#Spring Shackles share

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 10

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 9 | Series Masterlist | Part 11

Chapter Summary: You're determined to have a good day today.

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4.4k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, mild dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The next day you cautiously looked around your bedroom as you opened your eyes. You expected to find Bucky in bed beside you since you wouldn’t have put it past him to sneak back into your place once you fell asleep. It was a relief to find yourself alone. It also surprised you that you slept so soundly, but the night before had mentally worn you out. Bucky and his crew were a lot to handle.

If you truly accepted that you were going to be Bucky’s girl, you’d have to get used to them.

“No,” you whispered. You weren’t going to accept it. Not today. Bucky may have taken a few hits at your inner armor, but you’d repair it. You couldn’t give in. But last night, thinking of asking him for your own space at his place, he was luring you in his direction. You had to tread carefully and not lose your resolve.

You got out of bed and went to retrieve the necklace that Bucky gifted you on your first “date”. The diamonds sparkled and reflected the light as you admired them. Beautiful, lavish, something you could easily lose if you weren’t careful. A gift for a pretty doll. Not for someone like you.

“Just buy me a collar and show the world that you own me,” you muttered.

Grabbing your phone, there were no new texts or calls from Bucky. You weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but you’d take it as a small win that he hadn’t blown up your phone. Smiling to yourself, maybe you could have another small win today. An opportunity.

“Hey! I know it’s short notice, but are you free Saturday? Maybe we can do a small girls' day outside of the city if you aren’t busy with wedding prep.” You sent to Addison. “And I can’t wait to hear about The Terrace.”

It didn’t matter to you that Bucky had some sort of power in various parts of the city, more than you could possibly imagine. You were still your own woman and you wanted to spend time with your friends. After he had a hand in messing up your night with Addison, he owed you that. And the best part? If you went outside of the city, it meant you could have fun at a place he couldn’t touch.

Right?

“The Terrace was AMAZING! I can’t wait to tell you all about it. And are we sharing a brain? I was just getting ready to text you! How about The Winery at Hunter’s Cove? It’ll be fun!” Addison sent back.

You frowned at your phone. The Winery at Hunter’s Cove was beautiful and the perfect place to relax with a drink and good company. Reading that should’ve filled you with joy, but your shackles rose up. It didn’t feel right. Did Bucky or Nick or someone have anything to do with that?

After a second, you laughed. Your nerves were continuing to get the better of you. It wasn’t as if you could go the rest of your life with second guessing everything. It would drive you crazy.

“Just give me a time and place to meet and I’ll be there. Can’t wait!”

A bright smile on your face, you got ready for the day with a spring in your step. A spark of optimism lit within you and you let it spread as you set out your work clothes. You even sang to yourself in the shower and drew a smiley face in the fogged up mirror before you dressed yourself. It was going to be a great day.

“I’m walking on sunshine. Whoa-oh,” you sang as you opened the front door.

“And don’t it feel good,” you heard from the hallway.

“Shit!” Your heart pounded as Bucky stood there with an amused smile on his face. How long was he waiting there? Did he know you were leaving right now? “Bucky, what are you doing here?”

God forbid the man give you even half a day to breathe.

“I know I said I’d try to meet you for lunch, but I couldn’t wait. I thought it’d be nice to take you to work instead,” he said, his eyes still sparkling as he moved closer. An impeccable suit like always, but today he wore an aqua shirt. He was really leaning into the shirts that enhanced his eyes. “You’re in a chipper mood. That’s nice to see.”

You were in a bit of a chipper mood until now. No, you wouldn’t let him showing up put a damper on things. “Just determined to have a good day,” you explained, looking at his arm before you took it. “I’m actually glad you’re here,” you added. You did have to talk to him about Saturday and, well, whatever the future would bring.

“Yeah? I’m glad I’m here, too.” His eyes lit up as he glanced at you. He looked over the moon and you had to sweep your gaze down to avoid his stare. “Is it bad if I admit I stayed up way too late staring at your photo?” He smiled, leaning in like he was telling you a secret.

If you had to guess, he likely jerked off to your picture. How long would that keep him satisfied? His control had to be diminishing. “A picture of me is hardly a reason to lose any sleep.”

“Worth every second of lost sleep. I definitely need more pictures.” Your stomach dropped when his smile widened. “You know, the more I think about it, I kind of want to replace that painting in my office. Maybe it could be a photo of us or even just you? Or Steve could paint us! I know he’d love that.”

Guilt brewed within you since he sounded so enthusiastic and you would likely crush that mood, but you pushed that feeling aside. There was no reason for you to feel bad in the least. “So, I’m going out with my girlfriends on Saturday. Somewhere outside of the city,” you blurted out to change the subject, staring at the elevator door when the smile slipped off his face.

You were suddenly terrified of his reaction and you were about to step into a very small space with him. There would be no hiding. So much for treading carefully, but it was better in this case to just rip the bandaid off.

Bucky’s stare was almost impassive as you went into the elevator, which had your heart speeding up. “You’re going outside of the city?” His voice was soft, but had an edge that threatened to cut through you like a knife. “Without me?”

“It’s just a short girls trip. A bit of time with my friends. You understand, right?” Your voice cracked, your body tight with tension. “You and I didn’t have any plans, so maybe you can hang out with the guys.”

“I don’t want to hang out with them. I see them all the time,” he said, bringing his lips to your ear with a shaky breath. “I want to be with you.”

The air thickened, the elevator feeling smaller than usual as you considered his words. He didn’t sound upset that you wanted to go, but because you wanted to go without him. Sympathizing with his loneliness wouldn’t help your case, not when he manipulated things in his favor.

“I know this may not be easy, but you need to accept that I have friends, Bucky. That I had a life before you… showed up. It wasn’t much, but it was mine,” you said, not daring to turn your head and risk his lips touching yours. “It’s good for us to have things outside of each other. And may I remind you what you said on our first date? You said you wouldn’t stop me from spending time with my friends or having hobbies.”

Bucky almost seemed to need you and no one had ever needed you before. But he couldn’t completely depend on you for whatever it was he needed either. Relying on you too heavily wasn’t healthy. It wouldn’t just smother you, it would eventually destroy you both.

“I remember,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just don’t know if it’s safe for you to be so far away from me for the time being. I think I’ve said I don’t even like you being in this building because my place is safer than yours. And if I haven’t, I’m telling you now.”

Worry crept into your face as you inched away a bit and faced him. “Why wouldn’t I be safe going out with my friends?”

His blue eyes narrowed, but there was no annoyance there. “Kotyonok, you may be innocent in some ways, but you aren’t naive or that forgetful. I told you last night that you need people looking out for you if you’re with me,” he said, your stomach sinking more. He was right. “And you must be aware that I have my hand in things outside of the club. You’ve seen some of the company I keep. Do you think everything we have was earned through honest, hard work?”

The men Bucky surrounded himself with lived in the gray. You couldn’t ignore obvious signs, like how Marc reacted to hearing his name. Bucky even treated your courting that way, breaking in and intimidating you. “It’s none of my business,” you said. The more you knew, the harder it would be to get away. “I haven’t even looked for anything about you online.”

“The harsh reality is that it’s going to become your business, at least it will to a certain extent. I can’t leave you in the dark, but I don’t want you fully exposed.” He sighed, suddenly looking tired. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was a hint of regret there. It disappeared quickly. “As far as looking online, you probably wouldn’t find much. We work hard to keep it that way. I don’t even have social media. Though if I did, it might just be photos of you and the two of us together.”

“So, you don’t want me to go out of the city for my safety?” You asked, stepping off the elevator. You wanted to believe that was his twisted reason for having you move in so soon and not because he wanted you close for his own selfish desires. Wasn’t it selfish though for dragging you into his world without so much as a warning or giving you a choice? “Do you really think people outside of your circle know we’re ‘together’ yet? You said it yourself, you don’t have social media and it isn’t like I’ve been in your life for that long.”

“As far as I know, no one is aware,” he said slowly. After what he did to John for merely insulting you, you prayed no one would be stupid enough to cross your path and try to cause you hurt or harm. “But I don’t know if I want to take the risk.”

“You wouldn’t be taking the risk. I would. And it isn't fair that you’d expect me to put my life on pause,” you argued, seeing Ray standing outside of the car. How the hell did they get a spot right in front of the building? “Ray, would you kindly tell your boss that I should go out with my friends on Saturday? Please?” You cut him a pleading look, needing this.

Ray blinked twice. “I’d rather not get involved in that quarrel,” he said, looking at his boss. “But perhaps if she really does want to go and you’re unable to accompany her, boss, someone could discreetly keep an eye on her.”

“Yes! That’s a great idea. Thank you, Ray,” you smiled before Bucky could interject. You wouldn’t normally agree to someone hovering nearby, but right now you could kiss Ray for the suggestion. “See? I get time with my friends and you don’t have to worry about my safety. Problem solved.” You even flashed him a soft smile for good measure.

You weren’t sure if it was your smile, the stare from his bodyguard, or the combination that made Bucky nod, but your heart soared. “I guess I’ll have to see if someone is free.” He let out a humorless laugh and raked a hand through his hair as Ray looked at his feet. “Using one of my men to sway me? You’re playing dirty. I’m impressed.”

“Or maybe I’m just learning how to play your game,” you said, ducking into the car with Bucky right behind you. The happy feeling was back in full force. Had Bucky not agreed, you would’ve been defiant and gone anyway. Who knew how that would’ve gone? This was a better compromise. For now.

“Ray really does have a soft spot for you,” Bucky said once the door was shut, taking your hand. “It would worry me if he wasn’t so loyal.”

“Worry about what exactly?” You asked.

“Him trying to get you away from me.” He smiled a bit, making you shift in your seat. Did he know you had tried to get Ray on your side? “But he isn’t a man to typically let his emotions drive him. He’s loyal.”

“He won’t try to get me away from you, Bucky. He knows you’re happier because I’m in your life and wouldn’t risk changing that,” you said, thinking back on your conversation with Ray. It wasn’t like you wanted to assure Bucky that you two would be together, but you also didn’t want his bodyguard on the man’s bad side indirectly because of you. Not when he watched out for you. “Maybe he isn’t a man driven by emotions, but I think he does care about your emotions.”

“Maybe,” he smiled softly as he kissed your hand, making you gasp when he gently nipped one of your knuckles. “There’s something else you want to say. I can feel it.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “If I move in with you, I need my own space.”

He looked surprised. Not entirely, but there was still a flicker there. “So, you’ve accepted that you’re moving in with me. I’m glad to hear that.”

“I said ‘if’, Bucky.” You had to emphasize that. “I’m not saying it’s going to happen, but you do need to give me some leeway if it does.”

His tone was calm, dare you say serene, when he asked, “And what exactly would your own space entail?”

“An area for me. Not for you, Ray, or anyone else. Just me,” you said. Nothing in your life felt sacred anymore. You needed your own sort of safe haven and a place to relax, even if it was in the prison he helped create. “That’s important to me and I won’t budge on that.”

“Okay. A space just for you if that’s what you want. I won't let anyone go in there,” he promised.

Your gaze was skeptical. Why was he being so agreeable? Well, agreeable to a point. “That would be really nice,” you said, your eyes shifting from suspicion to gratitude.

“But as far as sleeping arrangements, I want you in bed with me,” he said, his voice raspier as his gaze went to your legs. “It’s a shame you have to cover yourself up for work, but I’m looking forward to helping you out of your clothes. I wonder if the smell of those petals seeps through the fabric. I can’t wait to find out.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, his gaze telling you to part your thighs. You didn’t, even when he sighed.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t get us worked up and make you late for work,” he said, sounding anything but sorry before he reached for something beside him. At least he didn't push it further. “Before I forget.”

“What’s this?” You asked as he handed you a book.

“The one from the shop yesterday. You left it here last night.”

“Oh.” You were so eager to get out of the car that you had left it behind. There was also a small stack of books on the other seat you hadn’t noticed before. “And what are those?”

“I went back to the shop and got more from that same author,” he smiled, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “You seemed to like the book you were reading and I don’t recall seeing any of those books at your place.”

The gesture took you by surprise. “How? The shop opens later and was closed by the time you brought me back last night.”

“They were kind enough to open a little earlier than usual for me,” he said.

You ran your hand over the spine and smiled before you could stop yourself. It was the kind of gift you wished for, books to line your shelf. “You didn't have to do that,” you said when you caught him staring. “But thank you.”

“You have such a beautiful smile,” he whispered, brushing his hand over your cheek again before he took out his phone. “And you just inspired me.”

“How did I do that?” You questioned, watching him quickly type a message. “And should I be scared?”

“I can’t spoil the surprise,” he winked, typing a bit more. “But I do have a plan and I think you’re going to like it.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said, your mind drifting to work. “I’m curious. You mentioned that the last flower your dad gave to your mom was a black dahlia. Was that her favorite flower?”

He paused before he put his phone away. “No. She loved alstroemerias.”

“The Peruvian Lily. Those are beautiful,” you smiled. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s one of the flowers I like to donate to the hospital because they have no fragrance, but still brighten up the room.”

“I know.” He swallowed, a shine in his eyes before he blinked a few times. “Yellow ones.”

Your eyes snapped to his face. “I donate a lot of flowers. It’s oddly specific that you know I donate yellow alstroemerias.”

“I told you I did my research on you,” he whispered.

“So, what? You got… hospital footage or something of me?” You felt your blood boil. How many boundaries did he cross, rules did he break? “I saw the look you gave Thor. You didn't want him to mention that, did you?”

His gloved hand curled a bit. “He was complimenting you, but I wasn't ready for that conversation. At least, not last night.”

“Why not?” You asked. Why did it matter?

“Because you already think I’m crazy,” he said. You didn’t deny that. “And what I tell you, you may either agree with me that fate brought you into my club and life or that I really am crazy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” you said. The grave look in his blue eyes gave you pause. The fond gazes and even the heated, intense ones, you were almost used to them. Sadness? That was something else.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He nodded toward the window. “You should head into work.”

You didn’t realize the car stopped. Work would be a good distraction anyway. “I’ll get the books later.”

“And I’ll walk you to the door,” he offered.

Helping you out of the car like he did every other time, he guided you toward the flower shop with a possessive touch. “You know, you haven’t asked where I’m going on Saturday.”

“I’m sure I’ll get it out of you, especially if one of my men needs to be nearby. Maybe I can buy you a new outfit to wear,” he said, tracing a finger along your neck. “Or maybe a collar to show off while you tell your friends all about me.”

“A collar.” Your body went rigid, remembering what you muttered in your bedroom. “Why would you…”

“Maybe I’ll see you at lunch? I’d love to look around the shop.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Have a good day and be good,” he added, opening the door and giving you a pat on your ass before you went inside.

You looked over your shoulder as he went back to the car. The first thing you were going to do when you got home was tear your place apart from hidden microphones or cameras. You should’ve done that the second he broke into your place. You live and you learn.

“And who is that handsome young man?” Mrs. Crandle asked from behind the counter.

You smiled as you turned toward your boss and the owner of the shop, one of the kindest people you had ever met. It was a good sign that she didn’t recognize Bucky. “Someone who thinks he’s my boyfriend,” you teased a little. You couldn’t burden her with the whole truth.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” She knew you hadn’t dated in ages. “And what do you think?”

“I think he’s very determined to win me over,” you said, going to put your bag away.

“Let him!” She called after you.

“Maybe!” You called back.

As you went about your tasks, you pondered on what Bucky had to tell you and the anniversary Marc mentioned. It had to do with Bucky’s mom, it had to, but what did that have to do with you? Not every customer became registered in the system, but your team did a great job of keeping order history for deliveries, parties, and more. Nothing came up when you searched “Barnes”.

You tapped your finger against the keyboard before you straightened up. Hospital donations likely wouldn’t have a name saved since you weren’t usually given the patient names. You did, however, keep track of the dates. If you knew the range to check…

“Excuse me?” A deep timbre pulled your attention away.

You glanced up to find one of your regular customers towering over the counter. Blue eyes crinkled behind his glasses when he smiled, his dark curls adding to his boyish charm. For such a large and imposing man, he kept his shoulders hunched and voice gentle. Like he was trying to make himself look friendlier. “Clark, hi. Sorry about that,” you said, closing out your search screen. Mrs. Crandle was back in her office and you wouldn’t make her help him. “How are you today? A dozen red roses, right?”

Clark usually showed up once a month to get a dozen roses for his girlfriend. No more, no less. But the mention of his usual order made his smile disappear. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing those today.” He took off his glasses to clean them when you set out the bouquet, though there wasn’t a spec of dirt on the lenses. “I, um… Well, I’m not in a relationship anymore. We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” You felt terrible, especially since you weren’t sure what to say. It wasn’t your business regarding why things ended, but he always seemed so happy when he purchased the roses. “Are you okay?”

He put his glasses back on, his eyes holding a weight of sadness. “I’m sorry, too. And I’m not sure if I’m okay. Everything seemed fine and then it fell apart.” He sighed, looking around the shop. “I’m not even sure why I came here today.”

You felt for him. You really did. “Well, it could’ve been part of your monthly routine and you went on autopilot? Or you wanted to go somewhere familiar?” You suggested, looking around, too. “Or maybe you thought the bright atmosphere would help?”

He nodded after a moment. “It could be any of those things.” Scratching the back of his neck, he sadly chuckled. “It’s just an empty feeling being alone again, you know?”

“I do know. Emptiness can weigh a lot and it’s very lonely to walk alone. But that walk, no matter how long or short, makes us stronger. It gives us a chance to grow until we find someone to walk with us again. And when that happens, things will look much brighter.” You said, your heart heavy as you selected a couple of roses from the bouquet. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for my input and that’s probably the last thing you want to hear.”

“No, that’s… Thank you. You’ve always been really kind. Insightful.” He glanced down as you put the roses in his hand, his large hand closing around the stems. “What are these for?”

“I’m happy to help,” you smiled. “They’re for you. No charge.”

He gazed at you before he placed them back in your hand. “You take them.”

You weren’t sure why the gesture made you feel uncomfortable, but it did. Maybe it was because he was fresh out of a relationship. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’m surrounded by flowers,” you said, gesturing with your free hand. “You keep them. Or you could always give them a neighbor or someone who needs cheering up.”

“You sure you don’t want them?” He asked when you passed them back again. You pulled your hand away quickly, refusing to let it linger. “You really have been so kind to me whenever I’ve stopped in.”

“Well, you’re a great customer.” You also didn’t want to have to explain to Bucky that a customer tried to give you flowers. “Take them. I insist.”

Flashing you a warm smile, he relented. “Thanks,” he said, hesitating when he went to turn away. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”

“I’m sure you’ll see me at the shop,” you said carefully. Unease filled you, which didn’t make sense. Clark was a regular customer who wanted nothing to do with you. But if he did have some sort of intention, you weren’t about to lead him on. “I hope things look up.”

Clark hesitated again before he pushed his glasses up and headed out of the shop without another word. You swallowed, staring at the remaining roses as if they would tell you what to do next. For now, you’d have to brace yourself for Bucky stopping by for lunch. And maybe you’d ask him if there were any devices hidden around your place and save you the trouble of tearing the rooms apart.

Though you had a feeling you weren’t going to like the answer.

Awful nice of Ray to suggest some leeway, wasn't it? Is Clark going to be a problem? What's Bucky going to think? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[sleepingelvhen]

Sleeping Spider Lily Pt.1

Blade/Reader NSFW Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- [🌹Part 4🌹] Minors DO NOT interact MASTERLIST Once, you were in love with a man called Yingxing. That man died during his involvement with Dan Feng’s betrayal. At least, so you thought. Jing Yuan helped you through your turmoil, comforted you in your pain, and eventually you were able to move on and live your life. Little did you know your lover was simply lying in wait. After years of suffering and pain, Blade arrives on the Luofu with a mission at hand, everything planned for him. That is until he sees you…and all the memories come flooding back.

Days stretched on as if they were years upon years. Every moment nearly torture since you lost the love of your life. You knew Jing Yuan could see it on your face, the numbness in your voice, the distant look in your eyes, the way your body moved robotically during your work in the commission. It was probably a depressing sight, but all sense of self disappeared when Yingxing was gone, and it was impossible to bring yourself back.

You blamed yourself first, lectured yourself on how you could have supported him better, understood him better to stop what he was planning. Then you started blaming the Imbibitor Lunae, focused your attention on your hatred towards the Vidhyadharan high elder for leading Yingxing to his betrayal and death.

Then, when there was no one to blame, when you had to face the reality of his death, you fell into a depression that made it impossible for Jing Yuan to sit aside and watch anymore. He stepped in and pulled you up and suddenly you were on different kinds of missions. 

Instead of working on papers and writing reports to the commission, you were going out on patrols with the cloud knights or even with Jing Yuan himself. He talked your ear off, took you out to tea or dinner, he made sure you had company and that you were never alone with your thoughts. Jing Yuan helped you stand and helped you move on. He knew what you needed, and he became your best friend over the many, many years.

Your life filled with new passions and new friends, Jing Yuan shared in your pain and together you kept living. You became a sword in the dark for him, you hunted in the night and fought for Jing Yuan when he couldn’t step away. Together you were a force the Luofu trusted to keep them safe. Finally, you were healing from the pain that seemed to last centuries. Finally you were happy.

The Aeons seemed dissatisfied with your suffering, however. Or maybe your luck had completely run dry. Whatever it was, your mind reeled from what you saw before you.

He walked down the hallway of the Shackling Prison, two guards at his sides, his arms tied in front of him, head low. You watched as his long silky hair swayed with each step, a familiar gait once prideful with long strides was now slow and meticulous. 

The blackish-blue hair was familiar, a reminder of when he was young, when you first met him. It was strange at first, having once gotten used to the white color he sported as he aged. But, you found yourself thrown right back to the past. The way he would stare at you, the way his hair felt in your fingers.

The past is gone now. Eyes that once looked upon you with affection now glowed red with anger and bloodlust, a smirk glowering on his face as he looked up at Jing Yuan who had Yanqing at his side, sword at the ready.

"Do you remember me?" Jing Yuan asked, shocking you to your core. He had known...of course he had.

“I do...Of five people, three must pay a price,” he spoke, his voice gravely and deep, daunting in the dark. It echoed in the silent, near empty room, a voice that sounded all too familiar. A voice that made tears spring into your eyes. “You…are not one of them, Jing Yuan.”

You simply watched the scene before you, eyes wide, your body hidden in the shadows of the prison. Your lip trembled along with your fingers, as if your whole body was cold, except you were on the verge of a complete breakdown.

None of the words Jing Yuan said after that registered in your mind, like your ears were completely muffled. Everything around you spun, your eyes only able to see Yingxing, or rather what he had become after years of whatever had happened to him. 

This wasn’t the Yingxing you knew…the way he looked at Jingyuan, the way he stood, it was all in anticipation of violence. But he looked like him and you wanted it to be him, your eyes roamed his entire body in desperation for anything that looked like the man he used to be.

You watched him cock his head to the side, his now red eyes quickly glancing to the sides of the room, as if noting the amount of guards in the room, or looking for something. Then his eyes shot to the side, towards where you hid in the far back of the room.

The shadows should have cloaked you, no one ever saw you when you stood here. But his eyes stopped right where you stood, his eyes widening for just a moment. You swore you saw the curve of his mouth fall. It lasted all but a second before his eyes were back on Jing Yuan, the facade of pride back upon his face, like it never happened. Like he never saw you.

“He’s alive!?” You punched your bathroom mirror, tears streaming down your face as you stared at your broken reflection. Jing Yuan stood behind you, leaning against the doorway, his eyes downcast. For once his face was solemn, regretful.

You gripped the sides of the sink, gritting your teeth, trying to stop yourself from sobbing. Years of stitched up pain, of wounds you thought had healed, they all came flooding back. Like blood, the memories spilled out, swallowing all thoughts, forcing you to relive everything all over again.

“He’s alive…” Jing Yuan finally spoke, trying not to cause you more pain. “I’m sorry.”

Deep breaths did nothing to dwindle the anxiety as you turned to face him.

“How long…how long have you known?”

Jing Yuan looked up at you, mouth open, before he stopped himself. His mouth shut as he sighed and looked down at the floor. Of course he had known. All these years, your closest friend had known the love of your life was alive and kept it a secret. Your voice shook as your shoulders slumped, turning away from Jing Yuan.

“Just…just leave…please.”

He said nothing, leaving you alone in your pain. The night was filled with tears and loud sobbing, your face stained and red, eyes sore and burning. 

Sleep eluded you, every time you shut your eyes, images of him filled your mind. Yingxing, your lover, now someone you barely recognized. It was impossible, a terrifying prospect, and the worst thing to happen to you now. All the healing, the years of pain…was all of it for nothing? Questions racked your mind until you were too tired to think but also too tired to sleep. And before you knew it, light filtered into your room as morning came and alongside morning, came Jing Yuan and even more bad news.

“What do you mean he escaped!?” You couldn’t help your voice rising, the exhaustion evident in your tone. Jing Yuan simply watched you struggle with the information, his eyes saddened by the pain you dealt with.

“I mean, sometime last night, he broke out of his holding cell, and we suspect he is still somewhere on the Luofu.” Jing Yuan sighed, rubbing his temples. Obviously this situation was affecting him just as badly. He was already notorious for barely getting sleep, it would be a wonder if he had even a moment of rest last night.

“Fuck…fuck…” You pulled back your hair. Everything was quickly going to shit. Jing Yuan had not only caught you up on the new status of Yingxing, who apparently now went by Blade, but also on the fact that there was probably a Stellaron on board the Luofu and that the Stellaron Hunters were involved with both incidents.

“Look, I know this isn’t an ideal situation but,” Jing Yuan sighed again before looking at you. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want you getting involved.”

“What? Why? This is literally my job!”

“Because,” Jing Yuan put his hand on your shoulder, his touch able to calm down your shivers a little bit. “Your past relationship with Ying–Blade–I don’t want you getting hurt even more…”

Your shoulders slumped and you nodded slowly. It made sense, Jing Yuan knew that everything was only causing you pain. He had your best interest in mind but…your eyebrows strewn together and your breath caught in your throat.

“Fine.” Ying Yuan was satisfied and that made the guilt a little worse. Because you knew you were lying. The nighttime was your hunting ground. And Yingxing or rather, Blade, would not run away. Not again, not without the answers you so craved.

[sincerelyyycece]

to hell with other halves!

Approaching the Christmas holiday, Y/N endeavours to let go of her feelings for James Potter.

note: inspired by "chilly" by NIKI, mention of drinking, reader missing James Potter, December time setting

tags: @dearmy-diary @moonteaxw @xcinnamonmalfoyx @box-of-kinderjoy @hisparentsgallerryy @burningwitchprincess @alittlebirdswhisper @chi-ara (i can't tag the last two accounts.)

sincerelyyycece © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

In the icy grip of December, amidst the vibrant pulse of the city, Y/N finds herself ensnared in a tempest of emotions, navigating the labyrinth of memories left behind by James Potter, her once cherished flame. Despite the jovial festivities adorning the streets, her heart remains ensconced in the frosty embrace of their shared past, unwilling to thaw from the warmth of their intimate moments.

The haunting melody of their memories reverberates within Y/N's mind, a symphony of joy and sorrow that she struggles to reconcile with the stark reality of their separation. Each flicker of the twinkling lights serves as a poignant reminder of the void James left behind, casting shadows over the mirthful ambience of the season.

With each hesitant step, Y/N confronts the spectres of their past, the echoes of laughter silenced by the deafening void of their parting. She finds herself torn between the yearning to cling to the remnants of what once was and the imperative to break free from the shackles of their fractured promises.

"To hell with other halves!" she murmurs to the wintry gusts, glass in hand, a rebellious proclamation against the notion that solace must be sought in the arms of another. Y/N understands that true healing resides not in external affections but in the depths of her own self-discovery.

In her journey to move on, she embarks on ventures into uncharted territories, seeking solace in novel experiences and distant horizons. Yet, amidst the allure of novelty, she finds herself adrift, her passion seemingly misplaced along the winding path of her journey.

As time unfurls its relentless march, Y/N begins to rekindle the flames of her enthusiasm, reclaiming her zest for life with a newfound fervour. She embraces the exhilaration of new friendships and the thrill of exploration, shedding the remnants of her past with each stride towards liberation.

In the culmination of her odyssey, Y/N emerges, resplendent and renewed, casting aside the shadows of her past to bask in the radiant glow of her newfound happiness. She has traversed the tumultuous terrain of heartache and emerged victorious, no longer defined by the ghosts of her history but empowered by the boundless possibilities of her future.

Through late-night conversations in cosy cafes and impromptu escapades beneath the starlit sky, Y/N finds solace in the shared experiences of kindred souls. Their laughter becomes a melody of healing, drowning out the echoes of her former pain with the harmonious notes of camaraderie and understanding.

With newfound companions by her side, Y/N delves deeper into the tapestry of her own desires, discovering hidden passions long dormant beneath the weight of her previous attachments. She immerses herself in art, music, and literature, embracing the creative spark within her with unabashed fervour.

Yet, amidst the euphoria of her newfound liberation, Y/N is confronted with moments of doubt and uncertainty. The spectre of James lingers in the recesses of her mind, a constant reminder of the love she once knew and the scars it left behind. But with each passing day, she learns to confront these ghosts with courage and resilience, refusing to be held captive by the shadows of her past.

As the frosty grip of December begins to thaw into the promise of spring, Y/N emerges from her cocoon of introspection, her spirit ablaze with the vibrant hues of possibility. She embraces the world with open arms, savouring each moment as a precious gift to be cherished and savoured.

In the end, Y/N's journey is not just one of self-discovery, but of profound transformation. She emerges from the crucible of her past not as a broken soul, but as a beacon of resilience and hope, illuminating the path for others who may find themselves lost in the darkness of their own hearts.

As the city lights twinkle in the distance, casting their warm glow upon the streets below, Y/N walks forward into the embrace of the unknown, her heart filled with the promise of endless possibilities and the unwavering certainty that she is, at last, free.

[the-himawari]

A3! Seasonal Event Translation - A Mechanical Christmas (1/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Homare: … —And with that, my days of chasing deadlines have come to a close! (Now that I have been freed from the shackles of my deadlines, I would love to enjoy a relaxing cup of tea somewhere.)

Masumi: …

Homare: (…Oh? That young man staring intently at that poster over there is—) Why, it is! Masumi-kun, what a coincidence it is to meet you here!

Masumi: It’s not a coincidence. I’m waiting for someone.

Homare: I see. You had an appointment?

Kasumi: —Masumi-kun, thank you for waiting~! Oh? Homare-kun is with you too?

Masumi: It just happened.

Homare: Kasumi-san. In other words, the one Masumi-kun was waiting for was…

Masumi: Yeah. This person. We bumped into each other the other day when I was out shopping with Sakuya. Kasumi told me about the different Christmas events being held these days.

Kasumi: Sorry about back then. You went out of your way to express your interest, but we couldn’t talk much since I was running short on time. So, as promised, I’ve brought the information about all the different events today.

Masumi: Thanks.

Kasumi: I peppered the person in charge of our travel magazine with lots of questions just for today. Times like this are when I oughta use my authority as the editor-in-chief, right! Ah, Homare-kun. If you don’t mind, why don’t you come with us?

Homare: If you don't mind, then please do allow me to join you.

Masumi: Why is he included…

Homare: The timing is perfect! I just so happened to finish up with a deadline so I have plenty of time on my hands.

Kasumi: Yay~! Great job this year! Alright, follow me then!

Masumi: *Sigh*…

Homare: Splendid. The more people we have, the more information we can exchange.

Kasumi: Exactly! The more the merrier! Let’s get going, shall we?

-pause-

Kasumi: I don’t think you can go wrong with a classic Christmas event at an amusement park. It’s great, but… This ice skating rink that’s only open during the winter is a huge hit too. It’s easy to ask someone to hold hands since you’re skating.

Homare: I see. It may be a bit late to ask, but why did you two start discussing Christmas events?

Masumi: To find a date spot with her.

Homare: Of course. That was silly of me to ask. (Rather, is there anything else that would cause Masumi-kun to spring into action?)

Kasumi: What’s more, he said that he’s going to visit them himself to scope them out! And we’ll share information with each other like this. Amazing, isn’t it~?

Masumi: That’s a given. It’s pointless if I don’t take a look with my own eyes. I’m going to go there with her, after all.

Kasumi: I feel you. You’re willing to go to any lengths for the person you love, right! I totally get it!

Homare: (For the person you love, hm…) (I suppose that is how I was in the past as well.) By the way, which event is your top recommendation, Kasumi-san?

Kasumi: Ah, would you like to know? Fufu. In my opinion, this is THE one to go for this year!

Homare: This photograph is…

Masumi: “Christmas Steampunk Park”?

Kasumi: Yes! Also known as “Punk Park”!

Masumi: That gets rid of the Christmas part…

Kasumi: It's a large-scale Christmas event that travels all around the world. It’s been a while, but this year it’s coming back to Japan!

Masumi: I see. So it’s a mobile event. I thought it was a big theme park.

Homare: —.

---

| next

[starfall-spirit]

Letters Never Sent, Letter V

Read on Ao3 // Feysand Week Masterlist // Letters Never Sent Masterlist

@officialfeysandweek Day 5: Fated

The fifth letter in my Letters Never Sent series. This one actually sort of fits a prompt!

My Darling Mate,

I didn't know what to expect from this Starfall. Yes, the wining, dining, and dancing is a given, but it's been days since I wrote you saying I feared what you would think of me the next time we were face to face. This evening you asked me to take you into the crowd and dance the night away, surrounded by our dearest friends.

So much hangs in the balance, waiting to be breathed to life. I could feel it flickering between us tonight, dancing along the bond we share. I've asked myself over and over if the time has come to take the risk of telling you the truth.

You deserve better than this omission I've knowingly maintained. But I am frightened, my love. Tonight was the first time you smiled for me. The first time you've thought to express yourself through art again. You called me your friend tonight, and that title is something I cherish too much to scare you away with the perminacy of a mating bond. You've only just escaped the shackles of Spring and I simply can't bring myself to be the next to chain you to some sense of duty.

I watched how a mating bond destroyed my mother's joy for the world around her. Seeing you in the dress she created for you was a keen reminder of how easily this gift we possess could be ruined. What kind of male would it make me, to crush the newborn happiness I saw from you tonight?

I won't cross that line. I won't force this bond on you. And I won't go to your room tonight, no matter how long I sense you waiting in your room for something you'll call a mistake tomorrow. One day, with the war behind us, safe from this ceaseless fighting, if you choose to stay I will tell you.

Choose us, Feyre. Choose me.

Forever Yours,

Rhysand

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 4 | Tamlin x Oc

◇— Chapter 4 - Nobody's Children

Ch. Warnings: violence

A/n: This whole chapter is just a big flashback 🧍🏻‍♀️

✧ masterlist

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.3 ||◇|| Ch.5>>

|| Flashback ||

My ascent in the ranks meant Father recognising my efforts. He no longer called upon me to fill his cups or carry his things while I trip over myself. He showed me his tower where he worked, all the spellbooks he keeps, the plans he schemes in the dark. He taught me ancient languages, spells that manipulated the earth in ways the Mother might condemn us for. Taking lives without taking the soul, making life that did not live.

All things I was forced to learn and excelled in. Forced to use against my people who rebelled against him or made him unhappy. It became a normal thing, eventually. Snuffing out the King’s enemies.

Yet every time.. it never gets easier.

He said he was waiting for me to bear my claws, to show him a glimpse of the beast that hid within me. He made it sound like I'm some sort of monster. That before my many triumphs in the ring I was only a girl, a stupid girl that had no value to him. And only when I killed and spilled blood was I worthy of his attention.

Worthy of being called daughter.

The more I showed my claws the more he took pride in me. Then I became a member at his court, standing beside him as a figure to be revered. All matters of discussion were open to me, I was allowed to voice my thoughts, I was made to be taken seriously. I was given power.

And at first I thought I really was his daughter. And he was my father. My father who.. loved me enough to be doing all those things.

But then I became subject to his experiments. And when I disobeyed and made errors he'd perform experiments with an audience. Even when he did such horrors to my body he praised me, stroked my hair and commended me for being the only person that could handle it.

‘Others break easily. You don't. You're fascinating, Niamh. Utterly, truly, fascinating.’

Words of twisted compliments that no longer made my heart melt. They became poison.

‘I will mould you into perfection..’

His love is abnormal. And once I might've longed for it, yearned for a shrivel of affection from him, did his every command in hopes to get his approval.

I thought I wanted his love. Quickly did I realise that he loved no one but himself. That, if anything, he loves like a child loves his toys.

I am no daughter. I am nothing.

And he’s no father of mine. He's a disease. To me. To everyone in Hybern. To the very land itself.

Everything he touches wilts. And he watches as they do. Revels in it, even. And now he plans to turn the very world we live in into the hellscape he yearns for. A world of golden shackles bound to him.

And only then, on the cold floor of the throne room, when I felt the poison he injected in my very veins crawl inside me, up my arms, willing me to break–

I didn't. Couldn't.

The only thing that faded was my love for him. The longing for fatherly affection that I realised didn't exist. Replaced only by hatred.

Hatred that made way for want. For hope.

Hope for myself and my people to be free of him..

And so the first seed of rebellion was sown.

— —

|| Flashforward || Two centuries before Amarantha's Reign

The High Lord of Spring never visited Hybern again after that party when I met his youngest son. And bonded with him. But he still frequents Hybern though without his sons in tow. And when he doesn't, he still remains in contact through letters, mainly discussing troops and scheming for the future. And while the High Lord might think my Father trusts him because they share a similar hatred for humanity he is mistaken. More often than not Father dismisses the Lord Callan's letters, his requests for aid and troops in exchange for humans that wander too far from the wall are easily denied.

During meetings where he is present, Father would obscure details of his plans. He knows nothing of what he truly wants, really. Father just makes him think he does but they are not true allies. Not fully. He is yet another pawn.

And now I am forced to stand by while he complains about some other High Lord to the King. Lord of Night I think. I wasn’t really listening. I’m thankful for the mask for allowing me to close my eyes for a few seconds without consequence.

“Your youngest.. What was his name..? The little golden child my Amarantha likes so much?” My eyes shot open at the mention of.. him. And I cringe beneath the mask at the mention of that female.

“Tamlin.” The Lord answers. “My youngest and yet, my most formidable warrior.”

The King leans back on his seat. “I thought your most formidable was the eldest?”

“Well, yes.” The Lord of Spring shrugs. “But my youngest is formidable in a way that his full might is still contained and hidden within him. Biding its time, itching to be shown..” A prideful grin comes across his face.

"Is that right..?" Father asked, his head turning to me for a moment.

“I see him in battle. He is strong yet he does not know it yet, doesn't unleash himself fully. He is blindsided most of the time, my strongest son and yet my weakest. A victim to his own emotions.” Then he looked up at me, observing my gloved hands and the mask I keep on my face, my hand on the hilt of my sword. The image of pure obedience.

There’s an impressed look upon Callan’s face. “How you’ve moulded this one. From a timid youngling who cowered in the shadows holding your cups to.. this. Now.. your Court lower their heads when she passes by.” I was tense.

“How do you do it?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

The King chuckles. “I'm not sure you want parenting advice from me. No children can handle my love. No children are like my Niamh.”

I cringe eternally.

And Lord Callan seems to as well, finding truth in my Father's words. And as cruel as he may be he doesn't seem to wish whatever horrors my Father inflicts upon me to be forced upon his children.

I felt relief wash over me.

They continued to chatter away and I remained there as a spectator, never leaving my Father’s side. There is a reason for this meeting. It's because he wanted something from the High Lord. Something in his Court. An ancient book that may lead him to the pieces of the Cauldron. He's been searching for it in every seasonal Court but his Ravens return with nothing.

“May you open your library to me, my friend??” Father asked. “Libraries are a rarity in Hybern and the book I'm looking for I fear I do not possess. The winds come back to me whispering that what I seek might be in your Court.”

“What do you seek?”

“It does not concern you. One night is enough time to search for it. And if it's not in your possession then I will search elsewhere.”

The High Lord thought for a moment then shrugged. “Why not? You've done enough for me. Are you to retrieve it yourself?”

“I'm occupied with other things. My Ravens will retrieve it for me. I hope you do not mind them searching about your estate.”

Callan raised a brow. “You think what you seek is in my home?”

Father nods and the Lord Callan doesn't seem too pleased with the idea of Hybernian soldiers sniffing around his property.

He thought for a moment and then his gaze wandered to– me.

There's a flicker of.. something.. in his eyes.

“Does she ever get out of these palace walls?” He asked.

“She has no need to.”

“A shame. I find that, just like plants, children have need for sunlight too.”

“She’s not a child. And my daughter is not some weed in the garden. She is a Princess of Hybern and so she will stay in Hybern. She has no need for sunlight.”

The skin around my cuffs seem to itch..

“Princess.” The High Lord ignores him and calls upon me. “Do you wish to see the world beyond Hybern lands?” He asked, his voice taunting and I heard my Father groan in disapproval but he looked at me and waited for my answer.

“Hybern is my home, my Lord.. I'm well content here.” I simply said.

Unlike his son's, his eyes were golden eyes, dulled with the colors of the earth, swirling in a pool of mud. He looked at me with a face I couldn't quite read, a puzzle I couldn't quite solve.

The Lord stared at me for a while longer before turning to my Father. “Send her to retrieve what you seek.” He said, his tone firm. As if.. commanding him.

A bold thing to do.

Father looks at me, as if pondering his choice. Then to the High Lord.

They stare at each other for a moment. And when Father closed his eyes he looked like he figured out a secret.

“Very well.”

— —

I was only meant to visit for a short time…

A few days to search Callan’s estate for the book my Father wanted. I was kept in the library with the curtains closed, shielding me away from even a glimpse of the sun. Surely it is my Father's request.

Because ‘I have no need for sunlight’, apparently..

I stayed there at the library with only papers and towers of books to keep me company. Father wanted a book that could aid him in translating Leshon Hakodesh. He has twelve volumes of ancient texts he stole all around Prythian Courts. He is only missing one. And so he has sent me here with little information about the book. He didn’t even show me what the other books looked like.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.. He always does this. Sending me on tedious quests. Testing me. Playing me. I could really scream. But alas.., this isn’t my home. I must be respectful..

A day and a half passed as told to me by the clock, ticking away somewhere, driving me insane. Some servants would come every now and again to bring me food. They do not speak to me. The High Lord doesn't even check on me. The estate is.. eerily quiet.

I look towards the exit, the skin around my golden cuffs itching.

I do not wish to think of it often but every now and again I’d.. search for the bond, see if it still exists within me now that a few centuries have passed since that night.

I trace the pulse in my wrist, feeling the warmth and smoothness of my skin beneath the cold metal of the cuff. Try as I might I couldn't. I've read that bonds do fade. And if ours did fade then.. would it be so bad? We are.. too different. Too out of reach after all.

Oftentimes, I find myself drawn to the southern cliffs of Hybern, where the rising sun casts its golden light over Spring lands in the horizon. It's foolish. Embarrassing, even. To stand there and hope that the bond will respond, that I'll feel some kind of connection to him. I close my eyes, trying to imagine his warmth, his presence, something, anything.

But there was nothing.

Even here. In his home. Where I felt.. hopeful that I might feel something, there is once again.. nothing.

But, just when I was about to return to my work I felt a sudden burst of anguish, my stomach twisting and turning with great regret like I've done something so cruel.

"Agh.." It all felt too much to bear that even tears threatened to prick at my eyes and I almost fall to my knees.

I felt like I was being hit. Over and over and.. over again.

As I stood in silence, clutching my aching chest, I realised that it wasn't my own emotions that were drowning me. It was his. I feel him at last. And I could feel every inch of his torment like a crushing burden, weighing me down with a sadness I couldn't describe. Every emotion hits him like a storm, and he feels each one with an intensity that I've never seen before.

I willed my legs to step out of the library to a long corridor, all the windows uncovered making way for the view of a starless night.

The clearest I've ever seen is the night sky void of red fog.

And the farther I walked the more I felt my chest heavy with grief and many other emotions that swelled together.

Then I saw him, on the path towards the gate, his golden hair a tangled mess. His brothers circling him like vultures would their prey.

And before him was a corpse. Or so I thought.

“Come on, Tammy. Just finish the job.”

“He won't do it, Darach.” The middle teased, his voice a cruel tone of mockery.

���I know he won't.” The eldest, Darach, circled around.. Tamlin who was knelt on the ground, in front of the body. Almost as if protecting it.

Protecting… her.

“It is not enough he has to befriend half-breeds, he won't kill them either.” Darach taunts. “Now you play the good friend? You? You who sold them out?”

“I told him where I've been.. Who my friends are..” His voice was a trembling mess, blood oozing out of his mouth. “I didn't expect him to kill them!”

The eldest tilts his head, crouching to the ground to the female limp on the ground. He grabs a fistful of her raven hair and lifts her head up. “Is that the reassurance you'll feed yourself from now on? To soothe yourself of guilt whenever you pass the halls to see their wings mounted on the wall?”

“Stop it.” Tamlin growled. “He already killed Rhys’s mother. I will not partake in this. I will not!!” He crawled to the girl, his body trembling, his clothes already tattered.

“You know what Father will do if you disobey him, right?” The middle huffed. “He already threatened you’d be sent away. Away from mother.”

Darach clicked his teeth. “Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing?” He kicked him away from the girl and Tamlin coughed out blood as he hit the ground, whimpering and holding his stomach. “Maybe then she'd stop wasting her energy pitying you whenever you couldn't fucking stand up for yourself.”

He grabbed him by the collar now, shaking him like a doll, his voice seeping with hatred I couldn't understand. “Your fault that she's always so guilty that you're on the floor writhing. Her poor pathetic son she could only ignore.” He drops him and returns to the girl.

“Stop it!” Tamlin let out a rugged roar, lunging at the eldest before being yanked by his hair back to the ground by the other brother.

“Eoghan! Let go!!” He fought with the middle one now, being pushed and held down by him, his boot crushing his back.

“Watch me, little brother. Watch.” Darach breathed heavily as he pulled out a dagger from Tamlin’s belt and brought it to the girl's neck.

“Stop! Darach!!”

“I will finish what you cannot and rid this pest off my lawn.”

“Now you shy away from bloodshed? Where is Father's little warrior now, hm?”

He draws blood. Slowly. A trickle of red drops down the girl's neck as she whimpers.

“DARACH!!”

Tamlin managed to push Eoghan off of him. The eldest gritted his teeth, pulling away from the girl and dropping her head to the ground as he prepared to attack.

Darach took a hit to the gut, grunting and groaning before retaliating with a blow to Tamlin’s face using the dagger's hilt.

He falls to the dirt with his blood spilling to the grass, coughing out blood as he clawed at the earth.

And I felt it. His hurt. Every hit he took. It stung my body, my face, like I’ve been the one to shield the blow. My heart ached, beating rapidly in my chest.

There is so much rage in me. And I did not know if it was my own or his.. I was seething.

“You have the soft heart of a fucking mortal, Tamlin. The Gods churned at the sight of you when you came into this world. You do not deserve to wear our colours, much less wear our crest– you are our greatest embarrassment!!”

“You should have never been born.” Darach yelled at him, his voice broken.

“I should gut you out just as this girl and present your head to Father, then he will know. He will know that you are nothing.” His voice shakes with desperation. His voice seeps with a loathing driven by.. jealousy.

Only then I understood why they're so cruel.

It's because he knows his youngest brother is stronger than him. Stronger than he will ever be. He knows it, their Father knows it, the raw power that hides inside Tamlin that not even he knows of. Or he chooses not to recognize.

Because anyone could sense it. I certainly do. That's why they beat him down and diminish him in an attempt to keep that power at bay. They don't just hate him.

They're scared of him.

Tamlin was held down by vicious roots, trapped beneath the earth as the middle brother held his head aloft, forcing him to watch as Darach hovered a dagger over the girl's neck once more.

“STOP!” Tamlin's voice was heard throughout, his cries, his desperate pleas for his brother.

And then everything was still.

A blinding fury coursed through my veins, my power rising to meet it. I clawed my hand upwards, summoning a fraction of it, willing Darach to freeze as I stepped out of the porch.

“She's still here.” I hear Eoghan mutters.

“So she is.” There is a grin in Darach’s face when his eyes darted upwards to me. Yet he did not move. Could not move.

“The Blood Witch of Hybern.” He said the title with such disdain.

I let my power free him. “I did not realise I was summoned at a time of a crisis.” I said, stopping at a distance from them as Darach lowered the dagger. Tamlin's dagger.

“No crisis here.”

“I thought Spring would be more peaceful..” I look down, getting a clearer view of the female on the ground. “Must you kill in the presence of a guest?”

“You’re not supposed to be here, witch.” Darach sneered.

My neck cracked to his direction. “I am Princess. You will address me accordingly.” I snapped at him and Eoghan visibly flinched in the corner of my eye.

The older brothers exchange looks, a silent communication between them. Darach looked back at me, a smile on his face I would’ve considered charming had I not seen how he acted earlier.

“Apologies, Princess. We’ve been rude. Just some squabble amongst brothers. Nothing to concern yourself over. Go. Resume what you came here after.”

I do not reply. I look down at Tamlin still wrapped in roots, his hands bloodied and trembling, squirming out of his restraints. I saw the middle brother yet he refused to look at my mask.

“What are you hiding?” I ask, staring into Darach’s eyes. He went stiff. And when I peered into his mind, his mental shields were up.

He doesn't want me snooping in there.

My hand shot up, forcefully clutching his jaw as I forced him to meet my gaze. He froze again and so did his brother, caught in the same motionless trance as he watched.

“What are you hiding?” My glove disintegrated, fully touching him and allowing his memories to intrude upon my mind, my vision flooded with his thoughts.

The images flashed before me, familiar voices echoing. I see Darach by his father's side, their schemes fixed on the goal of overthrowing the Night Court Lord and his family. I hear their shared hatred for their enemies' soft hearts towards mortals and the whispers from Darach as he sells out his little brother to his father, claiming he's been befriending the children of Night. Ultimately using it to their advantage.

I dug even deeper into Darach's mind, sifting through memories of his father's rants about the King when he returns from Hybern. And then.. discussions about me, the experiment Father always gloats about. The High Lord would always show curiosity for my power, my revered reputation. He’s.. he’s been curious about me for a while, about what I’ve been moulded into to be so worthy to stand beside the King.

I see visions of a camp, echoing screams and fire. The dirt was covered in blood as a tall figure stand over a female's corpse. I hear the vicious cracks of bones as he guts out her wings. I hear him command the two brothers to finish the other one. The girl. But they didn't. They only took her, back here, back to Spring. As a present for Tamlin. So that.. so that he may kill her himself.

I feel my breathing slowed as it all pieced itself together like a puzzle. And now I’m here. In his Court. With the looming threat of the Night Court’s retaliation for the murder of their Lady and the abduction of this girl.

Only then I realized.. what it meant. The look between them before my Father agreed to let me go to Spring. He figured it out. He knew I was here for something else entirely. And he agreed.

He let me go just to indulge some twisted impulse to sate his curiosity. I am reminded yet again that I am a fucking experiment..

For centuries, Father tossed me in a ring and watched me fight his most elite soldiers. I fought his strongest commander and triumphed. I endured endless battles with monsters that left scars on my flesh and memory. And time and time again I emerged victorious.

And yet it's not enough. Now.. now he has agreed to unleash me against a High Lord.

I could laugh. I should have known that he wouldn't just let me go without gaining something from it. Of course, it all came back to his self-serving advantage in the end.

I let go of Darach, a scowl appearing on my face. “Your father misled me. I'm not here to retrieve books.” I say between gritted teeth.

“You are not.” The eldest grins as he rubs his jaw. I can feel his heart beating loudly in his chest. Only now do I feel the fear in him.

“You're here to get rid of an ancient Lord.”

I inhaled. “These were not the terms. I should have your head for tricking me.”

“Father has long been curious of what sort of power the King of Hybern is hiding. He wishes to see your power.”

“The King will hear of this.”

“King Dearil already suspected this is why we've brought you here. We need you.”

I feel my nails dig into skin as my hand turned into fists “I will be no tool to some Lord too coward and too weak to fight an enemy.”

“Your King let you go. He knows why you’re here. You're already a tool. We all are. From the moment we came into the world. So we must make ourselves useful. The High Lord of Night must be dealt with.”

I scoff, a huff of bitter laughter. “I will not partake in this.”

“You will.”

“I won't.” I hold his blood and he freezes again, shivering as my power touches him.

“Get out of my sight or you will be the first blood I spill tonight. Maybe then you'll find out just what the King is hiding.”

“Get. Out.”

His stare fixed on me, his throat bobbing as he held it there. The ugliest shade of green flashed in his eyes— green of jealousy and greed. Mixed with a twinge of fear. He was trying to suppress it, to keep it buried beneath the surface. But I could see it. He knew that I could see it.

I let my power over him fade as he slightly stumbles back. “Come. Eoghan.” He calls to his lackey, his gaze never tearing from my mask.

He looked at Tamlin as the roots slowly faltered around him, returning to the dirt below. “Finish the job, Tammy. Or he will.”

I stand there, hearing footsteps fade into nothing until I no longer sensed their presence.

“Gods.” Tamlin immediately knelt to where the girl was. A girl.. not much younger than him or me. A girl with raven black hair and wings similar to a bat's. Illyrian.. Daughter of Night.

She lays lifeless on the grass below, a trickle of blood slowly drying up on her neck. Yet.. I can hear her beating heart from where I am, a sign of life still flickering within.

She is alive.

“I can't do it..” Tamlin was shaking, crying as he held the blade he couldn't wield. Couldn't bring himself to take her head.

I shouldn't meddle. Shouldn't even approach him. But I've already broken the rules when I left the library and threatened his brothers. Now I watched as he held the girl in his arms, his shaking hands holding her cold face as tears streamed down his own, muttering frantic apologies.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.. Please. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, Vel..”

I feel my chest ache at the sight, his emotions still infecting me, twisting my heart.

“I'm sorry, Rhys..”

Even now. Even when four hundred years have passed and the mating bond should’ve faded.. I feel the pain that he feels, the regret that he carries.

“I'm sorry.. I'm sorry..”

As if his heart was mine.

His inner world exudes a familiar sort of anguish that I have come to know all too well. Because I am also faced with choices I never dare choose for myself. We are similar in that regard, that we never chose to be our fathers's children. But this is the life the Mother has condemned us in. A life led by fathers who wish to rule the world.

So even people outside of Hybern suffer such fates.. Does it ever get easier? Are all fathers like this?

The skin around my cuffs itch. A thing that happens whenever I get the urge to.. disobey.

I took a breath and knelt before him.

“Give her to me..”

Tamlin looks up at me, his head a mess of golden locks, smudged red with blood.

“W-what?”

“I'll take her to Hybern. She'll be safe. You don't have to kill her.”

What was I saying?

He slowly shook his head, holding the girl closer. “No.. no.. My father-”

I wield my power to command the very ground we step on.

“What are you–?”

What am I doing..?

The earth beneath my feet glowed with a peculiar fervour, alive and ever-changing. With a flick of my hand, I commanded the soil, bathing it in dark glamour that transformed the dirt into a twisted mirror image of her. Her appearance macabre, her skin pale and devoid of life, her eyes open and blank.

I unsheathed a dagger from my boot, slashing my palm and letting my blood flow to my creation.

Creating the perfect illusion of life.. and death.

It is not the first time I had to fake a dead person. But it is the first time that I had to fake one's death in another land. Because much to Father's dismay, I am still swayed by my emotions. And more often than not, my heart triumphs over his commands. In secret, I take pity on my people and spare the lives of a few when he is not around to bear witness to my mercy.

Mercy that he abhors.. mercy he forbids from flourishing. Yet it resides in my heart, this seed of compassion sown long ago. Perhaps, it was planted in me by this boy. This boy who offered me an act of kindness when he had no reason to. This boy, this stranger bound to me.. who saw my pain and extended a handkerchief and silent company.

A small act of kindness that meant the world to me.

I face him, meeting his emerald eyes up close for the first time since that party when the bond snapped for me. And I falter at the sight of it. Even when I could barely see it through the tiny slits of my mask.

“He will never know.” My voice came out in soft whispers.

“Kill the abomination. Take its head, it’s wings. Present it to your father. He will never know. I will take the girl.”

“Wait.. Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere safe. Temporarily. When the storm has subsided. I'll return her to Night.”

He looked at me, sceptical, still holding the girl in his arms. “I don't even know your face behind that mask. How can I know you're speaking the truth?”

“You don't. You'll have to trust me.”

There is a pause when he looked at me. “You're the King's daughter.”

“And you're the High Lord's son. And yet you cannot bring yourself to kill this girl.” I look down at the girl.

“We can't choose our fathers, can we? We share the same blood as them. Doesn't mean we have to share anything else beyond that.”

He falters. “No.. no we don't.”

“Will you place your trust in me, Prince of Spring?”

“Give me one good reason why you're doing this. What do you have to gain?”

I shook my head. “I have nothing to gain. Maybe I just want her to live. Maybe.. I want to repay you.”

“Repay me for what?”

I paused.

“For.. the handkerchief.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “Have you.. forgotten?”

He shook his head. “No.” And his body eased. “Of course not.”

I stare at him for a moment. Because it would only take a moment to ingrain his face to memory again.

“Why did you do it?” I asked not even knowing that the words have left my lips.

“Do what?”

“Offer me that kindness.”

He leaned back, not expecting my question. But he softened. “You looked like you really needed it.” He answered simply.

There was silence between us after that. I wanted to say.. thank you. I wanted to say a lot of things to him, really.

But I find myself unable to.

“Promise me you'll keep Velaria safe?”

I swallowed and nodded. “I promise.” I say simply before walking towards the girl's real body, touching her cheek with the back of my gloved hand. Then I looked at Tamlin.

“We don't have to be like our fathers.”

He didn't say anything. Perhaps he didn't know what to say. He only looked at me with those eyes filled with nothing but guilt.

I knelt down towards the girl. Velaria. I scooped her limp body up in my arms, careful with her wings.

“You have a good heart, Tamlin..”

He shook his head, staring at his bloodied hands, to a dagger’s hilt encrusted with Illyrian patterns. “That’s not true..” His voice cracks.

“It is. And I hope you never forget that.”

“Come what may.”

— —

A/n: Since sjm won't name her characters I've taken it upon myself. I named Tamlin's middle brother Eoghan (literally just Owen but with a different spelling. It means 'born of yew'). The eldest I named Darach (which means fruitful/oak grove). And then their father I named Callan (which means brave/powerful in battle). AND THEN I also named the King of Hybern, Dearil because it means red haired/call of death. Veryyy fitting. All of them Irish/Gaelic origin I think. Also because I am tired of writing High Lord and The King in every sentence 😔..

Also also, I will be writing Velaria's pov in a few chapters, see what she's been up to after going to Hybern.

[laugtherhyena]

At last, the updated ref post of the man who starte it all. I'm so glad me and the gang made a whole little funger cast, I'm enjoying John much more now that he has other people to hunt down interact with :]

Character story

The silent Bohemian night reigns with an underlying uneasiness to it. You can't help but feel as if something sinister lurks in the horizon, just beyond where your eyes can reach..

In an attempt to ignore the chill underneath your skin, you reminisce about what has led you to this point in life…

For your childhood and teenage years you worked in a large factory alongside many other children, the smoke of the machinery and cluttered atmosphere made you yearn for nature, running off to the woods in the middle of the night to marvel at its beauty under the comforting glow of the moon.

You admired the animals that made up its ecosystem, perhaps what you wanted was to be like them; living under Vinushka’s domain free from the shackles of society, hunting to survive…

It was a fun activity and you had a real knack for it, your boss would even give you some extra shillings for hunting down the pests that lurked in the shadows of the factory. But what enticed you wasn't the money but the thrill of the hunt, soon enough you became more and more convinced that this was what you were put on this earth to do.

You had a couple friends in the facility, four boys around your age that had each other's back through thick and thin. When you came of age you suggested to them the idea of robbing the boss’s office and escaping with the money in search of a brand new life. While some were skeptical, the heist was ultimately a success and you all embarked on the first train to Rondon, feeling the breeze against your long hair, you had the feeling your life was finally going to begin.

Of course, that money couldn't keep you all afloat forever, but you had a plan. It was time to finally dedicate your time into doing what you loved the most…

Buy a rifle (Gain gun proficiency, Gain Rifle .303 Mk I and ×6 .303 Ammo)

Buy a trench gun (Gain gun proficiency, 12-gauge Trench gun and ×6 12-gauge shells)

After much consideration you and the boys decided to put the money at hand into buying yourselves an old shack in the woods alongside the essentials and the remainder of the shillings was spent into tools to aid in your survival. While your friends went on to work on lumber, you opted for the path of a hunter.

You had a natural proficiency with firearms and the joy of the hunt made you feel as if you were exactly where you should be. The boys would spend the day chopping down trees and attempting to sell the wood in the city while you skinned and butchered the fruits of your labor, the meat became your everyday meals while the pelts were sold at a high price around the marketplace.

After a while your friends slowly switched gears as they asked you to teach them your ways, soon enough you became a fierce group of hunters and the income increased significantly. You had never thought of how fun it was to share your passion with the people you loved, surrounded by your closest friends, the hunt became even more glorious.

With financial stability being no longer an issue, you decided to dedicate your time into upgrading your hunting skills…

Learning more about traps (Gain trapcraft)

You went on to learn about tools that could aid in your hunts, traps that could hinder wild beasts much stronger than any man. Allowing you to aim for much more fearsome creatures than you could have only dream of shooting down.

That spring, you hunted down a bear and your best friend made a beautiful head mount out of the mighty beast.

Learning more about firearms (Gain gunslinger)

You studied your trusty weapon from top to bottom. Not only were you able to fix you and your friend's guns whenever they started malfunctioning but also became a much more fearsome hunter, capable of reloading a barrel in a matter of seconds and shooting down even the most wary of animals without making your presence known.

You began bringing a lot more kills back with you from the hunts.

Over time the small shack was revamped into a large cottage, decorated with head mounts and fur carpet, beautiful prizes from your many hunts. The place was cozy and full of life, a home that soon welcomed your best friend's wife and child. A healthy little boy you swore to care for as if you were family, an honorary uncle of sorts.

Joyful years went by before tragedy swooped in and steadily took away everything you treasured. Misery began during a hunt where you were far too cocky, underestimating the strength of the prey which led to your stomach being pierced by the startled deer’s antlers. Your injuries left you bedridden and far too injured to be drafted when the great war began.

A terrible curse disguised as a blessing as you watched your dear friends march to war, you hoped and prayed that their skills would be enough to keep them alive in the battlefield, but as the conflict worsened each and every single one of them returned to you in a wooden coffin.

You tried to remain strong for your late friend’s little boy, you brought him to the woods and taught him how to hunt just as you did for his father, but soon that spark of happiness was ripped from your grasp as well. His grieving mother figured the best for them would be to move away and start over. You loathe that woman for taking away the only thing you had left of your beloved friend, but you didn't blame her.

You gifted the boy his father's rifle and waved goodbye to them from the station before returning to the mausoleum you could no longer call home.

Haunted by the loss of the only people you ever cared for, you searched for ways to drown out the sound of your sorrows…

Leave the cottage (Gain bury the trauma)

With the savings you had in hand you decided to travel around the country to try getting your mind away from the pain, you visited museums, chapels, libraries and all kinds of tourist locations yet the source of your suffering never left your mind.

You longed to return home, but home was no longer the place you held fond memories of. A depressing shadow of what it once was, much like yourself.

Focus on the hunt (Gain killing intent)

You intended to silence the painful reminders with the sound of gunshots in the distance. Grief turned into anger you took out on the habitants of the forest, the carnage reigned long enough for the animals to begin avoiding you. The hunt was no longer fun, the woods became just as empty as the cottage that brought you so much pain.

At the end of the day, nothing worked. Your heart swelled in a constant burning pain fueled by the emptiness of the cottage and the memories of what it once was that haunted your every step. With no one by your side, you turned to religion in a last ditch effort to cope with all the loss you had suffered. Although you thrived in Vinushka's domain, you were drawn to the writings about the trickster moon good like a moth to a flame.

You swiftly became obsessed with the mysteries surrounding the old god's doings and dedicated all your time into devoting yourself to him, in the dead of the night, you prayed for guidance under his glistening light. To be given a new purpose in life, reborn under his gaze for something much greater.

Eventually, Rher answered your desperate calls. You were blessed with a vivid dream, a glimpse into his jubilee of cosmic proportions. Termina will soon be upon that wretched old town and you would not miss your chance of appeasing your beloved deity.

With a new hunt on the horizon, how did you prepare?

Pray to the moon god (Gain +3 Rher affinity)

Stock up on medical goods (Gain ×2 blue vial and cloth fragments)

Stock up on food (Gain ×2 dried meat and moldy bread)

You settled on the place your dream led you to, the rooms of the old hotel were small and tainted with the stench of mold, but none of that matters.

You're here, and soon will his servants, blessings and the god of the moon himself. It was challenging to fall asleep with all the excitement pumping through your veins…

Character skills

[meli-writes]

L'État, C'est Mecanisée

The Sun Empress wakes, left cheek scraping on tile, shackled to a blue-bloodied, automatic operating table — crown jewel of the mechanised annex of her Grand Inventor. Alchemical flames lick distant and resplendent at the royal apartments, follies of blue and gold dance on the mirrored masks of its half-clockwork chevaliers, broken on the marble courtyard.

“It would be foolish to hurt me, the XIVth Legion will soon surround this palace. You might still join me, I assure you — the pain is soon forgotten,” she says, with gentle arrogance.

The light is eclipsed by an approaching revolutionary. A red ribbon hair-tie falls limply past shadows that shift without due cause, yet refuse to part from her face; the Empress can see only an uncertain glint in her eyes, of a since-passed storm, and, in her hands, the glass-covered hemisphere of a mechanical mind — the Empress’ own crown jewel.

“No— you can’t mean this,” she says, recoiling, “this— mockery, of enlightenment, of progress: our nation’s destiny. The ruin of a precious mind, to make me the last of them?”

“You wouldn’t be the last,” Red Ribbon says, a disarming mainspring of melancholy.

“Of course— I see. You think you’ll make me a puppet, that I’ll wind-up my legions on words you place on the platter of my tongue.” It would be a mistake, a meek and distant voice says, the legions will never outnumber the uprisings she needs now converts them from. Every mask that slips, each half-recognised face, births another revolutionary.

“I’ll bleed to death on this table,” she retorts, “you’ll never hope to achieve what I’ve done.”

Red Ribbon doesn’t speak; she fractures the silence when the mournfully-clutched hemi-brain slips to the floor, spilling ten-thousand brass wheels, springs, and pinions across the floor. Rune-clad glass shards fall into a drain, fizzling with dying light.

She kneels and takes the Empress’ hands, her own trembling, and even this close, the Empress cannot see her sympathy. Does she mean to surrender? To beg the diplomatic method, that preserves her mind and the subtle features of untouched flesh.

Another revolutionary holds tightly the wrist of a forcefully-invited Duchess, unsure if she is rescued or captured, whom the Grand Inventor intended to work this upon personally.

“What? You wish my blessing, to despoil me? There is no artificer amongst you, I’ll—”

“Your Eminence,” Red Ribbon says. The Empress blinks in shock, and there is an audible ticking in the room. How did such respect purpose itself, from a black-guarded traitress?

“Do you recall who first introduced it to you, the clockwork?”

“Introduced? Invented,” she says breathlessly, “I am their creator!" The Empress was an upset heir, presaged into power upon the sudden Arcane Virulence of 1674; the unblemished royal survivor, then executor of the Imperial Retaliation of 1675 against an accused aggressor who provided bountiful material for the creation of IInd, IIIrd, and IVth Legions.

Red Ribbon gives a painful sigh, and holds a soft, warm hand to the Empress’ right cheek till she stops pulling away. “Okay, so when did you invent it?”

“1673,” the Empress says, curt and suspicious, but indulging in the delaying action. The Empress had been a quiet child, then, and lonely. She was artistic, and not bookish, and shared it with nearly no one — nearly. “One day I knew; I was simply destined for more.”

“Do you remember that day, anyone who might have — witnessed your achievement?” she asks, “Perhaps you woke up to someone — not the handmaid, she was— not there.”

“You had a frequent guest, if you recall; of the mechanists’ guild. Where might he be now?”

The Empress’ gaze flicks from broken clockwork, to Red Ribbon’s skirt — tattered, stained with human blood, alchemised spirit, and clockwork grease — to that only in her mind’s eye; a figure, its face obscured, but a cogwheel sigil-rune at its neck. It was— it was— gone.

“I understand if it’s difficult to remember, your Eminence. It was— a long time ago,” Red Ribbon says, running her other hand through the Empress’ hair. It is barely felt, smooth and unnaturally cold, even though Red Ribbon is sweating in the alchemical heat.

She gestures to someone behind her, and is given a silk tissue with a black mark.

“And this, please— do you remember this?”

The Empress looks, truly intentful. She sees it all around them, in the annex, before she cannot help but blink, heavily, as it disforms. It is— nothing, gunpowder or soot. Some few words gather on her lips, and she tries to speak— tries to speak— tries to— to— to—

Her head is jittering, with a lone eye pinned and screwed to her reflection in a discarded, mirrored mask, elegantly engraved and with red ribbon ties. Whenever it becomes clear she feels her mind whirring slower. And she hears it, the ticking, more wretched each time.

Everyone else can hear it too.

Red Ribbon withdraws, slowly, only letting go when the Empress’ shivering hands are too far away to hold. The clockworks should not understand that anything is different, the little that remains of them subsumed with the dual-power of arcane mechanisms.

Everyone else can see it too.

Where newly bloody and machine-marred glass meets bone and long-scarred flesh, where the left-side of the Empress’ face has been torn, and a half-skull that is gone, replaced with a clicking clockwork mind, a glimmering sigil-rune on its side; the prototypical maker’s mark.

Red Ribbon cannot hear her own sobbing over the ticking, and tries to ask one last question as springs pull and gears lock in a vergingly unbearable tightness.

“And me— do you remember me, Marie?”

The Empress tries to—

---

(Masterpost)

originally written 19/02/2024, in response to Make Up A Criminal's prompt:

Rebel who would give you a taste of your own medicine, if you weren't already addicted

for additional context, this was also my own prompt account. where i posted a mix of thief, assassin, bounty hunter, smugger, spy, rebel, pirate, fixer, fencer, and mob boss prompts. i might resurrect it here too, to see how people use my old prompts anew <3

i'm also not really an ES writer, but draw a lot of inspo & love their work as well as have a LOT of doll influences in my work.

[teyvat-temptation]

PLZ PLZ PLZ POSSESSIVE YANDERE NEUVILLETTE WITH BREEDING??1

You got it honey! TW: yandere shit, unhealthy relationships, NSFW, breeding kink

Neuvillette is the worst type of yandere. He isn't violent (unless he needs to be) but he is smart. Too smart. Every move, every meeting, every single step of the way has been planned out to a disgusting degree of detail. Nothing is left to chance, fate no longer exists, once he has his eyes on you, it's game over.

It starts off innocent enough. A chance meeting at a party, a few shared glances over wine and cakes picked out by the Archon herself. Neuvillette spends the evening listening to you chatter about your life, your job, your hopes and dreams, and he knows, you are the one to be his mate.

Perhaps it's just how a dragon's mind works. He doesn't know, he's never met another dragon in all his 500 years. Maybe they mate for life, maybe it's just the possessive nature of dragons? No matter the reason, his plan is set in motion by the end of the week, and he has you in his grasp before mating season begins

~~~

Neuvillette keeps you locked away in his bedroom. He leaves you with books to read, music to listen to, and "toys" to play with. Meals are brought to you twice a day, by himself personally. No one else can set foot inside of his home, let alone your room. Not that it would do you any good anyway, no one was crazy enough to piss off the chief justice, less he dig up some dirt from their past and ruin their future.

You can try to run away, if you manage to get outside you aren't going to be able to slip past the meka guards stationed at every exit point on the property. Even if you did get past them somehow, the only way out of Fontaine is on a boat, and there isn't a soul in the nation who would go so far as to smuggle Neuvillette's wife.

He's patient with you the first few attempts to escape. Neuvillette doesn't anger easily, even if he is displeased, he will simply tie you down to his bed for a few days, till you wear yourself out from crying and screaming. However, if you don't learn your lesson by the time breeding season comes around, it won't be so tame.

The dragon part of his brain goes haywire in the spring, and the all-consuming thought of "breed, breed, breed" fills him to the point of bursting. For a solid week straight he ravages you, pulling you so full of cum your belly swells, and the sight of how adorable you look so heavy with his seed just spurs him on more.

By the time he finally regains some sense, the mattress is soaked with cum and your body is past its breaking point. You can hardly feel your legs, your holes filled and leaking a steady steam of seed, your neck and chest and back clawed up and down, bite marks covering your arms and thighs.

It takes months before your body fully recovers, and by then, your belly is growing heavy with the Iudex's child. He keeps you by his side at all times now, at work, during trials, and at parties, you are always within his view.

There's no need to keep you hidden away anymore. Your swollen belly is enough to keep you shackled to him, because, who would be crazy enough to help take a dragon's mate and child away?

Neuvillette makes sure to keep one hand resting atop your stomach, muttering under his breath how beautiful you look carrying his child, and how he will be sure to keep you knocked up for the rest of your childbearing days.

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday/Inspiration Saturday

Tagged by @honestlydarkprincess (welcome back! 😄) @spagheddiediaz @wikiangela and @hippolotamus

It’s Saturday morning for me so I’m combining Friday and Saturday’s tag games together and giving you all a longer snippet 😊

Fresh from the notes app on my phone, here’s some Rival Firefighters 🚒.

Continues on from this snippet.

“I’d ask how,” Eddie says as he approaches Buck, gesturing to the hose tangled around his ankles, “but I don’t even think you know.”

Startled, Buck whips his head towards Eddie, the sudden movement paired with the hose shackling his feet causing him to lose his balance. Eddie rushes forward, hands on Buck’s arms to steady him so he doesn’t fall flat on his face.

He helps Buck right himself, unaware the action has brought them closer together until he lifts his eyes from Buck’s feet and suddenly all he can see is blue. Blue like the sky on a crisp spring morning, soft and calm, not a cloud in sight. Eddie’s hands tighten on Buck’s biceps and oh god his biceps. Eddie has seen the muscles Buck is packing, seen them in action while in the gym and out on the job but actually touching them, feeling them under his hands, well it’s something else.

He looks to where his right hand is securely wrapped around Buck’s bicep, letting himself admire for just a moment how good it looks there before reluctantly releasing his hold and pulling away. He takes a step back from Buck, hands still outstretched and hovering just in case he loses his balance again.

Buck chuckles, the noise almost sounding breathless. “Uh th-thanks, Eds.” There’s a light pink blush forming on his cheeks that has Eddie internally groaning. Buck has no right to look so pretty. How is Eddie supposed to function under these conditions?

Clearing his throat (and hopefully his head), Eddie points down at the hose still wrapped around Buck’s feet. “You uh- you want me to?”

Buck follows the direction of Eddie’s finger, eyes widening as if he forgot the predicament he was in before Eddie startled him.

“Yes. Please.” The blush on Buck’s face deepens. He’s obviously feeling embarrassed about the whole situation, which is fair. A firefighter getting tangled in their hose? Yeah the boys in blue would have a field day with that.

“Only you, Buck.” Eddie says fondly as he bends down to start freeing Buck’s feet. Thankfully the hose isn’t knotted so Eddie is able to make quick work of it.

“Hey, I gotta keep you on your toes. Can’t have your last few days here be boring now can I? Then you’d never want to come back.” Buck is grinning down at him but Eddie sees the worry behind the smile.

“You know I don’t want to leave, right?” Eddie says as he stands, holding out the tangled hose to Buck. He knows Buck doesn’t cope well with people leaving, the man had told him so himself, opening up and spilling out some of his abandonment issues one night over a few beers.

Buck sighs as he accepts the hose from Eddie. “I know.” He walks over to the engine, Eddie following him, and takes a seat on the bumper. “I just-I just wish you could stay, ya know?” Buck looks up at him, eyes full of a sadness Eddie knows has everything to do with his upcoming departure. “M’gonna miss working with you.”

No pressure tagging: @watchyourbuck @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @callmenewbie @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @steadfastsaturnsrings @eddiebabygirldiaz @wildlife4life @athenagranted @fortheloveofbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @devirnis @try-set-me-on-fire @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @the-likesofus @hoodie-buck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @captain-hen @weewootruck @princessfbi @fiona-fififi @sibylsleaves @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @loserdiaz @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 and anyone else wanting to share something.

[rust-painted-fingers]

Day 1 ... Vampire

"You don't have to do this y'know?"

Techno glanced up from his shackled wrists.

"Thought you'd have left by now," he said, even though they both knew Phil would never. Never has, and it wouldn't change now. It was to check in, even Techno had his doubts. Still his heart may be, it didn't stop the doubt from clouding his judgement.

Phil let out a chuckle, relaxing into a slouch at the ritual. "You know I would never miss a bonfire."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Techno laughed.

A smirk, "What? It's the only time I get to see such a spectacle. Can't exactly participate in the solstices."

Techno knocked his head against the rock behind him, letting the banter flow between them. Nothing important was discussed, both more than aware of potential listeners, but the inane conversation helped ease nerves. Time was running out, dawn slipping further away from the slit that can hardly be called a window.

If there's one thing Techno hated more about the whole event, however, it's how long it takes to build the damn pyre. Phil wasn't exaggerating in how excessive the structures are built, sometimes woodsman go out of their way to chop even more trees, as if the stockpile everyone contributed was a lousy amount.

It seems burning a monster is the only time townsfolk gather around to work together. A strange way to bond, but wholesome in the right light. If only it didn't take an eternity and a half.

Footsteps thudded above their heads, ending their chatter and signaling the commencement of the charade.

With a head nod, Phil disappeared into the shadows, leaving a lone Techno for the villagers to see.

Some villagers were rough and dragged Techno by the chain to gain some control. It annoyed him the most, because they only got more aggresive if he used any of his strength. Some cases they opened wounds, going so far as to handicap him, which was worse as the rate for flesh to mend took too much effort for Techno to put up a fight.

Thankfully, it seemed this village held a modicum of respect still — that or they feared him, but either were welcomed if it meant they let Techno walk on his own feet.

The sun was but a smear of orange, townspeople holding torches as he walked past them.

They must have made an impression on this town, their faces remorseful and regretful, as if they were doing some divine sacrifice and it hurt them.

Techno inwardly snorted, wondering where Phil was and his thoughts about the mood. It's not like anyone's forcing them to burn Techno alive, no one was killed and honestly, he was doing them a favor by warding off less pleasant monsters. Really, it would've been better for Phil and Techno to have left silently once the jig was up instead of letting them believe they could kill him, but he was still salty about the distrust.

Maybe setting up their potential demise in the future was cruel, but Techno's entitled to his one evil act every once in a while. Plus, it wasn't like all towns became pyromaniacs, some were a bit nicer about it.

Techno let them tie him up and chant their prayers, and wondered where they would go next. Spring was melting the slow, and he didn't really want to deal with the storms, so maybe they'd give south a visit.

As the townspeople gathered closer, Techno locked eyes with Phil. He foregone a disguise and let his hood cloak his stature, but Techno could recognize those eyes anywhere.

Maybe he also wanted to give him a show. It wasn't harming anyone.

And with that, they shared a smile as the flames went up. A flick of the wrist and Techno looked at the pyre as a stray ghoul howled at the night sky.

"Where to next?" he asked idly, knowing they wouldn't leave until the last embers gave out and the town dispersed.

"Hmmm, kinda wanted to visit this one musuem that opened up north. Heard it gives an informational tour of all the ways to kill us."

Techno cackled, fangs flashing firelight bright.

[cupcait]

RULES: bold what applies - italicize sometimes. Repost, don’t reblog!

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just… way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke

NEPTUNE • an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song

PLUTO • angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth

tagged by : @essencefluxed & @lestaya ty both !! tagging : @officrnolen , @lifebinds , @hopewrought , @anomallis , @coqueclaus , @piltoverstar , @fervonian & steal from me !!

[postmortiem]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌

RULES: bold what applies - italicize sometimes. Repost, don’t reblog!

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just… way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke

NEPTUNE • an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song

PLUTO • angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth

tagged by: @vesthnik ♥

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Rumination; Or, The Virtues of Moss

In which Kris finds moss, eats moss, and considers the nature of things.

Its glistening wetness catches your eye in the gloom of the cramped cell the two of you are sharing. Compelled by a higher power, you walk over to investigate the unassuming growth. You doubt it will be of use to you in your escape, but there is something here, nonetheless; a strange sense of recognition, perhaps, of something that isn’t entirely in harmony with its surroundings.

You kneel to get a better look, knees squelching in cold water the colour of ash. Here you can see the panoply of hues across the moss’s surface, from bright and shimmering apple to almost-muddy fern, and the way they almost undulate like the ocean waves with the subtle shifting of the darklight. Distinctions that no-one would really concern themselves with, but to you they are every bit as beautiful as the iridescence of a flawless pearl, and every bit as deserving of attention. Absently, your fingertips caress its surface, marvelling at how something so seemingly lumpen and graceless could feel so velvety smooth. Nails dig slightly into the spongy mass, kneads it like a cat might, then lets it spring back into shape. That such a humble organism could be so defiant, so unwilling to change its shape even under duress... you feel its will to live surge up your arm, a primal inspiration that resonates throughout the very core of your being.

You, too, yearn to be as pliant and stubborn as this moss, thriving even in this loveless place. You, too, wish to live, no matter what it takes.

Thus seized by impulse, your hand becomes a talon which tears into plant matter, the fibres peeling apart like live Velcro as they fight to remain whole, and to keep their unenviable place in the order of things. But your will is the stronger; with several furious wrenches a strip comes free and you hold it aloft like the pelt of a vicious beast, wringing wet with rivulets of rank water. A damp, loamy odour fills your nostrils, reminiscent of those summer days when the whole town smelt like cut grass, so vivid you could almost taste it.

You feel your companion’s eyes upon you, the concern and bafflement in his expression as clear as if he had uttered it aloud. Well, let him gawp if he wants to. This is between you and the cycle of existence, and though it might currently have the upper hand, it’d be you who had the last laugh.

You eat the moss.

Incisors gnash down like a blunt guillotine, molars grind sinewy fibres to gritty paste. Your jaw aches with the exertion, and errant strands thread themselves between your teeth. It is bitterer than you were expecting, though not to an unpleasant degree, with an earthen aftertaste. Despite it being soaking wet when you put it in your mouth, it is tough to swallow, rough and dry against your throat.

It is… not the worst thing you have ever eaten. Challenging, for sure, but not bad. More flavour and texture than whatever facsimile of food that darkners ate, in any case.

You almost consider reaching down for another try… but it seems your time here is done. The thing driving your body has tired of this particular diversion, and has now spotted the rusted shackle dangling limply from the crumbling wall nearby. You are not even given the courtesy of being able to wipe your own mouth, which somehow is the most galling thing about all of this. You’d laugh ruefully, if you were capable of it - but the most you can manage is a pained, dry cough, carrying a mossy aroma across your nostrils.

Perhaps this is just the way things have to be, you muse to yourself as you idly thumb the chains holding the shackle to the wall. The willful must prey upon those who cannot fight back. Even something as seemingly inert as moss must subsist upon water to survive.

Thus is the cycle of existence perpetuated.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

WIP Wednesday! (insert meme: it's been 84 years...)

Hello! I think I've neglected these beautiful WIP tag games as of late, so I took the chance, after being tagged by the lovelies @bostoniangirl21 and @miraakulous-cloud-district (thank you both so much!🧡), to share a bit of CH20 of The Priest and the Dragoness (I'm seriously thinking of changing the title of my fic, so if someone wants to give me their opinion about this Cursed Thought™, I'll gladly take it!). Also, the beloved @miraakulous-cloud-district had the idea of making this WIP combo with a picrew of ocs! I'm so excited to share! 😍

Tonight, in that dream, she does not see the precious faces of her dear mother and father she always recognized even if she never knew them or touched them or kissed them in the waking world, nor does she hear the rough but heartwarming voice of her wise old wolf, Kodlak Whitemane.  She does not dream of Vilkas and Farkas’ affectionate fraternal teasing, the tender motherly sternness of Aela, nor does she blend her youthful voice with Whiterun’s liveliness during the New Life Festival, in its songs, dances, feasts, in Magnus’ slow return to Nirn. She sees neither the darkness, the shackles, the rot of Northwatch Keep, nor even senses Caranthir’s breath chilling the back of her neck.  Sometimes, Jia dreams of herself as a dragon. She falls to her weak, human knees, weeps and screams without voice, only to feel her spine crack lengthwise and then split in half like the shell of an egg, as the acrid stench of seething, ripped-out flesh engulfs her like a firestorm, dominates her from head to toe. And then, she sees her two blood-leaking wings spreading through her shadow, and she takes flight, and she brings debris and death.  But tonight, in that dream, she is not a fire-breathing, blood-raining wyrm. In that dream, she is a bird, a swallow, and behind her soft, feathery wings, she knows a delicate shaft of the warmest, most pristine sunlight dovetails with her close behind, creating technicolor colorings upon her lustrous plumage; and from beneath her small-boned body, she sows springs and summers, meadows and groves, all with a single wingstroke.  In that dream, she flies towards a colossal tree. Though suddenly her flight grows swift, erratic, hopeless, so much as one would wonder how a swallow’s flickering little heart can withstand this kind of fear and despair. For this tree that she hunts with time’s passing, is not for nesting and is barren of verdure or fruit in spite of the spring-bearer’s sight; this is an unearthly shade of dark, black wood, of twisting, writhing branches as if they are coming to life, haunted, rotten to the roots and even beyond those, like—  Like a hanged man’s tree. “Sleep,” Miraak tells her, when she startles awake, in a whisper drawn out of the loveliest lullaby, as though he is, too, tethered between reality and a dream, his caressing fingers blindly running up and down her back. “It was just a dream.” They are never just dreams, the words her brain pushes to speak aloud, but her eyes close again, and she’s plunging into a vision that she may not remember come morning.

Now for the lovely picrew!

OH but of course I would make not only Jia but her Miraak too, what do you mean... 😇

I'm tagging some people with the hope I'm not bothering them, so absolutely no pressure for this! Still, it'd be wonderful to see your creations, whichever they are! 🥰 @blossom-adventures, @sothas, @prettytamagnii, @illumiera, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @thequeenofthewinter, @ruskycreations