#and skipped them upon reread

[sorchasolas]

Have i never rlly connected with Venli on any level and really only like her because she brings a level of variety to the narrative + Timbre<3 ? Yes.

Will i hate everyone forever if anything bad ever happens to her? Yea.

[aces-personal-whore]

Doflamingo x Defiant!Reader Smut Ch. 2

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Hi frens. Welcome back to the most unhinged (but realistic) Doffy fanfic out there. This chapter is a bit worse than the last one, so prepare yourselves. Doflamingo is more aggressive and forceful with you.

☣️WARNINGS: NONCON/RAPE, NSFW, MDNI, smut, sexual assault, abuse, violence, aggression

Themes in this chapter: NONCON/RAPE, Aggressive domination, forced submission, forced creampie, breeding, inflation, hardcore BDSM, degradation and humiliation, punishment.

Notes: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THERE IS NONCON/RAPE THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE FANFICTION. THIS FANFICTION IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY BE TRIGGERING, UPSETTING, OR DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

P.S. I'm sorry if I forgot to change any pronouns/names/etc. ;-; I'm still trying, aight. I do update these after I've reread them and gone through them a couple times, but there may still be some things I miss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[Chapter 2]

You curled up into a ball on the bed, your body shaking with sobs as the full weight of what had just happened settled in. For a few moments, you were lost in your grief, the injustice of it all overwhelming.

Eventually, you gathered the strength to look for your dress, underwear, and bra. Slowly and methodically, you put them on, the familiar touch of your clothes offering you a small semblance of normality.

Deciding it was time to leave the room, you began heading towards the door, your movements deliberate and purposeful. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Doflamingo as possible.

As you walked out, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. You knew you couldn't escape what had happened, that you were now bound to Doflamingo and his twisted desires. But for now, the simple act of leaving the room felt like a small rebellion against the life he had forced upon you.

You didn't know where you were going, or what you planned to do, but right now, all you wanted was to get away, to gather your thoughts and try to understand what had just happened to you.

You trekked carefully through the hallway, your senses heightened as you listened for any sounds that might indicate Doflamingo's or anyone else's presence. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard footsteps in the distance, and a sense of panic gripped you.

You quickly scanned the area for a place to hide, your eyes falling on a small alcove to your left. It was barely large enough for one person, but it would have to do.

Without hesitation, you ducked into the alcove, your heart pounding in your chest. You pressed your back against the wall, trying to make yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

You held your breath, waiting for the footsteps to draw nearer. Sweat beaded on your forehead as your mind raced, wondering what would happen if Doflamingo caught you. For now, though, your only concern was to remain hidden, to avoid any further confrontation.

Your body trembled with a mixture of fear and humiliation, a stark reminder of the traumatic events that had just transpired. As the footsteps grew closer, you closed your eyes, silently praying for them to pass by without noticing you.

The person stopped right in front of where you were hiding, as if they were sensing you were there. Your heart nearly stopped when you realized that the person in front of you was Doflamingo. The unmistakable pink of his feather coat had given him away, and now, you were trapped.

You could feel the strings of his Devil Fruit coming to life, moving around you, sensing your presence. They attached themselves to your limbs, and you were forced out of the alcove, your body coming into view in front of Doflamingo.

His palace was covered in a delicate web of his strings, and the slightest disturbance would alert him to your presence.

You stood there, frozen, your body trembling from head to toe. You couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness, as if there was no escape from Doflamingo's grasp.

His eyes met yours, and you could see a mix of amusement and triumph in his gaze. He had caught you, and now you were at his mercy once more.

"Trying to get away, are we?" Doflamingo's voice was filled with a dark, twisted amusement as he released the strings that held you captive. "My entire palace is coated in webs of my strings, so any movement you make, any chances you try to escape, my strings alert me to them, like a spider catching its prey."

He stepped closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours, a predatory gleam in them. "We need to deal with your anger and resistance. I won't have you defying me or disrespecting me. We both know you can't escape me, so it's best to accept your fate." Doflamingo's confidence was unwavering, and there was no mistaking the dangerous edge in his voice. "Now, come with me. We're going to have a... 'talk', and you're going to learn to accept your place in my kingdom."

"No- Doflamingo!!" You resisted the pull of his strings, crying and sobbing loudly, fighting with all of your might not to be dragged into what was about to come.

"Don't even fucking think about it." Doflamingo's voice was cold and firm as he yanked the strings, preventing you from breaking free. "You'll learn soon enough that resistance is futile. I'm not a man you want to anger. I'll make your life a living hell if you continue to defy me. Come now, let's have that... 'talk'. You'll find that the more you cooperate, the easier your life will be here."

Doflamingo's confidence was absolute, and he didn't break his stride as he led you through his palace, his strings still attached to you, a constant reminder of his control over you.

As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair. Doflamingo had claimed you, body and soul, and there was no denying his dominance. You were his to do with as he pleased, and the thought of what he might have in store for you filled you with dread.

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized just how far your life had taken a turn. You were now a part of Doflamingo's twisted world, and there was no escaping it.

Your only hope was that perhaps, through compliance and cooperation, you might be able to endure the horrors that awaited you, to somehow carve out a semblance of a life under his oppressive rule. You began crying harder as you're forcefully drug through the hall, back to the room you were in. "Nooooo! Doflamingo please stop!!"

"Quiet, or I'll make sure this is far worse than you could imagine." Doflamingo's voice was stern, a dangerous edge to it as you continued to cry and protest. He dragged you back to the room, his grip unyielding. The sight of your tears and defiance only served to arouse him further, a dark hunger growing within him.

"Now... since it seems you still haven't learned your place..." Doflamingo's eyes were filled with lust and dominance as he removed the strings, once again retreating out of view. "... Allow me to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Without warning, Doflamingo grabbed you and pinned you to the bed, his hand gripping your arm tightly as he began to undress you, his movements swift and purposeful. "I'll show you what happens when you disobey and defy me." His voice was a low growl, his arousal and desire for dominance palpable.

You struggled as much as you could, but the truth was, you were no match for Doflamingo. His strength and power were overwhelming, and as he proceeded to undress you, you could only hope that this would be over quickly, that perhaps this time, it wouldn't be as brutal and degrading.

But deep down, you knew that with Doflamingo, there was no such luck. His control over you was complete, and your body, now host to his offspring, was his to use as he pleased.

The thought of what was to come filled you with dread, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for the onslaught of his dominance.

Doflamingo removed your clothes with a cold efficiency, leaving you exposed and bare. As he inspected your body, he noticed the lack of marks, and gave a menacing grin, eager to make his mark.

He discarded his feather coat and suit, his eyes never leaving your body. He flipped you over and pinned you face down on the bed, tying your ankles and wrists to the mattress with his strings, leaving you helpless, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and humiliation.

For a moment, he admired your form, and his fingers traced over your skin, his touch cold and clinical. He fondled and caressed your body, his fingers lingering on your ass, making you squirm in disgust and discomfort under his touch.

He pulled back, and you heard an unfamiliar sound as he crafted a makeshift whip from his strings that shot out from his palm. The air was thick with tension as you braced yourself for what was to come.

With a flick of his wrist, the string whip crackled through the air, landing with a stinging blow on your ass. You cried out in pain, your body writhing on the bed as Doflamingo continued to punish you, each lash drawing fresh tears and gasps from your lips.

His strings were merciless, the whip lashing out again and again, leaving red welts across your back, ass, and thighs. The pain was intense, and you could only hope that it would end soon, that perhaps, once he had satisfied his need to punish you, he would leave you in peace.

But as you lay there, battered and bruised, you knew that this was just the beginning of your new life under Doflamingo's control. The fear and humiliation were overwhelming, and you couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how much you resisted or cried, Doflamingo's dominion over you was absolute.

Your body shuddered in pain, but it was more than that. It was the realization of your new reality—that you were now a pawn in Doflamingo's twisted game, and the consequences of defying him came at a terrible cost.

"Doflamingo..." you squeaked out, "please... stop..."

"Be silent, or I'll make this punishment last all night." Doflamingo's voice was cold and threatening, his arousal not diminishing even after his previous act of violence.

As he continued to lash your body with his string whip, he bent down, his lips leaving a trail of hickeys on the nape of your neck. The sensation of his teeth on your skin was both painful and degrading, a mark of his possession.

His fingers trailed down your body, stopping occasionally to admire his work. You could feel the heat of his desire, the evidence of his lust for you pressing against your ass.

"You need to understand that I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I want." Doflamingo's words were filled with a dangerous confidence, his dominance absolute. Each time you squirmed or cried out, you could hear his soft chuckle, a twisted form of amusement that only fueled his sadistic pleasure.

You could feel your body growing more and more exhausted, the pain and humiliation taking a toll on you. But still, Doflamingo continued, his desire to break you and assert his dominance unwavering.

Your only comfort lay in the hope that perhaps, once he had satisfied his need for control, he would leave you to rest. But the truth was, in Doflamingo's kingdom, there was no escape from his desires or his cruelty.

As you lay there, battered and bruised, you could only pray for the end of this terrible ordeal. But even as you did, you knew that it was only the beginning, and that in Doflamingo's twisted world, the only constant was his relentless pursuit of power and control.

The fear and humiliation seemed to consume you, your body aching and your spirit broken. Doflamingo retracted his strings and flipped you onto your back, causing you to hiss in pain and cry from the intense pain and humiliation. You panted heavily, you mind starting to dissociate. "Doflamingo... it hurts..." you croaked out, your voice hardly a whisper, as all your strength had been sapped. All you could do at this point is just let whatever happen happen and hope it doesn't last too long.

"Good." Doflamingo's response was cruel and calloused. His control over you was all-encompassing, and at this point, you could only hope for mercy and an end to your suffering. But mercy was not a virtue Doflamingo possessed. He regarded you with a mixture of lust and pride. "I want you to remember this pain, to remember who owns you." His words were cold, devoid of any empathy as he positioned himself between your legs, his arousal evident.

With a single, swift motion, he entered you, his desire for dominance driving him to claim your body once more, this time, as punishment for your defiance.

The pain from his penetration mixed with the stinging welts, making you cry out, your mind beginning to blur the lines between reality and the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

Doflamingo began to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, a show of his dominance and control over you. You could feel the tears streaming down your face, your body trembling as you braced yourself for the brutal onslaught.

Your mind dissociated further, the pain and humiliation becoming too much to bear. All you could do was endure, hoping that this, too, would pass, that perhaps, once he had satisfied his need for dominance, you could rest, even if only for a short while.

But deep down, you knew that there would be no rest for the conquered. Your body, now host to his offspring, was his to use and abuse as he pleased, and the thought of what was to come filled you with dread.

The fear, humiliation, and pain mingled together, leaving you in a haze, as you lay there, helpless, and utterly at his mercy. Doflamingo's control over you was complete, and there was no escape from his twisted world.

Even in your dissociated state, a small part of you, buried deep within, refused to accept this fate, but for now, all you could do was endure the onslaught with a mixture of pain, humiliation, and despair, hoping for an end to your suffering.

As Doflamingo assaulted you again, you were moaning—not from pleasure, but pain as you continued crying.

"That's it, scream for me." Doflamingo's voice was full of sadistic pleasure as he continued to assault you, the sounds of your moans and cries only serving to arouse him further.

His fingers traced along your swollen stomach, his strings working their magic, preparing your cervix once more to receive the seed of his dominance.

"You're nothing but a vessel for my offspring now." His words were a mix of command and degradation, his desire for humiliation evident in his tone.

As he fucked you, he continued stripping away any remaining shreds of your dignity and humanity. You cried and moaned, the pain and humiliation overwhelming, your body shaking under his assault.

You tried to push the thoughts of what this meant for you aside, unable to bear the reality of your situation. But Doflamingo's relentless pursuit of dominance left you with no escape, your body and mind at his mercy.

"You little fucking slut, I'm going to fill you up again, whether you like it or not." Doflamingo's voice was a mix of pleasure and spite, his arousal reaching its peak as he put you into a mating press.

He thrust deep inside you, his cock lodged firmly against your cervix, his movements slow and deliberate. The shaft of his cock pulsed, his testicles drawing up and tightening, pressing against your ass with each throb, churning out more of his seed into your womb.

Your body shuddered under his possession, the connection between you two a twisted, violent display of dominance and submission. His cock was buried inside you, the swollen tip of his glans pressed against your cervix, as he poured his seed directly into your womb once more.

Your body shuddered under his possession, the connection between you two a twisted, violent display of dominance and submission.

The pulsing of his cock intensified, each throb driving more of his cum into your body, the semen pooling in your womb, a testament to Doflamingo's conquest of your body. The sight of your stomach swelling further, stretching to accommodate his seed, still only served to prolong his orgasm, driving him to ejaculate even more, as if to see just how much his semen could fill your body.

The visual connection between you two was a gruesome display of violation and degradation. Doflamingo's cock, slick with your fluids and his cum, was buried deep within you, stretching and filling you as he emptied himself into your womb. Your stomach, bloated and swollen from his previous seed, grew even larger, the curves of your body distorted by his relentless desire to fill you with offspring.

His balls, tight and heavy with the weight of his semen, pressed against your ass with each pulsating throb, a testament to his unyielding control over your body. The mark of his possession was clear, his cum filling you, and his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you in place as he claimed you in the most primal manner possible.

As Doflamingo continued to spill his seed into your womb, his expression was a mix of satisfaction and vicious pleasure, the sight of your body being used as a vessel for his offspring driving him to the brink of ecstasy. His eyes never left the sight of your stomach, growing with each pulsating throb of his cock, a twisted form of entertainment for the twisted king of Dressrosa.

The sight of your connected genitalia was a macabre and haunting image, a stark reminder of your new reality, a reality where Doflamingo's dominance and control knew no bounds, and where your body, once your own, was now nothing more than a host for his seed.

The degradation, the violation, and the pain were all too real, your body a mere plaything for Doflamingo's dark desires. Even as he watched your stomach swell, you knew that this was just the beginning, that in Doflamingo's twisted world, there would be no end to your suffering, no respite from his constant need for control and dominion over you.

As Doflamingo's orgasm finally subsided, you lay there, battered and bruised, your body aching and your spirit broken. The only thing you could do anymore is cry as your body was assaulted again... Your back stung, dark purple bruises covered your neck... You laid there, hoping the moment would pass quicker.

He dislodged his glans from your abused cervix, leaving you feeling empty and raw. His fingers traced intricate patterns along your swollen stomach, a cruel reminder of his dominance over your body.

With deft, precise movements, Doflamingo used his strings to sew your cervix shut, effectively sealing his essence inside you. The sensation of the strings piercing your tender flesh was yet another layer of pain and violation, a cruel twist of his sadistic desires.

Your body had begun dissociating from reality, essentially blacking you out, making everything that happened almost a blur in a desperate attempt to protect you from the trauma you just endured.

"You're not allowed to fade out on me, bitch. Stay with me." Doflamingo's voice was a harsh, demanding growl as he noticed your dissociation, his fingers tightening their grip on your flesh.

Your body, battered and bruised, continued to dissociate from the pain and humiliation, your mind retreating to a dark, distant place. The assault on your body had become a blur, your senses overwhelmed by the constant onslaught of violence and degradation.

"I said, stay with me!" Doflamingo's voice was a harsh slap, bringing you back to the present moment. His eyes bore into yours, a mix of cruelty and anger etched across his features.

He slapped you across the face, the sting of his palm against your cheek a harsh reminder of your place under him. You let out a piercing howl. His words were a harsh command, a demand for your attention, your mind, and your body.

"You belong to me now, and I won't have you fading out during our special moments." His tone was a mix of mockery and possession. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear, his words a low, menacing growl. "Remember, you're mine now, and I'll do whatever I want with you, whenever I want. And you'll take it, because you have no choice." He knew that your mind was broken, your spirit shattered, and reveled in the complete and utter control and power he held over you.

As you lay there, broken and bleeding, your body a canvas for his cruelty and degradation, Doflamingo's words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of your new reality, a reality where you were nothing more than a plaything for his twisted desires, a vessel for his offspring, and a slave to his unyielding, sadistic rule.

You looked at him with misty eyes, your tears unable to stop flowing. You tried your hand at scooching back to make some space between you two and catch your breath, and was successful. You presume Doflamingo let you because he knew you weren't going anywhere—not after what he just did to you. You sat up, your weeping eyes not leaving your rapist.

"Look at you, so fragile and broken." Doflamingo's voice was a mocking whisper as he watched you scooch away, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

He let you move, his grip on you loosening just enough to allow you to catch your breath. But the illusion of freedom was fleeting, a cruel reminder of the chains that bound you to him, invisible yet inescapable.

Doflamingo reached up, his hand moving towards your face, causing you to flinch, your hands instinctively coming up to protect yourself, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle, his fingers caressing your neck, a stark contrast to the brutality he had just subjected you to. His touch was a reminder of his power, his ability to switch between cruelty and tenderness, keeping you off-balance, never knowing what to expect.

"Your reactions are so delightfully predictable." His words were a purr, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you cower under his touch. Before you could react, he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, claiming you, owning you, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood.

The kiss was a violation, a reminder of his dominance over you, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, leaving no part of you untouched. It was a kiss that told you that you were his, body and soul, and that there was no escape from his grasp.

As he pulled away, you were left gasping for air, your lips swollen, your body trembling under his touch. Doflamingo's eyes were dark, filled with a mix of lust and cruelty, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every inch of your bruises and marks.

"You're mine now, and I'll never let you go." His words were a promise, a threat, and a declaration of his unyielding control over you. "And soon, you'll learn to love it, to crave it, to beg for it."

The thought of being his forever, of being reduced to nothing more than a plaything for his twisted desires, sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. Your body, battered and bruised, betrayed you, responding to his touch, to his words, a testament to the power he held over you.

As Doflamingo pulled you in for another kiss, you knew that this was your new reality, a reality where pain and pleasure were intertwined, where your body was no longer your own, and where Doflamingo's will was the only one that mattered.

[chickemz]

Currently rereading skip to loafer and stumbled upon this comment of mitsumi’s:

This definitely feels like foreshadowing for the ending of this story 😭😭😭😭😭 it’s probably gonna end after they graduate highschool and we’re going to be left wondering about these beloved characters I might go insane I NEED TO SEND HOW THEIR LIFE TURNS OUT UNTIL THEIR DEATH BED NARRATIVE COHESION BE DAMNED!!

Anyways, on a more realistic note, I theorize that shima and mitsumi won’t officially date in the span of the current story. I certainly do think there will be an acknowledgement of feelings (especially when shima reaches his peak actualization the current story set him on) on both sides but I can only imagine that it would happen in their third year when they’re about to enter college (probably on separate paths as well) and I think they would both be mature enough to realize that a romantic relationship won’t work out between the two of them as of right now. Hell, maybe they’ll make a promise to try something if their life aligns in the future but I think this would be the most realistic outcome for this story. It falls into line with them loving and supporting each other unconditionally beyond a romantic sense and I wouldn’t be mad at this kind of ending for shima and mitsumi at all.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 23: the War of Wrath

Scheduling this reread post for the @morgoth-into-the-void-week. :)

So first, we are informed that our narative frame's source is the exiled Noldor (and Sindar, if I understand correctly), and they did not join the army marching North. They only learned the events later, in Aman.

So the host of the Valar was separate, the Noldor and the rest did not fight in the War of Wrath? At all? Why?

Also, I feel like this invalidates some fics, but I may be wrong. Anyway this feels strange.

The warriors "took shapes", so there were many Maiar in the army, I consider this confirmed, because I don't see how it can be read otherwise. [Unless translation messed it up]

They fight in Anfauglith, according to other sourced it lasts 50 years or so. wow. Also, the two armies are huge.

A few Balrogs escaped.

The Edain (the few that remained), in contrast to the local Elves, did join the war. Huh again. why the Elves did not?

Also, most Men were at the wrong side and the Elves hold a grudge about it. Even though, if I understand the text correctly, they themselves did not fight.

Morgoth is scared. How surprising. Winged dragons make a debut, but it soesn't help much. Earendil + all kinds of birds kil Ancalagon.

Oh, and speaking of birds: Elwing is on the ships, I would assume, with the Teleri. I would be very not surprised if Elrond and Elros meet her and they all have a long talk, and this is how the kidnap fam is dismantled (not leaving them with Gil-Galad, but letting them go to their actual mother. Who later sails back and then Elrond joins Gil-Galad. But this is purely a HC based on who was where.)

Only a few Balrogs and dragons escape (so that we can have some monsters in SA, or even, as we know, TA). The power of the Valar reaches deep into earth and cleanses it, I guess. Still, I am pretty certain that the Valar weren't there personally, just their Maiar.

Morgoth runs away, does all kinds of cringe cowardly stuff, nobody listenes to him, I have some second-hand embarassment reading this. The translation says his feet were cut off, which iirc I heard is kind of "Balrog's wings" thing, also for sake of Eonwe not looking bad I prefer to imagine just a regular "throwing him to the ground". ("but his feet were hewn from under him, and he was hurled upon his face" — English-savvy people, what do you think?]

Anyway I feel sorry for him, yes my brain is like that.

He is chained and his crown is replaced by a copy and stolen by Sauron for sake of appearing in Amazon's series reforged into a collar. I want to know by whom it was reforged, but the book does not tell me. Either some Valar were there (they can effectively teleport, from what is said in other places), or the reforging happenned in Valinor after Morgoth was taken there (the text doesn't sound like it), or some Maia of Aule did the reforging. It would be interesting if it was Curumo. Surely touching the thing won't influence him in a way that will bear its ugly fruit much later…

Also the Silarils are freed and glow under the sky. Hmm. They were not taken to Valinor, so the reforging clearly seems to take place in ME. So, was Aule there or did some Maiar do it?

"the two Silmarils […] shone unsullied beneath the sky; and Eönwë took them, and guarded them." Argh, because the Polish translation has it sounding like "were given to Eonwe to guard" I wrote a whole paragraph that now makes no sense. :/

Also, yes, clearly no Valar are there, it's the only logical reading.

All the Elves are summoned to Aman, as we know not all are enthusiastic, and we get to our guys Maedhros and Maglor (apparently without the twins now).

They don't go to talk to Eonwë, they send a messanger. Which sadly makes that one fic non-canon.

I wrote a long, convoluted "yelling on Maglor and hyping about things I should be writing inseat of just hyping" tangent, so I'll indent it, so you can skip it more easily. [Instead of deleting it. :) ]

My. guys. OK, I can get Mae who is crealy overriden by trauma here. But Maglor. My guy. Makalaure Canafinwe Feanarion. My. Guy. I get that you feel guilty towards your brother and all that, and he is triggered and "who knows what terrible things the Valar would do to us if we go against them. They would hang us from the mountain and nobody will come to save us and—" but my guy. You really would help him more by leaving him and just surendering to Eonwe. Also, my guys, this was already said, but you both get the -1th prize in category of "logic and basic inductive reasoning (if He hears us once, He will hear us again, and if not, the problem is not a problem)". But I get it, trauma turns the thinking brain off. Anwyay, Maglor, my guy. you are the worst at "being right". Becasue you are right but you do the wrong thing anyway,. MY GUY. I want to kick you. I am serisouly worried. I know the fandom wishes you all the best and ten times more, and so do I, but. My guy. You do need to put in some work. Because "having others solve your problems" never worked for you. So, I'm sorry but you will be put in Awkward Situations until you finally go against your family. Yes, this is harder when said family is dead, but we'll find a way. I know some people need help first, but ok you will have [or whatever tense] spend quite a lot of time in Rivendell first with your lovely kidnap-son but then you have to start behaving like an adult who makes his own decisions. And stop being codependent. And yes, in order to do that I am going to put you in the weirdest, awkwardest situations and also kinda scary situations ald many kinds of situations. And no, you are not going to have a glorious beautiful moment of redemption, because you're too much of a poet, you would focus on "how to describe it in a song" too much and miss the point. Also, I like giving my guys awkward situations, because, honestly, we deserve them quite well. So. you will feel like an idiot and do something so awkward that you will blush while explaining it to your dead brother and you won't be able to look him in the eye. Because. My guy. Don't worry though, you aren't even having the worst of my creative side. But. My guy. Seriously. You are a complete idiot (affectionate) and I want to kick you (affectionate).

Back to the reread proper.

So, those two. They sneak into the camp, in disguise. The camp awakens…. how did all the camp suddenly awake? Also, they are ready to die, the book says it, so @dfwbwfbbwfbwf it is canon and not only for Maedhros.

Eonwe lets them go freely, because… he is that kind, I guess? And/or knows that it will work out.

Maedhros (says the book) realized that Eonwe was right ant soF lost the right to the Silmarils. Also he is pretty clearly not in control of his actions (but he did maneuver himself there tbh)

Maglor is also burned and can't stand it, and we get the fan-loved Silm change-from-other-versions of "he wanders the shores so that we can write fanfiction of him". I want to hug him. But, also: Maglor you [beloved] fool.

Lot of Elves sail West, the Silamrils are gone and will not be joined until the world breaks (poor babies). The Elves from Belerians (the Exiles? the sindar? Both) live on Tol Eressea, and the Valar forgive them and Manwe loves them. the Teleri forgive them and the Doom is lifted.

OK, but then why do they live on Tol Eressea only???

By choice (more home-like)? To not pollute Valinor proper with their marring-influenced presence? Because the Vanyar threw a collective tantrum (yes, I hc the Vanyar to have some faults)? Just temporarily?

All of those make sense to me.

A list of Elves and again we are reminded that Elrond and Elros are very cool and special. (They are.)

Morgoth is thrown out the Door of Night into the timeless void (so probably not just outer space). Oh, the Valar did it.

So he was taken to Valinor.

I wish there was a fic on how scary-awkward-weird it was for the sailors of the ship that took him. OK, tbh there was probably more Maiar than Teleri, if any Teleri. But. It would be interesting. Especially with the Teleri having almost no experience with Morgoth. He is more like a legend to them, I think. So, scary-weird but also "hey, we are important and we'll be famous" maybe. Or maybe Ulmo just dragged him there.

There are guards on the walls o the world (huh?) and Earendil is keeping watch, which is strange considering that we are also told (in a place I can't find now) that Morgoth will not physically return (with a strange caveat). So, anyway: Morgoth gone but his lies are here still.

Quenta Silmarillion ends, we get a small … not even teaser, but after-the-credits paragraph about "hey maybe something will get Seriously Better but we don't know, Manwë and Varda probably know and Mandos did not tell anyone".

[novankenn]

How would Ozpin, Ozpin's inner circle and the rest of team Jnpr react about Jaune knocking up the Grimm Queen?

A good question... shall we see? MWHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

/==/

Ozpin sat at his desk. An open bottle of Mistrallian Whiskey sitting before him. A filled tumbler in his hand. Perched at the far end of his desk, a raven sized Nevermore. Laying at it's feet a sheet of parchment paper, that had been folded and sealed with wax. The emblem on the seal that of the current enemy of human and faunuskind. Salem Queen of the Grimm.

Ozpin had never received "Nevermore Mail" before, and up until just now he had doubted the vicious aerial beasts of negativity were capable of anything but violence. Yet here at this moment he had been proven wrong.

That however was a side point, something for discussion at a later date. The real trouble, and the reason for him skipping over fortifying his coffee to straight up morning drinking was the contents written upon the piece of parchment.

Ozpin: Well that explains what happened to Ms. Fall, Mr. Black, Ms. Sustrai and Mr. Arc six months ago.

Ozpin sighed. He felt depressed that out of those four names, the first three never once had someone inquiring about their whereabouts or health. The fourth however had become a diplomatic headache. The Arcs, in particular Jasmine Arc, Jaune's mother did not take her only son's disappearance quietly.

The Arc matriarch had in her anger and frustration, besieged Beacon, now granted a one persona siege wasn't much of a threat, but having her camped out in front of the main entrance harassing everyone about her son's whereabouts had driven Glynda certifiably insane... which of course culminated in the two women demolishing Glynda's classroom and two training rooms before Peter and Bart had been able to sedate them.

Ozpin: I wonder if I have time to finish the bottle before my Combat Instructors arrive?

The Nevermore just looked at Ozpin and tilted it's head. Reaching out Ozpin picked up the parchment and read the contents again...

OzpOzpinin: Jaune and Salem Arc joyfully announce the arrival of the newest members of our family, Jean and Jeanne.

Slamming down the contents of his glass, Ozpin poured another before continuing to reread the birth notice.

Ozpin: Leo, James and Timothy must be having kittens over this.

The elevator dinged and before Ozpin could do anything, a blond whirlwind appeared before him. Her vivid blue eyes darting down to the parchment arrayed before him, before instantly returning to glare at Ozpin.

Jasmine: You have... news...

Ozpin: Well yes, um... how do I, um say this?

Jasmine: Just spit it out!

Ozpin: Ah, okay... Congratulation's?

/==/

Utter & Complete Insanity Story Collection

/==/

[opbackgrounds]

You didn't really answer my qustion though. What can you name that should be edited out? For example: which warlord do you cut out? Which arc they brought do you feel is unneeded and should be taken out? I promise I'm not being mean or snarky, it's just I've heard the 'too many randoms' all over, but nobody can actualy point to an actual character they find should be cut out so it kinda sound like 'just make it better'. And unless wiki is wrong, Tama is Koruzumi, not Kozumi - the fact you mixed it up kinda shows it didn't really matter, though I would argue it is important from narrative perspective of showing Koruzumi were not 'evil by blood' despite all names one being villains. Also: Zoro's lineage was also released trough SBS and I don't see people break up about it? Again, I'm just honestly curious about what you think.

my point is not invalidated because I misremembered a name, and Zoro’s lineage is another thing that either should have been in the manga or not been a thing at all. If Oda wasn’t going to do anything with it, he should have kept the connection between he and Wano be through Kuina. The Zoro lookalike characters during Yamato’s flashback only set up expectation in the audience that wasn’t followed through with. I understand that Zoro doesn’t give a fuck, but if that’s the case then don’t make it a thing in the first place.

But to answer your question let’s look just at Wano. The Nine Scabbards should have been reduced down to a more reasonable number. I love them both dearly, but you could easily combine Dogstorm and Cat Viper into one character. Raizo doesn’t do much after Zou, so replace him there with someone else—I’d say Izo, since that’s the character who could have used some time with the main cast to make their ridiculous death more impactful. You could say after Marineford they were trying to get back to Wano and stumbled upon Momo and the rest while traveling. Shinobu can handle being the main ninja character, and no Raizo means you don’t have to have earlobe guy so now there’s no meaningless 25 chapter fight.

With Izo reintroduced thusly, there’s no reason for Marco to show up at all. In fact, he has a built-in reason for not showing up by protecting Whitebeard’s homeland. This will require some rewriting of the arc, but imo he ended up taking away too much valuable hype from more important characters to really justify his presence, so get him out of there.

It was clear Oda was having a hard time finding a purpose for Drake, and Hawkins, and Apoo. Of those three, you could easily get rid of Apoo and not lose anything. Have a quick flashback of him dying epically in the Kidd Pirate Alliance battle against Kaido. It would have been a better showing than he gave in the arc itself.

And that’s just off the top of my head. I haven’t done any rereading of Wano since that chapters were released. If someone went over the arc more carefully there would be more (like, does Carrot really need to be there? Do any of the other Zou characters?) I really think you could get the Scabbards down to 5 characters if you tried, but I’d have to figure out how that would fit with the rest of the story.

My problem with One Piece isn’t the number of arcs, it’s that the arcs themselves are too long. Enies Lobby was epic in scale and had a lot of different factions to account for, but it didn’t take three years to get through. Theres going to be some ballooning in size as the crew has gotten bigger, but even that could be worked around. Have more tag team fights like on Thriller Bark, for example, so the enemy crews don’t have to have so many people. Reduce the roll of side characters and give their feats to the Straw Hats who haven’t gotten enough love after the time skip. There’s lots of things Oda could have done, but he hasn’t.

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 4, Part 2/4 (p. 1523-1668)

Read the previous post here.

Time to finish the first half of Act 4. I can't believe how long this is compared to the previous ones, and the upcoming Acts will only get more expansive from here on.

Rose has to be doing this on purpose. Using big words she knows John won't understand. She's stroking her own ego by acting intellectually superior to someone who might genuinely be mentally impaired.

Rose is still seething about Dave. John clearly has no idea what's going on between them and thinks she's perturbed by Dave being able to watch her constantly. But yeah nah, she's still bitter about how she barely survived entering the game (and jealous that Dave is schmoozing with Jade).

In Terezi's first appearance, she has nothing but animosity toward the humans. She even goes as far to say that she'll be pissed at them even when the rest of the trolls warm up to them. Uh huh. Strange how that part of her personality gets quickly swept off to the side.

Terezi used to be such a nasty, annoying edgelord and I kind of miss that about her. Her character progression is honestly all over the place, which I'll get into deeper as we move along.

Rose drinking the martini is framed as her making an "important decision [...] without supervision." There's something to be said about how one of the first things she decides to do as an independent person is try to emulate her mother. As the only adult presence in her life, Mom is her only frame of reference for how adults behave.

PM's brief encounter with Jack is fun. Jack is no-nonsense and knows his job inside and out. He's also determined to pursue every opportunity to avoid actually doing said job.

So much suspense is being built around this package. It's so important that PM is willing to betray her own kingdom for it. Of course, this all amounts to probably one of the worst reveals in the whole comic. There's no satisfaction upon learning what's in the box and as soon as the reveal happens, it's swiftly forgotten about. Yet there's so much narrative weight being assigned to it that I cannot even begin to fathom what Hussie's thought process was when writing this.

Dave and Jade spend several pages combining the alchemiter with the other Sburb devices. This is to condense everything into one space so the characters don't have to scurry from the different devices to craft items. But we haven't been seeing much scurrying lately since Hussie has been skipping over the crafting process anyway, probably because it's lengthy and repetitive. It may be convenient "in-universe" but I don't see what use this has from a storytelling perspective.

There's a reason "John do what I say" is a bit of a meme. Because he will follow commands no matter who's issuing them. Even if it's someone as unpleasant as Terezi.

Terezi is transparent in her motives. She is uninterested with what the rest of the trolls are doing and just wants to spread chaos in the kids' session, basically fucking around and finding out. John still decides to follow her directions because ????????

I might as well screencap the entire conversation between Dave and Rose here because it's great stuff. Rose puts on a sanctimonious act about killing the ogre she had just mercilessly thrashed, all to annoy Dave. This is the kind of back and forth I love to read.

Also note the metaphors Dave uses at the beginning. "whipping that ogre like a rented mule"? "sailing that ogre down the mississippi with a runaway slave"? Again, not to bring race discourse here, but I don't think he'd say that kind of stuff to Rose if she was black. If anything, he'd probably be more tasteless about the metaphors he's using. You know how teenagers can be.

Did he just call himself Rose's pimp? 😳

Hmm I wonder what might motivate Dave to give Kanaya bogus advice about winning over Rose. Between this and his earlier log where he turns the tables on Tavros, I do think it's interesting how Dave is shown to consistently out-troll the trolls. The key must be to not give a shit.

Dave calls Kanaya "bro" twice in this log and seems to mistake her as a man here. John will repeat this mistake later on. Kinda odd that the troll the fandom depicts as sultry and feminine is actually super stoic and awkward to the point where multiple characters think she is male.

I love how Rose is making passive-aggressive remarks about Dave to a total stranger. And calling him "that guy" as if he isn't living rent-free in her head.

Rose is getting a lot of joy out of using Tavros as a proxy to annoy Dave. She even offers to help him out in writing disses (because of course she'll jump at any opportunity to write).

I really love the ending of this log too.

Kanaya is a total dork in case it isn't clear already.

Tavros puts so much effort in his diss rhyme against Dave, but Dave's completely ignoring him to draw more SBaHJ. Tavros never attempts to troll Dave after this which, again, is a fucking disgrace.

Where is the version of Homestuck where Tavros is Dave's bumbling pupil in the slam poetry arts, constantly brushed off until Dave eventually (and reluctantly) decides to take him under his wing, if only to stop him from embarrassing himself? It would be a good role-reversal where Dave inherits Bro's position of the master instead of the student, and maybe get some perspective for why Bro was so dismissive and distant from him all the time.

I guess this kind of obvious character growth is too much of an advanced writing technique for Hussie to implement, so he didn't.

I like how Karkat starts off being a jerk but stops in his tracks because he too is a fan of cheesy movies. Also, I liked Serendipity. It's not great, but it might as well be a masterpiece compared to a lot of the garbage John likes.

Terezi's reaction makes it seem like she really wants to see Karkat's "bone lump." I can't imagine Karkat being outwardly flirty at all, so the idea that he may have expressed any kind of fondness for her must be something she has to read herself.

As a sprite, Jaspers' personality is like a cat voicing thoughts relating to his natural instincts. He focuses mostly on food and expressing affection toward Rose. Anything else he says, like information about the game, is stuff he says without any comprehension of what it means. It's like the game placed that knowledge in his mind and he just thoughtlessly repeats it. I do like that.

The closure Rose expected from Jaspers is about what one would expect (or at least, until her dream self awakens). I wonder what she really expected from asking a cat what it meant by meowing at her.

It only took over 1300 pages, but John has finally responded to one of Dave's messages. He does this in a very detached, oblivious manner, not mentioning the previous messages Dave sent him that he missed. He wants to skip all that time when Dave was in distress and ask only about the recent happenings upon his entry.

I feel bad for Dave, considering his "best friend" is pretty much a plank of wood. And not the fun kind of plank like in Ed, Edd n Eddy.

In what might be the most poignant page of the comic in my honest opinion, Dave and Rose have been trapped in this doomed timeline for four months. Dave is keen to stop wasting any further time and to go back to the past to reverse the actions that led to John's death, but Rose seems very reluctant to let him go. Her words are chosen to imply Dave might be too hasty and to suggest that he should stick around a little while longer "to gather information."

But that isn't the real aim of why Rose wants Dave to stay. She knows that as soon as he leaves, she will die. Trapped in a universe where she's the sole surviving human, it's a cold and lonely death she'll experience. Dave seems to know this too, but tries to assuage her worries by telling her not to think about her impending doom. Perhaps he also doesn't want to think about it, and that's why he wants to leave quickly so as not to dwell on how he's essentially condemning her to death.

But really, four months alone together as the last two humans in existence? That's a lot of off-screen time we aren't shown. And yet it's treated as this brief afterthought, a scene only used as a means to bring Davesprite into existence. I wish we could've seen more of this doomed timeline, more of Dave and Rose realizing their hopeless situation and the harrowing choice they ultimately need to make to set things right.

Yes, it's only a brief page that never gets brought up again, but it's one that sticks in my mind and refuses to leave.

John is being unreasonably (and uncharacteristically) obstinate here. Normally he has no problem following orders unless they place him in direct harm. Why does he trust Terezi so much over his supposed best friend? He ends the log suggesting that he'll listen to Dave, but the next page shows him blasting off anyway. What a prick.

People want to portray Terezi as some master strategist, but she really isn't. She's very single-minded and only ever considers outside information if it aligns with her set goal.

Remember when Terezi said she intended to stay pissed at all the kids forever? That didn't last long. And now through the power of memes, Davesprite has turned Terezi into a good guy now.

Considering how weak most of Homestuck's villains are, it's a real shame we lost out on one who was genuinely effective, engaging, and menacing so soon.

Oh, so I guess the Frog Temple really was "planted" when the meteor first hit Earth ages ago. I'm not sure how satisfied I am with this explanation.

[S] Jack: Ascend not only serves as a big flash to mark the midpoint for Act 4, but it also celebrates the fact that Homestuck turned one year old at this point.

Anyway, Jack's "Joker moment" is when the Queen force-femmed him. Just thought everyone should know that.

So if John's big "awakening" moment was about learning that his dad isn't really a clown, Rose's moment was triggered by being left all alone in a dead timeline and just waiting for the universe to extinguish her life. These are very comparable events! The fact that Rose's future dream self is shown to merge with her present self means that she likely remembers the events of the doomed timeline as well. What a nice load of trauma to be shouldered with!

Here we get the only time the box's contents have any real use: when it turns the Black Queen into soot and blood. Good to know that this MacGuffin only ever serves the villain in a meaningful capacity.

This part of the comic had some good moments, but I'm conflicted. When I revisit these "high points" in the story, I'm reminded of how Hussie never expands upon them and how they just end up as wasted potential. I fear this will set the mood for the remainder of this reread, which kinda sucks honestly. I'd much rather talk about more positive stuff and things I like, but they're few and far between with all the negativity surrounding them.

Read the next post here.

[nohoperadio]

My favourite author is Iris Murdoch.

I don't think I have favourites in any other category, it feels like a bit of an artificial concept usually, but it would be silly to deny this one. I was halfway through my first Murdoch novel (at age 20 or so) when I felt certain I was going to have to read them all (there are 26). My feeling was that I would have stayed true to that even if every other book she wrote had been terrible. I'm sure that's not true, but I say it to illustrate that she inspired a deep and irrational loyalty in me very early on that hasn't waned over time. I've been reading between one and three of her books per year since I started, deliberately spreading them out so as not to deplete a valuable resource too soon, although presumably I'll just start rereading them at the same rate after I've finished. I've read 21 out of 26 so far.

Maybe someday I'll have something to say on here about what draws me to her books so strongly. Not right now though. What I want to say today is that I usually like her opening lines very much, she often starts with some very punchy compact moment that feels weirdly complete already even as it clearly stands in need of unpacking, if that makes sense to anyone else. This post is going to be simply a compilation of some good ones. Let's say 10 of the best, in no particular order.

I'm defining "opening lines" as not literally just the first sentence but enough to cover the first self-contained "moment" of the book, which is a bit of a judgment call for sure but you can be confident I've judged correctly in every case. For The Philosopher's Pupil (but no others) I've blatantly cheated by entirely skipping a sort of prologue chapter because I think the opening of the next chapter is both more opening-like and more compelling, I acknowledge that this is illegitimate but you'll just have to deal with it. Okay here goes.

---

The Unicorn

'How far away is it?'

'Fifteen miles.'

'Is there a bus?'

'There is not.'

'Is there a taxi or a car I can hire in the village?'

'There is not.'

'Then how am I to get there?'

'You might hire a horse hereabouts,' someone suggested after a silence.

---

An Accidental Man

'Gracie darling, will you marry me?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

---

The Bell

Dora Greenfield left her husband because she was afraid of him. She decided six months later to return to him for the same reason.

---

The Philosopher's Pupil

I am the narrator: a discreet and self-effacing narrator. This book is not about me.

---

Bruno's Dream

Bruno was waking up. The room seemed to be dark. He held his breath, testing the quality of the darkness, wondering if it was night or day, morning or afternoon. If it was night that was bad and might be terrible. Afternoon could be terrible too if he woke up too early. The drama of sleeping and waking had become preoccupying and fearful now that consciousness itself could be so heavy a burden.

---

The Sacred and Profane Love Machine

The boy was there again this morning, and the dogs were not barking.

---

A Fairly Honourable Defeat

'Julius King.'

'You speak his name as if you were meditating upon it.'

'I am meditating upon it.'

'He's not a saint.'

'He's not a saint. And yet—'

---

The Message to the Planet

'Of course we have to do with two madmen now, not with one.'

'You mean Marcus is mad too?'

'No, he means Patrick is mad too.'

---

The Red and the Green

Ten more glorious days without horses!

---

The Sea, The Sea

The sea which lies before me as I write glows rather than sparkles in the bland May sunshine. With the tide turning, it leans quietly against the land, almost unflecked by ripples or by foam. Near the horizon it is a luxurious purple, spotted with regular lines of emerald green. At the horizon it is indigo. Near to the shore, where my view is framed by rising heaps of humpy yellow rock, there is a band of lighter green, icy and pure, less radiant, opaque however, not transparent. We are in the north, and the bright sunshine cannot penetrate the sea. Where the gentle water taps the rocks there is still a surface skin of colour. The cloudless sky is very pale at the indigo horizon which it lightly pencils in with silver. Its blue gains towards the zenith and vibrates there. But the sky looks cold, even the sun looks cold.

I had written the above, destined to be the opening paragraph of my memoirs, when something happened which was so extraordinary and so horrible that I cannot bring myself to describe it even now after an interval of time and although a possible, though not totally reassuring, explanation has occurred to me. Perhaps I shall feel calmer and more clear-headed after yet another interval.

[ae-neon]

Is Fisher Circle Breaker??? Unlikely because Anomandaris sounded like an old poem

Got back to my gotm reread (in prep for book 3 because I'm procrastinating a different book) and I am noticing things 🤔

Also icarium (and mappo) mentioned!! my brain totally skipped over that the first time

When Rake spoke his voice as a ravaged whisper. 'Icarium's gifts. I recognize the style. Five Tusks, Moon's Tears – the Wheel is his, correct?'

Eyes wide, Baruk hissed his surprise between his teeth. A dozen questions struggled to be uttered first, but the Lord continued.

'In the future, I'd suggest you heed Icarium's gifts – all of them. A thousand years is not so long a time, Alchemist. Not so long a time. Icarium last visited me eight hundred years ago, in the company of the Trell Mappo, and Osric – or Osserc, as the local worshippers call him.'

Rake smiled bitterly. 'Osric and I argued, as I recall, and it was all Brood could do to keep us apart. It was an old argument ...' His almond eyes shaded into grey. He fell silent, lost in memories.

The glossary says Osserc is Lord of the Sky 👀 can't wait to find out who Osric is

But "Moon's Tears" - and the fact that I'm pretty sure it was someone working under Caladan Brood, Prince K'azz, maybe also Kallor, that threatened Serrat and Anomander - makes me afraid to come back to Genabackis for the stuff I think is gonna be touched on in MoI

*

and in the Calling Down to earth the God was Crippled, and so Chained in its place.

In the Calling Down many lands were sundered by the God's Fists, and things were born and things were released.

Chained and Crippled was this God and it bred caution in the unveiling of its powers. The Crippled God bred caution but not well enough, for the powers of the earth came to it in the end. Chained was the Crippled God, and so Chained was it destroyed.

And upon this barren plain that imprisoned the Crippled God many gathered to the deed.

Hood, grey wanderer of Death, was among the gathering, as was Dessembrae, then Hood's Warrior – though it was here and in this time that Dessembrae shattered the bonds Hood held upon him. Also among the gathering were...

I'll come back to this when it makes sense but 🤨 noticed

*

Shadowthrone to Quick Ben: 'It is you! Delat! You shapeshifting bastard!'

Shapeshifting as in Soletaken or Divers or what 😶

*

Cotillion possessed Sorry: A flash of rage ran through her. Memory was attached to Otataral, a very personal memory.

TELL US WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU AND DASSEM, idc about Kellanved

*

Raest drove his senses down into the ground, seeking what dwelt there. Earth and bedrock, the sluggish molten darkness beneath, down, down to find the sleeping goddess – young as far as the Jaghut Tyrant was concerned.

Get your nasty hands off my girl Burn you freak

[thenamesblurrito]

assorted Transformers fics to rec (part two!)

first list here! have more fics i missed the first time or discovered since then or were recommended to me by others! if you decide to read these, i recommend leaving a comment if you can to encourage the writers and show some love! 🥰 note: the ones marked with * were ones i read a long time ago and did not reread before adding them to this list, so i am going off the good vibes in my memory

An Act of Revenge for Crimes Uncommitted

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. young Orion Pax wakes up mutilated, empurata'd, and his assailants punished him for the crimes of one Optimus Prime. ooooo this is kind of heartwrenching, truly intriguing and unjust and mmmmm drama. time travel, gore, mind the tags here, a fascinating look at a bad timeline! some of the functionism stuff in here actually helped inspire my own functionist setup in SNAP

Blackout and Reboot

canon soup, complete multichap, AO3. amnesia was not on the table when Thundercracker agreed to go undercover as a human. giant robot aliens weren't on the table when Marissa took it upon herself to help the weirdest guy she'd ever met. it's a match made in heaven. i love this fic okay it's got some fantastic wth moments and TC being TC and Marissa being awesome and just. i like it. the writing could use some technical polish but the action and plot concept are good, and the fun alien/human interactions are my jam. has a sequel i haven't read

Canonfodder*

TFP, incomplete, Spacebattles. a series of harrowing updates from a poor hapless nobody isekai'd into the body of a Vehicon on dead Cybertron, and all the nonsense that spirals from there. i like this one, the pacing can get a lil jagged and the technical skill of the writing is a bit off but that's often the nature of these forum fics, i didn't mind it. definitely love the inclusion of Kup, and space video games, and the limited but interesting choices the protag can make when presented with such a dismal situation makes for a very compelling, journal-style story. if you don't know how to navigate forum fics like this, just use the links in the first post to skip to each snippet

Catching Feelings

TFA, oneshot with sequel, AO3. Bumblebee and Charlie are clearly a Thing, so what's Optimus doing thinking about her so much? honestly i just like this ship concept especially in a TFA context, it's very cute and awwwww poor Op, sorry you're experiencing emotions!

Commonality and Misunderstandings

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. a collection of scenes showing just how humans and mecha can figure each other out, no matter how wide the cross-cultural divide. this is cute! i like the human OCs and the shenanigans. talks about gender perceptions, has some mech-preg mentions, and hits some good emotional moments

the consequences of being a vehicle on Earth - even if only as a part-timer

TFA, oneshot, AO3. out of everyone who has to deal with the legality of autonomous sentient vehicles, it's Fanzone. dear god, save him. a very funny little read that honestly addresses some things i constantly wonder about re: driving laws and the bots. nothing more tortuous than the DMV!

Curious Thing, Isn't It?

vaguely G1, oneshot, AO3. the Ark crew, freshly crashed on Earth and uncomprehending of English, discover one of the tiny squishy native inhabitants. a very cute little scene, i love the variety of reactions and how they treat the kid they found

A Fourth to Remember

G1, oneshot, AO3. it's the 4th of July, and Wheeljack has taken it upon himself to make a fireworks show. lovely little story of his typical nonsense taken large-scale, and some interesting culture collision too!

The Great Space Opera

IDW/TFP crossover, incomplete, AO3. Brainstorm does a whoopsie and uh oh, is that Team Prime in the Lost Light? only a little bit written but VERY fun and i love the mindbending reactions of Ratchet meeting Ratchet. the whole premise is just. mwah

Introduction to Cybertronian Biomechanics

canon soup, incomplete, AO3. a small collection of medical essays and articles detailing a breakdown of anatomy. really fascinating, very coherent explanation that manages to condense canon and fanon into something understandable, perhaps even plausible!

Liberty Island's Decisive Battle: Godzilla vs Trypticon!

Aligned/Godzilla crossover, oneshot, AO3. when Trypticon is resurrected by dark energon and heads towards New York, Fowler remembers a certain other giant lizard monster that might be able to help. Rescue Bots cameo, Miko gets to speak Japanese, Godzilla is awesome, this is just the fic ever

Malto Family Search & Rescue

ES, oneshot, AO3. a Decepticon named Thundercracker shows up at the Malto home in the middle of the night to beg a vital favor: help find his lost dog! SUCH a cute and good and wonderful little fic that fits right in to canon!! i love TC and i love the Malto family interactions and just. oogh lovely little fic. has sequels that i am saving for a rainy day pick me up

marriages of convenience (and the inconvenience of explaining them)

IDW, oneshot, AO3. Minimus is a widower. this fun fact is dropped rather unceremoniously. the painful awkwardness is marvelously in character, there are feelings and funnies and an uncomfortably heartfelt discussion about this matter-of-fact revelation that manages to characterize each of them so well, especially Minimus

Murder Mystery Night

IDW, oneshot, AO3. it's NIGHTBEAT'S NIGHT, BABY! lovely little mystery following around the Lost Light's greatest detective when a fun game night is abruptly shut down by a real actual murder! can Nightbeat find the killer in time?

nothing is more sacred than any other thing

vaguely G1, oneshot, AO3. Skyfire is a nerdy scientist with nerdy friends, which means most shenanigans surrounding him are nerdy. very cute and fun little fic about friends and mushrooms and Starscream being duped! first in a series of oneshots that i haven't gotten around to reading yet but look equally lovely

Objectification

G1, oneshot, AO3. a human and a Cybertronian have very different opinions on who exactly the victim is in an oversexualized music video. stupid funny and good, just the way i like it! last line kills me

Optimus Prime is Destined to Die!!

canon soup AU, incomplete, AO3. poor little Orion is isekai'd into a Cybertronian fantasy light novel as one of the soon-to-die forgettable side characters: the cold prince Optimus Prime. supposed to be MegOp but that hasn't really shown up yet. fantastic premise i leapt at immediately, with interesting royal politics and classic isekai tropey vibes. it's a little slow in places from a lot of (warranted!) purple prose introspection, but i find it cool enough to read through and follow poor Orion adjusting to his new existence!

Return Me to the Stars

TFA AU, incomplete, AO3. when a near-dead little Prime is picked up by the Nemesis, it sparks a lot of shenanigans, mysteries, and interesting political developments, all thanks to Optimus being Optimus. i really love the way this fic is developing, with a terrified Autobot in enemy territory doing the best he can, an expanded cast of Decepticons, a lot of fun worldbuilding, and very engaging and dynamic interactions. features a good bit of whump for our tough lil Prime. tagged as MegOP which is still slowly developing, pretty realistically taking their time to find some kind of even footing without breaking their characterization which i greatly appreciate! the writing itself could use some spellchecking but the plot and pacing are very engaging nonetheless

Scaredy-Car

G1, oneshot, AO3. i love a good comedic misunderstanding and boy the assumptions people are making about Breakdown are WHOOF. kinda cracky, a smidgeon dirty, and just the right amount of loserness that is the entirety of the Decepticon army

The Season of the Smallest Stars

sorta IDW/Stardew Valley crossover?, incomplete, AO3. you weren't expecting a small troop of adorable little robots to help you with your farmwork. a very soft cute little fic, i love it!!! never played SV but it's easy enough to follow along anyway, and i love the cute beeping Lost Light bots helping out our farmer

Second Star From Morning

technically IDW, incomplete, AO3. only a little bit written but SELF INSERT BABYYYYYYYYY gotta love it when your protagonists are aware that this is in fact a fictional character! the panic, the questions, the wahuh?? captivating premise, i hope the author comes back to it someday

Skywarp And The Wonders Of The Unnatural World

G1, oneshot, AO3. their summary sums it up best: "The Elite Trine have a very serious and mature debate on the existence of mythical creatures." extremely funny to me, i LOVE when they're stupid and petty and catty and silly!! Skywarp is so dumb i love him so much

Small Problems*

G1, ongoing series, AO3. average human Crystal finds some shrunken Autobots lost in the big city, and her life only gets weirder from there. an OC-centric series that--spoilers for later in the series--may have been one of the original "human turned into Transformer" fics! the whole series goes from sweet and funny to heartwrenching and angsty, with a lot of in between. i love the OC and sympathize with the horrible things she ends up going through, and also the heights to which she rises! slowburn Prowl/OC, with a bit of love triangle with Jazz in there too (funfact this was the second ever piece of media in which i encountered Blurr)

Sparkless

TFP, incomplete, AO3. a Vehicon left behind finds itself fixed up by a human, and might just gain some personhood along the way. a VERY sweet little story oogh i love this Vehicon!! poor thing i want to give them hot chocolate and a blankie. it's a lovely story with an intriguing premise

Stop Me*

TFP, incomplete (but with over 200 chapters), FFN. Starscream nearly dies at the claws of the Predacons... and then he's alive again, in the past, as if none of that ever happened. a rather (in?)famous fic in the fandom, i've found, although when i first read it i didn't know that. a very interesting take on a Starscream redemption AU, paired with some fascinating outlier power moments! a little bit wooby about Screamer (maybe a lot wooby?), a lot of whump, a lot of emotion, maybe some hints of StarOP idk if that's become an actual ship since i last checked. ymmv on this one depending on your Starscream opinions but i was hooked for the whole time for sure! i need to catch up, it's technically still updating. also the author has another, shorter, complete Starscream redemption fic which i also enjoyed, check that out too

A Streetcar Named Traitor

G1, oneshot, AO3. Megatron doesn't take Starscream's defection well and Optimus has had enough. very stupid, very funny, makes me cackle as Megsy gets dunked on

Sudden Active Development... I certainly feel SAD at the moment*

TFP, incomplete, Spacebattles. another isekai forum fic, this time somebody gets dropped into the body of Nemesis Prime and has to deal with running around as an Optimus lookalike! i like the misunderstandings and the process of adapting to a strange new body. some stilted dialogue, and it gets a little weird about gender perception but i can gloss over that. ramps up with more canon characters, a sprinkling of OCs, and completely taking canon off the rails within the last few posts! this one has threadmarks for easy navigation

Turning Points*

vaguely G1 AU, incomplete, FFN. Prowl was one of the most brilliant tacticians among the Decepticons, and then they destroyed his home. it's gonna be a long climb into the good graces of the Autobots for this defector. an absolutely fantastic character driven piece with a brilliant premise, i love how Prowl is written. and the politics of defecting and dealing with a security hazard, mmmmm good!

An Uneasy Partnership*

sorta G1/Armada/canon soup?, ongoing series, FFN. Alexis keeps an unruly Starscream in her barn. this can only go well. this series is WILD, it escalates and gets worse and then better and then worse again, you root for Screamer and then you hate him, poor Alexis is on a constant horrid rollercoaster but hey, (spoilers), she gets a cool robot body and also a tyrant king boyfriend out of it??? but man is it a long, manipulative, whumpy road to get there. the powerplays and emotional turmoil in their dynamic just keep going and it's fascinating, although probably not for you if you don't like bad power imbalances. it's the end of the world as we know it and whatever comes on the other end is going to be only as good as you make of it. i think this series may also be sort of (in)famous in the fandom? idk i don't pay attention that well

Untitled

IDW, drabble, tumblr. in an unexpected meetcute, Minimus finds himself rescuing Rung. honestly it's just a quick little concept of a conversation but it has captivated me and i'm obsessed with it

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twelve

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 3.4K

Notes: Just a little chapter as the next one is gonna be a hefty mamma.

May 1940

Bess woke up before her alarm and withdrew the blackouts from her windows. Had she her own way, the blackouts would never be up and each morning she’d rise with the sun. Laundry was strung between the windows of the old mills, and she could see Mrs Russo wrestling with some bedsheets. 7 o’clock. The warmth of spring had finally settled, and Bess took her morning cup of tea by the kitchen window, letting open the sash and welcoming the fresh air.

Despite the war, and her part in it, Bess’ life in Manchester was small and she welcomed it. She glanced around her little flat. The tiny kitchenette with its table at the centre, the adjoining bedroom and en suite; a toilet, sitting bath and sink. The metal frame of the small double bed was tied with silk scarves and she had used tape to put up pictures. Cut outs from magazines mostly, but a few photographs. The bedside table was adorned with a lamp she found in a skip, a few books from home, and Tom’s photograph. She’d read a feature in one of her fashion magazines about bohemian apartments in Paris and had attempted to decorate the old flat in its likeness. Bess thought on how many of those beautiful Parisian buildings may be just rubble now and suddenly felt thankful for her peeling wallpaper and cold floors.

While her bacon and eggs cooked on the hob, she reread Tom’s last letter. It had sat on the kitchen table for two weeks, awaiting a reply. Torn between delight and anger, Bess had no idea what to say.

“I could easily understand if you never wanted to talk to me again, but this? These horrible half-given accounts of your day with no substance? I want to know you, Bess”

She remembered how frustrated she got when all Tom sent was tales of shore leave and crass attempts at humour. Really, he deserved more from her. She may not have been his girl, but she was his friend.

“Queenie Warren doesn’t deserve your cruelty just because she likes the company of men”

Never did she think she’d be scolded by Tom. Not when he was so right. Queenie had faults, certainly. Many. She was an obnoxious, selfish gossip. But enjoying men was not one of them. If Bess had the daring and the patience, perhaps she would enjoy them as much as Queenie.  

“Please believe me. She asked me about the battle at the dance and it really was just one letter”

Did she believe him? She thought of all the times they had laughed at Queenie, of how many times she had annoyed him. But Tom was all about his reputation. It wouldn’t be the first lie he’d told her, nor would she be the last secret he kept. He’d apologised, yes, but it wasn’t enough for the heartbreak left in his wake. Once upon a time he was her defender, and with supposedly one letter, he had undone Bess’ years of overcoming her insecurities and doubts.

“I loved seeing myself through your eyes”

She resolved to tell him more, and tell Douglas too; his son needed to know he was loved.

“And if anything happened to me out here, I thought it would be easier for you if no-one knew”

Had Bess ever really considered what would happen if he didn’t come home? A violent shiver rocked her body. In the months before the war, Tom Bennett had become her primary source of comfort and joy. Could she content herself to a life looking after an alcoholic father and making clothes for people who scarcely knew her name? A life without Tom?

“I miss you”

Bess kissed the place he had signed his name and tucked the letter into her purse. She would reply that night.

An hour later, Bess stepped through the main doors of Manchester Royal Infirmary with Helen and Joan, her fellow trainees from Carver Mills. Helen was a posh girl a year or two older than Bess. When women were conscripted for war work, she had come to the Infirmary. This was her first job. Joan was from Bolton and had a similar upbringing to Bess. Both were bright, kind women of the world. They enjoyed Bess’ quiet assuredness and never wanted more from her and, in turn, Bess wanted to give them everything. Together, they formed a found family.

Their morning was spent practicing their stitches. Watch one, do one, teach one, as the saying goes. Bess, naturally, was best. Her nimble fingers made quick and neat work of wounds, and she left early to attend to soldiers whose eyes had been damaged by gas. When Helen and Joan finished their lessons with the matron, they met Bess in the canteen.

“Stern by name, stern by nature,” Joan said as she slumped into the seat next to Bess.

“If I never see a needle again it’ll be too soon.” Helen added.

“You’re in the wrong professional, Hels.” Bess smiled over the lip of her cup, and the three settled into an amicable, if exhausted, silence. Helen, sat primly in her seat, broke the silence.

“When’s your next date with James?” Her voice was soft and inquisitive, and Bess couldn’t help but smile at her, even if she hated the question.

“Tomorrow evening, but it’s not a date-”

“She’s too hung up on sailor boy,” Joan cut in. Bess gave her a look that was returned by a coy smile. Late at night, when the girls were missing their families or tired from a day at the hospital, they piled onto Bess’ bed a chattered the night away. They knew everything about each other, from Helen’s troubled relationship with her distant mother to Joan’s scandalous time as a nightclub hostess, and the ongoing saga of Bess Vaughn and Tom Bennett.

“Date or not, he’s a good-looking distraction.” Helen winked and Joan laughed at her.

“And with that, ladies,” Bess stood from her seat. “I shall be off.”

“Hang on, we’ve got about a hundred beds to make this afternoon!” Joan was incredulous.

“Not me. I’m off to job number two.” Bess waved her friends goodbye and stepped into the bright afternoon. A bus ride later and she was walking that familiar gravel path to the grey mansion. It had been months since she had seen Robina Chase, but money was tight and so her mending and sewing had resumed. With fabric now rationed, her clientele were calling upon her services to alter garments from years passed, maintaining to their friends an air of stoicism, normalcy, “keep calm and carry on”.

Half expecting it to open as she approached, Bess made to knock the bolted wooden door when she heard a laugh from the garden. It pealed like bells, tinkling gaily over the hedgerow, and Bess realised that it belonged to a child. Following the sound, she passed a bike leant beneath a window and her curiosity grew. What bizarre gathering had Mrs Chase assembled here this afternoon? A conscientious objector, a seamstress-cum-nurse and…

A little boy. Bess entered the garden through a gap in the hedge and found Douglas Bennett engaged in a game of football with the child. The little boy kicked the ball and it rolled into the makeshift goal post.

“Right between my legs!” Douglas laughed, and Bess noted that it was the first time she had seen him smile, really smile, in years. The man turned to retrieve the ball and saw Bess smiling at him. “Hello, love. Robina said you were coming,” he was a little out of breath, his usually worn face had softened and life shone in his eyes. He looked ten years younger.

Bess indicated to the little boy. “Who’s this then?” she said with a smile. Douglas, ball in hand, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“This is Jan. Harry brought him home from Poland.” The boy, Jan, smiled up at Douglas then looked to Bess. She held out her hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jan. I’m Bess.”

He tentatively shook her hand. “Hello,” his voice was quiet but Bess sensed his timidity was due to the language and not, she thought, his natural character. Jan’s hair was shorn and his clothes looked a little threadbare. For a moment, she observed him. The brightness of his eyes dimmed a little and he looked away. Damn, I’ve made him uncomfortable.

“You’ll get used to Bess, Jan. She’s a quiet one, but kind.” Douglas winked at Bess softly and she blushed. Despite both of their insistence to the contrary, Douglas and Tom were awfully similar.

There was a seconds’ pause. Then, Bess grabbed the ball from Douglas’ arms and sprinted to the end of the garden. “Come on, Jan!” The little boy laughed and ran after her. Dropping the ball on the ground, she kicked it to the him and he shot past Douglas towards the goal. Just as Jan swung his leg to score, Douglas picked him up round the middle and Jan squealed with delight.

“Bess.” A cold, clipped voice cut over the merriment causing Douglas and Jan to still. Robina Chase was stood at the door to the lounge, indicating with her arm that Bess should come inside. Bess looked at Jan and rolled her eyes. The boy laughed and watched her disappear into the house.

“I see you’ve met Jan,” Robina said, a pinched, somewhat pained look on her face.

“Yes, sweet boy.” Bess replied as she began assembling her tailor’s stand.

“Harry brought him back from Poland. Left him for me to look after.” Bess reflected on how Douglas was outside playing with him while Robina lurked inside. She said nothing. Since her outburst at Mrs Chase in August, and Robina’s altercation with Tom, Bess had exchanged very few words with the woman on her visits. Today seemed to be no exception. Aside from asking her to move so she might tailor her clothes, they said very little until Robina called for Jan to come inside.

“He came with barely any clothes. I wondered if you might alter some of Harry’s old things?”

“Of course,”

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Harry was just as wiry at his age. I’ll pay, of course.”

At that moment, Douglas entered the lounge. Seeing Mrs Chase upon the tailor’s stand and Bess on her knees at her feet, he coughed and mumbled something about waiting outside.

“No need, Douglas,” Robina stepped down. “We’re finished here I think.” Bess nodded and began packing away.

“I’ll see myself out, Mrs Chase.” Robina and Douglas were talking lowly in armchairs when Bess had finished tidying her things, and she didn’t want to disturb their bizarre tête-à- tête. She called a goodbye up the stairs to Jan and hurried from the house. The world of Mrs Chase was not the same one that Bess inhabited, and the moment she stepped into the sunlight Bess relaxed, as though every sinew had been pulled taut.

“Bess,” Douglas appeared at the side of the house and reached for his bike. “Need a lift?”

Bess beamed. “As a matter of fact, I do. Off home for dinner, seeing as I’m out this way.”

“Hop on then,” Douglas laughed as Bess eagerly climbed onto the handlebars of his racing bike and they sped down the drive. From an upstairs window, Mrs Chase steered Jan away.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

They were back in Longsight within the hour. The journey was quiet yet contented; Bess had missed the comfort of Douglas’ broad shoulders and, though he hated to admit it, he had missed the feeling of Bess resting against his chest. When Bess had disembarked outside her father’s house, she invited Douglas inside for a cup of tea.

“You’re alright, got things to be getting on with.” The world-worn man had returned, quiet and reserved. For some reason, Bess didn’t want to let him go just yet.

“How’s Lois getting on?”

“Ah, well,” he removed his cap and rubbed his face. “I suppose you’ll have heard.”

Bess nodded. Cora had told her of Lois’ pregnancy by Harry. “If she ever needs any help, just ask. You know, with the labour and everything.”

“Thanks, love. She’s just so angry at everything and I don’t know how to make it better for her.”

“You can’t make it better Douglas. Just be there for her.” Bess thought of her secret promise to Tom. “And what about Tom? Have you heard from him?”

Douglas sighed. “Not for a little while. No-” He trailed off, thoughts of his son obvious across his face. Bess took his hand in hers.

“Write to him. I know it takes a while what with the auxiliaries getting out there, but he needs to know that your worried for him. I know he worries about you.” Douglas gave her a quizzical look and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when a shrill voice carried along the street.

Queenie Warren was hurrying along the road. She was overdressed as usual, hair haphazardly curled and lipstick far too bright for the spring day. Bess had to admit though, her dress was pretty.

“Hiya Douglas, Bess.” She wobbled past them as fast as her high heels would carry her. “Can’t stop, visiting Frank’s mam.” She blew them a kiss and went on her way. Bess watched her go. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t like Queenie.

“Bess?” She turned at Douglas’ voice. “Everything alright?” He asked, for Bess’ face had grown stormy as she glowered at the other woman. She simply gave Douglas a small nod. He touched his cap once more, and the two unlikely friends went silently about their business.

The house was quiet when she unlocked the door, apart from the ticking of the clock and the chatter of children playing out in the ginnel. Potatoes were sat in the filled sink, next to them a small note.

Bess. In case you’re here early, would you mind peeling the spuds? The cold ham is in the fridge. We should be back by 6. Cora x

Bess looked to the clock. Half past four. She made herself a pot of tea and settled at the table. The potatoes could wait, for the letter in her purse had waited long enough to be answered.

Dear Tom,

It’s taken me a little while to reply. Your letter arrived a few weeks ago, and what with Albie going back and my nursing work, I found that my mind has never been in the right place to reply. As it stands, I am sitting down to write to you at dad’s kitchen table. Cora has tasked me with peeling potatoes while they’re at work, but I’d rather write to you.

As you addressed some of the offences I accused you of, I’ll attempt to do the same. Namely, giving you a letter that isn’t “shit”.

I had work at the infirmary this morning, practicing our surgical stitches with Ms. Stern, our matron. She’s an austere woman, incredibly bony, and Joan says she looks like a heron. After that I escaped to Robina Chase’s. You remember her, the woman you aggravated last time we saw each other? I was going across to alter some clothes for her and you’ll never guess what awaited me. Your dad and a little Polish boy playing football in her garden! Harry came back from Poland with him, Jan he’s called. Your dad looked happier than I’ve seen him in ages. I think he was pretending it was you. He misses you so much, Tom. I can see the worry in his eyes anytime he speaks of you. I’ve asked him to write to you. Told him to, really. There was a moment when he was playing football with Jan that he looked so much like you. It almost took my breath away, it was like you were there. You’re so alike and he loves you. I wish you’d tell each other more. He gave me a lift home after Robina’s (the less said about her the better). I’ve missed our bike rides together. Saw Queenie on the way home, can’t give you any updates there because, being at the Royal, I never see her thank God.

Why had she let Queenie taint the letter? Bess could feel her anger start to quicken.

She was off to see Frank’s mam. You were right, by the way, about everyone coupling up. Jude has a man, another farmer from the Land Army. She and Hattie are working so hard now that summer is approaching. Roberta has been spending more and more time with that teacher from the primary (please don’t tell anyone), and tomorrow I have a date with a solider from the infirmary. Got his eyes injured by gas. He can see now, but insisted on taking me on a date as a thank you for looking after him.

Bess knew full well what she was doing. Let’s see how you like it, Tom Bennett.

He’s called James. I think we’re going to the Palais but I’m not sure, he’s picking me up after my shift. How are you managing with only men aboard ship? Any French girls taken your fancy? We both know you have a reputation to maintain.

She paused her writing and took a deep breath. That’s enough. She looked over his last letter, trying to find something to write about. The apology.

I can’t pretend that I’m not still hurt by what you did, Tom. I wonder, have you told Douglas and Lois about me? All those years you looked out for me and protected me from Walter and the others. They thought me a freak and a witch. Did you really want to keep me secret just so you had something good all to yourself? Or was it because deep down, you agree with them and only see me as an outcast? Or someone to say you got you leg over? If the former, then please know that you don’t need me to discover that you are a good person. You broke my heart, Tom, but I know that deep down you are good, and kind. I wish you’d find it in yourself.

Maybe too much has changed for us to be anything other than acquaintances now, but I’d like to be your friend, if you want me. Stay safe.

Yours,

Bess.

There. It was done. She sealed the envelope and thought about it no more. That was until a knock on the door distracted her from potato peeling. Opening it, she saw the ratty face of the postman, Dennis Warley. She detested the man, but a postman was a postman.

“Dennis,” she nodded at him.

“Bess, is-”

She cut across him. “I have a letter here, could you take it for me.” She pressed it into his hands and he stared at it before looking at her. His eyes were wide, worried, and his hand shook as he placed the letter for Tom in his bag and retrieved another. He cleared his throat.

“Is your father here, Bess?” His voice quavered, and Bess’ eyes narrowed.

“He’s still at work.”

Dennis coughed again. “And Cora?”

“They’re all out.” The man swallowed nervously, and a trickle of panic gripped at Bess’ neck. “Dennis?” Her voice was but a whisper. “What is it?”

The postman handed the letter to Bess. It was a telegram. She didn’t take it. Dennis removed his cap and said solemnly, “Bess. I’m so sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry too! This is a war drama, the angst levels are gonna be through the roof, but know that I will reward you in a few chapters time!

We’re with Tom for the next chapter, you know what’s coming…

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

***NSFW Chapter!!!*** 18+ No Minors!

Chapter 29

The early morning came quickly and Viserra had been awakened by her chambermaids and a warm plate of food. She was grateful that Aegon had left earlier in the night because she truly did feel rested, her mind clear and focused for the day ahead. 

While forcing herself to eat through the butterflies in her stomach, she let the girls braid her hair neatly in hopes she would not have to bother with it over the next few days.

In the final moments of finishing her braids, there was a knock to her chamber door before it swung open and a set of footsteps came into the room. Turning to see who the intruder was, Viserra was pleased to see Aemond. Cassella quickly tied off the last of her hair with a ribbon and they moved out of the way as he approached.

Like always, he was neatly dressed, his features and hair standing out against his black clothing. In his hands, he carried a long and slender package, something wrapped in a leather cloth and handled with care. As soon as they made eye contact, he greeted her with a warm smile and she saw that his violet eye was shining unusually bright.

“I have something for you,” he announced, walking to her before taking himself down to one knee. Carefully unwrapping the item, he revealed a sword held in a decorated scabbard.

Her eyes widened at the display and she reached up slowly to receive it in her hands. Though she had a hunch at what had just been presented to her, she was hesitant to unveil it. For a brief moment, she continued to study it before slowly unsheathing the blade. Her breath caught in her throat. The dark metal and the waving pattern gave way to what she held in her hands.

The magnificent piece had been forged with both metal and sorcery like all other blades made of Valyrian steel. The hilt was decorated with the black heads of two dragons and a blood red gem set beautifully on the pommel.

Viserra knew this blade well, she had wished it to be hers since she was a small child. Her grandmother, Saera, had come into possession of it during her life in Volantis, and as it tied them to their only blood across the narrow sea, she had kept and cherished it until her passing. For the last decade, Viserra believed that the blade had been lost. Her father had denied knowing of its whereabouts and had discouraged her curiosity in finding its location.

“Aemond,” she breathed, looking up to him with her eyes still wide. She had always dreamed of wielding a sword made of Valyrian steel, this sword, and somehow he had made it a reality.

“Though I would like to take responsibility for acquiring it, your father is the one who deserves your gratitude.” He stood and offered his hand to Viserra to join him.

“My father?” She gasped. “You have heard from him?”

Aemond nodded and watched as she tested the weight of the sword in her hand. “It came with the last ship of sellswords that arrived yesterday.” He pulled out a small piece of parchment and before he could present it to her she snatched it from his hand.

Quickly scanning over the letter, she noted that the content was mostly about the sellswords that her father gifted to aid them in their war. At the bottom, Viserra found the words that were intended for her.

My daughter will soon fly to war carrying your King’s banners. Within the crate of Volantene wine lies yet another sealed box. It is a gift from her late grandmother who entrusted me to determine the right moment to bestow it upon her.

Viserra felt her heart skip a beat as she read and reread her father’s writing. Looking up to Aemond, she took in a shaky breath and handed the letter back to him. “You cannot begin to comprehend what this means to me.”

He tucked his hands behind his back and smiled at her unusual display of emotion. “I can see that it means a great deal,” he observed, “I understand your grandmother was a force to be reckoned with and I can only imagine that she saw the strength of her blood that courses through your veins.”

Moved by his words, she reached forward and pulled him into an embrace. She knew her grandmother saw her for the Targaryen she was. It was like she knew Viserra would be the one to return to the family that she had once held so dear.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her and held her until she was ready to let go. When she finally pulled back, he noticed that the overwhelm of emotion had now changed into fiery determination.

“Are you ready?”

She smiled, giving him a quick nod. “Would you help me dress?”

It did not take long for the armor to be secured to Viserra’s body. She placed the new blade on her hip and let Aemond walk her down to the front of the Red Keep. Waiting there with a dozen knights, was the King and his Hand on horseback. Aegon was also dressed in dark armor, the black and rubied crown glinting in the morning sun that had just begun to rise on the horizon.

Looking to the sky, she saw two dragons circling around the castle. The beautiful gold and salmon coloring of Sunfyre was quite the opposite of Rhyn’s black and red. Her sense of purpose and determination was only heightened when she took in the sight all together. But suddenly, she felt nervous.

As if he could feel it radiating off of her, Aemond placed a hand on her shoulder to ground her. “The next time you are riding out into battle, I will make sure it is by my side.” His voice was low yet determined. “Duskendale should fall easily. Consider this practice.”

His words brought a small smile to her face, and the realization hit her that there was no time for dwelling. With a nod, she left him behind and swiftly mounted her horse. Glancing one last time in search of Aemond, she noticed he had already begun retreating into the castle. Her attention was brought back to the departing party, finding that Aegon was watching her, a gleam of wild determination in his eye.

"Ready?" he asked.

“More than ever,” she affirmed, taking the reins and directing the beast to follow the others.

The ride to Robsy took a day and a half, their pace quicker than planned as everyones’ spirits were still high and they had yet to be drawn into battle. Aegon and Viserra took turns every few hours mounting their dragon and circling the skies to look for unexpected visitors.

As predicted, Lord Rosby did not hesitate to bend the knee again under the threat of bloodshed. The turncloak reaffirmed his loyalty to Aegon, offering him more soldiers for his army and inviting the King and his party in for supper and a place to sleep for the night.

They moved on to Stokeworth the next day and were pleased to find that the house bent the knee just as easily as Lord Rosby. With even more soldiers added to their forces, their numbers now reached almost three-thousand.

By this point, the men had again marched on from sun up to sun down before settling into camp. It had been agreed upon that the wisest plan would be to fall upon Duskendale with well fed and well rested soldiers. As the sun set on the Crownlands and the royal tents were being perched, both dragon riders took to the skies.

Viserra much preferred riding atop her dragon, finding horseback to be uncomfortable and lacking. As she soared through the open skies, she reveled in the sensation of the freedom and power that the ground could not give her.

Riding with an equal amount of satisfaction and fulfillment, Aegon flew Sunfyre up and around them both. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the fading light as the evening sun bathed them in its warm glow. The dragons’ scales reflected the rays with contrasting beauty, a seeming parallel to the daylight that was quickly turning into night.

The skies had been cleared by the dragons and their riders. As the last of the sun set behind the horizon they descended back down towards the camp. Each time the dragons touched down on the earth, the men seemed to scatter. There was something about watching them scramble from her dragon that brought a swell of pride within her chest.

Viserra climbed down the ropes from her saddle and dismounted her dragon into a large cloud of dust. She watched as Aegon climbed down himself and made his way over to her side. The dragons took off nipping at each other, but it was only their riders who could make out that their exchange was playful.

Slowly, they made their way back to the royal tents. The day had been long and the upcoming siege weighed on their minds. When they reached camp, Viserra was not surprised to find that her designated tent had been placed next to Aegon’s. The guards were already set up outside the entrances and she was welcomed in with a nod.

The moment that she stepped inside, she found herself surprised at the accommodations. The interior was decorated with ornate tapestries, soft cushions, and a makeshift bed that was still nicer than any common folk would ever sleep on in their own homes.

She had traveled all across Essos in the days of her training, sleeping on the ground in small tents. Her expectations from traveling had been far exceeded. Though giving it some thought, she knew Aegon had a love for luxury and extravagant embellishments and it should not have taken her by such surprise.

An older woman stood waiting inside, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression respectful and welcoming. Viserra recognized her from the Keep, but she had not personally had much interaction with her before today.

“M’lady, my name is Ayla. I have been assigned to your care while traveling,” she spoke with a warm smile.

Viserra furrowed her brows for a moment before reluctantly accepting the woman’s presence. “If I were in need of a lady’s maid, why would I not bring my own?”

“With all due respect, they are rather young to be…exposed to all of this,” Ayla suggested.

“Indeed,” Viserra hummed as she realized that the woman had a valid point. There were many reasons that the girls would be unsafe there in camp and she did not want to dwell on those thoughts.

Without any delay, the woman approached her and carefully began to help her doff the armor. She found herself lost in her thoughts as the pieces were removed from her body. With the weight of it being taken away came the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability. Once the simpler padded garments were all that remained, Viserra held on to them, rejecting Ayla’s attempt at completely undressing her.

“I can manage the rest myself,” she spoke, reaching out to take the clothing from the lady maid’s arm.

“Are you certain?” Ayla asked, her voice and eyebrows raised in surprise as she held fast to the clothing in her hands.

“Most certain,” Viserra snapped as she pulled hard on the fabric and finally came to victory in their tug of war. Turning away from her, she finished doffing her battlewear and dressed in the simple tunic and pants.

She welcomed the silence that hung around the room for the next little while. Laying on the bedding she mindlessly studied the tapestries that hung on the walls. She thought about how she was exactly where she had always hoped to be, but she had never considered being in this position with not just one, but two others that had a hold on her heart. Even more, the worry she carried for Helaena at home was a notable weakness when it came to others that could influence her decisions here in the midst of war. It had already been a personal blow when Aegon’s heir became a target, there was no telling who or what the next strike would be.

Just as her thoughts were beginning to spiral, the tent door flapped open and a guard cautiously entered inside. Ayla stood to attention but Viserra only turned her head and seemed less than pleased to entertain yet another guest.

“My lady,” he spoke with a respectful bow, “His Grace, the King requests your presence to share a meal this evening.”

A sense of relief washed over her that she would not need to spend the evening ignoring the tension between her and her new lady’s maid. His invitation was a reminder that no matter her newly realized concerns, there was no denying that this was now their reality.

Swinging her legs around she quickly jumped to her feet. Before Ayla could follow, she motioned to her to remain there. She did not want to carry the weight of that tension into the next tent, knowing the last thing she wanted to have to do was watch her tongue.

Following behind the other man, she observed the liveliness of the campsite that was now starting to bloom. The fires were bright and in turn the men were pleased with their wine and meal. But as Aegon’s tent was only a few paces away and it did not give her much time to watch.

The two guards at the tent entrance nodded their heads as Viserra approached them, opening the makeshift door and letting them in. A smile found its way to her face as she laid her eyes upon the King.

Aegon was lounging in a chair, casually selecting fruits from a platter presented by an unfamiliar woman. It did not surprise her that he maintained a luxurious setup, even housed within a tent. Apparently, his need for indulgence persisted, perhaps forgetting they were currently in the midst of a war. The moment he realized Viserra had made her way into his presence, his eyes lit up and he pushed the woman and tray aside.

“Leave us,” he commanded, motioning for everyone else to depart.

In the brief moment before they found themselves alone, Aegon rose from his seat and approached her. He held his usual cup of wine, and she momentarily glanced at it before meeting his gaze once again.

“And what if we all indulge ourselves in many cups just to find that the enemy is waiting for the moment we settle in camp?” She asked, reaching out and taking the cup from his hand.

She raised the stolen vessel and took a drink of the sweet liquid. A smirk playing at her lips as soon as she had finished. Aegon’s eyes glimmered as he picked up on the game she was starting to play.

“Then I suppose we are fucked,” he replied, closing the distance between them and trying to take the cup back from her hands.

Viserra quickly moved the wine from his reach, turning herself around to take it further from him. A familiar warmth suddenly became flush with her back as two arms wrapped snugly around her waist. As soon as she felt the hot breath on her neck, she closed her eyes and let herself sink into his hold.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Aegon grabbed the cup from Viserra’s outstretched hand, quickly downing the last little bit of the wine before tossing the cup aside. He felt a childish sense of victory in his accomplishment, wrapping his arms back around her waist and bringing his lips down to her neck. After running his hands down over the curves of her hips, he brought them up underneath the hem of her shirt.

Viserra’s breath caught as soon as his fingers began to make their way up her bare skin, Both of them reveled in forgetting about where they were and their purpose there, the electricity between them distracted them from reality.

The shirt was quickly pulled off of her body and discarded on the floor somewhere near the empty wine cup. Aegon’s warm hands returned where they left off, roaming over her body.

As his hands moved upwards, his fingertips grazed over the sensitive skin of her waist and traveled upwards to cup her breasts. He gently rolled each of her pert nipples between his fingers, eliciting a throaty breath in response.

Viserra could feel the hardness of his body against her, a delicious friction that made her need for more. Surrendering to her desires, she turned to face him while remaining encircled in his arms. As soon as their eyes met, the fire that connected them surged with a sudden intensity.

Aegon’s lips captured hers before either of them could form a coherent thought. He held her firmly as if worried there was a chance she would pull away from him. However, the fear was unfounded as Viserra happily let herself melt into the moment.

Their kisses grew more urgent, as if they were both starved of attention. His hands slid down to her hips, firmly gripping her as he hoisted her up onto the nearby table. The sound of objects rattling and falling to the ground went unnoticed as their focus remained solely on each other.

Viserra raked her fingers through his silver waves, tugging at them gently. Aegon groaned against her lips, his desire for her more evident with every minute that passed. Pulling away for a moment, he looked deep into her eyes as he tried to steady his ragged breathing.

“Nuha Dāria,” he whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on hers. My Queen.

The words caused Viserra’s breath to hitch in her chest again as she seemed to regain just the slightest bit of clarity. The deep seeded worry that these feelings could be used against them bubbled up out of nowhere. She furrowed her brows and closed her eyes, trying to push the unpleasantries away.

Feeling the energy shift just slightly between them, Aegon again pulled away with a hint of confusion. When she looked back to him, he saw the worry in her eyes.

“What is it?” He asked, starting to feel a bit of uneasiness himself.

Pursing her lips for a moment, she seemed reluctant to answer.

“Aegon,” she breathed, bringing her hands up to hold his face. “Does it not bring you worry knowing there is the chance I might be killed out there?”

He studied her face intently, unsure of what had brought this thought into her mind.

“Of course that is something I fear,” he replied. “I already voiced these worries shortly before our departure. Why are you asking me this now?”

“Does it not concern you that your feelings for me might wrongly influence the decisions you make?” Viserra’s voice was soft and strained.

“Of course they do,” he spoke, his words laced with confusion. “Why else would I have accepted my duty as King if not for those that I care for?” He was being honest and it was evident by his face that he still did not understand her question.

Viserra took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to express her concerns.

“I worry that if something were to happen to me, it would cloud your judgment. These feelings are a dangerous thing, especially right now,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

Aegon furrowed his own brow and leaned in to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

“If those I love meant nothing to me, I could not have found the will to sit the throne,” he confessed. “And it is because of you that I continue to be motivated to make wise decisions.”

Bringing his hand up, he softly caressed her cheek with his thumb. His words did little to reassure her concerns, but it was enough to bottle it back up for now. He focused his attention back to her half naked body, his hands again finding her breasts in an attempt to bring back the fire between them.

“You will not find me content until my sister’s head is on a spike and you sit next to me on the throne.” His words were filled with determination while his fingers expertly played with her flesh.

Though he had spoken many times of this desire, it was only that Viserra realized just how serious he had been. The truth of his words rang through her head. She did believe that he would not have had the motivation to sit the Iron Throne without both the death and love of those he cared for. She toyed with the idea that he might truly need her by his side to remain strong in his reign.

Viserra’s thoughts became cloudy as her body began to respond to his hands. Her previous worries twisted and she was suddenly not sure of where she stood with it all. To secure her complete distraction, Aegon pressed his lips to her neck, sucking at the flesh as he made his way down to the dip on her shoulder.

Without another thought, Viserra let her hands roam over his body, tugging at his shirt and desperate to feel his bare skin against hers. He eagerly obliged, taking a moment to pull it up and over his head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. As he brought his lips back to hers with a greater intensity of hunger, he clumsily began to work her pants off of her seated rump.

It took only a brief moment before they were both fully disrobed with their bodies pressed together with a sloppy desperation. Viserra’s legs wrapped around his waist as they continued to enjoy each other's kisses, his now exposed cock resting uncomfortably against her abdomen.

Breaking their lips apart, Aegon looked down to adjust his position at her lower lips. In a few careful motions, he made his way completely inside her. A quiet gasp left her mouth at the sudden fullness and she slowly brought herself back to lean on the table.

They remained still for a moment, savoring the satisfaction of finally joining in union. Aegon’s gaze slowly trailed up her body. He admired the way she looked laying there bare and sheathed upon his most treasured part. Placing his hands to her hips, he pulled her more firmly towards him and watched as she grimaced slightly in response.

Without any more delay, Aegon started to move within her. His thrusts were measured and deliberate, slowly picking up his pace as he fell into a rhythm. Viserra leaned her head back, focusing on trying to receive her pleasure without making too much noise. She reminded herself that the walls of the tent were much worse than those of the castle when it came to stifling the sounds that came from within.

Each thrust pounded into her upper walls, gradually tightening and building her peak from within. Viserra arched her back and in response Aegon tightened the grip on her hips making sure she remained anchored there.

The air quickly grew heavy with their heated breaths and the sound of their bodies colliding. It was Aegon’s sudden reach for her breast that seemed to bring her back from the dazed trance. She looked to her chest and then met his eyes with the hint of a smile, watching as he seemed to also gain a bit more consciousness.

“I can’t help it,” he breathed out a laugh, bringing his thrusting down to a slower pace. “Your tits bouncing in front of me like that are absolutely irresistible.”

“I did not say a word,” she smiled, bringing herself back up into a seated position.

Viserra let her hands roam over his pale chest, nails grazing over his skin as she leaned in to meet his lips in yet another passionate kiss. As she pulled herself back, she unwrapped her legs from his waist and gently pushed his hips away from her. As he came free from her body, she felt an unsatisfying emptiness left behind.

Aegon’s previously joyful smile had now settled into one of confusion. She slid herself off the table and grabbed his hand to lead him back to the small bed where she intended to finish what they had started.

She turned him around as one would turn their partner in a dance, guiding him to sit. As she climbed onto his lap, each knee found its place on either side of his own. Gently pushing on his chest, she waited patiently until he slowly reclined himself back onto the bed.

Without another moment of delay, she took his cock into her hand and gently guided it back to her entrance, bringing herself down to take him within her.

“Gods, Viserra,” he moaned, overwhelmed to feel himself within her once more. He did not finish his thought before she began slowly rocking and riding her body in a methodical manner. He gradually started to meet her movements with his own, their bodies soon synced up in perfect harmony.

Aegon brought his thumb to her sensitive bud, eager to help her obtain the most out of their union in that moment. He enjoyed the sight of her working the length of him at her own pace and angles, having no shame of taking her pleasure by her own means.

Each of their climaxes approached, though Aegon was desperately trying to hold back until Viserra had been satisfied. As the intensity grew, her movements became more urgent and desperate and in turn he attempted to maintain a steady rhythm with his thumb.

Finally, Viserra let out the start of a moan, though catching herself halfway and biting down on her lip instead. As her inner walls began to pulsate around him, he was quickly driven over the edge himself.

Aegon did not hold back his own grunt of pleasure as he felt himself release himself deep inside her. She finished riding him until her body trembled with the aftershock and she brought herself down to meet her sweaty body with his own.

They laid there in a tangled heap of limps for a few moments before either had the energy to move. Viserra slowly brought herself off of him, settling contently down to his side. Breathing heavily, Aegon turned to her and captured her chin with his hand. He pressed kisses along her jawline and carefully down the side of her neck.

"That...was..." Aegon panted between kisses. "Incredible."

Viserra met his gaze and gave a small grin. It was absolutely futile at this point to try and deny that at least a small part of her could see her staying there by his side. Though the rational part of her screamed that she was making foolish mistakes, her heart seemed to only be truly satisfied when she let their fires ignite and burn together.

Aegon brushed her hair from the sticky skin on her shoulder, leaving another gentle kiss in its place. He then turned to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent and not saying another word. Feeling just slightly conflicted within herself, she leaned her head into his shoulder and watched the rising and falling of his chest.

The reality of their circumstances seemed to have come crashing back. The weight of their responsibilities, the challenges they would face, and the danger that loomed over them all seemed to settle back into her mind like a heavy fog.

Having sensed the shift in her mood, Aegon wrapped his arm around her and pressed another soft kiss to her forehead.

"I will do everything in my power to have you by my side, nuha Dāria," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of concern and determination. My Queen.

Viserra did not respond, only letting out a long breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Aegon had meant those words and it was obvious that at this point, she was now truly caught in a web that was much more complicated than she had initially intended. But for now, in those quiet moments after satisfying each other's needs, Viserra closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the warmth and security of his arms.

Author's Notes:  

It has been a while since an update! My apologies. Life is busy and having two jobs is kicking my ass. I am hoping to continue to get an update out every 3ish weeks at this point! But I promise I still have so much for this story. I go to sleep thinking about it at night. :)

[tbookblurbs]

A Court of Silver Flames - Sarah J. Maas

2/5 - Don't read if you're not willing to re-write in your head as you go or if you actually like well-written fantasy

I'll be honest, this was my second time through this book. Upon the reread, I had already erased so much of the plot from my memory that it was as if I was reading for the first time. Anyways ...

All the usual Maas problems are here. Weirdly written gay relationships (if there are any), oversexualization of bisexual people, transphobic undertones, retconning characters to being PoC (lucien) a la JK Rowling (or no PoC characters at all), misogyny, CRAZY levels of toxic masculinity, plot holes, etc.

This book is mostly sex and characterization retcons. I really enjoyed Nesta's character arc, the Valkyries, and sometimes Cassian and Azriel, but everything to do with Feyre left a bad taste in my mouth. Favorite scene, no question, was Nesta's dance with Eris in the Night Court. That was the first scene where I felt they actually gave Nesta skills and a personality beyond bitter alcoholism.

That said, the cons of this book far outweigh the pros. As always, Maas' writing is a breeze to get through just because it's not particularly difficult prose, but her insistence (in this novel and in other books) on using Female/Male and weird gender essentialism is at best irritating and at worst actively detracting from the novel. The entire pregnancy plotline could (and arguably should) be removed from this book. It doesn't add anything to Nesta's journey, paints Rhysand and Feyre in a really bad light, and is frankly an incredibly stupid plot choice. You have magic, can shapeshift, and have indoor plumbing but C-sections haven't been invented yet? Really? The whole scenario is incredibly contrived and I actively skipped scenes dealing with it if I could. The entire Inner Circle acts immature, judgemental, and unforgiving, despite their own insistence to the contrary. Elain also still has no personality. I was also confused by the whole "Maybe Rhysand should be High King of Prythian" subplot like ... huh?? Where did that even come from??

The book tops itself off by using one of my least favorite tropes in fantasy, which is when women, usually main characters, have to give up all their power at the end of the story. Maas is very fond of this plotline. She does the same thing with Aelin in the Throne of Glass series. Personally, I find this trope to be misogynistic and often evidence of poor writing to neatly wrap up the end of a story, regardless of whether the choices post-power-loss are in character.

The version of this story that I was re-writing in my head, which cuts the weird bitterness between Cassian and Nesta and Feyre's pregnancy entirely (she's 19????) while expanding on her powers and letting her keep them, is much more interesting. But alas, that is NOT the version on page. Unless you (like me) had it downloaded on your Kindle and an 8-hr plane ride to kill, I wouldn't bother if you're seriously interested in reading fantasy.

[lesharl-eclair]

lewis ot3 fic recs

for @f1ot3fest !! i promised myself i wouldn't ramble but this turned out ridiculously long so ... i actually need to learn to shut up

all fics below the cut; if you enjoyed these fics, please show the authors comment and kudo love; should you be the author of a fic that's here, and don't want to be here, please reach out to me and your wish is my command :)

NO this is so funny bcs half of this is fics by the creator/recced by the creator BUT ITS OK. THESE LITERALLY ARE SO DEAR TO ME *clutches to chest* please go read please go read

***

heist AU by @sionisjaune (sebcedes)

on golden sands (T, 6.2k)

Mark rolls his eyes. “Skip the crap, Jense. Who’s the mark.” Jenson lifts his whiskey and swallows the dregs. “One Baron Nico Rosberg. Currently installed in Greece, inherited the title from his mother. His father—” “Keke Rosberg. 1982 Formula One World Drivers Champion,” says Seb. The others look at him like he’s just materialized out of thin air. Lewis cocks his head thoughtfully, and the bizarre sleeves of his jacket rustle with the movement.

the ships that go sailing (E, 11.7k)

As it turns out, threesomes are not especially logistically challenging when two of the participants are experienced organizers of high-profile heists, and the third is determinedly horny.

err okay i think this was something i read before i had the concept of sebcedes or like ot3s. so it was a pure yOU CAN DO THAT??? visceral reaction the first time i read on golden sands. i was quaking in my seat. anyway upon sufficient rereads i have apparently collected my thoughts enough to say that the first part of the series is nothing like the second in terms of content (i read all the way to the middle of the ships that go sailing and suddenly realised that it was a sequel and uh. had a very violent reaction.)

the premise is wonderful, oceans 11 is great to begin with and the way every detail is taken care of in the au!! the characterisation of it all... the tangled mess of interpersonal relationship... it feels like every character has their space to shine, and this on top of a quasi-convoluted plot is quite incredible. aND THE SEBCEDES OH MY GOD THE SEBCEDES. the denouement. the start of something that seb can;t even begin to imagine. lewis and nico both being batshit crazy. sex retirement fic. somehow you managed to capture all the nuances (brocedes + seb + the emotional push pull + the competition?? a bit of quiet almost fragile sico? the boat scene hello??? brocedes being so chaotic it gives me whiplash?????) i actually cannot get enough of the way you write them

i can probably write so much more about this but i will stop here :0 maybe one day i will rereview this and end up with a five page essay or something. who knows.

***

Circle Endless by @antimonyandthyme (E, 2k) (brocedes + seb)

“It’s a two-for-one deal,” Nico said, very salesman like, as if he sensed Sebastian just needed an extra push.

the vibes here are so horrifically good. lowkey unhealthy. probably one of THE defining brocedes + seb fics - it's set up and played out as a 2v1 (in 2016!!), and the toxicity of it all is so asasasandsjfadjsfasdfs . there's so much conflict everywhere: within seb, the way brocedes also fight for dominance on the bed (bc of course they do), seb needing more despite whatever it's doing to him... that scene with kimi is pure poetry. so much to unpack in so little, and excellent excellent sex

***

made a hundred good stories by @red-flagging (E, 24.6k) (for a kinkmeme prompt) (alex + sewis)

“That problem you were telling me about,” Seb says, giving Alex a meaningful look. “I wanted to know if you wanted us to help you take care of it. Lewis and I.” This isn’t happening. Alex is having the most stressful, least erotic wet dream of all time. Helmut has gotten bored of subtle nudges and has graduated to full-on psychological warfare to get Alex to quit on his own and save the team from having to buy out his contract. Lewis actually did give him a concussion in Austria, and the long-term brain damage is only now starting to set in. "...You can't be serious," Alex says weakly. Seb shrugs. “You don’t have to say yes,” he says. “But if you’re just looking to have some fun–it might as well be with people who know what they’re doing.”

ok claire. coherence.

I CANNOT BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS FIC LIKE AT ALL??? i have tried so many times

the alex characterisation. the hellhole that is redbull. the exhaustion. so much DETAIL that it's painful to look at

the galex? the galex. oh my god the way it meanders in all the little spaces between alex's frankly ridiculously busy life, the LAYERS. the so much unsaid & the way they dance around each other even in texts. the way alex holds himself back but still wants.

alex/seb. seb being an all round menace to society (Quite honestly, he sort of forgets the conversation with Lewis even happened up until Bahrain, when Seb sidles up to him on some balcony on Thursday and says, casually, “So, gay cruising, eh?”) ?????? ? ? ? ? the perfect timing of seb's proposition. so much else but the deviousness of it all..

that little bit with alex and lewis. the painful awkwardness of that conversation (but also how much lewis eventually got out of it). seb's retirement & lewis' instant protectiveness!! ^^

the racing metaphors are so apt somehow (and even more fitting because alex has basically been consumed by the redbull grind........) this is a detail i personally really really enjoyed

THE SEX bro i cannot even?????? ???? i cannot do it justice here but um. the sewis is clearly there and framed so strikingly against a hesitant tired alex. the games sewis play. LEWIS GUIDING ALEX.SFSHHGSHGHHHHGG the car's still spinning and the walls that don't exist...... how at the end of it all it's still only glimpses of sewis that alex gets but how it's enough for him to maybe start figuring things out with georgie.... the post sex clarity....

oh this was so damn incoherent wasn't it. this fic made me, to quote @kritischetheologie, reconsider everything i thought i knew about alex albon.

***

a bedroom where your heart is by @hungerpunch (M, 1.5k) (vasewis)

“Someone will have to go for ingredients,” Valtteri says. He does not happen to keep vegan cheese stocked. “I vote the youngest,” Sebastian says, grin sly. Valtteri blinks. “Wait—” “Sorry,” Sebastian says, affecting a suspiciously convincing faux innocence, as if he’s truly apologetic but his hands are simply tied. “Seniority rules.”

closing this with some good achingly wholesome content. FOOD AS LOVE and i am so so so here for it oh my goddddd ... val taking care of sewis and finding the greatest satisfaction from it/it not being always about the sex (though the sex IS good!) and finding contentment in those small domestic-bliss moments/the scene-setting, the food described as lovingly as it's prepared, the quiet early-hour moments and seb in a way the middleground between val's discipline and lewis' indulgence when it comes to mornings... there's so much to just revel in and enjoy here!! a comfort fic in the truest senst of the word. :)

***

that was long. and probably extremely incoherent. oh well. thanks for reading till the end and remember to show the authors some love!!

as always, if you enjoyed this, or if i missed any fic, please let me know :) drop me an ask mayhaps if you would like more fic recs, and i will try my best to give timely unqualified opinions <3

[joculine]

DIE Issue #5 Reread (Gillen & Hans)

We are so back. Lets get into Premise Rejection.

This is my second favorite issue of the first arc, after Issue #2. I think it holds my favorite panel, which we'll get to later. This is a really bombastic finale to the trek to Glass Town and it sets up what will become a wild couple arcs. I'm sure you aren't expecting a standard ending to this "hero's" journey from DIE and that's certainly not where we're going. Let's get into it.

Art

I really like the design of this harvest god above. He's massive and lanky, and seems like kind of a mess.

I absolutely adore the design of this robot brain guy from the Eternal Prussian forces. Look at him.

What a weird little thing!

This issue is also full of stand out appearances for Ash and Sol. And gosh... are they stand out...

Good lord these two are volatile together. This is a great example of a relationship between a GM and their most "In It" player. The issue is really just long fight for control over the plot. I love that they are made for each other in the worst ways possible.

So About The Fallen

Part of why this is my second favorite issue of the arc is that it has the second Oh Shit moment of this comic. The reveal that the Fallen are dead players is such a great plot point. It clicks with the whole fantasy becomes reality becomes fantasy again deal, it keeps Sol around to stir up trouble after his death, totally re-contextualizes this type of enemy and how they've treated them, and, best of all, raises far more questions than it answers.

Big contender for my favorite Sol panel.

So everyone who has ever played this game and died ("the word is die") is revived as The Fallen. What does that actually mean? Aren't our crew here the only kids who have played the game? How are there so many Fallen here already? What about the elf queen, who was an NPC Sol made?

For those first questions, perhaps this is the Homestuck in me or perhaps this is me back-reading some later plot into this, but it seems pretty obvious some sort of time shenanigans needs to be in play. And it eventually sort of will be. (It will be quite similar to how Skaia functions actually.) We'll save that for the issue it shows up in, wayyy down the line.

As for the NPC Fallen, I believe there's some clarification in the RPG book here—there are Fallen, the monster and enemy a GM can throw out and there is the Fallen class, which all players receive upon dying in DIE. Diegetically though, I think there is not much difference between an NPC who has been abandoned or skipped over and a player character (or player as the case is here) who has died. They are both expended beyond their purposes and given a new role as detritus. They also have a drive to claw relevance back from the blood of the Paragons, something that would bring them back to life (and back into importance.) DIE has a zombie curse but only for those who would make the most emotionally painful zombies to deal with. Very on theme.

In this way, it's also very Dark Souls, isn't it? I wondered about this too for those games. Why can Ornstein and Smough not just come back hollowed and kick my ass again? They lack the curse of Undead, that tormenting anchor of relevance that only affects those hungry enough for dominance to keep going past the point of death.

Those who are Fallen (like the Paragons or the Chosen Undead) are meant to exist as long as needed to see their stories to the bitter end. Is that curse something imposed on them? Yes. Is it something they feed into themselves? I think so. There's nothing stopping Sol from just giving up at this point. But that's not what he's going to do. He's going to keep going because he can't let go of the game. Dying is no reprieve. And hey, now the Fallen aren't so morally simple to kill after all! Remember what Izzy was saying about the House Rule? Looks like they may have been cutting into actually Real People from the Real World for some time now. Ruh roh. We'll see this play out more soon. For now, we can think about how poor Sol has found out he is more at the whims of Die than he may have thought.

Speaking Of, Sol Has Kind Of Always Been Like This

Which I'm sure comes as a very painful shock to him. He's someone that views himself high above the players, a plotter pulling the strings. A real mastermind GM type.

That's what this boy is telling me. His work, be it Legos, Glass Town, the ruleset, or his grand second game, it all exists in a complete, crystaline state. You admire it. You follow the path he has set out for it. It is "finished" before any of the players set foot back on Die.

This is, of course, not how things will go. The title of this issue is Premise Rejection after all. Ash figured out quite quickly that Sol has put them in a railroading Saw trap to force them to play along. In response, she is guiding the party to pull it apart by the screws. Rather than look for these keys or whatever the Chamberlain was talking about, everyone has used their skills to pick away at Glass Town's defenses and put the big robot army against Sol's cool magic castle. With a fairly light application of their magical power, they manage to pull of city wide carnage at little risk to themselves.

This is classic player behavior and a great example of how a little thinking can tear down even the grandest GM constructions. Remember how we talked about how Glass Town was a pretty poorly thought out city? Sol is finding out just how problematic his plot holes are proving to be.

I love watching him come down with his big stupid cape. Look how unprepared for this he was. Do you think he was hiding at the top of Glass Town the whole time? I bet he even had a palantir or something. What a dork.

Very quickly we watch him start to edit the rules on the fly like a flailing GM. The damage is already done, so at this point he's flexing out of spite. Look, he's even restricting class abilities:

I do find it interesting how Sol's Master abilities are written to reflect Ash's Dictator ones. They're both italicized and both have squiggly lines around the speech bubbles. They're also both highlighted in colors, Ash with red (a major one in her color palette) and Sol with blue (also in his palette).

Let's connect their magic briefly with color (we'll talk more about color very soon) and say the red Dictator compulsions in this issue are destructive and "game breaking" while the blue/purple Master laws are defensive and "game enforcing."

Importantly, they both deal with the narrative but in different ways, Ash more with emotion and motivation, Sol with what people and things can literally do. We know from go that a Dictator is a story-teller and a plan-maker... that's not too dissimilar from a GM!

But Sol, huh? What a sore loser.

A Dictator's Best Weapon

I never really got why Ash has this crazy death touch thing. It struck me as an odd choice to give the social manipulation class. Chloe shared her thoughts with me when we were talking about DIE a few months back and it's illuminated things for me.

The Dictator commands emotion, yes, but they command narrative as well. What is this death touch if not the ultimate command—a powerful punctuation to the Dictator's arsenal. If making you love her doesn't work, making you dead will get the job done too... and there's certainly no way to argue with Ash on that. It's as though she's walking around with a big pen she can use to strike out bits of Sol's story she doesn't like. She went big here and scratched out the author section. Yikes. Hope you got a plan to follow up on that, Ash!

Look at her go, already editorializing just seconds away from killing Sol. Do we think Ash believes the narrative she's telling herself? Do we think she believes she can make us buy into it? The great part is, I don't really know! It's moments like these that pull us out of the story and remind us we're being given most everything through Ash's words that get to the core of what DIE is after. It's about these people trapped in stories of their own making and how it turns them into quite awful characters.

This is probably the darkest we've gotten so far. A great reminder to Ash's friends and first example to the reader at just how much she can commit to playing the anti-hero. Anyway, let's get back to the death touch.

This is the other half of that power—the power of its implication. See how Hans has set up this panel: first, your eyes hit the glowing hand, the brightest object in the panel and the thing that has just killed Sol. Then you move back to traditional left to right and see Ash. She's crying, but resolute. Then her words. They're harsh. Maybe understandable though? Then back at that hand. It's not just the weapon that killed Sol now, but the thing that may touch someone else. She's reaching out for their hands to start the ritual. She's letting them know what "anything" means... they'd better be unanimous. Now that's a master manipulator at work.

This is that favorite panel BTW.

How Far Is Too Far?

Here's another stand out panel from this issue. Ash's expression is exquisite: pain, anger, thrill, resolve. It's all there. This comes moments after using the voice to completely dominate the Chamberlain of Glass Town and it's not what I'd expect to see from her.

She's filling her role both as Dictator and schemer and yet I feel like she's about to throw up or cry. Or both. The metaphor here paired with the destruction she saw the from the Steel Dragon in Issue 3 is delectable. She's recognizing the horrible power she's choosing to wield in order to bring ruin to Glass Town... but she's also not rejecting it.

This is a question DIE is going to keep asking of its characters: how far are you willing to go with your role? Will you play your part even if it is horrible? What if harnessing the power of a Paragon is your only option? What if it's not?

Here's Angela, the badass cyberpunk, failing to both be grizzled or distant from her humanity. I think it's interesting Case, such an innocent pet, is mechanical, especially given that our other examples of robotic entities are all warmongering automatons. She treats him as so real, while she views the Prussian leaderbot as a tool to be hacked and who's autonomy is to be overridden. That's not to say I think that leaderbot is isn't merely an automaton though... I actually think this is more damning to how Angela anthropomorphizes Case.

I said last issue Case is a pricey distraction. I think that's still correct. Even here she feeds him one last piece of Fair Gold, understanding he will probably die again tomorrow. It's a bit of a waste before what's going to be a dangerous battle.

Matt, meanwhile, seems perfectly able to indulge in his pain enough to... save his friends? Or start an attack on a city full of people? Both I suppose. Not a great look but one he appears to have little issue with for now.

This interaction stood out to me this read. I've always had trouble understanding why the Emotion Knights have talking weapons. It's cool, obviously, but I had trouble seeing something deeper than that. I realized tonight though, these weapons are their emotions, not separate entities.

That sword is Matt's own worst impulses, weaponized both literally against his enemies and psychologically against himself. After all, what is a knight but their weapon? "Don't listen to it," Ash says. She might as well say "That's just the depression talking." Yeah, no shit.

Another quick observation... is she even listening? Getting "back to [his] family" is exactly what the sword (Matt's own grief) is worried about. Very empty words, but perhaps very intentional to keep Matt on track and focused.

Chuck has no problems living as a swashbuckler in a fantasy world because he is Chuck. No other comment needed.

Imagine for a moment that I stopped there and moved onto Isabelle. I feel it's important to at least entertain the hypothetical joke if we're going to talk about the Fool. Chuck (and his class) exist as a joke, but he's a joke you have to take seriously eventually, right? And be respectful and shit.

We see his carefree and self-focused attitude come to a head when he draws a gun on Ash. Yes, Chuck has no problems living as Die wants him to and he's willing to go frighteningly far to keep it that way.

Joining him is Izzy, who has begun to take her role as a "cleric" very seriously. What's going on here is complicated. Let's lay out the facts:

Isabelle is the one who brings up the House Rule. "We treat Die as if it's real." She's also expressed fear at being relied on as a teacher (both holy and high school), while still assuming responsibility of it.

This moment is a union of those two traits. She wants to stay in Die because these are real people who's lives they've ruined and she feels like someone needs to step up and guide them. While she hates the idea of doing that, she (very rightly) does not trust anyone else to a good job of helping the residents of Glass Town (or perhaps any job.)

This is especially odd with the role of the Godbinder, who deals in debts and balances with the gods. As she describes in 1991, she's an atheist with pets—really more demonologist than cleric.

Excepting Angela (who I think is underused in this issue TBH,) the party is in full roleplay here. What comes of that commitment? The burning of Glass Town. Not a good sign.

The Emotion Wheel

This is already so damn long and emotion wheel talk is going to drag it even more... but I need to do it at some point. Let's start with the first proper introduction of the wheel.

Oh look, it's Plutchik's wheel of emotions. This is not an original insight, it comes directly from one of Gillen's essays in the back of each issue. I think we might respond to those directly soon.

The wheel posits that all emotional states are variations of mixtures of 8 core feelings. This is how the Dictator and Emotion Knights function (the former mechanically, the knights more textually. Sol may be a fan of Plutchik's work.) Dictators treat this as a palette to work with, Emotion Knights as a sworn order to follow.

I think there is a strong connection between the coloring used in many of these panels and the colors on the wheel. Memory scenes, for instance, play with purple and blue: disgust, sadness, remorse, disapproval. Ash's story of the Joy Knight is pink and red, quite far from the yellow of joy and closer to contempt, loathing, and anger after many years walking as a corpse.

But Cassie, you may say, Ash's dictator powers are always red... and so is Matt's sword! Hold onto that thought with Matt, but it's also not an exact key. Which is good! I think that would be pretty boring!

As I noted in the Dictator/Master section, I've thought of reds and blues and destructive and constructive magic. This follows with the red skeleton, the blue magic core mantaining Glass Town's shield, the red sword that destroys it, and Isabelle's portals to escape.

I also think that Fantasy Heartbreaker is just a really really red arc. If I remember correctly, future arcs have a more varied palette. Perhaps there will be more color for us to explore there.

Now that I've dropped this big unwieldy graph, I also want to share a bit about how much I love Emotion Knights. I've run a game with a Fear Knight before, which was a lot of fun. And could you imagine a Trust Knight, sapping and destroying bonds between people to use as critical hits? I can imagine a very potent relationship between her and her Dictator wife. Really just a fantastic and juicy concept. I think they should be in every game.

Other Thoughts

I don't have anything to say about this other than it's great.

I think it's fun how badly Ash reads Sol's eye theming. I don't think he's afraid at all.

It's almost impossible to see Dominic and Ash as the same person. Ash is just so... confident in everything. She schemes. She kills. She's beautiful. She's a dominatrix... but outside Die she just... isn't that at all. She's so scared and so hollow on Earth.

I say almost impossible, but that's not really true. I think it's a familiar feeling to many trans women. It's scary to see how hard she's fighting to go back to that in this issue. Is it good for her to do that? I don't think so. Not entirely. Is it easier for her to be on Earth than Die? I honestly don't know. But I think it appears easier to her. Die is the world in her closet, but it can be so painful to stay there when there's so much waiting for you outside it. And yet... I don't think she's ready to go. There's still deeper for her to go.

Kieron writes her well.

Next time we'll be talking about either the end of issue essays or just jump into issue #6, I haven't decided. It'll be much shorter than this, but we had a lot of character stuff to cover. I'll leave you on my favorite line.

[starfall-spirit]

@officialfeysandweek2023

🎨: @sarahsoba

Read on Ao3

Summary: Feyre trusted Azriel and Cassian to keep her work as a Wraith secret. Perhaps they had, but it doesn't change the fact their High Lord knew what secrets were hidden in the shadows they share. Angered by her deception, Rhys sends Feyre home, freeing her from their marriage and bargain made Under the Mountain, all too soon finding that to be the worst mistake he's made in five centuries.

AN: The Silver-Tongued Bride, a Feysand fic based on 1,001 Nights/Arabian Nights, has been discontinued so I can write a book with a similar plot in the future, but UBC brought up the fic and I was struggling with my original project for Mates. So I'm closing this AU with a bang. As I said in a previous post there is a major time skip between Wife or Weapon? and Would You Like Me On My Knees? so reading/rereading STB is not vital, but the link is there if you want to see what the original story idea was and get a better idea of Feysand's history in this AU.

For those unfamiliar with 1,001 Nights, you can read the basic plot here.

CW: Dark!Rhys, Smut

“Feyre, you’ve told me a story every night for months now.”

“I have,” she murmured. “Would you like to hear another this evening?”

He gave her a slight smirk from across the oversized table between them, fiddling with one of the strategy pieces. “No, darling. Eager as I am to hear the ending of this last story, I have one to tell you tonight.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “One about a village girl brave enough to save her people.” She narrowed her eyes, accepting the chair. “Once upon a time a wicked foreign commander took control of seven High Lords’ power, trapping all but one in her perversion of a court.”

“Why are you telling me—”

“Be quiet and listen,” he hissed. There was something in his eyes tonight that for the first time stirred something like fear in Feyre. “For forty-nine years those faeries hoped and prayed for some salvation that never came. Until one day a village girl was just desperate enough to go Under the Mountain to save her sisters, and in her dealings with Amarantha, Prythian.”

Though he’d given her nothing but facts she recognized from her own story, something close to dread was coiling in her gut. “She succeeded, at the cost of her life, but was revived by the seven High Lords when their magic was returned to them. One would think after dying, our heroine would be content enough to keep a low profile and stay tucked away with her sisters.”

“You kept me from that, I’ll remind you.”

“Did I? Or did all of this start when you decided to play spy, Wraith?”

She ground her teeth, holding his burning stare. “You live in such wealth and privilege. Tell me, when was the last time you went days or weeks without more than bread and water? I did what I needed to to make sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, as I always have. Just because it took you three years to look at who you employ doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.”

He stood from his own seat. “You're right.” It took a moment for the words to register. That he had actually surrendered that small victory to her. “You haven’t actually done anything, beyond failing to mention your other duties to the Night Court. Which is why you will continue those duties, unrestrained.”

That dread began to seep back in, coiled and curdling deep inside of her. “Unrestrained? What do you mean unrestrained?”

“You are vital to Azriel’s network. I will not kill you, but you can not fully commit to your duties as my bride.”

Bride. Never wife, though she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about that little technicality during such a serious conversation. Because what his words implied…

She lurched from her chair.“Rhys, you can’t.”

“It is not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Feyre.”

“Rhys, please.” She was begging. Something she vowed she’d never do when it came to him. “Please don’t do this.” Her hand was fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt as if she could keep him there and hold his attention so simply. “They don’t deserve this.”

He cocked his head. “What would you give me, darling, to keep me from looking at another female?”

“Anything.” Dangerous words to offer the fae, especially one so powerful. “I will give you anything so long as these bride killings stop. Name your price.”

“Feyre, did you really think you could stop this, single-handedly? You never had a—”

He grunted as she pulled him down closer, one hand still holding his shirt while the other threaded through his silky hair. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly took control, lifting her onto the table and disregarding the scattering of figures and marking pins so carefully arranged on the broad map atop it. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb just brushing across her jaw. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, holding her in place to deepen the kiss.

She could say the same. Their kiss was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, and that cruel mouth working down over her neck, his tongue flicking that little sweet spot just higher that nearly had her whimpering. Apparently he remembered a few tricks from their time Under the Mountain. Each one left something inside her singing. And aching for more.

And then he was off of her, around the other side of the table before she could even open her eyes or try to assess what was threaded between them.

“No,” he growled, gripping the wood of the table hard enough his skin lightened. “You—we needed that distraction back then. I am not about to let you bargain with your body now, Feyre. You’ll leave in the morning, as usual. This time—” He waved a hand and a fresh horror filled her as the ink on her right arm vanished. “—free of our marriage.” Another wave and her left arm was bare. “Free of our bargain.”

She stumbled around the table. If Rhys was letting her go… “Rhys, wait.”

“It’s done. You’re free. You never have to see me again. What more do you want?” he snapped. She stopped in front of him, nearly close enough to share breath. Even wide and wild, those eyes drew her in. “What?” he growled.

“Promise me it will end.” His brow furrowed. “You’re a better male than this. I can see it. Your brothers can see it. I don’t know the others, but—”

“That’s enough.” He tilted his head as he assessed her, looking every bit the predator he proved himself to the world, any trace of the goodness she’d thought she’d seen just as absent as she ink on her arms. Her heart sank as he tutted, stroking his thumb down her jawline, this time almost condescendingly. “So that’s what you’ve been, little temptress. The martyr bride. One day my lover? My High Lady?”

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be if it saves others who are meant to follow me here.”

Reckless, stupid words, and yet she meant every one of them. She refused to release him until he listened.

Or winnowed.

Or layed her down on that war table and reminded her how easy it was to break a male.

Any other male, it seemed.

His hand dropped to wrap around her throat. One last security blanket, a means of control, even as she watched his resistance fracture. “Gods. Feyre, you don’t know how you tempt me to break the one code I can keep.” At this point she didn’t know how else to express she wouldn’t be as unwilling as he believed. Again, he tore away from her, leaving her cold and aching. What had gotten into her? “Your village and family will be pardoned in the future. If you’d like to take anything I’ve given you home then you’re welcome to pack tonight. As a Wraith, you can leave at your leisure. I trust you’ll be gone before breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his back to her to repair the map she’d unknowingly torn. She should have felt relieved at the dismissal, but all she could currently think was that this was so wrong. On a scale larger than this sexual chemistry.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It rang in her head loudly enough she double checked her shields. Still impenetrable. Body and mind steeled, she gave him five parting words meant to sting after all this time in each other's company. “As you wish, High Lord.”

And she walked away, gaining her freedom, and losing so much more.

But what was still the question. 

~~~~~

Her sisters were elated. At least, Elain was elated. Nesta only felt the need to interrogate Feyre about what she had done to earn her freedom. “I wanted out,” she lied. “I told him I was a Wraith and he decided that was important enough to the war to release me.”

Neither of them seemed to believe her, especially with her vow to keep telling stories to maintain her position as a Night Bride and save the girls he’d yet to draw into his cruel game. Half of the town had started to treat her like a plague. The other was in awe when they saw her arms were bare of ink and her head was attached to her neck. 

Feyre didn’t have enough energy to care.

That was more frustrating than anything else. That empty feeling that grated against the anger and hurt she couldn’t find a way to justify. The dangerous tumble of thoughts that kept her awake in her bed until she was watching the sunrise. Because Cauldron damn her, she missed it. Missed him. The smirk on his face and the light in his eyes when she encouraged his flirtation. The glide of his hands over her body before that brutal dismissal. The taste of him, endless and all-consuming. The abyss she was too ready to leap into if she’d find him at the bottom.

That desperation scared her more than anything, and opened up a very unwelcome thought when the evenings went quiet. So she locked it away in a little mental box, shoving it behind that wall of steel and stone, down, and down, and down where she couldn’t feel even a flicker of want or worry.

But then, she had never been very good at compartmentalizing. And too many things in the home and village around her brought those feelings back to the surface. What they meant. But if she didn’t give it a name it didn’t have to mean anything. Not after he freed her. And with that mindset, she kept going, day by day.

She kept moving though life, waiting to hear the Bride Killer had returned to find his next target. But he never did. Not for weeks. She didn’t think it was possible for a town or village to simply freeze, but there was a feeling in the air all the same. As if the villagers around her, the birds and bugs and cattle, the very land around them was holding its breath.

It was excruciating to endure.

Still, she made herself go about town. To the market each morning and social functions in the evening. Nodding along as other females tittered about the latest gossip and just how lucky she was to be alive and marriageable again. It was positively disgusting. But she’d endure that too, for Elain and Nesta. It was where they thrived and she could tolerate being labeled the odd ball a while longer. It’s what she’d been her whole life, after all.

She should have known things wouldn’t be left there. That she wouldn’t be given time to heal and pass this strange emotional lull without some grand interruption. And grand it was.

In typical fashion, Rhys arrived at the height of the evening, his announcement by rolling thunder. “What a pretty little party.”

~~~~~

The house cleared remarkably quickly between the families scurrying for the door or flat out winnowing as he commanded them to leave. The only people to disobey were her sisters, frightened as they were by the intrusion. There was something to be said for their improving loyalty, she supposed.

He didn’t speak again until the door snicked shut behind their last guest. “Good evening, Feyre darling.”

“Rhys.” His name was hardly higher than a breath, but its weight did enough to heighten the already unbearable tension. “What do you want?” she asked a bit more confidently, pushing off the wall and shoving the flare between them down as deep as she could. If he wanted the… connection… between them, he wouldn’t have sent her away like he did. “You said you wouldn’t return to this village. Especially not this house.”

“It’s not your sisters I’m here for, Feyre.” The promise in his voice paired with the heat in his eyes sent a fresh bolt of want through her. “The last time we spoke—”

“The last time we spoke, you promised me my freedom, Rhysand. Peace from your games.”

“I think you like my games more than you’re willing to admit, darling.”

She scoffed, putting more distance between them as she moved behind the couch. “What do you want, Rhys? Say it and leave.” Her father coughed pointedly from where he had joined them just seconds ago, some small effort as the technical head of the house. It was a reminder to check her tone, speaking to a High Lord. She snorted. “He won’t touch me.”

Rhys winnowed across the room, his broad figure a mass of warmth against her, his scent flooding her senses. She pressed forward, hips digging into the back of the couch as she focused on taking shallow breaths, pointedly ignoring everything her body was demanding she do. “The last time we were this close—”

“You sent me away. I didn’t beg and plead for you to erase the bargain and wedding vows. I said I’d stay there for good. I’d be whatever the hell you needed me to be and you sent me away.”

“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to beg and plead you come home to me? Do you want to see me on my knees for you? Should I grovel, love?”

“It would certainly be a new look for you, wouldn’t it?” she spat.

Ignoring Elain’s squeak, she shoved at his arm to escape his hold, fiddling with anything and everything that was already in its perfect place to ignore the male behind her as best she could. The next time she turned around he didn’t give her the choice of distancing herself. 

One hand caught her hip, the other cupping her face. Though his touch was loose and gentle, after weeks apart she was helpless against the pull of their bond. She sank into his chest, trembling slightly, finding that thread between them raw and open. “Darling.” There was a tentativeness to his voice she’d never once heard. Not in their most vulnerable moments Under the Mountain and certainly not in their time together in Velaris. “I’m sorry.” His right hand slid up, winding in her hair to keep her eyes level with his. “You need to know, you are worth more than what you thought I needed. I’ll have you as my mate—my High Lady—or not at all.”

She stiffened. “I don’t know a thing about leading a court.”

“You’ll learn.” Before she could say another word about it or explain anything to her family, she felt him start to winnow. 

“Rhys, wait! Don’t—” Her protest was cut off with her air, as they were folded in shadow, surfacing in the dining room of the town house in Velaris, his family already occupying the table. She jerked free of his hold. “You can’t just abduct me from my home,” she growled, ready to send herself right back.

“Just wait. Please.” The house was dead silent. She froze, watching with wide eyes as he sank to his knees. “Feyre.” The vulnerability between his actions and that one word was enough to clear the house, leaving the two of them alone, save each other. “Feyre. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his face. “But this is a discussion we need to have… unmonitored.”

“Tell me it's over.”

“It’s over.”

“Tell me that even if I turn around and go home, no more innocents will die at your hands. By your orders,” she clarified.

“I will never kill an innocent again. I will not call a priestess to an altar unless it is you by my side. You being pronounced my mate. My wife. My High Lady. My Forever. Feyre, my name is a stain on the history of this court. That will not change.” She shuddered as he wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees. “Help me do what I can to pave a better future.”

Because what would the world think when their Cursebreaker willingly married the Bride Killer? When she bore the ink of his court again? What would the world think of her when they realized she’d fallen in love with their greatest evil? 

She sank down to the ground, knee to knee with her mate. “I’ll be your equal? Respected in this court and the others.”

“The other High Lords will favor traditions. Especially those of the seasons. I can't promise you their respect. But no citizen of Night will question your authority and keep their life.”

“And… the other expectations of a High Lord’s wife?”

“One day, with this war behind us I would want to build a family with you. Raise children beside you. But not yet, Feyre. Not with this war upon us. I don’t—”

She kissed him, throwing her weight enough that he twisted his legs, settling on his back to let her set the pace. Though he didn’t object to her straddling him she didn’t think the privilege of control would last long, considering his grip on her waist was already beginning to tighten. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, working them open with an impressive dexterity, considering her mind felt like a muddled mess.

“Wait.” Feyre paused, confused. Then they were winnowing again, this time to a cabin in the mountains. “We won’t be disturbed any time soon,” he promised, walking her backwards through the cabin until she stumbled, only to be lifted upright in his arms before she could hit the floor. She locked her legs around his waist, gasping against his mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, her hands pinned over her head. “I’ve been aching for you,” Rhys confessed, “from the moment you left my bed three years ago, I’ve wanted you back in my arms.”

Years. Not just the weeks they were apart, but since they found freedom from Amarantha. Feyre tried to look back on those days, recalling the vulnerability between the pleasure they shared. Where they had let those careful masks crumble to dust. A single brief moment where she had let herself wonder if Rhys was more broken than he let on.

She pushed those thoughts down. “You sent me away.”

“Love is a dangerous thing,” he told her, letting her stand on her own feet again, his arms braced on either side of her. “And you were offering yourself to protect others, not for your own happiness. You would have come to hate me if I tried to act on our bond. I couldn’t see you reliving my mother’s story.”

“It may have seemed impulsive then, but I wanted it. Even without the mating bond established I wanted you.” 

Now that they’d both said it aloud it felt a thousand times more real. They were mates. A perfect match by nature or fate depending on who you asked. “Oh, and if we’re to do this in some sort of reasonable order.” She parted the panels of her gown. “It has pockets, see!” He was clearly confused about the relevance of her dress having pockets but stayed quiet to humor her. “I was keeping this for myself since they were just about the only enjoyable thing at that party, but here,” she told him almost conspiratorially, unwrapping the small linen napkin holding the cookies she was saving for a snack. “I didn’t technically make it myself, but… Food. Eat. Now.”

Confusion softened to something like awe and she realized for as cruel as he’d been in his time as High Lord, he had grieved the simple pleasures he thought he’d ruined his chance of finding. Like a female offering him food and truly accepting an eternity with him. He had a better future to look forward to, starting with half-crumbled cookies. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his thumb sweeping tenderly across her cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, Feyre.”

She just smiled, nodding to the meager offering again. They were gone in seconds, the napkin so clean she wouldn’t have believed there were crumbs at all if she hadn’t seen the mess of crushed dessert herself. There was something to be said for a newly mated male’s dedication.

“Delicious,” he purred against her ear, tossing the pristine cloth over his shoulder. “But I can think of something else I’d rather taste at the moment.”

~~~~~

Rhys had never gotten a female out of a dress so quickly. He had never felt so close to losing control of himself. Not just that spiral of desire and the need to please his mate and satisfy their bond, but something more. Ancient and dark and primal. The need to claim in every respect. 

He hadn’t felt the cage swing open. Not until the thing within him was stalking out, his skin itching and tight as onyx scales rippled over it in patches. He groaned against Feyre, the taste of her on his tongue was doing nothing to help his attempt at suppressing the creature he worked so hard to hide. He knew it was only a matter of time before his talons would make themselves known and draw his mate’s attention to the steady shift claiming his body. She gasped as one of those obsidian claws nicked her tender flesh and an ugly guilt began twisting inside him at the single drop of blood that bloomed. He released her instantly. 

“Rhys…” He had been bracing himself for horror or disgust, not this quiet curiosity. 

“I normally have better control than this,” he said, jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t lost control of his beast form since he was a youngling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It's…” Her eyes shared the words her tongue couldn't find. She wanted this. Was hungry for it, even if it would temporarily cost him his sanity. 

He growled as she tried to guide him back between her legs. “As you wish, darling.”

She shivered at the next slow stroke of his tongue, her legs tightening around his head. “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

A chuckle rasped out of him, even as he felt his control slipping little by little. “So my bossy little mate thinks she knows what she wants, hm? We’ll see about that.” While his body was only half-his own at the moment, he managed to retract the talons that had scratched her a moment before. Beast or not, he promised his mate his mouth, fingers, and cock tonight and he had no intention of disappointing her again. 

He didn’t quicken his pace, not when he had the absolute pleasure of drawing her steadily higher and higher until she was on the precipice of falling, flushed from head to toe and clenching around his fingers. He grinned as he heard her let out another frustrated whimper, her short nails dragging down from his scalp to scratch the back of his neck, bringing about as much pain as a kitten might. 

Do you need something, love? he teased, withdrawing entirely.

She gave a hard shove and he let her flip their positions, folding an arm beneath his head as he watched her straddle him. Seeing as her patience has been rather unremarkable thus far, he had ultimately expected her to take advantage of her position over him and claim the pleasure they were both aching for. It appeared she would once again surprise him.

“You take far too much pleasure in keeping me from mine,” she told him, almost in reprimand. “It’s high time the roles were reversed—” She slid back, wrapping her slender hand around the base of his swollen, scaled length. “—don’t you think?”

“I think, Feyre, that you should be very careful,” he warned her. Both of them knew she had no physical leverage over him. That he had let her turn the tables and could reclaim control the moment he decided he was done with this game. But for now he’d pretend he was a decent male, if only so his mate could feel proud of herself for this momentary victory. “Go on, darling. Do your worst.”

She grinned, sinking down to take the first inch of him in her mouth. Rhys could feel her smugness rippling down the bond, multiplying when his free hand flew to her nape. “Look at you,” he praised her, his fingers carding though her hair as a means of comfort as she took him deeper at her own pace. “So pretty, taking my cock down your throat.”

She wouldn’t be able to take all of him like this, not with him half-shifted this way. But she was trying her best and it wasn’t a sight he would forget anytime soon. She dragged her teeth against him and he jerked forward on instinct, choking her slightly. “Careful, pet,” he warned, the tension in his voice betraying his own state of mind. Her little hum told him she knew he was close to spilling down her throat and he had no intention of letting things end so soon.

He twisted her hair around his hand, pulling her up to face him, “As pretty as you’d look drooling on my cock, I think I’d rather watch you ride me, Feyre.”

She wasted no time, letting him guide her down onto him. “Look at you,” Rhys murmured again, his breath fluttering against her hair. She whimpered. “Slow down, darling. Almost there.” He hissed as she clenched around the full length of him, a new instinct roaring to life within him. Claim, claim, claim. 

For the millionth time that night he found himself grieving the absence of the  ink that clearly tied her to him before he granted her her freedom. He’d remedy that problem after they dealt with the frenzy.

He watched Feyre for a moment, taking in the glaze of lust in her eyes and the love beneath it, And deep down, even under that, the instinct that mirrored his own. He shifted on the bed slightly, preparing to flip them again. “Do you know what it wants, Feyre? Hm?”

She blinked down at him, trying to piece together what he was asking. “Do you know what the beast beneath my skin wants to do to you when you’re taking this cock like such a good girl?” She moaned again, hips jerking against his unyielding hold. “Needy little mate,” he admonished softly. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting. Now fuck me.” 

She yelped as he flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “I told you to be careful, little mate.”

“Rhys—”

“I warned you to be careful, Feyre. That I was close to losing control. That there was only one thing the beast in me wanted from you.” She shuddered as he shifted both of her hands under one of his, bringing his free hand down to stroke her clit. She keened. “But maybe that’s what my little mate wants too.”

“Rhys.” A foreign, desperate sound left her as her release rattled through her. Rhys didn’t let her come down from it, refusing to acknowledge how she felt clenching around him as he aimed to bring her to her second orgasm. “Rhys, wait. I need—”

“Darling, I thought you needed to come,” he teased. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to overstimulate her, scrambling her senses and bringing her pleasure over and over. It had been his greatest joy in those moments they stole when they were stuck Under the Mountain. His only joy, actually. But that time was behind them. “So, so pretty like this, filled up with my cock,” he praised her, tensing slightly as the dark scaled patches rippled and spread over his skin. “Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby.”

She let out a low groan that had new pride blooming, a jerk of his hips sending her over the edge once again. “Rhys, need you to fill me up.”

“I know, baby. That’s a good girl.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her neck as his slow drag turned more deliberate, bringing them to the next high together. He ducked his head again, slanting his mouth over hers as they came together. “I love watching you come undone for me,” he murmured. “I’ve missed it more than anything.”

She hissed as he pulled out of her slowly, watching onyx scales revert to brown skin, the possessive glint in his eyes fading to something softer. “What took you so long? The ward on the house was pathetic. Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

“Because I never deserved you. And one day I stopped caring about what was deserved and decided to be purely selfish. So I made you a Night Bride.”

“And then you sent me away.”

“I didn’t deserve a mate either. And I knew you would begin to recognize the bond for what it was. But the weeks apart, knowing it would be final, I couldn’t stand it. So I swallowed my pride and came to grovel.”

Feyre sighed, laying her head on his chest. “I’m very glad you did, Rhys.”

He smiled against her hair, holding her a little tighter. “So am I, darling. So am I.”

~~~~~

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