artemis has Phoebe's radiant smile.

Athena is unconsciously attracted to the ocean, the kingdom of Oceanus and Tethys.

7. All of Zeus' children, mortal or immortal, inherit his fury.

They can be calm like Apollo or have anger issues like Heracles, but once a child of Zeus get really pissed off, their act of wrath can be as destructive as their father's.

This explains why Artemis shot down Coronis and her family and Persephone inflicted a plague on Thebes.

6. The second generation Olympians (plus Persephone and Aphrodite) love each other in their own ways.

I really dislike depictions of Olympian siblings always at each other's throat. Yes, their history is complicated and dynamics aren't perfect but that doesn't mean they only have bad tension! Where is the nuance in their relationship???

Artemis and Apollo have seen the worst of one another and ridiculed each other for that. But if someone were to talk crap about their twin, it's on sight.

Ares is torn between following his mother and accepting his illegitimate siblings. He had persecuted the twins before they were born but later joined them in the Trojan war.

Athena might be distant from others at times due to her personality and domains, but there are moments she enjoyed dancing and playing music with her siblings.

And Persephone's case is the worse. She might not be an Olympian and stays in Underworld for half a year, but she had never expressed hatred for her non-chthonic family. Let Persephone have good relationship with her upper world family, too!!!

5. Hyacinthus has purple eyes.

Or, in elaborative words, the eyes ever so gentle like flower petals drifting on a calm lake in early spring, hand-painted by the finest of brushes with a meticulous shade of softly vibrant purple that could not be easily sought out in the tapestry of nature.

Sorry for the sudden poetic wax XDDD

Basically, I want Hyacinthus to have pretty purple eyes as one of his signature traits. It makes him stand out from the crowd due to the "divinity" it brings to him (because of the forth headcanon)

4. Hyacinthus' mother is Clio, the Muse of History.

The second-popular parentage of Hyacinthus in the myths, but I have lots of ideas and interpretations with this mother and son relationship:

- The son of the history Muse dating the god of prophecy. Past and future intertwine!

- Their domain and attribute! We study history to learn from the past mistakes and avoid repeating them. The hyacinth flower represents forgiveness, and I like to think it includes self-forgiveness as well. So Clio being Hyacinthus' mother can symbolize accepting and learning from your mistakes to forgive yourself.

- Family angst! Clio knows every way something can go wrong and result in her son's tragic end. So throughout Hyacinthus' life, she will do her best to prevent all possible demises that can happen to him, only to still end up losing him.

- It will give Aphrodite another reason to aid Hyacinthus' resurrection. Since Aphrodite is the one cursing Clio to fall in love with a mortal man and have Hyacinthus, she might feel guilty later when Clio was grieving her son, so she decided to help the mother and son reunite as repentance.

3. Polyboea becomes a huntress of Artemis.

We actually don't have any clear indication that Polyboea became a huntress of Artemis in the myths, but hey, it's not a bad headcanon! Polyboea died a maiden, and Artemis was fond of her enough to help bring her back from death. So it wouldn't be a stretch of the goddess recruit her into the hunter pack.

I have a lot of ideas for a Polyboea-centric fic after she became a virgin huntress, just her journey in perfecting the art of archery, making friends with the other huntresses, and learning to be her own person than just "the youngest princess of Sparta".

2. Apollo and Hyacinthus raise children together.

This heacanon definitely didn't come to me after reading a certain fanfic series hehehe...

The title said all, I like to thing after Hyacinthus' deification, he and Apollo are happily "married" and raise a bunch of kids together, adopted or from another lover (and they may or may not have a child together). Those kids will have the best childhood!

1. Hyacinthus and Polyboea undergo many trials in the Underworld before being granted resurrection and immortality.

As much as I love Hyacinthus and want him to have a happy ending with his loved ones, he's a potential package for physiological and psychological torture :)

There isn't much that we know of about Hyacinthus' resurrection in the myths other than him and his sister, Polyboea, being taken to the Heavens by a parade of deities. But I don't think the Underworld will allow two of their residents to go easily, so Hades and Persephone must have given Hyacinthus and Polyboea a trial like they did to Orpheus and Eurydice, but it will be 1000x worse because love me some blood-choking angst :D

For what the Underworld trials are and how Hyacinthus and Polyboea overcome them, they are will remain for now as ideas and concepts in the making for my Hyapollo fanfic

[sgiandubh]

Labor of love

I was very interested to see what S told Mark Gillespie on the last episode of the latter's WhiskyCast podcast, @bat-cat-reader immediately shared with us.

It was a most instructive 35 minutes. I listened to all of it, because I wanted to also hear Gillespie's tasting notes forThe Sassenach. And I regret nothing: once you get past the traditional (and a bit obnoxious) 'why The Sassenach?' question, you're in for some interesting news.

You can listen to it here, by the way:

Before anything, who is Mark Gillespie?

One of the most respected professionals in the very small world of alcohol specialized podcasters, with a 37 years work experience in media and broadcasting, spanning household names such as CNN, Bloomberg, Wall Street Journal, Gallup and MSNBC. But also, and this I found very interesting, given the current context, the owner of CaskMedia, a firm specialized not only in media production, but also marketing and PR.

The podcast was recorded at The Metropolitan Club's library, moments before the Keepers of the Quaich dinner, where S was a keynote speaker. So not 'just there for the Haggis Ceremony ' - a 'guest of honor' is never invited just for the show, people should have known better, eh?

S's 7 minutes interview starts at the 09:32 mark. Comments in brackets are mine.

Gillespie surely doesn't like to beat around the bush and after the customary niceties, asks a million-dollar question:

MG: 'I have to ask: did you have the troubles (problems?) in Germany straightened up?'

SH: ' Ha, ha, ha [not an organic giggle, but hey - gotta do what you gotta do, eh?]. Well, I am not entirely sure I should talk about it [speaks very quickly and through his teeth - visibly annoyed/nervous; not entirely sure I got it all correctly, so feel free to amend in comments], ah... ummm... not as yet... not as yet...ummm...we did fall into an issue with the name Sassenach, which was similar to a big brand in the US... ah!... in Germany, sorry... of a beer brand... I...I personally don't see the similarity [neither do I, S...neither do I], but I am sure once people taste our whisky, they'll know what it is, whatever the name is on it.'

Yes, this interview was probably rehearsed. Yes, Gillespie might have sent the questions to S/his people in advance for reviewing. No, he could not speak about a legally complicated situation before the final settlement with that Schoppingen beer brewer (penalties are probably still to be fixed and paid, but I will check that, so don't take my word for Gospel truth, yet). I will write separately about this whole thing, because I still think that was a very questionable decision of the EUIPO. Not because it royally pisses me off (so fucking unfair!), but because I really fail to see the proper legal reasoning and basis for it. His answer was perfect, under the circumstances. Absolutely perfect.

Anyways, FWIW, it would seem some sort of solution has already been found ('whatever the name is on it') and that most probably would be to rebrand it. And sell it on the German/EU market under a new name.

Lallybroch (https://trademarks.justia.com/981/67/lallybroch-98167525.html), perhaps? Time will tell, but that could explain this recent trademark application I didn't have time to properly look into, yet:

Further ahead (and fast forward through the cask version release, these things bore me to death), we land on another (as yet) unexploded ordnance:

MG: 'I have to mention your show MIK that you do with Graham McTavish, you visited a bunch of distilleries during that one... any visit in particular stands out?'

Now I am not very sure if that question was the best possible one, since that SAG-AFTRA strike is still an ongoing situation. And his answer was quite clever, changing the focus on their visit to Laphroaig's distillery on Islay and waxing lyrical about the casks, the peat, the landscape, etc. But other than a perfunctory and logical 'we', I heard absolutely nothing about McTavish, and it could have been so damn easy to further change the subject and mention his bourbon, with a few kind words. Therefore, I think things are pretty obviously not exactly on the sunny side, between the two. And I guess we all know why.

To end this long post on a cheerful note, I almost forgot to mention something very important. Answering a listener's question about Sassenach not being available in Rhode Island/part of New Jersey, S said something very interesting: 'obviously you can get it online, (...) we've just signed a deal with Southern Glazer's, so we're rolling it out. It is a limited batch, so you know, every year we do do a release and it is very limited, so it does tend to sell out pretty quick. But yes, it is available (...), but obviously you're not gonna see it in every bar, restaurant or retailer, because we just don't have enough of it. But online you can get it and great delivery service, it's very quick.'

I am taking two things home from this last answer: demand exceeds supply, which is both a blessing (solid yield, room for expansion) and a curse (lackadaisical market presence). On short to mid term, distribution will concentrate on the online market, with the help of Southern Glazer's superb infrastructure.

Remember the older guy he had lunch with in MIA, in May? You should, if you didn't focus on Mordor's inept babble about shirts, ballerinas and the like. That guy was instrumental into arranging the deal with Southern Glazer's. Just the biggest wine and spirits distributor on the US market, mind you.

Don't believe me? Check this out:

That company was founded in Florida. Its HQ is still in MIA. He didn't go there because he was looking for ballerinas at his birthday dinner. He went there because when these people are available to meet you, well: you leave everything aside and you damn GO.

Now who the hell is writing fanfiction, eh? You really should be ashamed, madam.

I rest my case.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓 Ch. 2

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Rhaena discovers what her husband flew off to do in lieu of laying abed with her...

.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | Ao3

—

With careful fingers, Rhaena plucked the small parchment scroll from the page and thanked the younger boy. Closing the door behind her, she broke the seal...pale orange wax, it looked to belong to a minor house, one she scarcely recognized. The symbol of a small sun perched in the top left corner of the wax seal, a triangular etched beam beneath it. 

A small noble House, but which one? 

Tentatively, she cracked the seal. Allowed her eyes to begin scanning the crooked ink script, it seemed to have been written in a rush as opposed to poor penmanship. Yet as she read on…her eyes slowly widened with horror. 

{Your royal Highness, Queen Consort, Rhaena Targaryen.

It is our expressed hope to inform you...}

She skimmed past the pleasantries. 

{...Vhagar was seen soaring above the valley. Following the river Red Fork,

her flames were seen to have left unimaginable devastation to the small village of Oxcross,

just over the plains...}

For fucksake, by the will of the Gods...not this again! 

He’s burned yet another village!

“Aemond, you blasted,” Rhaena had to catch her tongue, muttering to herself as she read on. 

Fucking, Gods- 

"NO, DAEMIE!! You do not eat a dragon! Dragons are not eaten by people. They chomp animals and fly! And breathe FIRE!! See! You're doing it wrong!" Aemon's squeals trailed off across the room as Rhaena still worked to digest the words written. Her eyes flickered up from the scroll only to ensure that her son's were still behaving. 

At two and twenty, she'd mastered the act of multitasking motherhood and her Queenly duties. 

She could see Elaya had plopped the young babe down upon the carpet with Aemon, allowing Daemion to crawl over towards the polished wood carved dragon figurines. Where he was currently attempting to gum and suckle upon one of Aemon's favourites. A little figurine of the great Black Dread himself, Balerion. Rhaena could see from the corner of her eyes that Aemon was prone to the fits of rage. Ever a particular little boy at times, surely an inherited trait, he was growing upset with the way his babe of a brother was interacting with his game. 

Yet even still, all things considered, her children were safe, well cared for and soon enough they could be sent to their nursery. The time was quickly approaching for their much needed afternoon rest. It was something that they often did together after Aemon's lessons, for as much as his brother bothered him at times, he still so loved to nap with his baby brother by his side.

That, however was a thought for later, as Rhaena's pale lilac eyes couldn't help but scan over the missive once more:

{...Though a rebellion was duly squashed in the area two weeks prior, many here wonder what could have earned the King's wrath.

The devastation is immense. We beg of you, our Queen. The people are desperate, we need your interference.}

Signed Lord Rallor Lefford of the Golden Tooth. 

A small inconsequential noble House to be sure, but a noble House nonetheless. It was not squarely their land that was burned, but as far as Rhaena knew the lay of that particular region of land. They would be the closest noble House to benefit from the taxes of the villagers there. 

Well done, Aemond. 

Fucking—class work there.

With a quick glance upon the unfurled maps left upon their rounded table, Rhaena could follow the river Red Fork and see exactly where her husband had gone. The village of Oxcross itself probably held nothing more than farmers and livestock dealers. But it was close enough to the city of Lannisport, perhaps a few days' ride away…which then made it rather close to Casterly Rock. 

The Lannisters may have words for this destruction. 

Then again, perhaps it was the Lannister’s own fault they’d allowed a revolt to brew right beneath their noses just a few weeks prior. In truth, Rhaena could care less about the traitorous House. They’d only sided with Aegon and the Greens to begin with, solely because Aegon was a man. And with that, they thought there was a promising future for one of their daughters to replace Helaena as Queen after she’d passed. And once that conclusion was forgone, they’d hoped to marry one of their own to Aemond as well…before he’d chosen Rhaena for himself.

They were forever reaching wretchedly above their station…

But that did not matter, her own personal feelings for House Lannister did not matter. What did matter was the realm was still working to pull itself back together after the devastation caused from the Dance of the Dragons . A rather glorious name for a war that only caused loss and pain...wasted spilt blood. And yet, here her husband was fanning the flames with unnecessary acts of force and violence. 

And sure, Rhaena knew husband to be a fickle man, he could be ever so petty. Ever so cruel and unfeeling at times. The lives of those who were stationed beneath them barely interested him at all, especially the lives of the smallfolk at times. For, while Aemond had surely feigned interest in them during the war and in the aftermath of it. It was still a falsehood, time had waned and his true nature had been made evident. 

If the mood struck him...he'd spill as much blood as needed to satiate the urge. 

‘Ondoso se Jaes’ by the Gods , Rhaena sighed heavily to herself, all she could do was pray and hope that neither of her sons would ever grow to be the same. As unfeeling of lesser folks, as eager to douse themselves in the blood of their victims…volatile as their sire. 

Although, as she made her way towards the chaise by the fire she couldn't ignore the intensifying agitation coursing through her eldest son at that very moment. He'd crawled over to Daemion only to shove him rather unnecessarily as he snatched the Balerion figurine directly out of the babe's hand. Clearly fed up with his favoured figure being used as a teething toy. Only the moment he had done it, her chubby little babe took a moment to observe his empty hand before bursting into tears. Screaming bloody murder as his little face turned red, a flood of tears tumbling down his pudgy cheeks. 

Lovely.

Just lovely.

Everything just kept piling on.

"Aemon," Rhaena had groaned her son's name as she moved towards them, displaying her maternal instincts as she placed the missive down upon the mantle before reaching down. Cradling her youngest to her chest, securing his cheek against her bosom as she rocked him gently, hoping to calm his emotions with the warmth of her embrace. Although, the small weight of her babe pressing against her chest, only helped to remind her of the sore pressure. She was sure her breasts were growing dangerously full yet again, within the hour she would leak through her gown. Though that was an issue to handle later on, for now, she pressed warm kisses to the youngest son’s forehead. Swaying him as she eyed her eldest, "you cannot strike your brother when he annoys you so, we've been over this. You must be far more gentle with him, he's still only a babe, you could really harm him." 

A sound amount of chastising as far as Rhaena was concerned, though it would seem her three-year-old took her words quite personally. He'd started to pout, his brows furrowing as he peered up towards his mother. Nibbling upon his lower lip in a near mirror image to the way Rhaena often nibbled on her own. 

She supposed.. .he'd inherited more from her than she gave him credit for. 

"B-but...but mama," Aemon had started breathing rapidly, his small chest heaving as he tried to find his words. Glancing over at Elaya, his beloved wet-nurse, she only bestowed upon him a kind encouraging smile. She had no authority over Rhaena, her sovereign, and the young woman had no wish to interject. As was her right, it was not her concern. 

But Aemon, he wanted someone on his side. 

Rhaena knew that look, she'd seen it often enough ever since Daemion had entered the world. Aemon adored the idea of having a sibling, he just disliked sharing the things he cherished the most. And that came in droves, whether it was his favourite toys…or even his parents at times. 

"Mama, he... it's not fair," he finally huffed, crossing his arms. 

Sweet thing, he'd given up so soon. 

Now, she did wish to hear his side of things, even though she was certain she already knew it. If Aemond had been present, he would have brushed past the pouting of their eldest son and zeroed in on the aftermath of it. The aggression he'd shown. He wouldn't have disciplined their child for it, per se, but his lecture would have hinged on the act and not the source of the matter. 

Rhaena, however, wanted her child to feel heard. As Daemion calmed and settled himself against her chest, softly cooing as he suckled his thumb. She kissed the crown of his head, his soft curly pale hair brushed her lips as she shifted her hold of him. Freeing one of her hands so that she could summon Aemon to her, "come here, sweet one," her voice shimmered softly. 

Proving to her son that he was not in any real trouble, she just wanted him close. And that was all it took really, Aemon's pale eyes stared up at her for only a moment before he began to carefully push himself up to his feet. His little legs only stumbling once before he hugged himself directly against Rhaena's leg. Pressing his cheek against her thigh as she placed a hand upon his head, holding his other cheek as she sighed, "come, let's walk to the nursery and you can tell me your side of things on the way, hmm?" 

It was such a powerful thing, to feel his little chest rise and lower with the heaviest little sigh he could muster. To feel Daemion’s steadied little lungs work against her. To think she'd created these little boys, she'd helped to bring them into the world and now here they were existing within it. 

Aemon nodded against her, looking up at her again with his lips twisting towards another pout, "okay...but he was doing it wrong. I didn’t mean to hit him…I didn't want him to...he was slobbering on my toys, mama. My Bawerian!" his pale indigo eyes had turned glassy and tearful. His cheeks flushing red, the tip of his nose burned the same colour as he sniffled. 

Although...'slobbering', that was impressive in itself. 

That was a new word for him to use in regular conversation. Even more so when considering he felt quite emotional at the moment. 

It was hard sometimes, being a mother, the fact that Rhaena found herself feeling genuinely proud that her babe's vocabulary was growing quite naturally. But to also have the wherewithal to know that it was not something he'd care to have acknowledged at this moment. So she found herself actively biting back a grin, ruffling her son's hair instead as she nodded. Fixing her expression to offer something far more sympathetic, "and that's quite understandable, darling. It really is, and I'm sure if Daemion was a bit older and understood that, he wouldn't have put your figurine in his mouth."

It seemed her words did not offer much in the way of comfort as Aemon's pout only set further. His little hands still clutching onto her velvety silk skirts, his adorable little disgruntled expression clearly demanded something be done for his inconvenience. Because as it were, his frown was turning into a full blown fret. 

Unfortunately, Rhaena did not have the time to placate him so. Smoothly as she could manage, she rubbed soothing circles upon his back as she guided him out into the hall with her. With Elaya treading along behind them, the two stationed guards followed them as they made their way to the nursery. 

"Ziry iksos mirre paktot, byka ñuha mēre," it's alright, my little one , Rhaena hummed down towards Aemon as they made their way into the brightly lit bloom coloured nursery, "I'll sing one of your favourite lullabies, hmm? How about that?" 

At that, Aemon beamed up her, wiping his eyes with an adorable smile, "the one about the dragon Prince and the water maiden!" 

"Yes, dear," she giggled back, letting Aemon run to his bed. He'd climbed up eagerly, letting Elaya undo the laces of his shoes so that he could climb in under his fur blanket. As he settled in, Rhaena placed Daemion down beside him. Let the boys lie close as she settled soft hands on their cheeks, tucking them in. Aemon's pale eyes blinked up innocently, as he instinctually nudged closer to his baby brother, “mama, when is papa coming back?” 

“I-” just as she had opened her mouth...Vhagar could be heard roaring in the distance. 

There he was, Aemond would be back soon. 

And truth be told, now that the initial shock of his exploits had finally subsided. 

All that was left was a deep sense of vexation for the man she called 'husband' .  

She was all too ready to face him now. 

“He should be home shortly, little one,” Rhaena caressed her son's chubby cheek, “you'll see him later. Now, settle in.”

—

Notes: LMAO at this point, I think Rhaena actually wants to throttle Aemond. Burning villages down for a lack of kewchie and tiddy milk is WILD fr. Chapter three is where is we will be switching over to Aemond's POV! And Ch.4 is most likely when the actual smut will begin! Although Aemond's a needy guy, the horny thoughts will still be there in ch.3.

[jungle-angel]

Tis The Harvest Season (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett get to do all the stuff you've ever wanted to do now that fall's in full swing

Warnings: Parenthood, Rhett being a softie, Rhett and wifey adopting Amy etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callsign-birdie

"Alright pumpkin, out you go," Rhett said, lifting Amy out of her carseat.

She bolted right up the driveway and up the porch where Royal was still enjoying his coffee, ramming herself right into his lap. "See somebody had a good morning," he chuckled.

"Give a five year old two hours in a pumpkin patch and all the cider donuts she can eat and she's in heaven," Rhett told him. "Anything happen while (y/n) and I were gone?"

"Had to go over the hill to Granite Trail," Royal answered. "Russ called at five in the am, tellin me that one of the calves was breeched."

Rhett made a face. He knew all too well what that entailed from past experiences.

You and Rhett both unloaded the pumpkins and the bags of apples from the orchard store, bringing everything either to the porch or into the house. Rhett put on his Halloween Spotify playlist for Amy as she plopped herself in her little spot in the living room, drawing away with the Stockmar wax crayons he had gotten at her school's store along with a whole box of crayons and colored pencils.

You and Cece immediately set to work cutting the tops of the pumpkins and scooping out the innards. Before you knew it, Amy came into the kitchen wanting to help.

"Alright princess, go get your apron," Rhett told her.

Amy found her little blue checked apron that she used for helping Cecelia with cooking projects. As soon as she was all tied and ready, You, Rhett and Cece let her scoop out and play with the pumpkin innards.

"Good grief Charlie Brown," Cece half laughed. "We've got more pumpkin innards than we know what to do with."

"Yeah but at least we'll get to make Oma's pumpkin soup," Rhett reminded her.

"Oh God, my mother-in-law's Swiss pumpkin soup," Cecelia groaned, remembering the stew Royal's mother made every fall.

As soon as the innards had been cleared and the seeds separated, you and Rhett went to work on the cakey pumpkin cookies. In a matter of minutes, the entire house smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg and all the smells of autumn.

"Oooh Daddy! Daddy!" Amy chirped. "Can I watch Dacky-La?"

You and Rhett saw that when Cecelia had pulled up the streaming list on the TV that Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of "Dracula" was in the mix. You and Rhett remembered seeing it at the Wabang Drive-In for one of your first dates and knew right off the bat that Amy would most likely be having nightmares for the next year or two.

"Nah princess, that movie's for grown-ups," Rhett told her. "We'll watch Jack Skellington after dinner."

Amy cheered and ran upstairs to wash her hands, leaving you and Rhett to enjoy the peace of the afternoon.

[wxnheart]

𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐒/𝐎, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 - 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐲

part one

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞

You were a soldier through and through, had nerves of steel, and saved his ass more times than he can count.

But Price could and would not get over how bashful you got when you received commendations. Made an old, battle-hardened heart such as his soar. It was adorable, really.

It endeared him to you more than ever. It was the way you'd look down and shift your stance slightly. It was the way Price could always see the small smile grace your lips. It was the manner in which you cleared your throat in the midst of it all and afterward, still buzzing from the praise, it was back to business.

But oh, he realized you didn't let it get to your head. No, not really. You just saw it as you doing your job. Still didn't mean you weren't deserving of it.

What with everything you two had been through together, first as a team and then as a couple, Price believed you deserved all the praise in the world.

Around the others, a pat on the back, a clasp of the shoulder, and a concise compliment sufficed.

But when it was just you two, alone and comfortable, he showered you in praises galore. Unabashedly so.

And that smile, the one you kept hidden from the others, was for his eyes. And his eyes only.

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨

You're quiet. Not like Ghost but... like him, too.

Nothing got past you. You observed and soaked up everything around you. Alejandro could say it was a learned trait but the more you two had gotten to know each other and it eventually culminated in a relationship, he realized that this was innately you.

You're quiet thunder. You're soothing rain. You make him wax lyrical and Alejandro is one thousand percent convinced that his men would call bullshit that he's capable of being poetic.

He isn't capable of it. Not really. Not before he met you. He's a man of action and intent, but he can't help but contemplate your presence in his life. He can't help but to sit and think about how much you mean to him.

You were a force to be reckoned with, even if you didn't think so. You were a godsend to Alejandro, actually. You picked up on things he didn't. You made him realize things about himself (who knew he liked his towels warm?) and you were a pillar of strength when he dared to be vulnerable.

You allowed him to be Alejandro the lover, the man, and he was forever grateful.

And hey, at least he knows you'd love his poetry, too.

𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐲

You'd never let Rudy live it down.

He silently hoped you didn't notice it but you did. How couldn't you?

In all his years there weren't many people who made him do a double-take but you...? Whew. And oh yeah, he liked what he saw.

One look at you and he was smitten. Yep, that's the official story.

Why you may ask? Because the man stared at you until Alejandro called his name to get Rudy's attention. And that's when he realized that everyone was looking at him. Except for you. Well, sometimes. It was the smile. There was something playful there. Yeah...

You got your bearings, cleared your throat, and introduced yourself accordingly. Your voice was softer when you talked to him. Oh...

And Rudy, well, he'd have been a fool not to return the gesture.

Too bad he fucked it up royally.

"Rodolfo. You can call me Rub—Rudy! You can call me Rudy." Aw, fuck. He'll just ignore the look Alejandro's giving him. Hell, he'll ignore the look everybody is giving him. And the awkward silence, too.

And then you came along with that smile again: "Looking forward to working with you... Ruby." Oh, shit.

Goddamn it, he'll definitely never live this down.

But at least he was right. There was something playful behind that smile.

[sylphiesweet]

: ̗̀➛ Rarijack Fanfic - Ch1 ౨ৎ

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ w/c: 6.5k ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

a/n: hello !! this is my first real post on here. i don't typically use tumblr, and i don't typically write fanfiction ! but i love to write, and i figured i would rather write stuff that others will want to read than write stuff that will collect dust in my folders. constructive feedback is much appreciated :)

Summary: A humanized MLP:FiM alternate universe set in the 90s where Rarity- a now famous fashion designer living in Canterlot- visits Ponyville for a reunion with her friends. Centers on the Rarity x Applejack ship. Lots of fluff, only involves the mane 6, very wholesome.

enjoy ♡

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Under the warm lamp light of the Canterlot Carousel’s tailor shop fervorously work the delicate and nimble fingers of Equestria’s greatest designer. It is well past close, the streets just beyond the doors of the boutique are desolate, yet Rarity is intent on completing her remaining custom orders. Through her rubied cat eye frames this artist fixates on the precise stitching of her sewing machine. The fabric of the garment being constructed is ethereal, it possesses an otherworldly luster that practically lights up what is an otherwise pitch-black room. Nights like these, where this lady of refined elegance works her magic for hours on end, are what have gotten her so far in such a cutthroat industry. They are also, however, what tends to be the blockage between her and a healthy social life.

Under the obnoxiously loud whirring of Rarity’s sewing machine approaches the faint sound of heels clicking against the boutique’s shiny marble floors. She doesn’t hear the voice calling her name, too stuck in her trance-like state of work. It takes the sewing machine being turned off mid-seam for her to finally look up. “What do you think you are doing, Sassy?! I am in a time crunch here!”

In front of the dramatic damsel stood Rarity’s store manager, Sassy Saddles, with the unplugged cord to the sewing machine in hand. She had a partially amused, mostly concerned expression. “I was closing up the boutique when I heard you back here. You’ve been sewing for a while, Rarity. I haven’t seen you step away from your desk all day.”

She gave her manager an unamused expression. “Time crunch, darling. Pay attention. Now plug the machine back in, will you?” Rarity instinctively bent back into position, expecting Sassy to obey and the machine to resume.

Sassy sighed. She knew there was no use in arguing, not with Rarity of all women. “Before you continue, I came to give you this.” From her skirt pocket, she pulls a wax-sealed envelope addressed to Rarity.

This got her attention. “Oh? Give it here.” She held her hand out and received the letter. Searching for something on her desk to open it with, she glanced up briefly to her manager. “Who’s it from?”

“I believe your old friends from Ponyville. It has the Princess’s logo on the seal- see?” A well-manicured finger reached over the sewing machine and tapped on the crimson wax holding the envelope together. It did indeed have the insignia of their nation’s beloved princess pressed into it.

Rarity took her embroidery shears and sliced the parcel open. The letter inside contained the iconic calligraphy of a royal friend from a lifetime ago, she would recognize it anywhere. If the wax seal and the regal writing didn’t already give away the author of such a letter, it was the words themselves. Nobody else in all of Equestria wrote with such intellectual grace. The same level of attention to detail in each sentence could be achieved by no one other than the Princess of Friendship herself; Twilight Sparkle. Seeing the penmanship of a friend from her girlhood brought a smile to Rarity’s face. It sometimes still felt like it was only yesterday that they were having sleepovers together in her quaint library, giving each other facials and sharing the local gossip. That was back when she was still a small-town girl, running her first and only boutique with a head full of dreams and a heart full of passion. The more she reminisced, the older she began to feel. The gray hairs on her head were probably multiplying with each memory. She should just read the letter already.

As her boss read, Sassy discreetly began to wrap up the sewing machine’s cord and hook it onto the side of the desk. She loved when the boutique had plenty of business, but she also knew from past experience that an overworked Rarity could lead to catastrophic things. A sigh of disappointment from the tired designer came once she finished reading. Sassy looked up, quickly folding her hands in front of her to hide her crime. “What’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

”Nothing is wrong… Twilight is hosting a reunion.” Rarity set the letter aside.

Sassy smiled, yet still held that look of worry in her brows. “Well, that’s wonderful!… Is it not?”

”It’s all the way back in Ponyville. That’s a trip I simply do not have the time to take, I will have to decline the invitation.” She began searching around her desk for a pen and paper to write with.

”Now hold on, Rarity!” Sassy stepped around the desk to face Rarity, mostly so they could stop talking over the sewing machine. “You have been working yourself to the tips of your cuticles. There is not another lady in Canterlot more deserving of a break than you. Speaking as both your manager and your friend, you would be mad not to accept this invite.”

Rarity paused her searching. Sassy wasn’t a stranger to dramatic speeches, nor was she, yet it was surprising to hear her actively protest like this. “How deserving I am of a break doesn’t matter when we have New York Fashion Week rapidly approaching. My schedule is absolutely full! I have to go back up to Manehattan on Monday to fit the models for the line, and then down to Fillydelphia on Wednesday for a meeting with the design team coming from Milan, and next Saturday I am flying out to Las Pegasus for the opening of the Carousel Boutique on the strip.” She had begun to spiral into one of her fast-paced, extra-dramatic rants. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rarity looked up at Sassy and took her glasses off. “Tell me, where am I meant to fit a trip to Ponyville in all of that?” The name of her hometown was spat out with a coat of contemptment, like it wasn’t good enough to be considered on her roster of Equestria’s top fashion cities.

Sassy sighed quietly, she never knew how to calm Rarity down. “I’m not sure, but you are great at making things work. When is the party?”

Rarity put her glasses back on and pulled the letter over again. “…This weekend it seems.” Well that invalidated most of her argument, and Sassy was quick to pick up on it.

”Perfect, you could leave for Manehattan straight from Ponyville. If you think about it, a relaxing trip home before your busy week would be a fantastic reset. We both know that you can’t avoid burnout.”

Holding the paper, Rarity chewed the corner of her lip as she stared at the date written down. She took a moment to think. “I’d have to book my train tickets first thing tomorrow…” It seemed she was genuinely considering this trip.

“I would be happy to do that for you,” she replied with a smile.

Rarity’s brow furrowed in deep contemplation. “I… will think about it. Thank you, Sassy. You can go home now.”

Satisfied with that answer, Sassy nodded and turned to head out. “Good night, Rarity. I will see you tomorrow.” Her heel clicks followed her out the door, with the ring of the storefront bell signaling her exit.

It was a few more minutes of silent thinking before Rarity sighed and set the letter down once more. The decision seemed obvious, Sassy was right in saying she needed a break, yet something in the back of her mind still worried about falling behind. The days before New York Fashion Week were always ruthless, yet if one managed to stay on top of it all it could boost their reputation tremendously. If they fell behind, the consequences could be dire. Rarity had worked too hard to build a name for herself just to let big opportunities slip away.

This was a choice that could be made tomorrow, she had orders to fulfill now. Getting back into sewing position, she tried to start the machine. When it didn’t start, Rarity finally noticed that Sassy had wrapped up the cord. “What- Oh, for Celestia’s sake!” She groaned and leaned back in her chair, defeatedly. Her persistent assistant had won. It was too late to continue, anyways.

Rarity took off her glasses, leaning back even further to stretch out her stiff spine. The silence of her studio consumed her. She stopped bringing Opalescence to work with her recently, the boutique gets overwhelmingly busy and she’s an old kitty now, little lady needs her rest. Ever since then, nights like these bring a strange sense of loneliness to Rarity. When she’s not working, work is all she has to think about. She is living her dream, so where is the fulfillment that was meant to come with it? Ever since permanently moving out of Ponyville, this lonely feeling has haunted her relentlessly… Perhaps this reunion will do her good.

She gets up and turns the lamp off, leaving everything as it is to be resumed in the morning.

—

Celestia’s Sun had yet to begin its rise over Sweet Apple Acres on the day of the reunion, yet Ponyville’s hard-working orchardist was already starting her day. As was usual, the farm was quiet in the morning. Only the songs of the earliest birds could be heard. By noon, the crickets and cicadas would join them. It didn’t get much louder than that around here, not since Apple Bloom went off to college. Big McIntosh and Sugar Belle had their second kid not so long before that, and they decided it was too much work to raise their family while living on the farm. Now, it’s just Applejack and Winona left.

While it was still the quietest it would be all day, AJ ran herself a refreshing shower. “Freezing” might be the more accurate word, or at least the word most would use, but there was nothing like a shot of ice-cold water at 4 AM to wake a gal up. Purified and straight from the same rivers that ran through the orchards, the water trickled down her long, golden locks. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes and running her fingers through her hair. No one would be able to tell, not with the naked eye, but AJ had grown plenty of grays amidst all those blonde strands. The stress of managing the farm without Big Mac to help her had probably only doubled them by now, she wasn’t the same spry and young girl she used to be.

A hearty breakfast is typically in order after her rinse-off. Three eggs sunny side up, four bacon strips, two sausages, and a slice of toast. All accompanied by a shiny red apple, plucked straight from a tree in her backyard. One doesn’t acquire the muscles she has by simply working on a farm, a diet full of protein is a must. Although, coming from a long line of farmers on both sides of the family, AJ’s natural 6 '1 stature did attribute to her well-toned physique.

Today, she would be needing this protein-filled breakfast. Not that she didn’t need it every day. The reunion Twilight was throwing would be held at her barn- a good old-fashioned hoedown. Her friends were meant to arrive this evening, so she had the whole day to get her daily chores done and set up for the party. It would be a bit of a crunch to fit all that into one day, but it was worth it for her friends. The only real social interaction she got these days was on her weekly trips into town to sell her apples. It would be great to chill for a night and catch up with her gals.

Mid-apple crunch, an unexpected knock came from the porch door. Winona started barking relentlessly without hesitation. Well shit, she wasn’t presentable in the slightest. Her hair was still wet from the shower, sitting on top of the towel draped over her broad shoulders. Aside from her not-so-fashionable accessory, AJ was in just a tank and shorts. The door had to be answered regardless! She set the half-eaten fruit down and got up. If she could make a list of the least expected guests to be showing up on her doorstep before 5 AM on a weekend, this girl would be dead last. AJ had to do a double take when she opened her door. “Rarity?? Huh! Well, I’ll be!”

The plum-haired beauty smiled up to her old friend. “Applejack, darling! Good morning, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She was carrying Opal in her mini bejeweled feline carrier, no bigger than a fashionable purse.

”Only breakfast. Come on in, gal!” AJ pulls Rarity in for a warm hug before stepping aside.

Their embrace, which was probably the first real hug either of them have experienced in some time, lasts enough time for their bodies to melt into one another, as if in an attempt to make up for all the time spent apart. It also lasts long enough for their pets to start bickering, with Opal hissing down at Winona from her carrier.

Rarity laughs apologetically, scolding her cat on the way into AJ’s house. “Bad kitty! This is not how we behave. You’ve known Winona for years, quit it!”

AJ chuckles, quieting down Winona as well as she follows Rarity inside. “I must say, I’m surprised as all get out to see you up so early. Are you finally past the point of beauty sleep?” She said this with an obvious joking tone, always loving to tease her “girly” obsessions.

Joining her host for a seat at the dining table, Rarity playfully scoffed. “One doesn’t simply stop needing beauty sleep, darling. Honestly, I would rather be getting said sleep now… My assistant- Sassy Saddles, you remember her right? Well, she booked the earliest train from Canterlot. Too early, in my opinion! So, here I am.” She smiled and pulled Opalescence out of her carrier and began stroking her fluffy white fur in her lap.

AJ couldn’t help but smile as she listened to the most elegant woman she knew speak her mind. It had been too long since they had spoken, her ears wanted to soak up every word she said. There was just something in Rarity’s voice, her cadence and tone and choice of words, that could hypnotize a girl like Applejack in seconds. “Well boy howdy it sure is good to see you again, girl. But, uhh… Why’d you come to my place? The party ain’t for ten hours.”

Rarity sheepishly giggled. “Who else in all of Ponyville is going to be up at sunrise on a Saturday?”

She got her there. AJ laughed wholeheartedly. “Y’ain’t wrong about that! Can I get you some breakfast? The trains serve nothin’ good.” Getting up from the table, she opens the cupboards like she already has an idea in mind of what to make.

“Oh, I’m quite alright. Thank you, dear. I will take a tea or coffee if you have any.” Rarity looked around the kitchen. It was amazing, hardly anything had changed. The only notable difference was the new pictures here and there. Their most recent family photo caught her eye. “Heavens! Is little Apple Bloom really that grown up?” She set Opal down to get up and look at the frame on the wall.

AJ, already brewing a pot of coffee, smiled to herself at the mention of her little sister. “Crazy, right? Feels like yesterday she was still runnin’ around in my old treehouse with their little crusader club… How’s Sweetie Belle?”

It took Rarity a moment to respond, still in shock at how much the Apple family had changed. “Oh, she’s just fine. I believe she’s coming home for winter break. Perhaps we could stop by to catch up with you and Apple Bloom when the time comes.” The bell on Opal’s collar jingled as she rubbed herself against Rarity’s ankles, purring at her to be picked up. Still examining the pictures, she bent down and scooped her kitty up to be held.

Sunlight had finally made its way over the hills and in through the kitchen window, streaking amber rays across the walls. The light bounced off floating dust particles, it reflected on the glass over hanging pictures, danced across the kitchen’s cutlery and crockery. Most notably, it illuminated Applejack in an enchanting halo. She turned around with a smile as bright as this early morning sunrise, pouring Rarity’s cup of coffee as she spoke. “That’d be mighty swell! Here ya’ are, darlin’.” She set the mug down and slid it across the kitchen island with a smooth wink.

Something caught Rarity in a trance. She seemed to be frozen, holding Opal in her arms and staring at AJ. The way her hair, all dewy from what she could only assume was a shower, was highlighted by the sun rays. Her gorgeously toned muscles had a glowing golden aura, as did every lash, freckle, and mark on her face. Her friend had suddenly transformed from the town farmer to a goddess sculpted by the sun. How come she had never noticed the beauty in all her chiseled features before? Sure, AJ was always a strong and tall lady, but she’s aged like a fine apple cider. She couldn’t help but continue to stare… for an uncomfortably long time.

”Uh… Rarity? Somethin’ wrong?” Applejack chuckled nervously.

”H- Huh?? Oh! Pardon me, nothing is wrong, darling. Thank you for the drink.” She set Opal back down and stepped over to pick up the coffee. One could tell from just the scent that it was as fresh as it gets, the beans were most likely hand-ground by AJ herself today. Everything on Sweet Apple Acres had that realness to it, that pure authenticity that the Apple family stood by. It could be tasted from the first sip Rarity took, rich and dense in flavor. “Mmm, it’s lovely.”

Applejack smiled, feeling the self-consciousness of being stared at wash away. “Oh! Glad to hear it.” She lifted the towel from her shoulders and wrung out her hair one last time before tossing it over the side of the sink. “So, what’ve you been up to lately? I heard the Canterlot Carousel’s doin’ swell.” In a small town like Ponyville, news of any resident’s success travels quick, doesn’t matter if they still live there or not. She walks back over to the dining table to sit with Rarity and chat.

Sipping her coffee and sitting down as well, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Ohhh busy busy busy… I have just been eternally busy with my boutiques.”

”Wait- Boutiques plural? I thought your business in Canterlot was the only one you’ve got! Not since the Carousel Boutique closed…” Rarity’s first store location had closed not too long ago. Now it just serves as her home when she comes to visit.

She nodded, understanding the confusion. “I opened a second store in Manehattan when I closed that one. It has proven to be most successful, and I'm looking at real estate in Las Pegasus for a third store! My goal is to have one location in all of Equestria’s major fashion cities.”

Again, AJ couldn’t help her smile as Rarity spoke. “Well that’s fantastic! Congrats, Rare. Figures that a star-studded gal like you would make it so big, ain’t nobody in this town who had more passion and talent than yourself…”

While AJ had no intentions with such a compliment other than to speak the truth, it left Rarity pink in the cheeks. “Awh! Wh- why thank you, Applejack! How about you? The farm looks marvelous, I must say. Walking through the orchards on my way up here was absolutely scenic.”

She chuckled. “Scenic, huh? I appreciate it, but what you see ‘round here really is what you get these days. Those trees out front are the majority of what I have now. Had to cut a lotta acres since Big Mac moved out, it’s just too much work to handle all by my lonesome.” Applejack went quiet for a moment, looking out the window as the sun continued to rise. “Truth be told, I don’t want to lose the farm, but it just ain’t what it used to be. I ain’t what I used to be. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it an awful lot recently. That maybe I’d keep workin’ for a few more years, just enough to get Apple Bloom through college, and then sell it all once she’s settled…” Realizing she had gone on a little tangent, she scratched the back of her neck and laughed. “Pardon me, Rarity. That’s stuff that only Winona usually hears.”

The little border collie who was curled up under the table stuck her head up upon hearing her name. AJ bent down and petted her head as a painfully tense silence sifted between them. It took Rarity a bit to find her words. “…I’m… I’m terribly sorry, Applejack. That’s quite the burden to be carrying, especially for just one girl.” She reached out and placed her hand on top of AJ’s.

The difference in their skin was apparent not just visually, but even more so tactilely. One’s hand was tanned from the sun, calloused by years of hard work, muscular even down to the tips of the fingers. The other’s was soft, feminine, had a beautiful manicure, and only calloused where sewing needles prick. Yet, despite the polarity of their physical makeups, each one standing on the opposite ends of what society deems to be a woman, the intimate connection sparking between the colliding cells of their separate beings was undeniable.

Tender affection like this had been absent from Applejack’s life for longer than she could remember. The feeling of Rarity’s gentle skin on hers, the calming words of comfort she could give, they quickly made this a moment to savor. An urge somewhere inside herself began to crave more of this. She hadn’t even realized there was an absence of anything in her life, and a subtle taste of what she had been missing ignited a desire for more. Carefully, Applejack supinated her hand so that their palms were facing one another, and she held Rarity’s dainty fingers with her own. “Thank you, Rare. Sorry to toss all this on you, I know it’s kinda heavy.”

Rarity squeezed AJ’s hand back. “And yet you’ve been carrying it all by yourself… Both metaphorically and physically, my dear. I mean, good Celestia! You’ve really been running Sweet Apple Acres all alone? Not even a farmhand to help you?”

AJ chuckled and shook her head. “Nope, just Winona and I. But I could say the same about you! You’ve been runnin’ all these fancy stores across the country by yourself? No business partner or nothin’?”

”Oh don’t flatter me, a boutique is hardly comparable to a farm. And I have managers, assistants and such. As strong as you are, darling, you’re carrying the load of three… Have you discussed any of this with your brother?”

Talking wasn’t something she and her brother did much of recently. There wasn’t any animosity, they had a great relationship. Life had just gotten in the way. “Ah, he’s got his kids to deal with… We did have a long talk before they decided to move out, and he was worried about just this. In the end, we chalked it up to “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” And, uh…” AJ chuckled in a defeated manner. “I’ve gotten to that bridge. Now I just ain’t sure…”

Rarity also wasn’t sure. She hated seeing one of her closest friends in such a tough situation, but she was also in no position to give advice. What she could do was set her coffee down, let go of Applejack’s hand, and lean in for a hug. “I am not sure how much weight my words hold, but I am sure that whatever you decide to do will be the right choice, Applejack.”

Those words held more weight than she could carry, enough weight to knock some of the unbearable pressure off her shoulders. AJ returned the hug with a smile, squeezing Rarity gently in her arms. “Thank you…”

—

The barn at Sweet Apple Acres was lit up and lively that night. Atmospheric lighting emitted by the lanterns that hung from every pole post created a cozy environment, perfect for a long night of reconnecting with one another. Applejack and Rarity had spent the day cleaning the space up, shoveling hay out of the way and setting up tables. In between that, Rarity assisted with some of the farmwork that needed to be done. As per usual, all of the decorations credit goes to Pinkie Pie, who showed up around noon with a truckload of party supplies.

By sunset, everyone had arrived. The organizer of this party was the last to show up, as she got caught up with royal duties before she could leave. When she finally made her appearance, it was in an official royal motorcade. She embarrassedly had to command her guards to leave her there, not wanting tonight to be any different than the hangouts they all used to have in the past. If it were up to her, which it should be, she would have driven herself up here. Alas, official procedures say otherwise.

Still dressed in her formal blazer with her hair wound in a tight bun, Princess Twilight Sparkle joined her friends inside the barn. Only now, she wasn’t a princess. She was just Twilight. Almost instantly, she was wrapped in a hug of 10 arms and squeals from her 5 favorite girls.

“Thank you all for coming!! It’s so great to see you girls again.” There was a shared wave of ease that washed over the group as they were all together for the first time in years.

Attempts had been made at group reunions like this in the past, at least once a year. It was almost impossible for everyone to be free at the same time, someone always had to decline. That someone had typically been Rarity. Her surprise presence hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it was quick to be pointed out. They all moved to the lounge pit made of hay bales to chat.

“I was starting to think you hated us, Rare!” Rainbow Dash leaned over and elbowed Rarity playfully. “Your fancy Canterlot life too good for us?”

Rarity nervously laughed, pushing Rainbow off of her in an equally playful fashion. “Of course not! You know I love you girls.”

“Then how come you’ve missed our last, like, three hangouts!!” Pinkie Pie giggled from across the pit, sitting criss-crossed on her hay bale and sipping some cider.

She knew this was just friendly fire, but a part of her felt bad for being so absent. This invitation would’ve also been declined if it wasn’t for her assistant’s insistence. “The fashion industry is ruthless, darlings. Free time is nonexistent! Not if you want to survive...” Rarity was extra dramatic with this delivery, which got everyone laughing.

The ever-quiet Fluttershy took her own shot at Rarity. “Twilight is the ruler of Equestria and she can make time for us, that’s no excuse.” Everyone “oohed” at Rarity after that.

Twilight laughed this off, not wanting to draw attention to herself. “Hey now, it’s not her fault if she has a busy schedule! Besides, Canterlot is a far trip from Ponyville.”

Applejack chimes in, this time making a jab at Twilight. “Yeah, we can’t all travel in a limousine with a motorcade.” The whole group laughed, and it felt just like old times again.

The hours passed quickly, and the sky went from a peachy array of pinks and oranges to midnight hues of blue and black. The girls drank cider fresh from the orchards, snacked on pastries from the Sugarcube Corner, told stories from their lives over the past years, and laughed at jokes as old as their friendships. At some point in between all of the drinking and laughing, Applejack had snuck out of the barn. Rarity was the first to notice. She excused herself as well to go find where the party’s host had gone.

Just beyond the barn doors, under the spread of twinkling stars and Luna’s moon was a hard at work Applejack. The thud of her axe rang out through the silent field as it came down, splitting a log in two. She grabbed the fallen pieces and put them back together, taking another hard swing to split it into quarters.

Rarity cautiously stepped over to AJ, partially amused at this late-night wood cutting. “Needed some fresh air, did we?” She stopped far enough away that no stray wood chips would come flying at her.

Applejack turned and smiled at Rarity as she tossed another log onto her stump. “You think everyone would be up for a bonfire? It’s a beauty of a night out here, perfect weather for one.” She raises her axe once more and brings it down with a slight grunt, continuing to repeat the process from before. “I wish I had the idea for one earlier, woulda been convenient to do this before sundown.”

”That sounds like a lovely idea!.. Can I help you?” She asks this hesitantly, very aware of her lack of bonfire-making skills.

As the fresh quarters of wood topple over around the chopping block, AJ puts the head of her axe on the ground and leans on the handle. She wipes some sweat from her forehead with her arm as she turns to Rarity. “…You… You wanna help chop wood?…” Her words ended with a quiet chuckle. Who is this girl, and what has she done with the helpless damsel Rarity?

Taking offense to this, she crosses her arms and pouts. “Is that not what I just said?? I don’t understand what’s funny.” Actually, she does indeed see the humor in this. Normally she would pull up a chair and watch the hard work be done for her. Maybe it was all of the cleaning they did together earlier, the feeling of accomplishment a hard day’s work gave her that was incentivizing her to do more. Or maybe it was just the idea of being around Applejack.

Adjusting her leather Stetson hat to brush some blonde strands out of her face, AJ chuckled again before nodding to Rarity. She beckoned her over with two fingers. “Alright, gal. But I gotta teach you how to properly handle this thing first.” The axe handle was carved from an apple tree grown on the orchard, sanded and polished by AJ herself. She grabs a smaller, more easily choppable log and throws it on the stump.

“That’s fine! Looks easy enough. You just grab and swing, no?” She tries to take the axe from AJ, but it quickly gets pulled back.

”Whoa-ho-ho! Slow your roll there, sugar. You could pull a tendon or send this here axe flying buck wild without proper form, and I’m not tryna have any ladies hurtin’ on my farm tonight.” The axe gets placed up against the stump while Rarity gets her schooling in wood chopping. Placing her hands on her shoulders from behind, AJ guides her into position.

That same rosy pink blush from sunup today had found its way back to Rarity’s cheeks. AJ’s grip was firm yet gentle, and just one of her hands covered the entirety of her shoulder. The heat of her palms also felt nice on her skin in contrast with the crisp night air. More than anything, it was the way she effortlessly moved her to where she wanted. She couldn’t have tried to resist even if she wanted to, though she knows AJ would never actually use force on her in such a way. Regardless, the mere potential of being restrained by Applejack’s sheer strength… it made something deep within Rarity double over.

Maneuvering Rarity to the right distance from the stump, AJ then bends down behind her. She keeps one hand resting on Rarity’s waist while the other gently pushes on her thigh, manually shaping her stance. Although unusually flustered, Rarity lets herself be posed like one of her fashion mannequins. Her hand migrates from the top of her thigh to the back of her knee, using just enough pressure to force a bend. It’s taking Rarity more and more strength to stay standing, this is more touching than she expected wood splitting to warrant.

 Once AJ is satisfied with the stance, she gets up and grabs the axe, placing it in Rarity’s hands. It’s much heavier than she expected. ”Alright, now grip your left hand at the base of the helve like this… And then start with your right near the head…” As she explains, she places her hands on top of Rarity’s to guide them accordingly. AJ’s body is pressed right up against Rarity’s in doing this, with her head peering over her shoulder. A sewing needle couldn’t wriggle its way between them.

At last, this designer has been molded into the image of a lumberjack, with just an additional farmer hanging off her behind. AJ turns her head slightly towards Rarity’s and smiles. “You ready, gal?”

Still profusely blushing, Rarity nervously swallows and nods. She doesn’t feel ready at all, but she also doesn’t know how much more manhandling she can take.

Applejack, still guiding Rarity’s hands, steadily raises the axe above their heads. She then swiftly brings it down onto the little log. It splits with ease, tumbling off either side of the block. Rarity couldn’t help but smile. She got a rush of excitement at the power that chop had, even though it was almost entirely AJ’s doing.

They separated, and AJ finally let Rarity hold the axe by herself. She had the proudest grin on and gave her a pat on the back. “Well done!! Think you can handle one by yourself?” She grabbed another easy log.

Rarity nodded eagerly, readying her stance now that she knew what to do. She took a swing at the log and partially split it. AJ came over and helped unstick the head. “That swing wasn’t half bad! Give it one more go, you got it.” Her tone was encouraging in an almost motherly way. It was internally strengthening to receive praise and assurance from someone who knows what she’s talking about.

She took another swing, this time with a power-packed grunt. The log split on the second strike, sending the halves toppling to the dirt. She cheered, doing as much of a celebratory jump as she could while still gripping the axe.

AJ cheered with her, grabbing the log she split and assembling it again for a quarter split. “Hoo-Wee! That’s a clean chop, Rare! Didn’t think you packed such a punch.” That’s a lie, everyone knows Rarity is capable of going off the rails when she wants to. “Go at ‘er one more time, and we’ll have some good kindlin’ for the fire.”

”Oh no, thank you, darling, but I’ve had quite enough.” She gently sets the axe down on the stump and steps away, wiping her hands off. “I’ll give you motivational support from over here!”

Back to the same old same old. AJ chuckles and takes over, splitting the log again in one fluid motion. “Well, I appreciate the help. And I commend you for still tryin’ new things at our age. You’re always full of surprises, sugar.”

A few more split logs later and Applejack had gotten a roaring fire going. Everyone migrated outside, sitting down on whatever plank, bale, or barrel they could find. Faces were hot from the radiating heat of the fire, and backs were chilly from the cool air of Luna’s hour.

Pinkie Pie plucked an apple from the nearest tree and managed to skewer it. “I bet this will taste just like warm, sugary apple pie!” she giggled in excitement.

“I… don’t believe that’s how it works-” Twilight hesitantly watched, nervous about the fruit going up in flames.

Rainbow cackled from across the fire as she toasted a marshmallow. “You’re lacking a few ingredients, Pie.” Her mallow then proceeded to catch fire, to which she frowned and tossed it into the pit to watch disintegrate.

“No I’m not! See?” Miraculously, Pinkie held up a pie tin, already lined with crust dough. The rest of the girls took a moment to process her antics… and then all burst into laughter.

Toads chirped their song from the grass and trees, the cindering logs crackled harmoniously, and these six soulmates laughed with each other until their lungs were void of oxygen. Their riotous joy soon simmered into a quiet appreciation of each other’s company, watching the fire under the moonlit sky. Pinkie Pie shared slices of her freshly fire-baked pastry while Rainbow Dash munched on her first successful s’more, and Applejack brought her guitar over to play for everyone. It felt like an almost ceremonious closing to their reunion.

She sat on the haybale next to Rarity with her guitar, angling the neck away so as not to hit her with it. As she carefully checked the tuning of the strings, she quietly leaned into Rarity with a question. “What song should I play?”

Had she been more awake, perhaps Rarity would have gotten slightly flustered at yet another intimate moment with her shockingly gorgeous, strong, kind-hearted friend. But it was late, and the fire was cozy. Even the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering their way to sleep. She thought about the question for a moment. “...What’s that one slow song by Elvis? It’s the only thing coming to mind at the moment.” She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

AJ thought for a moment, a small smile curling at her lips. “I think I know which one ya mean… Does it go like this?...” She begins lightly picking the strings, and the song is instantly recognizable after just a few chords. It perks up the other sleepy heads sitting around the fire, as their attention is all directed to the music.

Rarity nods, her eyelids slowly growing heavy. “Mhm… That’s the one…”

“Alright, doll.” Applejack begins playing, gaining an audience of all her friends. The flames, dying down now, dance in a way that nearly matches the song’s rhythm.

The sweetness of her music quickly lulls Rarity into the sleep that has been prodding at her. As AJ begins softly singing the lyrics, Rarity lays her head on her shoulder and closes her eyes. The blush that had been haunting her all day transferred at the touch of their bodies, it was finally AJ’s turn. Her cheeks grew rosy, but she didn’t stop her playing. A smile brighter than the fire in front of them could be heard through her words as she sang…

“… Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?...”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

ending song reference:

thank you all for reading, even my friends who i begged to. chapter 2 will come if enough people enjoyed this one ! ( ˘ ³˘ )♡

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.6

(Cersei x Fem Reader x Jaime. Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

"Are you happy now?" Robert raged as Cersei gazed dispassionately at him. "It's not enough you bring your whore across the fucking continent; you have to make a show of fucking her in front of the whole camp?"

"You don't bother to hide your infidelities" Cersei glowered, "why should I hide mine?"

"You humiliated me!" Robert slammed his cup on the nearest table, pouring himself another helping of strong ale.

Cersei simmered in silence. She knew what she did was foolish, but the satisfaction of the court knowing King Robert was the cuckold for once was almost worth it.

"It was an offense to The Faith, not to mention High Treason! I should have both your heads on pikes"

"Robert, please. It's not like she can father my bastards, like your mistresses have."

Robert's bloated face blanched at this, and Cersei rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't act like it was some big secret."

Robert's rage returned, further fueled by indignation.

"Out of my sight, woman. Before I have you scourged in front of the whole camp."

She left willingly, knowing exactly where she would find you.

Jaime had been charged with keeping you company while Cersei received her tongue lashing, and the queen found the two of you at play like a couple of teenagers.

"Sister" Jaime grinned, his arm pressed against yours as the two of you held a thin candle between your forearms. "You're just in time to watch this little minx lose."

"How are you?" You ignored Jaime's taunts as the flame grew closer to your skin. "What did he say? Am I to be sent away?"

"I don't know. He didn't say much of consequence, he mostly just blustered." Cersei poured herself a glass of wine and watched the flame between your arms sink lower. Jaime was starting to sweat now.

You frowned, unsatisfied.

As it had turned out, Cersei's little exhibition had spread through the camp like wildfire. You received looks ranging from awe to disgusted from everyone you passed the morning after, and certain people wouldn't even look you in the eye anymore.

"Just ignore them, sweetling." Cersei had said. "They don't matter."

To your great relief, Sandor didn't seem to care at all. All he said when he heard was "It's about time."

Sandor had become something of a comfort to you this past month, and while he tried to treat you with mostly indifference, it was clear he was partial to you as well.

"FUCK" Jaime cursed as the flame reached his skin, flicking wax off his forearm and rubbing the bright red skin soothingly. "Have you no sense of pain?"

You didn't answer, only smiling coyly and kissing the burn on his flesh. "Poor baby"

"I should finish packing your things, Your Grace." You sighed, standing and brushing grass off your dress. "We'll reach Winterfell by this afternoon."

The last stretch of the ride was surprisingly easy. Your mare had adjusted to your leadership, and your body had grown accustomed to the long distances.

"Are you sure you're not embarrassed to be riding next to Queen Cersei's Whore?" You teased Clegane as he mounted Stranger next to you.

"Not as embarrassing as trying to keep her little cunt of a son alive long enough to inherit."

"Sandor" you hushed him with a blush, fearing you would be heard. "You mustn't joke like that. I'm on thin ice as it is."

Sandor made a guttural scoffing sound and eyed the horizon.

Winterfell was truly, unbelievably massive.

It had to be, to house as many people as possible when the harsh winter inevitably fell upon the land. What were those ever-ominous house words?

Winter is Coming.

"Clegane, Y/N" The king's squire rounded his horse along side Stranger. "The King wishes to speak with the two of you, right now."

"Now?" You blinked but steered your horse behind Sandor, who seemed equally skeptical as you neared the large, rumbling royal coach. The King, it seemed, had opted to arrive in style rather than on horseback.

"Halt" a voice called, and Robert exited the litter, followed by an unusually tense and somber Cersei. One look at her face, and you could sense something was horribly awry.

"You asked to see us, Your Grace?"

"Indeed" Robert breathed, looking very pleased with himself. "I thought the two of you ought to know, shortly after our arrival at Winterfell, the two of you are going to be married by a Septon of the Faith of The Seven. Congratulations."

You very nearly fell off your horse in shock.

"Y-Your Grace, I don't understand I-"

"Young Lady," The King whipped back around, his jovial face replaced with a look of contempt. "I ought to have you stripped naked and whipped through the streets of Kings Landing for treason, do you understand that?"

His tone shocked you into submission and you gazed at the ground fearfully.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Instead, I'm showing you something called mercy. I'm allowing you to keep the skin on your back and solving our current issue as diplomatically as I can. You should be on your knees thanking me, instead of talking back."

"Yes, Your Grace. I'm very sorry." You nodded, "Thank you for showing mercy, I will strive to be worthy of it."

"And you." Robert eyed Clegane. "Bed her, ignore her, lock her in a sept somewhere for all I care. Just keep her away from my wife."

Sandor nodded slowly and you cast your gaze on Cersei whose face was twisted into a look of utter frustration and disappointment.

As the litter took off once more, a deep coldness settled into your stomach. You should have known it was too good to be true.

"Y/N?"

"I am so sorry."

"I-" Sandor paused, considering his next words. "I didn't expect that, did you?"

"No." You shook your head. "Oh Gods, Sandor I am *so* sorry. I never meant for you to get dragged into this. If I had known-"

"He didn't kill you" Sandor cut you off. "Just be grateful for that for now."

"How are you so calm about this?" You turned to face him, "In fact, this whole trip you have been unnervingly cavalier about this whole situation. You were just ordered by your king to marry some no named nobody from flea bottom who's only claim to fame is being the Queen's whore. And you don't even seem upset."

Sandor shrugged, "I've done far worse things on the orders of far worse men than Robert Baratheon. Besides, it's just marriage. I can't imagine it will change things much. On my end anyway."

It's just marriage.

You thought this over a moment. It was true, High-borns married complete strangers all the time. And it wasn't like you and Sandor were *complete* strangers.

"I guess I haven't thought about it like that." You nodded, somehow soothed by his lack of response. "You're right. We just need to...roll with the punches."

You took off a little ahead of him, and Sandor watched your back as you went, oddly enough noting that your riding form had improved immensely.

"You took that remarkably well."

Sandor stifled an irritated groan as the Kingslayer rode up beside him.

"Fuck off"

"No, it's true. You did." Jaime insisted. "I'm impressed."

Sandor attempted to move ahead of him, but Jaime kept pace.

"Seriously though" Jamie grew more somber. "She's a sweet girl. I doubt she even fully understood what she was getting herself into. I'd hate to see her stuck in a life of misery because of this."

Sandor cast him a poisonous glare, swallowing a mouthful of insults and instead saying;

"Just because you've had your cock in her doesn't mean you know anything about her, Kingslayer."

Before sending his horse into a gallop to catch up with you.

You arrived in Winterfell with much pomp and fanfare.

Keeping yourself concealed from the main group, you watched as the official greetings were exchanged, bows and curtseys and full honors bestowed, until Robert separated from the party to pay respects at the crypts.

When the king was well out of sight and there was commotion loading and unloading wagons, Cersei pulled you aside.

"I did everything I could" were the first words out of her mouth.

"I thank you." You wanted to take her hand but did not dare. Not now. "Honestly, it's a better punishment than I could have dared hope."

"Indeed?" Cersei pulled a tense smile, "I thought you and Clegane weren't-"

"We..." you searched for the words, "We've settled into each other. If that makes sense."

"Ah" Cersei's face was tight but tried to remain neutral, "That makes things easier then, I suppose. All the same, I'll find something for you to do in the Keep, sweetling. I won't let him win."

You smiled gratefully, excusing yourself to unload and carry her bags to her and Robert's shared room.

As you left, Cersei found herself wondering exactly which *him* she meant.

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 10. red roses

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: yeonjun bumps into someone unexpectedly. amends are made.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: brief mentions of death (assassination) but in a trivial way

author's note: here we go 🙂 my friend introduced me to the queen charlotte soundtrack and it sets the perfect mood for writing this fic! recommended music while listening, esp. for the second half of the fic: if i ain't got you, i will always love you

prev | masterlist good ending | bad ending

it’s ten minutes to midnight when yeonjun gets out of bed, throws a robe over his nightclothes, and steps out of his room to visit you. he brings with him only the card and a few of the hyacinths you gave him, placed in the pocket of his robe; he considered bringing a lamp to light the way, but he figured that the light would also make it easier to spot him and arouse suspicion. besides, he thinks he knows the way from his bedroom to the gazebo well enough since he’s lived in this castle his entire life.

he moves from his bedroom to the long staircase at the end of the hallway, the thick carpeting thankfully muffling his footsteps, and he descends to the first floor of the castle with no problems. he starts heading down the main hallway towards the front entrance, the one closest to the gazebo, until he remembers that there are guards stationed nearby and he has no way to sneak past them. c’mon, choi, use your head. he exhales and turns around towards the kitchen side entrance, which is small and inconspicuous enough to be unguarded.

as he nears the kitchen his nerves start to get the better of him as he starts to wonder what on earth he would say to you. have you really suspected his true feelings? would you reject him if you knew? did you think that he and princess ajin are actually in a happy match? he’s so caught up in the swirl of nervous thoughts in his head that he doesn’t notice a small decorative table topped with a bowl of wax fruits in his way, and he walks right into it.

so much for being able to navigate without a lamp.

“aagh!”

he bumps his shin against the side of the table and yowls in pain. the table wobbles and the bowl of fruits starts to topple, and yeonjun dives to keep the bowl from falling and breaking. “no!”

he manages to catch the bowl with only a single wax apple falling off, but not without making a lot of noise. in his mind he starts praying, begging, that no one was around to hear him.

his prayers are unanswered.

“who’s there?!”

princess ajin, of all people, is standing in front of him and flashing a lamp in his direction. yeonjun’s heart thuds in his ears.

she narrows her eyes at him. “what on earth are you doing...”

“y-your majesty!” he straightens himself up and places the fruit bowl back on the table. “i... i could ask the same for you.”

“my room is too hot. this is the coldest part of the castle so i went here to cool off.”

“oh.” yeonjun runs a hand through his hair. “we can get you a cooler room if you want一”

“you didn’t answer my question. what on earth are you doing here?”

he starts to fidget, tugging at the sleeves of his robe. “the... the same as you...”

princess ajin coughs. “you’re a terrible liar, your majesty.”

“no, i mean一”

“are you planning to assassinate me?”

“what?! no!”

“are you planning to assassinate my mother?”

“no!” yeonjun stares at her, now offended that his future bride seems to have such a low opinion of him and his royal house. “c’mon, do you really think we’re a court of backstabbers?!”

the princess crosses her arms. yeonjun tries to read her face, but her expression is even more unreadable with only the dim light of her lamp illuminating her. his heart thuds even faster at the thought of what questions might come next. all she had to do was prod him a few more times and his secret rendezvous would be revealed.

finally, she sighs. “you know what? i don’t care.”

he blinks. “you... don’t?”

“i really don’t, your majesty.” at that moment the impenetrable facade she has put up finally fades, and all yeonjun sees is exasperation. princess ajin, more than anything, is tired.

she coughs again. “look, this... engagement between you and i, it’s all just politics. you know that, i know that, every damn member of your court and mine know that. why do we have to pretend to like each other and say nice things and have tea? it’s all a game. so if you want to do something that isn’t part of that game, go right ahead! good for you, actually.”

yeonjun’s mouth falls open. “do you... really mean that?”

“as long as you aren’t threatening me or my court, i don’t care at all.”

“what if... what if we are planning to assassinate someone?”

the princess laughs. “you? you and your family are too earnest, i doubt you’d do that. we did our research on your house, remember? no history of shady dealings whatsoever.”

“that’s true.” he looks away from her and tilts his head, trying to hide the embarrassed smile now forming on his face. somehow this encounter has gone from nerve-wracking to mortifying… and relieving.

“i mean it, choi yeonjun.” princess ajin catches his attention with his full name. “if you’re off doing something that isn’t politics, do it. i envy you. i’ve spent my entire life being my mother’s pawn. don’t… end up like me.”

he never thought of the princess as anything more than an extension of her mother’s will, and a twinge of guilt pierces him.

“i’m sorry, your majesty.”

“don’t be. now whatever it is you were doing, go.”

“is there—”

“don’t pity me! i said go!”

“okay, okay! sheesh…”

yeonjun starts to walk past princess ajin, and as he spares one more glance at her, he swears to himself that he sees a hint of sadness forming on her face.

he wishes that he could help her too, but right now he doesn’t have the time to help everyone. it’s nearly midnight, and his first priority is you.

—

at five minutes past midnight, you pace around the gazebo. you tried to get a bit of sleep in your quarters before your rendezvous, but you were filled with so much nervous energy that you couldn’t even close your eyes. your mind swam with all sorts of worries about how your meeting might go, and now that you were at the meeting place itself, the nervousness swirls around even more in your stomach and the worries nip at you even more.

you aren’t expecting yeonjun to arrive on the dot, not with how labyrinthine the castle can be, yet your mind can’t help but dream up worst-case scenarios. what if he was caught sneaking out and ordered back into his room? what if someone found out about your rendezvous and locked him in? or worse, what if he changed his mind and decided not to accept your apology after all?

just when it seems that the nervousness will consume you whole, he arrives.

he’s hastily dressed in only a robe over his nightclothes, but it doesn’t matter. relief washes over you as he runs toward you and wraps you in an embrace, and for the first time in weeks you bask in his warmth and breathe in the floral scent clinging to his clothes. his arms wrap around your waist and he rests his chin on your head, and at last your worries fall away and the tension in you breaks. 

you start to sob against his chest. he holds you as you let out every single regret and fear you’ve held in your heart out through your tears. even as you cry, you still take in the feeling of him around you, the rhythm of his breathing, the touch of his hands on your back, and it’s enough to soothe you and ground you despite all your worries. you calm down eventually, bringing your own arms around his neck as you lift your head up to look at him.

“i’m sorry,” you say, your voice hoarse. “i didn’t mean it when i said we shouldn’t be friends. i was so stupid…”

you feel the tears start to form and yeonjun only embraces you again, this time with a tighter hold. “shh, it’s okay. i know you didn’t mean it.”

even with a thousand apologies left to say, you say nothing. you don’t need to, not when yeonjun is holding you so close, his hands rubbing circles into your back, swaying the two of you ever so slightly. a part of your heart starts to mend and you start to feel that, just maybe, everything will be okay.

“i should’ve done more to protect you,” he murmurs into your ear. “i got you into all that trouble, and i heard how the staff didn’t trust you and all... of course people were going to be suspicious, i should’ve been more careful...”

this was not what you wanted to hear. his words snap you out of your regrets and you pull away from him. 

“y/n一”

your voice finds its steadiness. “yeonjun, please don’t blame yourself. you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? all you wanted was someone to be there for you and see you for who you are and there is nothing wrong with that. i said i would be that person and then i wasn’t there for you. i’m the one who failed.”

“then you can’t put all the blame on yourself either! i put you in a hard position. i’m the prince here, i’m the one who could’ve changed things, and i didn’t do that for you.”

“you don’t need to change anything for me! you already have enough on your plate! you’re engaged, that’s enough to worry about!”

“i know that!” yeonjun’s voice is desperate as he grabs your hands. “i don’t need to worry about you, but i still do. i want to worry about you. i want to care for you, even though there’s a million other things i should care about. when you pushed me away, when i was off getting engaged, it was still you i thought about. it’s always been you.”

you tremble at his words. you move towards him and this time you initiate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him towards you. he buries his face in the crook of your neck and you feel his breaths become more uneven and a few tears brush against your skin.

your hand comes up to stroke his hair as you come to terms with what he just told you. your heart fills with an odd ache, one that somehow feels both relieving and painful at the same time. you want to take the care he has for you and hold it in your heart, but something has to budge first.

the wall of emotions looms over you once again, taller than ever, but yeonjun’s words fill you with a new bravery. you don’t just climb over the wall — you vault over it.

“yeonjun, look at me, please.”

he lifts his head and gazes at you with slightly parted lips. he is so close to you and it fills you with that familiar warmth.

“i care about you too, so much, and i can’t stand not being around you. but i heard that you were getting engaged to someone else and i hated it! i hate that you have to look at someone else and call her yours! and i felt like i couldn’t do anything about it, so i pushed you away because i was so damn scared that i’d lose you to her anyway. but it wasn’t your fault and all i did was make it hurt more for both of us, and i... i just...” your voice cracks but you keep going. “all i want is to be yours, yeonjun. not any princess 一 me. i’m in love with you, and maybe i shouldn’t be, but i can’t hold it in anymore.”

by the time you finish your whole body is trembling. there are so many emotions coursing through you that you can’t even name them, but all you register is yeonjun gazing back at you. one of his arms pulls you close as his free hand cups your cheek. his face softens and his voice is so low that you barely catch his words:

“you don’t have to hold it in.”

the world stops. he leans forward, his face mere inches from yours, and in his eyes you see more than just the fondness you’ve always seen. this time, you see love.

you give in.

he kisses you and you lose yourself completely in him. all you feel is how soft his lips are, how gently they move against yours, how his arms bring you close until the warmth of his body collides with your own. he kisses you tenderly, slowly, and in the safety of his arms your inhibitions melt away. your wall of emotions crumbles to reveal the yearning you’ve always held.

you kiss him back more fervently, pressing against him and tangling your fingers in his hair, and you never want to let go. he meets your intensity and deepens the kiss and you let him, sighing into his mouth and sinking more and more into him until he fills your senses completely. you’ve wanted him for so long that you can’t hold yourself back.

even when you break apart for air you keep your hold on each other. he presses chaste kisses on your lips in between breaths and you lean toward him, your forehead touching his.

he smiles at you, and you’ve never seen him look so beautiful. “i really wanted to do that,” he says.

your face starts to warm. “me too.”

for a few moments you simply hold each other. yeonjun buries his face into your neck again and you can still feel his smile; you run your hands through his hair while his hands rub up and down your back. you wish that you could freeze this moment and never leave it.

then a sobering thought interrupts you and you break the silence. “what’s going to happen to us?”

yeonjun lifts his head and holds your face in both his hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb. he says nothing but his eyes lock with yours, and that alone speaks volumes. you can tell that he wishes he could say the right words that would somehow end his engagement and free him to be yours.

“we’ll figure something out, together. i promise,” he says at last.

“please don’t promise me anything you can’t keep.” 

“y/n, i swear, we will solve this! for both of us. please.”

he falls silent but his eyes plead with you to believe him. despite his promise both he and you know that he cannot guarantee a stop to the engagement, and your heart starts to feel heavy again as the doubt and fear settle in.

but you take one look at yeonjun and think that you can’t let those feelings win just yet — not when you have him, not when you fought to give yourself even a scrap of hope. “can you promise me something else too?”

“anything.”

“come to the greenhouse with me first.”

you take him by the hand as you lead him out of the gazebo, through the gardens, and into the greenhouse. the feel of your hand in his has never felt so warm before, and you miss the warmth immediately when you let go to push the greenhouse door open.

you light a spare lamp inside and, with only the dim light, you make your way to a row of roses. they’re neatly arranged by color with the thorns already trimmed off for delivery, so it doesn’t take you long to find what you need. yeonjun’s eyes widen as you head past the yellow ones, past the pink ones, over to the red roses, and you take three of them.

i love you.

you head back to him and he meets you halfway. he takes your hands as you still hold the roses.

when you speak, your voice is surprisingly stable. “no matter what happens… promise me you’ll keep these, okay?”

his fingertips brush your knuckles. he doesn’t need an explanation to understand what the flowers mean and what you’re really asking of him; he can see it in the way you look at him. promise me that you’ll always love me.

yeonjun pries the roses from your hands, then closes the space between the two of you to brush his lips against yours. 

“i promise.”

notes: 🥰🥰🥰

as of this writing the good ending has more votes in my poll, so i will be posting the good ending first! note that both endings take place after a time skip of several months to nearly a year.

taglist (CLOSED) @seosalad @lilplilplilp @yeonboy @pyuae @hyuneyeon @strawbrinkofdeath @yushiu @mazeinthemoon @banggyu0308 @shytubatu @kyaneosprincess @agustdiv1ne @whippedforbeomgyu @justineasian @skywithf1 @wrongbathroom @choizzn @bangchansbae @huskyhunny @catsyoon @flowerbe0m

[ltwilliammowett]

1812 Hot Chocolate

There is nothing like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day and that also applied to Sailor aboard a ship. This recipe comes from an 1814 book called "The Artist’s Companion, and Manufacturer’s Guide, Consisting of the Most Valuable Secrets in Arts and Trades." It is similar to what is called “Mexican Hot Chocolate” today. While officers may have had access to the somewhat exotic ingredients needed for this recipe, sailors probably made do with sugar and water. Mrs. Child, in The American Frugal Housewife (1833), suggests that nutmeg improves the taste of chocolate, and since this was a common spice, seamen could have grated it into their cups.

A receipt for making chocolate:

Ingredients: Cocoa Sugar in cubes (lump sugar) Water or milk

Optional: Vanilla Cinnamon Nutmeg Mexican Pepper Cloves

Tools: Stove Pot Spoon Wax paper

1. In a copper pan, mix a little powdered royal cube sugar with a little orange water. When the sugar has turned into a syrup, add the cocoa, vanilla, cinnamon, Mexican pepper and cloves. cloves, all of which are previously crushed to an intangible powder. into an intangible powder. Stir everything well while it is boiling; and when you have pour the paste onto a very smooth and polished table polished table [use wax paper to let the paste cool], so that you can so that you can roll it and give it a shape that you like.

2. To prepare it with either milk or water, in which, when boiling hot, you first dissolve it, then, with a box-mill, with a long handle, you mill it to froth in the pot in which it is making, and pour it afterwards in cups to drink.”

Serves 1 cup of liquid (water or milk) to 1 person. Sugar, cocoa and spices to taste.

Not only is raw cocoa actually very healthy and contains a considerable amount of caffeine, it also lifts the spirits and was therefore popular among the various navies as a pick-me-up, even though it was very expensive at the time. But in this respect, no one let themselves down and allowed their sailors this kind of luxury. 

[satocidal]

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 2:-

||Masterlist||Taglist Form||Previous Chapter (one)—Next chapter(three)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.5k

— A/n: First things first, I’m so glad you guys like the first one because ajahkahaka the comments? So lovely. Second, this chapter is ig has…more depth? Idk lmao and and I’m kind of confused to as how you guys would like the fic—Royal and 18th century based? Or Royal and 21st century based?

— Warnings: Gojo shames reader for being virgin; mentions of cameras; illegal filming; reader is naked and gojo is partially naked; just gojo being a jerk here tbh<3

The ride back home was quiet- slow, heavy.

Two ends of the car, the two doors you two sat by- separated in between with all that was to be offered. Fingers played with the hem of your gown- you hadn’t shed a single tear, all spent already—while your sister let out a few, your mother none and your maids all too many.

The music your driver played was slow, a decent hum you supposed- he seemed a talkative man at that too-“I must say, M’lady, if allowed,” he paused and you eyed him, “It’s a blessing to have you as our bride,”

Our.

The word somehow found its way around you all the time—‘our daughter’, your family had said- ‘and now ours’, the Gojos had responded.

A gift passed hand to hand.

You smiled, “The pleasure’s all mine sir,” you smiled kindly—hands grip tightening on the bouquet beside you.

The rest of the ride was no more a blur than your wedding, it was late—exhausting.

Your eyes zoomed past the many trees, the road- a hefty conversation about taxes the driver initiated with Satoru—you couldn’t care less.

But you did care about him.

A certain charm he’d carried, a certain flair to it—just something and a lot of it too. You very wary, yes, Father had taught you better than this- he wasn’t honest. And you guessed, never would be, not for the longest time at least.

But you couldn’t help it- a moth to a flame and yet you watched as the wax that tipped away.

You were however sure of one thing, your plan- the perfect little plan crafted along the counts of the gazillion stars- he wouldn’t let it be that simple.

But enough we’re the thoughts of a man that wasn’t to be yours, enough thoughts of a man you weren’t supposed to know much of—enough to let your eyes wander back at the white haired man—your husband.

The car halted just then- you were there, the Gojo Mansion—your home- no, your house.

Shy glances spared, a lick of the lips- you could taste your sister’s lip gloss still, strawberry —you weren’t sure what it was called- you never cared enough.

Satoru stepped out himself—you paused, not sure if he’d open the door for you—Father always did.

You waited and waited, his silhouette never moved so the Driver did—a kind man, you presumed him to be. With the gown a heavy set and shoes that bled your ankles anyways you stepped into the chilly night—the mansion, a dream, a ghost.

It was dark, the mansion built secluded- garden, large; a fountain resided in it too- unnecessary, you mused—a fence and a couple 100 guards— white, marble, orthodox. Your eyes narrowed- the moon was bright that night- the mansion reflected it beautifully. You despised it.

Yours was the last to arrive, the other cars parked outside- of course, formalities and lies, smiles and frowns- weddings.

Your mother-in-law, she rode the blue—The Gojo colour the tabloids had called it- now yours too.

Suguru rode in black- it was his, always. Up until your wedding, Satoru rode it too but as traditions went, Satoru’s new colour was White.

Yours and his.

Reflective, pensive, beautiful and pure.

“Come,” he ushered you inside finally- but you were already there, no? In there house- a month ago itself.

He was never around when you dropped by, calculated of course- shy smiles and elegant touches, you’d never gotten so close as to see his room- you were grateful but mothers, his and yours, they were persuasive enough.

You walked quietly beside him, equals, the law had defined you now. Equal footing.

Satoru Gojo didn’t bother much, or at all and you realised the first night of your wedding, none of the Gojos did. The first step inside was hollow, quiet, empty. The living room a dark hall and the pictures- a display of what these people could be in front of cameras.

His footsteps were heavy, your gown heavier, and your heart.

A thud you heard behind you- Suguru came to your vision, his smile first.

“Suguru,” you murmured, eyes seeking after Satoru instantly, you felt lost.

“M’lady,” he grinned, chills danced along your spine—“Satoru,” he nodded towards his best friend—“Glad to see you’ve reached safely- I’d be worried had something happened to either of you,” only the faint light in the corner lit up the room- cynical- your eyes narrowed.

“I’d have hoped it would,” exhausted was he? Perhaps, you supposed for he didn’t even care enough to hide his desperation, his frustration of the wedding- your eyes narrowed further.

“Why Suguru,” you reciprocated his gaunt smile, “We have your blessings on us, and the family’s right? Nothing could ever…” you let your words trail away, you stood vulnerable—not a single weapon in hand, you’d felt naked all night.

“Nothing of course,” he nodded, reassuringly- reassuring himself.

A cough- sudden, Satoru’s—“Come,” he repeated, leading the way this time, finally to his room—and just something in you hardened; nervous, you followed him.

-

You stood there, quiet in his room—unsure.

A month had gone in the preparation—the wedding, your stances, your elegance, your beauty. A month to perfect your youth and yet not a single person crept in to tell you of what was, perhaps, the most important part, at least it seemed to be.

Your husband was gone a decent 15 minutes, you stood there blankly—would he do it? Your heart raced.

Has he done it before? Why, of course he must have. But pity befell you all together, a life time spent in living after your father’s potential, all that was yours was gone. Privacy and curiosity of self—gone.

The bathroom door snapped open, sudden, your eyes rushed on to it—hands clammy and beats, faster—his brows raised.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know.

Silence you offered him—a hand raking through his wet hair he responded with—a bathe, you realised he’d taken.

But evident it was, with his black sweatpants and dark blue shirt, oversized even for him—the one Suguru had gifted him years ago draped over his body, a towel resting upon his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you muttered quietly, “the luggage confused me,” you lied through your teeth—embarrassing was the fact you’d stood all straight, unmoving in his thoughts and yours.

He hummed—“Strip,” his voice a command, your eyes watched him slowly.

“What,” you mumbled—not believing him—not wanting to believe him.

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t act like you’ve never…” he paused, a brow raising, “Have you ever?”

You found yourself shaking your head—face warming up and embarrassment flooding you.

You weren’t truly sure what you’d have expected of him—not compassion, no—but then… a chuckle was not quite it.

“You’ve never had sex?” And all too suddenly, his voice sounded ten times louder—and an immeasurable times cockier—“A prude, aren’t ya? Bet you are,” he grinned- your heart sank.

You bit your lip, the gown and it’s accessories digging into your plush skin—uncomfortable you stood your ground.

“Kissed? You must’ve kissed someone?” You felt your voice get shaky even when you hadn’t spoken a word- your silence, he presumed to be denial.

Another chuckle—your eyes were moist.

“Oh bless my heart,” he chuckled, “I scored myself a virgin Hm?” Amused- he found you amusing, a toy.

You wanted to fight back- you wanted to shout, scream but when tears streaked your face, because you knew they would, you were unsure to how serious he’d deem you.

A silence enveloped the two of you as he let himself get comfortable on his bed- his- “Tell me darling,” he purred, “Ever touch yourself? Or waited your Daddy to teach you that too?”

Your face downturned- it didn’t show him your baffled expression- you were hurt, raged, saddened, a mess.

“Shut it,” you whispered- he laughed.

“You really were daddy’s princess Hm?” He’d gotten up now, so did his impeding pace- “So, gonna strip for me now darlin’?”

Only your disgusted eyes met him- “you’re pathetic,” you rasped- feet worked fast to move away- your night suit grabbed, the new one, the one your mother packed forcefully and how wished she’d have helped you through this too—your door locked.

The light in the dressing was low—it could’ve been better, you made a mental note to have it changed too, your hefty hands craft fully took off your gown- heart aching, mind a mess and gasping for space.

Your fingers slowly took off everything, everything but the ring remained — vouched at least to not be throw away on the night of your union; a steady rhythm of “don’t cry” repeating in your mind.

You sighed- eyes not daring to look at yourself once in the mirror—ashamed you continued, exhausted limbs slowly carried upon your form the silk suit. Your eyes landed upon your makeup, your hair—you weren’t very sure on the process of getting it off, you tried your best.

The hair was left as is, too afraid you were to tangle it and the make up drained by the clog as you washed your face twice, any and every sign of your tears gone—you finally stepped out—Satoru was awake, hands that typed fast on his phone came to a halt.

The smirk, the boyish kind adorned him again—“Thought I told ya’ to strip princess,”

You didn’t reply, you didn’t want to- mayhaps you couldn’t.

You frowned shortly—“Wouldn’t want a manwhore like you to touch me,”

Voice all the more cocky, “You should feel blessed darlin’”

His grin—his empty attempt of saving his reputation at your words was nothing short of unnerving- your jaw clenched.

You moved slowly towards his bed—about to climb in when—“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know. Was it some tradition you didn’t know- your mind ran fast—“wouldn’t wanna sleep with a man-whore either right?”

Silence—you licked your lips.

“But I’m generous sweety,” he chuckled, “the floor must be as comfortable as ever,” with that he nodded, lights switched off all too soon—indication of the end of the conversation.

And when all was said and done, your body found itself pressed on the hard ground — back aching, mind more so —heart broken already. Never expected your marriage to be great, you hadn’t but this certainly was not it.

A tear fell down your eye, this time a loud sob too- you weren’t ashamed anymore, not in the presence of man you didn’t care about you whatsoever. Eyes red and pillow wet by them too—you slowly drifted to slumber unwanted.

In moments such for you guessed there were more to come, you hated him.

The morning was bleak, the morning was shy.

“Morning,” a voice chirped- your fingers moved to grab your blade- none to be found, in fact now that your consciousness lay awake , you realised you weren’t laying on the ground you slept on.

A duvet wound around you and a pillow under your head—tears dry and measly.

“Morning,” you rasped—mind instantly drifting onto him—your plan—the mansion—“Sato’s practicing out there with Master Gojo,”

Eyes narrowed at her words—Sato?

Presumed to be her personal assistant, you looked up—mid 50s you assumed her age to be, short, rounded and pretty.

Humming to her words, you slowly got up—all too aware of her wandering eyes to your white bed sheets—meant to be painted red last night.

“How was the night?” Voice sweet, she chuckled quick—“Fine,” you replied and perhaps it was just fine in some sense of it.

She grinned at your words—brows you raised with an element of surprise when she handed you warm water, “For your throat baby,”

You nodded.

Your eyes followed her quietly as she shuffled around the room, working quick to gather Satoru’s daily attire—“He’s a good kid,” she said softly, “A little rough on the edge but you’ll be soon a part of him,” her smile was nice—you didn’t favour much, that which was considered nice.

You walked slowly around the bed—“You’ll go to meet him right?” An internal groan let out—you didn’t want to meet anyone, let alone him of all—mind too preoccupied with other thoughts as is.

“I’m not…” you paused, the excuse on the tip of your tongue, “uh- not freshened up,” a wholesome chuckle left her- you couldn’t help smile at her smile too.

“It’s not the fifties sweety,” she grinned, “I’m sure your husband can handle you in the morning after a decent night,” your face felt hot—your husband—his wife.

You nodded, a lick of the lips—“I’ll be there soon,”

She nodded now—“you know the way sweetcheeks?” Your heart warmed at her constant nicknames, “Yes…” your voice faltered, embarrassed slightly to not know the kind woman—“Kanao,” she smiled.

You smiled back.

-

Footsteps were oh so light as you walked, hair matted- shame left in that room as you walked- the simple art of walking, Father called it.

Walk along the hundred servants you did- half didn’t acknowledge you, half didn’t know you—and so you walked. The kitchen and then the garden—little cameras you’d planted everywhere, you smiled.

Intact.

A month since you’d begun your little charade—harmless really, in a way for you’d never release these videos—not unless it was necessary of course—it was self defence really.

5 in the kitchen and you had full knowledge of every cabinet and the rat poison’s the Gojos stored, the sharpness of each knife memorised; 3 in Kana Gojo’s bedroom—blackmail after all was taught to you hefty—your heart jumped at the letters she’d bring in the room, intel of yours knew the contents of all.

But only you did—not your father here nor your sister; this was your fight.

You’d checked every room you’d planted those cameras in—grateful to every lesson your Father implanted in your head—two room remained.

The dining and Your Father-in-law, Ginji’s—hand grasped onto the handle, you turned it—“M’lady?” You’d have jumped if not for a childhood spent in training your nerves—you smiled politely, confusion masking your expressions.

“Suguru,” you exclaimed—“This is the recreation room, yes?” Lies fell from your tongue sharp, easy.

His brows furrowed, “No?”

“No?” You mirrored his expressions—Father used to call you the perfect mime.

His brows raised—“That’s…Master Gojo’s Room?” Your pretence would’ve caught most, not him, but he smiled all the more—“Satoru’s down, here, let me take you,”

You knew he knew and you smiled just the same—“Yes please,”

Hands held behind his back, he walked swift—eyes downcast, whispers in his shadows—loud.

Suguru Geto, the assassin, some called him, the generous one—the others.

Neither shared a word until he finally halted, “Here it is,” door opened ajar—a slight scent of musk prevalent.

You peeked in—men and women alike—practicing all the same—no classes held, no power.

Sheer strength and agility.

Your eyes were quick to find him, towering most he stood—your eyes widened still, bare chested.

You’d seen men such all the time- Father trained you well after all, but those men weren’t supposed to be your husband- those men were different. Suguru seemed to have caught that still, a smirk plastered on his lips- “Most his girls have that reaction,”

Words mistaken, he realised quick, “My apologies M’lady,” eyes not daring to meet your amused expression- you chuckled, “I’m sure you have the same effect Suguru.” With that, you left him standing back, a smile on his face too.

Seduction lay at your finger tips—ironic was the fact; mastered weaponry in your other hand—result of nights and days spent crying in pain.

“Y/n,” a voice boomed loud—your father-in-law, you grinned, “Father,” you called him—as you had been for a month now.

“Here to watch the loser?” He laughed- always the chummy kind he was, “kind of here for the star of the show,” you wink at him, “Which is you of course,”

It was light hearted banter- a here and there which never mattered, he was different, far too different from your father.

“Why of course, but pray tell- is it today I get to set my eyes on your skills? I’ve heard much too praise to believe it,”

No.

Your smiled pursed—“If the King so orders My Lord,” you bowed your head slightly—words charming enough, “I’ve seen your mind Y/n,” he mused, “It’s beautiful,” no, it was dangerous- it was brilliant, you knew that.

“But the old heart craves to see the spin of your hand, the control on your swords—vicious, don’t they call you?”

A flick of the dagger embedded into your slip on gown—the one you’d hid quick from Suguru, the one you’d had crafted just for yourself, the one which was yours—a single swish and the King would be dead.

“My lord,” you bit your lips, “Are you sure the word was for your sweet daughter-in-law?” His laugh boomed again—“Humble Hm?”

You scoffed—“Dad,” face whipped to come to contact with Satoru, you looked away instantly, “You’ve got her blushing already kid?”

Lips bit you turned away slightly, fingers curled hard—“Wouldn’t want her showing you nothing today dad,” Satoru grinned as he sat down, a short breath exhaled as he sipped water, “Too sore after last night,” your face heated up at his comments- widening eyes stared at his hair.

Ginji merely chuckled away, leaving you two behind—“Loser,” Suguru mumbled, smacking his head—“Have some shame,” Suguru didn’t meet your eyes.

Interesting a man, you deemed him.

“My wife, my rules yeah?” Satoru stared at your feet—your eyes trained on his sweat lined shirt—riveting an action, he tickled your mind just a certain way.

-

You sat in his bed, it was tall- long- meant to suit his size, you felt small. Hands clasped onto your bath gown you waited for Satoru to get back, “Stay in the room,” his words seemed a warning then.

Satoru didn’t bother being nice anymore, he hadn’t at all even in the beginning but the facade was dropped all too soon as he pushed you into the room.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” His voice a whisper, sharp—“Why did you go out there?”

No issues traced your mind to your stepping outside—his tone enraging you all the more—never one to take unnecessary issues at hand, your forehead ticked, “I don’t see the issue dear husband,”

“Blinded by your own stupidity?” A smirk rested on his face quick- peculiar was the sudden change, “Alright whatever,” he scoffed, “Breakfat is a certain time,” —8:35 a.m., you had the time memorised—“they’ll expect you at the table by then,”

Eyes drifted to the clock, both of yours—it was 8:05 a.m.

“Let me go first,” not a request, more so a command.

He snorted—“Alright, here’s rule no. 1: never tell me what to do because I do not listen to the likes of you,”

Your jaw clenched— before you could add your own insult, he grinned—“Should’ve never stepped out of the room, should you baby? Tried at being a good little bride and actually done your job—prodding little bitch aren’t ya?”

Blood boiled inside you, hands curled into fists, tempted all too much to land a punch—“get out off my way,” through gritted teeth your words fell—never so patient with your own family.

A shake off his head had you regretting your own patience—“Two options,” he mused and turned around- entering the bathroom, ushering you outside still.

“Either you wait, have your privacy and ruin your first breakfast here or,” he eyed you softly, “bathe beside me. I won’t join you but you’ll have to do it within my presence,” all too sure if the fact that you’d never choose the later, he cackled.

The door almost locked at your face when you dropped your gown—naked you stood, his brows raised.

Fighting all urges to be embarrassed you stepped into the shower- eyes down cast, not a single attempt to hide your form—we are married now, you reminded yourself, we are one.

Satoru watched you amused for a second too long- eyes lingering and then swept away as if you didn’t matter, as if he didn’t care—your heart ached at the ignorance.

Shy hands lathered your own body, eyes drifting to his torso—your scars complimented his, you hated yours but his seemed so gorgeous.

Everything but his torso covered, yours naked—your eyes danced along his form, his never at you. The power play was simple.

Swift hands pulled the razor—he shaved quick, you washed your body faster, biting your lips when he didn’t spare a single glance back. You didn’t crave validation from most, Father was enough but these were matters beyond that- not a little girl you remained, someone’s wife. Heart raced at the thought of your naked form in front of him—in front of anyone for that matter.

A first for you, nth for him—you didn’t matter, your heart had presumed—never be pretty enough for him, you consoled. A heart begged for some recognition and you got none, a towel wrapped around you as you stepped outside—glad you were that hiding tears in the shower was easy a feat enough.

Satoru stood in—finally allowing himself to shower, the room scented of your perfume, your maids worked quick on your make up- your eyes laying bare, a new topic for their idle gossip.

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