#all of her threads involve drinks

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I love the emt!marauders you post, I was wondering if u could write one that the reader has a chronic disease that involves getting sore when it's cold? Idk how to explain, I have lupus, and when it's cold, my joints tend to get sensitive and sore...so something with fluff/comfort, pls?

Thank you for requesting my love <3

cw: reader has unspecified chronic pain that flares up in the cold, I relied on the internet to write this so if anything seems wrong/inaccurate please let me know

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 887 words

Sirius is furious with himself for not checking the weather report. It’s so rare that you all have time off work on the same day, it’s possible you’d gotten ahead of yourselves in the excitement, but the sudden onset of winter wasn’t part of anyone’s plan. Even in Remus’ coat and tucked under James’ arm, you’ve gone quiet and withdrawn. Sirius can practically see you cringing with every step you take down the sidewalk. 

The other boys are similarly concerned.

“Let’s pop in here,” James suggests, maneuvering you all towards a bookstore. 

“Jamie,” you say, voice all sweetness even when it’s threaded through with exhaustion, “don’t go in somewhere you don’t want to just for me.” 

“Doll, I know how it might seem that way,” says Sirius, “but despite popular misconception, James actually can read.” 

You crack a smile, though it looks like it costs you. “Right, thanks, but we’re supposed to be out doing things we all like. If we went into a bookstore, you two would just end up sitting somewhere while Remus and I looked around.” 

“I like seeing you comfortable,” James says, somewhat poutily, “and I like buying you things. A bookstore is sounding rather enjoyable right now.” 

“Don’t you want to go inside?” Remus touches his knuckles gently underneath the butterfly-shaped rash on your cheeks that’s worsening due to the sun and cold. It’s not a terribly frigid day but the wind makes it worse, and however you try to act your boyfriends can see the toll it’s taking on you. “Even if it’s just for a while, it’ll be good to give yourself a break.” 

“Rem’s cold too,” Sirius says, noting the tension in the other boy’s posture now that he’s given up his coat, “aren’t you, lovely? C’mon, I know where we can go.” 

You don’t seem to have it in you to protest as Sirius leads you all down the block to the coffee shop around the corner. The heat is blasting inside. He finds you a table away from the door, where the cold breeze coming in can’t reach you and the whirring of the coffee grinders is less deafening. James insists on buying you each a warm beverage and a sweet (only you and Remus protest this; Sirius doesn’t know why you bother). 

“My poor girl,” Sirius murmurs, holding your frozen hands carefully in his. Remus’ coat pockets have done an insufficient job protecting them. Sirius devotes himself to rubbing warmth into each finger. 

“I think my drink would do as good a job of warming them up,” you say amusedly. 

“As good? I’m insulted.” 

“You know she really should be stretching her joints herself, love,” says Remus. 

“I do know,” Sirius replies primly, “thank you very much. It’s only that I’m very selfish.” 

Remus hums into his tea. “Selfish enough to let her drink go cold.” 

Sirius relents and lets you pick up your mug. You squeeze his hands thankfully before letting go. 

The windows at the front of the shop are foggy. It’s not cold enough yet for frost around the edges, but the mist gives the bustling street a blurred, wintry look, like the four of you are encapsulated in a warm snow globe scene, unmoving and separate from the outside world. Sirius finds it rather peaceful. 

“Did anyone bring ibuprofen?” James asks. 

You cringe sheepishly. “No, sorry. I forgot it at home.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovie.” James palms the back of your neck, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Any of us could’ve thought of it. We’ll stop somewhere and grab a bottle.” 

“It never hurts to have extra,” Remus agrees before you can argue. 

“Okay,” you say, voice gone soft as it often does when you feel your boyfriends are taking too much notice of you. Sirius doesn’t understand your aversion to this in the slightest. “Thanks.” 

“It’s ungodly freezing out,” Sirius complains. “I move that we make a coffee shop stop every two blocks.” 

James’ face lights. “It could be like appetizer hopping—”

“But with pastries,” Sirius finishes. 

You don’t immediately argue, a promising sign. Remus appears to be warming to the idea as well. “We’d have to pace ourselves a bit more,” he points out, looking at your table cramped with plates and saucers. “Maybe at each place we pick one thing to share.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Suit yourself. I’m not splitting a muffin into four pieces and eating only one.” 

James looks as though he agrees, but he only says cheerily, “We’ll figure it out as we go. Does that sound good?” 

He poses the question to everyone, but they all know he’s really only asking you. Remus and Sirius give their assent quickly and you shrink a bit in your seat, embarrassed. 

“If it really doesn’t sound too inconvenient for you guys.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. Sirius thinks with satisfaction that the motion looks easier than it might have when you first came in from the cold. “Then yeah, I’m alright with it.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sirius teases, “an afternoon spent enjoying coffee and pastries with the three most fetching people on the continent. I should really rethink this, it may be too inconvenient.” 

“Prick.” James elbows him and leans over to wrap an arm around you protectively, but your smile blooms, and that’s all Sirius wanted in the end.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared. 

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life. 

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

��Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited. 

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

[trappolia]

NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR ── dan heng x gn!reader x blade, former dan feng x gen!reader x yingxing, 2.4k

you dream of blood.

the golden ichor that seeps through the jagged cracks of an old, divine blade. the deep red that drips from your wounds as a cruel reminder of your mortality, an ever existing shadow that haunts you through all the ships you travel through.

you dream of love.

a golden hairpin that catches your eye while walking through the bustling streets of a marketplace. the red paint that smudges on a lover’s lips when you exchange kisses. strokes of black ink upon parchment, reading words more poetic than one can ever have the courage to say aloud.

it is dizzying, in the way all dreams are. you are sitting under the moon and sharing a drink with someone you consider your friend, family, lover, and the next you are driving your spear through his chest. there are no blades of grass on this ship, no grassy fields for you to hide in, and the tendrils that you feel swaying, rustling, in waves past your ankles, are the chains of the sins you bear as someone they call their beloved.

the crew of the astral express are a welcome distraction, kind and warm as they offer you their companionship in their own personal ways. you help march 7th pin up photos in her room, laughing as you reminisce over your past travels through silly selfies and scenic photos. you sit with himeko during breakfast over a cup of coffee (yours brewed by yourself rather than the gorgeous redhead, thank the aeons) and indulge in the peaceful silence, a sense of normality that the woman is more than happy to give you after all that you’ve been through. mr yang tells you stories of other universes, weaving the already existing threads of all the lives you’ve seen around you into something completely different yet the same— and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he lived a different life before all this.

but no matter what, you always find your way back to dan heng.

though you have your own assigned room, the simple arrangement of a flat pillows and a blanket on the floor of the archives is as much of a home to you as it is to dan heng. you’ve spent many a night in his room, poring over texts and books with him, more often than not passing out on his lap or in his sleeping area.

( “they come as a pair,” march 7th once told the trailblazer when they asked about the two of you. “himeko said that arrived on this ship together. whatever they went through in the past, they made it through because they had each other. but that’s just what i think.” )

it’s true, in a sense. what would you have done without dan heng, travelling through all those ships that always met the same end? you wonder if you would’ve lasted long enough for himeko to find you and bring you to the astral express.

probably not.

dan heng feels responsible for you. he doesn’t say it, but it’s obvious. you once confessed your insecurities to him on a dark night, back when the two of you were still getting used to having a proper roof above your heads without fear of the ship getting attacked or waking up to security banging through the door.

( “what if they think i’m useless because i’m always clinging onto you?” you had asked him in a small, weak voice.

“…they don’t seem like those sort of people.”

“but what if?”

dan heng had looked at you, his expression tired and soft all at once as he sighed.

“then they’ll have a problem with me too.”

“why?”

“because,” he brushed his fingers over your gaunt cheekbones, worn from all that you’d been through. “i’m just like you. if something took you from my side, then i might as very well be useless to them.” )

there’s a known truth between the two of you, one that you never speak of; but you both know that it’s a fact. if you hadn’t been involved with dan heng — with him — you’d still be at home in the xianzhou alliance. you’d be blissfully oblivious to the convict on the loose, the exile who has returned home. you’d be living your life— a normal life.

but you aren't.

instead, you dream of him.

it should be impossible. bracers are not meant to be shared between a trio, and whatever gift you had been planning to share between the three of you was lost upon the exile. and yet, even without the ancient magic of the vidyadhara, he somehow manages to make his way into your dreams, haunting you like a ghost.

some nights, you dream of those arms that had always held you with such certainty, an impenetrable shield even when bloodied and battered. other nights, you dream of those hands driving a blade through dan heng’s heart, squeezing your throat until you take your last breath through a broken windpipe.

and every night, when you wake up from those dreams in dan heng’s arms, you feel that pain welling in your chest, settling for days as it finds comfort in its new home, made up of your aching lungs and your shattered heart. the days and nights blur together like this— haunted by a man still living and breathing, though not quite human, in the nighttime, and traversing through the worlds like a ghost searching for meaning in the daytime.

you don’t remember how it ended up like this. or do you? it all feels like a dream, all the details and images blurring together to be forgotten by morning. but it isn’t morning, and you can’t wake up from this reality. your head throbs. a concussion? who cares.

you can’t afford to let your guard down on this ship you once called home. you’re here for a reason, and though that reason is your top priority, you can’t afford to be caught either. the cloud knight that found you and dan heng — sushang — doesn’t seem to recognise either of you, and neither does the strange tradesman luocha, but you still can’t take any chances. panic blossoms in your gut, unsettling as you grip your weapon in your weak hands.

ah. that’s right. you’re fighting. reason grounds you with the fuzzy memory of your enemy standing before you— an ambush, because whatever forces are at work here clearly play just as dirty as the antimatter legion and that damned aeon they serve.

a fight you can’t lose, no matter how badly your head is throbbing right now, because you still have to find the others, have to save them from— from—

“ren,” your grip on your weapon loosens as the dust clears, revealing the man standing before you.

the enemy, your brain screams, though it can’t even make you move away. the word that slips through your lips is familiar, and yet not. your head hurts thinking of calling him by his true name, the name you called him before he turned into this.

blade, is what kafka called him.

ren, is what it means in your mother tongue, the language spoken in moonlit nights as the three of you sat under the stars, the silence broken only by a whisper of their names.

the name comes out as a quiet, pathetic croak, staring wide eyed at his figure. he’s frozen just as you are, his broken blade aimed straight at you with an arm that wavers just the slightest.

it’s like a domino effect; your walls crashing down the moment you see his mask slip for the smallest moment.

“yingxing!” your voice breaks as you call out to him again, almost desperately (it does not occur to you that you've let your memory slip, called out for a man long dead). your feet are moving from under you before you even realise it.

blade lunges forward, his sword drawn.

a desperate cry of your name wretches itself out of dan heng’s throat in a way that makes your heart ache, but it’s too late now. his warning comes only seconds after you’ve begun to run straight to danger, death, a threat to your life seemingly unseen to you as you surge forward like a blind lover, but you can see him.

the sharp angles of his face, the familiar bracer on his calloused hand, the searing heat of his vermilion eyes. he’s so close— close enough to kiss, close enough to kill, close enough to be reality rather than an illusion forged by a dream.

his blade is not what meets you. instead, it’s his hand. dan heng’s panicked screams is barely audible over your hammering heartbeat, your pulse quickening as blade’s calloused fingers wrap around your throat. he’s stronger than you — you would know even if he hasn’t been haunting your dreams all those years — and so he can easily snap you in half the second you’re in his clutches.

but then you’re pressed against him, back to his front. blade pulls you as close to him as humanly possible until you’re both flush, sharing the same, saccharine oxygen after years of breathing stale air through stone lungs. despite the sharp end of a sword held over your throat, you allow yourself to close your eyes, reveling in this single moment as if you’ve lived an eternity where the three of you had never once hurt each other. though he had an eternity without a single regard to how you’d hurt each other. in these stolen moments, you let yourself be stupid, oblivious, selfish, just to breathe properly for the first time in what feels like a millennium.

“let them go,” dan heng hisses, breaking you out of your reverie.

“no,” blade’s eyes narrow. there is no mocking in his expression, no sardonic smirk or cruel taunts. his walls are still up, none of that broken emotion that you’d only seen for a split moment when your eyes first met, but he lets himself drop the bravado. between the three of you, there is no such thing.

you whisper a soft cry of his name, making dan heng’s grip tighten on cloudpiercer as he moves to snatch you out of blade’s grip, but your former lover only growls.

“come any closer, and i’ll cut them.”

his voice is scratchy, worn like the calloused hands that are wrapped around your nape, squeezing almost painfully. a distant memory flashes in your mind, of these same calloused palms washing your back after a long day, cleaning the blood and grime.

these same hands could be stained with your blood, if he so wishes.

“you won’t,” dan heng hisses, and you hear something in him break like glass shattering on the floor. “you can’t.”

he sounds so sure of it, that this man will not slice that blade over your throat and take your life just as he had taken dan heng’s in so many eternities.

you’re reminded of the fact that no matter how many times the hourglass has turned over for dan heng, no matter how muddled his memories become, he once loved this man just as you did— once relished in his presence and touch as it lulled him back to sanity, masking the weight of all the sins the three of you had committed over the lifetimes your strings of fate had been entangled.

blade moves as if to cut your throat, to finally take the first life, the first step in the nth round of this cycle of violence, but his sword only manages to press down just the slightest against the skin of your neck before he stops himself. his hand — the one adorned by that damned bracer — shakes as he glares at dan heng with a look that can kill.

“fuck,” blade mutters under his breath. the word is not meant for you, but you hear anyway. blade pulls back from you roughly, and a barely audible whimper tears out of your throat when he suddenly pushes you forward and into dan heng’s arms.

dan heng’s eyes widen, clearly just as surprised as you when blade relinquishes his hold on you. he catches you with unsteady arms, trying to keep cloudpiercer levelled at blade as if the man will suddenly lunge forward and take him from you again.

blade stares at the two of you for a moment, watching as dan heng clutches you to his chest like you’ll disappear if he let go, as you hold a palm to your neck where the thinnest line of red bleeds through. his eyes narrow, and the only other indication of emotion in his face is the slightest downturn of his lips.

“i’ll be back,” blade says, and then there’s that cruel smile on his face again, a taunting glint in his eye as he looks at dan heng. “i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?”

dan heng growls, his grip tightening on cloudpiercer, “you damned—!”

but then blade’s already making his exit, leaping off the platform in a manner that gives you deja vu.

( a memory flashes in your mind, the image of him jumping off your balcony as jing yuan knocked on your bedroom door to make sure you were still asleep while dan feng dove under your bed for cover, a mundane moment of peace and carefreeness almost forgotten from where you had pushed it deep into crevices of your mind. )

i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?

after a breathless moment that seems to drag out for an eternity, dan heng’s arms finally uncurl from your frame, his eyes tracing your figure to make sure you’re unharmed. his eyes drag over the thin cut across your neck in an adagio, his breath hitching as he sees you bleeding the same colour of blade’s eyes.

“he didn’t kill me,” you breathe out. you don’t know why it’s only settling now. the relief is clear in your tone, but it’s obvious from the violent tremor of your hands that it’s only to mask your own uncertainty. "he didn't kill me."

dan heng is quiet. you’re too scared to look at him, at the expression on his face. you just stare at your shaking hands, and watch as he rests his palm over your own to soothe the tremors.

“he always had a soft spot for you,” dan heng whispers, something breaking in the tenor of his voice.

© trappolia 2024

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Meet Velvette📱🧶

Meet my take on Velvette! I had LOT OF FUN with this one! She’s reviewing Pentabucks newest drink!(being its top influencer can get you it for free!)

My Velvette’s more involved with social media/advertising/trends rather than owning all of Hell’s fashion indurstry. She’s basically a social marketer/influencer who uses her influence to support and advertise a lot of the overlords and high influence peoples businesses, products and services. She’s def still into fashion, I imagine she has something like a Bergdorf Goodmans, luxury end store and probably collabed with other fashion brands). I also see her own some fo the trendiest resteraunts, clubs, beauty salons, etc. def sewn herself into big brands!

I’ve heard she was suppose to be a doll because her pilot look mouth alluded a bit to stitching and wore frilly clothes.

so I ended up making her a rag doll! Doll’s are very popular to sell, especially to sell additional objects such as fashion, accessories, etc. Basically she sells herself out to the public eye 👁️. There’s also a bit of sewing terms that fits with social media such as “Pinned”, “Threads”, etc.🪡📍

And rag dolls are known for their adaptability(perfect for trend setting Vel)! I styled her outfit as a kinda tweaked modern outfit of Raggedy Anne/Andy’s outfit. The jumper and black booties. Restyled into a more flashy romp jumper and heeled boots 👢 Even made it to her name, VELVET!

Ngl many friends of mine have said she gives off Monster High vibes(I feel like 2000’s cartoons def inspired me). As well as Lalaloopsy!!!!!!! I was also a bit inspired by OG Millie’s outfit(love the double straps).

Put her in two shades of brown for a patchwork vibe! Another thing I’m going for with the rag doll theme is to allude to insecurity. I imagine she came from less glamorous origins. Didn’t have porcelain dolls like Charlie or plastic Barbies like all the other popular and rich girls, but simple rag dolls and stuffies. No matter how hard she tries to be like perfect porcelain or pretty plastic…she’s cursed to be seen as just some raggedy rag doll💔. I also imagine her death had something related to becoming…torn up(I imagine it wasn’t a pretty end)…

For this look, went with bubble braids made from balls of yarn 🧶 She has all kinds of hairstyles, from yarn, cotton, stitch on wigs and even real hair(from scalps of those who got on her nasty side, @a-sterling-rose suggested this). There’s even a type of hairstyle called “yarn braids”.

Wears fake nails 💅. Gel, acrylic, she’s made of cloth so she can adapt to any kind.

Gave her actual ears 👂 (added them on herself).

Clout Glasses 😎.

For her color scheme, @the-burd-lord suggested I'd go with RGB theme, colors on display screen(Vox is the leader and a screen) Ngl I was conflicted what colors to go with for the vees(Primary, Red blue purple etc). But then I realized when u mix those colors u get those other colors and then I decided to give the Vees two main color themes for each. One for show, the other their true colors! Velvette likes to use green, magenta and purple, for a visually pleasing vibe, light green and magenta for sweetness with purple/gold for luxury, but truth she’s a vain, envious clout seeker who has and will do less than ethic things for the likes. The two colors r also a mix of Val and Vox’s colors(uses them, advertises them to advertise herself!)

Played around with a assymetry color vibe for the envy vibe, thats she’s two faced 🎭. Having a deceptive social media personality like Miss Heed(less lovey dovey).

@lovesart23 video on Velvette really helped me consider what to do with her, like her beign Envy theme(she’s a clout chaser afterall). I LOVE her use of purples and greens for her! I also really dig the eye theme which mine in a sense does too. In this case, button eyes.

Added more weight on her a bit, to give off a more rag doll type body(especially with the limbs 🦾🦵)

Gave her black purple eyes with pink and mint button irises. Got Pin eyelashes 🪡📍

Her her a needle/selfie stick. Good for selfies, fashion emergency and stabbing people!

What do u think? I’d love to know💖

I’ve also done the Hazbin Gang, Mimzy, and even her associate, Vox 📺.

[rei-ismyname]

X-MEN #7 From The Ashes

Possibly the biggest downside to the circular, repetitive nature of X-Men comics is that real life is awful enough. Jettisoning the hope of the Krakoan age for the misery porn of From The Ashes feels kinda callous and depressing in a world where there are multiple ongoing genocides and the USA just said yes to fascism again. Nevertheless, join me in some light escapism - a little Magneto goes a long way. Spoilers for X-Men #7.

I've also been spelling Jed Mackay's name wrong. Sorry

Running throughout this issue is Magneto's flashback to The Iron Night. The 'this is Logan behaviour' exchange from the previews has been all over my dash and it's great to get more of this dynamic. It's fantastic to see someone in universe say it out loud - Logan is a whiny little bitch, often a hypocrite, and can be blind to his immortality privilege. Scott knows that better than anyone - his wife's boyfriend throws a tanty like no other. They love him, but it's another reason why he's not the best Wolverine. I hope 'Logan behaviour' sticks around in the fandom.

This is Logan behaviour, Idie

I appreciate the informal nature of the Piper discussion. For one, you don't want to scare the kid or make her feel unwelcome. Idie said that she 'couldn't wait for you (Cyclops) and Magneto' re: Idie - having Psylocke be the one to spell it out for her is effective. The X-Men IS a team and the stakes are incredibly high. Besides, as Beast said in my first screenshot they have a Cerebro. This test could have been done from afar without the risk, and it's implied that it was.

I'm enjoying seeing Idie behaving compassionately, but it looks like she's got some serious anger and mistrust of authority (both justified) from Krakoa. It's great she's getting this kind of character focus and I hope it's followed up on. So many threads and beats have been setup that are likely to be disrupted by the Raid on Graymalkin event kicking off next week, but I'll reserve my judgement on that for when this first arc is concluded.

This is Logan behaviour, wild sentinel.

Gotta love Max and Scott's friendship being shown as they drink crappy beers and bask in Magneto rhetoric. I don't want to question the expert, but is this sentinel Wild or wild? It's clearly not an ORCHIS Iron Man model, but Wild Sentinel has a very specific meaning.

Okay, clearly Wild. It's not attacking either of them, though. Kind of Cyclops to spell out the Star Trek Borg adaptive schtick they've got going on. This is the action scene of the issue, the mandated violence.

I don't mean that entirely pejoratively either. I'm just as susceptible to the Magneto and Cyclops power fantasy as the next person, though it's a bit of a dirty trick to wait until issue 7 to show it.

This is NOT Logan behaviour, Magneto.

Sigh. I love your sense of drama Magneto. Play to the crowd, old man. I hope your monologue doesn't become ironic. Oh wait, we already know it has. This could have been a clever moment.

Uh oh, looks like his knees are weak and arms are heavy. Vomit on his sweater already...

So we see the moment Mags' powers start to shit the bed, right after a Wild Sentinel attack. I'd be suspecting Cassandra Nova's involvement just off these two data points tbh. Which idiot resurrected her anyway?

Oh, fuck off. Logan behaviour, Mackay.

R-LDS sounds like horse shit to me. Scott says 'we don't know that for sure' so how does this speculative condition have an acronym already? Mags is speaking as if it's a fact, but he doesn't even have the same body The Five resurrected. Maybe he has Umari-Key-Waiting Room-Brashear Portal Syndrome. Obviously he's scared but this feels like an idiot ball moment, and a cynical jab at Krakoa. The Five was something they got right, even with Sinister in the mix. The implications would be insane. 16 million Genoshans were resurrected, 250k Krakoans (give or take), a whole bunch of vulnerable human children via The Phoenix Foundation, Captain America, and 1000 fucking years of Sinisterized clones etc that had nothing of the sort.

No, there's way too many data points that apply to Magneto alone to make seriously considering The Five's resurrections as the source of patient zero's malady. It would be scientifically irresponsible to get to the point of naming it and then an acronym for that. Mags is good enough at science to know this, and Beast is too. I'm no scientist, but it manifested during a fight with a Wild Sentinel. I assume they have better resources than the Marvel wiki I'm using, but that robot/Cassandra Nova is my prime suspect - the lady they know for certain to be involved in ongoing genetic fuckery - activating X-Genes. Though not Piper Cobb...

Or yes Piper Cobb? Smash cut cliffhangers aside, this would be a great time to retcon Homo Sapiens Superior right the fuck out of existence. It's never made sense, and not just the 'Superior' part. Again, I'm not a scientist but I'm certain that's not how phylogeny works. They're mutated humans, but I don't live in 616 which canonically operates on impossible physics, so idk. My fingers are crossed but my expectations are nil.

That is Logan behaviour, masked kidnapper

Okay, we'd known from solicits that Beast would be getting beat down in captivity at Graymalkin. I had speculated he'd give himself up to get inside, but the ol' bag over the head works too. I dig his outfit.

X-Men #7 is worth reading IMO, and it's one of the better ones based off Magneto content alone. Last issue I wrote that the formula was becoming easier to spot, and I stand by that. A handful of character moments, some new information about one of the ongoing mysteries but it piles more questions on top of half answers and speculation. For example, we get to see Scott and Max fight a sentinel and be friends. There's new information there but a LOT more questions. The characters are at the point of absurd speculation which raises tension but doesn't make them look very competent. To kick off the event 'Raid on Graymalkin' they went with a final page bag over the head instead of any choice and comic book events notoriously derail everything so friends can argue and punch each other.

All that said, it's only *just* acceptable in my opinion - and that's the best I can say for the rest of the line too. We know that there's been ongoing issues with writers simply not knowing major Krakoan plot points, though they probably have the excuse that they were writing before FOTHOX/ROTPOX ended. Surely there's someone in charge of overseeing all this, like Hickman was as Head of X. *Looks at the credits* Tom Brevoort - Conductor of X... That's a fancy way to say 'line editor/hatchet man.' I'll stop there and save it for the From The Ashes piece I'm doing, but spoilers: I'm not impressed with how this guy keeps failing upwards.

What did you think? Thanks for reading.

[greenqueenhightower]

Alicent's Moon Tea—Analysis:

The scene opens with Alicent examining the dragon that has come to signify her union with Viserys.

Back in 1x02, Alicent visits the King in his chamber and they have a conversation about the legacy of Old Valyria. Viserys holds this little dragon statuette in his hands and he drops it by mistake.

Later in the same episode, she has it mended and presents it to him as a gift.

This gesture meant so much to Viserys that a few scenes later, we see him playing with it as he contemplates his choice of wife. In the same episode, he affirms his decision to marry Alicent before his council.

In 2x04, Alicent contemplates her life choices as she observes the little dragon that bound her to Viserys. She slides her finger over the crack she mended for him. He has kept it all these years, so why didn't he love her or her children? She keeps it as a reminder of how young and naive she was to think she would learn to love him in time.

It is early in the morning and Alicent has asked for moon tea. She is expecting it any moment as she is lost in reverie about her conversation with Rhaenyra and her discovery that what she thought was Viserys' display of care and affection towards her and Aegon was a lie. She is in a sensitive but also empowering state of mind. The door opening startles her. The Grand Maester is here. She drops the dragon statuette, which breaks again into two pieces. The bond is severed beyond repair.

She now has two difficult decisions to make.

She greets the Maester and says she will deliver the moon tea discreetly. The Maester meaningfully pauses and says: “do report if the... recipient has any need of remedy,” suspecting she will use it herself and basically advising her to seek his aid in case things go horribly wrong and she needs treatment. Yet Alicent is building that wall around her ever more secure and tight: “I shall observe the girl closely.” He needs to understand that she is not the recipient.

An awkward pause follows when the Maester stares at her—he is not so easily convinced but she is the Queen so he ought not inquire further. He starts to leave. And then Alicent does something intriguing: she stops him to inquire about Viserys.

Is this a ruse, a bluff, a subterfuge? Does she want to make the Maester believe that she will not be attending the council they have together in a few minutes because she is too occupied with thoughts about her husband? How will she excuse her absence to him? Surely, when she fails to appear at the council meeting he will suspect that she has drunk the moon tea.

"Do you believe Viserys wanted Aegon to succeed him?" she asks. Does she really want to know his answer to that question, or does she merely want him to view her as exhausted, distraught, and too burdened by the recent events? Alicent knows that no one can answer this question with certainty. So what is she aiming at? She is willing to let him ascribe her a weakness that governs her frame of mind in order to control him. She is manipulating him.

Alicent expertly diverts his attention elsewhere, away from the moon tea. Now her absence can be justified. She is pensive and downcast because of her increasing concern regarding Aegon’s ascension and his fitness to rule. Alicent is playing the game.

After he is gone, she picks up the jar and touches her belly one time. She has made her mind up. “This is it, this baby has to go,” is as if she's telling herself. She is self-assured and certain of her decision at that moment. Her body finally belongs to her, and this is how she can prove it to herself. She drinks the moon tea and she is fully aware of the dangers involved but she has the abortion anyway.

For the first time, she weaves the threads of her own narrative, as she controls her image and her body.

[tiannasfanfic]

Auntie Ethel’s Cure

Astarion x Drow!Reader (Fluff)

| Astarion Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Another promised cure for your tadpoles ends up being just another dead end when a powerful Hag is unable to remove it.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Tav/Reader, they/them pronouns used (if any). Spawn!Astarion x Drow!Reader, but no descriptions of Tav/Reader's appearance. Fluff with Mild Hurt/Comfort. Takes place during Act 1 before heading to the Goblin Village during the "Investigate Kahga" quest. The dialogue between Auntie Ethel and Tav/Reader is taken from BG3 based on the dialogue options chosen in my current play through.

CW: Mentions of eye removal (no details, just that it happened); mentions of Astarion drinking blood (no details, just that he does it).

Word Count: 1,734

The party had been quiet ever since you and Astarion returned from the Tea House.

Morale was now lower than ever. Yet another lead on removing the tadpole had proven to be a bust. Not only that, but you’d lost an eye in the process.

But, even with her failure, Auntie Ethel had done something that no one else had been able to do thus far. She was able to provide you with more information about it.

“You little shit, you didn’t tell me it was Netherese!” the Hag had growled as she released the magic that held you for the procedure, resulting in you collapsing in a heap on the floor. “I’m not touching that!”

“Netherese?” you asked, sounding dazed as Astarion helped you up.

Auntie Ethel nodded.

“Filthy shadow magic - brings nothing but chains and misery,” she said, then grimaced in pain as she gingerly rubbed her right hand, the tips of her claws now black after the failed extraction. “How could I have missed that stink? It’s like blood and piss congealing on my tongue. Bleh.”

As if to emphasize her point, the Hag turned and spat in the dirt.

“Someone’s tampered with your parasite,” she continued, turning back to gaze again at you and Astarion. “That’s likely why you’ve not turned yet.”

At this point, the shocked daze you were began to lift. You shook your head rapidly as if to clear it, grimaced, then refocused your gaze on the Ethel.

“What do you mean, ‘tampered’?” you asked.

The Hag chuckled, an expression coming to her face that was reminiscent of an old lady looking at a small child who just said something silly.

“Bless us, you’re as slow as a wet week,” she said, almost affectionately, then pointed one of her singed claws towards your forehead. “That thing has been touched by more than Mindflayers.”

Then came the dreaded words that no one wanted to hear, the words that now echoed through everyone’s heads as they silently sat around the campfire.

“You’re a dead soul walking, petal. I can’t help you.”

Ironically, despite her nature, Astarion detected a thread of sympathy in Ethel’s voice. Not much, mind you, not like when she was still trying to sell her harmless little old lady act. Just a thread. She seemed oblivious to it though, and that made him believe her.

You were quiet on the walk back to camp. Once at camp, you told everyone what the Hag had said, word for word, then disappeared into your tent.

That was three hours ago. You had yet to emerge, even after Gale called everyone to dinner.

Generally, it wasn’t like you to sit in your tent and brood. That was Astarion’s job, and sometimes even Shadowheart’s. But you? You were the one that always pulled them out of their dark thoughts. You had a knack for snapping them out of the dark recesses of their minds, even if it involved just barging into their tents and dragging them out by force.

Looking around at everyone, Astarion could see they were all bothered by the day’s events. No one was eating much, not even Karlach. They were poking at their bowls of stew, with occasional glances of worry towards your tent.

After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence, the lack of jokes and laughter, the gloom. Even Gale was silent and that never happens. Normally he’d be going on about what technique he used to sear the meat for the stew or waxing philosophic about his collection of spices back home. Granted, Astarion normally tuned him out, but at least there was something to tune out.

Getting to his feet, he approached your tent. The flaps of your tent were closed and there was no sound coming from inside. He began to wonder then if you’d fallen asleep, but then he listened more closely to single out the sound of your heartbeat and breathing. Both were steady, indicating you weren’t asleep.

He paused just outside and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Tav? May I come in?”

Only a moment passed before you answered.

“Of course.”

You sounded normal, your voice its usual tone and timber. That was a good sign, or so Astarion hoped.

As he brought his hand up to open the flap of your tent, the sudden feeling of being watched washed over him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw everyone at the campfire was watching him with hopeful expressions. Karlach and Wyll both gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Astarion rolled his eyes in response before ducking inside your tent.

Once inside, he could see that you hadn’t been idle for these past few hours. You had gotten yourself cleaned up from the marsh and changed into your camp clothes. The muck and grime had been cleaned off your armor as well. It sat in a neat pile near the tent flap, ready for tomorrow’s adventures.

Presently though, you were having an idle moment as you sat on your bedroll, mirror in hand.

You were gazing at your reflection thoughtfully, looking at yourself one way for a moment before tilting your head to see yourself at a different angle.

If you were bothered by the change to your appearance, it wasn’t apparent, but that didn’t mean anything. Drow were nothing if not vain and you were no exception to this.

After watching you for a few moments, Astarion cleared his throat again.

“What are we thinking, darling?” he asked.

You tilted your head to the side a bit, raising and lowering your brows at the same time, like you were shrugging with your face instead of your shoulders.

“It’s not bad, all things considered,” you finally said, setting the mirror aside and finally looking up at him. “Did she leave any scarring? It doesn’t look like she did, but my vision on that side isn’t that good anymore.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up at that statement.

“Really, darling?” he repeated, an incredulous tone to his voice as he crouched down in front you. “Just, ‘not that good anymore’?”

You chuckled softly.

“I guess there’s no point in lying, huh?” you asked, looking up at him.

Astarion shook his head and you sighed.

There was no hiding it. While your eye was still wholly intact, anyone could see that it was as dead as the deer Gale had used in tonight’s stew. It was completely whited out now, with no trace left of its original color, the gaze coming from it emotionless and blank.

Gently taking hold of your chin, he tilted your head up towards the light so he could see that side of your face better.

To his amazement, you were right. Auntie Ethel had done excellent work as far as damage went. She’d left behind no scarring, no tissue damage apart from the obvious. The only blemishes and scars were the ones you already had.

“It’s not bad,” he finally said, letting go of your chin before smirking. “If anything, you’re an even scarier Drow now.”

A bark of laughter came from you at his words.

“True,” you said, and a grin came to your face. “Who knows? Maybe this will make things easier for us now.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to bark laughter, which he did as he got to his feet.

“As nice as that would be, darling, our luck isn’t that good,” he said, extending a hand out in an offer to help you up. “Now, let’s get some dinner in you. You’ve had a long day and tomorrow will be even longer still.”

You quirked a brow at him as you placed your hand in his.

“Now now, Astarion,” you said as he pulled you to your feet. “Keep saying things like that and I might actually start thinking you care about me.”

Astarion felt a slight pang in his chest at your words, but brushed it off like he always did. It was happening more often now since spending that night with you in the clearing. He just assumed it was due to your blood. Even though he’d fed in a few human bandits since then, none of them had tasted anything like you. No doubt it was a side effect of you being his first, and he was sure it would go away in time.

But, even still, you’d placed a lot of trust in him by letting him drink from you again after what happened the first time. Whether intentional or a decision made in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t sure, but he was still grateful for it all the same. It was a nice, unexpected treat before the act he had to perform.

Presently, Astarion realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts, and shook his head to clear it.

“Of course I care about you, darling,” he said in his most charming voice, as he turned and walked away. “You’re my backup food source.”

Upon reaching the front of your tent, he swept open the flap with one arm and looked back at you as he gestured outside with the other.

“Shall we?”

Despite your excellent composure, Astarion could read the telltale signs of amusement on your face. There was a slight crinkle at one corner of your mouth, a very slight but brief lowering of your eyelids.

“I suppose,” you said nonchalantly, then came over to join him at the door. “Just remember, no more midnight surprises.”

Astarion opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but the words died on his tongue when you patted his shoulder reassuringly as you headed out of your tent. This gesture indicated that, despite your words and stoic tone, you were just teasing him. But what really got his tongue was your touch itself. His arm felt pleasantly warm and almost tingly where your hand had been.

It felt…nice.

Not as nice as waking up with you in his arms, but still nice all the same.

Astarion blinked, then shook his head hard as he quickly followed you from the tent.

He had no idea where that thought had come from.

It was a little bit alarming, but now that camp was back to normal following your departure from the tent, he had the ambient sound of people talking to tune out while he sat at the campfire brooding over it.

[aces-personal-whore]

PossessiveDom!Doflamingo x Subordinate!Reader Smut

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter3] [Chapter 4]

Hello everyone, and welcome to my very first post here! I have a passion for smut, so please enjoy! I'm going to need to separate this into chapters; I will note the chapters with smut, but this chapter doesn't have it.

Doffy is a very guilty pleasure of mine, so I had a bit of fun with this story.

☣️WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI, eventual smut, violence

[Chapter 1]

~~~~~~~~~~

"Fufufu~ What do we have here?" Doffy laughed deviously, staring at you, as you were tied to a chair in the empty, dark basement of his castle.

"He-hello..." you said nervously, unable to make eye contact.

"Don't be shy, my dear." He approached you slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the basement. As he got closer, you could see his piercing red sunglasses that contrasted vividly with his blond hair.

"Name's Y/N, I presume? Don't worry, I won't let you rot down here. No, no. I have better use for you." Doffy chuckled, his voice clear and hoarse as it carried in the emptiness.

"You see, I have a little game in mind, one that involves you, some potions, and a good dose of the power of the devil fruits... and, well, let's just say that you could find yourself in a fairly interesting situation." He grinned, his teeth gleaming. "Think of it as an adventure. Mind you, you have to stay strong and play along if you want to make it out of here in one piece. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?" He traced a finger along your chin, making you shiver at the cold touch.

Your breath hitched at his touch "Y-yes, Master..."

"Oh, I like that. A submissive one, hmm? Very well, then. Let's get started, shall we?" Doflamingo released your chin and snapped his fingers. A tall figure appeared from the shadows. It was a man with a white and blue coat and a twisted grin. "Trebol, this is our new plaything," he said, gesturing to the gooey man. "Make sure to take her upstairs and prepare her for the experiment. We wouldn't want her to escape, now, would we?" He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Now, off you go, my dear," Doffy said, pushing you on your back to make you fall into Trebol's waiting arms. "I'll be watching you closely, so don't disappoint." He winked and turned back, leaving you in the hands of his staff officer.

"Yes, Master..." you breathed nervously, your body shaking.

"Come along, then," Trebol said in a rattling voice, his grip tight on your body. "We've got work to do, and Doffy doesn't like to wait." Trebol picked you up and carried you up the stairs, his goo encasing you.

As you ascended, Doflamingo chuckled in the background, the sound almost maniacal. "Ah, it's superb how easily she fell into place," he mused aloud. "We'll see how far she'll go in the end. Who knows, maybe she'll even enjoy it." He snapped his fingers once more, and a big vial of green liquid appeared in his hand. "That's the potion I'll use on her. A delightful blend to make her... obedient." He laughed, and the echoes of his voice followed you all the way up to the laboratory.

Your heart races, your breath shallow "Y-yes, Master..." you muster.

"You'll get used to it, don't worry," Trebol said to you.

The laboratory came into view, and you could see several vials and beakers on the table, the stench of chemicals filling the room. "Now, let's get started," he grunted as he placed you on the table, your body becoming encased in Doffy's thread.

A beaker filled with the same green liquid Doffy had was brought to your lips. "Drink up, my dear. It's for your own good," Trebol encouraged, pouring the contents down your throat.

After a few moments, as the potion took effect, you felt a wave of submission wash over you, making it harder to resist. "There we go. Much better. Now, let's see how we can use your body for Doffy's amusement." The gooey man chuckled darkly as he started preparing the next steps in Doflamingo's little game.

Your heart was still racing as you drank the mysterious liquid. It had a pleasant sweet taste to it. You eagerly gulped it down, the liquid seeping from your lips.

As the potion continued to work, you felt yourself becoming more submissive and eager to please. Trebol started by taking random samples from your body, causing you to flinch at the pricks of the needles yet finding your arousal increasing. The slimey man smirked, pleased with the outcome.

"Alright, now to add the icing on the cake," Trebol said, picking up a vial containing a viscous red liquid. "We'll mix this devil fruit juice with the concoction Doffy came up with. This should give Doffy exactly what he wants from you."

With a practiced hand, he injected it into your body, and you felt a sparkle of power stir inside of you. Trebol continued, drawing a line of symbols on your skin, each one triggering a surge of energy to course through your veins. "And we're done," he declared, admiring his work.

"Get ready, Y/N. Doffy's going to want to see his new toy in action." Doflamingo released the strings that bound you, and you found yourself standing unsteadily, eager to fulfill your new role as Doflamingo's submissive plaything.

Your eyes looked over nervously at Doflamingo, unsure of what's going to happen next what... "What kind of devil fruit did you give me...?" you whimpered out.

Doflamingo appeared in the doorway, his grin as wide as ever. "Ah, my dear, it's a unique one. A nearly-extinct type that doesn't affect your body, but rather, allows you to manipulate others. For now, you can only control those weak-willed, but don't worry, it'll grow stronger with time," Doflamingo explained, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A perfect match for your new... entertainment career," he chuckled, his voice echoing in the lab. "Now, let's see how well you can perform, shall we?" With that, he walked into the lab, beckoning for you to follow him. "I have a little surprise waiting for you. A perfect target for your newfound abilities," he teased, eager to see the results of his twisted experiment.

"Young Master.... May I please be by your side?" you nervously asked the Heavenly Demon.

"As always, my dear," Doflamingo said, intertwining his fingers with yours, a satisfied smirk on his face. "But remember, you exist to serve me, and your powers should reflect that loyalty. The weak will be at your beck and call, while the strong will only bend for me. Now, let's see if you can learn your place." With a firm squeeze of your hand, he led you to your first test - to show how well you've adapted to your role as his submissive servant.

You took ahold of Doffy's hand. Taking a deep, shaky breath, "Is it alright if I ask you something, Young Master?" you asked

"What's on your mind, Y/N?" Doflamingo asked, glancing at you with curiosity.

"What do you want me to call you and refer to you as? Do you like Master, or is Doffy okay?" you mustered out, your voice quivering.

"Master is lovely, but Doffy works just as well," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. "Whichever makes you feel more submissive. After all, it's all about thrills and emotions, wouldn't you agree?" With a wink, he led you towards the chamber where your first "entertainment" would take place.

"Which makes you feel better for me to say? I only want the best for Master," you said, the serum working, coursing through your veins.

"Master is certainly the most... regal choice. It fits your submissive role the best," Doffy said with a wicked grin. "But remember, it's all a game. And as long as you're playing it to the best of your ability, I'll find you irresistible." He smirked and opened the door to the chamber, the first of your loyal subjects waiting for you within. The perfect pawns in Doflamingo's twisted game, ready for you to test your newfound powers.

Irresistible? The words echoed in my head. "What do you want me to do with these subjects, Master," you questioned as the two of you reached the chamber with the test subjects.

"You're going to show them who's in control. I want you to bend their wills to your desires," Doflamingo said, pushing the door open. "Take their freedom, and in return, they'll serve you and me with blind obedience. Easy, isn't it? Now, Y/N, put on a show for me. Prove that you're worthy of your new role," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "And should you falter, well, don't worry. Trebol and I will make sure to give you a refresher." With that, Doflamingo stepped aside, ready to watch as you dominated your first subjects in a display of power that he alone could unleash.

You stammered into the chamber, still holding Doffy's hand. "Yes, Master, but I... I don't know how," you nervously admitted.

Without further hesitation, Doflamingo gave a sharp nod toward Trebol, who stepped forward with a menacing grin. "Don't worry, we'll make it a lesson you won't forget," he said. He gently held your hand, guiding the symbols drawn on your skin back into motion. A surge of power flowed throughout your body as the symbols glowed with newfound energy. "Now," Trebol instructed, "Focus on the weakest one in the room. Draw a line from your body to them, and your power will flow through it."

You could feel your control seeping from your fingertips, reaching for the first subject. The line between you and the weak-willed man glowed, a physical manifestation of your influence. "Try to make him speak, Y/N," Doflamingo encouraged you, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Y-yes Master..." You do your best to feel your energy flow through the imaginary string that connected you with the first subject. Communicating through the string, you command him to declare Doffy as the greatest emperor of Dressrosa. As your power and energy reached out to the weak-willed subject, he stiffened, and his eyes met yours. The line between you grew brighter with each passing moment.

"Master... Doffy... is... the greatest... Emperor of... all of Dressrosa..." he muttered, his voice shaky yet obedient.

"Excellent, Y/N!" Doflamingo praised you, clapping his hands together. "You're catching on quickly, it seems. Now, see if you can make him demonstrate his obedience further."

The subject's eyes wandered to the floor, his body tense and ready to take further commands. The string between you and him, a symbol of your newfound dominance, pulsated in time with your heartbeat. He bowed deeply, his forehead touching the floor. "I am yours, Master Doffy, through my mistress Y/N. I am here to serve you both with my whole being," he declared, his voice rough from the forced submission.

Doflamingo's smile grew wider, his satisfaction evident. "Bravo, Y/N," he praised you. "You're off to a great start. Now, show the others that they too will bow before us. We'll see just how far your power can stretch."

With the taste of control and the approval of your master, you felt emboldened. The thread between you and the weak-willed continued to glow, and you focused on the next subject. Slowly, you began to make them submit as well, each one falling under your influence.

Doflamingo watched with a content expression, relishing in the sight of his new toy in action. You were proving yourself capable of entertaining the strong and weak alike, your role as his submissive servant and his tool of control solidifying by the moment.

Where your newfound powers would take you, only time would tell. But one thing was certain, the chamber echoed with your newfound dominance, and beneath it, the shaky breaths of the defeated, their wills now yours to command.

As your will swept over the subjects, the air in the chamber changed, heavy with the tension of pending violence. "Hear me, the weak and the lowly," you commanded, your voice echoing within the room. "Prove your loyalty with your strength. Only the strongest among you shall join as my master's loyal subjects. The rest shall perish, offering their lives as a sacrifice to their new ruler, Lord Doflamingo."

Your hands moved, drawing forth the symbols marked upon your skin. The lines of power extended from your body, binding your subjects to your command. The symbols shimmered, bathing the room in their luminous glow as the subjects' eyes hardened with determination.

As they turned on one another, their cries and groans of battle echoed through the chamber. Doflamingo stood by, his face a mask of delighted anticipation, as you manipulated the course of the fight. This was your master's twisted game, and you had become an essential part of it.

By forcing these subjects to shed blood in pursuit of loyalty, you deepened the bonds of devotion. The victors would owe their very existence to you, while the losers offered up their lives in the name of Doflamingo's greatness. You reveled in your newfound control, serving your master with absolute devotion, a pawn in his grand, twisted chess game.

As your master watched you orchestrate the bloody battle, his gaze never faltering, Doflamingo smiled, proud of his new acquisition. "You've shown quite the dedication, Y/N" he praised, the sound of combat and grunts of effort still lingering in the air. "You're a quick study, and your zealousness is quite commendable."

He approached you, his hand stroking your exposed neck, tracing a line from your collarbone to your heart. "And with this, you've proved your submission to me. The game has only just begun, so let us continue this dance of dominance and submission." Doflamingo leaned in, whispering into your ear: "Your loyalty has already earned you my favor, Y/N, and you'll find that in my world, that's enough to guarantee you a place at my side for as long as you promise to serve."

Doffy's touch sent a tinge of arousal down your spine, gently gnawing at my mind. Feeling his breath hot on your neck and ear, goosebumps ran across your skin. "Thank you, Master," you breathed. Arousal stirred between your legs.

With those words of encouragement, he turned, heading back towards the exit. The future was a twisted, promising path for you, a journey that began in a dark basement and had no bounds to its potential. As your master's devout servant, your role had been cast, and the time had come for you to step fully into it.

The world of One Piece now had a powerful new player, a submissive subject to Doflamingo, ready to bend the wills of whomever crossed your path in the name of the most enigmatic villain in the series.

Doflamingo easily read the desire that flickered in your eyes. He kept you firmly in his gaze, his voice hushed. "Let us see who emerges from this brutal contest you've enacted. It'll be a fine testament to your influence, one I can't wait to witness."

As the battle waned, leaving behind a winner and a trail of the defeated, Doflamingo's attention returned to you. His hand trailed down your arm, sending shivers through your body at his touch. "I believe you've earned a reward, for your enthusiastic efforts today," he said, his voice dripping with promise.

With his other hand, he gently turned your face to his, your eyes growing wide in anticipation. Doflamingo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "Y/N, as your master, I claim you," he whispered as he pulled back.

"Of course, Master. Anything for you," you told Doffy, your breath heavy.

An innocent first kiss, but it marked the beginning of your submission to him on a more intimate level. The bond between you and Doflamingo had already shifted, this time forever sealing your allegiance to him in every sense of the word. Your journey had crossed a new threshold as your master's servant, and with Doflamingo's claim now etched in your existence, you eagerly looked forward to what lay in store. This was the path you'd chosen, and in Doflamingo's arms, you were poised to become a formidable force in this twisted world you two will soon create.

"That's the mindset I love to hear from you, my dear," Doflamingo replied with a gentle smile. "Now, let us celebrate our new union in the proper way. Trebol, arrange a feast for us, one befitting our newfound triumphs."

As his slimey assistant moved to carry out the order, Doflamingo guided you out of the basement and back into the heart of his stronghold. The world raced by as he led you through the opulent halls. A mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned in, nuzzling your hair. "Tonight, we'll toast to our successful partnership, Y/N, and chart the course for our future exploits."

The grand feast awaited in an ornate chamber, the scents of exotic dishes wafting through the air. Doflamingo's hand found its way to the small of your back as he seated you beside him.

The darkness of your kidnapping was now a distant memory, replaced by the vivid reality of your new life. As you sat before Doflamingo, a wicked grin spreading across his lips, the first course was served, signaling the start of an unforgettable night. The chef, one of Doflamingo's unyielding subjects, had used exotic ingredients, cooked with the passion that fueled your master's empire.

As the night unfolded, the bond between you and Doflamingo deepened. Wine flowed freely, the candles flickered, and the air hummed with the secrets of a dark empire. You, the newest pawn on its chessboard, had begun your journey, a commitment to servitude that promised a twisted, wondrous adventure.

~~~~~~~~

Your body draped over Doflamingo, your obedience never wavering. Your only desire being to serve under the Young Master, the serum taking full effect.

As your body lay comfortably against Doflamingo's, the night's festivities had long since faded. The room was dimly lit, the flicker of a dying fire the only illumination in the large bedroom.

Doflamingo, content with your willing submission, trailed his fingers through your hair, his grip firm and possessive. "Rest easy, Y/N," he murmured softly, his voice a lullaby. "You've earned your reprieve from the struggles of the day, and in my care, you'll find solace." He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Trust in me, and together, we'll shape this world to our whims, breaking the wills of the weak and bending them to our will. As we sleep, the stars above can only dream of the schemes that brew within our minds."

Drifting off to sleep, you snuggled closer to Doflamingo, your dreams filled with the promise of a future forged under your Master's guidance. The journey ahead had only just begun, and with the enigmatic Doflamingo as your anchor, you looked forward to the twisted turns and unforeseen revelations that the world would unveil. Your loyalty was unwavering, your devotion absolute, and the intricate dance of dominance and submission with your master had only just begun.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Thank you everybody for reading! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like to continue reading to the next chapter 💝

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ordinary Day

Isn’t it nice weather? Let’s take a short stroll and enjoy it.

This is part 16 of 20. We come close to the conclusion.

The Tale of the Cursed Raven:

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 I Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 I Part 13 I Part 14 | Part 15

Information has a way of spreading by word of mouth. Without a form, there is nothing to restrain them from travel, and from the details straying from the truth. By the end of the school day, Kon has already picked up on at least seven variations of the same story.

The disappearance of one Raven Crowley, and the aftermath of it.

She hadn’t attended class for some time now, hadn’t shown her face in public. A wind blew through the grapevine, supposed tea brewing. 

“I think she transferred. Didn’t really fit in here anyway. Probably at some all-girls place now.”

“No, no, she’s being homeschooled for safety reasons. The headmaster keeps her locked away in that tower and personally tutors her.” 

“I heard she’s dead. She Overblotted and went on a rampage in the woods. The dorm leaders had to suppress her and collect the body afterwards.”

He grips onto his textbooks harder, fingers digging into the leather-bound cover and spine. Kon is always anxious, but the whispers tug at his nerves, pulling them taut.

It doesn’t come from a place of concern, he knows. Gossip is gossip, meant to amuse and entertain. 

He wonders if he should confront them, ask them to stop--if they’d even listen to his pleas. 

Because no one wants a story’s end to be as sad as that…

Instead, he ducks behind a column and waits for the chattering group to pass. The debate grows heated, turns into betting and rough housing. Ugly, unpleasant sounds.

The thought occurs to him again. If he tries…

“Are you going to say something?”

Kon startles at the sudden question. 

He senses a figure beside him, but is too frozen with fear to turn his head, to see who it is.

From his periphery, he can glean glimpses of them. Auburn waves threaded with gold, a frilled gown colored as green as the springtime. A soft voice to belong to one of the rowdy mobs. It’s sweet yet flat, like a soda without the carbonation.

Who is this…?

His mouth won’t move to utter what he wants it to. 

“No? You won’t?” they ask. “Ah, you choose to observe then. You are wiser than you would appear to be. A story is just meant to be witnessed. To involve oneself is to meddle. The impartiality, ruined.”

Shock dislodges the knot in his throat. “Wh-What are you saying? The rumors floating around… I don’t think anyone would want that.”

“Talk is what they have, so they relish in it.  Action is difficult. Very few manage to scale the tower to witness the truth for with their own eyes. The chosen, the worthy.”

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

There is a scoff.

“Perhaps not now, but in the future you may.”

He sees a hand extend, cupping the sunlight. It is sheathed in a billowing green sleeve, nothing like the NRC school uniforms.

“This is a day like any other. Please enjoy the mundaneness to its fullest. We do not know for certain how long this peace will stay with us.”

“You’re not a student,” Kon says weakly. Already, he is sweating up a waterfall on his forehead. “Who are you?”

In the response, a slight smile.

“Just a visitor passing through. Pay me no mind.”

“’Scuse me! Sorry! Comin’ through!”

A ghost outfitted in a mailman’s uniform weaves his way through the hallways of Octavinelle. He doesn’t so much as go around students as he was fazing through them. The only trace of him left behind is a slight chill in the torso, like an ice flower has just melted there.

The mail ghost launches itself through the Mostro Lounge doors.

It’s a busy night.

Students are seated at the booths and at the bar. Friends with friends, soaking up jazz and the aquatic ambience. Plates of seafood and colorful drinks, served under glowing jellyfish.

The conversation flows like water.

“They shipped her off to a lab to get tested. Or maybe she got kidnapped.”

“Nah, she’s in hiding somewhere.”

“She opened up a portal to another world and hopped into it.”

From the podium up front, Jade bows to the mail ghost.

“Welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guest,” he greets. “I’m afraid we are fully booked at the moment, so if you wish for a table, you will have to come back in 45 minutes’ time. Though--” Jade eyes the bag of mail hanging from the ghost’s body. “--I suppose dining was not in the cards from the start.”

“Just here for the usual mail delivery.” He reaches into his bag and produces several envelopes, fanning them out.

“Thank you for your service as always. I will receive them for Azul.”

The exchange is made, and the mail ghost continues on his route.

As soon as he vanishes, Jade allows his smile to relax.

The merman begins going through the envelopes. It’s a distraction, but preferable to paying mind to the swirling hearsay. It will only make him irritable.

Plain white, mostly bills or spam mail and advertisements. Hardly anything worth gracing their dorm leader’s desk.

Azul.

Jade frowns.

Since Azul had been whisked away to the emergency meeting, he has been more alert than usual. Jade notices it in the subtleties. His breaths, his glances, the way his fingers drum.

Whatever happened that day, it still bothers him.

He had “spoken” with the other dorm leaders, of course—but none of them knew much, not even Kalim, who claimed to have found her. “Not sure why she was in the woods, but all that matters is that she’s okay now. Maybe she just wandered and got lost?”

Wandering and lost. Those were apt descriptors for how she had looked that night she had stumbled into him. She was haunted then, small and shuddering in the glaring moonlight.

Jade dislikes not knowing, dislikes being kept in the dark.

He barely bats an eyelash until he comes to the final envelope. It doesn’t look like the others, with their formal business addresses and postage. Pitch black, with golden embellishes.

His name is written on it.

In handwriting that makes his heart stop.

“... What is this?”

He tears it open at once, retrieving the letter inside.

Jade,

I realize receiving this may be awkward, given our history. However, I still hope it finds you well.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting about many things. Our time together, our relationship... and also about myself and what it is that I’m seeking.

I haven’t been very brave or honest. I think I can admit that now, though it doesn’t leave me feeling good. It’s like when a baby bird first hatches from its egg. It can’t quite see the world clearly, and nor does it have feathers to shield its vulnerable body from the forces of nature.

I have something important to tell you. Too important to scrawl on paper. It must be said face-to-face.

The apple tree in the courtyard is in bloom. It’s so very beautiful this time of year. I wish I could stare at them forever and ever. In the language of flowers, apple blossoms can mean many things. Love, peace, rebirth, good luck... a long life too.

Let’s meet there, in the shade of the apple tree and under the cover of stars.

Tomorrow, right before the stroke of midnight.

I will give you my answer then.

Best regards,

Raven Crowley

Life at Night Raven College continues.

A single cog it may lack, but the mechanism continues to churn. There is a spot in the core that is empty, where the missing cog belongs. Still, the machine operates without its heart.

Another day comes and goes.

And in the highest room of the tallest tower...

Something goes bump in the dark.

Someone stirs.

[meowmarkie]

first snow — jsc

you were out buying drinks at a convenience store to celebrate your most recent achievement, however, fate had other plans which involved the one Jung Sungchan and a couple of snowflakes

pairing. . . sungchan x female reader

genre. . . fluff

prompt. . . love at first sight

requested?. . . yes!

The wind was coldly blowing through your face, sending small shivers down your spine. Cold didn’t agree with you — but it was still better than hot climates, in which you’d sweat non-stop.

Yet another year was coming close to an end and the imminent question about new year resolutions was popping around in your head, even though said holiday was still a month away. After all, what had you done this year that was somewhat meaningful to you? That’s something worth thinking about.

Well, you did manage to get into the most prestigious psychology program in Seoul while working part time as a barista. Not many people you know can juggle college and a job at the same time, so it’s safe to say that’s a solid achievement.

Nonetheless, you were walking down your street, hands filled with convenience store plastic bags. The good college related news arrived earlier in the day, but you were only having time to celebrate it a few minutes past 11 pm. Your day wasn’t busy at all, it was actually your best friend who only finished her activities at such time in the night. 

After walking for a while, you felt a sudden vibration coming from your jacket’s pocket — it was probably your best friend calling. 

Once you had your phone in your hands, the time it showed stood out. It was precisely 11:11 pm. An angel number.

Usually, things like horoscopes, angel numbers and tarot cards weren’t your cup of tea but you did, however, believe in fate. You believed there was a reason for you to have seen such numbers together.

Before a line of thought could be finished, you suddenly felt yourself bump into something large and big. It turns out you hadn’t stopped walking while checking your phone and you probably bumped into a wall. Such realization came after your butt hit the ground with a loud “pof” — Thank God it was winter.

“Are you okay?” A sweet voice called out, making you look up again, mildly confused since the walls you know don’t usually talk. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there”

You got up quickly from the ground, expression filled with embarrassment. Now that you knew you were dealing with another human being, the situation became 4 times more stressful than before.

“I’m… Fine”

As soon as you both lock eyes, something in the air shifts. The cold wind suddenly turns warm and it feels like it’s day again. The stranger’s eyes were the kindest you had ever seen in your whole life, and in just a mere second, you managed to feel safe exactly where you were.

It was as amazing as it was strange to be feeling such things. It was also even more exhilarating to know that somewhat, it went both ways. A magical thread of connection was formed in this beautiful wintery night.

“Here, let me help you” He said, getting your bags off the ground and handing them to you. “Please hurry home, the weather forecast said that-” His train of thought was interrupted by a mountain of snowflakes that started pouring down from the sky, making him frown and pout a bit.

“What’s wrong?” You said, after noticing both his frown and the sudden increase in the wind to snow ration.

“I live very far from here, and the weather report said to expect a blizzard today… I can’t believe this year’s first snowfall is going to be that aggressive”

His sad expression broke your heart, and you didn’t even know his name! What absurd thing, you thought, to be this connected and empathetic towards someone you just met, and bumped into?!

“Okay, first things first. What’s your name?”

“Oh, right! I didn’t introduce myself, sorry, I’m Sungchan, and you?” He said, smiling warmly and offering you his hand.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you!” You gladly shook his hand after introducing yourself to him. “Would you like to wait it out at my house? I know I just met you, but I wouldn’t like to be in your position if the tables were turned, and I’d be really thankful if someone offered me a place to stay” You were a certified yapper whenever you felt nervous, and right now, you were about to piss your pants out of nervousness. 

Here’s the thing, you never knew how to maintain your composure around pretty boys, and Sungchan was just… Breathtaking. It was almost dizzying to look at him for even more than a minute.

You didn’t think someone could ever feel as strongly as you, but right now, Sungchan was there to prove you wrong. He was completely starstruck after gazing upon your beautiful and delicate figure.

“I really don’t know how to thank you. I’m gladly accepting your offer!” He promptly took the bags out of your hands, in order to make things lighter for you. That’s when he noticed the bottles of Soju and the mini-sized bottle of champagne. “Ooh, so we’re celebrating, huh? What’s the occasion?” You two started walking quickly towards your house, making small talk.

“I just got into Seoul’s most prestigious psychology program at SNU! I worked really hard for it” This was an insane accomplishment, you thought to yourself. Pride is not a strong enough word to describe your feelings.

“No way! I’m also a freshman there!” Sungchan’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Wow, the universe really wanted us to meet, then! That’s nice.”

After talking for a few more minutes, you both finally arrived at your house. Your best friend was waiting for you — worried sick — at the door. She then noticed the very tall man’s presence, which was explained right after her noticing him.

Your best friend seemed to get along with him really well, making you feel happy and at ease — she was hard to please, that one. 

This whole situation made you think back to your new year’s resolutions. One thing was missing from your bucket list, one of your prioritized goals: that was, falling in love. 

And now, some weird intuitive feeling tells you that Sungchan can help you accomplish said goal

hey guys! i hope you like this and don't be shy to request other things! just make sure you follow the rules ;)

[primeduo]

the lack of empathy people experience is so mind boggling to me. if i lost my friend in the fashion that not just dream, but the entire dream team did, i would’ve gone insane on main months ago. the fact that dream has been showing nothing but kindness this entire time and only wrote a thread after getting his life put in danger is an insane amount of patience to me. this, coupled with the fact that they were friends for years, would have personally destroyed me. and for him to get painted as pathetic over trying to express his attempts to reach out is heartbreaking. i hope that one day, dream truly gets his flowers. i hope people see him for who he is, a kid in the vast world of gaming. i hope that he gets to relax in his own home without paranoia. i hope that his sister can go to school without looking over her shoulder. i hope that his parents can go places without needing to watch their backs. i hope that george and sapnap won’t get targeted because people discovered they can’t affect dream anymore. i hope that all those involved in making his life miserable get what they deserve, from both the law and the universe. i hope that the dream team will have a ptsd free life in their thirties, forties, fifties, etc. we can’t do anything about it but wish and hope, and maybe for some of us, pray. i hope that all those who stand by dream’s side proudly remain safe. i hope that everyone involved gets what is coming to them, good and bad. i hope that everything will work out for everyone, and that next april won’t be so bad. there are so many things to hope for. take care of yourselves; there’s nothing you can do about it. eat and drink, do what you need to do today. things will be okay, and we can all hope together.

[ladystarksneedle]

Greedy

Summary: A lady at sea finds warmth amidst its endless waters.

Warnings: angst, mentions of voyeurism, infidelity, period typical sexism and misogyny, derogatory language, rumor mongering, slight canon divergence.

Word count: 7.5k

Dividers by @saradika

She clawed at the threads in her lap, entangling them for the third time as her husband droned on about the costs of war. There were ramparts, fortifications and more men needed at Tarth to stop the incursion of the Triarchy that he spoke of, agitating himself further as he paced before her, taking her absent minded humming in response to be borne out of interest. The “War of the Stepstones" as it had come to be known, was the newest point of conversation throughout the realm from the Blackwater to the Bay of Crabs, with every household eager to contribute their share of mockery, awe or support. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Sadly she hadn't found an inch of interest in the one before her.

She had been delivered to Claw Isle almost a year ago, packaged rather gaudily in fabrics of silk and gold, to be unwrapped by the lord of salty seas and misty air. He'd torn in rather clumsily, mistaking haste for pleasure, like a crab feasting at her shore, yet no tears came to her, all the salt had seemingly washed away before she'd entered Crackclaw point. The castle stood surprisingly tall, jutting out of the small island located to the south of Dragonstone, close enough to hear the roars of the beasts of long forgotten might and far enough to be sheltered from their unexpected wrath. She'd often look out her window, imagining what they'd look like, though a year had passed and she had yet to catch a glimpse of them. Some of the locals claimed they'd seen one, a “gray ghost” they'd called it, as elusive as the fog lining the seas, scaring away the fishermen trying to make their catch for the day. They were baseless rumors to her, all the same, recited idly at tea by the ladies of the Point, when they'd run out of their keepsake of slanders. Dragons to her were beasts of myth and true as they might be, posed no consequence to her life, until now.

“Prince Daemon has assembled an army of ten thousand men with Lord Corlys Velaryon. It would be folly to not join such an endeavor.”

“You mean to join the war?” she asked incredulously “We hardly have the numbers.”

“If those shipping lanes fall it affects us all dear wife or have you not been paying attention.”

“I have, husband” she huffed “But decisions made in haste cost dearly. Claw Isle boasts enough wealth to tide us through this predicament without meriting involvement, as you've proclaimed countless times yourself, why then should we waste our men and resources?”

“You're a woman Belinda and as witty as you might be, you do not understand the consequences of uninvolvement. Tarth may very well be under siege as we speak” he remarked.

“And what has the King to say for this expedition undertaken by his brother, I doubt it is with his full consent, ten thousand men seems quite less of a number for a royal army does it not?” she replied back “But yes you're right, I'm just a woman, what would I know about numbers when it is your forte dear husband. I shall leave you to your accounts in peace” she said as she left his chambers with a swift peck to his cheek, quick to evade his reply.

“You must learn when to keep your mouth shut daughter, the ability to do so shall last you long” her mother's words were tight around her neck, a noose waiting to throttle her should she stray too far and though she hadn't managed to keep her wayward tongue in check, she'd found out soon enough that scraps of affection meted out at opportune moments often did the trick.

Dinner proved to be less in her favor. Bartimos was ever eager in spirit, having invited the lords of the neighboring keeps to convene on pretext of merriment. While she sat drinking with the ladies whispering animatedly amongst themselves at the other end of the hall, she realized just how hard headed he could really be. Perhaps her mother was right and there was still more to learn.

“Have you heard the tales of Lady Swann? It is such a tragedy. I've heard she's been sold to a pillow house in Lys”

“She was always a wild one, I've heard. I'm sure she'll do just fine there” chirped Lady Crabb, ever the glutton at any such occasion.

“You have quite the tongue Lady Crabb, you must learn to hold it lest you earn the likeness of the Crabfeeder himself” snickered another.

“Perhaps he styles himself after your own lord husband” remarked Lady Brunes, her fellow at arms of wit.

“Jest all you want ladies, but there is some truth to it. My husband was knighted at the mere age of four and ten, how many of yours can claim such laurels. It will be him who'll bring glory back to Crackclaw point and you'll be all the fools for it” huffed Lady Crabb clawing at the pearls around her neck.

Being the youngest among them had its merits in times like these. Despite being the hostess she was seldom asked her opinions, merely considered to be in accordance with the consensus they reached as the wine dried up and their husbands returned to eagerly escort them back home. Feasts in the Crownlands often had one way of ending, with most of them on their backs. As the bed creaked below her, she realized her’s would be a happy one. Sweaty and sated, she lay next to him as he struggled to catch his breath, exhausting himself to fruition this once. Bartimos seemed to outperform whenever he had a point to make, in matters that required more convincing on his part. She only wished they were more in number and came more often.

“We shall leave for Driftmark in three days' time” he said as he turned to sleep, blowing off the candles near them. “It is a good thing Belinda, you'll come to realize soon enough. You'll even get to see those dragons you've been so curious about.”

“They do not interest me as much as you think” she thought “But if admitting to it makes you more amiable in bed I might as well go set up camp there, husband” she pondered as she drifted off to sleep dreaming of distant roars and crashing waves engrossed in a hazy tussle of their own.

Driftmark proved to be a much grander island. They'd sailed for a day to get there, bypassing Dragonstone on the way. The captain of their ship had pointed it out, a black speck of monstrous rock jutting out from the coast, with a multitude of deep rumbles reverberating through the masts, as they had sailed past. It felt ominous and rather insidious, intriguing enough for her to want to halt and explore for the first time since they'd left, but her husband wished for no time to be wasted and ordered them to sail ahead. High Tide shone bright under the sun as they'd arrived, its pale stone greeting them in a stark contrast to the home of their Valyrian overlords. The Castle was said to have been newly built by Lord Corlys with all the wealth he'd amassed on his nine voyages, its turrets gleaming haughtily at them with their beaten silver tops. They'd been ushered in shortly, with their infantry in tow to the “Hall of Nine” in attendance before him as he sat atop the Driftwood Throne.

“We welcome you to High Tide, Lord Bartimos. The support of the Celtigars, in these trying times is much appreciated” he boomed.

“Thank you for your graciousness Lord Corlys” he smiled as she fidgeted near him.

“Perhaps your lady wife would like to rest as we get to the matter at hand, the journey would have been quite tiring for those not accustomed to it” he said as she was ushered away to the depths of the Castle by one of the Velaryon ladies nearby.

“Princess Rhaenys shall receive you my lady, please follow me. I am Daena, cousin to Corlys in case you're wondering. We have assembled here to convene on our own council” she stated, leading her up the winding stairs to a hall overlooking the Bay. At its head sat none other than the lady of the manor, Rhaenys Targaryen, a tall woman with a welcoming smile in tow “Lady Celtigar so good of you to join us, welcome to High Tide.”

There were more than a dozen ladies in the room who turned to look at her, the Velaryons with their teal dresses and silver locks, a few from Crackclaw point that she recognised immediately, ladies Crabb and both the Brunes, of Dyre Den and Brownhollow, ladies Bar Emmon and Staunton and a few stromlanders judging by the intricate braids on their heads who greeted her in response. Lady Daena led her to her seat as they resumed speaking, each advocating for their preferred course of action. As she observed their leader at the head of the table listening intently to each prompt she wondered why a dragon rider such as her wasn't involved in the affairs of the main council. Noticing her inquisitive stare she turned to address them once again “We have dragons and they are more than sufficient to weed this Crabfeeder out of his cave. My son Laenor shall be joining Prince Daemon, leading from above though your support at both sea and ground is much appreciated. We shall soon be rid of this menace together” she spoke with pride. “We've hosted a feast tonight as an inauguration of our joint partnership. Please rest, explore and enjoy your stay before we meet again ” she concluded.

The beaches of Driftmark were a true wonder, she thought as she strolled along unbothered by the sand coating her stockings. They were unlike Claw Isle, with white sand stretching endlessly surrounded by pristine blue waters, secluded and picturesque. “Could wealth be used to acquire such beauty? Perhaps Lord Corlys’ expeditions had played a part in shaping the sea before her too” she considered enjoying her solitude. Her path soon led her to a hut, nestled away surrounded by a bed of grass, small enough to be overlooked, making her walk towards it, observing its peculiar vantage point overlooking the sea. As she passed through the rickety gate, she heard shuffling inside before coming across a man leaning against one of the posts. His eyes lit up as she came into view, trailing over her, before a smirk etched itself onto his face.

“Well Hello” he drawled lazily.

“Apologies my lord I didn't know someone was here” she replied hastily.

“Do you often walk into other's properties at will, my lady?” he inquired mockingly.

“I considered it abandoned” she flushed. “I was merely curious”

“Hmm” he said, appraising her “It is not safe to be wandering these waters alone, considering the threat that looms ahead”

“But I am not alone” she quipped back.

He chuckled as he made his way towards her.

“And what a sharp tongue you've got there. It would be a shame if that were the only weapon at your disposal”

“I don't think it wise for you to want to find out” she replied, standing her ground.

His smirk widened as he brushed past her, leaning down to whisper into the shell of her ear “Welcome to Driftmark my lady, your claws do you justice.”

Evening couldn't arrive fast enough. Her encounter with the man at the beach left her more shaken once she came to realize who he was. Bartimos spoke of the surprising absence of Prince Daemon from their war council, baffled as he dressed in haste. She merely shook her head in response, finding the lord or rather the prince she'd met, to be all the more intriguing. Dinner proved to be a lavish affair with an assortment of opulence. Dishes of roasted duck glazed with honey adorned the plates before them, along with sardines and roasted tomatoes coated with fennel and saffron. There were freshly picked cherries and apricots, apple and cinnamon pies and a heap of lemon cakes being passed around the hall, along with overflowing cups of Dornish red mocking the enemies they were to face. She sat next to known faces, taking comfort in familiarity amidst the novelty she'd found herself in, while Lady Crabb delighted in the feast before her, munching away wholly unbothered by her sullenness. Her husband was in better spirits after the toasts that had been made to their victory, conversing heartily with Lord Staunton as she looked about inquisitively.

Prince Daemon sat at the head of the table flanking Lord Corlys to the left looking disinterested as he sipped his wine, pretending to listen in to the conversation at hand. She smiled to herself at the glazed look in his eyes, present for a fleeting moment before wandering again to places far beyond her reach. One of the Velaryon lords next to Princess Rhaenys, Ser Vaemond, if she remembered correctly, said something which swiftly brought him back.

“Perhaps you'd like to find out for yourself Ser Vaemond, Caraxes would be all the more willing” he said smirking “A toast then” he spoke standing up as the chatter died down.“To our allies and their good health, may you weather the battle ahead well” he said as a few cheered in response. “And to our enemies, near and beyond, narrow be their deaths, narrow be their beds” he said looking around “To our appetite for war” he spoke at last, winking at him as the man below him gazed back in defiance “and more” he finished seemingly staring right at her. She squirmed with apprehension as the crowd erupted in cheers “Hear, hear” they chanted “To the Rogue Prince Daemon” , they continued, banging their cups on the spread in front.

She wondered if her husband realized what he partook in, as the celebrations continued, forever wanting for fame and glory begotten through company, only for her to be the unwitting recipient of the eye of the Dragon.

As the evening drew close and Bartimos drunkenly staggered through the halls supported by his peers, she fought back a scoff. He bade her goodnight, eager to continue his quest for companionship while she politely shut the door waiting to leave their chambers as soon as she felt the coast was clear. Drawing her robe close she snuck out to explore, excited at her newfound freedom, delighting in the sliver of opportunity she'd happened upon. High Tide was quiet as the waves lapped the shore in the distance, a peaceful contrast to the jeers of the evening. A few servants scurried about bowing as they passed by her without question, perhaps to tend to the many guests that the castle currently housed. It was relatively easy to navigate with its shiny walls of pale stone mixed with wood twisting to form an interesting maze. She passed by low chandeliers, banisters with carvings of sea creatures, walls of teal painted with murals of voyages at sea, retinues of Velaryon soldiers and seafarers shouting orders and rowing through storms, intricately decorating the hallways. Statues of oceanic figures greeted her, lining each corridor connecting together till she came upon one, wooden and endless, larger than the rest, with a small alcove at the end. Darting ahead at once to claim it for her own, she stopped as she heard an unfamiliar sound. A soft moan greeted her at the end followed by a series of grunts and the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against each other making her peer in. A maid lay bent over the edge, her dress ruched up to her waist as he pounded into her roughly muffling her sighs with his hand, her own clinging desperately to the railing ahead. “Quiet, I do not wish to hear you wench” he remarked, brutally thrusting into her as she whined. She watched, shocked and unable to move as he finished within her with a grunt, his silver hair falling over her shoulders, before turning around to face the door abruptly.

“It will never fail to amuse me how you find yourself in situations that do not concern you” her husband's voice rang through her ears as she ran out, only to find herself at the beach again. “You must learn your place wife and it isn't in every nook and corner of the castle” he'd remarked once, after her incessant interjections in an argument with his lord father. “The fool had some sense to what he'd said”, she thought, cursing herself loudly as she caught her breath. Admitting defeat had never felt so shameful, she sulked running her hands through her hair before turning around to find a voice addressing her.

“Couldn't sleep?”

“New waters, princess. I'm not used to change” she replied sheepishly.

“Hmm. You should have told Vanya, she's in charge of the guests. She'd have brewed you a nice tea, it works wonders for light sleepers”

“I presume you speak from experience” she ventured walking towards her.

“There is much to be thought of” she replied back as she welcomed her presence.

“You wish to join the war, contrary to what you spoke of at the council”

“What kind of dragon rider abandons their people in need. What am I, if not a warrior for a just cause”

“A ruler who knows when to step back” she countered.

“Those are flattering words, empty as they might be”

“I disagree, princess. Your children are young and you are needed here. Battles may not always be fought at sea or up in the air, the biggest ones often lie closer to home” she spoke, still unnerved by the night.

“You are wiser than your years Lady Celtigar”

“Many have called me rather impudent”

“And they always shall, anything otherwise would be to admit defeat” she scoffed.

“May I extend my impudence further tonight” she asked looking up at her in question “I think I know why you wish to join. Forgive my boldness but I feel a familiar reluctance in staying behind, with what has happened amidst those seas before”

She smiled ruefully in response. “Have you had the chance to see a dragon yet, Lady Belinda? Caraxes rests a few feet away from where we stand, slumbering in peace while his rider feasts for the night” she remarked causing her to turn abruptly “I fear I will not have peace till I fly to battle with him this once, a wish that was left unfulfilled years ago and a regret I hold with me still”

She looked around in unease before replying “It is not for me to advise you princess as I've often led myself off a cliff with my own words.”

“Do not fret he doesn't harm at will” she laughed sensing her distress. “Merely judges who he considers his prey”

“Like his rider” she wished to scream, smiling back at her instead.

“Sleep well my lady, I might require your impudence on the morrow after all,” she said before walking back to the Castle behind.

“There is no rest for the wicked” her mother used to say, scolding her when she acted out of impulse. “Your flights of fancy shall be the death of me” she'd scream as she chastised her for her conduct. The “morning after” drone on, just as painful to her as the throbbing in her husband's head, as he sat grumbling at breakfast.

“Seems like you had an interesting night” he remarked sullenly.

“What?”

“Princess Rhaenys was all praise for you at dawn.”

“Oh, it was nothing” she said as she tried to mask her raging thoughts, her mind wandering to a different head of silver that had caught her attention.

“Do not be so coy Belinda, it is good to see you putting yourself out there. Let them know what we stand for as a house” he said, sipping his tea.

“Your pride will be your downfall one day, husband, but I'm sure glad for it today” she thought, carefully evading the topic at hand.

The days that followed passed in a blur with her trying to make herself as scarce as possible and she'd found blending in with the decor a fine way of going about it. She'd attend meetings whenever she was called upon dressed in teals and blues, dine with her husband and their contemporaries adorned with silver, gossip idly with the ladies at sessions in sapphire, butting in more often, hoping to be included more but most of all she vowed never to stray out of company whenever she could, for she knew he was around, waiting to strike when she least expected it.

“There you are little trespasser” he'd caught her by the arm swinging her to the side on one such occasion, her burnished gold gown taunting her absurdity.

“Unhand me now or I'll scream”

“I doubt you would little mouse, I think you seem to take an undue amount of pleasure in depravities as such”

“I don't know what you mean”

“Don't play coy now, it doesn't suit you as much as you'd like it to” he retorted sharply

“I didn't mean to barge in on you, it was an accident”

“Hmm as are most instances you find yourself in, yes?”

“I am telling the truth,” she said, squirming in his grasp.

“Now what would your husband think, hmm, were he to find out, compromising yourself not once but twice” he whispered, twisting her towards him, pulling her flush against his chest.

“I have done nothing of that sort, you seem to mistake mischance for willingness”

“I am under no illusion my lady, but anyone in your current predicament would beg to differ” he said smirking as a few curious lords passed by them in the hallways whispering to themselves as they looked away abruptly.

“Walk with me and let me put you out of your misery” he replied, tugging her along, as he took her arm into the crook of his elbow, swiftly guiding them towards the other end of the hall.

“I want nothing more to do with you, my prince. Please leave me alone”

“Now where's the fun in that” he laughed humorlessly “Do not take me for a fool lady Celtigar, I’d prefer it if you'd play along”

She huffed as she followed him out onto familiar territory, the sandy soil welcoming her once again.

“You are married, what would your lady wife think if she found out” she said trying to dissuade him.

“I think she'll be all the more happier for my absence, something you and I might have in common” he retorted, eyes twinkling as he gazed down at her.

“I don't know what you mean” she said which earned her a click of his tongue in response.

“Bartimos is nothing but kind. He's faithful and just, I could ask for nothing more from a husband” she said after a pause.

“Perhaps you'd prefer a dog instead if that is what pleases you in a man” he huffed “Or was that your reason to linger last night?” She blushed furiously in response as he laughed at her silence.

“You presume too much”

“I only say what I think. Life is too short to hide behind false pleasantries.”

“One needs to be amiable enough to get by, not everyone has the veil of protection of a dragon rider”

“It is not Caraxes that speaks to you now, as much as you'd like, I am more myself when I say as I do.”

“And what exactly do you wish to achieve out of this” she asked, stopping as she stood before him.

“To unwind that needle you've stuck up yourself” he said “Your husband's brought you here all dolled up to decorate his empty promises, espousing might and support when all he has to his name is a house of Crabs with too few men. I do not need the likes of foolhardy lords who'll run the moment they come to face real danger.”

“What do you want then, my prince? We've come here with goodwill and whatever we have to offer” she said plainly

“I think you have far more to offer.”

“If you've come to ask me to bed you, I'd prefer it if you said so plainly”

“If I wanted to bed you I wouldn't need to ask and I don't mean taking you as an unwilling partner, as pretty as you might be”, he replied, turning a lock of her hair in his hands “You'd come to me willingly”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse” she replied. “I cannot give you what you want nor do you possess anything I seek”

“How do you know?”

“What”

“How do you know what it is that you wish to seek?” he asked “How does someone so sheltered know what they want if they haven't seen what life has to offer”

“What is it that you think I want then”

“A taste of the unknown,” he replied, looking towards the sea.

She stared after him for a moment choosing to continue beside him, the silence between them feeling akin to punishment as they made their way ahead. He stopped soon to pick up a tiny crab running across the shore.

“That is your husband,” he said, examining the creature.

“Come now, that is cruel”

He laughed before pointing towards it again “Look at its legs and tell me what you see”

“It has threads attached to it”

“They're not threads. They're remnants of flowers that thrive deep below

the seas, of colors so bright they'd put a Tyroshi head to shame” he said turning it around for her to look “Flowers like these cling to the crab, beautifying it, helping it forgae the sea weeding out prey, a perfect companion won't you say” he continued watching her swallow “Yet when this little soldier feels the need to return ashore he discards his companion to the solitude of the sea” he finished before tossing the crab aside.

“I am not a flower” she said lifting her head up in defiance “To be discarded so easily”

A broad grin lit up his face as he nodded at her continuing down his path.

Preparations for the war soon ramped up, prolonging her discomfort. She felt stifled putting up smiles, talking incessantly to fill the silence lest she be drawn back in, while he lingered on. She began seeing him more frequently, at most meals of the day. A few of the men had taken to dining with their ladies, mostly those of importance to the warfront and with Bartimos finally being offered a place at the table it was hard to refuse his advancement. She began sitting with them stiff as a board, his gaze burning into her across the spread before them, ashamed to be the cause of her husband's newfound happiness. Watching him drink and talk with pride oblivious to the danger that lay ahead of them both prompted her to consider the nagging thought in her head, perhaps she needed to be his sea flower at last.

He was relentless in his pursuit all the while, smirking with his head tilted to the side whenever she caught him looking, observing her with a heavy gaze waiting to strike again.

It came to a head finally, one sunny morning. She didn't know what possessed her to go to the council room, perhaps it was to seek out Bartimos, as a warning or with counsel itself, but she had opened those great oak doors only to find him inside. He sat alone at the head, with one foot propped up on the map before him, eyes looking out the window, disinterested and lost.

“Are you here to apologize again?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in question.

“I was looking for my husband. Since he's not here I shall leave you to it”

“Ever the dutiful wife, byka embar rūklon”

“Don't call me that”

“Hmm” he chuckled. “Given that he's occupied at the moment, what can I do for you, my lady?” he said standing up.

“Must we keep coming back to it” she replied back, exasperated.

“It is you who makes things difficult”

“Hardly. I've told you what I do not want, I think that should make things much easier for us both”

“You may speak all you want but it's the things left unsaid that matter the most” he continued, before they were interrupted by a servant. She turned to look at her in shock as she greeted him, striding forwards to fill his cup to the brim, privy to all their secrets. He grinned at her expression as he held up a hand

“Leave it and tidy up those scrolls like I taught you” he remarked dismissing her as she wordlessly turned her back to them.

“Now this must be a familiar sight to you” he chuckled, addressing her.

“Your cupbearer” she asked, switching to High Valyrian delighting in his pleased expression.

“Yes it is quite convenient. She knows when I'm full”

“How ingenious” she remarked dispassionately.

“Come on, it's fun”

“To see her each morn, when you're discussing matters of importance and know how you'll be having her at dusk? Was this the unknown you spoke ok?” she spat

“Stand up, let me show you something” he remarked suddenly as he led her to the window.

“To anyone who walks in now, I'm showing you how the sky melts into the sea, explaining to you the foreign territory we'll soon find ourselves in, ” he said, moving close to her.

“What concerns us, is how I've ordered her to tidy up everything. All the scrolls and there are a hundred of them, before she thinks of lifting her head up again” he whispered as she heaved at his proximity, her back flush against his chest.

“We could do whatever we want and she wouldn't move an inch” he hummed against her ear pulling her close. “No one would know, for the reward that awaits her at dusk”

“Obedience for pleasure” she sighed as he tilted her head up gazing into her eyes.

“Precisely” he grinned, grabbing her neck without warning.

“What will you choose, embar rūklon?” he said brushing his nose violently against hers. She bit his lip in response, delighted with his painfully grunt as she tasted him, metallic and raw, of blood and smoke.

“I think that suffices as an answer ” she responded breathlessly, crashing her lips against his.

As she walked out the door later, she noticed the neatly arranged scrolls in the corner with seven cups lined in order, ready for each member of the council to use. The dragon behind her grinned greedily, having found yet another conquest to his name.

Daemon Targaryen was more beast than man, she'd come to learn over the days that followed. As the time to leave finally drew close and tempers ran hot at council meetings, his thirst for flesh increased, seeking her out in shadowed corridors, grasping and rutting into her savagely. She'd be showered with equal affection later on masking the bruises marking her skin. Jewellery of pearl and rubies adorned her pulse points, bitten and sore from their heady encounters as she strutted around with unfaltering poise delighting in her newfound routine. She had come to enjoy their little game, often finding ways to excuse herself to explore another hideaway the castle had to offer, leaving it separately with the lingering smell of their sweat and arousal. Despite the intensity of their meetings it was the aftermath she had come to cherish the most, when he'd kiss the crown of her head after pulling her hair, or play with her wrists as he drew her close. The little trinkets that she hid among her dresses, made her heart beat faster whenever she sat looking out at sea smiling to herself as her company chatted on.

“I got you something”

“What is this?” she laughed “A bird of paper?”

“There is a technique they use in Yi-Ti, where they make creatures out of paper, style them as they like '' he said “This is a crane shown to me by a merchant in passing, as a token for the hefty purchase I made. They say if you make a thousand of these the Gods grant you anything you desire.”

“I thought you didn't believe in the Gods,” she mocked.

“I do not but there isn't a man more foolish than the one who doesn't appreciate beauty, in all forms” he smirked.

“There is a catch though” he said, pulling it away before she had the chance to grab it.

“There always is, isn't it”

“If and when you make a thousand of these you'll be granted but a single wish. I would choose one carefully embar rūklon”

She closed her eyes as she thought smiling to herself.

“Not now”

“Ah but what if I wish for something this very moment, what's to stop me”

“You play by my rules alone byka gevie, never forget” he said pulling her towards him delighting in her laughter.

As much as he'd claimed ownership of the people in his service Daemon had glossed over a singular fact common to all women alike, they preferred nothing more than a fresh rumor served cold. From the smallfolk to the ladies in their fine towers, each held a kinship to one another when it came to gossip, spreading it far and wide. Rumors of her entanglement with the dragon prince spread like wildfire, with fresh tongues wagging in her direction, holding her accountable with their judgy eyes and insolent mouths. His little cupbearer was the one responsible, she thought as she found herself cornered, how fitting it was to be felled by the keeper of his secrets.

The most disappointing though, was the reaction of the lady she'd lent her sympathy to days ago.

“I'd like to give you a piece of advice Lady Celtigar” she remarked one morning

“You are young and have many years ahead of you, do not waste it in pursuit of fleeting pleasure. I know what it's like to feel constrained and alone. When my husband went off on his travels across the world it was I who held fort here, braving it all, ensuring our legacy wouldn't be tarnished by even a wisp of bitterness. You will soon be put in a similar position and you won't weather it should you choose to continue as you are now” she said plainly. “A woman's reputation makes or breaks her family and her house. It is the most important tool you have in your arsenal and you must learn to weild it well.”

“I can take care of myself Princess. My impudence shall weather me through whatever storm awaits me yet, besides you have a dragon to protect you, I doubt it was your diplomacy that carried your legacy forwards”

“And now you've found yours” she remarked with distaste. “Heed my warning my lady, I have known my cousin long enough to realize he always does as he wants. He will not change no matter how much you wish for it to be so” she said as she left her in thought.

The storm at her horizon approached faster than she could have anticipated striking the pearls around her neck first, with an innocuous question posed at dinner.

“That is such a beautiful necklace my lady wherever did you get it”

“Oh it is one of the many treasures of our house” she countered “A little trinket, one of many the Celtigars boast. We have chests of ancestral rubies, Myrish carpets, Volantene glass, jeweled cups and more that await you at Claw Isle should you choose to visit” she remarked satisfied with turning the conversation at hand. If only it had been so easy.

“Where did you get that Belinda?” Bartimos asked cornering her when they were alone

“The necklace? It is one of the many you've given me”

“Do you take me for a fool” he scoffed

“I don't know what you mean, if not then it must belong to one of the chests back home”

“I know every gift that I've ever given you Belinda, your honeyed words fool no one” he said looking at her with contempt.

“Do you think I don't know what's been happening behind my back? Do you think I'm such a fool to not recognise how you've been whoring yourself while I have been away and for what” he asked, ripping them from her neck “Pretty trinkets that I'd buy you had you bothered to ask? Are you so starved for attention to be acting as such. Do you know what they call you? '' he screamed “They call you the Harlot of Driftmark! The Whore of High Tide who's been strutting around the Castle with her cheap keepsakes. Why must you act as such? Have I not given you enough?”

“You're one to talk, have you even bothered looking at me this once. Ever since we've stepped foot on this dreaded island you've done nothing but jest and play at your war never bothering to inquire how I've felt. Ever since I've married you, you've never made the effort. Do you think I want your wealth and all the treasures that you hoard with your claws, boasting at every opportune moment? It makes you look like the fool that you are Bartimos” she screamed “If you'd just asked me once, if you'd just listened to what I had to say, to what I've felt this past year, things would have been-”

“If I had listened to you then you wouldn't have fucked him, is that it then?”

“Why don't you love me?” she cried “Why is it always honor and virtue and claiming and parading myself as yours when I am anything but. I've never been yours because you haven't let me. Why don't you want me as I am”

“Neither does he. He doesn't see you as anything more than a vessel for his pleasure, ripe for taking and you are a fool for thinking otherwise, just as I am for thinking you'd ever want me” he said looking at her in pain.

“I shall leave on the morrow. You shall be escorted back shortly with Lady Crabb. Say your goodbyes as I have none for you”

The noose felt tight around her neck as she wiped the wetness staining her cheeks, the tears she'd wished for had come at last.

It was dawn when she ventured out again, awoken by the shrill roar of Caraxes taking flight. She rushed to his chambers barefoot with a robe covering her, only to find them empty. A wail left her throat as she collapsed near his bed clutching the sheets, sitting still on the floor gazing at his walls, lost and alone till the sun rose and her tears dried up. The time to lament was over. The mirror at the entrance caught her attention, alerting her to her haggard appearance. She looked at the bags under her eyes, puffy and glistening as she walked towards her reflection, noticing a cushion nestled beneath. On it lay a single paper crane greeting her solemnly.

“It is time for you to do your duty, embar rūklon just as it is time for mine. To the unknown you've been searching for”, she read through hazy eyes running her fingers over the scrawled words on its wings.

The journey back to Claw Isle proved to be an arduous one. She felt their eyes on her as she boarded the ship, when she stood on deck and when she took her meals in silence on board, their judgment never leaving her. She wished for nothing more than to be sequestered in her home once again, laughing to herself at the irony of it all. She had often heard the tale of the weary seafarer glad to return home after his travels, delighting in its familiarity and Claw Isle had never felt more welcoming than it did now. As she stepped onto the beach leading up to the Island, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. She spent the next few days in silent contemplation, barring visitors and well wishers alike. She went on long walks, worked on her embroidery, read whatever she could find in the castle library and kept herself as occupied as she could, though the thing about an idle mind was that it soon merited thought. The news of the warfront floating around crept up to her soon. The advancement of the Velaryon forces on Bloodstone with Prince Daemon and little Lord Laenor's assistance spread rapidly delighting noble and commoner alike, for a war involving dragons had been fought after so long and the gossip accompanying it proved even meatier. She heard it in passing as her maids whispered to themselves, mentions of herself with Prince Daemon graced the hallways as well as chuckles at Bartimos and his misfortune of being stuck with her. It was the twentieth day of the fifth moon when she decided to confront it all, bringing out and dismantling the object of her ire. The crane was easy to take apart, soggy from its travels at sea and as the wet parchment of paper stared at her she remembered why it was given to her in the first place. Over the next few moons she learnt how to make one, it was easy enough with no shortage of paper for anything to be considered amiss. Every night before she went to bed she crafted a little bird with her hands, closing her eyes and stuffing it away come morning. The war carried on as did her own effort at home.

Almost three years later when she had diligently made her last one she sat staring at it in silence, crying to herself as she closed her eyes, thinking her effort had perhaps all been in vain.

News of the war reached her a fortnight later, Prince Daemon had killed Craghas Drahar, slicing him from head to torso, styling his weapon into a crown, calling himself the “King of the narrow sea”. It had been a happy occasion for all of Crackclaw Point uplifting their spirits enough for her to invite the neighboring ladies to tea. They had all won and a celebration was to be hosted in their honor. As the castle was tidied up and the ornaments brought out, she noticed a giant red crab placed near the entrance welcoming the guests she was to host, on its back writhing and beautiful were a myriad of familiar coloured threads.

“What is that” she asked the Castellan as he caught her looking.

“Those are sea flowers my lady, nestled upon the great crab’s back. It is a beautiful relationship they share in harmony, uplifting one another. The flower beautifies the crab as well as helping it forage while being offered protection inturn. No other creature of the sea dare touch it's beauty as long as the crab stands vigil”

A looming sense of dread washed over her as she excused herself from the hall, rushing to find the old crane. As she sifted through her drawers desperate to find it among the thousand others she'd made she felt herself grow weary and tired, frustrated as she collapsed to the floor. Each crane she'd found was henceforth burned in the hearth before their bed, meticulously chucked into the fire as she watched them be swallowed by the flames. Her wish had finally been fulfilled.

Bartimos returned nearly four moons later to a full house and a happier wife. His apprehension at seeing her was soon eclipsed by her contagious demeanor. She apologized to him, with Rhaenys' advice fresh in her mind, wishing to make amends to which he acquiesced soon after a moon of coaxing. The rumors still reached them from time to time yet she had him, to weather them together. Prince Daemon's lady wife soon passed away. A hunting accident they'd called it followed by the scandal of the Jade tiara from Yi-Ti, his hefty purchase she'd assumed finally coming to fruition. The deflowering of his niece in the capital brothel followed soon, as her belly swelled and by the time he'd returned to wreak havoc on the royal wedding she had laughed at it all mirthlessly.

When he took a new bride five moons later in the form of Lady Laena Velaryon she took it well with a stiff lip, mind drawn to the Red Queen herself and as her confinement approached a few moons later and she lay in bed she found the old crane at last. Scrawled illegibly on one of its wings was part of the phrase her hazy eyes had missed moons ago

“To the unknown you've been searching for and for the one you've helped me find.”

She crumpled the weary crane in her lap clawing at it as her husband droned on recounting the accounts of the castle for the moon. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond

[sex-obsessed-lesbian]

Hypnovember Day 6: Soul Contract

Look, this isn't my kink and I couldn't think of anything sexy that felt right, and then I got a little silly and well...

--------

Qlitt’rus, Thief of Sleep and Destroyer of Men, Succubus Scion of the Third House of Dreams, was having a bad day.

Across from table, F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ stirred his latte with one jet black talon and looked at her concernedly. "This human knew about the Ritual of Sa'aph? How??"

"She mentioned once that her uncle is an occultist," said Qlitt’rus, impatiently. "Maybe through him? But that's not the point. The POINT is that I don't know how to answer this text! I don't want to be presumptuous, I don't actually know what she's asking…"

F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Q, the human asked if you would join her for a beverage at the only lesbian-oriented establishment in this town, and asked if you'd like to do the Ritual of Sa'aph with her which, need I remind you, would involve her total erotic sublimation and conclude in you drinking her immortal soul, and you can't tell if she's asking you on a date?"

"Well maybe she's just being friendly—"

Without letting her finish the sentence, F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ snatched the phone from his companion's hands. It was already unlocked and open to the text thread with "Emily the Human (be cool don't text first)":

"Hey Q, it was really nice running into you the other day. Would you like to get a drink at Puss n' Boots sometime? My treat. P.S. do you know what the Ritual of Sa'aph is? Maybe we could try it sometime ;-) "

"Hm." F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ tapped a finger on his chin thoughtfully. "Especially given the presence of the winking face, the meaning of this message is unmistakable." Qlitt’rus made a grab for the phone, but F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ extended his arm another foot and evaded her easily, even as he sprouted another few fingers to tap out a message.

When Qlitt’rus was able to snatch her phone back, it was only after the little "woosh" of a sent message. Steeling herself, she looked at the reply F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ had sent:

"That sounds lovely! The Ritual isn't exactly first date material, but I'd love to get a drink. Thursday or Friday after work?"

Her heart lurched, but then her phone pinged—a heart react on the message, and Emily was typing a reply. F̶̡̮͓͈̖̭̤̄̑̋͛̅̽̅̋r̵̨̻͚̻͙̲̙̱̯̳̪͓̰̀͗͒͘a̸̫̮͎̙̘̮̱͖̹̩̹̋n̶̫̠͈̱͇̰̄̀́̋̿͗̑̎͝k̷̨̜̥̥͙̝͖̲̤̹̳̞̉̿̀̿̅̆̇͂͘ looked at her smugly over his coffee. Qlitt’rus glared at him, but couldn't suppress a grin. Maybe she WOULD be doing the Ritual of Sa'aph soon after all.

[cowboylament]

Bonus content

While trying to work out the logistics of the penultimate chapter of what conversations were happening behind the scenes and how they affected the characters, I wrote them out. I figured they'd be fun to post once I finished in homage to SJM. these are more or less unedited. It includes:

Mor finding Lucien after the fight with Y/n

Erinyes visits Y/N and they discuss their bargain.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Ao3

It had always been empty. 

That thread in my chest, it was no different than what it had always been, but barren of what it had become. The keen wit, those enormous feelings building with steady current. I’d watched it happen. Her eyes, her ears, would snag on a scene or word and the curiosity that found itself in my chest would be nothing more than a hum. She wasn’t as rash as she liked to joke she was. Her emotions built. The single note would find a touch of complexity, another string, another note, until a web had formed. Her feelings informed by her thoughts even the hard emotions, even the anger, always came to harmony. It was not quite music, but I could feel when she’d worked something out, my ribs nearly vibrating.

The first time I’d seen it with my eyes in the house of wind I’d wanted desperately to slip into her mind as she could slip into mine. With that sharp gaze, her acute presence with the world, I wanted to listen to her logic as it conducted feelings in my chest. I’m sure, even when she was wrong in her deductions, there was more sense being made than not. She was too smart, too perceptive, for it to be otherwise. 

A hand, gently, used my shoulder as leverage to climb onto the barstool next to me. I wanted to be naive enough to think, even if only for a moment, it was Y/N. But I could not delude myself. I knew her too well, knew the feel of the air and the pull of all rooms when she was in them. If she’d arrived any idle part of me would drift her way, she had that sort of power. Even half-drunk, even half-slurred, the margins of my body smudging, I knew when she was there and when she was not. Tonight she was not. 

The hand belonged to Mor, I could smell her perfume. She said nothing. 

“Another?” Asked a waitress. 

I nodded. 

The waitress looked toward the female, “for you?”

“Same as him.”

“I thought you were meeting with Amren.”

“After two hours of watching you sulk, she decided to take her leave.”

The waitress slid over our drinks and I stared at the contents before taking a sip. I could open the bond now, could reach for her, but the nothing between us and her shielding would make it all the worse. I’d no intention of ever going back to what we’d been and somehow we’d landed that direction just the same. A wall between us where a deeper understanding might be. I remember when I understood everything, maybe I thought I’d understood everything, but only enough to win when I wanted to win.

“What is this Gawayn like?” 

Mor pursed her lips, thinking. I imagined him tough, tall, the usual blend of every other Illyrian with their often inflexible way about life. It was hard to imagine Y/N wanting anything to do with one. 

“He's funny, different.”

“Different how?” 

She stared at me a moment, “He’s protective of her but in a way that doesn’t involve Rhysand.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“He doesn’t do anything because she’s Rhysand’s sister, he does it because she’s his friend.”

I huffed a laugh, “So that's the standard?”

Mor looked with devastating awareness, “You forget yourself. You only took her on those walks and up to the garden because Rhysand told you to do so.”

He’s going to be my high lord. The immediacy of my embarrassment was alarming. The night we’d stopped shielding and the days after I knew I couldn’t let her be subject to my emotions. Their sudden and unwavering displays, how they crashed into me when she was near. I had to dampen it, somehow, I spent the days she was in bed trying to figure out how to put a buffer between us, to put a kink in the bond. 

“What happened tonight?”

“It's not worth rehashing,” I said. If I told her what she did I’d have to admit what I’d done. I’d have to reveal my hand, my cruelty, my part in it all. 

She tutted her tongue, “You both.”

“What’s your court’s deal?” I asked, half curious, half avoiding the lecture. “Why the betting, why the pretending her work is nothing?”

“From what I hear you’ve done the same thing.”

I could tell I had to be careful with my words. This was a delicate matter to Mor, one that might lose me an ally. 

“Our taunts are a game to us because we know when we’re lying. But I’ve never suggested it was nothing what she manages. I’ve seen her and I know the skill it takes.”

“You think we don’t?” Mor asked sharply. She didn’t like being confronted with the truth as much as I didn’t. 

“I think I’ve seen you tease and taunt her and I’ve felt her worry down our bond.”

Mor sighed, watching me and I could see that she knew I was right. In my time here Y/N was the one who got questioned the most, her word was trusted the least. Rhysand seemed to fluctuate in and out of being her leader and her brother, at times incapable of being both at the same time. I could feel her annoyance, her pain, that she was the exception to him.

“The way she is with you, this version of her is equally new to us. She has been this way for no one else. She keeps her cards very close to her and what she does reveal has always been carefully chosen to cost her the least. Since you got back it's been the opposite. She’s risked a lot for you.” 

“So why make the bets then? If she wasn’t inclined to tell you before then teasing her seems even less a way to get anything from her.”

“She’s the one who came up with the idea.”

I sat up straighter, and blinked a few times.

“Years ago, after she came back from the winter in the cabin. An excuse to keep us in the loop of her life and all the more reason to leave the males she chose. She had truly terrible taste most of the time, and making Rhys lose a bet always got them out of the way.”

“Why does it bother her then?”

Mor watched me, her head falling to the side like she was asking the same thing. I didn’t think she’d reveal her answer, but after another moment she said simply, “You’re the first male that mattered.”

The words struck my gut. Suddenly all that wine seemed to seep into my consciousness and the world began to blur and spin in a way I had not considered as I’d continued glass after glass. Everything, of course, reveals itself after a bad decision has been made. 

“And the Emissary business?” I asked, needing to leave everything I’d started, the road we’d taken, to break the surface and breathe some air.

Mor shrugged, “She didn’t want to be an Emissary. I think Rhysand holds that against her. Not maliciously, but…”

“How did she become one?”

“After their parents died he asked her to do it. He’s pretty good at finding a place for people, building on their strengths.”

“I’ll say.”

Mor laughed, “I guess he saw her with Egrette.”

After the words left her mouth Mor’s eyes widened, just barely, and she turned toward me to see if I’d heard, waiting for me to ask who this Egrette was.

“I know about Egrette.”

“She told you?”

“Not willingly. I found her outside, she told me she worked there. I started taking the night classes but Egrette already seemed to guess who I was.”

“Why take the classes?”

I shrugged, “I wanted to know about her life, much like the rest of you.”

Mor’s whole body softened, and she looked past me for a while. Long enough that I thought she was about to leave or that the conversation was truly over, she’d finished her glass and I was nearly done with mine. It seemed there was nothing left to say, but then she spoke again.

“How good is she?”

“Better than me.”

Mor hummed, “She’s said the same of you.”

The female stood and I knew she was going, the female turning and stopping at my side. 

“Are you staying in Velaris?”

That all my actions had even made that a question was shameful. I’d left her in that foyer alone. Even after what we’d said there was a history between us that didn’t warrant such dismissal. We’d never left anything unresolved, even if before that meant finding a winner and a loser, if it meant risking losing. Tonight we’d both lost. 

“I wouldn’t leave, not even after what was said.”

“What was said,” Mor asked one more time.

I stared ahead, the place fuller than before, like the deepening of the night only crowding the place more. “Burden was used.”

Mor didn’t flinch, standing before me.

“C’mon,” she said 

“Why?”

“You need to sleep. In the morning, you and I are gonna make a plan.”

“Why?”

“Because you need my help.”

“No, why do you want to help.”

Mor smiled a little, mischievous even and the normalcy of it made my insides recoil. After all this, after all that was said, did we deserve to have such a thing? Someone in our corner, someone like Mor to help me get what I wanted. 

“I like how she’s changed since you got here.”

A small part of me, very deep, too deep to really hold onto but felt nonetheless, smiled. I paid our tabs as a thank you, and we walked home. I tried to tell her a few things, tried to fall into something of a rapport with her, despite it feeling unnatural. Back home to share such details with someone was a risk too great to bear. There was nothing between anyone, fragile alliances, momentarily aligning causes were to serve your purpose in the end, not each other. Eris only helped me with Y/N I didn’t doubt to have one less brother vying for High Lord. 

By the time we’d gotten to her apartment, I’d awkwardly revealed some of our disagreements, desperate really, for someone to confirm to me what was meant. As if I myself was not already secretly aware of her in part. Those minor grievances, I knew what she wanted from me, but I couldn’t give it, and therefore couldn’t accept her reasoning. 

Mor laughed eventually, as she unlocked the door and it was a sound I’d become grateful for hearing. I didn’t want pity, pity seemed to suggest something I couldn’t consider, like we were too far gone from ourselves that we couldn’t go back. It seemed to me they felt sorry because we’d ruined something and I didn’t want it to be ruined. 

“Are you always following in her footsteps? I thought you Autumn males were a bit more brave. She’s terrified and yet she’s still taking the lead.”

I scowled, the words so close to her suggestion, “I tried tonight.”

“Did you?”

It felt like it. To me it had felt like I’d tried, tried to touch her, to know her, to reveal to her something of my thoughts and she seemed to misunderstand. I know you, I wanted to say, and I can love you for it.

The door opened to her apartment and it was warm, inviting. The place was smaller than I anticipated. Being part of the court I expected something extravagant, lived in but grand. This was all rather small and homely. 

“She asked after if I were to be her burden.”

Mor let out a low whistle and shut the door. I fell into the one chair as she walked toward a closet. She pulled sheets and pillows like I was nothing more than a long-time friend who’d drank too much. I closed my eyes and listened to it, that sound of care. An ache began to eat away at me one foot in memory and another in the present. Where, lying on the table, she’d been hurt beyond need. The wound sewn shut, the color just barely returning to her lips. She’d stepped between us somehow, saved me from Rhys. My mate, I could hear her care and I wanted to return it to her if only with noise. To lift her off the table and carry her quietly upstairs to her room, to clean her hair of the blood, listen to the water fill the tub, and drip from the cloth. Those idle sounds, the kind you get only at home. The kind where someone is waiting for you at night. Then she said Cassian and I knew that I was not that thing for her, the place where such sounds could be found or even wanted.

And again, in the foyer. She’d looked so sad, so hurt. I’d said the one thing I knew I shouldn’t have said. I watched the devastation for only a second before I managed to turn away. Had I been brave I might have crossed the small space and asked exactly what she meant, taken her in my hands, and had her look at me so we could say precisely what we’d been trying to say. Her heart had been beating furiously. 

A draft off the window beside me blew the scent of Velaris and all its promises, people chatting, people laughing, signs of love. My mind returned here to this room. 

“Her words are her only weapon,” said Mor.

“I know that.”

She glared at me, continuing her sentence I had not even realized I'd interrupted. “They are also a shield. Do not kid yourself into believing that you understand her private definitions. Whatever she said to you, whatever you think she meant, she is concealing something she is terrified to reveal.”

“I don’t scare her.”

Mor pitied me again. I could feel it. She threw a sheet over the couch and I stared wordlessly out the window. It had begun to rain. The secret kind, the one that comes in the night and dries before anyone has any chance to know it has arrived. I’d not yet slept and already I felt sick. When Mor finally offered the couch I collapsed into it. 

“You should understand something Lucien,” Mor said as I curled up on the cramped uncomfortable slab. I hid my face in the fabric and blankets. Her words holding a very careful sympathy, “You scare her most of all.”

***

There was a woman by my bed. 

I don’t know how I knew this. 

Looking at the space it revealed this fact to me but I couldn’t say how, not outwardly, not obviously, but there she was and wasn’t. She was very beautiful, like something of a dream. Her hair spilled more than it fell, in long swerving sheaths. She bent forward in a nurturing manner toward me, sleeping, but I could tell this was not totally natural for her. So I knew who she was.

“I thought there were three of you.”

She didn’t look my way, she knew I was there, watching, “My sisters are away.”

“They made you out to be much more unpleasant.”

She smiled then, “We appear that way to the guilty. You are not guilty.” She said standing. “Not yet anyway.”

I tensed and finally, she met my gaze. Anxiety was a better-known battle, something she could look in the eye. The fae were renowned for their beauty but she was beyond that of the immortal creatures, those not quite fae, even Amren. Striking wasn’t the word, there was something soft about her, like a perfectly round stone eroded by a river. So in touch with the world and beyond it just the same.

“You are Tisiphone.” 

She bowed her head much the way Lucien did—such grace. 

That night in the woods and after in the house…I felt power return to me that had been taken. That caress of the hand. Lucien too had seemed to sense it. She’d touched us both. I stood up straighter. She was in my room watching me sleep and I was watching myself sleep. It might only mean one thing.

“Have you come to claim me at last?”

“That is not my way.”

“What is your way?” 

“My sisters and I claim oath breakers. You are not one.”

I folded my arms in front of me clasping at my fingers though all signs of respect for forgotten Gods were foreign to me. Our worlds are different, the scales of meaning and feeling different. 

“It is you who I made the bargain with.”

“Yes.”

“How?” 

She stared down at her own hands and for the first time, I saw a fern stem pinched between her fingers. She spun it idly but it didn’t seem she was trying to find her words. What is it like, the mind of a God? That duty that she must fulfill, the rules of its power, it was lost to me. I couldn’t even find an imagination to conjure what it might be like to serve the world in such a way, under such confining terms. 

“Once blood was shed, once it fell into the earth my sisters and I arrived.” 

“And why are you here now?”

She looked up from the green stem and smiled that same smile. I wouldn’t say it was friendly but it also wasn’t insincere, “You’ve been looking for me, have you not?” 

I wrung my hands, grasping at the fingers. Before me the answers, so many answers, and were they ever fair? Could life deliver its small miracles and then return to its cruelty just the same? I had to know before I made the food, but suddenly asking seemed the hardest thing in the world. I missed Lucien. If he were here, if he were asleep beside me one glance and there would be words, something steady, something sure. But he was in a townhouse not so far away and he didn’t know this place at all. 

The female cocked her head. “You are afraid,” she said. 

“I don’t know what it means, to make a bargain with a God. I don’t know if I’m able to keep it and I prefer you this way I admit.”

She watched with a tenderness about her, “I did not have to take your bargain you know. I confess it made little difference to me if you lived or died.” Her eyes swept over me. Whatever she had once thought she no longer did, her consideration of my standing there seemed weighed with a consideration that she herself had admitted to having. I had trouble, however, believing such indifference remained. Not at least, in such overwhelming amounts.

“My duty is to avenge and your blood was innocent. I was there to do so, but the lines were not so clear. We followed in the hopes of clarity but we found you, your mate approaching, searching for you. We are not precisely death, but we can act as its bringers. We were going to take you gently, but then you began to think about the next world.”

And Eris. I’d been thinking about a better life in what came next, I’d wanted it to be good and kind the way we’d been kind in the end. A knife pressed into the palm, the belief that even injured I could make it. How he’d fought for me to get out. 

“Plenty of people like to think they’ll be better in their next life.”

She shook her head, “It is the life they had they often wish better of and it is rare that one might wish to reconcile with the men who harmed them.”

“They didn’t harm me,” I said quickly.

She raised a brow, “I have no claim over them. You do not need to worry.”

I swallowed, “So that saved me?” 

Her face took some faraway look, like what Lucien had when something dear seemed so out of reach, even in memory, even surrounded by it. Her mouth parting, eyes unseeing, “You entered into a bargain to which you named no party, any God could take you up on it.”

“You and your sisters did.”

“Just me.” 

“Why?”

This seemed to be the question she couldn’t answer. Whatever forces were at work, internal or from that world seemed to be anchoring those words in her stomach. They would not come out, not when I asked. 

“I returned your power to you. Enough to fulfill my end of the bargain.” She said returning to this moment, her eyes meeting mind. “I’m sure it is not lost on you that you are alive when all you’d asked for was to get your mate to safety. I was prepared to take you even still, as you lay there bleeding. But we have more leeway in such deals. I watched you closely, watched you with him. I wanted to…see something.” 

“See what?” 

She angled her head at me, “If you meant it. I hesitated, curious and skeptical as you are, to see if it was not some near-death regret. When you stepped between your brother, I began to see, but it was not until you were alone that I understood. So I didn’t take you, I left thereafter.”

“So the feeling…in my hand.” 

She smiled, raising a hand toward me, “I believe your people shake hands.”

“And Luciens too?”

“He was involved no?” 

“But the bargain was between us.”

She hummed as if understanding some difference between us now. Something illuminated by my confusion. She turned away in thought, finding words for some discrepancy of godliness. My sleeping figure on the bed unmoving, if I hadn’t asked I’d have thought she had come to take me, that she already had come for me. A haunting stillness, she broke it by placing the fern in her hands across my chest. My hands on instinct, moved to reach for it. 

“Bargains are a precarious thing. But it is not so simple, and fate has many strings. We Gods are not concerned with the markings of the body, our deals happen in the threads, on the soul. If you betray the oath on your shared thread I will come, and I won’t be so hesitant.”

“My oath?”

“The oath you made to get him to safety. You are bound to protect him, to lay no hands on him, cause no fatal wounds.”

“I had no plans to.”

She turned, more serious, “Your life has changed dramatically in so short a span, even for a mortal. You cannot know what you will want in the centuries ahead. Good people make bad bargains.”

I took a breath as she had, the words a smattering in my head, coming to a careful calm, and organized hum, “You waited to be sure I was good on my word. I suspect I’m alive because for whatever reason you believe I can manage it. If death is always the inevitable end, if you do not appear here in your other form, I must conclude you think I can manage.”

Her eyes narrowed in a kind of happiness, mischievous too, whatever she’d suspected I’d proven right in my answer.

“We put our faith in you as often as you put our faith in us.”

“So not often.”

The female smiled softly, “No. I will say only that night held mutual rarity between us. And…” whatever it was she wanted to say she stopped herself. Her eyes again did a sweep over the room, turning her neck, seeing it as if for the first time in its entirety. She settled on the scarf on my bed, in the spot Lucien would have if we mated.

“He made that for me,” I said. “I was looking for you because I wanted to mate him but I needed to be sure my deal would cause him no pain.”

“I cannot promise that,” she said regretfully and my shoulders slumped, an ache carving its place in my chest. Her words suddenly freed, she said what I knew she’d been unsure of saying, “You’ve learned a great deal in so short a time. I do believe I will never have to make good on my word. It's the only reason I ever make bargains.”

The words added a heaviness to the room.

“Have you been watching us?”

“A little,” she confessed. “But this is the last we will see of each other.” 

“Why?”

“For plenty of reasons, most of which I cannot say, but at least because there is something important you should know, something the fae seem not to realize.”

I was silent, waiting and she turned her whole body toward mine. Whatever she was to say would be the most important thing of all.

“To mate in this life, it binds you to each other for the rest of them. Whoever it is you become, a thread of fate will forever link you to one another. Our deal is on a thread between you both, the thread that he has yet to formally accept.”

“And if he accepts it?”

“Your souls will become a union, he will inherit the same oath. You will serve, in part, as each other’s protector for every life to come. You will forever be his keeper as he is yours.”

Our breathing was a singular sound and movement. Her spilling hair moved across her chest rising with each breath as I lingered on the words she’d shared. Yes, I wished Lucien was here. I wanted to tell him everything, had to tell him everything, but it was still not the time. But I was no longer afraid. He would choose. I liked it, that it was his choice. I wanted to be sure, as she was sure, that he was up for what I’d begun. So I met her eye and I nodded. 

She nodded back. I knew then, our time was up. She moved like water through the room and as she passed me a cold fell off of her familiar and understood to me but I could not point out where or how. She walked toward the door and when she reached the threshold I felt her going.

“Thank you,” I said suddenly knowing I’d have no chance to say it again. She would not be listening. She turned back and I clarified, “For hesitating, I do not take this time with my mate lightly.”

“It is your doing, do not think too highly of me. I am still a bringer of death.”

“And life.” 

The female seemed to withdraw. I didn’t back down. I suspected this was not what she was known for, perhaps she didn’t like it or perhaps she did and it hurt regardless. She took one step out of the room and in a blink she was gone. It was only an instant between my waking and the moment she’d left, but there was light in the room of morning. I sat up, turned as if I’d find her again, find my other self at the end of my bed, but there was no one there. I felt it though, in my hands. Dropping my chin, pinching the stem between my fingers, I twirled the fern and its life in my hand.

[tonberrykins]

So, I'ma toss this out here bc this is MY tumblr and I can yell about whatever tf I want. Also, this is about Dawntrail so BEWARE OF POSSIBLE SPOILERS (in the text AND tags)--THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!

Anyway, DT was going to have some issues coming on the heels of EW. We all knew it, I know we did. EW is the culmination of TEN WHOLE YEARS worth of story; so many loose threads tied off while others are still left dangling a bit. Too, it was more or less said that EW is THE STRONGEST our WoL will ever be.

So, we reached the top and now what? Well, there's still plenty more places to explore, we gotta get Shtola back to her boy Runar (ymmv depending on your brand of shipping goggles), and various other things. But the universe? Safe (for now). Our home star? Good as it's gonna get from external threats. Welp, now it's time to go do what we signed up for: Adventuring!

I get why some people don't like the shift we've been given, though. We go from Big Billy Badass, Literal Main Protagonist of the Universe, to Shounen Protagonist Chaperone for Wuk Lamat. Kinda underwhelming when you think about it in those exact terms, huh? But, like, why would the WoL NOT be stoked for what literally amounts to a vacation?

We're going from being NEEDED by damn near every known (to us) country on the planet to being needed by ONE person who just wants to be our friend. Holy shit, forreal? This whole political thing DOESN'T hinge on MY DIRECT INVOLVEMENT? I'm not FORCED to play colonizer simulator to aid my friends? I'm just here to lend support and give advice AND I get to drink fruity umbrella drinks if I want? Fuck. YES! Helps that that singular person is a giant goober, genuinely gives a shit about her country and people, and is also definitely trying to improve as a person.

That's where a lot more people break down. Wuk Lamat is a divisive character, and I feel it's bc a lot of people are doing her a disservice by labeling her as the "genki girl" trope when they SHOULD be labeling her as "shounen protagonist." And for those who DO recognize that the breakdown then becomes, "Ew, a GIRL can't be a shounen protagonist!" (Maka Albarn has called; if you don't pick up she will break into your house and her bestie/bf will kill you with himself.) That then circles back into the, "But I'M the main character!" narrative and it's a feedback loop of shitty Kotaku articles.

Last thing we have are TERFs. Yes, they are still loud af and their target is, of course, Wuk Lamat; specifically her VA. Now, I do not know much of her VA or her credentials, but I do know TERFs don't give a shit about that. I'm also not saying a person should 100% love and cherish (even if I do) the character just bc of her VA. What I AM saying though is it's often a good thing to take a step back and look at WHY you don't like certain parts of media.

Anyway, the tl'dr ultimately boils down to this:

-The WoL isn't the main character for this expansion, and that's fine. Our legacy has been established and it's time for us to make the world able to move on without us; that's been the lesson since ShB.

-Wuk Lamat is a shounen protagonist. Not everyone likes shounen protagonists. But it's kinda funny that a female lead is largely disliked for the very same traits so many male characters are lauded for and sometimes even expected to have.

-TERFs suck. Nothing else to add.