#Stone Oak Jewelers

[honeylullaby]

“She’s the one, Lizzie.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black & Lizzie Vereker (in regards to reader!)

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Rupert confides in his best friend, Lizzie Vereker, that he plans to propose to you…

18+ FANFIC / Super Soft Rupert 🥹🥹 And his gorgeous friendship with Lizzie!! 🫶🏽 As always, request what you wanna see in my ask box 💋

The dim winter night pierced the atmosphere surrounding Penscombe Court as violent rain lashed against the concrete. In the lounge, the grand fireplace roared and hissed, and Lizzie Vereker’s raucous laughter filled the air. “Oh darling, your laugh is just magnificent.” Rupert Campbell-Black chuckled after his best friend. “More wine?” He asked, already pouring a generous amount of crimson red wine into her glass. Leaning his head against her shoulder, Rupert sighed in contentment. Lizzie was one of the only people, besides you, that he felt he could truly be himself around. An extension of his own self.

“How are things going with you and what’s-her-name, anyway?” She asked, breathless from her maniacal giggling. You hadn’t yet met Lizzie, but he’d told you ever so much about her. “Ah, Lizzie. A gentleman never tells.” Rupert tutted in quiet response. “Do excuse me, one must use the men’s room.” He sighed, pulling himself from the sofa and exiting promptly. Delirious from intoxication and wobbling as she walked, Lizzie also rose up and decided to take a covert sneak around the lounge. There was nothing of any importance really. Delicate, marble ornaments — un-dusted and uncared for by Rupert — and mounds of paperwork, sworn into secrecy by Rupert’s other life. As she lifted one of his unnecessarily heavy camouflage jackets from his coat stand, painfully tempted to try it on and perform a fashion show, a small velvet-coated black box fell onto the stoned floor with a marvellous thud. “Oh goodness.” She fussed, scrambling onto the floor to retrieve it and place it back before Rupert returned.

“Lizzie, darling, what on Earth are you doing?” He questioned, leaning against the doorframe with a wicked grin painted over his face. “I’m so sorry!” She panicked, fingers trembling in embarrassment as she attempted in futile to return the box to his coat pocket. Rupert’s grin quickly diminished, his eyes widening in shock. He stomped over to the coat stand and snatched the box from her fingers, opening and promptly slamming it shut after he had confirmed the contents of the box was safe. “What is it?” She asked, leaning towards the coffee table and gulping down a mouthful of wine. “Sit.” He demanded, clicking his fingers towards the sofa. A small ‘oop’ left Lizzie’s mouth as she drunkenly toppled onto the sofa.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Rupert sat beside her, holding the small box in his unsteady hands. Pausing for breath, he lifted the lid of the box. Lizzie clapped her left hand across her mouth and gasped thunderously. “Rupert!” She gasped, spluttering on her wine and slamming the glass onto the coffee table, sloshes of scarlet immediately staining the darkened oak.

Inside the box sat the most exquisite, elegant ring — the most immense rock of diamond clung onto the daintiest silver band. The jewel glinted mesmerisingly against the flames of the fire. Lizzie’s orbs enlarged at the allure of such luxury. “Bloody hell, Rupert!” She panted and Rupert’s gaze followed her every move, running his tongue over his teeth in expectant joy. “I know. Rather something, isn’t it? Definitely brought a tear to my eye buying it. That’s £55,000 I’ll never get back.” He tutted jokingly. For the twentieth time tonight, Lizzie spluttered over her words again. “Fifty-five thousand pounds? Jesus, that’s more than I’ve ever earned in my entire lifetime.” She bantered back to him. “What’s the plan?” Lizzie asked again whilst biting her nails in anticipation.

Rupert stood now, closing the box gently and placing it back into his coat pocket. He paced around the room, gesturing his hands to and fro as he set the scene. “I’m thinking… picnic in the bluebell woods, when the weather’s brightened up a touch. All of her favourite foods, lay a blanket down and stay there until the evening. Watch the sunset and just surprise her with it.” That smug expression of self-pride invaded his face. It drove Lizzie up the wall. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you? You’re doing that weasel-y little smirk you do when you’re proud of yourself. I hate it.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a snigger from her companion. “Don’t be jealous, darling. It’s terribly uncouth.” Rupert jested back to her.

Tutting to herself, Lizzie grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. Once more, Rupert rested his head tenderly on her shoulder, and she raised her right hand to pat him affectionately. “She’s the one, Lizzie. I’m sure of it. For the first time in my life, I feel terrified. She looks at me like she sees right through me. Very sexy, I must say, but utterly terrifying.” He exhales. “I think that’s just love, darling.” Lizzie remarks.

“I think so.” Rupert mutters.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 3: A Study in Death

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.2k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ you begin to settle into your new position in the kingdom and forge tentative friendships.

It was disorienting, waking up in another bed. You had been shown to your room by Helaeana before she went off to sleep herself and it had taken hours for your mind to calm down enough to sleep. Your room was at ground level and made from the same combination of roots and black stone as the rest of the castle. It was larger than your entire home combined. There was a main living space with the most comfortable furniture you had ever sat in. It was all nature-oriented, with hues of green being the preferred choice of colour for decoration. 

The living space was separated by a rise in the floor by a few steps, where your bed was placed horizontally next to a wide set of windows. A desk was placed in front of the windows, along with a bookshelf next to it. There were few books, but you knew with the items you packed it would fill up a good portion of space. Your view was of the palace gardens, where plants and flowers of all types bloomed even under the dark cover of the elder trees. 

Your bed was four posters made of dark oak, all intricately carved in forest imagery. Sheer white fabric draped down on all ends, cocooning you in. Your sleep came slowly as you had tossed and turned for hours the night before. You were in a strange land, surrounded by strange people, with a king who clearly did not like you and had a penchant for killing those he disliked. Naturally, calm had not come to you. 

You had been in a state of being between sleep and awake when soft rapping sounded on your door. Your eyes shot open and you looked around your room. You scrambled out of the silken sheets of your bed and stood in the room, unsure of what to do. You were in a nightrobe that had been given to you, its gentle caress of fabric brushed against your skin. 

“C-come in.” You called out. The door opened and two elves walked in. One who stood on the right was dressed in a light powder pink dress of fine silk with sheer fabric on top that complimented her brown skin with cool undertones. The pink gown had gold embellishments that matched the jewelry draped from her ears and neck. The pink jewel that rested between her collarbones reflected the low lights of your room. Her hair was pin straight and decorated with gold ornaments in waterfall braids that formed a low crown on her head. 

Her companion was dressed in lavender, which happened to be the same style as the pink one. Her pale skin was littered with light and dark freckles that looked like the shimmering fireflies that occupied the grounds outside. Her hair was not done up like her friend's but was curly and a deep amber like the honey you would buy from the market back home. 

You knew there was no getting used to the awe-inspiring looks of the elves. A year here or not, each time meeting one would come with a moment of shock you were sure not to get used to. 

The red-haired one stepped forward, “Good morrow. I’m Amara and this is Liriel,” She gestured to her companion, “We’re to be your handmaids for the time you are here.” 

“Handmaids?” You questioned. You did not think, other than the lodgings you were given, that any other kindness would be extended your way. 

The other elleth pitched in, “We are here to fetch things you need, get you ready in the mornings, and provide company.” That was the nail in the coffin for you. They would provide company for you, a kinder way of saying that everything you did and said was being watched and would be reported to the king. This was Aemond’s way of exerting even more control over you. It was not surprising in the least, but it still made you uncomfortable. 

Another servant stepped through with a silver tray of food; breads, fruits, and cheeses. Your stomach made a slight noise and you became painfully aware of how long it had been since you last ate. The tray was placed down on the table and next to a clear glass pitcher full of water and some matching glass chalices. You moved to inspect the food while Amara and Liriel sat down on one of the couches. They gestured for you to join them and you did, choosing a spot on a chair positioned across from them. 

“Once you’re finished eating, we can get you ready for the day,” Liriel spoke. She shifted her gaze to the large dark oak wardrobe resting against the wall behind you. You had opened it last night to see dozens of fine dresses in a variety of colours and sizes, obviously planned to try and fit the needs of any random guest. However, you doubted the word guest could accurately describe your situation - a prisoner with special privileges felt more like it. 

“Oh! I cannot wait to style your hair. I’ve never done a human’s before.” Amara smiled as she reached out to pluck a cherry from the tray. You were resigned to eating in silence while the two elves chatted away, talking about what it is like to live in the castle. You paid attention but were also focused on the underlying message in your conversation with them. While you had yet to meet many elves, there was always a secret unspoken point when they spoke to you. 

The aspect of your humanness was treated like an oddity. It was something rare and unique to gawk at for a moment before one would become bored and disregard it. You believed yourself to be nothing more than an object displayed on a shelf; meant for entertainment and nothing more. 

You plopped a piece of cheese in your mouth and despite it being delicious, your thoughts bittered the taste.

It had taken an hour for Amara and Liriel to get you ready for the day. Each of them fretted over different aspects of your style, conversing with one another on colours, hues, styles, and jewelry. You had spoken to them many times that you cared little for your own presentation and that you were here on one mission alone; find a cure for the taint. There was no time to fuss over what complimented your undertones or how one particular fabric pattern suited you more than the other. However, you knew putting up a fight and resisting would be pointless and resigned yourself to becoming a doll they could dress up. 

Their intentions were good, but you regretted it the moment you left your room and began to be escorted down the hall. Other elves passed, all servants or members of the court, and they gawked at you. The elvish clothing on you felt wrong and you occasionally tugged on the ends of your sleeves with nervousness. You felt inadequate in any way and just wished to go back to your work, for that was what you could do well. 

You happen upon a set of two doors, not as large as the ones at the grand hall, but still detailed enough that you appreciated the craftmanship. The two guards that had walked you from your room each grabbed a handle and opened it. Inside you could see a large study. Shelves were lined with countless vials, boxes, and chests filled with more ingredients than you knew existed. It was the most exquisite laboratory you had ever seen.  

A door on one of the far ends opened and an elf walked in. He had short silver hair that hung down just past the bottoms of his ears in whisps. He was dressed in dark trousers with high boots. His doublet was made of an emerald-coloured fabric with metal embellishments. His stature was thin but built, and he appeared to be just a few inches taller than you. Surprisingly so, he looked to be a young elf.

“Ah, I’ve been expecting you,” He spoke. The elf waved off the guards, “You can stay posted outside, I can take her from here.” 

He placed down a box he brought in on one of the many tables. His gaze swept over some brewing vials and adjusted some of the fires below them. 

“I am Daeron, the head healer and potions master. I must admit, my sister Helaena did not tell me much about your research, other than the fact that you have been studying the taint.” His eyes, the same shade of blue as Helaena and Aemond, caught yours. He subtly smiled to reassure you, as you had stayed rooted in your spot with your arms wrapped around your stomach. 

“Yes, your grace. I have experience studying the taint’s effects on the land. I am also a healer.” You stepped forward and lowered your hold, letting your arms hang at your sides. 

“That’s good,” Daeron stopped his work and straightened his back, “I’ll take you on a tour and fill you in on what we know.” He gestured for you to follow him and the two of you walked side by side to one of the two doors at the back of the laboratory. Daeron opened it for you and let you walk in first. 

While the grand hall with the throne impressed you, this room far exceeded it. It could not truly be called a room, for it was a vast tower that went up as far as you could see. The walls were covered in bookshelves overflowing with texts. In the centre of the tower was a large open fireplace with a low flame. Around it were a bunch of tables with chairs. 

“This is the library, well, one of them at least. This one concerns all the information we would need regarding medicine, plants, and magic,” Daeron began as he walked around the space, his footsteps echoed off the cold stone floor, “You will find all kinds of languages here, but we have translators should you need them.” He moved back towards the door to walk back to the laboratory, but you hung back for a moment, eyes still scanning the vast array of scrolls and tomes. 

You turned back around to follow Daeron. He led you through the other door that opened up to a grand hall full of elves in sick beds. Other healers were moving about between the patients, offering medicine and comfort. The sounds of murmurs and coughing flooded the room. 

“This place was an old feasting hall, but we converted it to house the influx of sick patients. While we have a decent understanding of the taint’s effects on plant life, the effects on the body are… different to all previous knowledge we have.” Daeron walked down the centre aisle at the foot of all the beds and you followed. 

“I know it spreads through cuts and other openings of the body,” You added while glancing at all the sick people as you pass by, “Truly my expertise remains with the taint's effect on nature, not the body. I have only met a few people who were afflicted by it and only for a moment.” 

Daeron nodded and stood in front of a long white sheet that sectioned off a part of the hall, “Then I must warn you about what you are about to see, it is not pleasant.” He opened the curtain and walked in, holding it so you could pass through. On the other side were more patients, however, they did not look like the ones you passed. The ones you passed were sick with a common fever, coughing and sweaty, but the ones here had visual effects on their body. 

Wounded elves lay in their beds, most asleep, while the ones who were awake acted caught in a perpetual hell. Their skin looked like glass, shiny under thick covers of sweat but had marked cracks as though it was the bed of a dried lake. There was a dark purple, almost black tint on different areas of each person’s body with their veins protruding to the surface. Some were coughing up blood onto rags as their body convulsed. The sight was grim and you had to suck in a breath to refrain from displaying any signs of discomfort. 

“It burns through the body quickly in some cases, eventually rendering them immobile in some limbs. It occurs at different rates as well. No remedies for pain or other ailments even aid in pain relief.” Daeron turned to you and leaned in, lowering his voice so the others could not hear, “The people in this section have no more than a day or two before they pass. At this stage, all they can do is wait.” 

You looked around at the elves, despair rolling over you in waves. It was one thing to hear of the taint killing but to see it was something else entirely. It was an incredibly sad sight, to watch the life be horribly drained from people that did not deserve it. You and Daeron continued on as he began to name patients and how they got infected. Most were injured while inspecting the taint, others approached because they did not know what it was and suffered the consequences of curiosity. 

“Have you tried moonweed? I’ve seen it make surprising effects on the taint I experiment on back home.” You proposed. Daeron turned to you and thought for a moment. 

“Moonweed is a poison,” Daeron stated. 

You nodded, “Yes, but it is known that some poisons can be used to counteract others. I tried it in an experiment once. Tainted flowers began to grow alive again, but it did not last.” You were solemn by your failed experiment just the day prior. You truly believed it had worked, but when the life faded away and the taint took over again you felt a part of yourself go with it. 

Daeron walked closer to you, awe in his eyes as his hands went up to rest on your shoulders, “Are you being truthful? It really receded?” 

“Well, yes, but only for a moment,” You undermined your work, still reeling from the colossal failure. 

“Genius!” Daeron began. He started to walk away from you towards the exit of this area of the sick ward, “None of our healers have yet to accomplish that. You must go over it with me in the laboratory. What a feat!” His steps had renewed vigour at your words. You got the sense that this was an elf with an intense passion for his study, bordering on obsession by his reaction to your words. 

“Genius for a human, right?” You did not mean to say that as loudly as you did, but it had been feelings simmering under the surface the whole time you had been in the elven kingdom. Whenever people talked to you, their compliments always felt backhanded; as though a human was unworthy of such praise but received it otherwise. 

Daeron looked at you with an eyebrow raised, confused that you would ask such a question, “No. Just genius.” As he walked away, you paused for a moment. Your heart swelled at the compliment and you knew that hopefully, you would be making another friend in this place; anything that could make your stay here better. 

You sped up your walking to catch up with Daeron and walked with him to the laboratory, where the two of you spent the following hours swapping notes and other bits of information. The two of you had to catch up on what the other knew, as being on the same page was crucial. 

The time between you and Daeron passed swiftly. Despite the topic being grim, it felt nice to share information with someone just as deeply invested in the same study as you. His passion for healing was much like yours, though his talent for potion-making far exceeded your skills. The two of you spent hours in the laboratory, bouncing ideas back and forth and scanning through books. 

Over that time, your conversation had managed to move into topics that were not strictly work-related. You had gotten to know Daeron beyond that of the role of head healer. He had an interest in horse breeding and animal care. He had a plethora of pets, including some cats, dogs, an owl, and two ferrets. You had instantly seen a resemblance between him and Helaena, as she had an interest in collecting insects. Your thoughts drifted to Aemond and if he collected anything like his siblings. 

Your feet pattered against the stone hallway as two guards walked in front of you. It was as if your thoughts summoned Aemond himself, for at the end of the hallway he turned down to walk by you. His shoulders swayed with the movement of his gait. His lithe figure was tall and lean. He wore a similar outfit to the one you saw yesterday, all dark leather. His longsword was strapped to his waist and moved back and forth with his steps. His hair was done in the same style of half up and half down. 

The elf king was the most exquisite being you had ever seen, but his reputation threw you off entirely. With the stories you had heard, he was like a spawn from the greatest evils deep under the earth’s surface. Another elf walked beside him, with sunkissed skin and dark hair. Thick stubble covered the bottom portion of his face and you realized that he was the first elf you saw that possessed a beard. He was clad in silver armour and conversed with Aemond. While Aemond did not so much as spare you a glance as he passed by, the man to his side was looking at you with an intensity of hate you had yet to receive from anyone. Even the scornful look you had received from the king the other day was not as odious as this. 

The elf stopped glaring at you to give attention to his king. You nodded with respect as you passed, but you doubted it was noticed. The guards in front of you marched at a steady pace while you maintained a step behind them. After Aemond passed, you released a breath of relief. You hoped that he would continue to ignore your presence for the year you were there, for you did not wish to see what would happen if you were to get on his bad side. 

A burning feeling at the back of your head hit you and you knew someone was staring at you. It felt exactly like the stare Aemond gave you when leaving the throne room the other day. You knew the king was watching you as you moved down the hallway. It was with great relief that it faded once you made a right turn and got out of his sight. 

There was a part of you that wondered why he had been looking, but logically you hoped it was nothing but your nerves tricking you. 

Chapter 4: A Night of Song and Dance Preview

“What about,” You lowered your voice slightly, “The Great War?” It had ended centuries ago, but the scars from such gratuitous violence still cut and the blood still stained the minds and hearts of everyone. Daeron’s eyes darkened for a moment as if recalling it himself. You knew he would have been alive during that period and it once again hit you how odd it was to be among elves. They live so long, and everyone in this room was guaranteed to be many centuries, possibly even a millennium, older than you. 

“All that my brother did was to defend our lands, that is all. What about your people? Are you telling me they did not do terrible things to protect themselves?”

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words related to Drinking

Amethyst - a clear purple or bluish violet variety of crystallized quartz that is often used as a jeweler's stone. Amethyst was at one time considered able to ward off the effects of alcohol. The name of the stone comes from the ancient Greek word amethystos, 'remedy against drunkenness.' Theophrastus, a student of Plato, opined that the stone was assigned these qualities on the sound scientific basis that both amethyst and wine are purple, and so should cancel each other out.

Angel's Share - an amount of an alcoholic drink (such as cognac, brandy, or whiskey) that is lost to evaporation when the liquid is being aged in porous oak barrels.

Antifogmatic - a drink of liquor taken to counteract the effect of fog or dampness.

Bug Juice - inferior whiskey or other strong liquor.

Dead Man - a bottle emptied of beer, wine, or liquor; also: an empty beer can.

Dionise - a rock named after Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, was thought to prevent intoxication.

Glorious - archaic: hilariously drunk.

Half-seas Over - drunk.

Jackroller - one who robs a drunken or sleeping person.

Symposium - a drinking party; especially: one following a banquet and providing music, singing, and conversation. The word is typically used today to describe a meeting of experts or a published collection of articles on a subject, but the word was first used in English to describe a sort of drinking party. In fact, the word originally comes from the ancient Greek sympinein, meaning 'to drink together.'

If any of these words make it into your next poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I’d love to read them!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[miserablejester]

"There was a queer insubstantiality about him. He looked like he were painted on the air."

"Behind the stone-and-oak passages of Starecross Hall, a vision of a second house leapt up."

"She sat in the other gloomy, labyrinthine house, dressed in a blood-red evening gown. There were jewels or stars in her dark hair and she regarded him with fury and hatred."

Finally I've been allowed to return to my little illustrations, which means I've done three from one of my favourite chapters!

[maidflowery]

POV: Hot Vampire Wanna Strike a Deal with You

Aventurine X Reader

amorous✞cross -3-

“You can have it all.”

𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

𝔗𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱

The Deal with the Devil

“Huh...?”

The next time you woke up, you found yourself resting against an ornate red velvet chair.

“Oh, look, someone is finally awake.”

A honeyed, masculine voice prompted you to lift your face.

In front of you, all the way across the long banquet table lined with candelabras, sat a handsome, blond man donning a black coat and white shirt.

Immediately, your gaze was drawn to his gleaming, purple-cyan eyes. Despite the tallow candles' reflection, his cold, emotionless eyes remained untouched by their flame, still unfeeling.

“Well, take your time. My apologies, but the place is a bit messy right now. I don’t have time to clean up.”

His words went round and round in your head.

Messy...? This place...?

You took a look at your surroundings.

Majestic stone walls towered all around you. Rich, red curtains hung from the high windows, their velvet folds reflecting the dancing flames of the tallow candles. Old paintings lined the walls, their golden frames gilded with time.

You found yourself gasping at the splendor, overwhelmed by a beauty you were witnessing for the first time in your life.

...But then, upon closer inspection, you noticed something was amiss. Some of the curtains were torn, a few paintings misaligned, and slashes and cracks marred the walls. Beyond the echo of the past, this place bore the marks of battle.

Then, you saw an iron hoop-like thing, spiky like a tree branch, rolling on the floor. White candles scattered around it, drenched in crimson liquid.

Seeing the redness, a flood of memories rushed to your mind.

The full moon illuminating the starry skies.

A desecrated land, where not even a single blade of grass remained.

A man lying face down in the puddle of his own blood, gripping a silver crossbow.

A forlorn man exuding killing intent, with blood spilling from his hand.

The same man whose presence you now found yourself in, after trying to harm his familiar.

“Always remember this: humans are selfish and greedy creatures. They also despise those who’re different from them. Nothing good will ever come from approaching them. I won’t let any harm befall you. Of course, I’ll also punish anyone who dares lay a hand on you.”

The affectionately-spoken words that spelled your doom echoed in your head.

...!!

You shuddered, dropping your gaze to your lap—or at least, tried. You couldn’t look away from his multicolored eyes no matter what.

Then, you saw his lips curve into a smile, revealing a pair of sharp, ivory fangs.

“I take it you're fully awake now? In that case, let's skip the introduction and get straight to the case.”

What did he mean by that? Gruesome images raced through your mind. You could picture nothing but horrors.

Would the creature before you drain every single drop of your blood? Would cruel torture await you at his dungeon? At this point, you'd be fortunate to be granted a painless, quick death.

“Don’t be so scared.”

In the next second, a husky voice broke your reverie, its gentleness lulling you into a false sense of security.

“It’s going to be a bit long, so here.”

Flick!

You heard him click his fingers, and in the next moment, a lavish spread appeared before you, its rich aroma filling the air.

A perfectly seared, juicy steak. Beside it, clusters of deep purple grapes sat in abundance, sparkling like jewels. Crystal wine glasses stood tall, filled with ruby-red wine that shimmered in the light, the rich fragrance of aged oak and berries rising from the glass. Wheels of fragrance cheeses, mixed with crushed herbs.

You could tell every bite was going to be delicious just by looking at it.

If not for the almost maddening pang of hunger in your stomach, you’d have believed you had died and were now in Goddess Katica’s embrace. The only reason you didn’t succumb to your base instincts was because you were in the presence of an aristocrat.

From the moment you saw his dashing appearance, elegant mannerism, and eloquent words, you already knew that he was a noble.

Then, you spotted the silverware next to you. Unlike the wooden ones you’d usually use, their polished surface reflected you like a mirror. But above all, there were about... twelve of them, each with a different shape. You recognized the spoon and the fork, but you had no idea about the rest.

Once again, you were reminded of the disparity in status between you and the master of the house.

Wouldn’t he be offended if you ate in a messy way?

Then, while you were pondering which utensil to use...

“Why don’t we make a deal?”

You lifted your gaze, meeting the eyes that seemed to capture your soul.

“...A-a deal?”

“You won’t have to starve again.”

As he spoke, his tone was both entrancing and reassuring.

Immediately, the memories of the days when you had to fight tooth and nail to stave off your hunger revived in your mind.

Those days when you had to work yourself to the bone just for scraps. Those nights when you couldn’t sleep after going without food.

Is he saying... that I don’t have to go through that anymore?

Perhaps sensing something from your expression, he continued.

“—In exchange,” he slid something toward you. “I'll be expecting some compensation."

A dagger and a small, transparent vial—half the size of your little finger.

“These are...?”

You stared at them, feeling at a loss.

Thus, the vampire kindly explained to you. “Every day, you’ll fill that vial with your blood.”

When it finally dawned on you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the cold gleam of the dagger before you.

“T-then, I’m supposed to... With this dagger...?”

“Yes, that’s right. No way, do you expect me to suck your blood directly?”

Even though he spoke in a cheerful, joking tone, you didn’t fail to notice the glint in his eyes—the same glint the villagers would direct your way: repulsion.

Then, he went on explaining.

“There’s been a bit of a drought lately. I can't possibly put the forest animals at risk. So, it’s fortunate that you're here.”

“...”

You went quiet after you heard that.

“What’s the matter? Dissatisfied with something?”

He asked you, narrowing his eyes.

“...No.”

As you spoke, you pictured the cute squirrels that you’d sometimes encounter in the forest entrance. You didn’t want any harm to befall them, either.

“I just thought that you’re unexpectedly kind.” You stared at him and smiled.

“...”

This time, it was his turn to go quiet.

Then, after a brief silence...

“—Anyway, here’s the contract. I’ll renew it as our negotiations proceed.”

A few sheets of paper and a quill floated in front of you, steadily writing as he spoke.

This time, you were truly flustered.

“Uhm...”

“What’s wrong.”

“...I can’t read.” You shamefully admitted.

Will he get mad?

Your palms started to get sweaty.

“We can always revisit.”

However, instead of scolding you, he simply let it go.

The papers and quill quietly fell in front of you, returning to their inanimate state.

“Moving on, food and shelter are the basics I can provide. You can always ask for more.”

A life free of hunger was all you had ever hoped for. And now he was saying he could offer you more? You were astonished, so much so that you parroted him.

“...More?”

“For example, infinite wealth that would last until the end of your life and beyond. No longer would you need to struggle so hard. You’d dine on the finest meals, wear the most splendid dresses, and adorn yourself with the daintiest jewels.”

You tried to imagine it—a luxurious life beyond your wildest dreams.

“But... there’s a price to pay, right?”

From an early age, you knew that everything came with a price.

“Naturally! You’re quick on the uptake. I like people like that. Alright, for the price, let’s see...”

The dashing, blond man raised one finger.

“One sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold.

“One sacrifice every month, and it must be from the people of your village.”

With a smile, the beguiling creature of the night suggested that you turned against your own kin for wealth.

“Why? They aren’t exactly kind to you, either. No, if anything, they seem eager to get rid of you.”

He had truly seen everything.

The other presence you sensed while dreaming wasn’t merely an illusion.

“...But...” You muttered.

“In fact, here’s something else I can offer you: power. You’ll be able to get your revenge on them and eliminate anyone who stands in your way from now on. You can carve your own path and rise to the top, free of obstacles.”

“...”

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that would cost. Would you even want to know?

There was no way he couldn’t see the obvious nervousness on your face.

“You can have it all.”

“Huh?”

Baffled, you instinctively looked up, but he was gone.

“Kill me, and you won’t have to pay the price.”

In the next moment, you heard his voice right behind you.

When you turned around, all that awaited you was a purple-blue lunacy.

The tall vampire leaned over to you, smiling as he matched your eye level.

Madness was all that you saw.

“W-what do you mean...?”

“It’s been so long since I had any visitor, and today, I’m lucky enough to have two. As an act of courtesy, I always invite them to a game.”

The you reflected within the purple-blue abyss shrank.

“A-a game...?”

Then, metallic coldness greeted your palm, prompting you to look around.

Since when...?!

Within your grasp was one of the pristine silverwares, its curved, sharp tip gleaming eerily.

Before you could set it down, a gloved hand covered yours, forcing you to grip it and pull it toward his chest.

“!!”

Despite the icy coldness of the forest, the blond vampire wore a thin shirt that revealed his bare chest. His smooth, bare skin exuded a faint glow, reminiscent of moonlight.

Seeing the knife's tip pointed directly at his chest, you tried to pull your hand away, but he used his other hand to hold it in place.

You could vaguely feel the tip pressing against his skin, nearly sinking in.

“Yes, a game. In fact, I did just that with the previous guest. Of course, I’ll make it so that it’s fair to you too."

The blond vampire showed you a replica of a kind, courteous smile.

“Let’s see, for someone of your stature...” His gaze swept over your arm, covered in old scars and fresh cuts. “Well, it doesn’t seem like you’ll be able to put up much of a fight.” He remarked nonchalantly.

Then, a bright idea seemed to have occurred to him.

“Alright, how about this? I’ll give you one chance. Drive it in as deep and forcefully as you can—stab me straight in the heart. Then, you can have it all.”

A hint of rutilant glow, unmistakably madness, glimmered deep within his purple-blue eyes.

At the end, he added.

“The choice is yours.”

To be a vampire's livestock.

Infinite wealth at the cost of one of your kin every month.

Unlimited power, but at an insurmountable price.

Facing this, you...

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

[stalkerofthegods]

Lord Hades deep dive

Herbs • cypress, mint, myrrh, patchouli, bay, pumpkin, yew, wormwood, cinnamon, lavender, willow, oak, marigold, dandelion, rose, lily, daisies, rowan, poppy, daffodils, calendulas, salt and spices, Cypress, white asphodel, mint, narcissus

Animals• Dogs (Cerberus, specifically), black lambs, serpents, screech owls, black sheep, black bulls, moths (reincarnation, cycle of life), 

Zodiac • Autumn (dry becoming cold) – Earth – Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, Winter (cold becoming wet) – Water – Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces.

Colors • Black, grey, silver, gold

Crystal• hematite, onyx, obsidian, onyx, black tourmaline, jet

Symbols• precious jewels and money, drinking horn, Sceptre, Keys, Helm of darkness, night-time, autumn and winter, caves, mines, forests, crossroads, cemeteries, cornucopia, shovels (digging of graves, digging into dirt)

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• gold, silver, rubies, emeralds, anything metal and expensive due to his wealth and stone aspects. Any stones or metals. you can veil in muted colors in his honor.

Diety of• stones, metals, wealth, the underworld, 'winter; funeral rites.

Patron of• the underworld, stones, gems, crystals.

Offerings• honey, milk, shells or bones of animals, oolong and black tea, bread, and cake, apples, pomegranates, meat, especially lamb meat, he likes oils, like olive oil and such, a drinking horn, Black mirrors, Black cloth, dirt, dirt from commentaries, garlic, baked goods, sharp cheeses, money, family heirlooms, pomegranate mead/rum, black coffee, Statues or art of Cerberus, small fossils, art is drawn or for him, Shredded snakeskin, owl/vulture feathers., sheded dog fur (good origin hair, no stealing/shaving ur dog simply to give it to him), scales (balance scales), cornucopia, coins, 

Devotional•  saving money, spending responsibly, donating to charities for the dead, cleaning graveyards and gravestones (properly, respectfully, with permission for both the dead and the owners of the property), Offerings to the dead, as well as money to the spirits of the dead to let them pass on, collecting expensive jewels and crystals/stones, making an altar to tend dead spirits, Studying other cultures’ burial methods and cemetery rites, do a job for cementary, do mortuary or funeral services as a job (for the summer, or for how long u want in his honor), treat spirits kindly and help them move on, do ancestral worship, worship your land spirits in his honor, growing deathly plants (safely), writing poetry/stories for him, donate to those who can't afford a funeral, help with funerals, donate to suicide prevention organizations (that are trustworthy), donate to dog shelters, walk dogs in his honor, work at a dog shelter or babysitting dogs in his honor, visit caves that let you mine for stones/gems, make a playlist for him and hum/sing it in his honor, start a coin collection, 

Ephithets•  ‘Renowned’, ‘Good Counsellor’, ‘the Beautiful‐haired One’, ‘Of Good Repute’, ‘Leader of the People’, ‘Lord over All’, ‘Receiver of Many’, ‘Host to Many’ and Pluton (‘Wealth’). 

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• Pluto, Dis Pater, Orcus

They are reaching out• seeing dead animals or funeral symbols, seeing his symbols everywhere, smelling pomegranates, getting more job opportunities. He and his wife are usually a package deal.

Vows/omans• taking care of the underworld, marriage vows

Number• 6 (not seeing his wife for 6 months, then seeing her for 6 months), and commonly associated with death

Morals• lawfully neutral

Courting• Lady Persephone

Past lovers/crushes• Leuce, Minthe, Theophile

Personality• Like a working dad hanging up your macaroni on his desk, he is very formal and has a sweet spot.

Home• hades/hadestown (he lives in the underworld but is allowed up to Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Due to being a Cathonic god you cannot eat after them, you dispose of offerings into water into the ground, and him and his wife Persephone are usually together.

Curses• being broke, losing money, being unable to pass on, losing your job.

Blessings• more money, getting more job opportunities, getting more money.

Roots• "the unseen" which An extensive section of Plato's dialogue 'Cratylus' is devoted to the etymology of the god's name, the 'unseen one', in which Socrates is arguing for a folk etymology not from "unseen" but from "his knowledge (eidenai) of all noble things", you can see he originated from the greek region.

Friends• Persephone, Zeus, Poseidon, Hestia, hermes, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, all the Olympians

Parentage• Cronos, Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, Demeter, Hera, and Hestia.

Pet• Cerberus, in his chariot four black steeds Orphnaeus (savage and fleet), Aethon (swifter than an arrow), great Nyctaeus (proud glory of Hell's steeds), and Alastor (branded with the mark of Dis).

Children • Macaria, and in some cases Zagreus, Dionysus, and the Erinyes

Appearance in astral or gen• black hair, crown, kings coat, with a beard and with his scepter

Festivals • Halloween, The Chthonia Fertility Rites

Season • fall, winter 

Day •  Saturday, Tuesday, or Monday would be good, but he doesn't have an official day.

Status• King of the underworld, an olympion.

What angers them• disrespect to their family (wife, kids, etc), insulting the dead, messing with graveyards

The music they like• he likes old-timey, death music, I was listening to a playlist and there was a lot of goth music!

Planet• pluto

Tarot cards• death, the devil (and personally the chariot and the emperor)

Reminds me of• hot coca, death, dirt, bones, dead animals on the road, and goths.

Scents/Inscene • Cypress, amber, pomegranate, and winter scents

Prayers• 

1.

Great Hades, master of the dark afterworld, honored host of our beloved dead, husband of fair-haired Persephone, holder of the riches of the deep earth, eldest son of full-hearted Rhea and Cronus of the shining sickle, I praise you. Hades, kind one, unyielding one, gracious granter of respite to the suffering, of welcome to those who have passed from our world, I thank you for your gift of shelter and hospitality.

2.

Noble Hades, lord of the afterworld, upon your head the shining helm that veils the one it crowns in darkness, within your grasp the fearful staff with which you split the world asunder. Hades, I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Hades, holder of all the wealth within the world, yours are all the priceless treasures buried in the earth’s deep bones, the silver and the gold, the copper and the iron, the many-colored gems. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Within your realm, O Hades, are treasures too of life and abundance. The precious seeds of fruit and grain, the soft black soil that clings to root and leaf, without these gifts would mankind fail to flourish. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Kindly host of the dead, receiver of all who pass from the earth into your deep, abyssal realm, granter of rest for the weary, sweet reunion for those too long parted by your well-wrought gates. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Fair-minded Hades, even-handed one who holds in hand the lot of all whose earthly lives have ended. The greatest of kings, the lowest of beggars, all receive reward or sanction by your will. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings.

3.

Great Hades, master of the darkened deep, master of the realm beneath our feet who hears the echoes of our steps, who takes the echoes of our lives. Hades, you know the need for an end to life, you know the worth of a well-deserved rest, you know the thanks of men and women weary from long lives of worry and toil, you know the joy of sweet reunion as friends long parted join together once again within your storied land. The dim and misty underworld is yours, O Hades; yours are the Fields of Asphodel, yours the endless pits of Tartarus in which are cast the wicked and the vile. Yours too are the Fortunate Isles, the land of fair Elysium where dwell the righteous and the good. Hades, the receiver of burnt offerings, receiver of the blood of beasts, well-honored god: in the end, all come to you. Hades, I praise you.

4.

Great-hearted Hades, lord of the afterworld, noble husband of gracious Persephone, daughter of the earth who shares your golden throne; advocate of the dead whose wrath falls on those who deny them due burial, or whose dishonor endures beyond the grave. Relentless Hades, agent of vengeance, friend of the Furies, long is your arm, long your memory. Lord of riches, lord of wealth, yours is the abundance of the depths, the cold, unyielding treasure of metal and stone; yours is the black dirt turned by the plow each spring, the sun-warmed soil that hides the seed. Hades, dark-haired son of Kronos, ruler of the world beyond us, inevitable host of men and women and all, I thank you for your care of those who have passed; I praise you, I honor you, I revere your name.

Due to him being a Chthonic deity here are tips for worship• You can do water in the ground, I'd personally light incense in his honor, over dirt, and let the ashes fall into the water in his honor. You can throw offerings into water into a pit in the dirt for him, in front of statues offerings were left at his feet. if you have no backyard, or any place to dispose of dirt, I'd get a bag of dirt and place offerings in it then throw it out (make him aware of it, with respect.), Offerings are often buried, poured down the drain, or into the trash (This is done to ‘complete’ the offering.), please NEVER eat after him or anything associated with him other than Kore (Persephone's overworld name, ONLY her overworld aspect),

I know he was offered blood, but please don't unless you're a devotee of Mimmum of 5 years!! that is offering your source of life and it has to be sterile and everything and is VERY VERY sacred, you're offering your life to him, so please make sure to do research and have someone help you if you do decide to.

Links/websites/sources • https://www.tumblr.com/h-x-d-e-s/190189758200/on-worshipping-hades# https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrology_and_the_classical_elements#:~:text=Spring%20(wet%20becoming%20hot)%20%E2%80%93,Water%20%E2%80%93%20Cancer%2C%20Scorpio%2C%20Pisces https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hades-Greek-mythology https://www.worldhistory.org/Hades/ https://www.worldhistory.org/Hades/ https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/oi/authority.20111010143853768#:~:text=Epithets%20which%20euphemistically%20address%20his,Pluton%20('Wealth'). https://www.reddit.com/r/Hades/comments/17yhisn/offerings_to_hades/?rdt=60435 https://www.tumblr.com/twelfthremedy/625927031204577280/hades-offerings https://asklepiad-apollon.tumblr.com/post/182810115143/historically-accurate-offerings-to-the-theoi-buthttps://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/khc513/it_makes_me_sad_that_hades_doesnt_have_a_festival/ https://greekpagan.com/tag/hades/

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight Part.10- Finale

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight and his lady get their happy ending.

Playlist:

Royalty~ Egzod, Maestro Chives, Neoni

Dynasty~MIIA

The Alchemy~Taylor Swift

End Game~Taylor Swift

Disclaimer/writer's note: Thank you for all your love and support for this story. Featuring a subtle Merlin reference and a not-so-subtle Peaky Blinder's reference. Considering doing a companion series following the couple now they're married if that would interest you guys :)

A blue mist swept through the Riverlands on the morning of Y/N’s wedding to her knight, turning the grass blades crisp, as a gentle breeze blew the red cornflowers of the Blackwood plains this way and that. Her own crimson gown, embroidered with the sigil of House Blackwood, closely resembled the colour of these flowers, as she passed the, now, arbitrary border demarcating Bracken lands from Blackwood territory. The flecks of gold on her jewel coloured gown were a small signal, however, that such a physical and marital crossing between Houses was not also a severance between the two, but rather a union of its own. The red and black Blackwood flags decorating the battlements of Raventree attested to this, with the addition of a splash of gold on the tree of the sigil, which Benjicot had requested be added, in homage to his golden queen.

That morning, Benjicot had met with his friends in his chamber, whilst frantic preparations for the wedding ceremony were continuing around them. Stalking intimidatingly in front of each one, his gloved hand pointing to each man individually, he warned them, “no fighting, no fighting, no fucking fighting.”

Robb pouted, “you’re telling me I can’t even look a certain way at a Bracken without you finding me at fault?”

Benjicot glared at him disapprovingly.

“Not today. I want this day to be the day of my lady’s dreams and if you do anything to jeopardise it, I will have no qualms about using my new authority as Lord Blackwood to have you punished for it.”

Robb scoffed, “Right, you’ll put me in the stocks for roughing one of her cousins up a bit.”

Benjicot stared at his friend with a serious expression, responding straightforwardly, “immediately and without hesitation.”

Unaware of the precautions her betrothed was making to ensure that her wedding day did not descend into all-out warfare between the Bracken guests and the Blackwoods, Y/N made her way to the ancient hall of Raventree, as two bannermen respectfully pulled the oak doors open, when she approached. Holding Aeron’s arm as he led her down the aisle of grand hall of Raventree, lit with lanterns all along the stone walls, she saw her knight at the end of it, his back held in tension as he waited for his love to approach. Seeing him before her, his crimson cloak matching her own gown, swept dashingly across his shoulder, her heart was full at the realisation that all of dreaming of knights and castles was finding its result in her own fairytale, in which she would be the heroine, and Benjicot her devoted knight.

Hearing the swell of music which heralded her entrance, he turned and struggled to keep composure of his expression as he took in her beauty and felt his long-held dream of her becoming his wife and Lady Blackwood becoming a reality. Smiling encouragingly at her, with a wink, he strode forward to meet her.

Removing her hand from Aeron’s arm, she took Benjicot’s proffered arm, as they ascended the stone steps before them and knelt, Benjicot helping Y/N to arrange her long train so she did not trip on it. Taking her hand in his, he leant close to her ear to whisper, “you are a vision, my love” before kissing her bejewelled hand, adorned by the Blackwood ring, as they said prepared to begin their new life together.

Three Months Later

“A small skirmish has occurred on the border between the Blackwood plains and the Red Ford, my Lord.” A wizened bannerman, hardened by years of battle in the Riverlands, informed Lord Blackwood.

Holding his index finger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose, Benjicot released an exasperated sigh.

“Who began it?”

“A lower Bracken bannerman.”

Lady Blackwood looked up from the book she was reading at this, ensconced on a window seat in the corner of the room, as she often was during her husband’s council meetings. Whilst she enjoyed being in his presence, she preferred to listen, rather than contribute to these discussions, despite his frequent encouragement to do so, if she wished, and his reminders that he valued her opinion above all others.

“And no one was seriously harmed on either side?”

“A small spat, my Lord, no major injuries incurred on either side. Nevertheless, the Brackens have grown bold following your relaxation of the borders. We must repay such insolence with a firm hand.”

At this, the Lady Blackwood began to speak.

“I’m not sure…”

“Pardon me, my Lady, but this is not a matter for ladies to discuss.”

Turning his head sharply to meet the gaze of his bannerman with a cold expression, Benjicot spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll have you remember, that you are addressing Lady Blackwood who I, myself, have asked to attend this council, so that we might benefit from her invaluable insight on how to proceed in these matters. I do believe you were ‘insolent’ enough to interrupt her speech and I will thank you to remember your position and manners towards the Lady.”

Lowering his head in reluctant deference to his liege Lord, the bannerman did not verbally respond.

This did not satisfy Benjicot, however.

“Apologise to Lady Blackwood, Ser, or remove yourself from the room.”

Turning to Benjicot in shock, which he quickly attempted to school from his features, the bannerman turned to Y/N, bending his head before uttering his apologies for interrupting her.

Directing one more cold stare at his bannerman, Benjicot turned to smile at his lady, holding his hand palm out to request that she approach him.

“Now, my Lady, please continue with what you were going to say before you were so rudely interrupted.”

Placing her hand in his upturned hand, as she stood beside his chair, Y/N continued.

“I meant to say that I’m not sure violent retribution for a minor border spat between lower bannerman, not following either of their Lords’ orders to behave peaceably will be conducive to maintaining peace on the border. Nor does such a minor infraction call for such a response.”

Smiling approvingly at his lady and squeezing her hand affectionately before continuing, Benjicot turned to the address the rest of his council.

“Lady Blackwood has spoken the only sensible words I have heard throughout this whole session. I will meet with Ser Aeron Bracken and we will discuss the imposition of sanctions for lower bannermen who have the audacity to transgress our orders, before we proceed further. I see no reason to harm the strong alliance we have forged between our Houses over such a small matter.”

Dismissing his council, each man filed out, as Benjicot continued to retain his lady’s hand in his.

When the room was clear, excepting himself and his lady, he turned towards his lady, opening his arms out towards her.

As she sunk onto his lap, encircling his neck in her arms, she was surprised to see the smile which illuminated his features, and a glint in his eye which usually heralded mischief.

“And why are you so smug, Ser?”

Benjicot winked at her, his smile only growing.

“Only because my lady has finally asserted her right to speak her opinion on my Council, and I am proud of her. And I would be lying to say that I did not also enjoy putting Lord Tywin in his place. I will, of course, have to remove him from my Council, in any case. He has only given me further reason to do so, following his treatment of you at today’s session.”

Bringing his hand up to gently cup her face, he kissed her cheek.

“I do hope you will grace us with your opinion at future sessions.”

Patting his chest affectionately, Y/N responded in a teasing manner.

“I might be so inclined to favour you with my invaluable ‘insight’ at future sessions, should the mood so take me.”

Smiling at her adoringly, he was inwardly buoyed at how much her confidence had grown over the last few months, and he pressed his lips to hers, as she tightened her hold around his neck.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed an affectionate kiss on her nose, as they talked over the events of the day, and laughed at the antics of his council men.

As he gazed lovingly at his lady Wife, the Blackwood Knight felt a degree of contentment he had never yet felt, to have found the Queen of his heart.

@lovebabe18-blog @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess @dancingbaek @aemondslove @cheendrella @rebeccawinters

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part V

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :) And a huge thank you to everyone reading!

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe

Part VI >>

Jesminda had been killed on a night like this, Lucien thought. 

The sky had been clear of any clouds, a blue so deep it was nearly violet. Stars had sparkled to life in the distance, and Lucien had been able to see them, jewel-bright, when he had looked out of the arched windows of the throne room. 

His father had been wearing a crown of golden oak leaves, his brothers had held him down with rough hands, and Lucien had begged for his lover’s life to be spared. 

Lucien had turned his head in the end, a betrayal in itself, but watching Jesminda’s execution would have been unbearable. Her screams, sharp and grating like knives on marble, still haunted his worst nightmares. Lucien knew he had failed Jesminda then, the female he had claimed with such certainty as his mate. 

When the High Lord’s guards had taken him from the dungeons, Lucien had been quick to think that Eris had been unable to convince their father of sending him back to the Night Court. The Mother’s scales of justice balancing once more for what happened to Jesminda, a sense of fairness to it all. 

Not for a moment had Lucien even considered that Elain, lovely and quiet and sheltered Elain, had prompted his release from the suffocating cell in the deepest parts of the Forest House. 

Alarm choked him at the feeling of Elain pulling at the thread connecting them, horror gripping him as the memories of Jesminda flashed clear as river water in his mind. 

Lucien’s eyes met Elain’s from across the room and her unease washed over him. 

She looked out of place in Autumn, the light blue dress she wore more fitting in Spring or Day, Lucien thought. Loose curls framed her beautiful face, lips parting in surprise and relief. Her slippered feet made no sound as she took a few careful steps towards him, eyes flicking desperately from his injuries to his bound wrists. 

Elain was an excellent actress, Lucien noticed. If not for the emotions of dread and apprehension flooding their bond, even Lucien would have been convinced at how well she played the part of a concerned mate. 

“Lucien,” Elain called, her voice cracking in distress. 

The way his name rolled off her tongue clashed loudly in Lucien’s ears, metal against metal. He wanted to be near her, he wanted her to be as far away from Autumn as possible. Both reactions warred within his mind. 

Why was Elain in the Autumn Court? 

Lucien could not find it in him to believe that Feyre and Nesta would have let their sister throw herself into unquestionable danger for a male she barely talked to. Rhysand must have considered him a very important emissary if he was willing to risk Elain’s life. 

Elain looked like she would rush to him, and Lucien wondered if she could feel the bond’s pull just as he did. Lucien only noticed that Eris was standing beside Elain when his eldest brother put out his arm to prevent her from moving. 

He was unable to stop the low snarl from escaping his lips, the guards tightening their hold on him. Who else would be to blame for Elain’s arrival in the Forest House but Eris, Lucien asked himself. He silently prayed that if anything happened to his mate, Rhysand would do him the favour of ending Eris’s miserable existence. 

“Look, Lucien,” his father’s voice rang out in the near-empty space. “Your mate has come for you.” Lucien turned his attention to Beron with great effort. He did not want to take his eyes off Elain for a moment, barely trusting his own senses.

His father’s grin was cruel, almost knowing, as he waited for Lucien to respond. When Lucien kept quiet, Beron shrugged, not deterred by the silence. Lucien saw as his mother tightened her grip on the armrest of her throne, knuckles white. 

“Your mate wrote to Eris, her words bleeding with concern for you, my son.” Lucien had to hold his back straight so as not to rear back at the words. Beron had not addressed him as such in decades. 

Lucien was trying to piece everything together, knowing that he was missing valuable information that would prove navigating the conversation with his father difficult. He cursed Eris for not having warned him at least. 

“Being apart pains us,” Lucien offered, hoping it would satisfy Beron. He glanced at Elain and tried to relax, to calm his nerves. She clung to Eris, surprising Lucien with how trusting she seemed. He had to remind himself that she was merely acting, doing her best to do as the Night Court had obviously pushed her to.  

“She thinks she has a claim to you,” Beron shook his head, false sympathy carved into the frown on his face. “But you know Autumn’s laws, an unaccepted mating bond means nothing, a seed not yet planted.” 

Lucien responded on instinct, everything about it familiar, as if no time had passed between his exile and his current presence in the throne room. “Yes, High Lord.” 

“It was a great betrayal to see you siding with Spring at our border, Lucien,” Beron continued, “but the young lady’s concern for you has been touching.” 

“Let her return to Night,” Lucien interrupted, agony clawing at him. To lose a mate would be torture, and he knew his father well enough to guess he would be taking Elain’s life first. “Rhysand would thank you for it.” 

Beron replied, bitter but not angry. “You never could hold that tongue.” 

“Owing the High Lord of Night and his Lady would be of great use to us,” Eris intervened, his words always holding more weight in their family. Briefly, Lucien was thankful, was reminded of how often Eris had put himself in the way of Beron’s wrath when they were both so much younger.

Beron cast a long look at Eris, clicking his tongue, before he faced his youngest son. “I ask only that you answer one of my questions, Lucien, and I will grant your mate her wish.” Lucien heard Elain’s sharp inhale, but he kept his eyes on Beron. The metal one whirred in anticipation, pausing into place when his father spoke once more. “When is your mating ceremony?” 

Lucien felt as though someone had pulled the rug from beneath his feet. He was unsteady, his answer needed to be quick, natural. “We wanted a spring wedding,” he blurted, the response dragged out of him. He did not know what possessed him to refer to it as a marriage, but he would have bet his life on the fact that Elain would not have talked about a mating ceremony. 

Beron raised a dark eyebrow, but by the way his frown deepened, Lucien guessed the response was correct. “We’ve set the date for the equinox,” Lucien added as he felt relief from the bond, Elain’s emotions influencing his own. “On a night with a full moon.” 

Lucien watched as the Lady of Autumn reached for her husband’s arm, her fingers clawing at the sleeve. “Beron,” she murmured, a quiet plea for mercy. 

Lucien was unsure if his father had even heard his mother, but he turned away from Lucien, a clear dismissal, as he addressed Elain. “In Autumn, marrying on the night of a full moon brings blessings.” Beron cocked his head to the side like a wolf, “Did you know?” 

Elain shook her head in response, choosing honesty. Lucien could barely see her the way Eris was standing, as if he too was ready for the worst case scenario. 

Time itself seemed to still as they all waited for Beron to declare his wishes. Lucien attempted to ease Elain’s nerves, tried to comfort her through the bond, but he was not sure if he was successful. Moments or hours could have passed, and Lucien would not have noticed.

“My son,” the voice of the High Lord, never that of a father. His words the toll of a bell as he spoke to Lucien once more, breaking his silence. Beron stood from his throne, “We should let bygones be bygones, what happened all those years ago was unfortunate, but your mate is here now.” 

Lucien wondered if Beron understood just how much those words made his blood boil. Lucien had begged for Jesminda’s life to be spared, had claimed she was his mate at the time. He had been so sure, and it was like a blow to have his father mention it. Lucien could feel his face heating with anger, but he kept his mouth shut.  

“Let this be my gift to you,” Beron gestured with his hand to the windows, stars winking. “Have your wedding in Autumn, Lady Elain Archeron of the Night Court, and I will lift your mate’s exile. He would be free to come and go as he pleased.” The High Lord smiled, wicked, “and it would be a great honour to see one of my son’s married.”  

Beron did not even look at Lucien, embers in his eyes flaring as he focused solely on Elain. Lucien wanted to scream. 

Elain flashed his father a smile, it seemed so genuine that Lucien was taken aback. “How kind,” she stepped past Eris, curtsying elegantly. “You have my thanks.” 

Elain sounded so very fae, Lucien remarked. With a wave of his father’s hand, the guards removed the binds from Lucien’s wrists. As soon as Lucien was freed from his restraints, Eris moved out of Elain’s way so she could run to him. 

She threw her arms around Lucien’s neck as though she had done it countless times. He could do nothing but put his hands to Elain’s waist. 

“I was so worried,” she spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was still soft, as though she had only meant for the words to be heard by Lucien’s ears.  

Like she was his lover, Lucien breathed in deeply, held Elain close. “Everything’s alright,” he murmured, lips pressed to her hair. 

We both lie so well.

The thought was like a knife to the chest, but Lucien hoped that the two of them had been able to dispel Beron of any doubts. Lucien knew his mother was convinced, he could see it in her russet eyes. For a moment, Lucien felt guilty, but he pushed the thought aside. 

Elain was the first to pull away, a scarlet blush staining her pale cheeks. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear with one hand, but the other held tightly to Lucien’s. It was smart of her to look embarrassed, Beron would have found their affection distasteful otherwise. 

Lucien wondered if Elain knew how perfectly she had played her part, that she could have convinced kings to kneel if she set her mind to it. 

Elain certainly seemed to have the High Lord of the Autumn Court wrapped around her finger. 

“Take some time with your mate, Lucien,” his father declared. “Two nights from this one, we can celebrate your return home.” 

Lucien wanted to be back in the human lands, he wanted to be in the home he had made with Jurian and Vassa, the unlikeliest of friends. Instead, Lucien bowed his head. “Thank you, High Lord.” 

Beron angled his chin, “The guards can show you to your rooms.” Flames flashed in his father’s eyes, familiar enough to make Lucien flinch. “I must speak with Eris.” 

The guards pushed Lucien forward, the gesture rude but not painful. They kept a respectful distance from Elain, and Lucien wondered if they had simply been too charmed by her to even consider treating her poorly. 

Together, they were escorted from the throne room, Elain still holding tightly to Lucien’s hand. 

[tf-kinky]

Noah, a man whose heart had been shattered by betrayal. His former love, Jay, had cheated on him, leaving Noah with a bitter taste of love gone wrong. But Noah had discovered something extraordinary in his despair: a Transformation App, or TF App for short, which promised to turn any living being into inanimate objects of one's choosing.

One chilly evening, with the stars winking down at him through the winter sky, Noah decided to use the app. While talking to Jay about it, Noah quickly with a few taps used the TF app, Jay was transformed into a stunning diamond engagement ring, the facets of the jewel reflecting the moonlight with an icy brilliance. Jay could still feel, still think, but now he was bound to a new form, cold and unyielding.

Months passed, and Noah found solace in the arms of Jace, a kind-hearted man with eyes like the warmest autumn leaves. Their love grew like ivy, strong and unbreakable. One day, under the boughs of an ancient oak, Noah knelt before Jace, the ring - which was once Jay - gleaming in his hand.

"Jace, this ring, it's... it's my ex, Jay. I turned him into this," Noah confessed, his voice a mix of humor and seriousness.

Jace looked at the ring, then at Noah, his eyes twinkling with mischief and acceptance. "You turned him into a ring? That's... quite the commitment," he laughed, sliding the ring onto his finger. "I love it. And I love that you're so creative with your revenge."

Noah smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I thought it was fitting. He'll be cold but he'll always be close, feeling the warmth of our love, forever on your finger."

Jace admired the ring, feeling the coolness of the diamond against his skin. "He'll feel all the love we share, won't he?" There was a smirk in his voice, knowing Jay's new existence was both a poetic justice and a constant reminder of the consequences of betrayal.

And so, Jay, now an exquisite diamond, became a symbol of their union. He felt every touch, every gesture of love between Noah and Jace, his once warm heart now as cold as the stone he'd become, wrapped around Jace's finger for the foreseeable future. Noah and Jace would often chuckle at the irony, their love growing stronger with each shared secret, each knowing glance, while Jay was there, silent, cold, a constant yet powerless witness to their happiness.

As the days melded into weeks, Jay, now a diamond ring on Jace's finger, was engulfed in a relentless cold, trapped in his new form with no escape. His fear, his upset, his sense of imprisonment was not lost on Noah and Jace; instead, it became a twisted source of amusement for them.

Every touch, every moment where Jace would slide the ring off and on, was done with a knowing smirk. Noah and Jace were acutely aware of Jay's consciousness within the diamond, and they relished in it. They often spoke of their plans, their love, their future, right where Jay could hear, feel, and yet do nothing about it.

One evening, under a sky ablaze with sunset colors, Noah and Jace sat on their balcony, the world below them a vibrant tapestry of life Jay could no longer participate in. Jace twirled the ring, feeling its chill against his warm skin, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"I bet he's scared, huh?" Jace said with a laugh, looking directly at the ring, almost as if he could see Jay's trapped soul.

Noah grinned, "Oh, I'm sure he's terrified. But think about it, he's with us all the time, feeling every bit of our happiness. It's poetic justice." His voice was laced with a dark humor, enjoying the thought of Jay's perpetual fear.

They shared a look, one that spoke volumes of their satisfaction in knowing Jay was there, scared, upset, and utterly powerless. They kissed, their lips meeting with the joy of knowing that Jay was forced to witness their love, his own fears amplifying their enjoyment.

As the night deepened, they whispered sweet nothings to each other, deliberately loud enough for Jay to hear. They talked about how his fear was like a seasoning to their love, making everything sweeter by contrast. Every time Jace touched the ring, it was with the intent of reminding Jay of his new reality - cold, scared, and forever at their mercy.

Jay's mind was a whirlwind of dread, his silent screams unheard. He was a prisoner to their love story, his fear feeding the very enjoyment Noah and Jace derived from their macabre situation. He was there, on Jace's finger, a constant reminder of betrayal, now turned into a spectacle of his own terror, with no reprieve in sight.

[al0v3w1tch]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Lord Hades… Today is Lord Hades’ worship day, so I want to share information about him in honor of Him. 𖤐 Who is Hades? Hades is the oldest son of the Titans Cronus and Rhea, God of the dead, hidden wealth of the Earth, and King of the Underworld; He is widely known to have been the protector of funerals and defended the rights of the dead due to their burial. His most famous myths are the abduction of his wife, Persephone, and Him being consumed by his father alongside His other four siblings. 𖤐 Mythology. After being consumed by His father and then saved by His brother, Zeus, Hades fought alongside His siblings to take Cronus down as well as the other Titans; when they received victory, Zeus ruled over the other Gods, Poseidon ruled the sea and Hades ruled over the dead; He named His domain after Himself and has Charon transport the dead to the Underworld as long as they leave a coin offering for the ferryman. After a while of ruling the Underworld, Hades became desperate for a wife and went to his brother Zeus to ask for His consent to marry His and Demeter’s daughter, Persephone. When given the right, Hades visited Persephone in the Overworld and abducted her while she was gathering flowers in a field; after Her abduction, Her mother, Demeter, searched far for Her daughter, and with the help of the sun God, Helios, Demeter had found out where Her daughter was kept. When she confronted Zeus about the ordeal, He sent the messenger God, Hermes, down to the Underworld to talk to Hades about letting Persephone go free. The God agreed but before Persephone left, Hades had snuck pomegranate seeds into the Goddesses mouth, due to this; Hades and Demeter made a pact of Persephone would be in the Overworld with her mother for half the year and then be with her husband for the rest. Hades also had involvement with the Greek heroes Theseus and Pirithous who are known for kidnapping Helen of Troy when she was only twelve as the duo wanted to marry the daughters of Zeus. After Helen’s kidnapping, Pirithous decided he wanted to marry Persephone so they traveled to the Underworld to try and pursue the Goddess; when Hades found out about their plan, He welcomed them in with gentle hospitality but when the two tried to leave their seats, they were stuck down to them by coils of serpents. They were trapped in the Underworld until Heracles attempted to save them, he only succeeded with Theseus as when he tried to save Pirithous, the ground shook under them so Theseus and Heracles had to leave the man behind. 𖤐 Symbols, Offerings, and Altar. Symbols: - Dogs (Cerberus), black lambs, serpents, and screech owls. - Precious jewels, money, and minerals. - Cypress, white asphodel, mint, and narcissus. - Drinking horn. - Scepter. - Key. - Helm of Darkness. - Black, grey, silver, and gold colours. - Nighttime. - Autumn and Winter. - Cemeteries, crossroads, forests, and caves. Offerings: - Coins. - Stones (Dark, jagged stones work). - Alcohol (Wine specifically). - Honey. - Milk or Water. - Tobacco. - Herbs: cypress, mint, myrrh, patchouli, bay, pumpkin, yew, wormwood, cinnamon, lavender, willow, oak. - Flowers: marigold, dandelion, rose, lily, daisies, rowan, poppy, daffodils, calendulas. - Oils (Olive oils and kinds of vinegar work). - Salts and spices. - Shells or bones. - Tea (Black). - Breads or cakes. - Fruits (apples and pomegranates). - Meat (especially Lamb). - Incenses: frankincense, myrrh, wormwood, sandalwood, cinnamon, rose, pomegranate. - Black, grey, and silver candles.

𖤐 Prayers. -Great Hades, master of the dark afterworld, Honored host of our beloved dead, Husband of fair-haired Persephone, Holder of riches of the deep earth, Eldest son of full-hearted Rhea and Cronus of the shining sickle,

I praise you. Hades, kind one, unyielding one, gracious granter of respite to the suffering, Of welcome who have passed from our world, I thank you for your gift of shelter and hospitality. -Great-hearted Hades, Lord of the Afterworld, Noble husband of gracious Persephone, daughter of the earth who shares your golden throne; Advocate of the dead whose wrath falls on those who deny them due burial, or whose dishonor endures beyond the grave.

Relentless Hades, agent of vengeance, friend of the Furies, long is your arm, long your memory.

Lord of riches, lord of wealth, Yours is the abundance of the depths, the cold, unyielding treasure of metal and stone; Yours is the black dirt turned by the plow each spring, the sun-warmed soil that hides the seed.

Hades, dark-haired son of Kronos, ruler of the world beyond us, inevitable host of men and women, I thank you for your care of those who have passed; I praise you, I honor you, I revere your name. -(Can be used with prayer beads). 

Hades, great of glory, great of might,

I pray to you.

Ruler of your full share of the world,

I pray to you, O God.

Holder of indescribable wealth,

I pray to you, O God.

Lord of all who have walked this earth,

I pray to you, O God.

Yours are the riches beneath solid stone,

I pray to you, O God.

Yours is the gift of prosperity,

I pray to you, O God.

Yours is the hall that holds all we have loved,

I pray to you, O God.

Granter of fortune to those who live,

I pray to you, O God.

Giver of peace to those who have passed,

I pray to you, O God.

May I find the good your blessings bring,

I pray to you, O God.

May I see your hand within the world,

I pray to you, O God.

May I know your favor, hear your call,

I pray to you, O God.

May I honor your art and praise your works,

I pray to you, O God.

Hades, great of glory, great of might,

I pray to you. 𖤐 Blessed be.  

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Semper Eadem (iv, ao3)

Chapter four: In the aftermath of the jousting match, Elizabeth and her court go hunting, where Cassian has conspired to get Nesta alone.

(chapter one // chapter two // chapter three)

Nesta wasn’t thinking of the joust. 

As the morning after dawned bright and clear, full of promise and expectation, she swore to God and all the old saints above that her mind would not stray to yesterday. She willed resolution in her chest, begged for strength, and as the sky lightened beyond the lead-paned windows of the Queen’s chamber, she focused instead on dressing her mistress. She refused to remember the tiltyard beyond those stone walls— kept her thoughts far from that bastard-born son of a nobleman who had so decidedly won command of her heart, like it were just another treasure he had plundered. 

Obstinate, she clenched her jaw.

No.

By almighty God, she was not thinking about it.

Around her, the ladies of the royal household tittered and laughed, the soft sounds of shifting fabric filling the chamber as Nesta tied the ribbons on the Queen’s kirtle. A steady thrum of excitement hung heavy in the air, so thick it was palpable, and beyond the glass, not a single cloud marred the blue of the August sky.

There was to be a hunt, today.

A column of bright golden sunlight blazed through the chamber as the Queen angled a small Venetian mirror, its gilded frame heavy in one lithe hand as she tilted the glass to better glimpse her reflection. Her Tudor-red hair was afire in the morning light, her painted skin as pale as chalk, and glimmering she stood in the centre of her rooms, bedecked in so much wealth it was nigh on incalculable. Assessing, the sovereign let out a single contented hum.

What she saw pleased her.

And Nesta did not disagree— the dress alone could rival the work of the great Italian masters. 

The fabric was light in colour, a pale cream with embroidered roses and vines picked out in such detail it was almost enough to stun. A threaded thistle sat above the Queen’s ribs, and on her left sleeve a large needlework snake was coiled, studded with pearls and gems, and from its mouth dangled a small ruby charm— heart shaped, and surrounded by golden thread, silver cloth, and shining, opalescent pearls. 

The snake was Nesta’s favourite part of this particular dress. 

An emerald no bigger than a fingernail served as the serpent’s eye, and its tongue was rendered in a line of golden thread darting from between embroidered silver teeth to hold that small ruby heart. A symbol of wisdom and cunning, the snake was everything that Elizabeth represented, everything she valued, and the message wasn’t lost on Nesta as she circled the Queen and brushed a hand over the jewels that made up the serpent’s curled and curving tail.

Her sovereign was as slippery and as dangerous as an adder, one that had used the sharp edges of her diamonds to carve a space of her own in a world shaped for the pleasures of men. 

And that ought to have been distraction enough, but no matter how many times Nesta hauled herself back to the present…

Her dastardly eyes wandered to the window, and despite the promises she’d made to the Lord above, she damned her soul when she caught sight of the tiltyard beyond the glass, where a privateer had competed for her honourand— 

“Are you looking forward to the hunt, your majesty?”

Nesta tried to not startle as Blanche, the Keeper of Her Majesty’s Jewels, stepped forward and voiced her question, bearing in her hands an oak jewellery box with the lid lifted open. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a staggering number of pearls and jewels and gems, shining in every colour.

Elizabeth was silent a moment, handing off her mirror to another of her ladies as her fingers trailed idle over the priceless objects before her, hovering above diamonds and sapphires and emeralds and rubies. Before she answered, she plucked up a ring set with a large ruby and extended it out, holding it towards Nesta in one smooth movement.

“Ah,” she said breezily, waving her hand, and as the sunlight refracted off the myriad jewels scattered across the fabric of her dress, shards of red and silver light danced across the floorboards, “you know that I do so love to hunt.”

The Queen extended a hand as she spoke, and Nesta slid the ring the sovereign had chosen onto her waiting finger. Another of her ladies draped a necklace of pearls around her neck, and if for one brief moment they reminded Nesta of the pearl that hung customarily from Cassian’s ear… 

She forced the thought away, and focused on straightening the Queen’s sleeve, her eyes returning to the snake.

But it’s spine was a line of more pearls— to symbolise wealth and purity, virginity, and it shouldn’t have reminded her of Cassian, of the one set in gold that shone amidst his dark curls. After all, Cassian could lay claim to neither wealth nor virginity, and yet the one he wore was a symbol nonetheless. Nesta brushed her hand over the Queen’s sleeve, and thought that perhaps his pearl was instead a symbol of something precious, something rare. Something plucked from the ocean and brought home to treasure.

Oh, the joust had softened her.

That was for certain.

Her conviction had already been wavering when she’d read Cassian’s letters, and seeing him race down the tiltyard yesterday had all but secured his forgiveness. The flames of her anger had burned away to nothing, and now when she thought of him—

She heard his laugh, saw his rakish smile, and felt her heart beat a little faster inside her chest. Like she were a witless maiden, borne of nothing but dreams and naïveté; like she hadn’t spent years at the royal court, growing as used to politicking as she was breathing. Cassian had made her yearn for real romance again, the way she had once as a girl, when her father had told her of Arthur and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde, and all those famous tales that made her heart swell.  Oh, after years of ruthless pragmatism and the endless facade of courtly love, she thought her desire for the real thing had been stifled, strangled, but it had resurfaced now, more fervent than ever before. And when he’d bowed before her in the tiltyard, his helm cast aside and his face aglow with triumph… 

Her hand fell away from the serpent on the Queen’s arm.

God— she needed to focus.

She pulled her awareness back in time to hear Blanche ask of Elizabeth,

“Will the Earl of Leicester be your hunting partner?”

Nesta paused.

It was a bold question— so bold that if anybody but the most favoured of her ladies had asked it, the Queen might have found reason to divorce a head from some shoulders. After all, they had all of them heard the rumours. Leicester and the Queen had been close friends since childhood— and there were whispers that perhaps it was once more than friendship, and might someday be something more again, if Leicester got his way. He had organised this entire pageant in the Queen’s honour, a gesture far grander than any he could reasonably have been expected to lay at his Queen’s feet. But as Nesta looked up, half expecting to find fury in the lines of the Queen’s face, instead she found her monarch’s mouth pulling into a coy smile, one that said Elizabeth would allow the question. 

“I think perhaps he shall,” she answered.

Nesta remained silent, only rounded the Queen to stand before her. She assessed the dress, the jewels, straightening the pearl necklace that twice circled her throat before hanging down to her navel. Elizabeth merely tilted her head in the wake of Nesta’s ministrations, causing the lace of her ruff to tremble. 

“And what of you, Mistress Archeron?” she asked. “Who shall be your partner?”

Nesta did not blink, did not pause, did not hesitate.

“Who should you like it to be, your majesty?” she asked, tilting her head in an echo of the monarch’s stance. Approval glimmered in Elizabeth’s eyes, a rare jewel of its own.

“Northumberland, perhaps?” the Queen ventured. “Master Vanserra seemed most determined to compete for your honour yesterday.”

Nesta’s mind flicked back once more to the joust - her soul be damned - and to the way Cassian had almost killed Eris in the tiltyard. As if the Queen could read her mind, Elizabeth snorted and said, smoothly,

“Or Master Cassian?” She tapped Nesta on the wrist with one long, thin finger. “My handsome Bat seems to have an eye on you, dove.”

Nesta forced herself to shrug. 

“Perhaps he does, majesty.”

She fought a smile, and Elizabeth hummed. Mirth danced at the corners of her lips, and even though she didn’t approve of her ladies marrying, something about the joust yesterday had humoured her. Perhaps it was the way Cassian had bowed to his Queen, or the way he had cast off his helm and looked up to the stands in such a perfect display of chivalry that Nesta half thought he might have plucked it from the pages of some Arthurian romance. Either way, something had snared the Queen’s attention, but Nesta was not fool enough to say anything more. She merely took a single step back and bowed her head as the Queen smoothed a hand down her skirts one final time.

“Well,” she said, her tone one of musing. “Perhaps we shall see.” 

A moment later the Queen clapped her hands, the sound sharp and cutting in the silence of her chambers. As the rest of her ladies waited for instruction, Elizabeth looked the window and allowed another serpentine smile to grace her lips. Her eyes were lit with purpose as she lifted her chin and said, with all the authority and determination only a monarch could muster,

“Let us hunt.”

***

It seemed, Nesta thought from atop her horse a half hour later, that all of England had descended upon Warwickshire to bask in the majesty of the Queen.

Riding two or three abreast in a great train behind Elizabeth, the hunting party stretched across the grounds all the way back towards the castle— all noblemen and horses, ladies and squires and hunting dogs. Trumpeters and drummers followed too, and a host of staff from the kitchens carried the baskets containing the food they would lay out at noon for dinner. Sheaths of arrows were slung across backs, crossbows stowed in saddlebags, and the drumming mirrored the footfalls of the horses as beyond the castle walls, Kenilworth’s expansive lawns began to slope before eventually giving way to lush woodland.

Grand— it was all so immeasurably grand.

Ahead, the Queen’s standard fluttered in the breeze, held aloft by a standard bearer, the embroidered lion shining golden beneath the morning sun. All the trappings of royalty gleamed— the richness of the Queen’s dress, the pearls that had been threaded through her hair; a glimmering vanguard as the trees of the forest grew closer. And at Elizabeth’s right, just as Blanche had suspected, rode the earl of Leicester. 

As casually and as easily as if it were the only place in the world that suited him, Robert Dudley filled the space at the sovereign’s side, and their heads were inclined towards one another as they spoke, their horses so close their flanks almost touched. The breeze carried behind them the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter, and as Leicester glanced sideways at his Queen, Nesta saw a flash of teeth, a wide smile beneath the brim of his hat, and she knew with unerring certainty that the earl was in love— so desperately and madly in love that it warranted all of this display, all of this pageantry. 

And the reminder that all of this grandeur was on the behalf of a man simply trying to turn a woman’s head… 

Well, it was foolish perhaps, and more than a touch sentimental, but… charming, too. 

And after all, hadn’t Cassian done something similar yesterday— something just as foolish? When he’d all but declared war on Eris, one of the richest dukes in England, because he had dared to ask her for her favour?

She shook her head, pushed the thought away, and kept her gaze straight ahead.

On the Queen’s left was Rhysand, riding silent and all but ignored. His heavy chain of office was draped over his shoulders, and the gold was bright against the deep black of his doublet. He wore a cap with a raven feather at the top too, and though from her position behind him she could not see his face, she could see his hands gripping the reins of his horse— could see, too, his velvet gloves, and the three rings he wore atop his gloves on each hand. His shoulders were stiff, and Nesta smirked.

If there was one thing Lord Rhysand did not appreciate, it was being overlooked, and with Leicester by her side, the Queen had no attention to spare for her dark-haired councillor. 

The sight should not have made Nesta as smug as it did.

On Nesta’s own left rode Madge, another of the Queen’s ladies. At their backs was the Duke of Northumberland and one of his many brothers, and Nesta did not think it a coincidence that he had managed to secure such a spot in the procession trailing behind the Queen. Indeed, as she had stood in the courtyard and mounted her horse, Eris had offered her his hand, and though Nesta had not accepted his assistance, he had bowed his head anyway, before taking her own hand and placing a fleeting kiss to the back of her fingers. 

She had never been so thankful to have been wearing riding gloves.

Beside her Madge was silent, as if she could tell that her riding partner was entirely preoccupied with her own thoughts. A frown almost creased Nesta’s brow, and she almost considered striking up conversation, but then her eyes fell to her gloved hands tight on her reins, and all she could think was—

I hope Cassian did not bear witness to that ridiculous kiss.

It was a thought as ridiculous in itself as the kiss Eris that had dropped on her hand, but one that persisted nonetheless. So consumed was she by it that the world and all its noise seemed to fade away, until—

“Mistress Radcliffe,” a smooth and all too familiar voice said easily from the empty space at Nesta’s right. Her heart kicked in answer as Madge turned her head, eyebrows rising as she beheld who addressed her. “My lord Azriel asks for you. He wishes to give you news of your brother in Ireland before the hunt begins.”

Cassian did not let his eyes stray to Nesta as he bowed his head; a vision of courtesy.

Madge smiled wide. It was no secret that she missed her brother, sent over to Ireland on the Queen’s orders. A lady from the north, she missed her family greatly, and it was no surprise to Nesta when she nodded her head and gave her thanks before turning around and leading her horse back along the procession that trailed them, to the space about four riders back, where the Queen’s spy had been riding beside the privateer and now sat alone.

Nesta looked behind as Cassian’s horse fell into step behind her. Quietly, she thought she heard Northumberland curse.

“Lady Nesta,” Cassian said in greeting, his voice light and airy as if this were the most ordinary of meetings.

But— merciful God, have pity on her soul.

Would she ever tire of the way her name sounded on his lips? Or the way he imbued it with something that felt like intimacy somehow? Lady Nesta, not Mistress Archeron. She thought back to his letters, how he’d penned her name with such an elaborate flourish. Even on a rocking ship, when ink and time were short for him, he’d written her name like it meant something. She glanced sidelong at him, trying to focus on the rhythm of the horse beneath her, the gentle trot of the hooves. But one look and she was at sea all over again, her sentimentality like a storm that threatened to send her under.

His doublet was the deep red of Burgundian wine, shot through with silver buttons in the centre of his broad chest, and for one foolish and ill-advised moment Nesta let her eyes wander, following that path of silver to where his doublet met his breeches.

God have pity, indeed.

Seated atop his horse, the privateer beside her cleared his throat and Nesta hauled her gaze back up— to a level far more befitting a lady of the Queen’s household. She took in, instead, the slashed sleeves of his doublet that split to reveal a crisp white shirt sitting beneath, and the dark cloak draped effortlessly over his shoulders. A delicate ruff rose from his collar and just barely grazed the edge of his jaw, and oh, lord— this man was beautiful. A velvet bonnet was balanced at a damn near rakish angle atop his curls, and as he brought his stallion into a trot beside her, the feather adorning it shivered in the breeze.

Beneath his unflinching gaze, and despite the heat, Nesta felt herself shiver too.

“Feeling cold, my lady?”

Damn him.

She cleared her throat, and refused to take note of the way several of those curls escaped his bonnet and lay tangled above his ruff, right against the bare skin of his neck.

“Master Cassian,” she said mildly, looking decidedly straight ahead to where the Queen and Leicester still spoke together in low murmurs. “Can I help you?”

He grinned. “Back to Master, are we?”

“Would you have me call you something else?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice so low it was almost sinful, “I’d have you call me several things.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and tried to force down the blood that rose to her cheeks.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Indeed,” he said brightly, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply, drawing the summer air deep into his lungs. He tightened his grip on the reins, his gloved hands pulling as the riders ahead of them began to slow— as the line of trees at the forest edge grew nearer still.

And Nesta thought she must have lost her mind, because when she looked at those gloves, for a moment she found herself mourning the fact that she could not see the bare skin of his hands as his fist tightened.

“Tell me— did my lord Azriel really wish to speak with Madge?”

Sidelong, Cassian smirked. 

“In truth, no,” he said with an easy shrug. “But it is no lie that he received reports from Ireland this morning. It is entirely possible there was something about Mistress Radcliffe’s brother in there.” He shot her a grin, before adding brightly, “I merely thought to join your hunting party, if you’ll have me.”

“I fear I am not much of a hunter,” Nesta answered with a shrug of her own, a slow lift of one shoulder. “My sister was always far better at it than I.”

He shot her a dazzling smile, one edged with mischief. “And yet I am certain we can find some creature for you to bring down.” He glanced behind him, to Eris and his brother. “A fox, perhaps.”

“Perhaps the fox was brought low enough already after yesterday’s joust.”

“The fox remains presumptuous,” Cassian shrugged. His gaze dropped, eyes turning flat as they alighted briefly on her hand, and Nesta’s heart sank a little as she realised that yes, Cassian had indeed witnessed that ridiculous little kiss. “He still thinks to take what is mine.”

“Yours?” Nesta asked incredulously, glancing once over her shoulder, ensuring Eris was still too lost in his own conversation to overhear. Looking ahead, she saw with thanks that the Queen was still too preoccupied to take note, too. “After such a long time away?”

Cassian lifted one hand from the reins and waved it. Like Rhysand, he too had rings decorating his fingers above the velvet, and they gleamed now, the gold bright.

“I thought we’d been over this, sweetheart?”

She blinked, imperious. “You’ve been over this, sir. As far as I recall, I said little on the matter.”

He snorted. “You said much,” he countered simply. “You’ve had me grovelling for days.”

“Grovelling?” she raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t mask the smile that began to spread across her face. “I haven’t seen you on your knees once.”

His eyes darkened. “And is that what it will take, my lady?” He tilted his head, the pearl in his ear brushing the lace of the ruff that peeked from the neck of his doublet. “For my forgiveness, you would have me on my knees?”

She was silent for a moment, and a wicked smirk curved his lips.

“Trust me, love, I am more than willing.”

Her breath caught, her blood raced. His meaning was obvious, and with the way that smirk turned almost devilish, she knew that the blush that rose to her cheeks had amused him— pleased him. Her treacherous heart beat a little faster - a lot faster - and she was about to reproach him for daring to speak so boldly in the presence of a lady of the royal household, but—

The horns sounded, and the dogs began to bark, and the party at last reached the tree line. With a wave of the Queen’s hand, lifted into the air, every one of them fell silent. 

Cassian pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked, and Nesta was so momentarily undone by the gesture that she almost set her horse into a straight gallop. She pulled hard on the reins, knuckles straining above the leather, and when she turned, she saw laughter dancing in those damned eyes. 

She tore her gaze away, focusing forwards— on Rhysand and the Queen and Leicester. 

Slowly they made their way beneath the cover of the trees, delving farther and father into the woodland. The sound grew muffled, the heavy canopy above cloaking the rest of the world from view, and all around them was birdsong and the snap of breaking branches as the great trail of courtiers and servants began to split into smaller groups.

It would have been impossible for the entire party to have remained unnoticed by their quarry, and so— in groups no larger than a dozen, the entire court slipped away, and as Nesta looked over her shoulder when the initial flurry of activity died down, she found nobody behind them now, only the greenery of the forest and the birds in the trees above.

The Queen’s personal hunting party had narrowed, leaving only Elizabeth and Leicester, flanked by Rhysand and two more ladies-in-waiting. Madge and Azriel had joined them too, along with one more member of the Queen’s council. Nesta and Cassian brought the total to ten. 

Leicester retrieved a crossbow from his saddlebag, and handed it across the distance to his Queen. Elizabeth grinned.

A hush had fallen, and ahead Rhysand looked over his shoulder and scanned the members of the small group. Catching Cassian’s eye, he seemed to give an exasperated sigh before rolling his eyes and giving the privateer one brief, sharp, nod. Nesta did not much understand the silent and secret language Cassian seemed to share with his brother in arms, but it did not take a master codebreaker to decipher that particular message.

Alright, that nod seemed to say. I’ll do as you ask.

In answer, Cassian grinned.

And as Azriel manoeuvred his horse around them, leaving Nesta and Cassian at the back of the assembly, Rhysand pointed between the dense copse of trees ahead, where the light above was dim and the forest pressed in on all sides. 

“There!” he said loudly, his voice startling the birds nesting in the nearest tree. “Over there, your majesty!”

Elizabeth whipped her head to the side, sharp eyes assessing the direction Rhysand’s finger still pointed. Before Nesta could blink, the Queen’s smile had widened, the hunt upon her, and she kicked in her heels and sent her horse barrelling through the trees— at a speed so reckless her other councillor cursed soundly before setting his horse to follow.

Rhysand’s black stallion charged ahead, but before Nesta could urge her own mare forwards, another hand gripped her reins.

Cassian held tight, and as the rest of the hunting party darted quickly between the trees, Cassian inclined his head to the side, nodding in the other direction. His smile grew as the sound of the racing horses faded, and when he let go of the reins at last, he did not retract his hand. Instead, he extended it further, turned his palm to the sky. A silent offer, unspoken question. 

Come with me, that hand said.

And Nesta knew it was a bad idea to follow him through the wood.

Knew it was reckless, to go off with him alone.

Her reputation could end up in tatters. She could lose her position in the Queen’s household. 

And yet…

His smile was somehow sweet and devilish at the same time, simultaneously the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the harbinger of her own ruin. 

She should have said no.

But God save her…

She didn’t. 

Instead, she placed her hand in his, feeling her heart kick as his fingers folded over her own. He drew her closer, until he could lift her hand to his mouth, and without looking away, he kissed the glove above her knuckles. She fought a shiver, and though earlier when Eris had kissed her hand she had thanked the Lord for riding gloves, now she cursed them— abhorred them. 

She felt the warmth of his hand sinking through her gloves, and oh, she only wished she could feel his touch against her bare skin, feel the smoothness of his kiss as the trees hid them from view.

At last he blinked, breaking his gaze and flicking his eyes down to the fingers he still had pressed against his lips.

A moment, an age, or a heartbeat later, he let her hand drop. And before Nesta had time to collect herself, Cassian dug in his heels and sent his horse through the trees, looking back over his shoulder, as if unwilling to draw his eyes away.

And when they were alone, with only the two of them riding almost silently, slowly, through the density of the trees, she dared to look at him again as he adjusted the crossbow that now sat across his lap, though neither of them seemed really intent on hunting anything at all. 

For a long time, there was silence— as if they were both of them afraid of being overheard. The air between them shifted, growing softer, as if the quiet gave rise to vulnerability. Suddenly, there were a thousand things Nesta wanted to say, a thousand words drifting to her lips, but in truth, she had no real idea of where or how to begin. Instead she watched the forest ahead of her, studied the way the leaves above swallowed the light, and let the silence stretch. And stretch, and stretch, and stretch, until—

At last, the privateer broke it. 

“You said you wanted me on my knees,” he began softly. “But what else do I need do to prove myself to you?”

He looked at her imploringly, the rogue cast aside, and Nesta’s heart suddenly began to strain, each beat laboured. Nothing— she knew she ought to tell him nothing, because no matter how much she wanted it, how much desire she carried, how could this ever end well between them?

Cassian studied her face.

“Do I need to sail to a distant land and claim it in your honour? Name a settlement after you? Bring you back a ream of treasure?”

She was silent, and his eyes were lined with a wealth of desperation that gave the lie to his bravado.

“Or shall I cast off my cloak before you and lay it over puddles, so your silk slippers may never touch the ground? Or—“

Nesta shook her head, and when she opened her mouth, his voice died to make way for hers. But her words grew tangled in her throat, and she hesitated— even though she never hesitated. She closed her mouth and sighed once more, and atop his horse Cassian smiled a little sadly, with so much longing her own heart ached, and when she looked at him…

Oh, he was the road her heart begged her to travel, even though it was one she knew in all good sense she wouldn’t be able to see through to its end. What was the point in letting herself fall, only to be hurt again when he left? Or when her father succeeded in tying her to some wealthy duke— if not Northumberland, then some other who came along? What was the point in any of it?

Love, a small and starving part of her whispered. The love the poets write about, the kind the troubadours sing about. The kind that makes you feel the way you do now, ready to cast off the world and find home in the arms of this one man.

As if he could see her battling with herself, Cassian drew his horse closer to hers— so close she could almost feel his warmth.

“You should know,” he said quietly, and whether the whisper in his voice was because of the need to stay hidden or the vulnerability of his words, she wasn’t sure, “that your letters were a greater treasure to me than anything I could take or steal from any ship on the high seas. Greater to me than any ransom any king could demand.”

A heartbeat passed, one where her heart seemed to thud so loudly in her chest that she feared the flock of deer they were pretending to hunt might hear it and flee.

Charming— did he always have to be so damned charming?

And God— would it be so bad, to tell him that he already had her forgiveness? Would it be so terrible, to tell him that despite it all she was his, if not in body but in mind and soul at least?

She was speechless for a moment, and he managed a weak sort of grin at her evident surprise.

And then—

The trees thinned, and a clearing lay spread before them, golden sunlight pooling in the centre like a small slice of Arcadia. Cassian sniffed a little, like the long grass and the wildflowers had irritated his nose, but still— there was beauty in that clearing, unspoiled and harmonious. 

And— a doe.

A doe stood frozen in the middle, her ears pinned back as she caught sight of the approaching horses. The sunlight dappled across her white-spotted back, and as she slowly lifted one slim leg, ready to bolt, Nesta’s eyes drifted to the crossbow in Cassian’s lap. 

She prayed he wouldn’t shoot.

But Cassian’s hand didn’t so much as twitch towards the weapon, as if he couldn’t find it in himself to hunt the creature either.

Yet on the other side of the clearing— there was the flash of auburn, the glint of an arrow.

Nesta’s heart lurched, and whether by design or divine intervention, beneath the hooves of Cassian’s horse a branch cleaved with a crack.

Readily, the deer bolted.

A curse sounded from the trees, where only a moment ago an arrow had been knocked and drawn, ready to be loosed. 

“Privateer.” A snarling voice drifted from the tree line, sharp and cutting, and Nesta recognised it immediately— saw the auburn hair like burnished bronze as Eris came into view. “You just cost me my prize.”

The duke pointed to where the deer had escaped between the trees, and though the rest of his companions remained in the shadow of the forest, she thought she could make out a handful of their faces, two of them bearing that same auburn hair. His brothers. Eris’ sneer grew wider, more vicious, and as he turned his head to fix Nesta with a stare across the distance, she wondered if his prize hadn’t only been the doe, but her, too. 

He brought his horse forwards into the clearing, further into the light, giving her an unrivalled view of the shining bruise that marred his temple. 

He hadn’t taken his loss at the joust yesterday well, it seemed, and though he cast his eyes over Nesta once more, it was to Cassian that he returned his gaze, letting out a single, dissatisfied huff. The bruise stretched up to his hairline, a livid purple stark against his pale skin, and in everything else but that, he appeared every inch the nobleman. A ring sat on every finger, and his doublet was unbroken black. Like Rhysand, he too wore a livery collar draped across his chest and shoulders, but where the Queen’s councillor had a Tudor rose dangling from his chain of office, Eris had instead the badge of a dog, its head back, lifted as if howling at the sky. 

He had a dagger out, too, presumably for slaying the deer, but the glint of the blade in the sunlight still promised bloodshed, and the way his hand flexed around the hilt said that it didn’t matter the doe had fled.

That dagger was to taste blood today, one way or another. 

“Piss off, Northumberland,” Cassian said easily— but his own hand had strayed from his bow to the sword hanging at his hip, his wrist resting purposefully on the pommel. 

Eris’ eyes flashed, quietly furious as his lip curled. “I will not stand to be insulted by one of such low standing.”

Cassian barked a laugh, but it was low and rough and dangerous. “You won’t stand for anything, sir, if I knock you from your horse as easily as I did yesterday.” He paused, and then added, “Shall I give you another bruise to decorate the other side of that pretty face?”

The duke sneered, but before he could let loose the insults that Nesta could see were rising to his tongue, there was a cacophony in the distance, and a hundred horns suddenly flaring loud enough to be heard all the way back at the castle. 

It was a summoning— a call to arms, to usher Elizabeth’s court back to her as the sun reached its highest point in the sky and dinner was served in the great tents at the edge of the forest. 

For the moment, at least, the hunt was at an end.

Eris twisted his head, looking behind him to the direction the horns had sounded. His brothers did not wait for him to make up his mind before they disappeared, following the call for food that was, apparently, of far greater worth to them than any loyalty they had for their brother. 

Cassian bowed mockingly in the saddle, but his hand did not stray from easy reach of his blade, and when Eris turned back to them, his lips were a thin line.

“These woods are treacherous,” he said flatly. “It commands great skill as a rider to avoid the pitfalls that litter these grounds. You might have won the match yesterday, sir,” - the duke’s lips pulled back over his teeth - “but how about another match? Here and now?”

Nesta watched as Cassian grinned, almost feral.

“First to the Queen wins,” he said as he moved his horse forwards, drawing level with Eris’.

The duke’s face darkened, and the nod he gave was sharp before flicking his eyes to Nesta once more. As if this were another attempt at winning her, at securing her favour for a second time. Cassian’s smile fell away, leaving behind the same murderous expression that had fuelled him at the joust yesterday.

“For the lady’s honour, then,” Eris declared, every word imbued with venom.

And when Cassian nodded, looking behind him over his shoulder to give Nesta one final wink, Eris clenched his jaw before slamming his heels into his horse’s flank, sending the beast galloping through the trees.

Cassian swore, a curse so filthy she was sure he could only have picked it up at sea, and surged forwards, letting the forest swallow him. 

But as Nesta followed, dipping beneath the cover of the trees, she saw that only the thinnest shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves above, leaving the forest floor just as treacherous as Eris had described. The ground was slick with mud, and even though the August heat ought to have dried it out, the summer sun had never made it to the ground here. Petrichor was thick in the air, and the long limbs of the trees snatched at the skirts of Nesta’s dress as she rode by them, wild and overgrown. Treacherous— this part of the forest was most definitely treacherous.

Indeed, Cassian could not ride as fast as he had yesterday, and neither could Eris, and it allowed Nesta to keep both the duke and the privateer in her sights as she followed behind, watching them weave through the trees in search of stable ground. 

As her horse almost stumbled over the gnarled roots of a tree half concealed by fallen leaves, she wondered if stable ground even existed this far into the woodland, and as the wind brushed against her cheeks and another branch snagged on her cloak, she almost called out to stop the madness that had Cassian spurring his horse onwards, regardless of the danger.

The ground began to slope— sharp and steep, and it was madness, utter madness to continue— 

Eris noted the slope, and Nesta watched as the duke swiftly studied the way the ground all but dropped away to reveal a small dell below, home to wide a stream that ran slow and idle through the undergrowth. Its banks were coated with mud, turning it slick and dangerous. 

Wisely, he veered to the side, directing his horse around— to where the ground sloped more evenly. A longer path, but a safer one, and he looked back only once before disappearing into the trees, avoiding danger altogether. 

But Cassian—

Irreverent, he glanced once over his shoulder. Manic, he grinned as he barrelled ahead, shooting Nesta a wink as he urged his horse faster still in Eris’ absence. The creature’s hooves slid in the mud, and Nesta called out his name, but Cassian had turned his face away, and if he heard her, he gave no indication.

Idiot.

She had no choice but to follow, and when he reached the banks of the stream, he did not stop. Instead he pressed in his heels, riding even faster, compelling the stallion to jump— 

And Nesta watched as the horse made the jump, but its hooves slipped on the bank on the other side, its landing far from smooth.

And just as Eris had been thrown from his horse yesterday, now Cassian was thrown from his— but it was a fall that was far more treacherous, far more dangerous, and Nesta swore her heart stopped dead as she watched him land roughly, heard the muffled groan as the ground came up to meet him. Forgetting all notions of her own safety, she urged her horse faster, willing it to cross the stream his stallion had just jumped. 

“You fool,” she hissed, feeling her horse whicker beneath her as she pushed the mare onwards. Cassian was lying on his back, a hand cast over his ribs as he looked up at the sky. “You could have broken your damned neck.”

Cassian twisted his head to look up at her as she pulled her horse to a halt.

“Got your attention though,” he muttered. “So I’d say it was worth it.”

“This was a bid for my attention?” Nesta echoed, dismounting roughly as he continued to lie there in the earth churned by his horse’s hooves. The mud was seeping through his breeches already, and the white sleeves of his fine cambric shirt were, she feared, irreparably stained. 

“Well,” Cassian said lightly, as though he hadn’t just been thrown from a stallion. “You started it, sweetheart.”

“Started what?”

He looked up at her again, turning his head in the dirt. “You gave Eris your favour.”

Nesta blinked. “You had your horse make a jump like that, risking your own bloody neck, because I gave the duke of Northumberland my ribbon? Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” he countered evenly. “My heart, perhaps. But my mind is still wonderfully intact.”

“Up,” Nesta said sharply. “Let me look at you.”

He grinned, as though vindicated, but as he made to raise himself, he hissed sharply, sucking in a breath as he pressed a hand to his ribs. His brow furrowed with pain, eyes darkening, and Nesta sighed heavily as she pulled off her gloves, held out her hand, and helped him to his feet.

“Take off your doublet,” she said flatly, looking at the expanse of muddied velvet. 

Cassian’s brow quirked. “Well, that’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress but—“

“How else can I check to see if you’ve shattered your ribcage?” she interrupted, but Cassian only grinned again and began loosening his ties. Soon enough his doublet was parted entirely, and as he slipped it from his shoulders, he winced. He let it fall to the floor, and Nesta was about to chide him for dirtying it so, but then she caught sight of his sculpted chest showing through the thin fabric of his cambric shirt. She swallowed, letting her gaze wander across his collarbone, at the tanned skin there that had been masked by his doublet’s high neck.

“And this?” Cassian said lowly, nodding to his undershirt. “Does this need to go too?”

“I… suppose it does,” Nesta said with a sniff, trying to affect nonchalance when all she could focus on was the curve of his shoulder, the muscles lining every inch of him. “How else can I check that no ribs are broken?”

“How else indeed,” Cassian hummed, and wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head.

And good Lord have mercy, Nesta knew that Cassian was sculpted like Italian marble but nothing could have prepared her for the bare skin of his chest, hardened with muscle. Those months on a ship definitely suited him, and as she looked, she forced herself to focus on his ribs, on the task at hand. 

Innocent, she thought as she tentatively traced a finger across his ribcage, where a thin scar marred his skin. It’s all entirely proper, completely innocent. Just a lady checking a friend for injury.

He was warm beneath her, so warm, his skin softer than it had any right to be. He’d spent eight months in the sun and salt air, and he’d come back looking finer than ever. Hers— this man could be hers, and as her fingers splayed across his chest, Cassian reached up with one hand and caged her touch right above his heart. 

She felt it beat— sure and steadfast. 

“Will I live?” he asked softly. “Or am I doomed?”

Nesta swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away from his hazel ones, boring down into her with an intensity that had her feeling slightly stunned. Her lips parted, she tried to speak, but all she could feel was his heart beating beneath her fingers, his smooth skin and the warm heat of him that had her feeling breathless. 

“You’ll live,” she said at last.

He nodded, his hair falling idly over his forehead. In the sunlight, the pearl that dangled from his ear winked, the gold setting glimmering. 

Nesta blinked, and somehow found the strength to drag her eyes away, dropping her gaze to the floor. Where his shirt lay in a crumpled pile next to his doublet, there was a hint of pale-blue, a small flash of colour against the white. She frowned, tilting her head, unable to understand even as she knew what it was, what it must be.

“Is that— my ribbon?”

Cassian pulled back, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face as he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps.”

“How did you even get it?” she asked, bending to retrieve it from the pile of his clothes. 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let Eris have it.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the noise of the forest and the sounds of the horns, distant. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asked quietly. “About the betrothal.”

Nesta shrugged. “Because I’m trying to get out of it,” she said easily. “It was foolish of you to think I’d still be here, unwed, when you got back. You know my father—“

“Fuck your father,” he muttered. And then he softened, his eyes turning wide with something akin to pleading. “I’m here now, sweetheart. And I’m not going away again.”

“But you will,” she countered, turning her face away. He always would— he could not be tied to the court as she was, had too restless a spirit to spend his life idling away on an estate somewhere. “And I’ll be left behind, waiting for you, again.”

“You could come with me,” he offered instead, even though the both of them knew it was madness.

Elain had moved to Spain with Lucien— but that was because his place was in the Spanish court, somewhere settled. It was bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship, everyone knew that. No, Cassian could not take her with him, but she adored him a little for even offering in the first place.

“Or you could promise not to stay away so long,” she said instead, her voice quiet. “Come home, Cassian, as often as you are able. Don’t sail so far away from me.”

“Never again,” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “How could I ever stray so far, when I love you too much to stand the distance?”

Her breath caught.

I love you.

Oh, the words were said so often at court. She’d had countless dukes and earls call her their dearest love during dances and revels, and she couldn’t even begin to fathom how many had written her poems or bowed deep and told her she held their hearts in her hands. It was part of the game they played at Elizabeth’s court— part of the realpolitik that made up their world. 

But it was different when he said it.

So different Nesta might have sworn the earth beneath her shifted, that standing beneath that canopy of trees, all the riches in the world lost their value.

She blinked, and he waited— waited for her to say something, to acknowledge his declaration.

And in the end, Nesta found the strength to dip her head, to smile a little demurely before stepping forward and pressing the softest, the chastest, of kisses to his cheek. Then, she turned back to her horse and mounted, leaving him standing there, looking up at her, one hand pressed to the cheek she had just kissed.

“I suppose, then,” she said, “that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.”

And as she began to ride off into the forest, she looked back once— and waited for him to follow.

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer @andrigyn @beansidhebumbling @burningsnowleopard @asnowfern @xstarlightsupremex

[angelsdiaury]

Queen Genevieve’s screams tore through the royal wing of the castle, a haunting symphony of agony that froze every servant in their tracks. Beyond the heavy oak doors of the birthing chamber, the handmaidens stood in tense silence, their faces pale and drawn. Their traditional gowns—long, flowing garments of soft blue and white, adorned with delicate lace and silver embroidery—seemed to dull under the oppressive weight of the night. Each intricate stitch, symbolizing their sacred duty to the royal family, now felt like a futile adornment in the face of such despair. 

    Among them, Anna, the senior.   chambermaid, stood at the forefront. Her gown, a deeper shade of blue, bore a subtle gold trim—a mark of her experience and trusted station. Yet, even her seasoned composure wavered, her hands trembling as she clutched her rosary tightly, murmuring prayers under her breath. Her mind raced with fears, though she dared not voice them aloud.

In the corridor outside, King Edward paced relentlessly. His boots struck the polished marble floor in uneven, thunderous beats, the sound echoing through the stone halls. His royal attire, typically pristine, was in disarray. His coat hung loosely from his shoulders, his cravat undone, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his chest. His fingers raked through his graying hair as he muttered fragments of prayers and curses. The torches lining the corridor flickered, casting wavering shadows across his strained face.

When Queen Genevieve’s cries suddenly ceased, a chilling stillness fell over the corridor. The handmaidens exchanged wide-eyed glances, their breaths caught in their throats. The silence pressed down like a physical weight, broken only by the creak of the chamber door as it slowly opened. A young handmaiden stepped out, her face streaked with tears. She curtsied shakily before addressing the king.

“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “the queen... she has passed.”

The words hit King Edward like a blade to the chest. He froze mid-step, his face turning ashen. For a moment, he stood motionless, his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. His shoulders sagged under the crushing weight of grief, and he stumbled to the wall for support. His hand gripped the cold stone, the tremor in his fingers betraying his anguish.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “And the child?”

“The prince is healthy and strong, Your Majesty,” the handmaiden replied, her tone trembling.

Relief flickered briefly in Edward’s eyes before they clouded with another, unspoken dread. “And the other child?” he demanded, his voice low and strained.

Anna stepped forward, cradling a bundle wrapped in soft, white linen. Her expression was a mixture of sorrow and resolve as she met the king’s gaze. “The princess, Anastasia, is also healthy, Your Majesty,” she said softly.

King Edward’s eyes flicked toward the bundle but lingered for only a moment. His expression hardened, his grief now buried beneath a mask of cold detachment. Without acknowledging the infant further, he turned away. “See to the queen’s burial preparations,” he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. “I will attend to my son.”

The handmaidens curtsied as the king strode down the corridor, his steps heavy with sorrow. Anna watched him disappear into the shadows, her arms tightening protectively around the tiny princess. The other handmaidens gathered around her, their faces etched with concern, but none dared to speak.

From the far end of the hallway came the soft rustle of silk skirts and the distinct click of jeweled heels against stone. Vivian, the king’s mistress, emerged from the shadows. Draped in a gown of crimson velvet that clung to her slender frame, she exuded an aura of authority that was both commanding and unsettling. Her golden hair, piled high and adorned with a glittering ruby comb, caught the torchlight, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. But it was her eyes—sharp, calculating, and brimming with malice—that drew attention.

Anna stiffened as Vivian approached, her grip on Anastasia tightening instinctively.

“What business do you have here, Vivian?” Anna asked, her voice steady but wary. “This is a time of mourning. The queen—”

“The queen,” Vivian interrupted, her lips curling into a sly smile, “is dead.” She glanced at the bundle in Anna’s arms, her expression shifting to one of disdain. “And what have we here? The king’s spare child? A girl, no less.”

Anna bristled but held her ground. “Her name is Anastasia, and she is the daughter of the king and queen. She is no ‘spare.’”

Vivian let out a low, mocking laugh. “Such loyalty, Anna. But tell me, do you truly believe the king cares for this child? Or for the memory of his wife?” She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “The king is a man of ambition, not sentiment. And you—a mere servant—have no place to speak of matters above your station.”

“I serve the royal family,” Anna replied firmly, her voice steady despite the fear twisting in her chest. “And I will protect Princess Anastasia with my life, if need be.”

Vivian’s smile faltered, her gaze darkening. Rumors of her dealings with forbidden magics swirled in Anna’s mind—rumors that now seemed all too believable. For a moment, Vivian’s fingers twitched as if she might reach for the child, but she stopped herself.

“Careful, Anna,” Vivian said softly, her voice dripping with menace. “Loyalty can be a dangerous thing in a place like this. Protect the girl if you wish—but do not expect gratitude or mercy from the court. The palace is no place for the weak.”

With that, she swept past, her skirts brushing against Anna’s as she disappeared into the shadows.

The infant stirred in Anna’s arms, her soft cries breaking the tense silence. Anna soothed her with gentle whispers, her heart heavy

So I don't really know how to use tumbler or make it look pretty but I worked really hard writing this so please give it a chance .

[dracarialove]

Secret Desires

Rouge enlists Shadow to go on a treasure hunting journey, where a mishap in an underground cave coaxes her to reveal the romantic feelings she's been harboring for him.

(Reversal of Buried Desires)

Ship: Shadow/Rouge

*Originally published April 20th, 2024

A/N: This story exists thanks to @yokaishinari who gave me a more fleshed out idea for this reversal plot 💜

[Chapter 1: Come With Me]

Comforting darkness wrapped Rouge the Bat in a cool blanket of night air under a swath of stars twinkling in the vast indigo sky. She stared up at the thousands of tiny white specks glittering faintly behind crawling wisps of gray clouds.

A soft smile rested on her lips, and one heart-toed boot dangled off the side of her makeshift hammock; made from giant leaves and vines off the nearby trees, the hand-crafted bed kept her aloft between two solid oak trunks.

How tranquil it was, to be out in nature for once, never minding the noise of a city and letting the sights and sounds of wildlife fill her eyes and ears.

Crickets sang unabashedly, boasting creaky chirps from unseen places in the grass below. Fireflies floated about, doing nothing but adding a bit of golden light to the greenery.

And when a breeze blew by, leaves from the bushes and trees rustled together in a soft symphony of natural serenity, whispering secrets to each other that the bat would never understand.

It was rare for her to be out where she was now – by the plains; near the forest; just a half-day's trip from one of the biggest and least-explored mountains on the planet.

It was a tower of earth, that mountain, looking so obtainable from where she lay because it filled so much of the sky. It appeared to be just over the horizon, if one allowed themselves to be fooled by the illusion.

In reality, the gargantuan mound of dirt and stone was daunting when it was nearby, dangerous and looming, the sheer size of it enough to ward off many climbers and treasure hunters.

But to think of the jewel-lovers who'd been intimidated by the mountain's near-impervious outer edge, Rouge had to consider the ones who wouldn't be turned away.

How many had succeeded in exploring such an impressive mass of earth? A mass that was likely to be a tomb for many animals – and perhaps even explorers – who tried and failed to survive it.

If she tried, would she be a success or a failure? Would she make it out alive, with a bag of undiscovered gemstones and rare minerals to add to her very own gleaming collection?

The thought brought a sharp grin to the sly spy's mouth. If the mountain held treasures for her, she had to find them… after a quick nap in this peaceful place.

***

Now, if she was going to go on a jewel hunt in risky territory, it would be best to bring someone else along to keep her chances of survival high. Awakening from her nap between the trees, that was the first thing on Rouge's mind as she stretched inside her hammock.

She sat up and flattened out her wings on either side of her figure, flexing them to prepare for the trip, and raised a finger to her ear to activate her communication device.

"Shadow – come in, Shadow."

It was a gamble on if he would be awake or asleep at this hour. Sometimes the hedgehog stayed alert for much of the night, wandering or thinking; he could also be lounging at Club Rouge, helping himself to some of her stock; or, he could be slumbering in her spare bed, practically dead to the world.

But he was the best person to accompany her on this personal mission. What other options did she have, really? Omega was wholly uninterested in gems. Sonic and his friends weren't the jewel-plundering type.

And the only other treasure hunter who could match her skill, well… he already wasn't fond of her company. She wouldn't really want to share her findings even if he was up for the challenge, anyway.

Shadow, though – he could be persuaded to assist her, and he wouldn't ask for a percentage of whatever she found. Plus, his speed alone would make the 12-hour trip into a trivial one. For a moment, the line was quiet, and she thought he might not answer. Then, the Ultimate Lifeform's voice came through.

"Yes, Rouge? You don't sound like you're in trouble."

"Well, not yet," she answered back, lying against the big leaves and throwing one leg over the other. "And I won't be if you do me a big, gleaming, courteous favor."

"I don't like the sound of that…"

He gave pause for her to make her request, which she voiced in the sweetest tone she could manage. "Would you accompany me on a… well, I was going to say a 'little' treasure hunt, but… it's not really so little."

"Do I even have to ask why?"

"Not if you don't want to hear the same thing you did last time."

Another pause as Rouge's lifted foot bounced up and down in the air. A smile played on her lips, the one she always held when she knew she was about to get what she wanted.

Shadow inquired, "How dangerous is it this time?"

"Hmm, well…" She looked over at the distant dark mountain, just a silhouette in the midnight sky. "The location is one of the biggest mountains in the world. So, dangerous enough that I shouldn't go alone. Of course, I will if I have to, but I might not make it out alive without an exceptional lifeform looking out for me."

"Wait, one of the biggest mountains… where are you right now?"

"About half a day's trip from that cluster of tall peaks past the Forest Expanse. What is it called again?"

"The Macabre Cliffs… and you can guess how it got that name." There was a dark seriousness to his tone, but the bat was used to him sounding grave, so she paid it little mind. "Rouge, you should not go there. Why are you that far from the city, anyway?"

She answered casually, "I decided to be out in nature for once. Made myself a nice little spot between the plains and the forest, and I'm looking up at the stars right now! Pretty beautiful out here; all the more reason for you to join me!"

He sounded a little more annoyed when he asked, "You said you would go on your own if you didn't have backup?"

"Sure! You know how determined I am. Just thinking about all the potential treasure is enough to motivate me. So, how about it, Shadow? Will ya meet me?"

He huffed in irritation so she could hear his lack of enthusiasm. "Fine. Only so you don't die doing something stupid."

"Hurray, I knew I could count on you," she casually praised. "Let me owe you for it."

"That's a given. It seems you ask for a favor every week."

She clicked her tongue. "No, I don't. We help each other, that's how it's always been. Now get over here quick so we can start traveling ASAP!"

"Yes, Your Majesty," he replied sarcastically, and she could picture his eyes rolling as he said it.

***

The faint sound of shuffling grass grabbed Rouge's attention. She turned left in her hammock to scan the plains and spotted her partner on the other side, near the opposite border of another forest.

She watched him for a second, amused at the hedgehog looking around on the wrong side for wherever she was lounging. Then, the charming lady cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted out to him, "Are ya lost, handsome? Your date's over here!"

She saw his head turn, and squinted to recognize a bit of surprise on his face before it changed back into indifference. In a streak of orange light, he rushed to the grass beneath her, wind from his brief travel rustling the foliage in front of him and causing even her hammock to sway a bit.

"Woo, careful, Shad!" the bat teased. "Wouldn't want to knock me out of the nice little seat I made!"

"Can you just come down here so we can get going?" He was frowning up at her, eyes fiery red and impatient.

Rouge sighed and hopped off the giant leaves, floating down to his level and crossing her arms. "Jeez, have a little fun, will you? We're about to take on an exciting treasure hunt."

"Exciting for you," he grumbled, slipping one arm behind her back and the other under her legs to sweep the spy off her feet.

She enwrapped his neck and clasped her hands atop his shoulder, beaming at the hedgehog in a way he found to be smug; but it was also charming, the way her eyes sparkled at him while the curl of her pink lips shimmered, and he couldn't defy that look when she struck him with it.

Rouge knew that, and she used it every time she asked him to go out of his way for her. To keep the Ultimate Lifeform around was to achieve two things: complete whatever task she'd set for herself twice – and sometimes thrice – as fast; and spend more time with her favorite person, using her aspirations as an excuse to hang out with him.

She hadn't told him yet how he really affected her. That his presence made her feel warmer than anyone else's, even as he seemed cold to most people.

She thought there would be a right time to reveal it, some special moment where it would make sense to open up that deeply to the most reserved guy on the planet.

Rouge wasn't sure he felt the same, and she kept telling herself that she'd get it done eventually; that if she just said it, she'd be able to move on from the lingering longing that persisted to annoy her with its nagging, tugging insistence to confess, confess, confess!

But she hesitated, and tried to ignore the fact that she was nervous about being snubbed. It was easier to lock up her heart than to bare it to the one man who might be able to break it.

She didn't know that her caution was unnecessary. He was struggling with feelings for her, as well. And as if the ball of tangled emotions that formed in his stomach when he held her wasn't enough, that look of sly charm she gave him made Shadow shiver inside.

He had to focus on the destination ahead, on the tall shadowy peaks waiting in the distance, to keep from thinking too much about the plumpness of her thighs against his palm, or the intimate wrap of her arms around him.

But unlike the bat's slow progress towards being honest with him, he was stagnant. Emotionally repressed, he found it difficult to express feelings that could get him hurt.

He would find confessing any romantic affection to be easier if rejection was a purely physical pain – if it came in the form of a punch to the face rather than a strike through the heart.

The emotional pain he'd felt in his life was far more agonous than any hit he'd ever taken. He wouldn't be able to stand that kind of hurt if it came from her.

They arrived at the base of the mountain in record time, and Shadow realized when he looked up at the towering peaks that dark stormy clouds were creeping towards them. Keeping that in mind, he asked, "So, where is this fabled treasure you were talking about?"

"Deep underground," she answered, leaving his arms, then added, "supposedly."

"For your sake, something worth our time had better be there." He followed his partner along the jagged walls of the mountain, studying the stone and dirt building on each other.

"I've found jewels in some of the most unlikely places before!" Rouge chirped confidently. "Just look for an opening, a dip; anything that could lead us inside."

They walked around the mountain's edge for a bit, hearing the rumble of distant thunder slowly getting closer. If this trip ended up getting rained out, they would have to consider it a wash and leave – something the gem-hungry woman really didn't want to do.

Scanning the cliff sides with tunnel focus, she eventually spotted a section of the earth that looked uneven. Not naturally so, as if it built that way over time, but dented inwards with lots of rubble on the ground nearby.

She trotted over to it and discovered a pile of sizable rocks crammed into the crevice, arching on the edges as if they were stuffing a cave entrance.

"Bingo!" she exclaimed, her wings fluttering excitedly.

Shadow watched her brace herself against the rocks, turning her head and pointing one ear at the pile. It was interesting to see how she worked when she was hunting for treasure, utilizing her senses more than usual.

After a few seconds, she pulled away and took some steps backwards. There was an adventurous glint in her eyes when she looked at the hedgehog.

"Stand back, handsome. We're breaking in!"

He hopped away from the stones and watched as Rouge launched herself in the air, spinning into a Screw Kick before hurtling towards the mountain.

Her rapid, powerful kicks blasted the rocks away from the crevice, pushing most of them farther inside the cave they'd been concealing. She jumped back from the entrance in case it triggered a collapse of some kind.

When it didn't, her attention was drawn by steady clapping beside her, and she looked over to see Shadow giving her an impressed smile.

"Not bad," he said, bringing a touch of blush to her cheeks with his unexpected compliment.

She chuckled, "I'm so glad you recognize my skills!" and approached the mouth of the cavern.

Looking inside, it didn't seem too dark with the natural light spilling in. Though, that would change the deeper they went. Rouge didn't have a light source with her for this impromptu search, which made her wonder if her friend had something on him that could help when she was no longer able to make out shapes in the darkness.

That led her to mindfully question how much light one of his Chaos Spears casted before tucking the thought away to be brought up later.

Walking in first, her large ears twitched in multiple directions, picking up the sounds of wind bouncing off the walls and water dripping somewhere farther in. Her heels clacked and shifted dryly on the stone and dirt beneath her, and her colleague's footfalls followed.

"Normal-looking cave," she noted, spotting the narrower path off to the right that would lead them elsewhere.

Shadow appreciated status reports, especially as their tag-team treasure hunts weren't a regular occurrence. He knew he could trust Rouge to say what was typical or atypical during their time in a dark cave.

After all, it was sort of the least she could do to make his time assisting her easier. If there was danger, he'd be the first confronting it. He stayed near her as she entered the thin path, minding how close he could get without bumping into her if she stopped suddenly.

"Looks like it gets even narrower up ahead," she informed him as their light source became more distant.

"Be careful," chimed Shadow, keeping one hand in front of him in case she reached back to grab it.

He wouldn't want her to fall down an unexpected opening, or accidentally advance too far ahead of him when the darkness overpowered his vision.

Once they got to the progressively thinner part of the path, he just barely made out Rouge's posture turning sideways to slip between the rock walls.

He followed her lead, but before long, a knot formed in his stomach at the inevitability of not being able to see. The places they'd hunted in before were much more spacious than this.

He squinted at his partner's barely visible figure and said, "It's getting too dark."

"Oh, uh… okay, there's a bigger space up ahead. When we get there, I want to try something. But until then, here – take my hand."

He noticed a brief swish of gray as she waved her hand in the small gap, then it disappeared when he reached for it. He couldn't see anymore, but after a second of searching, his fingers found hers and they locked together.

They shuffled through the cramped, uneven hall of stone for a daunting stretch of a minute. Rouge could see why people would get discouraged having to go through here to explore the mountain, and she could guess it was similarly unnerving any other way in.

The bat was having more trouble seeing, but she could hear water dripping up ahead, and she knew they'd make it out of the tight squeeze before she needed more light.

Shadow was completely blind, seeing nothing but blackness no matter where he looked; the only thing that grounded him was their shared grip. And it helped to calm Rouge, too, knowing she was going through this cavern with the man she could trust more than anyone.

"Almost there," she commented, slinking out of the last foot of narrow path.

She kept a tight hold on his hand while he worked his way out, then looked at him when he stepped next to her. "Okay, now I want to know – how much light would one of your Chaos Spears cast?"

He gazed in the direction of her face, but couldn't make proper eye contact. "I'm not sure. I suppose we could try it."

"Please do."

She let go of his hand and took one step away from him, careful not to go too far in case there was a drop-off she couldn't see. Then Shadow quickly flicked his wrist towards the ground, wrapping his gloved fingers around the golden Spear that flickered into existence.

Yellow sparks of Chaos energy danced around the arrow-shaped bolt, giving off a bright glow that illuminated a few feet of the cave around him. Seeing that it wasn't much, he conjured a Spear in his other hand to make the area brighter.

"I can work with that," said Rouge, studying the space they were in and seeing there was indeed a drop-off not far from where they stood.

She cautiously approached it, as did Shadow, and he repositioned the Spears at different angles to try and see how deep it went, or anything beyond it. Unfortunately, it was too deep, and the stretch ahead was too wide, so nothing was shown to them.

His partner eyed the energy bolts and asked, "Would it do too much damage if you tossed one to see what we're working with?"

"There's only one way to find out. If it does, we can always escape back the way we came."

She gave him a smile and crossed her fingers, then he gently tossed one of the Spears down the cliff. Free-falling sideways instead of hurtling straight down seemed to work in not destroying anything; it revealed the steep drop of a stone wall, falling a long way before hitting the curved bottom and disintegrating into electric shards.

Shadow then made a new one and tossed it straight ahead. The arrow tip landed on a bronze-colored structure and caused a small explosion, which made Rouge gasp. A light rumble echoed through the cavern, but there weren't any signs of collapse or falling debris.

"Damn," Shadow said, then looked at the treasure hunter. "Sorry."

"I think we're okay." She waited a few seconds, listening for tumbling rocks or shakes in the earth, but heard nothing besides water dripping. "Just, no more throwing. But it looks like this drop-off leads to a cavernous dip in the earth. There must be tons of stone above us keeping this mountain sturdy."

"Should we search the area?"

"Yeah. I'll fly us." She turned and held out her hand for him to take. "I want to see what that thing was."

He held her hand again, keeping his other grip on the Chaos Spear, and allowed her to lift him off the ground. They slowly made their way across what seemed like a chasm, while Shadow gently dropped his Spears to illuminate the area without damaging anything.

They saw more glimpses of bronze, and it didn't take long for Rouge to recognize that the structures she was seeing were deliberately shaped.

They weren't just natural formations of the earth, and when she landed them in the middle of the chasm, her mouth dropped open at their discovery.

"Ruins…" she revealed softly, staring up at the arches and columns all around.

Holding up two Chaos Spears, Shadow lit up the space for her, watching Rouge graze her palm against a solid obelisk. Her voice was a near whisper when she spoke, "Incredible… these are undiscovered ruins of… something. A lost tribe? An ancient civilization?"

"Gods?" he suggested, receiving a surprised glance from his companion.

"There's no markings… no way to know…"

Exploring the area, they didn't find anything that would suggest who or what had erected the structures. What they did eventually run across was a dip in the center of a stone platform that covered the ground.

The dip led to an opening, where the earth seemed dug through like a tunnel. The brave pair looked down at the new entrance that led to something further unknown, then Rouge gave Shadow a coaxing smile.

"We haven't come across any real danger yet. Wanna roll some more dice?"

He shared her stare, feeling an adventurous sense of tension between them at the admittedly thrilling prospect of discovering more mysterious things with her. "We've gone this far. There might be treasure down there, right?"

Her smile widened into a grin – a pleasantly mischievous expression he'd really come to like – and she caught a flutter in her heart at her best friend being so committed to hunting jewels with her. She positioned herself behind him, hooking both arms under his shoulders so his back was against her front.

"That's my Shadow," she purred, and he could've sworn she was being sultry on purpose, because the smooth cadence of her voice made a shiver run down his spine.

She lifted the hedgehog off the ground with the powerful flap of her wings, holding onto him as they descended carefully down the earthy tunnel. It smelled much more acidic, the dirt looking more red than brown, but there was nothing else to be seen or smelled until they reached the bottom.

Once they landed on solid stone, they found the space being lit up was another cave; this one smelling of unclean water and plant life. And what they saw made Shadow absorb his Spears into nothingness, both of them staring silently in awe at the natural light source they'd discovered.

Rouge had never seen cave walls glow and glitter so beautifully before.

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Day 21: Public Sex pt 2

For @myladyjanecentral Kinktober/Kimptober

Excerpt from my My Lady Jane Cupid and Psyche AU, in which Guildford and Jane have sex out on the stone altar where she was first 'sacrificed' to their marriage.

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

In lieu of a second honeymoon, and with Elizabeth’s blessing, Jane was sent forth to bring learning to the Kingdom, alongside her husband and a great deal of gold and silver. But they took this, the dawn of the second wedding, to revisit the site of their first.

How different it was now, the ancient sarsen monument of the White Horse Stone bathed in morning light. No more the tomblike qualities she had once thought to have seen in it - now it seemed only an altar of nature’s own making. The trees no longer loomed, tall and shadowy overhead, but stood as gentle sentries of their peace of solitude here.

Guildford brought with him a soft quilt to lay across the stone altar, so unlike the funereal black velvet of before. The morning was temperate and dewy, and with a light breeze that carried the fresh scent of oak and moss. The forest had just begun to wake, and everywhere was the gentle buzzing of insects, and the songs of the morning birds.

But the greatest difference was in Lady Jane herself. No more were her fears and uncertainties in this place. She had come unbounded, of her own will. And she came alongside her beloved, whose heart she knew as well as her own. That she could now see him with unmasked eyes was a privilege she meant to take full advantage of. 

Guildford too, seemed to relish the opportunity to see her out here in the open, where she could look back at him readily in the dawn light. In the days following the Battle of the Tower, they had been kept busy each day with tending to the wounded, and the heavy work of reuniting the kingdom. Each night they had held each other close, greatly exhausted and still bruised from the battle themselves. It had been many weeks since they had last enjoyed one another beyond the simple gratification of their sight - something they had both yet to tire of.

And their eyes hardly left one another as he moved to set aside her floral coronet and her wedding jewels as they stood before the stone. As he had on their first night together, he carefully loosened her laces at the back of her gown, allowing it to slip free from her shoulders. The long underdress she wore was nearly sheer, the pale gossamer crepe covering her form from ankles to wrists but hiding little. Only her shoulders were left entirely bare, and he pressed a kiss to the tops of each, mindful of the lingering bruises that lay just below. He moved to kneel at her front, slipping the shoes from her feet. Jane’s breath hitched at the sudden change in his position, as she looked down at him bowed before her. She watched as his gaze drifted from the teasing outline of her breasts, to the faint dark triangle of her sex, barely obscured beneath the silk. She would not allow herself to blush, no matter how naked she felt beneath his regard. 

She anticipated he would next remove this final barrier between them, but instead he rose to his feet, and guided her gently to lay back across the stone. Her hands stretched above her head, not quite as they had been before, but enough to position herself at the greatest advantage. Jane knew she had been successful at the darkening of her husband’s eyes, the way they ran over her form before locking with her own again. Jane could feel a familiar heat already beginning to stir throughou her body as his gaze burned through the sheerness of her dress. She heard a similar warmth in his voice as it rumbled over her.

“When I first caught sight of you here, your lovely gown had grown damp with mist, and your veil as translucent as your shift is now,” he recalled, his voice low and reverent, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.

Jane could not resist teasing him for the rosy tint of his memories, “I was half frozen that night, and nearly drowning in my veil. And I did not see you at all.”

“I came here as Archer bade me too because he told me that I might save you, and that your cleverness might save me in turn.” His words reminded her that they were both of them in a less than fortunate position that night. “But then I saw you, not only beautiful, but like a great Queen prepared to face down an entire army of foes. You were completely fearless, as if you already knew you’d win.”

“I was very much afraid that night,” she admitted.

“You hid it well.”

“And any resolve I displayed was mere stubbornness. I’ve been told it is my greatest flaw.”

“And it is my favorite of yours. When you turned that heated iron on me I believe I was already halfway to in love with you.”

“Only halfway?” She laughed, though she can feel an answering tenderness swelling in her heart at his words. Jane remembered well her brazen attempts to defend herself before she had realized she was safe with him. “Was that when you decided to seduce me?” 

“As I said, you were also quite beautiful.” 

His fingers traced over her features, slipping down the long line of her throat to run along the edge of her dress. His eyes left hers but for a moment as his warm hand cupped the soft swell of her breast through the silk, thumb teasing across the peaked tip of it. Jane shivered at the work of his fingers, arching into the touch and growing desperate for more.

“And that was enough to sway you?”

He grinned. “Was it not enough to sway you? I seem to recall you warming to me after you held my face and learned my features.”

Jane knew she could not argue this, and did not try.

“If only your manners had been as handsome.” She says instead.

“Had I been so docile and well-manned, I believe you would have eaten me alive that night.”

“Perhaps I may still do so.”

At this she sat up to capture her husband’s mouth with her own. She nipped at his grinning lips and the strong line of his jaw. Her hands pushed at his clothing, for she no longer wished him alone to have the advantage of her. She slid the unbound velvet double down over his arms, and tugged at the undershift beneath.

“I seem to remember your hands being bound to this stone before,” he jested, though he did not shy from her touch.

“They are not bound now, so you will have to face their liberty.”

“I will gladly submit to them.”

And gladly he did, as she ran her hands beneath his linen shirt, teasing him as he had her, before freeing him from the garment. Jane drank in the soft flush of his newly revealed skin, framed only by the necklaces her fingers had traced so many times before.

“Then lie back, for I have gone far longer than you without being able to look upon my lover.”

Together they finished undressing him before her bridegroom was pushed none too gently to lay across the stone altar as she had, and Jane moved over him to look down upon the sight of him below. This dramatic alteration in their positions allowed Jane’s eyes and hands to trace over the visage of her lover, at once so familiar and yet so long remained unseen. 

The dark curls she had so often threaded her fingers through were now badly mussed by her hasty removal of his shirt. His eyes were darkened with his desire but ringed with a thin edge of deep brown as they looked back at her. Miles of skin, long unseen, faintly seemed to glow in the early morning light, as her hands traced the musculature of his arms and chest that she had become so acquainted with. She numbered each previously unknown freckle, the small scars that had healed so nearly as to be invisible to her fingertips. He was not so thin as he had been when he had been freed from his captivity, his ribs no longer so starkly pronounced. The bruises had faded from both of them, though her eyes still sought the memory of their purples and greens, his fingers ever mindful of remaining scars. But her hands pressed more firmly against him, and his answering groans were no longer of pain but of delight at her touch.

Jane imagined for a moment that their roles had been reversed that night, that it had been Guildford laid out across the sacrificial altar for her to take as husband, knowing that they might save one another. She pictured being able to see him first, without him seeing her. She knows she would have felt a little as he did - not love, at first, but sympathy, and certainly desire. Her husband was handsome, and she discovered she rather liked having him like this. Would she have seduced him that first night, as he had her? She had not known how to at the time. But now…

“If our positions had been reversed, at our first wedding -” she began.

He smiled at the recognition of her train of thought. “I recall we were neither of us free to make our own choices that night.”

“Yes, but had you been lying here in the dark, unable to see me?”

The low rumble of his laughter buzzed through her own body.

“Had you sat astride me as you do now, you could have had me on this very stone - even without your beautiful face to tempt me.”

Jane could feel her lover’s body responding beneath her to their conversation and to the work of her hands, the tiniest movement of her hips. Each touch drew out a small shudder, and an even sweeter sound. He kept his hands from her as if bound, as hers had been, and let her do as she willed to him. Her fingers threaded through the faint dusting of dark hair at his chest, before trailing lower. As her hands shifted, his breath quickened. When she gently took the hardened length into her small hand his eyes slipped shut, hiding them briefly from her view. Jane commanded them open again, smiling as he did as he was bid and rewarding him with a firmer touch.

Though after only a few moments, Guildford halted the work of her hands, turning her so that she lay below him once more. “I think I was always fated to adore you, no matter how we began.”

He pressed a kiss of apology to her lips, and nosed along her jaw, breathing her in. With his lips he mapped her form through the thin gossamer of her dress, placing tender kisses across her breasts, her belly, the damp curls of her sex, before freeing her from the final barrier that remained between them.

For many long moments, the two lovers lay side by side, simply drinking in their fill of one another, seen for the first time by the full light of day with nothing to obscure their vision. The soft whisper of their hearts’ confession filled the space between them, no longer held back by either. “ I love you ,” whispered again and again, the three words having not yet lost their power.

By now the sun’s chariot had passed well into the highest point of the sky, and the sun grew warm against their bared bodies. Jane might have been tempted to fall asleep then and there - having danced the whole night with all those she loved - were it not for the thrumming of her body, the urge to bring herself ever closer to her lover. She met his lips once more, drawing herself closer and pressing into the hard planes of his body, further augmenting her desire rather than satisfying it. Their kiss deepened, the sweet taste of his tongue sweeping past her lips as his fingers clung to her. Jane guided her lover to lay back across the stone altar, softened as it was by the quilt below them, and moved to settle herself astride him. She breathed out his name as she took him inside herself once more. She had dearly missed this. 

Jane savored the sight of her husband below her again, flushed and breathing labored as his hips rose up to meet hers in a familiar rhythm that promised pleasure for them both. She studied his expression as she moved over him, the furrowed brow, the parted lips. She traced them with her fingertips, and smiled when he drew them into his mouth, nipping at them with blunt white teeth. With damp fingertips she followed the pink flush of his cheeks and throat down to his chest and belly, watching the muscles there as they flexed with each thrust up into her. She memorized the shape of each of his fingers as they gripped at her sides, or dipped between them where she was most sensitive. 

Jane leant down to kiss him once more, relishing the feeling of their bodies pressed tightly together. Here she could catch the familiar scent of him, taste the sweetness on his tongue. The movement between them grew with their renewed urgency. They were moving ever closer to the precipice, the rolling of her hips and the circling of his fingers against her pushing them higher. Guildford clung to her as they tumbled over the edge, never pulling back even as he shuddered out his own release.

With trembling limbs she fell easily into his arms, and he tucked her close to him as he had even that first night of their strange nuptials. As now again, as Guildford held her within the circle of his arms, Jane began to believe in fate too.

[oflostinfound]

@sparedareitspiecesasitflies replied to your post “She can hear the familiar footfalls, but she'll...”:

Once she was… presentable. Jewel made her way to Grim. Swallowing a gulf of air as she tried to steal her emotions. They had to talk. But words refuse to leave her mouth.

Again she hears her before she sees her. Keeping a stone faced expression that speaks of a time long before they became acquaintances. Hiding her emotions, swallowing them down and hoping they become crushed under the weight of her heavy heart.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ ... Ruby eye. ❞

Venom has returned to her words. The succubus turning her face away from Jewel, specifically hiding the still healing scratches that adorned the other left half of her face. Gloved hands readying more throwing knives for the oak tree she stood in front of.

Trying to hide the fact that they're shaking, but it's unclear if it's out of anger or fear.

|| 🖤 ||: ❝ What do you want? ❞

To hurt me again? I'd let you. Forgive me, I'm sorry. Step closer and I'll gut you.

[malcontentswanns]

who: @fishermansknight when and where: flashback, in which a group of travelling fisherman visit the lands of house swann specifically to attempt to get the best catch out of the river slayne. context: wylliam on his rock gathering adventures found himself being pick pocketed; walys ended up getting him back his coin, considering he is much faster - wylliam eventually catches up to him.

the chase had been anything but graceful. wylliam swann, all long limbs and no athletic prowess, barrelled down the muddy path with an urgency that would suggest the crown jewels of the targaryens themselves had been snatched from him. his boots squelched unpleasantly with every step, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his spectacles slipped precariously down his nose with cheeks that were bright red. ahead of him, the figure of walys bramble was already a blur, darting through the trees with the ease of someone born to the wilds.

when wylliam finally stumbled to a halt, he found walys leaning casually against an ancient oak, the pouch in question dangling lazily from his fingers. the fisherman, all broad shoulders and self-assured smirks, looked at wylliam as though he were an amusing curiosity—perhaps a stork that had wandered too far from the riverbanks. “right,” wylliam wheezed, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he continued to attempt to catch his breath. “i imagine you think yourself terribly clever, sir knight, snatching the spoils before i could.” his large brown eyes returned back to his full height, looking around as though to expect the apprehnded bandits to show up; and yet, they were nowhere to be seen. "you let them go?" wylliam asked incredulously; his mind thinking of how dangerous the situation would be now they had been freed in swann lands.

he held out his hand expectantly, long limbs winding over fallen logs on the banks of the river slayne which continued to rush by them. “the pouch, if you will. i assure you its contents are quite irreplaceable.” as the pouch was placed in his palm, he opened it with care, his fingers shaking—not with fear or exhaustion, but the thrill of recovery. his eyes lit up at the sight within, and he began to extract the contents one by one, carefully, as though he were counting. “ah! there you are, my beauties.” he fished out a small, reddish stone, turning it over in his hand with the reverence one might afford a precious gem.

“a garnet schist. flawless. and here—look at this fine specimen—rhyolite, with a texture so immaculate it could bring tears to a geologist’s eye. i thought i’d lost you forever.”

he glanced around, realising the silence had grown heavy as the other seemed to be staring at him with an expression he could not entirety read. "yes. it's not coin." his voice softened, almost confiding now, as though the stones were listening; a level of self consciousness momentarily coming over the younger lord of stonehelm. had he allowed himself to get carried away? “you might think me foolish, running after a simple pouch. but this isn’t just a collection of rocks—this is months of exploration. countless hours tramping through marshes and riverbeds. the thief could have snatched my gold, my boots, even my dignity—well, most of it—but this? this is priceless.” he tucked the stones back into the pouch, patting it gently before securing it at his belt.

“there. safe and sound. i’ll have to catalogue them properly when i’m home. garnet schist always requires precise notation, you know—can’t just scribble any old thing and expect a coherent record. a weak foundation in mineralogy is the first step to chaos. the first step, i tell you.”

he sighed, brushing at the mud on his tunic, though it seemed a losing battle. “now then, shall we return to the others? i imagine the fishermen have already concocted a tale of lord wylliam, who dashed through the woods like a madman to recover... well. best not let them guess. they wouldn’t understand, anyway.” he leaned downward to wipe scruff and mud from his elongated legs, a man who appeared not in control of his limbs. "what's your name again?" wyllliam suddenly asked, remembering he had not even asked the name of the saviour who had brought home his most precious beauties.