#The Lord determines our path

[dramoor]

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

[d-targaryenshoe]

In The End - Colin Bridgerton

Word Count: 2172

Summary: To be married to a stranger is not what every single lady of the Ton wants, is it not?

You and Eloise Bridgerton, childhood friends, sat under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze.

The sunlight streaming through the leaves cast dappled shadows upon your faces, dancing like living things.

"You can't be serious, y/n," Eloise said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "An arranged marriage? You're far too young to be thinking of such things!"

You shrugged, your expression wistful. "I know it's not what I would have chosen for myself," you admitted, "but it is the path my mama has chosen for me."

Eloise reached out to take your hand, your eyes filled with concern. "But what if you don't like this Lord Somerset?" she asked. "What if you don't want to marry him, must that not change things?"

You sighed, looking away from your friend. "My mother says I must marry well, to secure the future of our family," you replied, your voice tinged with resignation. "I fear my opinion does not matter in this matter."

Eloise frowned, her brow furrowing. "But y/n, you're not just a possession to be traded or bargained with! You have feelings, thoughts, desires! You should have a say in who you marry!"

You bit your lip, looking away again. "I know, El. I wish things were different," you sighed. "But my mama has made it clear that this is how it must be."

Eloise's heart ached for you, but she could tell that there was no changing your mind right now. "There must be something we can do?"

You looked up at her, hope flickering in Eloise's eyes before being extinguished. "I don't know, El. I don't want to disobey my mother. She's only trying to secure my future."

"The future you did not choose, must I remind you."

Eloise's tone was gentle, but firm. You looked up at her, surprise flitting across the Bridgerton her features before settling into a pensive frown.

"I know, El. I just... I feel as though I have no say in anything that happens to me."

"But you do, you always have a say."

Eloise's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hope.

"You could speak with your mother, and explain how you feel. You could try to convince her that you deserve a choice, that you deserve happiness."

You shook your head, your hair swaying gently. "She'd never understand, El. She's always put her desires first. I don't think she'd ever see things from my perspective."

Eloise bit her lip, thinking. "Then maybe it's time you showed her," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "Maybe it's time you stood up for yourself, for your future. You don't have to do this alone."

You looked up at your friend, hope flickering in your eyes. "You'd help me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise nodded, her determination growing. "Of course, I would. You know I'd do anything for you. Together, we can find a way to make sure you get the future you deserve."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. Your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms.

You looked away from Eloise, out towards the garden where the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Eloise watched you with a mixture of sympathy and determination. She could see the turmoil in your eyes, the conflict between your duty and your desires.

It was clear that this decision weighed heavily on you. As if sensing the tension in the air, a figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

Colin Bridgerton, Eloise's brother and your friend, approached you from behind, his stride purposeful.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, there you are, you two. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Eloise turned to face him, her lips curling into a smile. "Hello, Colin. We were just having a... ladies' moment, if you will."

You looked up at Colin, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Hello, Colin. It's nice to see you."

Eloise watched as Colin's eyes flickered between the two of you, clearly sensing the weight of the conversation.

She wondered what he made of your sudden seriousness, but decided not to dwell on it. "Colin, why don't you join us?" Eloise invited, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, before sitting down beside Eloise. "What were you saying about standing up for yourself, y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I know you've always been good at doing what's expected of you, but sometimes I think it's important to follow your heart, too."

You looked at him gratefully. "It's just... my mother has always been so strict. I feel like I can never live up to her." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I want so much more for myself, but I don't know how to make her understand."

Colin nodded in understanding. "I can see that. It must be tough, feeling like you're always walking a tightrope." He glanced over at Eloise, who was watching the two of you intently.

"But you know, sometimes all it takes is someone on the sidelines to give you the courage to step out of line, to take a chance on yourself."

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes once more. "Do you think... do you think she'd ever understand?" you asked softly.

Eloise took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I believe she can if you give her the chance. You just have to find the right way to explain how you feel, and why this means so much to you." She glanced over at Colin, who nodded in agreement. "But I- I have to join mama to the modiste."

You looked up at your friend, a mixture of gratitude and determination in your eyes. "Thank you, Eloise. I'll think about what you've said."

Eloise hesitated for a moment before standing up, her dress rustling softly against her legs before she turned around and walked away.

Colin studied your profile as you watched your friend disappear into the crowd, a quiet strength emanating from you. "You know," he began, "it's not always easy to stand up to our parents, but I believe you're brave enough to do it."

You turned to face him, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do," he replied with conviction. "You have so much to offer the world, and I think your mother just needs some time to see that."

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that easy, though. She's always been so focused on me marrying well, and living a comfortable life. She doesn't understand that I want more than that."

Colin nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know it's difficult, but you have to believe that she can change her perspective. You just have to find a way to help her see things from your point of view." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "And I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the way."

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity in his words giving you strength. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

"Thank you, Colin," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

He smiled, and you noticed how his dimple dented his cheek. "I think I do, actually," he said softly.

At your surprised expression, he continued, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you in the garden that day. You're beautiful, intelligent, and brave. You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you listened to his words. You had never expected to hear anything like this from him.

"But... we're just friends," you stammered, your voice barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the people around you.

Colin smiled gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "We are friends, yes. But I think there's something more between us. Something deeper, more intense. And I want to explore that." He reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to get to know you better, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as a woman. As my woman."

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips mere inches from yours. "I know this is sudden, and perhaps I shouldn't have said anything tonight, but I couldn't help myself. I've felt this way for so long, and I needed you to know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and you could hardly breathe. You knew you should say something, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

You could only stare into his eyes, lost in the moment.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Colin leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

At first, it was gentle, a mere flutter of sensation, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. You gasped, your hands finding their way up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.

You felt as if you were floating, your body alive with the heat of the moment.

The world around you seemed to fade away, and it was as if there was nothing but the two of you, your hearts racing, your breath mingling together.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held you close.

When at last you broke apart, you found it difficult to focus on anything but the look in his eyes.

They were filled with desire and tenderness, and you knew that he meant every word he had said.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile shyly.

"I-I don't know what to say," you managed to stammer.

Colin smiled back, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know that I meant every word I said and that I want to explore this with you." He paused for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before continuing.

"I want us to be together. I want to protect you and cherish you, and show you the love that you deserve."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You had never imagined feeling this way about anyone, and the thought of being with Colin filled you with a warmth you hadn't known was possible.

You looked up into his eyes, your shining with tears of happiness, and nodded slowly. "I want that too," you whispered. "So much."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "I know it's fast, and I don't want you to feel pressured, but...I want to start making plans with you. I want to take you away from here, show you the world. I want to build a life with you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from yours once more. "I love you, y/n," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life by his side, explore the world with him, and build a future together.

You knew that you could trust him and that he would always protect you.

With trembling hands, you reached up and cupped his face, tenderly brushing your thumbs across his cheeks.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The weight of your words settled between you, and you both paused for a moment, taking in the gravity of your decision.

It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving you alone in your little bubble, suspended in time and space.

Colin leaned in closer, his lips finding yours once more, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth.

His kiss deepened, his hands exploring the contours of your body, and you melted into him, returning his affections with equal fervor.

[candy69gurl]

HIII NEW FOLLOWER :3 i js wanna cutely ask if u could make sukuna a gentle yet rough husband(he's still the king of whatevs) and the protagonist has a dragonfly pendant that glows and makes the protagonist submissive when originally, shes a VERY stubborn wife :3 thats all tyt (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

Trapped in Temptation

Heian Era Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, slight non-con, kidnapping, threats, mentions of violence (Sukuna is gentle only with you), tricking, use of nicknames, use of abdomen mouth and mouths on four hands, fingering (Sukuna has nails), double penetration (use of 2 dicks in rear and front), nipple playing, clit rubbing, choking, raw sex (cumming inside), breeding kink

wc- 4k

ART NOT MINE !

"Uraume, did you hear what that insolent wench said to me? She dared insult my honor!" Raging, Ryomen Sukuna paces back and forth across their opulent quarters, his four arms slicing through the air with anger. "I can't believe she would be so impudent before our subordinates! We should do something about her."

"Calm down, Lord Sukuna," Uraume interjects, standing in front of their master to block his path. "She knows not what she says. It was uncalled for, but I assure you, I shall handle the matter." They cross their arms, a determined look in their eyes.

"Uraume, she is so stubborn! Her constant attitude toward me is tiresome! I am the strongest, yet she dares to challenge me?" Ryomen Sukuna's voice booms throughout the room, emphasizing each word as he speaks. "And to think I took her as my consort... She must learn her place, or else I may end up hurting her"

With a sigh, Uraume nods understandingly, "I understand Lord, but the truth is, you've grown attached to her, haven't you?" Uraume asks, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. "I have the best solution for it"

"Tell me about it", he sits down on his throne, crossing his massive legs.

It was a sunny afternoon, as Ryomen Sukuna scanned his vast territory, standing atop the highest point of his temple. In the distance, he saw you - an unusual figure, unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Something within him stirred, a feeling he could not explain. His instincts screamed to hunt and devour this new prey, but a strange force held him back.

"You know I told you," Uraume said, looking up at Sukuna with a playful smile, "that sometimes we can find the most unlikely sources of entertainment."

Ryomen Sukuna grunted, acknowledging the truth in Uraume's words. He couldn't deny the fascination he felt for you. "Indeed, I will send my spies to follow her."

Weeks passed, and Ryomen Sukuna found himself consumed by your thoughts. He could resist no longer, and finally confided in Uraume, "I have grown obsessed with her. I've decided that I wish to bring her to me - against her will if necessary". A wicked grin spreaded across his face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Prepare the plan for her capture, and ensure she arrives here safely."

A sinister grin flashed across Uraume's face. "As you wish, Lord Sukuna. Your desire shall be fulfilled." And so, with expert planning and stealth, Uraume carried out the task of capturing you. When you were finally brought before him, bound and trembling, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In the grand temple, surrounded by darkness and the oppressive aura of Ryomen Sukuna, fear coursed through your veins like ice water. You couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the towering, monstrous figure before you. Even as he approached you gently, offering words of comfort, your heart pounded uncontrollably. The very air seemed heavy with his power, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loathing and dread that bubbled up within you.

"Fear not," Sukuna whispered, his voice a velvety rumble in the silence of the chamber. "I have taken a liking to you, and will not harm you...for now." He gazed into your frightened eyes, his own full of curiosity and perhaps even a hint of longing. "I promise you, you are safe here – for the moment."

Breathless and shaking, you pleaded with Ryomen Sukuna, "Please, let me go! I don't want to stay here, with you..." Your voice quivered, desperation clear in every word. But the mighty demon lord only stared at you, his expression unreadable behind his cold facade.

As days turned into nights, and then into weeks, you refused to eat, choosing instead to starve yourself in protest. Your pale and unwell body greatly concerned Sukuna.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Ryomen Sukuna's voice rang out, echoing through the temple chambers. "Uraume, attend to her."

Despite your protests, Uraume stepped forward, concern in their eyes. "Please, consume at least a bit, it will make things easier for all of us."

You looked up at them defiantly, tears welling in your eyes. "I won't eat!"

"This obstinacy is truly fascinating," Sukuna muttered, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. "You underestimate the consequences of your actions. If you continue to starve yourself, your life will be endangered."

Uraume sighed softly, eyeing you with worry. "Just a morsel," they pleaded, gently placing a small bite of food on your tongue. "For your own sake."

But you stubbornly clamped your jaw shut, refusing to swallow the offered sustenance. Your determination was steadfast, fueled by your desire to leave the clutches of Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing your resolve, Sukuna's eyes narrowed, and he spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice, "Very well. Have it your way. But know this, if you die, I am going to kill every human on this earth."

"Y-you cannot do that-", your words fell on deaf ears, as Ryomen Sukuna merely laughed darkly, the sound echoing ominously in the temple chambers.

"Oh, little mortal, do not mistake my words for idle threats. I am capable of such destruction. And if you persist in defying me, I may just do it."

Watching you waste away drove Uraume mad with worry. They tried once again to reason with you, "Do not test Lord Sukuna's patience, child. You know not the extent of his powers. You must eat, for humans' sake."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth for Uraume, swallowing the food they offered. The taste was foreign, and your stomach growled in protest, but you knew better than to refuse. Your eyes met Ryomen Sukuna's, a mixture of defiance and despair in their depths. You were trapped, a caged bird desperate for freedom.

As days passed, you learned to endure your imprisonment, adapting to the odd rhythms of your captivity. Ryomen Sukuna watched you closely, a never-ending study of this fascinating creature who had captured his interest. Though you remained subdued, he couldn't help but notice the occasional flash of rebellion in your eyes.

One fateful day, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you spoke out of turn, lashing out at Ryomen Sukuna in front of his ever-loyal servants. The words tumbled from your lips, sharp and cutting, as if driven by sheer desperation to assert some semblance of control over your situation.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark as thunderclouds. With a swift movement, he took hold of your arm, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. "Is this how you repay me for keeping you alive?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps I should reconsider my decision to spare you," he snarled, holding you aloft in his powerful grip, the muscles in his arms straining visibly. Your heart leaped into your throat as you realized the severity of your actions.

"Kill me, it's better to die than to live with a monster like you!", defiance blazed in your eyes as you spat the words at Ryomen Sukuna, your voice shaking with emotion.

Surprisingly, Ryomen Sukuna paused, his eyes softening momentarily. "Monster?" He released you, allowing you to stumble back, breathless and terrified. "I have done nothing but provide you with a measure of safety, and this how you repay me?"

Uraume stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Sukuna, she is weakened, emotionally and physically. It's not wise to push her too far." They glanced at you, concern etched in their face. "Let us give her time to adjust to her circumstances."

Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, his sharp gaze never leaving you. "Get her out of my sight. NOW!"

Uraume quickly complied, guiding you away from Sukuna and into the comfort of your quarters. As the door closed behind you, you slumped against it, gasping for breath. Emotions swirled within, tearing at your fragile psyche. Fear, anger, resentment, and a strange kind of fascination with the demonic ruler.

In the quiet hours of night, Uraume approaches Ryomen Sukuna, a dragonfly pendant glimmering in their hand. Their voice soft but filled with purpose. "We have found a way to control her defiance, Lord. A dragonfly pendant of ancient origin, said to bring submission to those who wear it."

"Show me," Ryomen Sukuna commands, his interest piqued. Taking the gleaming object from Uraume's hand, he examines the delicate craftsmanship, a faint glow emanating from its center. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. "This could prove useful."

Uraume nods, understanding his intentions. "Once she wears it, and the pendant comes in contact with your iris, she will become submissive, appeasing her rebellious nature. Perhaps we can break her spirit and bend her to our will."

Ryomen Sukuna studies the dragonfly pendant, imagining the effect it would have on her. His dark eyes sparkles with anticipation, the plan working perfectly in his favor.

"But Lord.. Remember you have to trick her into wearing it", Uraume warns knowing your stubborn nature.

Rolling his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna dismisses Uraume's warning. "Trust me, I know how to manipulate her."

The following day, as dawn breaks over his kingdom, he seeks you out with a seemingly contrite expression. Apologizing for the previous day's outburst, he holds out the dragonfly pendant. "Here, take this as a token of reconciliation. Wear it close to you, as a sign of our understanding".

There's an underlying current of menace beneath his words, caught off guard by the unexpected apology, you tentatively accept the dragonfly pendant from Ryomen Sukuna's hand. As the delicate piece of jewelry slides around your neck, your heart races in anticipation.

Sukuna's eyes fall on the pendant and it glows, then a sudden warmth floods your being, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of... submission?

The change is immediate and profound. Your resistance crumbles, replaced by an inexplicable urge to obey. You fall to your knees, your eyes fixed on the ground, "I am sorry, Lord Sukuna. Please forgive my insolence." A wave of submission washes over you, eliminating the last vestiges of rebellion in your heart. The dragonfly pendant, now resting delicately against your collarbone, pulsed gently with each beat of your heart.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes widens in surprise, a twisted grin spreading across his face. With a predatory grin, Ryomen Sukuna takes advantage of this newfound submission. Grasping your arm, he pulls you to your feet, your eyes locked with his. "Now that we understand each other, let's start fresh. Let me introduce you to the joys of our new arrangement."

A sense of helplessness grips you, as he leads you to a sumptuous room, adorned with silk sheets and plush cushions. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, and you struggle to process the turn of events. As Ryomen Sukuna guides you towards the luxurious bed, you can't help but wonder how much more control he intends to claim over your body and soul.

"Remove your clothing," he orders, his tone commanding yet tinged with anticipation. Your fingers tremble, complying with his demand. Slowly, you undress, the dragonfly pendant glowing softly against your now-bare skin. An overwhelming sense of submission courses through you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in front of the imposing figure of Ryomen Sukuna.

He watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, and you can't help but shudder, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice a seductive purr. You obey without question, presenting your bare back to him.

His skilled hands move over your skin, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You are mine now," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

He gives a searing kiss between your shoulder blades, his touch dominant and undeniably passionate. Every stroke of his hands, every caress of his lips, is a reminder of your new reality - one governed by his desires and his will alone.

Underneath his command, you find yourself responding in kind, your body betraying the fear that once held you in its grasp.

Ryomen Sukuna gently places you on the silken bed, his massive form towering over you. Your body trembles under the weight of his gaze, and his four arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, securely. The sensation is both terrifying and exciting, your heart racing in tandem with your growing arousal.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his fingers probing your core. You arch your back, torn between pain and pleasure.

"My, you're tight," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. "Such a shame. You need to learn to relax for me."

Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation through your body, the dragonfly pendant glowing with each movement. You moan softly, unable to deny the pleasure intermingling with your fear. "Please, Lord Sukuna," you whisper, the words slipping past your lips without conscious thought.

"Please, what?" He asks, his fingers continuing their rhythmic dance inside you. His voice is deep and velvety, wrapping around your senses like a warm blanket.

"Make love to me, please," you beg, your voice barely steady. There's a strange vulnerability in your plea, a stark contrast to the defiance he once faced.

Ryomen Sukuna's smirk grows wider, his eyes shining with triumph. "I have been waiting for this moment." he confirms, his fingers pausing briefly before he removes them from your body.

As Ryomen Sukuna leans in to kiss you, his enormous tongue darts out from his abdominal mouth, tracing a path to your clit. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You gasp, your mind reeling with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your core. Simultaneously, his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same boldness. His four hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your trembling body.

"You taste divine," he growls against your lips, his tongue from abdomen continues its assault on your clit.

One of his four arms reaches down to your core, thrusting inside with surprising ease. The sudden invasion triggers a response, your body arching off the bed in a fierce orgasm. Pleasure rips through you, a tidal wave of release that leaves you breathless and panting.

Breath still ragged from your climax, you watch in awe as Ryomen Sukuna discards his garments, revealing not one, but two erect phalluses. Shock momentarily paralyzes you, but his command snaps you out of it. Nervously, you position yourself between his legs, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch the unfamiliar appendages.

Your tongue darts out, hesitantly exploring one of his erect members. Your inexperience is evident, but he seems content to guide you. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how eager you are to serve me."

You obey, your skill improving with each passing second. You alternate between his two phalluses, each one throbbing under your touch. His hands thread through your hair, guiding you as he mutters praises under his breath, his grip firm but gentle on your scalp. Your lips wrap around one of his member, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. A strange sense washes over you, realizing he's taken complete control of this encounter.

Ryomen Sukuna groans, his hips bucking slightly under your ministrations. "So eager to please your master, aren't you?" he taunts.

"Mhm," you mumble around his member, your voice muffled by the flesh filling your mouth. The dragonfly pendant glows fiercely at your chest, a constant reminder of your submission. "Whatever you want, Lord Sukuna."

His laughter fills the room, a deep, rolling sound that vibrates through the air. "Delightful. Just remember, you belong to me now."

You continue to service him, your body responding to his every command, every thrust of his hips.

Ryomen Sukuna's laughter dies down, replaced by a growl of satisfaction as he pushes your head back. With an effortless strength, he picks you up with his four hands, aligning one of his hardened members with your entrance. In one swift motion, he pushes inside you, filling you to the brim.

You cry out, the sensation intense and overwhelming. Your walls stretch to accommodate his size, toes curling and head resting on his broad chest.

Ryomen Sukuna grins down at you, clearly pleased with your tightness. He responds by pounding into you with brutal intensity, each thrust driving deeper into your core.

"Tight little thing," he mutters, his voice guttural with lust. "Perfect for my needs."

Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna notices the dragonfly pendant is missing from around your neck, but your face remains submissive. Confused, he slows down his movements, searching your face for any trace of rebellion. But there's none; only submissive yearning stares back at him.

"P-please lord, d-don't stop, i-i am so close.."

His lips curl up to a grin, his eyes narrow, studying you closely. "Is that so?" He resumes his thrusts, watching your reaction carefully. Your face contorts with pleasure, your body responding to his every stroke.

Without warning, Ryomen Sukuna pulls out of you, urging you onto your knees. You comply instantly, your body quivering with anticipation. He positions himself behind you, entering you from behind with renewed vigor.

The difference in angle sends waves of pleasure cascading through you. Each thrust strikes a new nerve, bringing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body begging for release.

Just as you start to crest, he stops with his thrusts keeping his member deep inside you, leaving you panting and desperate. "Patience," he growls, wetting his fingers with his saliva.

Your heart races, knowing what comes next. He inserts his wet digit into your tight rear, stretching you in a whole new way. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming. "P-please" you stammer, but it comes out more like a plea than protest.

Ryomen Sukuna chuckles darkly, his fingers working in concert with his cock. "Relax, little one. This will make you sing."

The added pressure forces you to focus solely on the sensations engulfing you. You breathe deeply, trying to accommodate his digits. His laughter echoes in the room, a cruel counterpoint to your mounting frustration. His other member pulses, impatient and ready to join the fray.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he withdraws his fingers, coated in evidence of your readiness. You tremble, anticipation building to a fever pitch.

In one swift motion, he introduces the second shaft inside you, stretching you beyond belief. Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of pleasure and pain washing over you, but you don't resist, your body listening to him.

As both of his members work inside you, his four hands come into play. Two grip your hips firmly, guiding his thrusts while the others explore your body. His mouth forms from his other pair of arms, closing over your breast. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced.

His suckling mouths formed from his hands tug gently at your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Oh gods, yes!" You exclaim, surrendering to the sensation. His dual attention, the incredible fullness inside you, overwhelms you.

"That's right," he croons, his voice deep and sultry. "Take it all, show me how much you enjoy being filled."

Two of his hands reluctantly leave your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze before retreating. You whimper, feeling deprived even though you remain filled to the brim. It's almost too much, his dual penetration combined with his previous attentions.

Then, one of his hands drifts lower, touching your clit with feather-light touches. The other wraps around your throat, cutting off your air.

"N-no, wait...!" You choke out, struggling for breath.

"Quiet," he growls.

Without warning, his tongue emerges from his hand currently stroking your clit. It dances across your nerve bundle with expert precision, pushing you closer to the precipice. At the same time, the other hand leaves hickeys on your exposed neck, marking you as his own.

You gasp, the combination of sensations finally proving too much. Your body convulses, your orgasm soon going to occur.

As your orgasm builds, Ryomen Sukuna leans in close, his voice a seductive rumble against your ear. "I found your weakness," he whispers, his abdomen's mouth tracing lines along your spine. "Tell me you accept me as your husband."

You shiver, the combination of his words and actions overwhelming. His thrusting never stops, pushing you higher and higher.

"Lord Sukuna..." you manage, your voice breathy.

"Still a stubborn one, aren't you?" he chuckles, his pace increasing.

His thrusts become more urgent, matching the rhythm of your impending release. "I said accept me as your husband," he commands, the demand clear in his voice.

You nod, your body shaking from the sheer force of his command. "Yes...my Lord, I accept you as my husband" you admit, surrendering completely.

"Want to bear my child?," he asks, his mouth on his abdomen resuming its licking.

"Y-yes yes yes.. F-fill me, Lord.. I want.. your babies.. hnghnn", you reply, drools dripping from your chin. The thought surging through your body as you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Ryomen Sukuna matches your release, his own body convulsing as he finds his own climax.

With a final burst of energy, Ryomen Sukuna fills both your holes, his seed spilling hot and thick inside you. The sensation is indescribable, filling you to the brim. As he finishes, his seed trickles down between your legs, coating you in his essence.

His breathing labored, he collapses against you, resting his forehead on your back. You lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience.

His eyes fall upon the dragonfly pendant lying innocently on the floor, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Well well, look at that."

He lifts you gently, turning you around so you're facing him. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he holds it to your lips. "We don't need this anymore"

Taking the pendant from his fingers and throwing it away you pout angrily at him, "You tricked me."

A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "Just wanted you to realize your real feelings towards me. All you needed was a little push."

You pull back, your lips parting slowly. you stare into his eyes, realizing he's right. Your body did submit without the dragonfly pendant at the end. Your feelings towards him are genuine.

"I'm yours, Lord Sukuna."

His grin widens, he is indeed thanking Uraume in his mind, his hands caressing your face tenderly. "That's what I always wanted to hear, love."

[rorichuu]

in shades of violet ; 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 — (part 2) .

pairing: gale x gn/fem!reader

authors note: uh HIIIII, this is proof I'm not dead, my heart is just suffering from another fandom :') posted from my ao3 account hurhur

disclaimer: gale and tav but with the line: "I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me? - I love you!"

The silence clouded your shared camp with an unforgiving hush, the wind particularly brisk, and the whisper of the trees seemingly more pronounced. Those words spoken by Mystra's Chosen, deafening in their own heavy deliverance, refused to leave your crowded mind. The unforgiving visitor sang ill-sickening horrors that twisted your mind onto your own, thankfully not driven to insanity on the part of Shadowheart's found artifact. But there was more to this; more to find on the journey ahead. Paths left untrailed, answers yet unfound... this couldn't have been our last resort. You were to make sure of it. You could tell in the way Gale’s eyebrows knitted together, the way he bit his cheek, how his chest seemed to fall faster than before Elminster’s disrupted visit. The tension was suffocating, you couldn’t stand it. Just then, you had found your chest falling rapidly all the same… but not in a sense of sadness, nor of fear. But in rage. The Goddess asked of something you had found irrational, and even if the Gods held you back with all their might, they could not obstruct your determination.

“Time seems so infinite when you’re young… a month is an age, a year is a lifetime…” Your ears prickled upon hearing the wizard speak. His voice hummed with a self-deprecating laugh; you could hear the ache in his heart. “It is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left.” It was as if all light had fallen from his eyes. Once hazel in sunlight, once sparkling with awe and curiosity. You refused to have him snuffed out as if simply candlelight; you will preserve and hold his heavy heart for as long as you’ll have him. You turned to face Gale, your eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, a scoff leaving your throat harshly.

“You can’t possibly consider what She is asking of you.” Your voice slightly raised, you advanced towards Gale, your eyes sharing his with your unrelenting hold. You noticed Adam’s apple bob, he swallowed, slightly intimidated by you. But with a clench of his jaw, he stepped backward, clearing his throat.

“Of course, he offered the clearest solution to our problem,” he began. You frowned. “All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and... well, let go.” He spoke as if it were a simple task. As if Gale had nothing to lose and everything to give. But how wrong he was, oh, how your heart cried due to Gale’s blindness. “Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… and I along with it.” His tone sauntered to a sort of grief... to a sort of realization.

“You’re an idiot. An idiot to think so,” your voice wobbled, your eyes threatened with tears. Gale’s façade had begun to falter as soon as your broken sentence left your lips, his heart ached for what he thought he could not have. “It’s a suicide mission. I can’t let you, not when there’s… undoubtedly, another way. There must be.” You looked away, shame rosing your cheeks in its warming triumph. You couldn’t let yourself go just yet.

“That… this, isn’t a choice either one of us can make Tav,” Gale spoke, his hand lifting to rest on your shoulder. In response, you bucked away from him, shaking your head. “It is your decision! It’s your life, and you are what you make of it!” Your throat began to seize up, burning with an intention to release your tears, but you fought it. You marched towards him; he stepped back in return. “I understand she is your Goddess; I understand your devotion. But what about… oh, lords above." A hand fell over your lips, cursing… your heart racing in your ceased thoughts. It was clawing at you; your love was destined to put your heart to ruin if you had let Gale continue his newly found mission… how badly you wished to speak of your daydreams; your fantasies; your devotion for the wizard, a love you had wished to grow old with. Had it only been a few weeks on your travels, if not months, and you were completely transfixed in his pretty words and captivating conversations… for it did not take long to realize your affections. But it hurt. It hurt more than poets could write on tarnished paper; more than the absence of a lover; more than the moon’s unrequited love for the sun. It tore at every seam of your heart.

Gale frowned, eyes catching yours as his hand lifted your face by his touch. “Speak to me.” He whispered now, the Earth around you began to shift in a mystic purple, caressing your skin with its doting charm. Your lip curled, and your heart pounded against your chest, bound to be left free from its cage. And so, you spoke.

“Do you love me?” Plain and true to your question, Gale blinked, taken aback… his hand fell. The Weave flickered by Gale’s fluttered heart.

“I’m doing this to protect you. To protect you all.” His response did not align with what you had asked him.

“Do you love me?” You continued to push your question.

“It wouldn’t… Tav, we couldn’t, you know this. We can’t—”

“Do you love me?” You advanced towards him, feet hot on his trail as he looked at you, small in your gaze. Gale stuttered in response, excuses falling from his lips. A deep purple smothered the both of you. “Do you love me!”

“Tav! Please, stop! Stop this!” Gale raised his voice in return, your lips twitched in your abrupt pause. The darkened purple was hushed now to its softened twinkle.

“Is this because you think you’re protecting me or yourself? Do you truly believe that if you do this, my love for you will simply shy away? Because it can’t.” Gale's eyes searched yours desperately as if his puppy browns could find anything within you. “I love you, Gale.” The way you had pronounced his name clearly in your sweetened words; the way you spoke plainly alone of your love held his heart in your divine chamber. And he wished to never leave it. “I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me, all you have to say is you do not love me, and I will leave you to Mystra’s command.” Gale could not speak. Whatever he had wished to say to you had left his mind… it did not live up to what you were proposing, he only had your words coddled in his brain. His mouth was left agape, watching you speak.

You continued. “We will find the heart of the Absolute. I will leave you to Her command and I will go on with my days without you. All on my own, I will do that. But first, you have to say that you do not love me.” A quiet hushed over your words, his lips seemed to move; seemed to move in hopes to say something, but his voice was trapped. Gale’s mouth had gone dry, his mind enclosed with what he so desperately wished to say to you. “You must tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.” Gale’s eyelashes fluttered; his once gazing eyes that longed to be lost in yours had disappeared with the shaking of his head. His voice had soon accompanied yours.

“I am a danger; a ticking time bomb that will inevitably detonate,” his words were as though they were a broken record. You sighed, lip quivering. “The Weave is tireless and ever-so hungry. And eventually, I will become lost in it. Once I was lost to celestials above, and… I wish not to have you tangled within my own fault.” Gale had sounded as if almost desperate. You needed to hear it clearly. You needed to.

“Do you love me?” Your words continued to prevail an answer in search of his response. Slowly, he began to back away, hands raised in the hopeless comfort to retreat. But you continued to push, swirls of the Weave hugging your figure.

“You do not wish a life with me for yourself,” Gale kept his gaze on the ground, hands on either hip as he cowered. “No one wishes what I cannot give you.” Within Gale’s sorrow, a shade of violet hung heavy over his shoulders.

“Gale!” Catching his attention, his eyes met yours, fully swept within your pearled orbs. “I will stand with you between the Heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me!”

“I love you!” With a final gust, shimmers of a royal lilac decorated your face with its beautiful hue. The world seemed to stop, the Weave with it. It had felled from his lips as though it were his last words; devotion he would happily give if he could have only you… disregarding Mystra, disregarding everything he knows for you. Selfish as that may be. A sigh left your lungs, relief soothing you. “From the moment… from the moment you pulled me from that rock. I have loved you desperately—I cannot breathe when you are not near… I love you, Tav." Within your shared breath, the Weave had fallen away… the whispers of the trees were once more, the song of the birds within the twilight… embraced into each other’s arms, a kiss was shared; deep and true, your lips did not tear, if even for a breath. For Gale did not need to breathe, you were his oxygen. His means of breathing; his means of living. But alas, the kiss was broken. You two had held each other, and felt the touch and warmth of each other’s bodies. A comfort Gale was at peace with knowing.

His voice broke through the silence.

“What I carry is darkness,” he whispered. “A suffocating darkness due to my own hubris. Tav, this is my burden. But you…” Gale had brought his hands to cup either side of your face, his softened gaze welcoming yours with the purest of adoration. “You bring the light.” He rested his forehead upon yours, eyes fluttering closed in the embrace of your presence. “I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you.”

“I want you and only you,” you whispered in solace. “I want you until the celestials find their end. Until the Earth cannot carry us no longer. I want you.”

“Then you shall have me.”

.

.

.

rorichuu!

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Whispers of Desire

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin!reader

summary: Finally betrothed, the twins are more than happy.

Word count: 2,9K

Warnings: smut, P in V, Daddy kink, Orgasm denial

The Red Keep in King’s Landing stood as a majestic backdrop to the grand feast held in honor of the engagement between Aemond Targaryen and his twin sister, Aerra. The Great Hall was resplendent with crimson and gold decorations, echoing the colors of their House. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion.

Aerra, the lively and effervescent twin, was at the heart of the festivities, as always. Her fiery charisma and vivacity had the guests enthralled. She moved gracefully through the hall, engaging in lively conversations, twirling on the dance floor, and enchanting all who crossed her path.

Aemond, on the other hand, couldn’t hide the green-eyed monster that had taken root within him. He watched as Aerra shared laughter and danced with lords and knights, and a deep sense of jealousy consumed him. His martial prowess and fierce determination had earned him respect, but tonight, it felt as if all eyes were on his sister.

Rhaenyra, their elder sister, noticed Aemond’s growing frustration. She excused herself from her own admirers and approached him. “Aemond, you seem troubled. Is something amiss?”

He sighed, his violet eyes betraying his inner turmoil. “Rhaenyra, I can’t help but be jealous of Aerra. It feels as if I’m always in her shadow.”

Rhaenyra placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Aemond, jealousy is a dangerous beast. Remember that Aerra’s light does not diminish yours. You are both unique, with strengths that complement each other. While she shines in the spotlight, your strength is the shield that protects our family.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he nodded in acknowledgment. “You’re right, Rhaenyra. I should be happy for her. It’s just that… I’ve always felt the weight of our family’s expectations.”

Rhaenyra smiled warmly. “We all do, dear brother. But together, as Targaryens, we are stronger. Our bond is unbreakable, and we support each other through every challenge.”

As they returned to the feast, Aemond’s jealousy gave way to a newfound appreciation for his sister’s charisma and an understanding that their unity was their greatest strength. The celebration continued with renewed joy and harmony, showcasing the resilience and power of House Targaryen within the hallowed halls of the Red Keep.

The Red Keep’s Great Hall buzzed with merriment as Aerra danced with several lords who had come to celebrate her engagement. Her laughter rang out like music, drawing the attention of everyone present. She moved gracefully from one partner to another, her vibrant presence captivating them all.

Aemond, watching from a distance, couldn’t shake the growing unease that gnawed at him. As he saw lords vying for Aerra’s attention on the dance floor, jealousy flared within him. He had always been fiercely protective of his twin sister, and the thought of sharing her with others grated on him.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Aemond left his spot and approached the dance floor. His commanding presence was undeniable, and the lords who had been dancing with Aerra took a step back, yielding the floor to him.

Without a word, Aemond extended his hand to Aerra, his violet eyes locked onto hers. “May I have this dance, sister?”

Aerra’s sapphire eyes widened in surprise, but she accepted his hand with a smile. They moved onto the dance floor, and as the music swayed around them, their movements became a silent conversation of emotions.

As Aemond and Aerra danced together, the tension between them crackled like wildfire. The music’s sultry rhythm seemed to mirror the heat that had built up between the twins. Their bodies moved in sync, but their words were laced with desire and jealousy.

“Aerra,” Aemond purred, his voice low and seductive, “you’re quite the enchantress tonight. You revel in the attention, don’t you?”

Aerra’s sapphire eyes darkened with a mix of emotions, her pulse quickening at her brother’s provocative tone. She leaned in closer, her voice a sensuous whisper, “Why, Aemond, jealous, are we? Perhaps you’re just not used to sharing.”

Aemond’s jealousy had given way to a more primal desire, and he pulled Aerra even closer, their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. “Sharing is not something I’m accustomed to, especially when it comes to you.”

Aerra’s laughter was a seductive melody in his ear. “Oh, Aemond, there’s no need to be possessive. I’m yours, always.”

Their dance became a provocative battle of wills, a dance of desire and longing. Aemond’s jealousy had transformed into a heated passion, and as the night wore on, they continued to dance, their movements filled with sensual tension and unspoken promises.

Their hearts racing with a mix of excitement and forbidden desire, managed to slip away from the raucous feast unnoticed. The castle’s winding corridors provided cover for their secret escape.

Aerra couldn’t contain her giggles, the thrill of their clandestine rendezvous making her feel like a teenager in love. She tugged at Aemond’s hand, urging him further into the shadows.

Aemond, usually so stern and composed, had a rare hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The tension that had consumed him earlier had given way to the intoxicating anticipation of what was to come. He pushed Aerra gently against the wall, their bodies pressed close, and his lips descended to meet hers.

The kiss was tender yet filled with an intensity that had simmered beneath the surface all night. Aerra’s fingers tangled in Aemond’s platinum blonde locks as she deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing in a passionate, unspoken declaration of their desires.

Aemond’s hands explored her curves, their desire for each other burning brighter with each passing second. The abandoned hallway became their secret haven, a place where their love and longing could be expressed without restraint.

As the kiss deepened, Aerra pulled away slightly, her breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. She looked into Aemond’s eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aemond, I’ve always wanted you.”

Aemond’s response was a heated kiss, a promise that their secret rendezvous was only the beginning of a night filled with passion, desire, and the breaking of boundaries they had once thought were unbreakable.

Aemond’s kisses, like soft feathers, trailed down Aerra’s neck, igniting a passionate fire within her. Her body trembled with desire as his strong arms enveloped her waist, guiding her down the dimly lit corridor.

Lost in the intoxication of his touch, Aerra barely registered their surroundings. She allowed herself to be led by Aemond’s tender yet passionate ministrations, every kiss sending shivers down her spine.

As they reached a doorway, Aemond gently guided Aerra into the room. Her senses were overwhelmed by the pleasure of his kisses, and she remained blissfully unaware of their surroundings.

It was only when they were inside, and Aemond closed the door behind them with a soft click, that Aerra finally realized where they were. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked around to find herself standing in the small council meeting room of the Red Keep.

The room was dimly lit, with the long wooden table and high-backed chairs creating an unexpected backdrop for their passionate encounter. Aerra’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and desire as she met Aemond’s gaze.

Aemond, his own desire evident in his platinum blonde hair tousled from their passionate kisses, gave her a mischievous smile. “Well, it seems we’ve found an unexpected venue for our rendezvous.”

Aerra chuckled softly, her embarrassment giving way to a sense of adventure. “I suppose we have, dear brother. Let’s make the most of it.”

And with that, they allowed their passion to consume them once more, their kisses and desires filling the small council meeting room with a fervor that surpassed the boundaries of decorum.

Their lips met in a slow and passionate kiss, a sweet exchange of longing and devotion. The small council room, once a place of politics and strategy, was transformed into their private sanctuary, where their love and desires could flourish.

As their kiss deepened, they lost themselves in each other’s arms, their hearts entwined in a dance of love and romance. The room, with its grand table and high-backed chairs, bore witness to a different kind of council—one where the language spoken was that of love, trust, and unbreakable bonds.

Aemond eager to be close to his soon to be wife wasted no time to push her against the table, his lips attacking the sensitive skin under her jaw with bites and kisses to sooth the pain. Aerra's breathing was already laboured, her nibble fingers running through his hair that was in it's usual half up do, well not anymore.

"Aemond" She whispered, his name sounded like the sweetest tart rolling off her tongue. Aemond began pulling her dress up desperate to feel her skin. This was not the first they had been intimate and surely never will be the last.

"Daor" No. Aemond breathed in her ear. His fingers finally touching the skin of her thigh. He ran his thumb around the edge of her stocking before pushing it down fully. Aerra gasped as the cold air hit her legs causing goosebumbs.

"Kepa" Father/Daddy. The twins were twisted, that was no shock. The father they had was anything but a father, he was more of a stranger to them, they were shocked he even showed his face at the feast- most likely because Rhaenyra was there.

Aemond groped her thigh so tightly it will surely leave his fingerprints behind on it. He wrapped her exposed thigh around his waist before moving to the other one. His lips trailing up to her ear, biting and sucking the her earlobe. She whimpered shivering in his arms, she was desperate for his touch. Her second stocking and shoe followed the first on the floor, her legs now both wrapped around his waist he finally could touch more of her skin.

"My sweet girl, so desperate for attention" Aemond teased. he pulled back admiring her, her lips swollen and red from his attacks earlier. Her neck was already beginning to bruise from his bites. Her chest heaving as she sat on the table, her legs around his waist. His cock was throbbing in his trousers at the sight of her. Her hair was all over the place.

"Kepa, Kostilus" Please. Her begging was like the lemon cake to his ears. His fingers worked quickly undoing her bodice until her tits were spilling out.

"Shh, sweet whore" Aemond shushed her quickly. His hand grabbed at her breast, the perfect size in his hand, she was just perfect for him. Her entire being fit him so perfectly, her love handles and breasts were just the right size.

"Kepa, please it hurts" Aerra begged. Her cunt was crying in need of friction. She tried rubbing herself against him, gasping when she felt his hard on. Aemond smirked with delight at the sight of her wide eyes and dropped jaw. She knew just how to push his buttons even without trying.

"Shhh" Aemond gave a quick slap to her breast. He reached down to undo the ties of his trousers. Without her having to beg anymore or preparations he shoved his cock inside of her tight cunt.

"Such a perfect cunny" Aemond complimented. Aerra had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop a scream from slipping past her lips. He was just in so deep, he reached places she couldn't even imagine reaching herself.

Aemond stayed still not wanting to hurt her. He was amused with how wet she was and he didn't even need to touch her down there, he did not need to prepare her, she was always ready to take his cock. She was his perfect twin and no one can change that. No one can separate them, not even their disgusted mother.

"Move, Kepa" She whined, rolling her hips for some friction. Aemond lowered his head to take one of her tits into his mouth, suckling at it. She let out a loud moan without warning at the sensation, he always knew how to pleasure her. The pleasure went sparkling down to her lower region making her walls squeeze around Aemond's cock, making him crazy.

"Fuck" The curse came muffled from his lips. His hips began rocking back and forth, the way she sounded, the way she felt were just overwhelming.

"Aemy" Aerra cried throwing her head back. Aemond pulled away from her breast and placed a hand between her breasts, he applied just enough pressure to push her back to lay fully on the table. His eyes sparkled at the sight of her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"That's not my name" Aemond's hand came down at her bouncing tits, giving each a quick slap. Aerra's back arched, legs beginning to tremble.

"Kepa" She moaned loudly, no longer caring who heard, they were betrothed and to marry soon, no one can separate them.

Aemond picked up the pace of his hips, his cock was just begging for more frictions. "Yes...fuck yes" Aerra was not one to curse, so now that she did Aemond knew he was doing it right.

"Do not cum" Aemond warned, his one eyes blazing with almost anger. She did not earn cumming yet.

"Please kepa" She begged. Her left hand reached down to touch herself but he slapped it away in a second. Aerra cried with frustration. Her eyes teary already from the pleasure began pouring with frustration.

"Kepa!" Aerra cried desperately. He picked up the speed of his thrusts, he was slamming into her at this point. He was going to teach her a lesson.

"Whores do not get to cum" Aemond growled. One of his hands reached up to grab her jaw. His hips not stopping for a second. Her eyes rolled back, back arched but he pulled at her jaw making her eyes snap back to normal and her back to lay still down again.

"Do you understand?" Aemond asked. His nails digging into her flesh.

"Yes kepa, please kepa, I am sorry" She cried. Her hand reached to grab his wrist. He pushed her hand away and moved to focus on the movement of his hips.

His hands grabbed at her hips moving her hips just the right way to match the rhythm of his own. Aerra's hands tried desperately to grab onto anything. Her right found comfort on her own breast, kneading the full flesh, twicking her nipple evoking herself to more pleasure. Aemond had ruined her forever, she was no longer the shy and innocent sister she used to be.

"Kepa, please please please" Aerra's pleas filled the otherwise empty room. She did not care if she was to be heard, it aroused her more actually, she wanted the lords she danced with and lusted over her to see her being absolutely being destroyed by her own brother.

"Fuck, cum" Aemond was not a vocal person in general let alone during intimacy. His voice was low and gruff, it turned Aerra on even more. She rolled her nipple begging every god for the release her brother was chasing for the both of them.

"Yes please" Aerra's breath got caught in her throat. It was like lightning struck her and moved through her entire body. Her legs shook so hard they went numb for a second. They unraveled from around Aemond's waist and shot up in the air shacking. Her body obeyed only his command. No one else's but his and it will forever.

Aemond grabbed her legs behind her knees and pulled them up to his shoulders and continued the assault on her cunt. This new position allowed him to reach deeper, he could feel her cervix if that was possible. He was very close, he was going to seed her. He was desperate to seed her. He wanted her to swell with a pure blooded Targaryen.

"Sweet twin" Aemond tried to comfort her as her eyes rolled back, her orgasm being prolonged with his movement. With a groan of pleasure Aemond came shooting his cum so deep inside of her it probably went straight into her womb.

"Gods" The word came out forced from her lips as she tried to pull her hips away from Aemond, too overstimulated. Aemond let her crawl back a little only enough for his cock to slip out of her. His singular eye watched as his spend ran out of her slit and down onto the table. Her legs fell limp like the rest of her body. He leaned down on top of her to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Mine" He whispered against her eye before placing a small kiss to her closed eyelid. Her chest heaving made her breasts brush against his, her sensitive nipples perked at the touch and made her groan a little.

"Kepa" She whined. Opening her eyes lazily, Aemond smiled at the sight, she just looked so sweet like a little girl, his little girl that he gets to fuck fro the rest of his life.

"I'm right here" Aemond helped her sit up again. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rested on his chest. Legs open again welcoming him inside, his cock sheathed inside like it was going home, to keep them both warm.

"Kepa's got you" Aemond whispered against her hair line, placing a small kiss there as well. Aerra hummed happily and nuzzled even more into his chest, her arms tightening around his waist. He was hers and She was his forever.

[green-aeggs-and-spam]

A Defense of Viserra Targaryen

I just realized I've never actually collected these thoughts in one place, so it's time for me to do so.

This is the main quote from F&B used as character evidence for Viserra:

No squire was ever going to win Viserra, Queen Alysanne knew; not her heart, and certainly not her maidenhead. She was far too sly a child to go down the same path as her sister Saera. "She has no interest in kissing games, nor boys," the queen told Jaehaerys. "She plays with them as she used to play with her puppies, but she would no more lie with one than with a dog. She aims much higher, our Viserra. I have seen the way she preens and prances around Baelon. That is the husband she desires, and not for love of him. She wants to be the queen."

EXCEPT PRINCE AEMON IS STILL ALIVE AND HEALTHY. BAELON IS NOT THE HEIR. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO INDICATION FOR VISERRA THAT MARRYING BAELON WOULD MAKE HER THE QUEEN. ALYSANNE WOULD HAVE NO REASON TO BELIEVE THIS.

So, what gives?

Maybe this is a situation of "George forgot." He's infamously bad with numbers, after all. Maybe he got his timelines mixed up, and didn't realize that Prince Aemon outlives Viserra by five years and Baelon isn't the heir at the time of her death.

Except Fire & Blood is deliberately written as an in-universe history, and we're supposed to treat it as such, with the understanding that some of what Archmaester Gyldayn says is biased or not 100% accurate. This quote is supposedly from Alysanne to Jaehaerys. Who would have heard this? Who would have written it down? Combine that with the straight up factually incorrect information it's based upon, and this has the makings of an apocryphal quote from a bad source. The factual error undercuts the validity of this entire section, and I don't think it can be blindly accepted as proof of Viserra's character.

So, onto the Baelon incident.

(note: the entire existence of the Baelon Incident can also be called into question, given that Gyldayn begins that section with "if court gossip can be believed." We are not all maesters at the Citadel with access to his bibliography and primary sources, though, so I'll leave that alone for now and choose to treat it as fact.)

Here are our facts: Viserra Targaryen is 15 years old. Her parents have arranged a marriage to an old Northern Lord who has been widowed 4 times already. They have refused to break the betrothal. Viserra has a drinking problem. While drunk (and apparently unsupervised) she manages to sneak into Baelon's bed, naked, in an attempt to "seduce" him.

What's the more likely motive here? That she's a sly manipulative ambitious girl who's just so determined to be queen that she'll seduce poor widowed Baelon? Or that she's drunk and desperate and scared and trying to get her brother to rescue her the same way Jaehaerys once rescued Alysanne?

I rest my case.

[thewulf]

Frosted Steel || Cassian

Summary: Request -Can i request a Cassian x Reader?? Here's what I'm thinking-Reader is from winter court. She's gifted with unique ice-binding magic from her home and arrives in Velaris to help Rhysand finalize a critical peace treaty?... Read Rest Here

A/N: Well... this one got away from me hahaha but I had a blast writing it. Def in the zone writing these ACOTAR fics so please keep sending them my way!

Pairing: Cassian x Female Reader (Winter Court Reader)

Word Count: 9.8k + (WHOOPS)

TW: swords, reader gets cut, blood, general ACOTAR warnings

In the silent, shimmering halls of the Winter Court you stood before Kallias, your father and the formidable High Lord. His piercing blue eyes reflect both concern and determination as he addresses you. The throne room was usually a place of austere beauty but felt colder today. The frost patterns on the walls mirroring the tension in the air.

"Velaris is not just another city, and this is not merely a diplomatic visit my daughter," Kallias begins. His voice resonant and commanding. "Rhysand needs our support to finalize a peace treaty that could stabilize relations of the Winter Court for generations. I need someone who can represent our interests with both power and delicacy. Someone like you."

You shift slightly with your boots whispering against the icy floor. "But father, my magic is suited for creation not conflict. Surely there are others better suited to navigate the intricacies of a peace treaty?" You tried your best to convince him, but it was sure to fall of deaf ears. When he had a plan there was no talking him out of it.

Kallias rises. His height and presence filling the room with an almost tangible force. "No one else possesses your unique abilities or your perspective," he insists. "You understand the fragile nature of peace. This treaty needs more than just political acumen… it needs the trust and bond that only your magic can foster." You knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to flatter you. You lowered your gaze knowing there was no talking him out of this. You felt the weight of his expectations pressing into you. It is an honor yes, but a daunting one, nonetheless. The responsibility feels as heavy as the ice that clings to the peaks of your homeland.

Seeing your hesitation Kallias softens before stepping down from the dais to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe in your ability to carry our hopes," he says. His tone infused with a rare warmth. "You have always risen to the challenges presented to you, greater though they may seem."

Drawing a deep breath you nod, accepting the mantle he's offering. "I will go to Velaris. I will help broker this peace." You spoke even though you truly did not want to go.

Kallias smiles with pride evident in his eyes. "Rhysand has arranged for an escort to meet you at the city gates. They will ensure your safety and aid in your acclimation to the Night Court's ways. Spend some time there. Get to know them. It will only aid in our recovery efforts after the war.” As you turn to leave your heart steadies itself. The path ahead is uncertain and is filled with potential alliances and hidden perils. But as the frost air fills your lungs you feel your resolve harden. You will meet this challenge as you have met all others with the cool grace and quiet strength of winter itself.

He didn’t give you long to get ready to leave. Within a day you were already finding yourself at the outskirts of Velaris, the once hidden city of the Night Court. As you step through the threshold into the city your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the vivid contrasts. Unlike the icy, silent elegance of your homeland, Velaris pulses with life. Its streets bustling with faeries of every conceivable form and hue. The air here carries the warmth of starlight even into the night. It was a stark contrast to the crisp, cold air of the Winter Court. Your unique ice-binding magic was a rare gift in your cold dominion, and it stirred within you responding to the latent energies of this foreign land.

Your arrival isn't just a mere visit as your father had informed you. It's a mission charged with the weight of potential peace or conflict. Directed by your father you are here to assist Rhysand, the famed High Lord of the Night Court and one you were incredibly intimidated by, in finalizing the critical peace treaty. The responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders as the outcome could define the future relationships between your frigid realm and the temperate lands of the Night Court.

As you glide through the throngs of fae your eyes marvel at the architectural wonders of Velaris. The buildings around you display intricate designs that emit an ethereal glow, seeming both ancient and vibrantly alive. Despite the surrounding beauty you remain vigilant, your magic at the ready. Your heart beats a complex rhythm of excitement and caution as you near the meeting point. In Velaris, amidst allies and strangers, you must navigate the intricacies of court politics. Utilizing your magical talents for diplomacy and perhaps learn to defend yourself in more ways than one.

However, a different sensation stirs within you—a blend of nervousness and unease—as you anticipate your first encounter with Rhysand and Feyre. Both are Daemati, a kind of power that deeply unsettles you. This fear stems from a harrowing past encounter with a Daemati under Amarantha's command who had mercilessly killed twelve children of the Winter Court. One of these children was your Ivy. She was a young fae you were mentoring. Ivy, like yourself, possessed potent abilities but her promise was brutally cut short. She was a loss that still haunts you to this day.

Now as you approach the House of Wind with your escort a mix of fear and determination tingles through your nerves. You replay the pain of your past and the loss that continuously gnaws at your spirit. Yet, you steady yourself with the knowledge that your father has prepared you well to shield your thoughts. He had trained you relentlessly once he returned from under the mountain. At the time it frustrated you but now, in this moment, you are profoundly grateful for his persistence.

Rhysand and Feyre greet you at the grand entrance. Their presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Rhysand's dark hair and piercing gaze are balanced by a surprisingly warm smile. While Feyre's poise and grace exude a calm strength. Though their reputations are fair and just leaders precede them you can't shake the lingering trepidation of their unique abilities.

"Welcome to Velaris," Rhysand says. His voice both smooth and inviting. "We are honored to assist the Winter Court in these crucial talks."

You manage a polite nod making sure to keep your mental shields tightly woven, an invisible armor against any potential intrusion. Rhysand’s eyes seem to glimmer with a hint of understanding, but he makes no move to address the unspoken tension.

Feyre then steps forward with a gentle smile. Her empathy palpable even without words. "We hope you find comfort here during your stay. If there's anything you need at all, please let us know."

As they lead you through the corridors of their home filled with the light of glowing crystals and the scent of night-blooming flowers you remind yourself of the mission at hand. You are here to negotiate peace. To secure a future for your court. Despite the warmth of their welcome, you remain vigilant, prepared to protect your thoughts and heart from the painful memories of the past and the daunting power of the present.

After showing you to your room, a beautiful space with a view of Velaris that twinkles like a starlit sky, Feyre gently suggests that you join them for dinner. As you follow her down to the dining area your nervousness manifests subtly. Your leg shakes rhythmically, a silent tick showing the unease churning inside you. The room is beautifully set with candles flickering softly. They cast a warm light over the array of dishes that smell of spices and something sweetly floral.

You take your seat making sure to deliberately avoid the gazes of Rhysand and Feyre who try to make the atmosphere as welcoming as possible. Your leg continues to shake under the table and despite their friendly demeanor you find yourself unable to meet their eyes. You choose instead to focus on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. You felt terribly out of your element. Why had your father sent you here? You couldn’t even look them in the eyes, how were you going to negotiate peace with them?

Noticing your discomfort Rhysand addresses the elephant in the room with a gentle directness. "It must be quite unsettling being far from home and surrounded by strangers. Especially strangers who possess abilities that might seem... invasive. We both understand the significance of mental privacy and consent," he begins. His tone imbued with empathy. His acknowledgment of his and Feyre's Daemati powers catches your attention prompting you to glance up briefly.

"We're committed to using our powers to protect and heal, never to harm or coerce," Rhysand continues hoping to ease your worry. "It's a rule we hold sacred in Velaris. A promise to each other and to those we welcome into our home."

As Rhysand speaks there is a sincerity radiating with each word. You find the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze for the first time this evening. Something in his expression, a deep-seated earnestness, cuts through the fog of your apprehension. You nod slowly acknowledging his pledge and the safety it promises.

"Thank you," you speak quietly. "I've heard much about both of you and your abilities. Forgive me for being so… cold." The smirk that follows is light and tinged with the irony of your homeland's icy reputation.

Your gaze shifts between Rhysand and Feyre. Their attentive postures encouraging you to continue. "The reason for my caution," you explain, "stems from a… an awful experience. One of the children taken by Amarantha's enforcer was under my protection. Her name was Ivy. I was supposed to shield her. Protect her. To nurture her abilities. But I could only watch helpless as her mind was torn apart. Piece by piece. It was... traumatizing to say the least. The fear of that power. The fear of it being used again so mercilessly has stayed with me." You let out the breath you were holding feeling a weight being slowly lifted off your shoulders in your admission.

Taking a deep breath, you fight through the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "Ivy was more than just a pupil to me. She was like a daughter," you begin. Your voice trembling as the words spill out. “Young and brilliant. Her very presence could brighten the darkest winter nights. She had a rare gift for ice magic. The kind that comes once in a generation. Ivy could weave frost into intricate sculptures of breathtaking beauty. She could coax snowflakes into patterns that told stories. Her magic wasn’t just powerful, it was art. Art in the purest and most captivating form."

Your voice cracks as the memory surges forward, raw, and as sharp as the day it happened. "When the enforcer came, I tried to shield her. I stood between them. I begged him to take me instead. But he just laughed..." Your hands clench into fists at the memory with you nails digging into your palms as if to anchor you against the pain. "And then he turned his attention to her. Ivy was just a girl. A beautiful little girl brimming with potential, and I had to watch from a distance… utterly powerless, as he ripped it all away. Her screams... the look of sheer terror in her eyes... it's etched into my memory. A nightmare that never fades."

Pausing, you swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears as they threaten to breach your composure. "I couldn't save her. The guilt of that moment, the utter helplessness. It’s haunted me ever since." You wipe away a tear that manages to escape, your voice a whisper now. "That’s why I’m so wary around Daemati. That’s why your powers… even though I know you use them for good, initially stirred such deep fear in me. The memory of what was done with similar abilities. It terrifies me still."

As you finish the room is enveloped in a heavy silence. Rhysand and Feyre absorbing the depth of your pain. Each of their faces etched with compassion and sorrow for your loss. Feyre's reaction is immediate and visceral. Her eyes fill with tears, and they silently overflow as she listens to the end of your harrowing experience. Moved deeply by your pain and the horrific loss of Ivy, she can barely contain her distress, reflecting her profound empathy.

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers. Her voice quivering as she reaches across the table, seeking to provide comfort even as she struggles with her own reaction. "That you had to go through that, to witness such horror... it's just unthinkable. I can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss and your pain."

Rhysand's expression is one of solemn resolve as he observes both you and Feyre. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder offering her a silent strength before turning his attention to you with a serious yet compassionate gaze. "What happened to Ivy, the terror she endured—such things are what we fight against every day," he says firmly. "Under my watch we hold ourselves to a promise: that we use our power to protect, to heal, not to harm. What you experienced will not happen here. You have my word." He nods his head in reverence.

The sincerity in Rhysand's voice and his protective assurance coupled with Feyre's empathetic tears create a poignant moment of understanding and solidarity. It offers a small yet significant reassurance that in Velaris you might find not only safety but also allies who genuinely care about your well-being.

As dinner progresses the conversation gradually shifts towards lighter topics. Focusing on the details of the peace treaty. The atmosphere has eased significantly with Rhysand and Feyre both engaging in thoughtful dialogue about the future plans and the roles each court might play in fostering peace. You find yourself becoming more invested in the conversation feeling a bit more at ease with each passing moment.

Just as you're beginning to relax fully the door bursts open and two figures storm in, deep in a heated debate. Their voices are raised, each trying to overpower the other with their arguments.

“You think charging in without a plan is the answer, Cassian? That’s reckless, even for you,” the darker-haired one asserts, his expression intense and clearly frustrated.

“And you think waiting around is going to solve our problems, Az? We can’t just leave it unresolved!” the larger man retorts with his broad frame gesturing emphatically.

Rhysand sighs, setting down his utensils before looking between his two friends. “Alright, what’s this about?” he asks, ready to mediate with a practiced ease.

As Cassian and Azriel's loud entrance interrupted the dinner your eyes immediately locked with Cassian's. Despite the intensity of their ongoing argument something about his direct gaze halted all other thoughts. It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the room, leaving you momentarily breathless. Amidst the unexpected disruption the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement. Such candid, boisterous dynamics were a rare sight back in the Winter Court and the sheer openness of it all struck you as refreshingly odd. Even as the argument continued your focus remained riveted on Cassian. You found it impossible to break away from his gaze, his eyes holding a mixture of passion and warmth that was intensely captivating.

Catching your amused smile, Cassian halts mid-sentence. A playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And who do we have here?” he asks. His tone shifting to one of curiosity mixed with a hint of charm. “A spy from the Winter Court come to watch us squabble like market hagglers?”

Azriel rolls his eyes at Cassian’s dramatics. “Ignore him. Cassian thinks every new face is part of a grand intrigue.”

Rhysand chuckles and intervenes before Cassian can respond. “No spies here, just Kallias’s daughter from the Winter Court. She’s here to assist with the peace treaty negotiations. Remember?” Rhysand explains gesturing toward you with a warm smile. “And apparently to witness the Night Court's General and Spymaster in their, let’s say, natural habitat.”

Cassian’s face lights up with a broad grin as he extends a hand in greeting. His earlier fervor now redirected into welcoming you. “Well then, welcome to Velaris! I’m Cassian, the General. And the brooding shadow over there is Azriel, our Spymaster. Seems you’ve got a front-row seat to our tactical disputes.”

Azriel gives you a nod, his earlier annoyance fading into a reserved smile. "It’s good to meet you. Please don’t mind us. We argue, but it’s all in the spirit of making the best decisions for our people."

Your initial amusement grows into a genuine smile, touched by the warmth and candidness of their welcome, even amidst their lively disputes. This evening has certainly turned out to be full of surprises. Painting a vivid picture of the Night Court as a place of vibrant personalities and fierce loyalty.

As the energy from their spirited discussions simmers down and the laughter echoes into a comfortable lull you take the opportunity to express your amusement at their robust debate. Greeting Cassian and Azriel warmly you share how refreshing you find the candid nature of the Night Court. It's a stark contrast to the more reserved and formal interactions typical of the Winter Court, sparking your curiosity about the dynamics of this lively group.

"Well, it's certainly different here," you comment with a light laugh. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this... enthusiasm during my stay. I'll be here for a month or so. I hope to learn as much as I can."

Rhysand, seizing on your mention of an extended stay, exchanges a quick glance with Cassian. He gave him a sly smile as he senses his brothers attention shifting toward you almost immediately. "A month or so gives us plenty of time," he says thoughtfully. "If you're interested in learning more than just politics perhaps you'd like to join some of our training sessions? Cassian here leads our warriors and I'm sure he could arrange something that accommodates your skills and interests."

Cassian’s eyes light up at the suggestion. He was always eager to bring someone new into the fold of his training regimens. Especially someone as unique as you seemed to be. "Absolutely," he agrees with an enthusiastic nod. "It’s not all sword swinging and strength training. We focus on strategy, agility, and even some elemental control that might align nicely with your ice magic. It could be a good way to blend some of the Winter Court techniques with ours."

As Rhysand suggests joining the training sessions you hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "I appreciate the offer but I'm not really a fighter," you admit slightly apologetic in your nature. "My strengths lie more in diplomacy and magic, particularly ice magic. I'm not sure how well I'd fit into a warrior's training regimen."

Rhysand, observing the interplay at the table, seems particularly keen on your participation. His insight as a leader might allow him to sense the undercurrent of interest from Cassian toward you. Something potentially deeper than it appears. He pushes gently but with a knowing smile, "It’s not just about fighting. It’s about understanding different perspectives and disciplines. It could be a valuable experience."

Cassian although typically straightforward and jovially aggressive, adopts a slightly softer demeanor. His usual bravado tempered by earnestness. "Training can also be about balance and harmony. About integrating the physical with the magical. Your skills could bring a fresh perspective, not just to our tactics but to our understanding of magic and combat."

Then Azriel, who normally stays quiet in such discussions adds his own encouragement. His subdued voice carrying weight. "It’s worth exploring. Sometimes stepping into unfamiliar territory reveals more about our strengths. It could be enlightening for all of us."

Cassian's expression briefly reveals his surprise at Azriel’s interjection. It was a small, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows signaling to you that Azriel's encouragement is out of the ordinary. This small gesture subtly hints at the importance of the moment.

Feyre as if sensing the nuanced shifts in the conversation supports their suggestions with a warm and inclusive gesture. "It’s also a way to connect with everyone here. Our training sessions are as much about building relationships as they are about building skills. It would be wonderful to have you join, even just a few times to see how it feels."

Encouraged by their collective support and Cassian's surprised yet approving glance following Azriel's seemingly rare endorsement you find yourself reconsidering their proposal more seriously. "Alright. I'll give it a try," you agree, a tentative excitement building within you. "This will be very… interesting."

"Excellent," Cassian says. His eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "We’ll start at a pace that feels right for you. It’s about growth and learning, not just exertion."

As the dinner concludes and plans for your training begin to take shape you can't help but feel an intriguing pull towards what lies ahead. The possibility of new friendships and perhaps deeper bonds begins to form, hinting at the start of an enriching journey within the Night Court.

On your first day at the training grounds, the crisp morning air of Velaris is invigorating, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and distant calls from sparring partners. Cassian leads you to a quieter section reserved for one-on-one sessions away from the more vigorous activities of his usual warriors. The atmosphere is slightly tense. The space between you filled with cautious curiosity. Each of you is clearly gauging the other trying to find a comfortable rhythm in this new training partnership.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Cassian suggests. His tone friendly but carrying a hint of challenge. He watches intently as you demonstrate some basic maneuvers with your ice magic. You created delicate yet sharp frost patterns that float gracefully in the air. His nods of approval are sparing, and you can tell he’s mentally noting each display of skill though he keeps his feedback measured and professional.

As the days progress the initial stiffness that marked your interactions begins to melt away. Cassian’s coaching style is intense. His commands are sharp, his expectations high. However, as you meet his challenges with increasing confidence you begin to understand the method behind his rigor. You also start to catch glimpses of humor in his sharp eyes. A sign that there’s more to this formidable warrior than just discipline and strength.

"Try not to freeze my soldiers. We’re running out of good men as it is," he jokes one morning after you skillfully direct a swirl of ice around a training dummy skillfully stopping just short of a group of soldiers watching nearby.

With a small laugh you shoot back, "I thought the Night Court could handle a little cold."

His laughter in response is hearty. A sound that seems to echo around the quiet corner of the training grounds. It's a turning point, signaling a shift from mutual respect to something warmer, more friendly.

By the end of the week your training sessions are characterized by easy banter and playful challenges. One afternoon Cassian dodges your icy projectiles with nimble grace only to slip slightly on a patch of ice you cunningly left in his path. "Not bad for a scrawny little thing," he grins while steadying himself with the agility of a cat.

In response you flash a mischievous smile and with a subtle flick of your wrist, you freeze his boots to the ground. "And not bad for a brawny brute," you retort. Laughter bursts from a few nearby trainees who have started to look forward to these exchanges between the two of you.

Cassian manages to break free before brushing ice from his boots with mock indignation. "You’re going to pay for that one," he warns though his eyes sparkle with amusement.

As the week draws to a close the training ground has transformed from a place of cautious appraisal to one of growth and friendship. Your sessions with Cassian are no longer just about learning to integrate your ice magic with physical combat. They’re also about the laughter shared over slipped footing, the shared grins after successful maneuvers, and the light-hearted jests that now flow freely between you. This evolving camaraderie promises not just improved skills but a deepening bond, hinting at the development of a relationship built on respect, challenge, and mutual delight in each other's company.

The atmosphere at the training grounds is usually charged with the sounds of diligent practice but today there’s an added layer of excitement due to some young onlookers from the Night Court. Cassian plans a session that balances demonstrations of your unique ice magic with some basic combat techniques hoping to impress not just you but the eager young fae watching from a distance.

Wearing your elegant Winter Court attire, which was more suited for display than combat, you find yourself not in your usual training leathers. Today was supposed to be about finesse and control not full-contact sparring. As Cassian readies the next exercise you catch the eyes of the children peeking out from behind the trees. Their expressions were filled with awe and curiosity. Smiling back at them your attention momentarily drifts from the task at hand.

Cassian notices your distraction and the intricate fabric of your attire raising an eyebrow in mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to change into something more... practical?" he asks you once more. His voice laced with skepticism.

You shake your head while stepping forward confidently. "I believe today's session can benefit from a different approach," you explain. Your voice steady, confident. "My attire from the Winter Court is designed not only for aesthetics but for mobility in a certain style of combat. It’s more strategic and less about direct confrontation. It might offer a new perspective for your warriors."

Cassian looks dubious but intrigued by your assurance and the potential learning opportunity for his trainees. After a moment of consideration, he nods slowly. "Alright," he concedes. His tone cautious yet curious. "We'll adjust today's training to focus on technique and precision. We'll go light on the physical combat to accommodate your attire."

Grateful for his flexibility you prepare to demonstrate that finesse and strategy can be as effective as brute strength hoping to prove the value of your unique approach and the versatility of your court's combat style.

As dusk deepened over the training grounds, the session with Cassian was intensifying. He was fully focused on you, guiding, and challenging you with each swing of his blunted training blade. He did not notice Azriel's silent approach until his brother was almost beside them, landing softly. The sudden appearance of Azriel, so smooth and silent, caught your eye at the crucial moment.

Cassian, thinking you were prepared and about to dodge, continued with his planned attack and swung the blunted blade in a broad, sweeping motion towards you. Normally you would have sidestepped smoothly but distracted by Azriel's unexpected arrival you froze. The blade, though blunt for training, struck directly against your side with surprising force due to your lack of movement. The impact was hard enough to slice through the delicate fabric of your Winter Court dress and nick your skin, drawing a line of blood.

Immediately realizing the mishap Cassian dropped his sword and rushed to your side, his expression flooded with concern. "Are you alright? I thought you saw me coming," he asked quickly as his voice was laced with worry.

Trying to mask the sharp sting and the sudden warmth of blood seeping through your dress, you attempted to reassure him, "I’m okay, Cassian, really, it was just a shock more than anything—"

But as you spoke a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you, your knees buckling under the dual assault of pain and sudden faintness. As you started to fall Cassian instinctively reached out, catching you just in time. His hands which were initially meant to steady you felt the wetness of blood through the fabric of your dress. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the bright red on his hands realizing the cut was more serious than a mere scrape.

Without a moment's hesitation Cassian scooped you up into his arms. His movements were swift and filled with urgent care. He looked up at Azriel who had stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Keep the training going, Az. I’m taking her to Madja, now," Cassian instructed firmly. His voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

Azriel nodded understanding the gravity of the situation and stepped back to allow Cassian to pass. Cassian, holding you securely, moved with purposeful speed towards the infirmary. His mind was racing with worry. The flight was quick. His powerful wings beating against the cool air of the evening, each stroke propelling you further away from the training grounds and closer to the healing hands of Madja.

As he flew you clung to him feeling the cool air against your face, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness. "I'm really okay, Cassian," you tried to assure him again, your voice soft, noticing the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set with worry. "It’s just a little cut, I think. I’m sure it’s already healed up."

Cassian only tightened his hold, a gesture of protective care. "We're not taking any chances," he said firmly. His tone brooking no argument. "You’re getting checked out, no arguments."

Suspended in the air, held securely in Cassian's embrace, you noticed the tension in his expression. His jaw set firmly as he navigated through the skies. Wanting to alleviate his concern and lighten the mood you looked up at him, your voice competing with the rush of the wind. "Okay, no arguing," you conceded with a soft, reassuring smile. "But how about an even less swordy day at training tomorrow?"

"You know, maybe we should consider taking a rest day tomorrow," Cassian suggested hesitantly. His voice carrying a protective tone. "Just to be sure you're fully recovered. It might not be wise to jump right back into training."

You looked up at him feeling the warmth of his care but also a spark of your own determination not to be sidelined by a small injury. "I appreciate your concern, Cassian, but really, I feel fine," you countered quickly. A hint of stubbornness in your tone. "A light day as planned with some tactical drills. Nothing too strenuous. I think it would be good for me. For you"

Cassian raised an eyebrow with a small smile breaking through as he sensed your resolve. "Oh, how quickly you've changed your tune, princess," he remarked with a playful smirk. The affectionate tease in his voice floated on the wind as he continued to fly, his grip around you reassuring and strong.

The brief exchange brought a light-heartedness to the moment and Cassian's smile broadened slightly appreciating your spirit and resilience. "Alright, tactical drills it is then. But at the first sign of any discomfort, we're taking a break," he conceded. His tone still carrying a hint of caution but softened by his growing trust in your judgment.

As you both neared the infirmary the flight through the crisp evening air felt less like a rush to aid and more like a shared journey back to stability. Cassian's initial hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in your resilience and a deepening sense of connection between you. The city of Velaris spread out beneath you, a silent witness to the bond that was strengthening with every beat of Cassian's wings and every word exchanged above the rooftops.

Landing smoothly at the infirmary Cassian carried you inside where Madja was already preparing her tools. Cassian gently laid you down on a cot as his hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were searching yours for any sign of further distress.

Madja quickly assessed the situation. She cleaned the wound and confirmed it was shallow. Though the blood loss and the shock had caused your faintness. "You'll be fine. Just a little rest and you’ll be up in no time," she reassured both you and Cassian, more so Cassian, who finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

You turn to Cass with a smirk playing on your lips. "See, told you so, General," you tease in an attempt to ease the palpable tension that had followed you from the training grounds.

Cassian's relief is immediate and visible. He lets out a deep breath, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing as he returns your smirk with a wry smile. "Fine, you were right. But let’s avoid making this a habit, shall we?"

Before you can respond the infirmary door swings open abruptly. Rhysand strides in, his expression a mixture of concern and command clearly having been summoned by Cassian’s urgent mental call. His eyes are wide as he quickly scans the room landing on you sitting relatively unscathed on the infirmary bed.

"Are you alright?" Rhysand asks. His voice tight with concern. He moves closer. His gaze flicking from you to Cassian, seeking an explanation.

You nod reassuring him with a calm smile. "I’m just fine, Rhys. Really, it was much less dramatic than it seems. Cassian has been worried enough for everyone," you say, glancing at Cassian with a playful raise of your eyebrows, signaling that all is truly well.

Rhysand's gaze softens though the lines of worry don’t completely disappear. "Cassian briefed me but seeing you well makes a world of difference. These training accidents... Well, they shouldn’t happen. We’ll review the protocols to ensure this is an isolated incident."

Turning to Cassian, Rhysand claps him on the shoulder. A gesture of support mixed with a mild reprimand. "Take care of her. Make sure she follows all of Madja’s instructions," Rhysand instructs, his leader’s tone resurfacing.

Cassian nods solemnly, "Understood. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again."

With a final nod and a comforting smile directed at you Rhys exits the infirmary, his presence leaving as quickly as it arrived. The room feels lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating with the confirmations of your well-being.

Cassian stays by your side. His relief evident but his watchfulness remaining. "Now, about that 'less swordy' day tomorrow..." he begins, ready to shift back into the lighter, teasing dynamic that has marked your growing friendship. Grateful that the day’s scare has ended on a reassuring note.

As Cassian suggests a less physically demanding day focused more on magic you can’t help but giggle. A slight relief moving away from any activities involving bladed weapons. “That sounds perfect,” you agree with enthusiasm brightening your voice as you discuss potential exercises that would let you showcase and refine your control over ice magic without the physical strain.

As the conversation continues Cassian helps you up ensuring you’re stable on your feet and offers his arm for support as you begin the walk back to your quarters. The corridors of the Night Court feel quieter than usual. The soft echo of your steps mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day’s events. There’s a palpable shift between you and Cassian. A new layer of closeness brought on not just by the day’s scare but also by the accumulated time spent together over the past few weeks.

Cassian’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. His voice softer, more reflective than before. “I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you,” he admits. His gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the air laden with a sincerity that draws your attention fully to his expression. It’s open, honest, and there’s a hint of vulnerability there that you hadn’t noticed before.

You look at him, touched by his confession, noticing the slight hesitance as if he wants to say more but is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing an unseen boundary or the uncertainty of your reaction that keeps him from continuing.

Encouraged by his openness you respond warmly, “And I’ve learned a lot from you, too, Cassian. Not just about fighting or training but about what it means to really care about your warriors, your friends.” You pause searching his face for a reaction. “It means a lot to me, all of this time we’ve spent together.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours and there’s a moment of silent communication. A mutual understanding and appreciation that seems to deepen the bond between you. “I’m glad,” he finally says with his voice low. “I hope we can keep this going, no matter what the training schedule says.”

As you reach your quarters there’s a reluctance to part between the both of you. A desire to prolong the connection that has clearly grown beyond the confines of instructor and trainee. Cassian lingers at your door, his usual confidence tempered with a newfound tenderness.

“Get some rest princess,” he says softly before stepping back with a reluctant smile. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Less swordy, more... magical.”

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling a warmth that extends beyond the fading pain from your injury. “I look forward to it, Cassian. Thank you for everything today.”

He nods, then turns to leave, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder. It was a promise of more shared moments, more lessons, and perhaps, deeper revelations yet to come. The door closes softly behind you leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the next day might bring, both in training and in your evolving relationship with Cassian.

After the incident at the training grounds and a night of rest you dive back into the treaty negotiations with renewed focus. As the talks commence you are at the forefront, your diplomatic skills shining as you navigate the complexities of the discussions. Your adept use of magic not only impresses but also serves as a poignant reminder of the Winter Court's strengths and capabilities. The treaty talks progress smoothly and a successful agreement begins to take shape much to the relief and satisfaction of all parties involved.

However, despite the importance of the negotiations and your central role in them your thoughts intermittently drift to Cassian. The memory of his concerned eyes, his protective stance, and the warmth of your conversation lingers with you, distracting you more than you'd like to admit. As you mentally rehearse your next points in the discussion, you find your mind replaying moments from the training sessions, his laughter, his teasing remarks, and his unexpectedly gentle care.

Unbeknownst to you, your mental shields—usually so meticulously maintained—begin to slip slightly amid your daydreams. Rhysand, who was not actively probing but is always somewhat attuned to the emotional and mental state of those around him, picks up on your wandering thoughts. He catches snippets of your internal musings about Cassian, not enough to grasp the full context but enough to piece together the gist of your distraction.

Throughout the meeting a knowing grin slowly forms on Rhysand's face, amused by the realization of your burgeoning feelings for his brother. He doesn't comment on it during the talks. Making sure to maintain his professionalism and focusing on the successful closure of the treaty. However, the little smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by those who know him well.

Later, as the meeting concludes with handshakes and a collective sigh of relief over the treaty's ratification. Rhysand pulls Cassian aside just before your evening training session. In a quiet corner away from prying ears Rhysand's grin broadens.

"I think someone has managed to catch more than just your training expertise," Rhysand teases as his eyes twinkled with mirth. "Our Winter Court princess seems to be a bit distracted by a certain general." As Rhysand delivers his playful revelation, Cassian's initial surprise quickly shifts to a broad, almost uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. The sudden display of joy is uncharacteristic of the usually composed general, revealing just how deeply the news has affected him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Cassian tries to maintain a semblance of composure, but his voice betrayed a hint of excitement beneath the casual façade.

Rhysand notices the change in Cassian's demeanor. The light in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "Well, let's just say that her thoughts were a little less guarded than usual," Rhysand replied. His voice laced with amusement. "She might be more interested in the person teaching her than just the lessons themselves."

Cassian's smile widens and he shakes his head slightly almost in disbelief but clearly delighted by the prospect. "Is that so?" he murmurs more to himself than to Rhysand, his mind already spinning with the implications.

Rhysand watches Cassian's bright grin, a knowing look crossing his face as he teases, "Seems like those training sessions are about more than just tactics and spells."

Cassian’s expression remains upbeat but a hint of seriousness creeps in. "They’re enlightening," he admits while giving a nod. "There’s something unique about her… beyond just her skills."

Sensing the depth in Cassian’s tone, Rhysand's demeanor shifts slightly, becoming more contemplative. "Just be careful, Cass. It’s easy to let your guard down when strong feelings are involved."

Cassian pauses as he felt a weight in Rhysand's caution. He looks at his brother, a silent plea for understanding without words. Rhysand, ever perceptive, senses the depth of Cassian’s feelings, realizing this might be more than just a fleeting fascination. "Cassian, do you think she could be…" Rhysand trails off leaving the implication hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of possibilities. His question is subtle, probing—asking if Cassian feels the deep, fated connection of a mate.

Cassian meets Rhysand's gaze with his own eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty. "I don’t know," he confesses softly. "But there’s something there. Something that feels… right. More than I've felt before."

Rhysand nods slowly as he processed this new revelation. His initial caution softens into a more supportive stance. "Then take it seriously but carefully. If this is what I think it might be, it’s not just significant for you but could be for the Night Court as well."

He places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip. "Follow your heart but keep your head with you. She’s not just any visitor. She could and is likely to be much more."

As Rhysand walks away leaving Cassian to ponder the future the conversation not only cements Cassian's resolve but also clarifies the stakes. It’s a turning point. Marking a shift from casual interest to considering the profound potential of a deep, lifelong bond. Cassian feels empowered and cautious now acutely aware of the significant path that might be unfolding before him. This is no longer about training or simple affection. It could be the beginning of the rest of his life, your life.

As dusk settles over Velaris with the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the training grounds, Cassian awaits your arrival. His mind a jumbled swirl of thoughts from the earlier conversation with Rhysand. His anticipation is palpable, heightened by the significant discussions about feelings and futures that may be closer than he's admitted to himself.

During that first meeting in the dining hall his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. As he and Azriel entered mid-argument his initial focus was entirely on their spirited debate not the important dinner he was walking into. The sudden sight of you was an unexpected and striking presence. You brought a sharp halt to his thoughts.

Cassian was immediately struck by your poise and the quiet confidence with which you held yourself among such esteemed company. His first impression was of your elegance and the serene way you observed the dynamic entrance he and Azriel made. There was something about the way you carried yourself as a blend of strength and grace that captivated him instantly.

Embarrassment quickly flooded him with a blush creeping up his neck as he realized the discordant note their arrival struck in the otherwise serene setting. There you were, seated elegantly among the dignitaries of the Night Court with an aura of quiet confidence radiating from you. Despite the potentially disruptive entrance your expression remained unflustered. The slight, knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips, and the amusement twinkling in your eyes spoke volumes. It was clear you were not only unfazed by the raucous disruption but also mildly entertained by it.

What struck Cassian more deeply was the way your attention seemed focused solely on him, as if the room and its other occupants had faded into the background. This singular focus, paired with the amused arch of your brow, left him feeling both exposed and intrigued. It was as if you could see right through to his typically hidden insecurities prompting a mix of vulnerability and a compelling desire to engage further.

Cassian felt a twinge of chagrin for not having presented a more composed entrance. Especially in front of someone who commanded such a presence as you did. The initial embarrassment, however, slowly morphed into a quiet determination. He was keenly aware that he had an opportunity to make a more meaningful second impression. One that could perhaps intrigue and draw you in just as you had captivated him from that first shared glance.

As he moved to regain his composure, smoothing back his hair, and adjusting his jacket, Cassian was already plotting how to transform this awkward beginning into an opening for deeper connection. The evening had just begun, and he was determined to show you a side of him that resonated with the depth and discernment he now saw reflected in your gaze.

When Rhysand later suggested that Cassian take the lead on your physical training, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Training was his domain where he felt most in command and most himself. He anticipated that in the structure and discipline of physical training, among the straightforwardness of drills and exercises, there might be space for more informal interactions. For laughter and light conversations that could bridge the gap between formal dining hall introductions and a genuine connection.

Cassian saw each upcoming session as a canvas. As an opportunity to impress and engage you, not just with his skills but with his insights and his approach to teaching and leadership. Privately he knew he’d have to thank Rhysand for the suggestion—whether it was a calculated move or just a fortuitous throwaway idea, it had given him a golden opportunity to explore the potential that he sensed bubbling beneath your initial poised exterior.

He was intrigued, more so than he had been for a long time. The initial physical attraction was strong. Yet it was your demeanor, the intriguing mix of diplomacy and candor, that truly piqued his interest. Cassian left the dining hall that evening with his mind full of questions and curiosities about you. He was eager for the next opportunity to interact and perhaps to understand the compelling figure you were beyond just the surface.

From the memories of that first dinner to the present moment on the training grounds, Cassian's journey of understanding and admiration for you had woven through weeks of anticipation and subtle discoveries. Each interaction had added layers to his initial perception, enriching the image he held of you in his mind.

Then as if to punctuate his thoughts you appeared for the training session, garbed unmistakably in Illyrian warrior attire. Much different than the training leathers and Winter Court apparel he had grown used to see you in. The traditional leathers of his people clung to you, accentuating both strength and grace in your every move. The sight of you in such commanding attire sent a jolt through Cassian. His reaction visceral and immediate. His eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face as he took in every detail—the way the leather fit you, how it moved with your body, and the undeniable air of confidence it brought to your demeanor.

The transformation was not just in your appearance but in the energy you exuded. Standing there you embodied the strength and resilience of an Illyrian warrior, qualities that resonated deeply with Cassian’s own identity. It struck him then how seamlessly you seemed to integrate into his world. How naturally you adopted its symbols and its strength. This was no longer just about training or sharing skills. It was a visual affirmation of your integration into his life and culture.

As he approached you his initial shock gave way to a profound respect. The way you carried the weight of the armor, the casual yet respectful nod you gave him as he walked up. These small actions spoke volumes. Cassian felt a renewed sense of connection. A deeper bond forming not just from shared interests and conversations but from seeing you embrace a part of his heritage with such ease and honor.

In that moment as he closed the distance between you, Cassian realized how deeply he was drawn to you, far beyond the physical allure. It was your spirit. Your willingness to step into his world, to don the armor of his people and stand ready to engage on equal footing. This realization brought a warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. One that was both proud and welcoming.

As you stood before Cassian in the Illyrian warrior attire your presence was a striking blend of determination and slight apprehension. The soft evening light cast long shadows across the training grounds accentuating the quiet resolve in your posture. You were about to propose a change to the day’s lighter, planned routine. While confident in your suggestion there was a hint of nervousness tinged your voice, reflecting the care you took in challenging the agenda.

"Um, Cassian," you started, your voice carrying a cautious undertone, "I know we planned for a less sword-intensive session today..." You paused trying to gather your thoughts. But before you could continue your eyes met Cassian’s, their intensity like a direct challenge, causing a sudden vulnerability to flutter in your stomach. His gaze was penetrating, studying you with a warmth and focus that unnerved you. For a moment the confidence you felt started to waver under his scrutiny. The depth of his attention making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the training grounds.

However, drawing a deep breath, you summoned your resolve. Despite the shake in your confidence, you pressed on bolstered by the knowledge that this was an important step in your training. "I feel fine. But I've been thinking. I'm already quite familiar with my magic, and not as much with swordsmanship." Your voice grew slightly firmer as you continued, "Maybe, if it’s alright, we could incorporate more of that?" As you reached the end of your proposal a slight stammer betrayed your nervousness. "If you're okay with that, that is," you added with a nervous smile. Eager yet uncertain of his response.

Cassian, still somewhat in awe of your striking appearance and the commanding aura you exuded in the traditional leathers was momentarily taken aback. His response was on the tip of his tongue, an agreement forming, when Azriel quietly joined the duo. Observing the scene, Azriel noted your determined stance and Cassian’s admiring gaze. A knowing smirk crept onto Azriel’s face. "Looks like she’s going to give you a run for your money, brother," he teased unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Cassian was caught between his brother's teasing and your challenging proposal but managed to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his confidence rekindled by the familiar banter and the prospect of a spirited training session. "Alright then," he agreed with a nod. A smile breaking through as he embraced the challenge, "swords it is. Let’s see what you’ve got."

As the session progressed Azriel lingered on the sidelines, his eyes shifting between the clashing swords and Cassian’s animated instructions. Every now and then he couldn’t resist throwing in a light-hearted jab especially when it seemed like Cassian was particularly impressed by your quick learning curve or deft movements. "Careful, Cass, I think she might just outdo you in your own game," Azriel called out after a particularly skillful maneuver from you. His tone teasing but proud of you.

Cassian shot a mock-glare at Azriel, but his eyes sparkled with humor and something softer, an undeniable delight in your prowess and enthusiasm. Despite himself Cassian found that he enjoyed this, the mix of training intensity and the undercurrent of playful rivalry. Not just between him and you but with Azriel's involvement as well. It felt oddly, natural. You’d found a way to integrate yourself into the court within only a month of being in Velaris.

Throughout the training Cassian’s admiration for you only grew. Every block, every parry you performed with increasing confidence seemed to not only impress him but also deepen the sense of connection that he felt. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to handle a sword. It was about sharing a piece of his world, his passion, and seeing you embrace it with such fervor was both exhilarating and endearing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Azriel’s teasing remarks faded into the background, replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the shift he saw in Cassian. It was clear to him that his brother was, indeed, in trouble. But in the best possible way. Cassian's usually unshakeable demeanor was softer when he looked at you, filled with a mix of pride, respect, and a burgeoning affection that went beyond the confines of the training ring.

When the session finally wound down and the cool evening air settled around, both you and Cassian were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow of intense physical exertion. It was then that Azriel, unable to resist the opportunity for a little brotherly teasing, stepped forward. Clapping Cassian on the back with a broad grin he couldn’t help but comment, "Well, that was quite a performance. And here I thought today was supposed to be less about swords."

Cassian, still a bit winded from the session, shot Azriel a quick, warning glance. But even he couldn’t hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips, indicative of his own acknowledgment of the shift in plans. Your puzzled look darted between the two brothers catching the tail end of their dynamic, your smile mirroring Cassian's albeit with a touch of confusion.

"Less swords, more magic, but I guess plans change when you're dressed for battle," you chimed in attempting to play off Azriel's comment, still somewhat oblivious to the deeper layers of teasing.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he observed the interplay, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Absolutely, plans do change. Especially when a certain someone decides to show up looking ready to join the ranks of Illyrian warriors," he teased you, turning his gaze back to Cassian with a sly expression. "Makes a general reconsider his strategies."

Caught in the moment, you shared the origin of your attire, a light chuckle escaping you. "Feyre absolutely insisted on me wearing the traditional leathers," you explained, your smile fond as you recalled Feyre's insistence. "I thought it was just for protection, given the training. She seemed really adamant about it."

Cassian’s expression softened at this with a brief smile acknowledging the hidden hand of Rhysand in this setup. Though he connected the dots, realizing his brother's likely involvement in Feyre's insistence, he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he simply nodded, appreciating your earnestness and perhaps, deep down, thankful for the unintended push it gave him to see you in a new light—strong, capable, and utterly captivating in Illyrian leathers.

As the training session drew to a close and the night deepened around them, the playful banter and shared laughter began to ebb. Azriel's remarks, though lighthearted, had hinted at the shift he observed in the dynamics between you and Cassian. A development that seemed to promise much more than just companionship in the future.

Recognizing the cooling air and the perfect, serene evening that enveloped Velaris, Cassian suggested a leisurely walk back through the city. "How about I walk you home tonight? It's a nice evening to cool down and stretch out after training," he proposed. His voice casual but with a hopeful undertone.

Azriel caught the subtle inflection in Cassian’s tone and simply couldn’t resist one more jab, his knowing smile broadening into a full-blown, mischievous grin. "Sure, take your time," he teased, his voice rich with implication. With a final chuckle and a wink at Cassian, Azriel spread his wings and took to the skies leaving you both to the quiet of the evening streets.

Cassian walked beside you there was a thoughtful distance in his initial steps. As if he was contemplating the right words or simply savoring the shared silence. Gradually, he drew closer, his presence a comforting constant at your side. The soft lighting from the streetlamps cast gentle shadows and the faint rustle of the leaves created a backdrop that enriched the moment with a quaint, almost magical quality.

Every now and then his hand would lightly touch your arm or guide you around an uneven patch on the cobblestones. Each contact sending a quiet thrill through you. Despite the casual nature of the walk there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A thread of anticipation weaving through the air between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" Cassian finally broke the silence. His voice a blend of softness and something undefinable yet unmistakably tender.

"Definitely," you replied with your smile genuine and wide. The connection you felt with Cassian was undeniable and while you might not fully grasp the depth of his feelings, the pull towards him was strong and only growing stronger with each passing day.

When you reached your quarters Cassian lingered for a moment, his demeanor protective and gentle. He seemed reluctant to part ways, but he was satisfied to know you were safe for the night. "Make sure you rest well tonight," he said with his hand resting briefly on your back, his smile warm and lingering as he wished you a good night.

Retreating to your room, the echoes of the evening replayed in your mind. The laughter, Azriel's teasing, the soft, serious timbre of Cassian's voice asking to see you again. There was an excitement brewing within you. An eagerness for what these sessions and these new feelings might lead to. It was an intriguing mix of anticipation and a bit of nervousness, stepping into this newfound connection with Cassian, but every instinct told you it was a path worth exploring. As you settled down with thoughts of the next day’s training, and more importantly, of seeing Cassian again, it filled you with a warm sense of expectation and a quiet joy.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[acotarxreader]

⭐Other Worlds⭐Papertrail ⭐Pancake ⭐Healing Hands ⭐The Stray and The Snakes

Oneshot:

Stress Relief⭐👀🔥

Synopsis: Working for the Night Court has become near impossible with Azriel determined to drive you out the door but can a camping trip arranged by Rhys smooth things over.

Papertrail ⭐🥰

Synopsis: For months Azriel had gotten to know you through the intelligence letters you penned from the Autumn Court but finally meeting reveals your twisted reality.

BatBite ⭐

Synopsis: Azriel relies on liquid courage to finally act on his feelings for you but the next day, only one of you remembers and its the one marked with lovebites

Pancake ⭐🥰

Synopsis: Celebrating Feyre's 21st with a large party at the House of Wind proves to be quite triggering for you as you battle with the demons that followed you out of Under the Mountain.

High Lord of Game 👀 

Synopsis: Cassian and Azriel use a simple competition to decide who deserves the title of High Lord of Game, but at what cost to you?

Lessons in Herbology ⭐🔥👀 

Synopsis: You and Azriel are frequently at odds with one another but when Azriel accidently destroys your life's work, the illyrian will do anything to make it up to you.

Storm Chaser 👀 🥰

Synopsis: You and Azriel go your separate ways after a vicious fight leaves Azriels jealousy calling the shots but can the ever brave Illyrian brave a storm without you

Jilted👀

Synopsis: The morning of your wedding your fears are enforced by an old way of thought, sending you running and Azriel to cope with the aftermath but will a reunion set you both back on the path you should both be living?

The Silent Treatment⭐👀

Synopsis: Your past affair sends Azriel into brooding, with Elain being led to believe that the end of the relationship she hated so much had finally happened.

Songbird🥰

Synopsis: Azriel takes to the stage, slightly more than drunk and definitely slightly more than ready to tell the world how he feels about you.

Little Drop Of Starlight 🥰

Synopsis: A story of Azriel and you raising your daughter through the years, Azriels little drop of starlight.

Healing Hands 👀🥰⭐

Synopsis: A new suitor in your life interrupts your friendship with your three best friends at Windhaven. The budding healer in you finds yourself breaking more hearts than healing.

Honey👀🥰

Synopsis: Azriel frequents the hotel in Hewn City that you manage with his many lovers, a source of your constant teasing until Azriel can't replace the way he feels about you with anyone else.

Storybook👀🥰

Synopsis: Azriel's insecurities of not being good enough for the glowing Dawn emissary that had enveloped his world can't be silenced and erupt at Cassian's birthday party. But can he find his way again into the storybook life he believes you deserve?

Tease

Synopsis: Friends with benefits is quickly running its course between you and Azriel with Mor's birthday party being the perfect setting to see which of you will cave first.

Flower

Synopsis: You and Azriel are sent deep into the mountains in search of a flower that may save Feyre's life during childbirth but quickly the frenemy status is put to the test as past trials come to a head leaving you to decide between your new sister and the potential love of your life.

Series:

 Shadow and Flame 🔥💥👀🥰 ✅

Synopsis: Azriel is growing tired of feeling wronged by the Mother for not allowing Elain to be his mate until he meets a true stranger for the first time, you. Through a series of unfortunate events and ties to Lucien and Autumn, will the Mother keep the winds of fate blowing against Azriel?

Say My Name 👀💥and Part 2 👀💥🔥 ✅

After being separated from his brothers by the High Lord of Night, Azriel becomes accustomed to the new chain of command in his life, led

by you. But with the Mortal Realm war beginning to rage, will your relationship move beyond professional

Other Worlds ⭐🥰and Part 2⭐🥰👀 ✅

Nesta accidentally pulls you from our realm into theirs and a certain Spymaster can't help but be enamoured.

Timing👀 Part Two 🔥💥👀🥰 ✅

Synopsis: Timing works against you and Azriel as a series of unfortunate events lands the two of you alone for the night with a broken down car and a breaking down friendship

Mirror 👀💥Part Two👀💥🥰✅

Synopsis: You were gifted with the ability to mirror other fae's magic with a simple touch and your free spirit nature leads you to cross very close to the borders of a hidden city, where your future best friends and soulmate snatch you out of the sky to protect their border.

Silence in the Shadows 🔥💥👀🥰and Part Two 💥👀

Synopsis: Hewn City has been hit by a fresh crime wave, stumping the inner circle as they search for a solution. Azriel meets you in a crowded bar while trying to escape the stresses that the City was supplying him. But after a spur of the moment night together, Azriel is left wondering if the girl he spent the night with is truly all what she seems?

Moonlight Swim 🥰

Synopsis: Cassian has his heartbroken at the end of Illyrian training party he attended. Lovelorn and in need of a miracle, you cross his path to set his night on a course of centuries-long pining.

The Stray and The Snakes 🥰👀⭐

Synopsis: You're adjustment to the Night Court after meeting your Mate is made all the more difficult due to the unwelcoming nature of two particular sisters.

The Art of You 🥰

Synopsis: Cassian found recovery in the art that he created while preparing to apply to art school in New York, his greatest muse being his high-flying down-to-earth socialite girlfriend, you.

To the Library

Welcome to my lil library of fics I have enjoyed recently (and the gifs that summarise them way too simplistically)! This will be updated as I go 🩷

[heeliopheelia]

"i can't resist you, you know that" (niki x fem! reader)

genre: fluff word count: 0.6k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: hi hello babes i'm back from my short break!! i just realized i've been kinda neglecting our maknae line so sorry for that... btw i tried to mix up the two prompts like you wanted me to, love!! sorry that it came out so simple and maybe a bit borning but i'm still overcoming my writer's block <33

masterlist

The forest is quiet. The sweet chirping of a bird accompanies the shimmer of the thin stream running down to your right. The weather is as close to perfection as it can get – the sunshine pleasantly warms both of your faces but not strongly enough to make you hide underneath the roof of a cap. Riki smiles politely at the couple of elders that pass you by with energetic steps, engaged in a quiet conversation.

The forest is quiet for a very short while until you break it for the seventh time in the past five minutes. A loud whine echoes through the empty path as you slowly drag your feet on the ground, acting almost as if they weighted a tone. Riki's hand holds your tightly and practically drags your tired body behind him as he continues to walk up the small hill.

"I can't do it," you breathe out, mewling out the syllables for the dramatic effect. "If you don't stop walking right now, I'm seriously gonna die. I can feel it in my bones, Riki."

"It was literally your idea to go for a hike in the first place," he scoffs, turning over his shoulder to flick your sun-kissed nose. He giggles at the way it scrunches and you smack his hand away. "You don't get to complain now when you're the initiator of this plan."

You huff, a pout making its way on your lips slowly. "You're so mean. Good to know my boyfriend finds my misery amusing."

"C'mon, none of that now." He rolls his eyes, nodding his head to the paddled path ahead of you. "There's not that much left. Only ten minutes or so till we make it to the top."

A very predictable idea crosses your mind after his words and Riki sighs as he watches your eyes widening with a sparkle, already knowing you well enough to know what you're about to ask.

"No. No, no. Stop looking at me like that," he scowls, backing away from your slouched figure. You follow him immediately, stepping even closer as your hand traps his wrist in a grip. "You promised not to do that. I can't resist you, you know that. You're simply abusing your power now."

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Oh, c'mon. What's even the point of having a big, strong boyfriend if he can't even carry me for couple minutes?"

Riki scoffs at your pathetic attempt of stroking his ego. Another giggle leaves his lips as you keep pouting at him, eyes shining with the silent plead. A grown ass woman pulling a tantrum like a goddamn toddler.

His eyes drop down to your slightly puckered lips. And, Lord, you just look so cute to him right now. Irresistible, really, just like he predicted after seeing the look on your face before. You always do that whenever you're determined to get whatever it is you want. You have him wrapped around your little finger and he doesn't think you even realize how much power you actually hold over him.

Not able to help himself, he leans in and closes the gap parting the two of you, kissing you right on the mouth. The heat instantly rises to the tips of your ears and you'd squirm away out of fluster if not for his hands firmly holding you to his chest. With a sigh, you lift your hands to cup his cheeks and just when you're about to deepen the kiss, he's pulling away from you, leaving you all flushed and already breathless.

"Hop on then, you baby," he sighs as he turns around, motioning for you to jump on his back. "This time and this one time only, I give you the permission to make use of this big, strong boyfriend of yours that you're so clearly obsessed with."

"I am not!"

"Lying like that is not suitable for a lady, you know?"

You smack him in the shoulder, the sound of his chuckles instantly bringing warmth to your belly. Finally satisfied now that your legs have stopped feeling as if they were being set ablaze with each every step of yours, you cling to Riki's neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder blade, sighing in content.

"Yeah, you're right. He's the best."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant reading below poll.)

This poll is one of my favorites, because I love every possible option. When it previously ran, voters determined Legolas had dyscalculia. I'm eager to see if that result holds up in this "extended edition," or if tumblr will find itself swayed in a new direction.

Excerpted from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Chapter 7: Helm's Deep and Chapter 8: The Road to Isengard

'Two!' said Gimli, patting his axe. He had returned to his place on the wall. 'Two?' said Legolas. 'I have done better, though now I must grope for spent arrows; all mine are gone. Yet I make my tale twenty at the least. But that is only a few leaves in a forest.'

(Rest of the relevant text below the cut.)

...

'Twenty-one!' cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last Orc before his feet. 'Now my count passes Master Legolas again.' 'We must stop this rat-hole,' said Gamling. 'Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with stone. Lend us your aid, master!' 'We do not shape stone with battle-axes, nor with our finger-nails,' said Gimli. 'But I will help as I may.' They gathered such small boulders and broken stones as they could find to hand, and under Gimli's direction the Westfold-men blocked up the inner end of the culvert, until only a narrow outlet remained. Then the Deeping-stream, swollen by the rain, churned and fretted in its choked path, and spread slowly in cold pools from cliff to cliff. 'It will be drier above,' said Gimli. 'Come, Gamling, let us see how things go on the wall!' He climbed up and found Legolas beside Aragorn and Éomer. The elf was whetting his long knife. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled. 'Twenty-one!' said Gimli. 'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife-work up here.'

...

'Things go ill, my friends,' he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm. 'Ill enough,' said Legolas, 'but not yet hopeless, while we have you with us. Where is Gimli?' 'I do not know.' said Aragorn. 'I last saw him fighting on the ground behind the wall, but the enemy swept us apart.' 'Alas! That is evil news,' said Legolas. 'He is stout and strong,' said Aragorn. 'Let us hope that he will escape back to the caves. There he would be safe for a while. Safer than we. Such a refuge would be to the liking of a dwarf.' 'That must be my hope'' said Legolas. 'But I wish that he had come this way. I desired to tell Master Gimli that my tale is now thirty-nine.' 'If he wins back to the caves, he will pass your count again,' laughed Aragorn. 'Never did I see an axe so wielded.' 'I must go and seek some arrows,' said Legolas. 'Would that this night would end, and I could have better light for shooting.'

...

Suddenly there was a great shout, and down from the Dike came those who had been driven back into the Deep. There came Gamling the Old, and Éomer son of Éomund, and beside them walked Gimli the dwarf. He had no helm, and about his head was a linen band stained with blood; but his voice was loud and strong. 'Forty-two, Master Legolas!' he cried. 'Alas! My axe is notched: the forty-second had an iron collar on his neck. How is it with you?' 'You have passed my score by one,' answered Legolas. 'But I do not grudge you the game, so glad am I to see you on your legs!'

[bintturaab]

When it comes to recognising the importance of niyyah (intention), this specific hadith always comes to mind:

مَن طَلَبَ الشَّهادَةَ صادِقًا، أُعْطِيَها، ولو لَمْ تُصِبْهُ.

“Whosoever asks for martyrdom sincerely shall be granted its reward, even if he does not achieve it.” [Sahīh Muslim 1908]

One thing we can learn from this hadith, is how crucial ikhlaas - sincerity, is. If you are sincere with Allah, He will grant you the reward of martyrdom even if you died in your bed, even if your feet never got dusty in His path.

People leave their beloved, lose their limbs, go through starvation and injuries and countless horrors in the Cause of Allah before they attain martyrdom in His path. So how can someone who's never faced any of that be granted the same reward?

Because we can ask Allah and make dua all we want for the rest of our lives, but Allah knows what's in our hearts. Allah knows for whom shahadah is a far-fetched dream and a lip service, and for whom it is a lifelong effort to achieve it. Allah knows the hearts that constantly yearn for it, the hearts that are always ready to jump on the caravan. Allah knows the feet that walk to work and the hands that are engaged in worldly things but their biggest concerns are those of the ummah and the aakhirah. Allah knows the grief and longing that rips them apart. The guilt and regret that eats at them.

Because sincerity is not lip service. Sincerity is doing every little thing to please Allah because Allah only handpicks those and grants the rizq of shahadah to those whom He is pleased with. Sincerity is your whole lifestyle, it is your whole mindset. Sincerity is actions, sincerity is the state of your heart that no one but Allah knows. And you cannot intend if you are not sincere, and your intention cannot have determination if you are not sincere.

A sincere dua to Allah can move mountains, it can create mountains that did not exist, it can crumble the sturdiest of mountains.

In these blessed days, make dua to Allah with sincerity for everything you've ever wanted. For what you want the most. Ask Allah for the impossible,

فهو رب المستحيل

Because He is the Lord of the impossible.

اللهم اجعلنا من عبادك المخلصين، آمين.

[margaretoakgrove]

Gift for birthday

Walking the thorny road of your uneasy life, you managed to comprehend one simple yet great mystery of that the appearance of a person frequently can be deceiving and far from always reflect their authentic essence.

You came to this conclusion after on your path you had met many people who were flawlessly beautiful outside but disgustingly ugly on the inside, and also those few ones who behind their brutal exterior, in fact, hid an incredibly gentle soul.

And to your grand happiness your beloved Karl Heisenberg proved to be exactly that same kind of man.

But, unfortunetaly, here in this located in a mountainous region of Eastern Europe remote little village because of his rather formidable looks, rank of being one of the Four Lords of the village lands and unnatural for human beings powers of controlling different metal objects only with his mind Karl was perceived by the local residents as an arrogant and incapable of love or compassion extremely dangerous individual, but only to you Heisenberg opened up his genuinely caring, fun-loving and sensetive nature and all the truth about that cruel and egoistic Mother Miranda forced him to become her obedient servant against his own will, and that already quite for a long time he had been dreaming to be free of the oppression of her barbarous tyranny.

Actually, one needs to say that it was not only one dream which the Lord was seriously intended to turn into reality one day.

Yesterday early in the morning when both of you were sitting at the kitchen table and nicely chatting over a cup of freshly brewed fragnant coffee he honestly confessed to you that at least for once in his entire life he would really like to properly celebrate his own birthday with real presents and a real big birthday cake.

To hear this amazing news from the Lord you were indescribably glad as before in your conversations he had never told you even when his birthday was, and what joy that was for you to find out that it was supposed to be already on the next day!

Determined to make your beloved feel a little bit more happier, you conceived to secretly organize a small pleasant surprise for him by preparing a homemade festive cake and a lovely useful gift, despite the fact that Karl was not going to celebrate his birthday so soon for the simple reason that, as he himself said, he didn't have absolutely any time for entertainments as at the current moment the total elimination of Miranda was the number one goal for him, that is why his tomorrow's birthday Heisenberg planned to spend just like one of his most regular days, hoping at least not to cross paths anywhere with his adopted family, the members of which he had always sincerely dispised.

But all these plans and hopes of the Lord crumbled into dust when at the crack of dawn he was unceremoniously awakened by the unexpected telephone call of Mother Miranda herself. As it turned out, "her highness crazy witch" for some unknown reason decided to arrange an unscheduled family gathering and demanded for her "son" to partake in it along with his siblings and arrive for this to the cave church asap, thereby not leaving him even the slightest chance to normally wash his face, let alone have some breakfast.

Hastily dressed, our birthday man, fiercely cursing Miranda for so brazenly spoiling all his day today, went outside where nature unfriendly greeted him with a massive snowfall accompanied by the powerful gusts of a freezing wind.

"Fucking matches..." He grumbled under his breath, trying to light a cuban cigar with no success. "Always extinguish even from the slightest breeze..."

You volunteered to walk the Lord right to the main factory gates, paying zero attention to all of his insistent protests not to do that in such a cold stormy weather. On his covered with deep scars stubbled cheek you placed a light goodbye kiss, and once the burly figure of your beloved disappeared on the opposite side of the stone bridge you immediately hurried back to the factory in order to get everything what was needed ready for his return...

As Heisenberg suspected this family meeting promised to be unbelievably prolonged, and it seemed to him that it lasted for a whole eternity. For many long hours straight Karl, chewing an unlit cigar, had been sitting on a wide wooden bench inside the cave church and, from time to time heavily sighing and rolling his eyes in irritated manner, listening to the insane dictatorial nonsense of the family head, the poisonous insults of Lady Dimitrescu that she was spitting right in his face, the nasty high-pitched squeal of Donna's creepy porcelain doll and the constant childish whining of Moreau. Not having a single crumb of bread within his stomach since early morning and chilled to the bone, Heisenberg eagerly awaited this freak show to end as soon as possible so that he could come back to the saving walls of his old factory and just forget about this frankly lousy day within your warm comforting embrace.

But to reach his safe refuge the Lord, unfortunately, managed only very late in the evening after he had accomplished to do everything he was strictly ordered to, namely, calmed down the went crazy Lycans in the Stronghold and got rid of the mess in the village workshop. Barely dragging his feet from extreme tiredness, the man, upon entering the bedroom and throwing off his outerwear, with noise flopped down on the shabby leather couch and, closing his eyes, let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he was home.

"Karl? You back?" Your quiet voice delicately interrupted your beloved's welcome respite, making him to open his eyes again, and having noticed your presence in the doorway of the bedroom, he couldn't help but slightly smile.

"Yes, princess. I'm back."

"It's pretty late. You must be very tired and hungry. Let's go to the kitchen! I've made a dinner for us."

"Sounds perfect." And with these words Heisenberg slowly stood up and trudged after you in the direction of the kitchen.

"Hey, what's this?" Karl whistled in surprise, motioning his head towards the kitchen table in the center of which adorned a deliciously smelling fresh apple cake surrounded by many plates with his especially favorite dishes.

"Um, Karl..." From overwhelming excitement all that tremendous speech which you had been composing since the previous day specially for this occasion in a blink evaporated from your memory. "I just...I just wanted to say...um... Here! Happy birthday, darling! Please accept this humble gift from me to you!"

The gaze of the Lord fell on a laying within your palms silver lighter with the engraved on it image of a beautiful steed, which you had bought from the Duke for a rather hefty sum.

"I noticed that you always light cigars with matches, but it seemed to me that for you they are not very comfortable in using. And then i thought maybe a lighter would be more helpful in this case, so..."

From your trembling hands the man took the lighter extremely carefully as if it was made not of metal but of fragile glass.

"All right, sweetheart...You...huh...You cooked all this food, baked this cake, spent your money on this obviously damn expensive thing, and what do you want to tell me? Do you want to tell me that you did all of this...for me?"

"Well...Well yes! Yes, that's right!"

Judjing by his puzzled facial expression, it was safe to say your beloved was truly shocked by everything what's happening right now, and it was no wonder because absolutely nobody in his entire life had ever done even something similar for him.

"So...Why are we still standing? The food is getting cold! Come on! Let's take a sit at the table!"

The blizzard, which had been furiously raging outside throughout the day, little by little, had begun to abate, and out of the snow gloomy clouds appeared the large silvery moon whose tranquil light unobtrusively penetrated through a small window into the kitchen where Heisenberg and you were enjoying the festive meal in each other's company. At your request, Karl told you how the family gathering went, but instead of narrating you about this extremely unpleasant event in a negative way, he started cracking shameless yet hilarious jokes about his hateful siblings, and your contagious laughter, caused by these jokes, after all those disgusting nasties that he had to hear today out acted like a healing balm to his soul.

Suddenly, Gymnopedie No.1 by Erik Satie smoothly played on the radio, and to your mind came a wonderful idea.

"May i have this dance, my Lord?" Playfully smiling, you politely held out the man your hand.

"Sure!" Not even thinking, Heisenberg immediately accepted your invitation to dance. "But i consider it my duty to warn you that i can't dance at all."

"Me too! So i am deeply apologizing in advance for accidentally stepping on your feet a huge number of times!"

In the dimly illuminated by a couple of oil lanterns kitchen both of you were slightly swaying in a slow dance to the soothing sounds of the marvelous melody in each other's arms. Placing his rough hand on your waist, Karl was gradually pulling you closer and closer to his wide sturdy chest, and when you rested your head on his strong shoulder he a bit nuzzled your soft silky hair, inhaling with pleasure its subtle delightful scent.

Fully immersed in the relaxing atmosphere of calmness, at least for tonight the Lord entirely forgot about all of his pressing daily problems the thoughts of which permanently created disorderly chaos in his head, and at this divine moment of complete peacefulness it seemed to him as if in the whole entire world existed only you and only him, silently dancing in this cozy semi-darkness.

After a few short minutes, silence that followed the melted in the air music softly stopped the slow romantic dance of yours, and then you looked up at your beloved just in order to catch him looking back at you with a gaze filled with nothing other than tenderness and adoration.

"I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me tonight." Carefully Heisenberg tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Thank me? But...But you shouldn't thank me. I...I haven't really done anything special..." This affectionate gesture in combination with the low tone of his raspy voice made you unavoidably redden like a ripe juicy strawberry. "You deserve this, Karl. You do truly deserve this. You deserve all of this and even more. And if i only could give you this more, believe me, i would gladly do that for you, not awaiting from you anything in exchange because... because i love you too much...that's all..."

"My Buttercup...My kind little Buttercup..." And Karl, upon cupping your face with his hands as gently as he could, placed a kiss on your lips, in sweetness to which, in your opinion, even candied honey could not be compared. You didn't break this adorable kiss to ask the Lord what happened when you noticed a crystal-clear tear rolling down his cheek because for you everything was understandable enough without any words: probably for the first time in his entire life your beloved now was quietly crying with genuine happiness, and from the realization that you managed to fulfill one of the cherished dreams of his you yourself became even more happier than you had already been...

This peaceful night before going to bed Heisenberg decided to go outside in order to have a smoke. With the help of his new lighter Karl easily lighten up a cuban cigar on the very first attempt and contentedly took several deep puffs.

Leisurely savoring the bitter taste of the tobacco smoke, simultaneously the Lord was gazing at the dark nocturnal sky strewn with millions of bright sparkling stars just when one of them at lightning speed was leaving its abode once and for all, and, without hesitation, he quickly made a birthday wish.

It is not difficult to guess what kind of wish your beloved made because more than anything else he truly wished to be with you forever no matter what as for him you doubtelessly were the most priceless gift which he was so lucky to receive from the Universe herself, and to her for such a boundless generousity the man was infinitely grateful.

[theenchantresx]

Flames of the North

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Elyria Stark (OC)

Summary: Sent to Storm's End as a messenger of her House, Elyria Stark did not expect to find herself in the midst of courtly intrigue. But when she catches the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, duty and desire clash in a dance of fire and ice.

Word Count: 3,900 words

Warning: smut, violence ... Nothing else (?) not proofread

The storm that battered the walls of Storm's End was a mere whisper compared to the tempest within Elyria Stark. The winds whipped her cloak around her as she strode through the castle's halls, her thoughts a tangled knot of duty, desire, and fear. She had never expected her simple mission to deliver a message from the North to Lord Borros Baratheon to spiral into this—a dangerous dance with a prince as wild and untamable as the dragons his House commanded.

From the moment she had arrived, she had sensed the undercurrents of tension in the air, but she had not anticipated the force of Aemond Targaryen. He was not like the stories she had heard, not just cold and calculating, but something fiercer, darker—a man driven by a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

She had witnessed that fire firsthand, seen it in the way he looked at her, a gaze that seemed to strip away her defenses and expose the raw, vulnerable heart beneath. Aemond was not a man to be crossed, and yet, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

It had been a mistake, she knew that now, to think she could remain unaffected by him. She had come to Storm’s End with a single purpose, to serve her House and return to Winterfell unscathed. But Aemond had a way of unraveling her carefully laid plans, of igniting something within her that she had long kept buried.

Now, as she stood in the great hall of Storm's End, facing the furious glares of the Baratheon sisters, she realized just how deeply she had been pulled into Aemond's orbit. The storm was no longer just outside; it was here, in this very room, crackling in the air like lightning about to strike.

"You've bewitched him, haven't you?" Maris Baratheon hissed, her voice dripping with venom. The eldest of Lord Borros's daughters, Maris had always been the most ambitious, the most determined to secure her place as the future queen consort. "Prince Aemond was meant to choose one of us, to unite our houses. But now, thanks to you, everything is ruined."

Elyria held her ground, though her heart raced with the tension in the room. "I have done nothing but fulfill my duty as a Stark. Whatever choices Prince Aemond makes are his own."

Cassandra Baratheon, ever the composed one, stepped forward with a steely gaze. "Do not play coy, Lady Stark. We all saw the way he looked at you, the way he followed you out of the hall last night. You have stolen his attention, and with it, our future."

"I did not ask for his attention," Elyria replied, her voice firm despite the unease gnawing at her. "I came here to deliver a message, nothing more."

But even as she spoke, she knew it was a half-truth. She had felt the heat of Aemond’s gaze, the way it burned into her, the way it had made her pulse quicken and her breath hitch. There was no denying the connection between them, no matter how dangerous it was.

Ellyn Baratheon, the most hot-tempered of the sisters, sneered. "Lies. You’ve bewitched him with your northern coldness, made him forget his duty to the Crown. But we will not let you destroy what is ours."

Before Elyria could respond, the door to the hall swung open with a force that made everyone flinch. Aemond Targaryen stood in the doorway, his presence like a thunderclap, silencing the room. His silver hair, tousled from the storm outside, framed a face carved from marble, cold and unyielding. But it was his eye—the one not hidden by the patch—that held the room captive, a blazing violet that promised retribution to anyone who dared cross him.

"What is this?" Aemond's voice was a low growl, each word laced with the threat of violence. "What are you saying to Lady Stark?"

Maris, ever bold, met his gaze, though her voice trembled slightly. "We are speaking of your duty, my prince. You were sent here to choose a bride, to secure the loyalty of House Baratheon, yet you have been distracted by this… northern girl."

Aemond's lip curled into a snarl, and he took a menacing step forward. "My duty? Do you dare to lecture me on my duty, Lady Maris? I know what I was sent here to do, and I do not need the counsel of girls who think they understand the weight of a crown."

Elyria could see the fear in the sisters' eyes now, the realization that they had pushed too far. But Aemond was far from finished.

"I came here out of obligation, not desire," Aemond continued, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "But let me make one thing clear: I am not a prize to be won by the highest bidder, nor a puppet to dance on strings. I choose my fate, not my brother, not my grandfather, and certainly not you."

Cassandra, always the peacemaker, tried to step in. "Prince Aemond, we meant no disrespect—"

"Enough!" Aemond snapped, his eye blazing. "You speak of disrespect, but you stand here, daring to question my choices, my will. Do you think I do not see through you? You, who would tear each other apart for a chance at power, dare to challenge me?"

The hall was deathly silent, the sisters too stunned and terrified to speak. Elyria, too, felt the raw power of Aemond's wrath, but there was something else beneath it—a dark, simmering intensity that called to the very core of her being.

Aemond’s gaze finally turned to her, the storm in his eye softening ever so slightly. "Lady Stark, you will come with me. Now."

There was no room for argument in his tone, but Elyria found herself rooted to the spot, caught between the fury of the Baratheon sisters and the inferno that was Aemond Targaryen. "I—"

"Now," Aemond repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

She nodded, unable to defy him, and followed as he turned and strode out of the hall, the tension in the room suffocating. The sisters watched them go, their resentment palpable, but none dared to stop them.

As they moved through the corridors, the silence between them was heavy, filled with the things neither dared to say. When they reached a secluded part of the castle, Aemond suddenly stopped, turning on her with a ferocity that took her breath away.

"Do you know what you’ve done?" he hissed, his hands gripping her arms, pulling her close. "Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"

Elyria’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to flinch. "I did nothing but exist in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eye blazing with that same dangerous intensity. "You have no idea, do you? From the moment I saw you, I knew—I knew that you would be my undoing, and yet I couldn’t stay away. You’ve stirred something in me, something dark and wild, and I am not a man who enjoys being out of control."

His words sent a thrill through her, mingled with fear. "Then let me go," she whispered, though even she knew it was a lie. "Release me, and we can both return to our duties, to our lives."

But Aemond only laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Release you? No, Elyria. I cannot. You are mine now, and I am yours, whether we like it or not. We are bound by this fire, this fury, and there is no escaping it."

Elyria’s breath caught as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "You’ve awakened something in me, something that will not be tamed. Do you think I care for the Baratheons? For alliances? I care for one thing, and one thing only."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze piercing, unrelenting. "You."

The word hung between them, heavy with the weight of all that it implied. Elyria’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. She should be afraid, should be running as far from Aemond Targaryen as she could, but all she could feel was the pull, the inexorable draw towards the flame that was him.

"You are playing with fire, Aemond," she whispered, though there was no strength in her words.

Aemond’s lips curled into a dangerous smile, his thumb brushing against her jaw. "I am fire, Elyria. And so are you. Together, we will burn the world if we must."

And with that, he claimed her lips in a kiss that was fierce, demanding, full of the raw, untamed power that had always simmered beneath the surface. It was not a kiss of gentle affection, but one of possession, of dominance, as if he was marking her as his own.

Elyria responded in kind, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, the fire that consumed them both, and the storm that raged within.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. There was no turning back now, no returning to the way things had been before. The path they had chosen was fraught with danger, with darkness, but it was theirs.

"We are bound," Aemond said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "By blood, by fire, by fate. No one will come between us, not the Baratheons, not my family, not even the gods themselves."

Elyria nodded, her own voice barely above a whisper. "Then let the world burn, Aemond. If that is what it takes."

Aemond’s smile was fierce, triumphant, as he pulled her into another kiss, sealing their fate with the heat of their shared desire. And as the storm outside battered the walls of Storm’s End, inside, two forces of nature collided, forging a bond that would either lead to their destruction—or their ultimate victory.

[ryin-silverfish]

LMK S5 trailer, Chinese pantheon infodump, and some ideas

…Man, normally, I feel the urge to write fix-it AUs after rewatching episodes and coming across particularly bizarre theories and takes, not before the new season's even out.

Thanks, S5 trailer.

Consider this your spoiler warning, because the rest of this post will all be my personal opinions about a few major story beats that were revealed + the rough outline for a fix-it AU.

It's also a bit ranty, and features some criticisms of the general narrative, so if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to avoid this one.

Li Jing becoming JE/the regent of the Celestial Realm is just hilariously absurd. I mean, it makes a teeny tiny bit more sense than the "Nezha will be the new JE" fan theory, but that's not a very high bar.

1) In-universe, he had done a grand total of nothing while shit was hitting the fan, and only showed up after it was all over. Which, tbh, isn't too far from his role in FSYY. No, wait, at least in FSYY, he killed Luo Xuan via a pagoda to the head, after the guy had all his fire-based magical treasures neutralized and taken away by Princess Longji.

Yeah, congrats, LMK's Li Jing, you've somehow become even more useless than your FSYY and JTTW counterparts——which is a true feat.

2) Even if someone's making him JE/regent, it wouldn't be the Ten Kings. To put it simply: the Underworld doesn't have that authority. They are the most pathetic of all divine bureaucracies, who pretty much only show up to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead guy in JTTW (and I still love them).

Like, they ain't no Hades or Satan. Just the 10 judges of the Dead People Supreme Court. To heavily paraphrase Di Ting in the original JTTW novel:

"How much power do Underworld gods really have? (幽冥之神，能有多少法力)" "...Certainly not enough to stop a rampaging demonic macaque who's as strong as SWK, if I say the truth out loud in here and piss him off. Just send them to the Buddha, please."

An analogy: if the Celestial Host is the imperial court, the Underworld is the ministry in charge of judicial processes and prisons. They don't even have authority over the imperial censors who answer directly to the emperor, let alone the power to determine a successor to the throne during a major crisis.

If this was to make the tiniest bit of sense, Li Jing would be the one commanding THEM, not the other way around. Or if it's Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha himself giving orders to Li Jing…for some reason.

But we know that ain't happening bc of the show's strange aversion to showing Buddhist deities on screen, not to mention it would be very OOC for Ksitigarbha, whose job is granting relief and salvation to souls in the Path of Hell, not judging and punishing them like the Ten Kings.

3) If you must make Li Jing the emperor/regent, you have a more mythos-accurate and obvious choice than the Ten Kings, considering you already got the Four Divine Beasts involved!

Yes, I'm talking about their bosses, the humanoid "directional + elemental gods": Lord Father of the East (Wood), Queen Mother of the West (Metal), Emperor Zhenwu of the North (Water).

No South though...because our mythos can't agree on a single directional god of the South, but for shit and giggles, just imagine Zhurong, Yandi, Huaguang, and the Star of Fiery Virtues all sitting on the same narrow bench, staring awkwardly at each other.

Maybe we can have Ziwei, Great Emperor of the Central Sky and North Stars, who is one of the Four Sovereigns(四御) in Daoism (two of which could also be an alternate choice, but maybe a bit too obscure for foreign audiences).

He commands the stellar deities and heavenly bodies——which the Four Divine Beasts would technically fall under, as guardians of the four quadrants of the sky, each in charge of 7 Lunar Mansions.

4) But if you already have these deities, why the hell would any of them make Li Jing the regent? Wouldn't it be more likely for them to create a Celestial Council of Regents themselves, with Devaraja Li Jing under their command as the leader of what's left of the celestial army?

Like, you can still have them, or one of them, going after the gang and ordering Li Jing to put the fillet on SWK.

I can see Zhenwu the Demon-Vanquisher doing that, since the fillet isn't too different from what he did to Huaguang and a lot of the demons he subdued in JTTN: feeding them magical water/fire pills that would corrode/ignite their insides whenever they tried to resist.

(Yeah, compared to that, the fillet would look like the lenient option, since it's just pain and won't actually dissolve/cook you alive from the inside out...)

And it wouldn't be bc he thought SWK was to blame for the Brotherhood's epic fuck-up...somehow. Like, what even is that logic?!

I mean, I can kinda see the Ten Kings doing it as a pre-emptive "Don't blame us for our shitty security, blame that guy over there!" move...except they are no longer answering to any higher authorities who'd hold them responsible at that point!

"What about Li Jing?" You may ask. Yeah, WHAT ABOUT LI JING? Why does Li Jing have to get involved in this?

If he's forcing the Ten Kings to pass judgement on the gang (which surely doesn't look like it in the trailers), why's he enlisting the help of the weakest faction and not, y'know, his celestial soldiers and other gods?

If the Ten Kings get Li Jing to be their enforcer...well, how the Eighteen Hells did they manage that? What could the Ghost Supreme Court and their crappy prison-torture chamber-soul customs office complex even offer Li Jing as a bribe?

And if their goals were to avoid responsibilities by blaming someone else, how stupid did they have to be to actively involve/create a higher authority who can punish them once the cat gets out of the proverbial bag, instead of, I dunno, just stay where they are and keep their head down???

So in my fix-it AU, it's more of a "Better safe than sorry" scenario, where every demon working for the new Celestial Council must prove their loyalty via swallowing the water/fire pill, now that even more dangerous demons have escaped and are running around in the aftermath of S4.

And Great Sage and company are not exempt from that new law either——"If you are truly righteous and Not Like Them and not planning to rebel, what's there to be afraid of?"

Horrified by the Demon-Vanquishing Mansion's 16th century standards of "justice" and "mercy", they naturally would not have any of it, and thus the conflict begins.

Not only would this show the fallout of Azure's misguided rebellion——that, in trying to make a better world, he had made it 120% worse for both humanity and demonkind in less drastic and more realistic ways aside from dooming reality to irreversible destruction, it would also help with the major show-not-tell problem about Celestial cruelty bc the "good guys" in power saw no problem with this kind of shit.

If you want your lawful antagonists who take Order to its extremes, the warrior sovereign in black leading an elite army of demon-hunters + penal legions made of "reformed" demons would be a better choice than the Ghost Supreme Court, don't ya think?

(Fun fact: in Zaju plays, Zhenwu was often said to be the boss of Nezha and Erlang, so him commanding Li Jing wouldn't be too out of place either.)

Now, you may ask, why do I even care? After all, isn't it clear that the show is neither mythos-accurate nor trying to be, considering the JE got K.O.ed by a Bodhisattva's cat of all things?

Not to mention the season's not even out yet, so why jump to conclusions so quickly? Maybe the actual episodes will have explanations that make sense. Relax.

...Cause I don't mind less-than-stellar animations if the story's good, and since I keep noticing the less-than-stellar animations, it clearly isn't good enough.

Also, it's not like it's only the implications that are absurd——my problem is with the whole premise of "Li Jing becoming the new JE/Regent" and "The gang is prosecuted by the Ten Kings for bullshit reasons, even though these guys should not, and never have the power to enforce anything over SWK."

I don't like calling narrative choices "wrong" per se, and prefer to see it on a gradient of "least to most narrative potential". When it comes to adaptations, if the option that is faithful to the original work will result in a less interesting story, then I'll happily take the one that isn't as faithful and takes creative liberties, but makes a better story.

And here, I feel like being faithful to the Chinese mythos inspirations will add to the narrative potential instead of subtract from it, and the idea they come up with kinda...goes against how Chinese pantheons work, in a very simplified and "westernized" manner.

Mostly bc I am a Chinese Underworld mythos lover and think they deserve better than being ominous Hades/Grim Reaper knockoffs. And out of all the possible Chinese gods, Nezha's asshole dad is the least qualified or interesting candidate to fill in the power vaccum left by JE's death.

[80ssuperstar]

Hey Guys I made this Story that's based on The Ancient Indian Tale of Prince Rama and Princess Sita and the Ten Headed Demon Ravanna but I made it different with the Characters like: Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha, Ravanna, Hanuman, Bharata, Indrajit, Manthara, Surpanakha, Queen Kaikeyi (Prince Mordecai's Jealous Stepmother)

THE STORY OF MORDECAI AND SAMANTHA:

Once upon a time, in the magnificent kingdom of Ayodhya, there lived a noble prince named Mordecai, beloved by all for his wisdom, courage, and kindness. He was the heir to the throne, destined to rule alongside his beloved wife, Princess Samantha, a woman of unparalleled beauty, grace, and compassion. Their love was the envy of all who beheld it, and their kingdom flourished under their benevolent rule.

However, their happiness was not to last, for lurking in the shadows was the wicked ten-headed demon, Ravanna, whose heart burned with jealousy and malice. Ravanna coveted Princess Samantha for himself, and he plotted to separate her from Prince Mordecai and claim her as his own.

Mordecai: "My dear Samantha, our love is like the eternal flame, burning bright amidst the darkness. Fear not, for I shall always protect you, my beloved."

Samantha: "Oh Mordecai, my heart sings with joy at your words. Together, we shall overcome any obstacle that dares to challenge our love."

One fateful day, as Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha were taking a leisurely stroll through the enchanted forest that surrounded their kingdom, they came across a wounded deer lying in agony. Princess Samantha's compassionate heart was moved with pity, and she beseeched Prince Mordecai to help the poor creature.

Samantha: "Mordecai, look! A wounded deer lies in distress. Please, we must help it."

Mordecai: "Fear not, my dear Samantha. I shall use my magic to create a protective circle around you. As long as you stay within its bounds, no harm shall befall you."

That night, as Princess Samantha rested within the safety of the magic circle, she heard a terrible cry echoing through the forest. Believing it to be her beloved Mordecai in grave danger, she rushed to his aid, unaware of the treacherous trap that awaited her.

Samantha: "Mordecai! I hear cries of distress! I must go to him at once!"

Mordecai: "No, Samantha! Stay within the circle! It is not safe!"

But it was too late. Ravanna, with his dark magic and deceitful wiles, had disguised himself as Prince Mordecai and lured Princess Samantha out of the protective circle. Seizing her in his powerful grasp, Ravanna vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving behind naught but despair and heartache.

Ravanna: "Foolish princess, to trust in the illusion of safety. Now you are mine, and no one shall stand in my way."

Prince Mordecai, upon discovering his beloved Samantha missing, was consumed with grief and fury. Determined to rescue her from the clutches of the vile Ravanna, he embarked on a perilous journey, aided by his loyal companions, including the mighty monkey warrior Hanuman, the valiant prince Bharata, and the wise sage Vishwamitra.

Hanuman: "Fear not, Prince Mordecai, for I shall lend you my strength and my cunning. Together, we shall vanquish the foul demon Ravanna and rescue Princess Samantha from his grasp."

Bharata: "My lord, I pledge my sword and my loyalty to your cause. Let us march forth and bring justice to the wicked."

Vishwamitra: "Prince Mordecai, the path ahead is fraught with danger, but with courage and determination, you shall prevail. Trust in your heart, and victory shall be yours."

And so, Prince Mordecai and his companions embarked on a perilous quest, braving treacherous jungles, raging rivers, and dark caverns in their relentless pursuit of Ravanna and his captive, Princess Samantha.

Along the way, they encountered many trials and tribulations, including battles with Ravanna's fearsome minions, such as his son Indrajit, the demoness Surpanakha, and the wicked maid Manthara, who sought to thwart their noble quest at every turn.

Indrajit: "You dare to oppose my father, Ravanna? Prepare to face the wrath of Indrajit, the mighty warrior prince!"

Surpanakha: "Ah, Prince Mordecai, how handsome you are! Why waste your time on that insignificant princess when you could have a powerful demoness like me at your side?"

Manthara: "Princess Samantha is a threat to my mistress's ambitions. I shall do everything in my power to ensure that she remains in Ravanna's clutches forever."

But through courage, perseverance, and the power of their unwavering love, Prince Mordecai and his companions overcame every obstacle that stood in their way, drawing ever closer to their ultimate goal of rescuing Princess Samantha from the clutches of Ravanna.

At long last, after a fierce and epic battle that shook the very foundations of the earth, Prince Mordecai confronted Ravanna in his fortress atop the towering mountain of Lanka, where Princess Samantha was held captive.

Mordecai: "Ravanna, your reign of terror ends here and now! Release Princess Samantha, or face the wrath of a righteous prince!"

Ravanna: "Foolish mortal, you dare to challenge me? I am Ravanna, the Lord of Lanka, the most powerful demon in all the realms! You are no match for my might!"

But Prince Mordecai, fueled by his love for Princess Samantha and the strength of his noble heart, fought with a courage and determination that knew no bounds. With the aid of his allies and the blessings of the gods themselves, he clashed with Ravanna in a battle that shook the heavens and the earth.

In the end, it was not the strength of arms or the power of magic that determined the outcome, but the purity of Prince Mordecai's love and the righteousness of his cause. With a final, mighty blow, he vanquished Ravanna and rescued Princess Samantha from the darkness that had ensnared her.

Mordecai: "Samantha, my beloved! Are you hurt? Fear not, for you are safe now, and I shall never let harm befall you again."

Samantha: "Mordecai, my hero! Oh, how I have longed for this moment! With you by my side, I fear nothing, for our love is stronger than any magic or malice in the world."

And so, Prince Mordecai and Princess Samantha returned triumphantly to their kingdom of Ayodhya, where they were greeted with jubilation and celebration by their grateful subjects. Their love had been tested and proven true, and together, they ruled wisely and justly for many years to come, a shining beacon of hope and inspiration to all who beheld them.

THE END!!

I Hope you guys liked it 😊🥰

For: @fxe4596 , @nicomxm23 , @mordorigs , @jgquintelslut , @pinkcandycatmakesart , @anifaz , @isrrael120 , @notadumbdog , @martingeekermmd , @eeveepalooza , @apollothedeity, @sidoresca, @siinhorhy, @insomniacz, @rhyliethecaterfly , @yeetafry, @at-weeb96, @kiwithekool11437, @kiko2032, @orchestralauthor, @untitled14360, @loudlyhappycupcake