#Warriors with the worst bed hair ever my beloved

[nell0-0]

I love your LU stuff, makes my day every time!

Glad you like it! I'm having a blast drawing them tbh, even if I'm drawing more Warriors + Mask stuff lately. In fact:

Morning routine!

[madwomansapologist]

Can you do a oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand ?

Can it be that you are a powerfull and sstunning woman leader and warrior and you reject them because you think they dont know struggle feels like , and you meet dany and fall in love with her eventually becoming queen and ...welll queen?

burn it | Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand, Daenerys Targeryen

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synopsis: As the commander of the Martell's army, you dream about the day where your people would finally destroy the Lannisters. You share your life with Oberyn Martell, one of the greatest warriors that ever existed, and Ellaria Sand, a woman whose mind is as sharp as yours. It was perfect. Until you meet the dragon.

warnings: female!reader. Elia Martell needs to be avenged. Gregor Clegane needs to die. Lannisters death implied. Eddard Stark my beloved, my hero, the best man Westeros could ever had, my one and only savor. Imagine if the plot line with the Lannisters in Dorne and Daenerys conquering Westeros hapenned at the same time.

note: thanks for your request! So... I could never write those characters as weak cuz I love them and their arcs and actually I think that Oberyn is one of the best characters ever written, so I didn't follow your request in the exact way you wanted. Either way, I hope you like it!

When you're born in a war, you need to understand that no one but your side is human. If you don't, you curse yourself. Because thats gonna be a moment when you'll treat your enemy as a human and that will be the cause of your fall. You never committed that mistake.

Resentful is a great word to describe you. To describe how your mind works. You learned to divided the world in two: the ones by your side and the ones that need to be destroyed. Its only you and them against the world. You, Oberyn and Ellaria.

Few can say they found one great love in Westeros. And you have found two.

Oberyn offers you the tenderness that none could imagine coming from a warrior. You don't fear him seeing your wounds and scars: Oberyn's skin match yours. His pain feels like home. His gentle touch, sharp words, dirtiest smiles: Oberyn was made to defy you.

Ellaria helds you with a security that none could imagine coming from a bastard. You don't fear her hearing your worst thoughts and filthy truths: Ellaria's mind match yours. Her pain feels like home. Her rough hands, straight demands, dirtiest words: Ellaria was made to mirror you.

"The Lannister's ships were seen crossing the Narrow Sea."

Lying your head on Ellaria's chest, feeling the tip of her fingers slowly carresing the naked skin of your back, you almost didn't hear his words. You opened your eyes, glaring at Oberyn. Sitting on the other side of the bed, his dark eyes stared at the celling.

"And what we gonna do?" Ellaria asked. "They are too powerful." Ellaria would keep talking, but she felt your smile against her skin. "Whats on your mind, my lady?"

"The Lannisters are powerful." You supported yourself on your elbowns. Your humid hair, humid because of what them made to you, fell in front of your eyes. Ellaria tucked your hair behind your ear. "But thats not their land."

"So you want to judge them?" Ellaria licked her lips. "I think we could do that."

"No." You reply. Oberyn's stare burned your cheeks. "Lannisters are the ones that love judgments. I don't have energy to waste with their intricate lies. I want a war."

Oberyn disagreed. "We need a judgment. We need to hear to truth. We need to punish them with more than just a sword."

"We would win a war, but a judgment? Have you already forgotten what they did to Eddard Stark? I've never meet a more honorable man, and he was executed for treason. We can win a war."

"Eddard was executed because he was so honorable." Oberyn approached you, moving on the mattress. "We can do better than him. If we play it right we can end their bloodline."

"It don't feel right." You look deeply inside his dark eyes. "My lord, trust me. I feel it in my bones."

"I trust you. With my life. So trust me. We can make them pay." Oberyn slid his callused hands across the row of your column. "Unbowed."

Ellaria kissed his free hand. She made her choice, and it was to trust Oberyn. Looking at you, she let the words slide across her lips. "Unbent."

It didn't seem right. It wasn't the right choice. But nothing would stop Oberyn. Elia was your queen, but she was his sister. 'Was'? Can death separate brothers? Elia is his sister. Not even death can transform a 'is' into a 'was'.

"Unbroken." You ended, crawling to them.

"Repeat that."

You must have heard it wrong. You totally heard it wrong. That is no chance you didn't heard it wrong.

"Dragons." One of your sworn squires told you. "Three dragons."

Followed by your personal guard, armed with your usual weapons of choice, your horse was a extension of your body. You put on your armor to no look weak. You wouldn't look threatening, not with three dragons around you, but you couldn't look weak. The path circling the Sea of Dorne wasn't a concern of yours, all you could think about was Daenerys Targaryen.

She made her way from Dragonstone to Dorne. Why? No ship, no men, no army, but three dragons. If she wanted a war, she would win. But she asked for you. Daenerys Targaryen asked for you. You can't look weak, but that was no reason to go armed for a war.

Approaching the bay, you already could see them. Those dragons made you think about death. About how easy it could be for you to die because they felt hunger. Because they were bored. Because they didn't like your scent. If you didn't need to look strong, if you were just a soldier and not a general, you would be crying of fear.

Carressing what seem to be a squama, all you could see was the long blonde braided hair. Her clothes somehow reminded you of her dragons. You heard that she wasn't a warrior, but now you see what she is: a conqueror. The valyrian blood run in her veins.

"You asked for me." The crash of the waves, whatever the noises dragons made were called, made you scream to be heard. You leave your horse and squires behind, an act of trust.

When she turned it was difficult to not gasp. Daenerys Targaryen. Her beauty wasn't exaggerated. Or her guts. A Targaryen in Dorne? She may have dragons, and it did took you by surprise, but the history shows what your people did to them before.

The only way to defeat Dorne is by turning it into ash. Daenerys don't look like someone that would waist her time on that task.

Daenerys released her dragons. He flew away. She didn't even stumbled with the force of his jump. "Every Small Counsil needs a Lord Commander."

It wasn't a order. A request. A beg. It was just a simple phrase. And with something so simple she said more than anyone could. The Small Counsil server the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I am not a lord."

She look and talk like a conqueror. "And I am not a king."

Your smirk made Daenerys felt something different. Something warm.

"Thats a thing a lot of people before you tried to change without success", you started. "I fight for Dorne."

"But who said you would have to choose between Dorne or my offer?", said Daenerys. Her violet eyes seen to glow. "You're at one 'yes' of ending the Lannisters. At one 'yes' of avenging Elia."

You tried not to look tempted. "The Lannisters are under my watch. You offer me nothing I don't already own."

Daenerys took a deep breath.

"Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. People here want justice, a confession, a proper judgment. You don't need that. Not only you don't need, but you don't believe it would work. What you want, what you know would be the best, is to feel the warm blood on your hands. Thats something I can give you."

You looked back. Your little army was far enough to not hear a word of what is being said. And her dragons are loud enough to make you certain of that.

"Why are you offering this to me?"

"Because you hate those who I hate. They killed your queen. They killed my brother, my father, the kids your queen foal."

It wasn't enough. "Lannisters collect enemies. If you want me to be honest, than do the same. Why me?"

"I need a Commander that I can trust. I need a Commander that won't forgot their words and kill me when winds change. I need a Commander that will kill whoever needs to be killed and defend whoever needs to be defended." Daenerys smile at you. "You are loyal to a dead queen. If I avenge her, would you be loyal to a living one?"

Daenerys took off her leather gloves. She reached out for you, showing her pale hand. "All you need to do is to make a feast. Have your fun, but make sure to lock all Lannisters in the room. I will make the rest."

It was difficult. The most difficult choice you ever made. But you couldn't lie to yourself.

You didn't took her hand into your. You didn't opened your mouth ou decorated your face with a smile. You bowed.

"My Khaleesi."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[gildedmuse]

(Shout out to @jhaernyl for helping me write this!)

I've been half working on some writing prompts from this book while in bed. And when I got this one:

My immediate reaction was, "I don't know PRECISELY what went down but I can tell you, it's Law's worst ever day working on Sora: Warrior Of The Sea!"

So a crew meeting has been called. It's not the first time Shanks has decided to turn a simple set announcement into a whole ordeal - no one has ever accused their ginger haired show runner of lacking a sense of theatrics - and no one is expecting it to be any bigger of a deal than the last time he'd gathered everyone for one of his big proclamations, and that turned out to be about the company changing caterers.

It's not until everyone sees the gloomy, serious look on their other executive producer's face that some of the chatting turns to more worried whispers. True, it would be far MORE worrying if Mihawk didn't look overly serious and vaguely bored, but most of them had become experts at reading his expression and this one was pointedly less bored than usual. Which is rarely a good sign.

Shanks: Now, no need for everyone to get all serious on him! Shanks wanted to be the one to tell everyone the great news! You know how they've been really struggling to nail down the new Marine Admiral who is so central to this next arch? Well, Shanks has found the perfect solution!

Franky: Oye, you finally cast Admiral Tartaglia! That's 🌟SUPER🌟!

Shanks: Hey now, you're going to watch to hold some of that excitement back! Because the casting!? It's far more SUPER than you're prepared for Franky! Get ready to have your mind blown!

Crew: *Carefully steps away from Franky, just in case. Well expect-*

Luffy: *Stays hanging over Franky's shoulders to get a good view, vibrating in excitement.*

Robin: *Also remains next to Franky, giggling into her hand at the crew and Shanks and just all this in general.*

Shanks: It's an multi talented, award winning actor (who also just so happens to be Shank's own beloved husband 💕):

✨Buggy D. Clown!✨

And everyone just sort of tenses up, even as the confetti cannons go off and Buggy's own little troupe of personal assistance rolls out the red carpet for his entrance.

Zoro: What? What's wrong? Why is everyone being stupid all the sudden?

(Zoro might not get all social cues but he can tell when people are purposeful avoiding eye contact.)

Ace: *Still cracking up too hard to speak*

Zoro: *punch in the arm* Stop being an idiot, tell me what's going on.

Ace: It's just - it's so amazing.

Ace: *Not. Over. Laughing* This is going to be a disaster.

Zoro: Eeh? *Cocking his head, watching as a man pedals his way out of a unicycle, holding one end of a banner proclaiming Buggy's interest while a llama - dressed as an elephant mind you - chews at the other corner, unbothered by the theatrics going on all around.* I still don't get it. What's this circus guy doing here?

Ace: *endless amused*

And while Shanks is smiling and clapping for Buggy's entrance and everyone else is either awkwardly clapping along or trying to avoid eye contact, somewhere to the side of the room is one of their writers.

Law: *BSoD*

Everyone knows Buggy is going to cost a fortune but be stingy about everyone else getting anything, wanting to compare salaries, squawking over his treatment as their Newest Best Ever Star, etc. etc.

And Shanks, their supposedly fearless leader, the one they all look to when things seem hopeless and people feel as though the shoot will never get back on track, will just laugh it off and go with it.

Shanks: Why all the worried faces! Buggy is great! Sure, he can be a little dramatic but he's an actor, it's par for the course!

Law's scripts.

Law's poor, amazing, very, VERY particular scipts.

Law's scripts. That should NOT be changed under any circumstances once so ever or else the entirety of Sora canon will be at risk!!!!

The... the story's integrity it's...

Robin: It's so sweet seeing two people who work in this business still so affection with one another, isn't it, Law-kun?

Law: *still in shock* Love is ruining everything.

Mihawk is going to be winning points with Law by being the guard dog of the scripts (and who thought Law would be depending on the one Northerner that seems not to care about Sora and the one who seems to care a little TOO much about Zoro-ya, don't think he hasn't noticed, Hawk-ya!) Not so much to impress Law but because Mihawk has a list of all the shows Buggy has tanked after getting on them.

And he will go through it, every time Buggy starts to argue he knows better about scripts. His work is extremely well cited. He also has all the interviews with people who swore to never work with Buggy again, because he's such a difficult actor.

And yet, so popular with audiences!

(Which Shanks is only too happy to bring up every time it seems the crew is getting a little too close to an all out revolt. At least it keeps Buggy happy enough that he'll usually back down in whatever minor thing he's decided to turn into an all out war with Mihawk.)

Mihawk: Be that as it may, I'd much prefer to maintain a crew that will continue working with them after Buggy leaves, since he's only cast for half a season. *(Mihawk wouldn't agree to a longer constract.)*

Shanks: *Not giving up on this since everyone else can't seem to see the endless upside?* Truly, one of the most devoted fanbases you will meet!

Buggy: *Happily waving to his new crew, all beloved fans he's sure as his troupe quickly works to seep the confetti they'd fired to announce his arrival* It's true, it's true! He can hardly help it, being one of the most celebrated actors of his day! If only not for all the production problems that he seems cursed to endure!

(ie: that he directly causes)

Mihawk: That you directly cause.

Mihawk: I have been on those sets, I have the backstage videos, Buggy.

Mihawk: Do not tempt me.

Law doesn't even like their executive producer that much for reasons that are entirely his own and don't interfere with their work so are of no real concern (but seriously, the man is neither an actor nor a stuntman nor the director! Give Law one excuse for the way he is constantly finding reasons to put his hands all over Zoro-ya when he's practicing his swordsmanship! The mere fact that he happens to be world Kendo league champion for five years running is NOT a good enough reason!) But the way the man has been protecting his scripts lately cold thaw even a Northern heart.

Mihawk: They are not changing their award-winning scripts and that's final!

Law: *swoons slightly before catching himself*

Law: Does Hawk-ya seem more interested and less apathetic about the project than he usually projects?

Mihawk: *walking off all serious and mature and not at all muttering curses about that annoying clown under his breath*

Robin: I suppose it depends on where you think Hawk-san's interest lies, Law-kun.

Later, Buggy's troupe will be busy trying to pull off some stunt work - according to his contact while Buggy doesn't do any of his own stunt work his personal and private troupe has full power of his stunts - until it's all just too pathetic to witness. Zoro just wants to get his stupid scene over with okay?

Zoro: Tch, that's what you call sword work? *Grabbing the sword from the shock man's hand, who can only stand there, eyes wide. No one had ever dated before!* Stop embarrassing yourselves and get out of the way!

And he doesn't care about the protests OR the shocked gasps from the crowd because Zoro has absolutely no fucks to give for that sort of weak ass kendo.

Zoro: Why should he care if everyone is staring or if the guy with the big red nose gets all pissy? He's always angry anyway, how is that Zoro's fault!? And did you see those idiots? He couldn't stand it one second longer!

Law's poor heart.

Robin giggling so hard that Shachi has to nudge her. Hey, the sound equipment is right here.

Zoro easily showing up Buggy's swordsman, not that it was all that difficult.

Zoro: You call that sword work? What kind of hack are you?

Oh, and of course he does the whole scene shirtless, because he was mid-work out on the sidelines as he waited for them to finish. Which turns out to be a sort of saving grace, since if he'd been in costume all the footage would have been unusable. Instead, it's all amazing quality footage of Zoro, sword out, gleaming with sweat.

Law's poor heart.

It takes some serious elbow prodding from Robin before Law realizes he's staring

Law: Because -!! You know -!!!

Law: He's so happy the scene turned out well and all!!

Robin: It doesn't hurt that our stuntman-san is particularly forgetful when it comes to things like shirts, does it! Law: *blushing* I hadn't noticed. Ace: *loudly, from the back* Really? The rest of us did!

.... Law hates his coworkers. He really does...

Ace was never shy in showing Zoro, or any other coworker, how much they were appreciated.

Or as Law would say... "Inappropriate, and he's lucky it was a closed set with no one around. Imagine the stories if pictures got out. As if worrying about Clown-ya isn't putting them all under enough stress!"

At least that is a short clip of the 20 minute rant he subjected Mihawk to.

Mihawk: Trafalgar realizes that Mihawk is neither H nor PR, right?

Law: Obviously! But Hawk-ya is an executive producer, surely he can do something about this pattern of behavior!

Law: .... Also, HR has requested he file less complaints. And PR has reported him to HR due to an "excessive focus on details to the determinate of our department's mental health."

Law: Or something to that effect. Point is, as the executive producer, Hawk-ya MUST have the power to do SOMETHING.

Mihawk: Could Law work Daichi's presence in that scene?

Mihawk: The fans of the show will rip the stuntwork of Buggy's stuntman apart, and as much as Mihawk would personally enjoy that, he wouldn't like the effect it would have on their reputation as a show.

Mihawk: Roronoa has spoiled their audience for actually accurate sword fights.

Law: What? No, that -that was am- f-fine. Zo-Roronoa-ya did excellent stunt work - certainly gave them more usable content then that other green hair one - they can probably just cut around it in an manner that, well, it's not like Roronoa-ya would be uncomfortable if they showed-

Law: No, wait, this is off topic!

Law: He meant PORTGAS-YA! Portgas-ya's behavior was just so unprofessional!

Law: It made the entire crew uncomfortable! Just look! *Waves down to the floor!*

Luffy: *Laughing at his brother and bestie getting along, joking Ace in piling on Zoro, hanging off the both of them*

Robin: *openly taking photos prior to Luffy's presence, at which point she lowers her phone and just smiles at the show*

Crew: *gives no fucks, goes about working*

(Well, Sanji did protest but like they can't stop work qevery time Sanji complains about two guys "upsetting the more delicate actresses and female crew members around!" Just because he's so obvious got issues. So not really bothering to mention.)

(It's pretty much only Law who is in anyway upset but only because he cares so much .... About the show.)

Zoro actually does approaching Law later in order to apologize for "jumping into the shot".

Zoro: He knows how Torao gets about his scripts, and he should have just let them do their work, but it was taking forever, and watching them was starting to grate on his nerves.

Zoro: But he'll try and keep out of it next time, for Torao's sake. (Even if it IS painful to watch and makes Zoro want to stab something....)

Law: You know actually, I know I may have ... Dismissed Zoro-ya's acting a few times when he was first... But his stunt work is really.... And anyway, he did really, really great and ... Well, um he could probably work with the camera crew and direct next time just to.... But honestly he was just so.... Really helped save Law's script so - err.... And okay thank you! *Hurries away; what the hell did he just say and why!?!?*

Zoro: *feels strangely warm even though that was...*

Ikkaku: Boss, just wanted to check with you on something.

Law: *still blushing, not once looking back as he high tails it back to the shadows* Hmm hmm? Yeah? Uh, what is it? A lighting problem?

Ikkaku: No, no.

Ikkaku: Just wanted to make sure you knew how much of a human disaster you just were.

Her criticism is noted.

[dufreydiaries]

Dufrey Diaries Chapter 6

Lucline came too with her head on something soft. She looked around her and found she was still in the desert with the gray sky blocking out the worst of the sun. She sat up and turned around to find Rasina sitting there. Her head had obviously been sitting in her lap.

"Welcome back to the land of the waking, Lucline." The warrior smiled at her.

Lucline felt a blush run to her cheeks and nearly looked away in embarrassment but forced her eyes to stay on her companion.

"I'm sorry, I must have come off as very rude."

Rasina laughed and reached a hand over, running it through Lucline's blonde hair. "No, I understand the panic of having your feelings confirmed. I was hopeful when you kept turning down the young men that wanted a Breton girl in their beds. Some of them were very attractive, as men go."

Lucline could feel the tension between them. She licked her dry lips in anticipation. "Yeah, I've never found myself attracted to men."

Rasina leaned in and wrapped her arms around Lucline's neck. "Me either."

Their kiss was short and sweet. After all, it does not pay to loose one's sense out in the desert. Soon, they got up and went to their camels. Her partner smiled at her.

"When we get back, we are going to my house to continue where we left off." She urged her camel into its fastest run back towards the city.

"Oh, thank the divines!" She panted as she had her camel do the same.

*Elder-Scrolls*

In just over an hour, they were in Rasina's house, kissing on a couch. She had created one of her bowls of frost magic before they had set to the hot work of finally expressing their love. Rasina expertly ran her hands down Lucline's body, making her cry out in delight.

"Have you ever been with a girl before, Lucline?"

She shook her head. "No, I never had the chance with my parents breathing down my neck and when I got here, well I only had eyes for you. So, your beautiful, Rasina."

Rasina blushed. "I'm not. There are lots of women more beautiful than I am."

Lucline snorted. "That is only by the standards of your people. To the Bretons, you would be a very desirable partner to any man or woman. You have the kind of looks that would 'launch many ships' as we say."

Rasina chuckled and kissed her on the neck, dragging another moan from her lips. "Well, the only one I care about desiring me is moaning to my touches. That is all I care about. Shall I show you why so many Redguard women respect Dibella?"

Lucline felt tears prickle at the edges of her eyes. "Yes, by the Divines, yes!"

*Elder-Scrolls*

Lucline lay against Rasina, panting and covered in sweat and other fluids. They had not a stitch of clothing on between them. Even though the room was so hot it should have sent her into a lazy stupor, she held tight to her lover. Now they were connected in this way, she never wanted to be parted again. She felt Rasina's lips on her neck.

"You look so beautiful in my bed, Lucline." She muttered in her ear. "Once we get that cooling device built, we can shelter from the cold together for warmth."

She giggled at her partner's joke. "I would like that very much. We got a lot of work ahead of us to make that future a reality."

Rasina rolled on top of her, running her hands over her and kissing her in random places. "I am here for the long haul, my dear. I waited two years to get you here, I don't plan to let you go again."

Lucline kissed her back, their lips locking together. "Thank you. It's been a long two years for me as well."

She yawned largely as her eyes began to droop. Rasina laughed.

"Go to sleep, love. I'll be here in the morning. Then we can decide what we need to do going forward."

Lucline nodded and drifted off to sleep, wrapped snuggly in the arms of her beloved at last.

A/N: Lucline and Rasina are together now, and their next steps will start. The investigation into the Dwemer Ruins trap and studying the Dwemer device as well as gathering the components needed. See you next chapter! - Posted late, sorry.

[stormermia]

Dufrey Diaries Chapter 6

Lucline came too with her head on something soft. She looked around her and found she was still in the desert with the gray sky blocking out the worst of the sun. She sat up and turned around to find Rasina sitting there. Her head had obviously been sitting in her lap.

“Welcome back to the land of the waking, Lucline.” The warrior smiled at her.

Lucline felt a blush run to her cheeks and nearly looked away in embarrassment but forced her eyes to stay on her companion.

“I’m sorry, I must have come off as very rude.”

Rasina laughed and reached a hand over, running it through Lucline’s blonde hair. “No, I understand the panic of having your feelings confirmed. I was hopeful when you kept turning down the young men that wanted a Breton girl in their beds. Some of them were very attractive, as men go.”

Lucline could feel the tension between them. She licked her dry lips in anticipation. “Yeah, I’ve never found myself attracted to men.”

Rasina leaned in and wrapped her arms around Lucline’s neck. “Me either.”

Their kiss was short and sweet. After all, it does not pay to loose one’s sense out in the desert. Soon, they got up and went to their camels. Her partner smiled at her.

“When we get back, we are going to my house to continue where we left off.” She urged her camel into its fastest run back towards the city.

“Oh, thank the divines!” She panted as she had her camel do the same.

*Elder-Scrolls*

In just over an hour, they were in Rasina’s house, kissing on a couch. She had created one of her bowls of frost magic before they had set to the hot work of finally expressing their love. Rasina expertly ran her hands down Lucline’s body, making her cry out in delight.

“Have you ever been with a girl before, Lucline?” She shook her head. “No, I never had the chance with my parents breathing down my neck and when I got here, well I only had eyes for you. So, your beautiful, Rasina.” Rasina blushed. “I’m not. There are lots of women more beautiful than I am.”

Lucline snorted. “That is only by the standards of your people. To the Bretons, you would be a very desirable partner to any man or woman. You have the kind of looks that would ‘launch many ships’ as we say.”

Rasina chuckled and kissed her on the neck, dragging another moan from her lips. “Well, the only one I care about desiring me is moaning to my touches. That is all I care about. Shall I show you why so many Redguard women respect Dibella?” Lucline felt tears prickle at the edges of her eyes. “Yes, by the Divines, yes!”

*Elder-Scrolls*

Lucline lay against Rasina, panting and covered in sweat and other fluids. They had not a stitch of clothing on between them. Even though the room was so hot it should have sent her into a lazy stupor, she held tight to her lover. Now they were connected in this way, she never wanted to be parted again. She felt Rasina’s lips on her neck.

“You look so beautiful in my bed, Lucline.” She muttered in her ear. “Once we get that cooling device built, we can shelter from the cold together for warmth.”

She giggled at her partner’s joke. “I would like that very much. We got a lot of work ahead of us to make that future a reality.”

Rasina rolled on top of her, running her hands over her and kissing her in random places. “I am here for the long haul, my dear. I waited two years to get you here, I don’t plan to let you go again.”

Lucline kissed her back, their lips locking together. “Thank you. It’s been a long two years for me as well.”

She yawned largely as her eyes began to droop. Rasina laughed.

“Go to sleep, love. I’ll be here in the morning. Then we can decide what we need to do going forward.”

Lucline nodded and drifted off to sleep, wrapped snuggly in the arms of her beloved at last.

A/N: Lucline and Rasina are together now, and their next steps will start. The investigation into the Dwemer Ruins trap and studying the Dwemer device as well as gathering the components needed. See you next chapter!

[empressofthesunwriter]

The Queens Gambit: Prequel

The Prequel to the Queens Gambit. Who was the legendary Queen Yanara really? The heart of a warrior, the soul of a goddess, married once to the Nameless Pharaoh and then his successor Pharaoh Seto she contributed to making Egypt a better country for the people. Yet, what was she like? What did she experience? This is her story. Part of the Checkmate-Saga.

Prolog: Welcome to the world little one

Princess Renenet, the favorite sister of Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, was in the worst pain of her life.

She swore by her beloved goddess Isis that nothing could hurt like bringing a child into this world!

“AAAHHH!”, she screamed in pain and gripped the sheets of the bed she was laying.

If she survived this she would never let her husband Teremun touch her again she vowed!

The midwives tried to calm her down, yet she had only bitter words for them.

Teremun, who was outside the chamber and heard how his beloved screamed and shouted and cursed his name, could only wince.

He agreed with her, he deserved whatever godly punishment was reserved for him.

His brother-in-law the great Pharoah of their land patted his shoulder, while his wife the queen had an emphatic look on her face. Even if she sometimes looked worried at the door.

Maybe she was thinking over again if she really should get pregnant too if her sister-in-law was in so much pain.

Then the three of them heard the loudest scream Renenet had ever made and then….the soft cries of a babe.

The blue-haired man let out a gasp and tears formed in his eyes.

Their child was there!

Finally!

And it sounded like anything was okay.

The door opened and a midwife walked out.

She bowed down low before them.

“Mother and daughter are in perfect condition.”, she informed them.

“A daughter!”, whispered Teremun happy.

A pretty little daughter, who would come after his beloved wife, he was sure.

The pharaoh and queen also seemed happy to have now a niece. A little girl they could spoil and one day would be a great older cousin for their future child.

“Lord Teremun, if you want to see them?”, asked the midwife.

“Of course, of course!”, he shouted exited.

Akhenamkhanen clapped him friendly on the shoulder again and Queen Amunet squeezed his hand.

He gave them a happy look and then was off into the room to greet his daughter.

A while later it was time for Akhenamkhanen to meet his niece. He had wished to meet with her and his sister alone.

Already his brother-in-law and his own wife seemed amoured with the little one.

Well, if she was anything like her mother no wonder.

Akhenamkhanen had a lot of sisters, thanks to his father having beside his wife a grand harem, but Renenet had always been his favorite.

Since he had seen her as a baby as he was a young boy, she had something on her that made people just love her. As she could older it got more potent.

He wonder if his niece would be like that?

He enter the chamber and nodded to the midwives and servants to leave them be.

This was family time now.

His sister was sitting up in the bed, looking full of love into the eyes of the little bundle in her arms. All the pain, screams, and curses seemed to be forgotten.

“Reni.”, he called her by her childhood nickname.

“Big Brother.”, she responded and gave him a small smile.

He smiled at her too and sat down beside her bed.

“How are you, my dearest sister?”

“A lot better now.”

“I assume you don’t want to castrate poor Teremun anymore?”

She laughed out loud and then shushed her little one who had woken up because of her laughter.

Akhenamkhanen looked at the scene before him, and a small smile formed.

“So that’s the little one who kicked you so much the last month.”

“Indeed she is.”, she answered and turned her daughter carefully around so he could look at her little face. “Meet your uncle, my heart.”

A little gasp left the pharaoh.

The little girl was beautiful. She had midnight blue hair baby hair, like her father and her eyes were orange, like her mother. She had chubby cheeks, a cute little nose, and full lips.

She would be one day a great beauty! He could already see it.

“Reni, she is absolute perfect. What’s her name?”

“Yanara.”

“The light? A fitting name for her.”

“Do you want to hold her big brother?”

That wasn’t even a question.

Careful his sister placed her babe in his arms and he cooed at the infant.

She was just so precious.

Yanara seemed to look him in the eyes and even gave him a gumless smile.

“You are going to be something special, aren’t you, little one?”, he cooed at her.

Renenet smiled at seeing her beloved brother bonding with her child. She wonder if her other older brother would come too. Akhenaden was acting weird for a few months now, but he wouldn’t miss the birth of his first niece, or?

“Reni?”

“Yes, brother?”

“What would you say about if I have a son, he and your Yanara shall marry?”

That was a surprising declaration.

Renenet blinked at her brother.

“You don’t have even a son right now and yet you want to already betroth him?”

“You know how important the bloodline is.”, he reminded her, gently rocking the babe in his arms. “I couldn’t imagine anyone better than your Yanara as a bride for my future son. I just have a feeling she will be something special.”

“She is already special, not because she is a princess or you have a feeling she will be, she is special because she was born into this world. It simple as that.”, told Renenet.

“Wise words you say, my sister.”

“I actually read them somewhere, only I don’t remember where.”

The siblings laughed together and little Yanara let out a little babble.

As a baby, she didn’t understand what was going on.

She just felt happy, safe, and loved.

Exactly two years later, Yanara, now a curious little toddler, meets her cousin and future husband the crown prince Atem.

In the arms of her mother, she adorable scrunches up her little nose and looks at the crying bundle in her aunt’s arms.

Her aunty Amunet looks at her eager, wondering what her niece will think of her son.

Yanara says just two words.

“Weird hair.”

Everyone present in the room sweatdrops.

Hi and welcome to the Prequel to my story The Queens Gambit, there is already a snippet collection for it, but I thought since I only suck at writing duels, I can totally write the backstory of my OC Yanara Atem’s wife and cousin.

Also, I love ancient Egypt and the memory world arc so there you have it.

My story how it goes down in history.

So to clear a few things up, I took of course some liberties, so I hope you are okay with them.

Later you will find some of the snippets here as part of the chapters. I will keep the snippet collection but the Ancient Egyptian ones go now here as full chapters :D

The last thing, I couldn’t find the name of Atem’s mother so I named her Amunet.

And the already special speech of Renenet is an hommage of the one Carla Jaeger from Attack on Titan did.

I like to put some references to other media in my stories.

Again, hope you enjoyed the prolog and we will see us next chapter, whenever that is .3.

[clanoffetts]

Let Me Take Care of You - Padmé Amidala x  Senator!Reader

Summary: Reader returns to Coruscant from a senatorial mission in the Outer Rim early, and Padmé discovers they are injured. Padmé insists on caring for her injured lover.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: reader sustains a blaster shot wound and a minor head injury, nothing too graphic.

   Padmé rushed to your chambers as soon as she heard that you were back. You weren’t supposed to be back for another week, and the last time she’d spoken to you everything was fine and you were about to get on your ship to head to Dantooine. What could’ve gone wrong? Separatists? Gangs? You were a Senator as well, and had joined a Jedi Diplomat and their clone battalion on what was supposed to be a peaceful mission to a few planets in the Outer Rim. Padmé wanted to join you, but was knee deep in her own ventures on Coruscant. She knocked rapidly on the door, and one of your aides, Lyla, answered. “Senator Amidala! How can I help you?”

   “Where is Y/N?” Padmé asked, wringing her hands with worry. Normally, she could stay calm and composed in the face of a crisis, after all she’s had to since she was 14, but this was different. This was you.

   Lyla replied, “She’s at the medical facility, my lady. She was injured on Dantooine.” Padmé’s eyes widened and she rushed off before bidding a proper goodbye.

   “Dormé, ready my speeder please,” She called into her comlink. 

   “Right away, my lady,” Dormé responded.

   Padmé stepped into the speeder, Dormé ever loyal beside her and they navigated their way through the traffic lanes of Coruscant. Dormé had never seen Padmé fly so recklessly, weaving in and out of the multiple lanes of traffic, as people threw up their hands and cursed at the senator. Finally, the hospital was in view and Padmé used her clearance as a Senator to get them through every safeguard in place. 

   “Where is Senator Y/L/N? What room?” Padmé demanded in her Amidala voice, the one that always commands and holds attention in throne rooms and Senate offices, but apparently didn’t do much in a hospital. Finally, a droid offered assistance and led the way. “Stay here, Dormé. I want to go alone.”

   “Are you sure that’s a good idea my la-” Dormé attempted to protest, but Padmé cut her off with a shake of her head. “Ok, my lady. I’ll be with the speeder if you need me.”

   The door to your small room opened, and Padmé saw you on the bed asleep. Standing next to you were the Jedi and clone commander tasked with keeping you safe. She felt an urge to yell at them for not protecting you, you were a senator, not a fighter. That was their job. But, she called up the Amidala persona and addressed them, “Master Jedi, Commander, I’m confident that I can care for Y/N now.” The Jedi signalled to the commander, and they both left the room, shutting the door behind them. 

   Padmé immediately sat on the side of the bed and stroked your hair, “Y/N...I knew I should’ve gone with you…” She wasn’t sure what going along on the mission would’ve accomplished, she was skilled with a blaster but if a Jedi and a clone battalion couldn’t keep you safe, how would she have?

   Your eyes opened. “Padmé?”

   “I’m right here, my love, I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re back on Coruscant,” She told you gently. 

   You smiled at her, she was a little disheveled from her rushed travels but her hair and makeup held strong. Dormé would never settle for less. “Some kind of attack on Dantooine,” you told her. “Master Hazen is more a diplomat than a warrior, and the clones...oh, the clones Padmé, most of them died.” Padmé’s face fell. The two of you were passionate about the clones, creating legislation and serving on committees together to ensure the clones were cared for as the humans that are rather than droids.

   “You couldn’t have known, my love. I know it’s hard, but you’re strong. We’re strong. We won’t forget their sacrifice,” She whispered as she laid down next to you, pulling your head into her neck. “Lyla told me you’d been injured, are you ok now?”

   You nodded gently into her neck. “I got shot in my hip, but the clone medic, Lav, worked quickly. And so did the bacta. It’s still painful though. I had a bit of a head injury, too, which is why I’m here for all these scans but I’m sure I’ll be able to leave soon.”

   You felt and heard Padmé sigh with relief. “I always assume the worst,” she said. “Thank the Force you’re ok...I don’t know what I would’ve done.” A medical droid barged in on your moment, and informed you that you had been discharged. “I want you to come stay in my chambers. I want to take care of you,” Padmé told you as the droid disconnected you from all the monitoring machines. 

   “Aren’t you and Senator Organa presenting something tomorrow?” You couldn’t quite remember what they were presenting or to whom, but you knew it had to be important. Everything was important to Padmé.

   She nodded. “I’ll send Cordé. It’s just a preliminary presentation to the committee on spice regulation. Bail is presenting most of it anyway. And Cordé could always use the Amidala practice.” Padmé didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t cuddling with you in bed and watching holos. 

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

   Padmé helped you into the speeder where Dormé had returned to wait, and off you went. This ride was much smoother than the journey too the hospital. You and Dormé made small talk, but your eyes remained on the senator from Naboo. She looked so free at the helm of the speeder, and her hair and gown gently flowed in the wind. She docked on her balcony, and helped you inside. “Tell the others we’d like to be alone please, Dormé. And thank you for your help.”

   “Yes, thank you so much Dormé,” you told the handmaiden. The idea of the Naboo handmaidens was fascinating to you after you’d read the stories of the Invasion of Naboo. After you began dating Padmé, she explained everything about the Naboo royalty that most viewed as strange. You loved to hear her speak about Naboo and the peacetime as queen, she adored her home planet and glowed as she recounted the shenanigans of her and her handmaidens in her first weeks as queen. Honestly, after hearing all the stories you began to understand why Captain Quarsh Panaka had considered retirement after 4 years of putting up with their antics.

   Padmé helped you into the bed, covered in gorgeous pillows and thick, fluffy blankets. Her astromech, beloved R2-D2, brought in two glasses of Alderaanian toniray wine. Padmé settled herself in the bed next to you, her arm holding you close, and then accepted the glasses from the droid. “Thank you, Artoo. Is there anything else you want, Y/N?” You shook your head no, content with your wine, your senator, and your blankets. “Go get some rest, Artoo,” Padmé ordered the little droid who whistled and was on his way. 

   An hour later, the toniray was gone and one holo movie had ended, and your head was in Padmé’s lap. She stroked your hair with one hand and rubbed your back with the other. “I’m glad you came back to me, Y/N.”

   “Don’t I always?”

   She smiled, “I suppose you do, but it always seems to be a close call with you.”  She laughed gently, “I just get so worried.” Her hand stilled on your back. “You know how much I love you right? I absolutely adore you, how passionate you are, how hard you work. Especially in the Outer Rim, where Senators aren’t always smiled upon.” 

   You sat up gingerly, fighting the pain in your hip, and looked into her eyes. “I love you, too. I love how tirelessly you work for the Naboo and the Gungans, and in your committees that others see as small and unimportant. You make everyone feel important, babe. Especially me.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, the toniray mixing with her Jogan fruit flavored lip balm. The two of you lingered here for a moment, and then you pulled away. “And putting up with Representative Binks is a feat of it’s own,” you laughed. Padmé rolled her eyes and her sweet laughter filled the room as the two of you settled back into your places and started another movie.

[cdelphiki]

Was re-reading ‘In for a Penny’ when I read this sentence “if we do not rescue Damian today, “Clark said, finally speaking up, “I have a feeling we will one day face him in battle”and thought what if Bruce wasn’t able to find Damian, instead meets him again when he’s ten, how would he feel?What would happen? Damian holding a sword to the father he doesn’t remembers throat, dick finally seeing his brother again. Memories, baby things left untouched in the manor. Would love to hear your thoughts-M

The years since Damian’s kidnapping had not been kind to Bruce.

Dick left him. When he was barely eighteen. Packed up and moved to Bludhaven, where he still lived some six years later.  

Bruce couldn’t blame him. Not really. He’d not been much of a father, once Damian went missing.  

Then Jason came along, and Bruce had tried really hard for that boy. He’d worked on himself, worked on his availability. Adopted him, right from the start.

It hadn’t mattered.

Because in the end, Jason had left him, too. In the most painful way possible.

At least Damian was out there.

Somewhere.

Growing up, living his life.

Jason’s had been cut short.

After that, Bruce had sworn off kids. He wanted nothing to do with children ever again, because brining a child in his life just meant he’d love that child, and life didn’t let him keep the things he loved.  

He wasn’t sure how many more times he could go through that.

Those he loved suffered in the worst ways possible, and how could he do that to another child?

Then Tim came around. Kind of forced his way into Bruce’s life. Reluctantly, and completely against his will, Bruce had come to love Tim, as well. Had adopted him, when the opportunity arose, as tragic as it was.  

Talia had made herself scarce in the years since stealing Damian away from him. He’d tried to find them. Many times. But they always evaded him. Were always too well hidden.

He hadn’t… given up.

Per se.

But as Damian grew older, Bruce’s hope dwindled. He’d not even been two yet, when Talia took him away. There was no chance he’d even remember Bruce at five.

Or eight.

Or the ten he was now.

What right would Bruce have to swoop in and steal him away? Rip him away from the only family he remembered?

To him, Bruce was the absent father, living on the opposite side of the planet, and as much as he wanted to see his son, as badly as he wanted to hold his baby in his arms, he was a stranger to Damian.

He had no right over him any more.  

All he had left of his little boy were pictures and a stuffed cow.

He’d given away everything else. To Clark, when Lois was expecting Jon.

To Selina. When she was expecting Helena.

Damian was too old for baby things, anyway. And walking past a nursery was painful.

They’d turned that room into Jason’s.

It wasn’t any less painful, now.  

Bruce tried not to think about any of it. Tried not to think about Damian.

But it was hard, when Talia al Ghul kidnapped him while he was on mission in England.

Strung him up and got right in his face.

Hers was not a face he wanted to see.

“Talia,” he snarled, flexing his hands, testing his strength against the bat-thing that held him tight.

It would take a remarkable show of strength to free himself. He wasn’t sure he could. Even if he did, there were half a dozen more of the bat-things all around him. He knew himself outnumbered when he saw it.

He was just thankful Tim had taken the weekend off, rather than accompanying him on this trip.  

“What do you want, Talia,” he spat, when she came too close, running her fingers across his chest. He had no interest in her. And she should know that by now.

She had killed any chance of there being anything between them eleven years prior.

And then burned it to the ground when she stole their son away from him.  

“It’s nice to see you, too, Beloved,” she drawled, pulling away from Bruce and drawing her sword.  She toyed with it, staring at the blade in her hand, without saying anything further.

“What. Do. You. Want,” he ground out. Games were also not something he was interested in.  

“Hm,” she hummed, still toying with her blade for a moment before finally asking, “You remember our son?”

“How could I forget,” he growled. If she had merely kidnapped him to taunt him…

He might need to call in Clark to hold him back. He pulled at his arms again, and could feel the give in his captors’ hold. Knew, if he pulled his arms in just the right way, kicked his legs back at just the right moment, he’d be able to free himself easily.

“Hm. Yes, well,” she said, waving a hand at him, as if dismissing his anger, “He has grown wild. I can no longer control him.”

His sweet little baby?

Unlikely.

“What did you do to him?” he shouted, seriously contemplating calling in Clark. Because he was not sure he’d be able to control himself if he found out Damian had been mistreated in any way.

And he couldn’t think of a single other explanation for his Damian turning ‘wild.’ Not his sweet little baby who loved animals and was so gentle. So empathetic. So kind.

“Do not be so dramatic,” Talia snapped, “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy about what.”

“He needs… taming,” she said, twirling her sword around, a little, before she sheathed it again, “He lacks discipline. I had hoped some time with his father would straighten him out.”

“Time with,” he started, only to fumble over his words.

Was she…

Introducing him to Damian?

Why… why would she… after all these years…?

What was her game?

“You’ll hear from me soon, Beloved, though I’ll imagine you’ll be busy. I intend to hold the whole world hostage.”

Bruce tried to look back up at her, to ask her what the fuck that meant, but his head was pushed forward by one of the man-bats, and the entire world seemed to freeze.

Because a small child had materialized before him.

A… boy.

His boy.

In the eight years since he’d seen Damian, he had changed so much, but at the same time, not at all.

He had the same nose. The same… little button nose he’d had, as a baby. The same bright green eyes.

The same scowl.

“Damian,” he whispered, looking Damian up and down, trying to commit every little detail to memory.

“Father,” Damian responded, pushing his sword forward, almost touching Bruce’s neck, “I imagined you taller.”  

“You-“ Bruce started, but had to stop. Because he was overcome with laughter.

The man-bats let go of him, and Bruce slumped to the ground, right to his knees, only keeping himself upright with his hands as his laughter turned a tad hysteric.

His little boy.

His little boy, was standing right in front of him. Was… Was within reach.

Was coming home with him.

“You are the great warrior Mother has told me about?” Damian asked skeptically, his sword now sheathed.

That was enough to pull Bruce back to the moment.  He sniffed, and sat back so he could get a good look at his little boy.  

“Hi, Damian,” he said, smiling a little, to force the overwhelming urge to weep to go away.

Damian scowled, a little, and shot Bruce as critical look. “How do you know my name?”

“What?”

Out of all the things Damian could ask…

“My name. Mother said you did not know of me. She did not tell you my name just now. How do you know it?”

“I- What?” Bruce repeated.

“You are not as intelligent as Mother claimed. Shame.”

“Damian,” he said, slowly, “You- you lived with me.  For almost a year, as an infant.”  

“Tt,” he huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Now you are suggesting my mother is a liar. She has done a lot of things, but she has never lied to me.”

“Just, come here,” Bruce said, looping an arm around Damian’s shoulders and tugging him close, “I have missed you so much.”

Damian tensed in Bruce’s arms, but didn’t push him away. That is, not until Bruce started crying.  

Bruce didn’t blame him. He’d be uncomfortable, too, if a stranger claiming to know and love him started crying into his hair.  

They had so much ground to recover.  

- - -

Damian was a massive brat.

Bruce felt like a terrible parent for thinking such a thing about his own son, but Damian was downright horrible.

He did nothing but yell and scream and throw things around. He fought with Alfred. Fought with Bruce.

Hated Tim.

Considering the boy had attempted to push Tim off the top level of the cave, that first night Bruce brought him home, he couldn’t trust Damian anywhere near Tim.

And Tim hated Damian in return.

Or, at least, considered him to be the ‘son of satan’ and avoided him at all costs.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to make his family all mesh together. Wasn’t sure how to get Damian to calm down and give them all a shot.

All those years Bruce had imagined, fantasized with it would be like to get Damian back, never once had he considered he might not like the boy.  

He still loved him, of course. Loved him so much it hurt.

His son was finally home, and his home had been thrown into pure chaos.

Handing Damian the cow had been a difficult decision.

For eight years, that cow had been all Bruce had. The only physical reminder he had of the little boy he’d lost.

Damian and Cow had been inseparable, when he was an infant. Bruce had bought three more, the very second he realized how attached to the dumb toy Damian had become. He had four of those cows, and when Talia’s men took Damian, they’d taken none of them.

It’d been a stab in his heart, every time he looked at cow. Knowing how scared Damian would be without it. How upset.

Knowing Damian likely cried for weeks, if not months, for that stupid cow.  

And in the eight years since Damian’s kidnapping, Bruce had become a little attached to the cow, himself. It sat on his bed stand. Right next to his favorite photo of Damian. He pat cow’s head every night, as if doing so would be telling his own little boy ‘good night, I love you.’  

Just like he’d done every single night Damian lived with him.  

Handing Damian that cow was difficult.  Because Damian destroyed everything he was given. He was violent. He threw tantrums.

And he was, above all, not a child.  

But Cow belonged to Damian, and Bruce was unable to put it off any longer.

“Damian,” he said, knocking on his boy’s door, allowing it to creak open as he did, “I wanted to give you something.”

“What is it now,” Damian started, but paused when he got a look at the toy in Bruce’s hand.  Bruce walked over to the bed where Damian was reading and held it out, for Damian to take.

But instead, Damian just said, “That’s… Mr. Cow.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, laughing a little to cover up the desire to cry.

Because Damian remembered.

“I—“ Bruce started, “He was yours. When you lived here. I’ve— I’ve kept him in my room, ever since you left. To remind me of you. But, he was yours, so I thought I should give him back.”

“Why,” Damian said, slowly, in the least snotty tone Bruce had heard yet, “Why do I remember a stupid toy but I do not remember you?”

Bruce sighed, and sat down on the bed next to his son. He placed Cow down in Damian’s lap, even though Damian made not move to take it.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He’d been a little distraught when none of the photos had jogged anything.

He hadn’t specifically expected Damian to remember things from when he was 20-months-old, but to have his own boy accuse him of doctoring the photos, just to “get into his head” and “paint his mother as the liar” had hurt.

“You were young. Most people don’t remember much from before the age of three, and you weren’t even two when you left.”  

“But I remember the cow.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, placing his arm behind Damian as he leaned back, “You couldn’t sleep without the damn thing. My guess is you cried for it every night for months, after you left. It probably stuck with you because of that.”  

“Oh.” Damian placed his hand on cow’s head and stroked. Just once. Before his cheeks flushed and he yanked his hand away sharply.

“I’m really happy you’re back,” Bruce said, moving his hand so it was sitting on Damian’s shoulder. Damian still didn’t let him hug him, but at least he didn’t shrug his hand away.  “I hope you know that. I want nothing more than to get to know you.”  

“Thank you, Father,” Damian said crisply, then faltered before adding, much less confidently, “I have always wished to… know you.”  

Bruce couldn’t help it. He pulled Damian in by the hand on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around. “Well, I’m glad we have this chance, then.”

For once, Damian didn’t fight him. He did fidget, a little, with Cow started to fall, but he caught the little toy and held it a little more securely while Bruce rested his head down on Damian’s hair.  

And when Damian didn’t push him away for several minutes, Bruce started to think… maybe Damian wasn’t a hopeless case, after all.  

[viviswtings]

Sinners. (Mature).

So this is something I thought for the novel I’m actually writing (or that’s what I tell myself). The boy mentioned is completely based off Hwang Hyunjin. But I never name him so he could be whoever. Just like I never say the princesse’s name just to let you all live your dream (and by that I mean me. I wanna live my princess dream with Hyunjin). 

Words:1764.

Warnings: It’s very angsty. It takes place in an ottoman harem like setting, so some of the expressions could be politically or socially incorrect. Also there is mentions of blood, loss of family members, fratricide and prostitution.

She wasn’t meant to be there at such an hour. It was too early, to soon to be wandering around the cold stone halls of the palace. Her satin slippers clicked softly against the marble floor, the freezing feeling creeping up her heel towards her leg, making her toes numb.

But she had heard the screams, the cries of agony, the many different prayers, and the pain had gripped her heart so tight, she no longer could sleep. If she closed her eyes, those of whom she once called sister looked back, void of emotion. The blank stare judged her, pale, cracked lips called her name softly, asking her for help, a help she would never be able to deliver.

So, she walked in the shadows, the veil around her frame mimicking that of night, covering her deepest sorrows and sadness. Hiding them, and her, from the sight of those who guarded the many doors and treasures behind them. She followed any noise that reached her ears, any little stimuli that got to her. Just to get rid of that anguish that threatened to end up consuming her.

This time it had woken her up. A thud, soft and gentle, kept repeating itself, footsteps, she realised. Many of them. And with those footsteps, the drag of feet, belonging to one who did not wish to keep walking, whose step had become heavy and painful, nearly unbearable. She had heard them before, the steps of the damned.

From experience she knew not to follow them, not to search for a damned man, one who was meant to die. But weren’t them all? Weren’t they all going to die anyway? She had seen them, the rope tightening around their neck, slowly, tortuously, as if it was nothing but mocking the soul it was about to take with it.

If they were lucky, the death of warriors would be granted to them as a favour from the Emperor. The sword swiftly cutting the air with a deafening noise, and before one could even tell, the cries of the women he left behind would follow.

For those whose blood could not be spilled, a silken cord handled by the hands of the most expert medic would take them in their sleep. Yet again, only the cries of their women following the next morning. She had cried with those women, she remembered, wearing nothing but black while following a trail of dark and beautiful wooden caskets adorned in gold. The bodies of the ones she had held closest to her heart inside them, their lives, their beautiful essence, taken from them forever. Reuniting with the so-called gods above, with whom they were now feasting, even if they had left a whole that would never be filled.

A light, warm and flickering, as were those from long white candles, illuminated a small portion of the hall she was walking through. Creating a halo around the door that hadn’t been closed. From inside came voices, ones she could very easily recognise, and others she had never heard in her life. With them, soft whimpers, the cries of men. She had never seen a man cry before, so maybe they were just poor boys that had been catch sneaking around the gardens. Picking up flowers and fruits, just relishing in their youth, as she once had done. Before it was stripped from her like clothes torn away from her body.

She peaked her head, looking with her vivid eyes at what was inside the room. It was a room that was at the very limits of the harem, a room she had never even come close to. She had never known the need, nor had the curiosity to venture that far inside the eunuch’s wing. But the room wasn’t much different from those of the odalisques, with two beds and poorly decorated. A mixture between the rooms of those who served and those loved by him.

Yet, it wasn’t that insignificant detail that had her attention grabbed by the gut, keeping her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her.

A boy, not much older than her brothers, was kneeling on the floor. His head hung low, deep dark, greasy hair covering his face. His skin was pale, the shadows around his neck and wrists a sick hue of greenish blue. His body, long and slim, seemed to her, under the distressed attempt at clothing, more like those of young women and much less like the big, ample shoulders and big round bellies of men.

When he raised his head, forced by the sun-mistreated hand of a eunuch she knew well. A man covered in ugly creases and the darkest of faces she had ever witnessed, with his head shaven and shiny. She loved him very much, but, when his thick old fingers grabbed the pale skin of the boy’s jaw, forcefully making the poor soul look him in the eye, she felt as one who was witnessing the beating of a child.

His eyes were sharp as knives, dark as his hair, and shimmered with spots of gold in the candle lit room. His face was of soft features, with a small nose and round lips, his eyebrow harmoniously framing his face together. She had never seen such a face, such a captivating gaze. With hooded eyes and stern expression, yet looking like a god-sent angel to earth.

“Let him go”. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them, and the eunuch turned to her, his robes sizzling around him. She soon realised her mistake and took on a powerful stance she had learned from the Emperor’s very own mother. “Who is he? What are you doing with him?”

A smile grazed her beloved wooden-coloured eunuch’s face, softening his features and lightening the heavy weight pulling her down. She couldn’t help but smile back, softening also her stance.

“He is a gift from a king to the Emperor of The World, your highness”. Her friend’s words made her furrow her brows.

“To whom could he be a gift for, Gazlah? He is but a young boy. What use would we have for a young beautiful boy here?” Her genuine concern made the man flinch, not knowing what to answer. Even though he had known the young princess ever since she had been born and had been her closest companion in her darkest times. He knew of her deep thoughts and concerns; of the poetry she wrote in pieces of paper that later she would burn with the saddest look on her beautiful eyes. Yet, he did not know how to answer, he had never imagined himself in a situation where he would have to explain to a pure heart such a horrendous act that men all around her committed. The same men that later claimed to be knights in shining armour to her, bowing so low their hawk like noses nearly touched the ground beneath them.

“Do you want him, highness?” He asked softly, feeling for the boy. He had once been in his shoes, and a kind heart like that of the princess would have been for him a miracle sent from above amongst the pain and struggle he had to endure in his younger years.

She seemed taken aback by the offer, her doe like eyes opening, round like the moon above them. They turned back to the boy, who was looking at the candle on the desk, beautiful looks of hair like strokes of ink making him seem like a spirit, a ghost of a damned man. If she could take the pain away from his soul, maybe his happiness and joy would allow her to sleep again.

“Yes”. Was her short but assertive answer, her voice a soft croak. She finally stepped inside de room, kneeling beside him to help him get on his feet. He didn’t even look at her, probably fearing the worst was yet to come. Even when, by the looks of it, he had already walked through every hell imaginable to men. “You shall call a physician, Gazlah. Bath him, give him clothes and prepare a bed for him in my rooms. There he will stay until his health is restored”.

The eunuch looked at her as if another head had popped out of her neck. “You can’t have him in your room, your highness. He is a man”. His words took her by surprise, not even having given that possibility a thought, and she held the boy closer without hesitation. As if what Gazlah was doing was pulling him by the arm away from her. Like a child who just got her doll taken.

“He is a boy, Gazlah”. The princess looked at the poor soul’s face, his soft and pretty features couldn’t be those a man. Of that, at least, she was sure. “I can keep a kid in my room. It is no sin, for he poses no threat”. She wanted to believe the gold shine she had seen in his eye was that of childhood.

Before her friend could answer, a heavy weight pulled her down. She barely managed to not a let a scream that threatened to tear her throat out at the sight of the boy she was holding so close bleeding on her white gown. His eyes white orbs without pupils, without a trace of life in them. A high-pitched noise rang in her ear, and she held his body to her while the man called for a physician to come.

She did not know his name, or where he came from. She didn’t know his age, his history. She didn’t know anything about him. But those sad beautiful eyes had enchanted her. Maybe the princess had never witnessed features like his, for he came from a faraway land in the other side of the world. But she did know that after looking him in the eye, she could not let him die. She could not let him go without a fight. If she did, she would never know peace again. She would never sleep.

So she held him close, calling him even if it was without a name. Asking him to fight just a tad bit longer, so he could walk around the palace gardens, so he could go back home. Her tears stained his cheeks, and she couldn’t fathom yet why his wound felt so deep inside her chest, if it wasn’t hers. But the pain seemed to seep in her bones, and she could not bring herself to question it.

(It’ll mean the world to me if anyone wants me to turn this into an ongoing stories maybe? Just let me know if anyone wants at least a second part or I don’t even know. I’m so self conscious about sharing my more personal work here be kind please.)

[vulturhythm]

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

-

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

-

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

-

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

-

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

-

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

-

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

-

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

-

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

-

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

-

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

-

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

-

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

-

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

-

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

-

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

-

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

-

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

-

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

-

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

-

i can’t let him die.

-

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

-

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 3 of ???

“My lady wake up!”

I was shaken awake by my lady in waiting, Elanor. I clutched at her shoulders, in a move utterly out of character for me, but she returned my embrace nonetheless. Elanor, along with Rei, had been my closest companions since the loss of my alastair. Though neither could ever take Vasili’s place, they did their best to fill his roles: Rei as my protector, and Elanor as my rock.

“The dreams again, my lady?”

I nodded and burrowed into Elanor’s chest, taking in the clean, crisp smells of open air and clean laundry, trying to drown out the lingering sense memories of the bloodied fields of my dreams. Elanor smelled like the wind, bright and bitter cold, and suddenly I longed for a flight myself.

Sensing the shift in my mood, Elanor pulled back, giving me the space to compose myself. I was allowed a few moments of weakness upon waking, but every morning when Elanor did up my amour of fine hair and clothes, I put my face together in a deeper way.

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to ground myself.

“Nearly nightfall, my lady. I came to fetch you for dinner, but...”

She trailed off, and neither of us had to say aloud that such dreams rarely left me with any kind of appetite. Elanor would see to it that something simple and cold was made available to me, on nights I missed formal meals, and would often keep me quite company through sleepness nights, taking advantage of my rights to the frivolous use of candles at all hours to work on her embroidery.

Her talent for cloth was what had brought her into my service; Elanor’s entire family had been collected to the Keep like many other artisans, brought into the shelter of our tower walls to fill our market. Pretty as it was to think of my family preserving art for art’s sake, the reality of our market and court was that our artisans provided us with an essential resource. Throughout the long and costly war, precious time and materials had been devoted to silversmiths and gem workers and seamstresses and silk painters, because the rulers of the falcon nation loved beauty, and our people were as intimately familiar with crafting around the challenge of demi-wings as they.

The shm’Ahnmik were one of the few nations that made trade with our people, along with the enterprising Desmodians, the people of the bats. Our Keep was heavily fortified in favor of those with wings. The Desmodians brought goods sold at a premium, as the only merchants truly available to us. The falcons...

For generations, the falcons had offered every Tuuli Thea the same proposition as a coronation gift: accept their aide, and join the falcon empire. Every queen down to my mother had refused, and I intended to do the same. Our refusal did not stop the falcons’ delivery of am’haj, the deadly poison with which we tipped our arrows, nor did it stop their occasional visitors from coming to make trade. The precision and prowess with which their warriors defended their merchants was truly spectacular, and surely dearly tempted every queen who witnessed their efforts to accept their aid. I don’t know why my mother refused them, nor her mother before that. Perhaps there was some element of the bargain I had yet to understand. Perhaps, very soon, I would be tempted with such a bargain. I did not know which direction I would choose.

As I thought these far away thoughts, my fingers turned over and over and bit of hard metal. I realized my absent behavior only when the flash of a jewel caught my attention.

In my hands was an elegantly woven signet ring, slender and crafted for a woman’s hands.

For a Cobriana hand.

I dropped the ring in shock, the twisted metal glinting on the way down. It rolled under the bed--and to my utter shock, Elanor dove after it.

I watched my lady’s maid and childhood friend scramble after the Cobriana ring and thought surely I must still be dreaming.

Elanor would not look at me as she emerged from under the bed, treacherous ring clutched to her chest.

“Elanor?”

Her eyes darted up and away, an air of something desperate in them as they flashed.

I realized suddenly where I’d recognized that unfamiliar voice from in my dream.

My dream that hadn’t been a dream.

“Elanor. Stand before your Tuuli Thea and explain yourself. How did Zane Cobriana come to be in my bedroom while I was sleeping?”

I did my best to remain calm, and also to play back the entire “conversation” before it faded. He’d said the ring had been his sister’s. He’d wished he had something less bloodied to offer me.

He’d said he could learn to love me.

Avians almost never fainted. Our kind are built for the mountains, for the thin, chilled air of flight and high altitudes. But as I replayed the “dream” in my mind, I felt the world start to go grey around the edges.

“My lady!”

Elanor sprang from the floor, attempting to catch me as I swayed on my feet. I managed to sink back to the bed, but my mind was whirling.

“What... could you possibly... have been thinking?”

I panted the words around a thundering heart, the shock and the fear warring with my desire for control. I was Danica Shardae, heir to the Tuuli Thea; I would not faint, I would not vomit, I would not scream. I had witness far worse horrors than this. Zane had come to my room in the Mistari camps to talk. Was this more of the same?

But Elanor...

“You are the only one who dreams of peace.”

Her voice was tight with emotion, too high and trembling. But the thread of steel that ran through it, the absolute conviction that gave her the power to speak thusly to her Tuuli Thea--

Or maybe, she was just speaking to a friend.

“A lot of us out on the edges, we don’t see this war the way the soldiers do.”

“Soldiers” was nearly spat, a harsh bitterness that made the word nearly a swear.

“They trample fields and commandeer beds and rations, not a care for who it puts out in the cold.” She held her chin high as she spoke, hard eyes fixed firmly ahead. Like this story was a bit of shrapnel to be removed. And the only anesthesia she had to dull it with was her resolve, and tight avian reserve.

“We know they’re meant to keep us safe, but when we see the shadows of the flights overhead... The ravens are the worst. They mean someone important is on the battlefield--oh no offense to you, my lady!”

She finally did look at me now, because those important somebodies had all been my kin. She held a hand out like she might offer comfort. But her other hand still held the ring clutched in her lap. It was my turn to stare straight ahead, to gird myself up in my reserve.

“Continue,” was all I could manage. It came out perfectly level.

Elanor swallowed hard.

“We trade with who we can out there. Serpents love pretty things too, did you know that my lady?” When I made no offer of an answer, she continued. “Scarves, mostly, at least from my household. They give them as gifts to their beloveds--oh, but you don’t really care about why I did what I did, do you? You want your peace, but do you even know what it would look like?”

Of course not. None of us did. We’d been locked in this war for generation upon generation--or, at least, those of us of the Keep. I was beginning to suspect that my castle walls were built just a little too high. Or that I’d not tried hard enough to peer over them. Elanor was my friend, had been my comfort since the loss of Vasili and my eldest sister--but what comfort had I offered her? A warm bed, some extra hours of candlelight for her needlework? I didn’t even know her family, beyond the mother, father, and sister than had been taken to the Keep. Did she leave cousins out there on the edges? Childhood friends? An alastair? I’d assumed if she’d had one, he’d have been brought to the Keep with her. But what of his family, and so on? They couldn’t al live in the Keep. There was only so much space.

Elanor continued when I didn’t speak, as if she’d never interrupted herself at all.

“They trade in meat, furs, food. The serpiente land is more arable than our toehold in the mountain. Good for keeping safe, but not so good for growing things.”

I finally snapped. “We have fields on the lee of the mountain! Everyone is welcome to them--”

“And we don’t all live on the lee of the mountain. Your majesty.”

She added that last as an addition, though whether it was to placate or underscore I couldn’t say. She’d never cut me off before. Neither of us seemed to quite know what to do with it now.

Overwhelmed and frustrated, my gaze fell to her clutched hand again. I could almost see the ring burning within, the onyx ring seemingly overlaid with the burning red of Cobriana eyes.

“What does all of this have to do with Zane, Elanor? Why is his sister’s ring in your hands?”

I deliberately did not think about how I knew it was his sisters, or what Zane’s intent in leaving a woman’s ring for me might be. Elanor opened her hand, offering the ring up to my view. Her gaze stayed fixed on it in her lap.

“I was out visiting my aunts while you were away. You were supposed to be gone for days, at least, and you’d said the Mistari had limited your party size--“

“I’m aware of why I didn’t ask you to come with me, Elanor. Please, just explain.” I pinched the side of my nose, rubbing a small circle over my temple with my thumb, trying to relieve the headache. “I... I’m too overwhelmed to be mad. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“He wants to meet with you, my lady.”

I stared at her, at her steady, earnest gaze. My eyes were too wide, I could feel it around their edges. It took too many tries for me to say,

“So you brought him to my rooms?”

She dropped her eyes again, bashful.

“He... is very charismatic, my lady. Very passionate. He came riding up on the biggest black horse I’d ever seen, and he promised it and all that was in his saddle bags if he’d just find a way to get a message to you...”

I could see that, actually. What little interaction I’d had with Zane, I could at least understand why Elanor would find herself doing things she’d normally never dream of, when faced with the heat of that flashing garnet gaze. Zane had a way of making the astounding seem perfectly plausible, of the daring to be his absolute right, and would you like to come along and seize it with him? I felt creeping up my face just thinking about it. I was glad Elanor’s eyes were downcast.

“And he just so happened,” I ventured, “to find the house of my lady in waiting?”

“He said it was Fate.” Her voice carried the edge of a hysterical giggle, as if the spectacle of it all, even just in memory, was enough to make her feel faint. It wasn’t like Elanor to be so emotional--but then again, it wasn’t like any of us. At least not on the outside.

“He said, 'A’le-Ahnleh. By my will and the will of Fate, we have been brought together to build this impossible dream'. Oh, my lady, if you could have seen him---“

She stopped then, with a little startled sound. I jumped, the surprise of it making me flinch.

“What?”

“Oh you will see him, my lady. You must. He and his guardswoman are waiting at my aunts’ house for you this very night.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

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[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 63: Midnight Solarium

The beginning of the rest of their lives, again.

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When they get home, Keith holds out his arms for BleepBloop, cuddling his friend close in an effort to avoid thinking about the dead one being buried by her master. Running hands over his pet’s soft, plush fur, Keith’s eyes find Lance’s bloodied hair, red-soaked clothes clinging to his skin.

“Lance, you-”

“Need a bath, I know.” A shower would be better, but Galra don’t have those. Just a round tub, carved out of the stone floor, a small, carved water basin beside it. “I’m gonna go do that.”

Keith nods, sits on the floor with his pet. BleepBloop pats his cheeks, like how Keith taught him a long time ago. “Hey, buddy. How was your day?” The primate chitters softly. “Yeah? I’m glad.”

Biting his lip, Keith’s eyes find the bathroom, the dim candle light flickering in the entryway. He can hear water, a bristle brush running over scales as Lance is no doubt struggling to scrub half-dried blood from his scales. He sets BleepBloop down, gives him a little nudge. “You go on, now. Go hunt.”

Once the primate’s scurried off, Keith stands, brushes dust off his clothes. There’s blood on his, too, though only a little. Lance bore the brunt of this battle. He thinks back to a couple phoebs ago, when they were attacked in their bed. He wonders if Lance still thinks about, dwells on it, if he still searches for answers.

“Lance?” A hum answers. “Can I join you?”

“If you want, sure.” There’s a tone of surprise, which doesn’t surprise Keith in the slightest. Either way, he slips out of his clothes, into the bathroom. Settling on the edge of the basin, legs on either side of Lance's lean frame Keith rests his hands on Lance’s shoulders. There's water running through the tub. Lance had left it unplugged, rinsing blood from his skin and scales.

“You have blood in your hair,” Keith whispers, sliding fingers up into his spouse’s starlight locks. He takes a water pitcher and pours it over the Altean’s head, spreads some soap over his palms, and begins to work it out.

“I thought you were joining me,” Lance mutters, tipping his head back.

“Didn’t want the blood to get any dryer. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

“As you wish.”

Nothing is spoken for some time, Keith focusing on his task, Lance enjoying the attention. Keith can see his smile when he tilts his head back. When they do speak again, it’s Keith that starts.

“What do you know of our wolves?”

“Nothing at all. Why?”

“Beneath Mount Sil’Brana is a petrified forest. Trees made of stone, branches like arms holding up the ceiling. There, among those trees, are the bones of my ancestors’ ancestors. The first of us. There are carvings- on rocks, on the trees, into the walls of their burrows under the ground, of wolves. They have been with us, our companions, since we even began. A friendship as old as our society.”

Keith passively scrubs Lance’s hair, more running his hands through it than actually washing it. His thoughts are so convoluted, the man before him so complex, but the simple task before him helps put everything in better order.

“The wolves are sacred to us. Their lifespan is similar to ours, and Galra warriors and hunters only ever takes one for a companion, if one at all. That person today… They lost a friend that should have been theirs for a lifetime. But you preserved her blood, and her legacy. A strong, brave animal like that… She deserved to leave something behind, and she did. Thanks to you.

"It was kindness, Lance, what you did. You shortened her suffering, eased her packmate’s grief, and saved a life.”

“That cub…” Lance closes his eyes as Keith rinses his hair free of pinkened suds. “He will grow up without a mother. That is not an easy thing, beloved.”

“I know. Life isn’t an easy thing… I forget sometimes just how violent you can be. Alteans are not a very nice species, really, but it’s hard to reconcile that with your treatment of me and those around you.”

“I like to think I am better than they are,” Lance confesses. “But in reality, I’m probably just different at best and weak at worst. If that’s even the worst.”

Keith leans forward, wrapping his arms around Lance’s chest, resting his cheek on to of his head. “I don’t know enough to argue with you on that, but I like you better than the vast majority of Alteans I have met.”

“I should hope so,” Lance says, a smile finally finding its way back into his voice as Keith slips into the hot water, plugging the tub before settling next to him. “I’d hate to not be your favorite. Can I unbraid your hair?”

Keith nods, twisting away so Lance has easier access. “You don’t have to worry, you know. About being my favorite. I could never choose anyone else. I wouldn’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t either, beloved. So I won’t.” Brown-skinned hands find Keith’s waist, running up and down his sides, his abdomen. Keith allows it, allows Lance to hook his chin over his shoulder, nose against his cheek, breathe in his scent. Lance is learning. He’s learning to treat him how a Galra would treat their mate. How to love him and scent him and touch him.

A man ahead of his species.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Lance blinks, mind not at all prepared for guessing games. “What now?”

“I just- I never thought it would be you.”

“Me?” Lance all but purrs as the very tips of Keith’s claws scritch at his scaled thigh, sliding over the smooth skin underneath. The scales on his cheeks start to glow.

“I have met so many people since Shiro found me and brought me here. Commoners, nobles, soldiers, hunters, warriors… The last person I ever expected to love was the son of the man who hurt me the most." Keith's loose hair tumbled over his shoulders and into the water.

“Alfor’s men killed my father. Another wandered into my home, wounded, and when I tried to save them, they drew a weapon against me. My experience and understanding of them is first that they are cold and cruel, and second that they are ignorant and selfish.

“I hadn’t thought, even for a moment, that you would be someone I could love.”

“I understand.” Lance wraps his arms around him, almost possessive, definitely desirous. “I didn’t think I’d love you either. I had hoped, but I figured the best I could expect would be friends, and friendly acquaintances seemed far more likely.

“It’s a wonderful surprise, loving you. Still, I wish you hadn’t been thrown at me underage. I embrace our alliance, and the alliance between our peoples, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive a child being married into my care. And I can never truly respect a man who would perpetrate such a thing.”

Keith nods, sliding in between Lance's legs to rest his head on him chest. He pieces the words together, trying to articulate his thoughts.

“It’s hard, sometimes, to imagine what might have been, not because I hurt, but because… Really, my pain means nothing. My pain against the pain of billions? That’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing, Keith. No one’s pain is nothing.”

“But not everything has been bad. We act like it has, but the truth… the truth is… I-” Keith sighs, giving up on whatever’s stuck in his mouth. Instead, he rubs his cheek against Lance’s scaled breast, working his scent into his skin.

Lance gently guides him back, coaxing their gazes to meet. A thumb brushes over a sharp cheekbone, a cheekbone fundamentally incongruous with a pair of wide, soft eyes luminescing in the dim light. “Don’t do that to me, beloved. Don’t close up on me. Please?”

‘Beloved’. An endearment that had found its beginning as a display, a show, part of the façade they’d been assigned. And yet, over time, it had gained meaning. Keith was beloved of Lance, precious, valued, adored. A self-fulfilling endearment.

“I never would have known you. That’s-” Keith hesitates, cautious in giving himself away. “That’s not a reality I want to think about.

“There are so many other realities where you and I never meet. Where we run in circles around each other. Where we run at each other head first, at the speed of sound, only to dodge at the very last tick.

“I don’t want to think about those, or how things might have been, or maybe even should have been. I’d rather think about this one, where we did meet, where we collided.” Keith lifts Lance’s hand, grips it tight, watching their fingers lace together. “We were forced together, and it was horrible, and I’ll never quite forgive either. But this? Here? The way we’ve been lately, it doesn’t feel forced at all.”

Keith reaches up, releasing Lance’s thigh, and gently brushes thumbs over the soft scales on Lance’s cheeks. His greatest vulnerability. Except there’s no fear in Lance’s face. Instead, the Altean closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. Nothing but trust.

“This might be the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Keith whispers.

Lance draws in a shuddering breath, leans in to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead, pull him into an embrace, skin against furred skin. “I wouldn’t say you’ve been the easiest, but you're definitely the best. Absolutely my favorite.”

Keith’s ear twitches with the bold affection, with their current state, flapping against Lance’s jaw. Lance snorts, flicks it, kisses it to make sure Keith knows he’s not bothered by it.

“So this is new. I can see…” Lance trails knuckles up and down his side, other arm still wrapping around his waist. “Most of you.”

“Yeah, well you’ve seen plenty before, I’m sure, so-”

“Hey, beloved.” Lance tugs on his hair. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s… Nice. Being here with you. Feels nice. Safe.” He draws in a deep breath, hot water, gentle hands, cool, scaly skin filling him with well-being, much needed for both of them after the evening’s sour turn. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, beloved. Always.”

“See, that’s the thing.” Keith sits back in Lance’s lap, frowning. “I love you, and you love me back. And that’s- That’s important, right? And what we do with that love is important, too.”

“I agree.” Lance’s eyes are scrutinizing him, he can feel it. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I’ve thought a lot about… things, and I’ve made a decision. I’m healthy, and adjusting well to adulthood. I have access to necessary medical care. I trust that I won’t become nothing more than a breeder- I think we should have a kit.”

“Off your first season?” Lance’s voice is so soft, like a gentle breeze. “Are you sure?”

“The only reservation I have left is that I’ll be giving everyone the satisfaction of seeing me mated and pregnant, and allowing myself to follow the relatively toxic breeding culture of my own species. But I want this. For me. For us. And I know you want it, too. That should be all that matters.”

“Absolutely. I want that, too. A family to call my own, to build for myself." Lance's pointed ears droop, thinking of his own broken life. "However, I’m not touching you unless-”

"Yeah, I know. So you've said." Keith smirks at his spouse. He drapes his arms over Lance’s scaled shoulders. “You really are more scales than skin. And so hairless.”

“We, uh. We balance each other out, Mr. Cat.” Lance plays with the thick ridge of stiff fur trailing down Keith’s spine. “So what happens now?” the Altean asks.

“Well, I know what I’d like to happen now… If it’s okay with you?”

“What’s that?” Lance knows, or at least has taken an educated guess, but he’d still have Keith say it.

“Make love to me.” Enormous eyes glitter like amethysts, night lenses flaring like amber. “Make me yours. Mind, soul, and body.”

Their lips meet, though neither can be sure who leans in first. Lance slips his tongue inside Keith’s welcoming mouth as their bodies become a tangle of arms and legs, thoughts and feelings.

Lance keeps it brief, a pressing question getting in the way. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s why I said it.”

“Sorry for checking,” Lance mutters.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

It's only then that Lance notices exactly how Keith's nose crinkles just a little when he laughs. It's adorable. He brushes some hair out of the Galra's face, smiling.

"Nothing less could do."

[spaceskam]

don’t lose your head

inspired by all you wanna do from six 

ao3

“For a soldier who stands in restrictive armor for most of his life, you’re quite flexible.”

“And good morning to you, My King.”

Michael couldn’t help himself as he traced the muscles on his soldier’s back. This was one of the benefits of being a king in a matriarchal country. He just had to look pretty and be loved by the people with frequent social events, and everyone would turn a blind eye to what else he got up to. Sure, there were other kingly duties, but most of that was handled by his wife’s mistress and beloved Dutchess, Rosa Ortecho. It left plenty of time for him to seduce men and women around the kingdom. For the last two months, though, he’d been stuck on High General Alexander Manes.

Michael hadn’t actually seen him without his helmet before the queen had begun requesting his presence at meetings, only hear of his legacy and his reputation. He was a fearsome warrior who worked his way up the ranks at a young age, proving his worth and loyalty. Even when he’d gotten hurt and lost his leg in battle, he quickly found a way to get back to his post. His new leg was funded by Queen Maria herself, a brilliant meld of iron and steel and surprisingly functional. He used a cane most of the time just in case, but Michael had seen him go just fine without it. Hell, he’d gone to battle without it. He was a warrior if there ever was one.

Which is why Michael was very shocked to see him without his helmet and in casual armor. He’d strolled into the meeting looking like something out of a painting. Actually, better. He was glorious and surprisingly kind and Michael had decided then that he’d be his next prospect.

“I don’t know what’s got you so fascinated, but it tickles when you touch that scar,” Alex said, his morning voice deep and alluring. A smile found Michael’s face and he propped himself up to get a better view of his back. It was littered in scars, but Michael was pretty sure he knew which one he was talking about.

He moved down, keeping his eyes on the man as he pressed a wet kiss to a thick, nasty scar that was on his side. Alex tensed up, bumps rising on his tan skin.

“This one?”

“Yes.”

Michael moved further down, trailing kisses to his hips and over the curve of his bare ass. His hands slipped between his body and the mattress. Alex spread his legs a little wider, letting him fit between them and kiss him a little deeper.

“This alright?”

“Mmm…”

You see, there was a system on how to seduce someone as a married-for-necessity person. He’d learned to perfect it by watching Maria the moment they discussed their engagement at fifteen. She had no desire to marry a loud, controlling man and he had no desire to marry into a place where he would have to make life-altering decisions for thousands of people. And they both had no desire to enter a forced, loveless marriage. It was a perfect fit.

Like her, he would start his approach by staring. If they stared back, it meant they were probably interested. Step two involved light flirting, slowly hinting that you were open to some extramarital activities. If they flirted back, maybe a little touching, and threw in a few innuendos, it was time to move to step three. That was the fun part. He was on step three with Alex. Step four, however, was the worst and hardest. It included careful watching and listening over the entire affair. The moment it became clear they were in it to climb ranks or to undermind you‒they had to go.

Michael had gone threw a slew of men who only used him to learn about Maria in order to get her hand in marriage and many women who were trying to become the next queen. Basically, every person he’d been with had an ultier motive. It was exhausting and tore away at his self-worth if he let it. He’d gotten good at knowing the signs though‒it always started with an “I think we have a connection” or a “so tell me what that meeting was about”. Alex was the first person who he didn’t have to worry about. He was already highly ranked and already at the meetings.

That meant comfortable, carefree bliss.

“There’s something poetic about a king being obsessed with something so trivial, isn’t there, Your Majesty?” Alex mused, impressively levelheaded for a man who just came. Michael lightly bit at the firm skin of his ass, basically the only part of him that wasn’t scarred, before tossing the cloth he’d used to wipe up the mess and crawling back to lay beside him face-to-face.

“It isn’t ass I’m obsessed with, it’s yours. And stop calling me Your Majesty,” he said, a helpless smile on his face as he kissed Alex’s shoulder. Sometimes he felt like his obsession was with Alex in general.

“Mm, okay, Michael,” Alex said, his eyes fluttering open seconds before he leaned in for a kiss on the lips. Michael took great pride in Alex’s willingness to keep his eyes closed around him and his back to him. He was on high alert with everyone else. Except for Michael.

Who he called Michael.

Because they were on a first-name basis.

Michael began smiling so wide he couldn’t even kiss back. Alex let out a laugh so sweet it made flowers bloom. Bless all the gods in the universe for that sound.

“If it’s poetic for me, then it must be poetic for the High General to take out his unquenchable lust on another man, yes?” Michael asked. Alex rolled his eyes, gently gripping Michael’s jaw.

“I take nothing out on you, my love. This,” he paused, becoming achingly serious and began using that magnetic look that pulled Michael closer, “This is shared.”

Michael had no control as he closed the space between them. He was instantly engulfed in a welcoming embrace, Alex’s fingers caressing everything from his hair to his thighs. This was it. This was heaven. He planned to never let this moment end. Never, never, never ever, never, never, nev‒

“Alright, I’ve got duties to attend to,” Alex said, ruining the moment with a pat on Michael’s hip before he sat up.

“No,” Michael whined, reaching for him. Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his prothetic. “Stay here,” Michael tried, chasing the peace by pressing feather-light kisses on his lower back.

“You can whine all you like, but I have to go. So do you. Or did you forget you promised to pay a visit to the orphanage today? Something about gathering requests for the Christmas gifts you and the queen plan to get for them, right?” Alex said, smiling over his shoulder before he stood. Michael watched helplessly as Alex stretched, all the muscles in his body tensing and flexing and looking positively obscene.

Yes, bless all the gods indeed.

“As much as I want to give the orphans my love and attention, I crave your affection so much more,” Michael admitted honestly, his fingers itching to reach out and pull Alex back into bed. He knew he couldn’t and he knew even better that, come sundown, Alex would let himself into the king’s chambers for the night, but it didn’t make it any easier to let him go.

“You are such a needy little king,” Alex said, but his grin was so wide it didn’t feel like an insult. He leaned over and gave him one last kiss before he got dressed with impressive speed. Michael didn’t bother moving as he watched the free show.

That is until he was smacked with a shirt to the face.

“Michael! The orphans!”

“You know, I could have you exiled for assaulting the king,” Michael grinned, slowly pulling himself up and out of bed. He kept his eyes on Alex as he made his way towards his wardrobe. It was hard to not look at Alex when he was in the room.

“You could, but I feel like you might miss the ass that you’re so obsessed with,” Alex said, smiling so sweetly as he fastened his sword and sheath at his hips.

“Perhaps I might miss all of you.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow and Michael tried to pretend that wasn’t as pathetic as it sounded by continuing to get dressed in his finest casual wear. White stockings with a tight white shirt covered the base layer of his daily wear. Over it, he placed a long, dark purple silk tunic that was embroidered with gold. It was formfitting and angular, specially designed for him and inspired by other kingdom’s princesses with the way it cascaded towards his feet which had caused slight controversy the first time he stepped out in one. He topped it off with a cloak that fastened at his shoulders, pooling near the hem of the tunic.

“You’re wearing that to meet with the orphans?” Alex asked. Michael blinked a few times and looked down at himself. It seemed normal enough.

“Last time I went, they liked the softness of the silk,” he replied. Alex just smiled and came near, pressing a few haphazard kisses to his cheeks and then to his lips.

“Now I really must go,” he said and Michael really hated he had to kiss him once again. It just reignited the urge to pull him back into bed. “I’ll see you tonight, my king.”

Michael went weak in the knees watching him walk away, that confident swagger in his step even with a false leg and a cane. He had caught himself against the wall as he let his mind go dizzy with desire. This was different, different than anything before. High General Alexander Manes was otherworldly perfection. This one is it. He couldn’t get over him.

Fuck.

-

“My gods, your face.”

“What?”

Queen Maria didn’t try to even hide her laughter the moment Michael walked into their dining hall. She was already sitting, proving that he was later than late this morning. He didn’t mind. He was still reeling from his revelation that he was possibly genuinely into Alex. That was terrifying, but the rest of their morning had gone so well that it almost didn’t seem so bad.

“You’re smile is so large I have to assume it hurts,” she pointed out, easily catching the attention of their dining company. He rolled his eyes and took his place beside where she was at the head of the table and across from Rosa.

“Good morning, Rosa, the person who isn’t making fun of my happiness,” he greeted. She smiled back.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Rosa said, laughing softly and shaking her head.

Rosa and Maria had met not long after the wedding. They’d been doing their job of meeting all the dukes and dutchesses and anyone of importance. Rosa was the daughter of one of the greater dukes and had taken his place in recent years. It gave her a reason to be in the castle often, to stay often. Maria had fallen in love quickly.

Michael had approached Maria one night when he assumed she felt like he was feeling right now, just a little too blissful in a scary situation. It was one thing to have mistresses, it was another thing to grow attached to them. One couldn’t form romantic attachments in their positions. They had spoken about it at length and Maria decided she was worth the risk. So they trusted Rosa together.

She hadn’t let them down.

It was risky and dangerous, especially when it had to be so very hushed, but they managed. And they mostly managed by everyone in the castle condoning it. Every person who stayed with them, all of their servants and every lord and lady, knew that the queen and king were a little more fluidly sexual than they liked to announce. No one said anything. If they perhaps accidentally spotted something, they stayed quiet. They made have sent smiles or knowing glances, but they were silent. Michael’s theory was that they had no plan to jeopardize Maria’s status as queen when she was the best one they’d had in generations.

“I don’t mean to make fun, I promise,” Maria said, though it felt like a lie, “Tell me, tell me, this smile is because of your new… sword, yes?” Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yes.” He decided he’d play along. He planned to have a more in-depth conversation about it with her later whenever no one else was around. He needed to sort out his feelings.

“I think this is the longest you’ve had a single sword.”

“This is the longest one that didn’t prefer you.”

Maria rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile as she thanked one of the cooks for the plate they placed in front of her. Michael thanked her as well before turning his attention back to his wife.

“This sword is making you very happy. I really didn’t think it would be your type. It’s very, uh… heavy,” she said. He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment until he got what she meant.

“What it’s done or can do means nothing to me. It’s what it does for me,” Michael said, hoping his words weren’t too obvious. They probably were. “I actually would like to discuss it with you later, if we can.”

Maria grinned with a level of genuine happiness that made him nervous.

“We can.”

-

“Tell me!”

The moment they were alone, Queen Maria turned into the little girl he’d grown up with who was so very eager to know who he kissed. As much as Michael wanted to be annoyed with the childish nature, he was just as eager to share. He’d spent all day at the orphanage with Alex on his mind. It made it very hard to remember everything they’d said and he hoped someone wrote it down or else he’d feel really bad come Christmas.

“Maria, I can’t even process this fully, I feel like I’m floating when I’m with him,” Michael admitted, letting her grab his hands and pull him further into her chambers, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I’m so happy for you!”

“He’s so beautiful, Maria. I didn’t know a warrior could be like him. He’s so kind and warm and he’s playful too! This is the first person who actually makes me forget my status for a moment, we’re just… us. We’re not a warrior and a king, we’re just Michael and Alex. He calls me Michael, Maria. I hadn’t even realized it until this morning how gone I am. I-I feel like I can finally breathe, but also like I’m going to vomit,” Michael said, trying to articulate all the things that Alex made him feel. It was difficult because he felt so much. “I’m comfortable with him. For once, I’m just… comfortable.”

Maria gave an adoring pout, resting her palms on his cheeks. Maybe she had a point earlier. His face was starting to hurt due to how much he was smiling.

“Does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know, maybe? He seems comfortable with me. It’s like he lets his guard down for me,” Michael tried, resting his forehead against hers. She was his safe place, she always had been. She was the one person who he could trust without question with absolutely anything.

It was strange that Alex was starting to feel like another safe place after such a short amount of time.

“He told me this morning that what we have is shared, that it’s not just lust. That means he has to feel the same, doesn’t it?” Michael asked softly. She smiled, rubbing her thumb over his cheek as she nodded.

“I think so.”

-

A knock echoed through Michael’s chambers seconds before Alex peeked his head through the door. Seeing his face again after a long day felt heavenly.

“Alex,” Michael greeted happily as he pulled off his tunic. Alex smiled nicely as he walked inside, closing the door securely behind him. He unbuckled the belt of his sheath, letting it fall to the floor without a thought as he neared him.

“I have had quite a day, my love,” Alex sighed, stripping as he came near. Michael took a deep breath before quickly doing the same. “I’m sure you had to train in sparing before. Were you as incompetent as all the young lords are?”

“Probably more so,” Michael admitted as Alex placed his cane to the side and rested his head against Michael’s collarbone. He wrapped his arms around the soldier.

“I suppose. I just have to have some incredible patience for them that I find hard to grasp. Was your day of children less bothersome?” he asked. Michael quirked a little smile. Talking about his day? In a non-political fashion?

How domestic.

“Yes,” he responded, kissing his bare shoulder, “We just played games all day. I sword fought with a few of them, though it was with sticks. Played dolls with another few. This little girl kicked my ass at swords though, I’m sure you could bring her in and she’d show up all those little lords you’re training.” Alex let out a laugh, lifting his head and resting against Michael’s forehead.

“Really? You should invite her next sparing session. I’d enjoy seeing some talent,” he suggested, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. God, he was beautiful.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re a good king, you know,” Alex whispered, his fingers dancing across Michael’s waist.

“I am?” he said, pulling Alex just a bit closer. Alex led him the rest of the way until they were hip to hip.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what you know of the old king since you grew up elsewhere, but he was the worst. His main purpose was to make the public love him and he couldn’t even do that. But it’s nearly impossible not to love you and you’re so very involved. You’re good at your job. Of what you do of it, anyway, since I know you put stuff on others,” Alex said, giving him an open-mouthed kiss that trailed towards his jaw and neck. It made it so easy to forget that Alex was talking about him politically, the first omen.

“You do your job well too,” Michael responded. His eyes fell closed at the feeling of his kisses.

“Oh? You know what I do?”

“Um… fight?” Michael answered dumbly. He knew it was dumb, but he couldn’t help himself. War and fighting and armies never interested him and, while he’d been taught all the jobs, he’d forgotten. They seemed unimportant when he didn’t have to deal with them. And, even though he cared deeply for Alex, they didn’t talk about what he did. It felt taboo.

Still, Alex snickered against his neck and his hands moved down to grab Michael’s ass so firmly that it brought the king to his toes.

“I think it’s just to please you at this point.” Michael threw his arms around Alex’s neck and let himself be led towards the bed.

“I mean if that’s what you want…”

A light squeal fell from his lips as Alex threw him down onto the bed, kneeling beside him as he left kisses up his stomach. He only paused for a moment to remove his false leg before climbing onto Michael completely. He held him close.

Kisses were shared as they made their way beneath the sheets. For a soldier, Alex’s kisses were soft and felt like being wrapped up in the world’s comfiest fabric. They were just so perfect. Michael couldn’t help but know how well they fit. It was like their bodies had been crafted with the other in mind. It was overwhelming.

“Can I say something and you promise not to make fun of me?” Alex whispered as he rested his chin against Michael’s chest. It wasn’t very often, but Michael would be lying if he said he didn’t cherish the nights they just talked, no sex necessary. It made it sort of special. Of course, he loved the sex too. Definitely loved that.

“I never make fun,” Michael promised, combing his fingers through Alex’s hair. It was long and typically kept back in secure braids, but not tonight.

“Okay. Well… I really like what we have between us. It feels special. It doesn’t make sense for the two of us to have this kind of… connection. But we do. We do and it’s… I don’t know what else to say other than I feel tied to you on a different level. We’re connected. Do you agree?”

Oh.

The exact words.

Michael’s chest grew heavy as he stared at the man he trusted not to do this. Trusted to be different, to genuinely care. But maybe it was a coincidence and he meant it. Michael felt that connection. Then again, he’d felt it before. Maybe not as strong, but… it was there. He bought it before.

Michael flipped them over. Maybe if he made it a little less sweet and brought it back to how it was, then it would be okay. He enjoyed the sweetness, but not if it was at a cost to him. A cost to them. He kissed on his chest a little before grabbing his knee, pulling it up to put on his shoulder.

“Wait, wait,” Alex laughed, prying Michael’s fingers off his knee, “Can we save that for the morning? I’d like to just lay here with you. I’m too tired.” Michael thought about it for a moment. Technically, he could tell Alex no. Technically, as king, he could do what he wanted.

But somehow that felt wrong and he rolled to his side of the bed.

“Is everything alright?” Alex wondered for a moment of them laying on opposite sides of the bed without touching. Michael didn’t know what to do. He’d ignored so many omens because he wanted Alex to be honest and true. He liked that he didn’t have to worry with Alex.

Now he was worrying.

“I think you should sleep in your own chambers tonight,” Michael decided. Alex had managed to say both of the omens in one night. That couldn’t be a coincidence. That was on purpose.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Alex asked. He looked so sincere that it hurt. “I didn’t mean to undermine you, Michael, I‒”

“I am your king,” Michael said firmly, watching Alex flinch as if he’d hit him, “You will address me as such.”

Alex gave a moment to look wounded before it quickly was covered up with a level of stoicism Michael hadn’t seen since he’d first walked into that meeting two months prior. He wanted to take it back, to plead him to stay, but then that’d just show Alex how much control he has. Not only that, but it would show weakness. Funny how a day can start so well and end so poorly.

“You’re right. I will, Your Majesty.” Venom dripped from his tone as he quickly put his leg back on and dressed even faster.

He was out the door before Michael could risk calling him back.

-

Sleeping alone after weeks of having a bed partner was horrible.

It was colder, darker. He could hear every creek, every footstep. It was horrible. All he wanted was Alex. But that wasn’t an option because he kicked Alex out because Alex was using him. Alex was using him.

Michael tossed and turned for a few more minutes before he decided that sleeping in a bed that smelled of Alex was torture and he needed to go elsewhere. Even if it was the middle of the night and he looked far less than presentable.

He quickly got dressed and made his way down the hall towards Maria’s chambers. He needed her advice. Or just needed her in general. He stepped up to her door and gave her a trio of knocks in warning before he stepped inside. Both women sat up quickly.

“Dutchess, would you mind if I have my wife for the night?” he asked simply, not really going to take no for an answer. Rosa nodded and slipped out of bed, passing him with a concerned smile.

“Sleep well, Your Majesty.”

“Michael,” Maria said once they were alone, “What’s wrong?”

At that moment, the build-up of the last few hours seemed to breakthrough. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to contain himself, but that didn’t last long before fat, pathetic tears started making their way down his face. She sat up even straighter.

“Alex… Why did I think he was different?”

“Oh, Michael.”

He instantly went to lay beside her, crying into her shoulder as she held him and rubbed his back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so hurt over being betrayed. Usually, though, he could expect it, they seemed the type. Alex didn’t. He was already highly ranked, what did he have to gain? Maybe he was just trying to overthrow Maria.

“It just doesn’t seem like the High General to try to sleep his way to the top. Besides, he’s already at the top of his profession. Perhaps you misunderstood,” Maria suggested, combing through his hair. Michael sniffled.

“That’s what I thought, but he said everything they always do. He said that we had a connection and kept bringing up politics. Why do they all do that? Is there a handbook?” he asked weakly. She sighed. “And then I thought about how he’s so young. When is the last time we had a High General under the age of 40? And here he is, getting the title at 24. Maybe he slept his way to the top for that.”

“Maybe,” she sighed.

“I just… I thought he was different.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a little while longer, her whispering her warm sentiments that it would be okay. It was always okay. He always healed after someone hurt him.

It just really didn’t feel like it this time.

-

Seeing Alex at the next meeting was harder than he anticipated.

Michael had kicked Rosa out of the queen’s bed four times before he began feeling bad about it and went back to try sleeping alone. He wasn’t getting much sleep at all. He’d gotten the servants to wash his sheets multiple times, but it seemed the smell of Alex had embedded itself into the mattress. It was a lost cause.

That being said, seeing him again was a lot harder than it should’ve been. Typically, if he had to see his paramours after it was over, he was more annoyed than anything. With Alex, it just took every bit of self-control not to beg him to come back and be true.

“Have you begun planning the winter’s ball, Your Majesty?”

Michael had to force himself to stop staring down Alex to realize he was being spoken to.

“Not yet. I was actually going to ask the Dutchess’ sister to help me again this year,” Michael said. Elizabeth Ortecho was a force to be reckoned with and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to seduce her in the past. She’d said she had no interest in sleeping with him for favors but that hadn’t been what he had in mind. He more so just enjoyed spending time with her. It helped that she was gorgeous and commanding.

Maybe his attraction to Alex made a little more sense than he thought.

“I’ll reach out to her for you,” Rosa stated, smiling at him. He nodded his thanks before turning his eyes back to Alex.

Michael didn’t know why he kept staring. It’s not like he could reach out and touch, it’s not like he would benefit from staring, it’s not like he would come back. In fact, Alex shockingly cut himself almost completely off. He only addressed him when he had to. Everyone in the past had tried to get back in Michael’s good graces for weeks, if not longer, after he ended it. Alex had just accepted it. That hurt more than he could’ve known. It was almost infuriating.

No, it was infuriating.

Once the meeting was over, Michael made sure to catch Alex before he could completely disappear to wherever the High General disappears to. It was absolutely his fault whenever Alex responded to this by slamming him into the wall and throwing him on the ground. Still, Alex’s eyes widened in panic as he scrambled to help Michael up even when Michael knew it hurt him to bend down. But he understood why he was acting this way‒there were witnesses.

“Your Majesty, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize it was you, please forgive me. I never would’ve if I knew it was‒-”

“No, it’s alright. I should’ve known better than to catch a soldier off guard,” Michael said. Now that he was in front of Alex, speaking to Alex, he had no idea what the plan was. No matter how much he missed him, he still used him. That wasn’t something he could just ignore.

“Is there something I can do for you, Your Majesty?” Alex asked, standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back. Michael rubbed the back of his head, willing away the dull pain that was brewing from it hitting the floor. He was aching just enough to be stupid.

“I would like to speak with you privately if you have a moment, High General,” he said as if he had something to say. Alex clenched his jaw and looked around, probably seeing if he could deny the king with the people watching. Apparently, he decided that he couldn’t.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Michael led him to the small-ish corridor and, the moment they were alone, it got even more uncomfortable. Which was a shame because it was never uncomfortable between them. Not until now.

“What do you need from me, Your Majesty?” Alex said, this time holding a lot more venom than it had when other people were around. Michael just stared at him, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. What could he say?

“What did you get out of being with me?” he blurted out. Alex huffed a laugh, licking his lips so slow that Michael couldn’t help but stare.

“Is that a serious question?”

“Yes,” Michael answered. He had been confused about what exactly Alex was getting out of using the king and the only thing he could come up with was that he was trying to overthrow the government. That was the only step up.

Alex tilted his head back and took a slow, deep breath. “Do you understand that you’ve reinforced a power dynamic? I can’t say anything in full honesty in fear of upsetting you because you have the power to exile me. We had done away with that. You brought it back. Is that understood before I speak?” Michael gulped softly. He didn’t want that. He wanted Alex to be his equal.

“You can tell me anything, I won’t get angry,” he said, preparing himself to be told that he was being used. He knew it. He needed to hear it. “There’s no power imbalance here, not when it’s just me and you.”

“Are you sure about that, Your Majesty?” Alex said. Michael bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

“Yes, Alex,” Michael responded. Alex took a heavy breath and looked around before looking Michael straight in the eyes.

“I loved you.” And Michael felt the air escape his lungs all at once. “That’s what I got out of it. I got something comforting and carefree which isn’t something I have ever experienced. And then I realized that I didn’t even know you, that we hadn’t really done much talking. Then the moment I try, you shut me out. You forced me back to being your lesser. I refuse to have a relationship like that, so, whatever it is you want, I don’t think I can give it to you.”

Michael didn’t like that. How did he manage to turn it against him? How was Michael the bad guy? How could he say that?

“No, that isn’t what happened,” Michael insisted. Alex raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side, a condescending sexy smirk on his face. Gods, wouldn’t this be easier if he were ugly?

“Oh?”

“You-you used me. You were just sleeping with me to, to get to Maria or overthrow the government!” he accused. Alex’s eyes went wide before he started shaking with laughter, his palm pressed over his lips in some veiled attempt at hiding his reaction.

“My gods, how many people have done that to you? You poor thing,” he said, “Listen to me, Michael, if I’m allowed to address you as such, my intentions were true. Take that as you will.”

When he walked away, Micahel felt more confused than before.

-

“And he said his intentions were true! What does that mean?!”

Michael could hear Liz laughing at him as he paced back and forth in the large ballroom. He was supposed to be standing still for the tailor to work on his ball outfit, but he was far too distracted. Alex had taken over his entire mentality.

“Maybe it means his intentions were pure,” Liz responded and Micahel scoffed, “Maybe he truly wanted to get to know you.”

“Why would he go about it that way?!”

“Because that’s what people say!”

Michael huffed, letting the tailor force him to stay still and poke a few needles in the fabric. Liz crossed her arms as she neared him, smiling all the way.

“You’re so adamant to believe that no one can love you. That you can love them, but they can’t love you. Why do you always feel that way? This-this sword sounds very nice and a good fit,” Liz lectured. Michael’s bottom lip popped out in a pout.

“Well, if that’s true, then I messed it up far too much. It means it’s over. So why do I care?” Michael asked.

“Maybe because you love him too.”

They were silent for a moment as he considered this possibility. It would make sense. He knew he felt strongly about Alex, but love felt foreign. He loved Maria, he loved his mother, he loved food, he loved sex. But he did guess he hadn’t really considered anyone outside of Maria could want him around for more than his status. On top of that, he tried his damnedest not to fall too hard for anyone who fell into his bed. Granted, Alex was…

“Okay, well, I can’t do anything. I’ve messed it up,” he insisted, bouncing on his toes.

“Will you stop it?” his tailor scolded. He gave her a small smile before looking back to Liz.

“Look, Mikey‒”

“Stop calling me‒”

“Mikey, you just need to apologize,” Liz said firmly. His nose scrunched up at the thought. The whole fun part about becoming king was that you didn’t have to apologize. “Okay, you’re definitely not going to get your sword back with that attitude.”

Michael groaned, “I want him back, but I don’t know how to apologize.” Liz rolled his eyes, waving him off.

“Just go up to him and say that you’re sorry for accusing him of lying and that you would like your sword back,” Liz explained. A whine formed in the back of his throat at the idea. However, not having Alex with him was proving to be so much worse.

He could sacrifice a little pride for him.

-

Live music was playing, bodies were bustling, everyone looked great, and Alex was guarding the door.

“Can I have this dance, My King?” Maria asked, holding out her hand and stealing Michael’s attention from Alex. He smiled as he accepted the offer. “I heard Liz gave you some advice on your relationship with the High General.”

“She did, yes. She told me to apologize,” Michael told her. She did her best to hide the amusement she felt towards his hatred of the word, but it shone through. “I’m glad you all think it’s so funny.”

“You having to apologize isn’t funny. Your attitude about apologizing is what’s funny. Just do it. What’s the worst that can happen?” Maria asked. He pursed his lips, looking over to Alex who was still standing all stoically. He still looked gorgeous.

“He rejects me and I have to navigate the rest of my life around avoiding him,” Micahel answered. Maria snorted.

“Perhaps. But if it does work, then you have a guy who puts up with you and that’s a blessing,” she teased. And she had a point. Michael wasn’t stupid, he knew he was a lot. Alex seemed to take it in stride if he wasn’t making fun of him. Then, when he was making fun, it felt good. He wasn’t scared of him. “When do you plan on apologizing?”

“The moment I work up the courage,” he admitted. Maria scoffed and immediately stopped dancing.

“Go over there right now!” she insisted. His eyes went wide.

“I can’t just disappear, we have tons of company,” he pointed out and it really was a good excuse. Or, it would’ve been if he had known Maria a little less.

“I’ll cover for you. As long as you’re back within thirty minutes, no one should notice. Go, fix it.”

“But‒”

“No buts! Liz didn’t come down here to listen to your boy problems only for you not to listen, so go.”

Michael reluctantly listened, making his way to the man who had laughed in his face whenever he’d brought up his concerns. Maybe they were laughable, but Michael had dealt with too many people who had used him to feel trustworthy of a man who seemed to be reading from the same script.

However, he couldn’t help but remember being told that he was loved. And that Liz had rudely made him realize that he loved him too.

“High General,” Michael called when he got close. Alex allowed a fraction of a second to look confused before he went back to being serious. “May I speak with you alone?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I’m guarding your event,” Alex responded, looking straight past him and not at him. Michael took a long breath. It would be so easy to walk away, to let this just be it.

But, damn it, he needed to apologize if he wanted anything.

And he wanted Alex.

“Could someone take your post? It’s important,” Michael said, pushing away his nerves. Alex looked him over before nodding and calling for another man to take his place. As they walked to find an empty space, Michael wondered if he would get to touch Alex again. It’d been two weeks and he longed to feel him once more.

Eventually, they found an empty room and Alex looked annoyed once again.

“Do you need to accuse me of trying to overthrow your wife again?” he sighed. He’d clearly moved past finding it funny and onto finding it offensive. Michael fiddled with the fabric of his cloak, trying to find the right words. “Well?’

“I think I love you,” he blurted, followed quickly by an, “I’m sorry.” Michael knew he’d fucked up the order‒or any semblance of courtesy‒but he just his words sit in the air as his face got hot.

“What are you sorry about?” Alex asked, still seeming skeptical but a lot less annoyed.

“I’m sorry I accused you of ill intentions. Everyone I’ve been with has used me and I suppose you were just too good to be true,” Michael explained. Alex nodded slowly, taking a step closer. Michael tried not to get too excited about that.

“I’m a soldier who is scarred head to toe and missing a limb with bad communication skills. That’s too good to be true?” Alex clarified, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re beautiful and strong and kind. You’re loyal to your country and loyal to me. You make me feel things I don’t understand and perhaps I got frightened by it. I was letting myself get too close, so I started seeing your honesty as betrayal,” Michael said. Alex took another step closer.

“And you think you love me for it?”

“I think,” he started before quickly stopping himself and shaking his head, “No, I know that I love you. I would like to go back to the way we were if that’s still an option.”

Alex grabbed the front of his dress, pulling him closer. Michael could feel his eyes grow wide. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he liked being this close. He really wanted to be this close a lot.

“Are you going to accuse me again, Michael?”

“Not unless you give me a valid reason.”

“Good.”

In a few seconds, Michael had Alex’s lips on his. It was amazing. Their time apart had only made him so eager to feel close to him again and truthfully, it was better than he remembered. Maybe the trust aspect helped. He didn’t know, he just knew he never wanted to stop.

“We need to get back,” Alex whispered, pulling away and leaving him wanting more.

“No.”

“Yes,” he laughed. Michael sighed and stole one last kiss before agreeing to reenter society. They had time. “I missed you, My King,” Alex added as they stepped back into the hall.

Michael let out a happy little sigh as he looked over to him. He had high hopes for a future of happiness if Alex was involved. Maybe the girls had a point. Apologizing wasn't so bad whenever it had a good outcome. No more not trusting. Everything was about trusting Alex.

Everything was Alex.

“I missed you more.”

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Loony Two Writing challenge Week 2 Prompt

  I keep waking up to silence filled with soul deep dread.It’s been like this for almost a month now. Everyday I wake to the eerie silence that’s blanketed the castle with a winter like chill. Yet there’s still hope within the silence, everyday I wake up to the silence without it being split by my mother’s grief stricken wail I know father is still fighting. It should have been me laying in bed life draining away from some incurable poison. The attack was aimed at me. The crushing guilt has been festering and slowly gaining weight as the days stretch by. I drag myself out from beneath the royal purple sheets and dress in one of my more formal suits of dark purple accented in gold and silver.

  I take a last glance in the mirror as I place my circlet on my head. The dread comes back in a harsh flood and I shiver. Even having been raised to take the crown it feels wrong; just thinking about father’s crown feels wrong. Even if I’d had longer would I ever fill the throne like my father had? He was touted as one of the greatest Kings of Griffin’s Keep History. Even if my namesake was the first King,I felt like a failure already. What kind of King would I be? I couldn’t protect myself, I couldn’t protect my father, how was I supposed to protect an entire Kingdom? A knock sounds at my door, as I walk over I know who it is even before opening the door.

  “Good morning Sir Oberon I’ll assume it’s time for me to meet with... The councilors.” My discomfort at the idea they’ll soon be my councilors must show through because he reaches out and pats my arm. His demeanor rarely softened though since he had saved my life many years ago we had been close, and he had quickly risen as a prominent Knight within my father’s service. I’d thought myself invincible thanks to Oberon I was spared the harsh fate that awaits most who foolishly flaunt such beliefs when faced with a forest. I’ve been grateful he followed me into the forest when as a moody teen I tried to run away. He was only ten years my senior yet still had much more martial skill than I could hope for. If the recent assassination attempt had anything to say it was my incompetency.  

  “Aye it is.” He says tone as neutral as it can be given how close he is to my family. I feel sick and guilty as a quite insidious voice in my mind asks why it wasn’t Oberon who had taken the dagger instead of father. He must have similar thoughts... Me in my father’s stead.

 “Let’s be off.” I say faking a smile though it feels brittle as glass on my face as I step out and shut my door. The click of the lock sounds ominous in the heavy winter like silence that’s fallen over the entire castle. Oberon matches my stride as I head for the Council Chambers, which must be easy given our almost matched height. The silence bears down with the weight of a mountain, so it was a near thing I didn’t startle when Oberon breaks it.

  “No matter your doubts or anyone else’s you shall make a fine King. One that I, at least, will gladly serve.” Oberon rarely spoke, he was a man of action, however, he was no dolt. He carefully weighted his words before speaking, it was a quality I had admired him for often, one that my father praised him for frequently. I pause mid step blinking at him in shock.

  “I am delighted that makes at least one person who believes I can be a good ruler.” I reply and look away and keep walking certain the council will be much less supportive as it was my fault my father currently lay dying in his own chambers. We step into the room and the hushed whispers all suddenly cease and silence envelops the room like a sickly fog. One of the higher ranking councilors stands and gives me a sympathetic look as he bows his head and clears his throat.

  “My liege, it is regretfully we must inform you King Corvus has passed. Last night in his sleep he simply slipped away, our condolences for your loss.” He says and my vision blurs as white noise fills my ears. No, this can’t be right. I fall to my knees not caring about the harsh impact into cold stone, my emotions cut my strength into shreds as the pain pulls me into the abyss. I feel hands on my shoulders and it snaps me from the stupor I shake them off standing and tripping over myself as I turn and run out. No, this can’t be right, I would have heard mother’s scream. I run as fast as I can breath tearing at my lungs as I tear through the halls I see knights lower their heads as I pass all of them moving if they’re in the way none making attempts to stop me as I run to my father’s room.

  “Mother!” I cry bursting into the room and she sits by my father’s side she looks up tears still falling down her cheeks and she holds an arm out for me keeping one hand over my father’s hands that rest over his chest. I break again stumbling over and collapsing into her side. I look at father whose eyes are closed the dark circles the only thing making him look less than peacefully sleeping, albeit he’s been sickly pale for days now. I reach out and he’s cold I look to mother and she nods, confirming my worst fears.

  I thought my father would never die, he had been King for so long a running joke of the Kingdom had been to say ‘Long live the King!’ King Corvus the Immortal he had been called. He was Immortal no more, I choke trying to force the saying one last time and I can’t I collapse over my father with a cry of anguish. I can’t do this! Mother rubs my back hugging me as she sobs.

  “Long live the King.” Oberon says softly, he must have caught up but I can’t move I never wanted to be King, I feared I would never fill the hole my father would leave behind, he was beloved and wise, and had years of experience I was lacking. He was a skilled warrior while I was just a well studied fool.

  It is several days before I can summon the strength to leave my mother’s side both of us shut within the Royal chambers. When I do leave Oberon is at my side. I prepare the rights and ceremony with the help of the advisers and councilors closest to me and mother. Mother and I wear matching black attire and I wear my heir’s circlet for the last time, my hair is pulled into a high tail and my golden eyes are stark against my pale skin and all black attire. My golden circlet bearing two griffons holding aloft an amethyst moon feels heavy as lead as I bear the lantern through the dark town as we carry father to the tomb in the gardens at the back of the castle. Many of the citizens had gathered from beggar to noble and all bowed their head as my mother and I passed followed shortly after by those carrying my father’s body on a pallet.

 “With crown and sword we send you on, may you serve the Gods as faithfully as you have served us in life.” I say and I set the lantern upon the head of the coffin as he is lowered into the coffin carved with a life like relief of him upon it’s lid. As they seal it I lead them out locking the gate and leaving the lantern to burn out. I look out over the sea of faces sharing my and my mother’s grief.

  “We stand still. The line is unbroken, and I swear upon my father and every King before him back through them unto my name sake King Griffin, I will stand as resolute as he did and I will serve this Kingdom till my dying breath, to defend it’s interest, your interests. For Griffin’s Keep, For it’s people, From the mountain to the Skies!” I have practiced this in my head since I woke up but the shouts that answer of the Kingdom’s service motto is still deafening the crowd all raise their fists to their hearts in salute cheering back the line to me, and I bow my head tears falling as I place my hand over my own heart and bow to them.

 As I rise Oberon unsheathes his sword and raises it and all the knights around follow suit and call the same oath, For Kingdom, for it’s people, from our humble starts to greatness. I steel my resolve and as we reenter the palace I feel weight easing off my shoulders as Oberon smiles at me and inclines his head and Mother though sadness lingers around her smiles at me proudly. Perhaps I can be a proper King. It is not might or wisdom that makes a King, my father once told me, it is his heart.

  “Your coronation will be held in the main square the preparations shall be complete within the week, Your Majesty.” The Chief Councilor says simply as I walk past I nod and go to the office Oberon staying with me as a personal guard and this must irk him. Often he and my father would ride out with a handful of other knights upon hunts or scouting parties and yet the best I could offer was him watching as I hunched over a desk and poured over finances and supply reports making sure that the city would run properly. It’s late when Oberon pulls me up despite weak protests he drags me to the balconies that overlook the city. The skies have darkened to indigo and the stars glittered like far off diamonds.

  “This kingdom looks up to you. Not just as their protector and ruler, but because they’ve seen you walk the same streets they have and seen your grief at loosing a loved one, the same grief all of them know or fear. You are so much more than you fear Griffin. You are the King we need, for within your heart burns the desire to see us all safe above all else.” Oberon speaks softly hardly disturbing the peace this sight bears and the city he looks out to with candles and lanterns softly illuminating it is the home I’ve known all my life. He’s right I want nothing more than the safety and happiness of my people. It was the lesson my mother and father taught me well. The needs of the many shall always outweigh the needs of the few.

  “Thank you.” I say just as softly he hasn’t looked away from the city below but he looks to me as I step closer. I kiss him softly feeling a rush of so many years of fought back emotion and I feel him stiffen and pull back fearing the reaction. He pulls me right back into a deeper kiss and I melt into him. I hardly remember the hurried walk back to my rooms feeling his gaze bore into my back like two ruby fires. When I enter my room he presses into me and I give in, I don’t want to fight though I was trained in combat I never liked fighting. I especially don’t want to fight in this. He wraps his arms around me which is simple as he’s easily two of me side by side though roughly my height.

 “Submitting already my King?” He teases and I look over my shoulder to him admiring his pale skin which matches my own alabaster, where I am sleek elegance he is rugged power, his hair is pulled back in a lose tail showing the soft waves in the white hair. He was albino, but that was never seen as a flaw to my family, merely a curious trait.

  “I don’t wish to fight. I yield to you.” I say softly praying he understands and as he pulls me to bed I smile knowing it does. I forget a moment everything that troubles me and perhaps a moment I’m flying with my name sake through the heavens. It’s early when I feel him leave I open my eyes and he looks back at me when I touch his back not wanting him to go. He turns and sighs he dresses slightly before coming back to bed and curling around me.

  “You know you’ll have to marry to produce an heir?” He cautions softly and I shake my head the though churns my stomach. A King is not made by blood.

  “A wise man once told me it is a King’s heart that makes him. Not his blood, his power, or his wisdom.” I reply and Oberon chuckles softly.

  “Aye.” He agrees and the next few days are a blur of preparations and meetings and I do my best to keep up a front that I am fine. It hurts and I’m plagued with doubts that I will fail. I wasn’t able to defend myself. I train when I have spare time with Oberon I used to only train enough to keep sharp now I do it to improve my skills. I don’t want to just be competent with my sword, a light saber that’s as elegant and sharp as it is deadly. Oberon is a master at the long sword and he gives me no quarter driving me hard as I asked him to do.

 At the end of the week I am dressed in the kingdom’s colors, black, silver, gold and royal purple. My circlet has been placed in a box and my crown waits with the Chief Councilor at the foot of the main square fountain. It’s a design I remember on King Griffin’s crown but with a few variations. Two golden griffons reach up cupping the silver moon and they’re wings arch out and around highlighted gold and silver. The eyes are amethysts. My Black boots and pants lead to a dark purple high color shirt and a black trimmed over coat that bears the Kingdom crest upon the back. They’re elegantly embellished with silver and gold depicting the mythic beasts we bear on our crest. I stare at myself not sure I can see me in my own reflection.

 “Are you ready?” Oberon asks and I shake my head and look at him my mother waits with the Chief Councilor so it was just me and him.

  “This doesn’t feel real. I imagined father would hand over the crown not... Never this.” I say in pain and he comes close to hold me and he looks me in the eyes holding my face steady.

  “You are not at fault Griffin. You never meant to hurt a soul.” He assures and I take a deep breath nodding and we walk down the knights flanking the roads leading to the city’s main square draw their blades and raise them over head as an archway of steel I pass under as flowers rain over me from balconies and those upon the streets. I keep calm though I want nothing more than the safety and quite of my rooms. I step up the steps that lead to the fountain that my mother and the Councilor wait at.

  “You have come far young Prince, yet a Prince you are no longer, are you ready to accept your role as the rightful King?” The Councilor asks voice carrying over the crowd that has grown silent. I pause uncertain the words feel like venom on my tongue. Can I do this?

  “I object! I am the King’s rightful heir!” A voice calls and all eyes go to the man striding out of the crowd. He is strangely familiar and I pause looking to the Councilor about to abdicate to the stranger. Then I look back a small crest on the hilt of his sword catches my eyes I knew it well, after all the blade had been close to me though it had been the dagger no doubt in his boot. Pure rage fills every fiber of my being as I draw my own saber and stand in the way of the crown and my mother.

 “Come no further liar!” I shout and he pouts smiling as he stops cocking his hip and tilting his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  “What a shame! Whatever gave me away?” He asks and I shake with the emotions coursing through me.

  “Your damn crest! I know it from that cursed night! How dare you come here spouting such filth a mere few days after my father’s death! This will be finished.” I snarl and he laughs drawing his own blade he bows and has the gall to move a hand behind his back.

  “Indeed it shall... You’re move first... You’re majesty.” He sneers and I lunge in the clash of blades and shrill scream of the crowd and the knights shouting to create a ring to protect the crowd and all I focus on is him. Silence reigns as tension builds and we dance dangerously blades clash and we pivot and step again and again.

  “You fight well for someone who needed Daddy to save them.” He says and I don’t take the bait an uppercut slash sending him back.

  “Big talk from someone trained to kill before the target can fight back.” I spit back both of us circling before lunging back towards each other.

  “Looks like the fledgling’s growing in their feathers!” He barks and I smirk at him as an idea unfurls it is dangerous but if it works... I spin creating an opening he lunged for I step away and back bring up my blade and this time it meets flesh instead of steel. He drops his blade crying out in pain but I give no quarter coming up for the kill I lunge burying my blade through his leg I draw back as he falls my blade at his throat dripping crimson beads on his skin.

  “This ‘fledgling’ has long left it’s nest. If it weren’t for the fact you won’t give me a name or the antidote to the concoction you used I’d let you live. Instead you will die here and now for your crimes against The Crown.” I say voice steady despite how much I feel sick though there’s this strange glee at seeing my father’s killer at my mercy. He looks up wide and crazed eyed.

  “Wait! I can give both!” He cries and I pause I gesture a guard closer, Oberon answers and he grabs the man’s sword.

  “Sir Oberon, this is now your problem to solve. Once he gives you the information be sure to throw him in the dungeon.” I am filled with anger but I will keep my word. I wipe my blade with the cloth another knight offers and I sheath it back at my side.

  “But, you said-” He tries and I pivot on my heel walking back to the Councilor and mother I look over my shoulder down at him with contempt.

  “I said I would let you live. I said nothing about you going free.” I state coldly as I kneel to the councilor who places the crown on my head as I stand and turn out to the crowd I hear him chuckle softly.

                                              “Long live the King.”  

[g-on-ef]

Happy Birthday Leon

Summary: Tom and Marco take a trip down memory lane as they reminisce of their son.

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A/N: Happy birthday @fremynstein !!! This story is based around her oc character Leon who is one of my favorite Tomco kids I hope you like the first part of many more to come ^^

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16 years, 16 long wonderful years of Tom’s life that if given the chance he would not hesitate to do it over again. Who would’ve thought that the great demon prince would marry a mortal? And not just any mortal, but the one he hated when the first met for he thought he was trying to steal Star Butterfly from him.

Little did he know that Marco Diaz would become a huge part of his life. From enemies, to friends, to lovers, to proud parents of a beautiful boy the two have had their ups and downs but it was worth especially when they were blessed with the beautiful boy that is their son.

Leon Diaz Lucitor was a gift from above, he had light violet skin similar to him, his hair was a reddish-brown color and he had the most adorable tail Tom has ever seen! Of course Leon would always get annoy whenever he or Marco would tell him that, but it couldn’t be help both Marco and Tom created the most perfect being in the entire world, the most perfect being in all the dimensions!

Some would say he’s exaggerating but hey, he was a proud father who loved his son more than anything.

Today was a bittersweet day for him though, Tom was sitting on his bed and currently going through his special box, a box that contained every important day of his life, inside the box were pictures, knickknacks that had special meaning to him, and other precious memories that Tom held near and dear his heart.

Looking inside his box he out some pictures of him and Marco. He couldn’t help but laugh at some of them, there were ones when he and Marco went to the Mackihand movie marathon and sang to Lovehandle, some where they went on their first date, their wedding, and of course of Leon as a baby.

Seeing his baby made Tom’s eyes water a little, he still can’t believe that his little boy is growing into a fine young man. He was growing up to be a fantastic warrior, a great friend, an amazing boyfriend and soon he will be a fantastic ruler when the time is right.

Still, it broke Tom’s heart how big his baby is getting, he sometimes wishes his baby would stay well a baby because he’s not sure if his heart can take so much more of his little boy growing up.

A knock disrupted his thoughts.

“Coming in,”

The door opened and in came Marco, his beloved husband. Marco has definitely grown over the years; he went from a scrawny adorable kid to a muscular handsome man that Tom will forever be thankful to have at his side.

“Hey Beautiful, been looking all over for you,”

“Hey to you too Handsome, and sorry for hiding, I was just looking through somethings,”

Marco saw Tom’s special box and the items that surrounded their bed.

“Taking a trip down memory lane?”

Tom chuckle a little before showing him the pictures of the two of them with Leon.

“You could say that,”

Marco went to sit on the bed, carefully he moved the items to the side before he took a seat next to his beloved husband.

Marco gently took the photo off of Tom’s hands and couldn’t help but smile a little, he will never forget the time he and Tom found out they were expecting.

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Marco gently knocked on the door to their room, Tom left the dinner table quickly when Star mention children. For the past week Tom has been running away from anyone who would so much utter the c word around him.

Marco let it be for he knew his Prince would talk to him when he was ready but if he was honest, he was beginning to get worried. He could understand if he wanted to ignore random strangers asking him about children but Star. That was someone Marco thought he would gladly talk about children with since Jackie was pregnant with their first child.

It scared Marco that Tom was hiding something from him and he wanted to know what it was.

The door open and out came Tom looking scared and worried.

“What?” he asked trying to sound like the big and bad ruler of the underworld he was but instead he sounded scared of what Marco wasn’t sure but he was going to find out.

“Tom, what’s the matter, and don’t say nothing or I’m crazy or some other nonsense to deflect the situation, I know something is bothering you so please tell me what it is,”

Tom looked at Marco before looking away.

“If I tell you, promise you won’t get mad,”

“Of course, I wouldn’t,”

“I’m pregnant…”

Marco would forever deny it but when he found out he cheer for joy before hugging his husband…and then passing out. He would deny until the day he dies.

Still, finding out that his Demon was pregnant was the best day of his life, a day he could never forget and never wanted to.

That day Marco made sure that Tom was as healthy as could be, they had a few minor scares when their baby was resting in Tom’s stomach but they pulled through, the names for the baby was rough but in the end they chose Leon because it just felt right.

“Remember when you accidently opened the door to the room and hit his head?”

Tom’s eyes widen as he remembers that particular event,

After a long day with the council Tom decided it was time to have some R&R, especially since he wanted to have as much energy as he could have when Leon woke up from his nap and spend some quality time with his family.

“Hey Marco, are you and Leon up?”

He opened the door to his and Marco’s room and heard a thump sound, looking down he saw Leon standing there with the door covering his face.

Tom’s screams could be heard all throughout the Underworld.

“Would you relax, he’s fine,” Marco reassure him as he checked Leon for a bump or two.

“I hurt my baby, I hurt him in the worst possible way!”

One thing that made Marco always laugh is how dramatic his husband could be but hey, that’s one of the many qualities that Marco loved about him.

“Hey, look see he’s fine,”

Tom ran to their side to see Leon.

“Are you okay baby boy?”

Leon looked up and his father and smiled,

“I’m okay Daddy,” a small trickle of blood fell from his nose, Tom passed out from the sight of blood.

“Well congratulations Leon, you did the one thing no one has ever manage to do, you made the King of the Underworld pass out,”

“You’re horrible for remembering that,”

Marco just laugh as he picked up another photo one that made his smile fell, Tom looked at him before taking a peek at the photo and burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny,”

“Oh yes, it is, remember when Leon introduced us to him as his boyfriend?”

“How could I forget,”

Marco watched in amazement as his son fought the Pixie Emperor known as Sholan. His skin was a ligh blue color with soft light pink hair and warm violet eyes. He was a handsome young fellow and it always made Marco laugh whenever Leon was able to pin the Emperor.

Leon stared down at Shoan as he laid beneath him, he had to resist the urge to lean down and kiss him, the two have been dating for a while now and he really wanted to kiss him, the only reason why he didn’t was because his dad was there it’s not like the two kept their relationship a secret, hell everyone in the Underworld already knew about the two, his dads on the other hand either they knew and didn’t say anything or they were just refusing to accept their son was growing up.

“What are you thinking about?” Sholan asked.

Leon looked down at his boyfriend before laughing a little,

“Well, I really like kicking your ass,”

Sholan rolled his eyes,

“But I am really thinking about kissing you,”

“So why don’t you,”

“Umm…my dad is here and I am pretty sure he and my papa are the only ones who don’t know we are dating”

“I am pretty sure he knows; he just doesn’t want to except that his baby boy is growing up. Come on Leon, your dad is smart and so is your papa. I am pretty sure they know we are dating,”

Leon thought about it and couldn’t help but agree, his parents had to know they were together, they were the smartest people Leon has met so they obviously knew he was dating Leon.

“Yeah, your right,” he leaned down and kissed Sholan, Sholan was surprised because he didn’t think Leon would go through with this then again, he was not complaining.

Marco watched as his son kissed the Pixie Emperor.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” both boys pulled away and looked at Marco, who looked like he was seconds away from breathing fire. Would that even be possible?

“LEON DIAZ LUCITOR YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO!!!”

Tom would forever laugh at the fact that Marco was the only one who didn’t know Leon and Sholan were dating.

“How could you not know they were dating? Sholan didn’t even hid the fact that he had a thing for Leon, and Leon made it very clear to anyone who flirted with Sholan that he was taken,”

“Because that would mean accepting the fact that our son has had his first kiss and is closer to having sex, in my eyes Leon is pure as snow and it’s staying that way,”

Tom rolled his eyes before setting the photos down.

“Thank you, Marco,”

“For what?”

“For giving me the best gift ever,”

“Shouldn’t it be me thanking you?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders and lean forward and kissed him.

They pulled back and smiled at one another.

The door of their room burst opened and in came their son.

“Hey Dad, hey Pops, Aunt Star, and Aunt Jackie are here and are waiting for you guys to start my party,” Leon looked at the pictures surrounding their bed.

“What are you guys doing?”

Marco and Tom looked at one another before gesturing their son to join them on the bed. Leon went over to them and sat between them.

“Would you like to see some pictures of me and your pops?” Marco asked.

“Hell yeah I would,” if there was anything that Leon loved is learning more about his parents and loved hearing stories about them.

“Well, here is the first thing you should know about me and your dad,”

Tom handed Leon a mask, a skull mask that looked like a day of the dead painting and had a mustache on it.

“What is supposed to mean?”

Tom and Marco laughed a little,

“Well son this mask is important to me and your dad because it was the whole reason why we started talking to one another,”

“Really?”

“Yep,”

Leon looked at it before putting it on.

“How do I look,”

Both parents laughed before hugging their son.

“You look handsome mi amor,”

Leon smiled and wrapped his arms around his parents shoulders.

“Happy Birthday baby boy,” his parents said.

He smiled and kissed their cheeks. If there was one thing he was thankful for his birthday is being born to the most amazing parents ever.

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A/N: Welp love it hate it please tell me what you think ^^

[baelar-maeranar]

Interview With the Valarjar

a1. What is your name?

“Baelar, though most people call me B.”

2. What is your real name?

“Baelar Maer’Anar-Lunarsong”

3. Do you know why you were called that?

“My Father named me after his grandfather - a Druid of the Claw. He was convinced that a strong name would lead to a strong son.” A chuckle. “He wasn’t wrong.“

4. Are you single or taken?

“I was just recently married.”

5. Have any abilities or powers?

"My father was a skilled Druid, and my mother a Huntress - however Elune did not see fit to bless me with magical capabilities, and instead made me useful in other, more menial tasks - such as building, and fighting.”

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

”Once I was stationed with a woman named Mary Sue - out in Draenor. She was from Westfall, and very sweet. She had a thick accent, and often made fun of me because I could not understand her.“ A thoughtful pause. “I do not recall what happened to her, after we moved on from that camp. I wonder if she is well.” 7. What’s your eye color?

“It is said that children blessed with golden eyes are destined for greatness - when it comes to magical abilities. I was never blessed as such - so mine are merely silver.”

8. How about your hair color?

“I was blessed with my mothers dark blue hair - though it’s lighter with this cut.”

9. Have you any family members?

“Sadly no. Father went into a deep slumber, after the War of the Satyr, and never awoke - but we never knew why. I have always felt that he fell to the Nightmare, but my Mother never believed that. Mother, however, passed when the Cataclysm ravaged Hyjal. ”

10. Oh? What about pets?

Baelar chuckles lightly, “I would not call them ‘pets’ but Lyrial has Ahnvae - her war saber, and we have both been watching over Ishte, and Rakir. Ishte is a saber, bred and raised in Winterspring, and Rakir is a lamed lion who was saved by our good friend, Tythis Diel’turas. He has fallen ill recently, so we have taken the two in.”

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

“How the Horde continues to sully my sacred forests with their dishonorable hands. They have sliced down too many of our sacred trees, and have corrupted our lands with their Banshee Queen’s blight. I am saddened, but angry, that so many good men and woman could have stood by while innocents burned in Teldrassil. I am angry, and sad that those men and woman still fight beneath a banner that bares the blood of children and inno-” Baelar seems to realize he’s going on a bit of a rant, and getting passionate. He sucks in a breath, and clears his throat, letting his statements end.

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

The change of subject is welcomed. “I have always loved carpentry, and building. I have always enjoyed the simplicity of the labor, and have found purpose in such tasks. I also enjoy to whittle if I do have have my tools, and cannot do anything more complex when I come upon drift wood near the rivers.“

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

“I have, yes.”

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

“War makes killers of us all.”

15. What kind of animal are you?

“Truthfully, I do not know. You would have to ask Lyrial. Though, a few times she has compared me to a wolf in the forest - but I have always felt myself more like a stag.”

16. Name your worst habits.

“I have picked up a few bad habits from my time traveling with Humans and Dwarves in Draenor. Drinking is the worst of them - and to my shame I am quite the light weight.“

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

"My beloved, Lyrial.” His smile is gentle, and his eyes soften. “She has always made me strive to be a better man. She is stalwart in her convictions, loving, kind, and compassionate. She is fierce when it is needed, and has always had a closeness with Elune and the forest that I simply envy.”

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

“I am helplessly in love with my Lyrial.”

19. Do you go to school?

“I attended a few Druidic classes when I was a child, but once it was realized that I didn’t have a single magic hair upon my head, they dismissed me to learn other skills. I learned saber riding, combat techniques, and built upon my carpentry skills. I merely fell into my life path as a Guardian of Hyjal, but it has given me purpose.”

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“I wanted to marry Lyrial the moment I was reunited with her in Val’Sharah. We have spoken of baring children into the world, but we both knew that we could not bring a new life into this world while it was at war. However, we have been blessed with taking guardianship over an orphan of Teldrassil. She is  the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and proves that though the fires brings destruction, life can bloom anew from the ashes. ”  

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

“What does that mean? Is that a human expression I have not heard of?”

22. What are you most afraid of?

"Losing my most beloved, or any harm coming to my little Saelyn’dia.”

23. What do you usually wear?

"if I am not within my combat armor, I am usually within simple linen trousers and shirts.”

24. Do you love someone?

“I did marry her, after all.”

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

“Probably when I was a child. Though,  I couldn’t really tell you.”

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

“Continue then.”

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

"I have always been of the working - or warrior class. That is what Elune allotted to me, and I thank her for the blessings she has given me every day.”

28. How many friends do you have?

"I have a few very close friends, whom I adore with all of my heart.”

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

"I have been told that I make a very delicious peach cobbler.”

30. Favorite drink?

“Honey wine brewed by the Valarjar.”

31. What’s your favorite place?

“Curled up by the fire, with Lyrial and Saelyn’dia wrapped up in my arms, while Lyrial reads her a story. She is such a curious child...she will grow to be the smartest woman I’ll ever know.”

32. Are you interested in someone?

“Well, I am married to her, so I would say I am, yes.”

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

A shit eating grin is the only answer you get.

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

“I have never liked the ocean - due to the Naga invasions upon the shores of Ashenvale. So I would much prefer lakes.”

35. What’s your type?

“Strong, compassionate, funny, smart, fierce, loving, goofy, adorable, and so so much more.”

36. Any fetishes?

“I was once given a fetish by a friendly Furblog in Darkshore. He was a kind, and gentle bear, and I would often visit him on my way to Ashenvale and drop off a few bits of dried foods. He repaid me with a leather, and feather bound fetish which hangs in my home.” A brief pause, “Do you have any?”

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

“You must ask my most beloved, but if I were to be honest: I would say I am both.“

38. Camping or indoors?

"I prefer to sleep indoors, in all honesty. I have spent too much time on the road, sleeping in cots, and beneath poorly constructed tents. I much prefer four walls, a roof, and a bed.”

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

“I truly do not mind answering questi--”

40. Now it’s over! Tag 3 people I will tag as many as I want.

Tagged by: @drustvar-dragonfly

Tagging: @daughter-of-ashenvale @wardennerd @nesuna-nightwinter @celassa