#and this is when he solidifies his plan into place. its what he’s chosen

[sholmeser]

ary scheffer / justus knetch / snake & ocelot

[writingsforwhatever]

magnolia (m.s.) part 1

part 2 part 3

summary: reader has a friends with benefits arrangement with matt (what is there to explain?)

genre: ANGST

word count: 1.4k

a/n: suggestive content? You know what to do, ladies. This is fiction.

The abrupt chill in her apartment struck her hard, wrapping around her like an icy shroud. The stark white walls defining the living room while the vibrant green accent wall provided a homey space for her little coffee bar. It wasn't just the cold; it was the haunting silence that can be heard, a clear contrast to the lively college days where laughter filled every corner of the bright, inviting space with friends.

Autumn had passed, and she found herself rummaging through Matt's old university sweaters from the depths of her closet, seeking solace in his familiar scent during these lonely, frigid days in Boston. She longed for his return, yearning for the warmth of his presence to fill the void around her.

Walking on the cold tile floors, her footsteps echoed softly as she wandered through the apartment, her eyes catching sight of the slightly tilted photo frame showcasing her and her friends from high school. It bothered her, yet she couldn't fix it herself. That was a Matthew Sturniolo chore—he knew where her toolbox was and was the only one capable of reaching it. Memories flooded back of him building a cozy nook by her large windows where she loved to read, along with the white wooden bookshelf he'd carefully chosen in some vintage shop in Cambridge, a thoughtful gift from him. She remembered him telling her that he knew she would like it as the sole reason behind his choice.

She sighed, her gaze drifting to the notebook he had left behind months ago. He had texted her about it, asking if she had seen it, and she confirmed its safe place, nestled securely within the confines of her living room's coffee table. Tomorrow's agenda included a visit to her recently married sister's place. Her plan was simple: gather the homemade cookies Matt always loved, just in time for his arrival.

Meanwhile, his absence lingered as he went on a short trip to Canada with his brothers. A friend had called her two nights ago about seeing Matt with a woman in his arms and letting her know that the girl is somewhat familiar. The familiarity of the girl struck a chord; perhaps she was someone from their college before. Despite this revelation, she remained indifferent. The timely presence of her friend during this seemed almost too coincidental. Yet, she made a conscious decision not to confront Matt about it; after all, he was entitled to date or engage in relationships with whoever he wishes.

Their dynamic was crystal clear as the sunny skies that had once bathed the University of Massachusetts where they had agreed that their relationship is nothing more than a remarkably intimate friends with benefits. This is an understanding they had solidified long ago.

Nine hours away from her by land, Matt found himself gazing at the mesmerizing skylines of Toronto, contemplating whether to reach out to her, to check in, or ask if she had followed through with her plan of delivering the freshly planted flora to his mother, just a short 10-minute drive from her place. However, he opted against it, choosing instead to listen to Chris's friends discussion about their new clothing brand.

When he returned home, she was already calling him, asking to pick her up. The beauty of her tone wrapped around his heart, infusing it with a comforting warmth. Confirming she had indeed brought the plants, and now nestled beside their sofa, a gesture his mother had kindly embraced.

She wore a short blue drop-waist dress, a cardigan draped over her arm, her smile radiant under the sun's glow. From his vantage point in the car, Matt watched her take her time descending the small brick steps of her apartment. It had been a week since he last saw her; she had ventured off to Davis, California, to visit an aunt she hadn't seen in ages, just before his trip up north.

"Look at you," he greeted her with a grin, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her entire presence as she entered his freshly cleaned black SUV. "Is that new?"

Matt's thoughtfulness was a trait she adored about him. It was as if he had committed every book and item she owned to memory. She often reminded herself to give him credit for it one of these days. And he wasn't just thoughtful; he was undeniably sweet too. His gestures, both big and small, resonated deeply—like carving out a cute little space for her plants or surprising her with a spatula simply because he knew it would complement her assortment of black kitchenware.

"Do you like it?" Her smile gleamed, greeting him with a subtle kiss on his cheeks.

"I absolutely love it."

"Thank you. Got it from that newly opened shop down the street. A lovely grandmother was selling it—really sweet lady," she shared.

Matt chuckled at her detailed story. His smile never wavering, her perfume engulfing him wholy, the smell of lazy Sunday mornings, soft skin, and fresh linen—just the way he liked it. "You bought it because she seemed sweet?"

"Not exactly. I got it because it's your favorite color," she said casually, making him raise his eyebrows. Glancing briefly at her and then back to the road, his eyes met hers. "Oh, really?" he teased lightly.

Matt sensed her slight withdrawal at his tone, her revelation perhaps making her uncomfortable, yet it was exactly what he wanted, everything he yearned to hear, and more.

"Uh-huh," she replied, shifting her gaze out the window. "Anyway, how was Canada?"

She was good at this game; skilled at cutting the conversation off faster than you can snap your fingers.

"It was okay. Nick and Chris didn't like Tim Hortons," he chuckled at the memory of Nick's expression.

"Expected," she replied, shaking her head. "Did you see Chris's friends? What were their names again?"

"John and Sam. They seemed intrigued by Chris's new releases and ideas, so it's a good sign for him."

"Ah, that sounds promising," she agreed with a nod. Sneaking another glance at him, she ventured, "Did you meet anyone else?"

It was a simple question, yet she felt herself tiptoeing over an invisible line, feeling an odd tug at her heart as she admired him, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the setting sun.

Matt took a moment, eventually settling on a simple "No," choosing not to mention the woman that occupied his bed for a night. He didn't want to risk spoiling the moment; it already felt perfect when he saw her smiling and walking out the door earlier. He knew she would ask more if he said yes, but he also knew how awkward it would become. It would lead to an uncomfortable conversation, especially given her reluctance to delve into his intimate details with other people.

She never wanted to hear about where he learned a new position or style in bed, even though he sensed she was curious and a little bit hurt. He could feel it in the subtle withdrawal of her body between the sheets and the shift in the mood between them. Similarly, he refrained from asking about the oversized shirts, far larger than her size that he spotted one time in her laundry basket while he helped with her chores. It was not his.

They had learned to navigate this arrangement over the years smoothly. Their shenanigans with other people aren’t crazy but they both know it happens.

He missed her so much during his time in Canada, which led him to talk to the brunette at the bar. To his surprise, she was from their old school, a friend of a friend, now living up north. Everything about the encounter seemed hazy, the way that the woman talked and acted reminded him of her. She was all he could think of, day and night, night and day. It felt like ages since they had seen each other, ever since she visited California and him for Toronto.

Matt reached a breaking point with their casual arrangement. It had become too much for him especially when he saw the girl collecting her clothes on the ground that morning. That same day, after he calmed down and talked it out with Nick and Chris, he felt the urge to call her and apologize, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what for—they were not officially together.

As he sat on the plane, heading back to Boston, he made a firm decision. He was determined to put a label on their relationship and ask her to be his girlfriend.

She nodded in response, pushing aside the ache in her heart caused by his lie. Yet, she silently thanked him for his discretion, grateful that he hadn't mentioned it—she preferred not knowing.

"Okay. Where did you say you wanted to take me again?"

~

special mention to my bestie @querenciasturniolo lol thanks for always supporting me mwa

[leggerefiore]

cw: general volo behaviour, unhealthy relationships, drabble

pairing: Volo/Reader

The metal was cool as it touched your skin. You only dared to tense up as the necklace was latched from behind. The end of the jewellery was a silver pendant, which your eyes could never forget. Only three people you had met ever plainly wore those. One of whom you trusted dearly and wished that you could call out to. There was no chance of that. Not when two arms wrapped around your body tightly after the necklace had been latched. A head rested atop your own.

“With that, I'd say that shows our relationship,” his voice was deep and low. His hand came to hold the silver pendant for a moment. Its meaning had been lost on you with Cynthia, but both the man behind you and Cogita had made it clear it was some traditional piece of their vanishing culture. Volo's words only further solidified it. The pendant would serve as a plain sight way of connecting to Volo and his people. In the reflection, you could see your own exhausted face and the eerie countenance the merchant held. It was just the two of you these days. All your friends likely still searching, but they would not find you in this isolated place within the wilds of Hisui. Your plans of returning to your era became further and further away.

He moved his head and brought his hand to instead hold your chin. Your gaze was made to meet his own. His eyes were the same colour of the pendant, you noted. They were just as cold, too. A shaky breath left him. “As one chosen by Arceus, it only makes sense for you to remain alongside his worshippers, does it not?” His envy. The burning jealousy that the god he so obsessed over dared choose you over him. Yet, despite that all, it was that same obsession that brought you here — stuck with him. You were who denied everything that he worked so hard for, yet you were also the only person in the world he thought could relate to him. You were not slipping away from him.

“I do love you,” the words were spoken in a softer tone, an attempt to comfort you, perhaps. Something like affection seemed to linger in his eyes. Was it real or fake? It was difficult to tell with him. Maybe he had truly convinced himself that what he felt was affection for you. Some sick, twisted form of love. But… It was equally possible that he was lucid of the reality of this all. You certainly were. The pendant around your neck still felt like ice. He was waiting on you, you realised. Your words… He wanted to hear you speak back to him.

“I love you, too, Volo.”

The words had been true at one point. You had fallen in love with the merchant. That was until his true nature had been revealed, and the man you had thought you had known felt like a distant dream. He certainly was not the man who currently held your chin. Everything was the same — His golden hair that caught the sun so beautifully and a handsome face that many failed to resist. If only they saw what had lied beneath that mask. The madness that lurked just under the surface.

You should hate Volo; despise his very existence with your whole heart. He was ready to destroy this world to create his own idea of a better one; ready to attack you to claim the plates that he had manipulated you into obtaining. Lies had been present from him since the beginning. (Were they lies? More so omissions of truth… He simply never told you more than he felt that you needed to know.) You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your hand. Volo was a pitiful man. You would likely never truly know the extent of what he experienced in his life. Those precious formative years, clearly filled with horrible heartache to mould him into a person ready to destroy everything for some twisted idea of happiness and peace.

Humans could feel two things at once. You both despised and loved Volo. Both things swirled inside you miserably. It was why you found him; why you stayed with him. His kindness… Was it fake? You were unsure. It felt real enough. The hand extended to you at your lowest moment… How he laid with you in the grass outside Cogita's home, watching the stars with you. That smile which had pulled at his lips. Where the falsities ended and the truth started was impossible to tell.

Lips pressed together in a strange kiss. Heavy emotions swirled inside it. Moments passed with neither of you daring to separate. Eventually, you took the initiative as your neck hurt. Your gazes met again.

“Thank you for the pendant,” you finally expressed some semblance of gratitude, “… To have you accept me as one of your people means a lot, I understand.” A nod was given in reply.

Somehow… You thought of Cynthia again. So much of her was like him… Your hand came to hold the pendant this time.

It seemed your connections ran deep.

[4pfsukuna]

Prof. Nanami puts his two smartest students together for a research project and you just can’t help teasing him…until he teases back.

Black coded reader, cause black af.mdni.

Tapping my long red french tips on the library table i let out another long sigh irritated with my (not chosen by me) partner.

We had been sitting here in silence a dimly lit corner in the back of the library our only exchange was “hey” so what could he possibly be typing.

“So i was thinking we could do our project on—“ i begin to speak taking my hand out of my leather jacket pocket only to be cut off by the dark eyed assailant. 

“No. I’ve already decided” he mutters out not moving his attention from the screen. Resting my chair forward so im no longer leaning i scrunch my nose.

“Theres no way you decided because i didn’t agree” and from the slight view i have of his face i can tell hes rolling his eyes.

This was exactly why i didn’t want to work with him… or anyone. He was quiet, closed off, known as a loner and had these deep dark eyes that felt like he was stairing into the pits of your soul.

“Are you going to do all the work?” I ask with a raised brow before noticing not once has he even looked at me. Pushing even more forward to see what he was typing im unaware of our proximity until i notice the slight red blush covering his cheeks right under the mark on his nose.

Ive completely invaded his space my boobs nearly pouring out of the top of my black crop top and im pressed completely onto his arm.

“Am i making you uncomfortable” i tease and i couldn't help it when you grow up with step brothers like Sukuna and Yuji (our dad wanting to step out of his marriage and explore with an american woman actually explore his kink for black women which in all actuality he had a poor taste in women their mothers who decided it was time for her to live her dreams so she just up and left and mine who shipped me off as soon as she had the birds and bees talk which is all irrelevant since choso is storming out of the library laptop in tow and the last thing i need is to fail this final paper.

Grabbing my oversized purse and slinging it over my shoulder i chase after him and catch him in the hall.

“Wait wait wait” i huff out of breath because these heels were not made for running and he turns around facing me with a bored expression, you wouldn’t even think i offended him.

“Alright that was completely inappropriate and i shouldn’t have joked like that, but i also don’t want to fail or push all the work on you. I want to work on this project together” i breathe out standing infront of him blocking his path but as large as he was compared to me im sure he could step over me if he seen fit.

“What makes you think i want to work with you” he bites out and i let out the arrogant smile that solidified i was Sakunas half sister.

“Do you actually think professor Namami would place  the smartest person in the class with a idiot and have them do all the work? Come on now its Nanami he would put his two smartest pupils together to challenge another and write a final paper hes actually happy to read” i say as if its common sense cause it is. 

Its NANAMI.

I watch the debate in his eyes as he thinks over what i just said before his shoulders drop in defeat. I grin widely sticking my hand out as a form of truce which he painfully takes.

I force myself to bite back the smirk at his clamy hands knowing it was all my doing and use the grip to yank him closer.

“And i would love if you could send me what you have so far so i can begin doing research” i utter lowly licking my lips watching his glare never falter almost as if he's painfully keeping his eyes avoiding my mouth before bidding him goodbye a devious plan forming in my head.

The next afternoon when we meet in the library i offer sweets from a local bakery as an official truce which i can hardly read his expression at.

“Im sorry now that i think about it you dont seem much of a sweets guy” i feel foolish of course he didnt like sweets— my train of thought is interupted by him picking up a creme filled chocolate pastry.

“Shouldnt judge a book by a cover, every smart person knows that” he quipps quickly and my lips twitch in a smile. Ah so he does bite back. 

“Did you call me dumb?” I scoff playfully dropping bait which he quickly takes.

“Does the shoe fit?” He bites back and when i dont respond only send a playful glare i watch as the corners of his lips twitch up feeling proud i could get a smile. “Come on show me your work” 

And we spend the next two hours talking theories and sharing ideas conspiring every concept as his long fingers type away my thoughts later to be put into essay format.

Its not long before he lets out a yawn breaking our silence and i look up at him noticing the bags forming under his eyes slowly being covered by his bangs.

He was actually begining to look disheveled. Two signature buns drooping from running his hands through them bangs more full from the pueces of his buns and the bored expression— actually that was very on brand for him.

“Come on let’s wrap up your tired” i say softly twirling a stand off his bangs around my finger and i knew it was when he was too tired to cover his blush he was exhausted. 

Yup, still got it.

He swats at my hand sending me a pointed look to which i innocently bat my eyes up at him from the seat next to him.

And thats how it goes for the next few weeks smart remarks met by his even more quick witted remarks sometimes followed by a half smirk, my harmless flirting/ teasing which i may have taken too far the day i rested my palm on his inner thigh and he flew out of his seat claiming he needed to use the bathroom only returning 10 minutes later saying he had to leave.

Or the day he asked me to proof read a page leaning away from his computer so i could take it instead i lean forward hand resting on his shoulder unaware just how close his face was to my—

Both occasions i had to bring apology pastries.

And the more time we spent together the more i learned about Choso. How smart he is, what makes him tick, his favorite foods, what makes him blush the way i thought he was a boob man but ive caught his gaze on my thighs several times and i may purpousely wear shorter skirts on days i know were going to be together.

Today was no exception.

The only thing i hadn’t planned on was the air conditioner being on full blast. Probably my karma from the universe wearing the tiniest of clothes to tease him.

“Oh no were going to have to finish another day its freezing in here” i shiver crossing my arms over another trying to huddle into myself for warmth. The black (extreme)  mini skirt with short sleeve white shirt that had bows tying the back together with Sukunas red varsity jacket was such a cute look until he realized i was wearing his jacket and took it . He was now my least favorite brother and yuuji was in the lead, which he typically always was given his competition.

“What?!” Choso nearly begins to foam at the mouth. “Its our last day and were so close to being done we can actually submit it now and im sure we would get an A still” he quickly rambles out dropping our stuff on the table we usually took up. The library was nearly empty so him being loud was no bother at all to anyone probably because most students didnt know where the library was.

“So submit it, I dont do the cold” i shrug ready to grab my bag when he begins taking off his jacket placing it on my shoulders pulling my hair from put under the collar and going to his work.

“Probelm solved, now sit” he bites put and id never seen this side of him but it was kind of a turn on and probably karma rearing her head into me again because through all the teasing i developed a tiny crush on Choso. Like tiny though.

Super tiny.

Extremely tiny.

So tiny i couldnt help but flirt with him every chance i had and notice all his favorite things and Damn did his jacket smell good.

So tiny i knew every detail of the scar on his face and how it swerves slight over the bridge of his nose not just cause it curves but—

Damn his jacket smelled… good wasnt a strong enough word. I was feeling intoxicated from how sensational his jacket smelled.

My crush was so tiny i made sure to bring his favorite pastries every tuesday and thursday because the way he smiled could brighten up my whole day.

My crush was so tiny i wasnt thinking about using my rose tonight to the smell of his jacket and the way he demanded me to sit down.

Imagine hearing that in the be—

Feeling a tight grip on my thigh my head snaps over to him and his eyes give me that bored yet slightly annoyed expression. 

“Stop fidgeting, its driving me insane and just let me finish typing the rest of what you wrote” he says like he cant wait to be done and i pout knowing this would be the last time we’d get to spend together. My crush would stay just that.

My eyes trail down noticing his buff arms veins sticking out something id never notice before. Has he always worked out. Going down even further i notice the silver rings spread across his fingers and almost choke.

I was going to need 10 minutes in the bathroom if he didnt move his iron grip. I just had one question.

“Have you ever fingered a girl with all your rings on?” I blurt… and this time it was a genuine mistake. Of all the shit ive said this was the one i completely wish i didnt.  I was actually okay with us never speaking again, Sukuna says we should never have shame but i bet he would never do something like that.

Ok yes he would.

“Do you want to be the first?” I hear and nearly fall off the table if it wasnt for his iron grip on my thigh. I thank God for my brown complexion because my cheeks feel hot and I’m lost for words completely. Its when he begins to chuckle that i realize he was just giving me a taste of my own medicine. The weeks of comments and sexual innuendos id thrown at him and couldn’t handle one.

I feel the proud smile grow on my face and unknowingly squeeze my thighs together slightly squirming the idea still playing in my mind. 

“What if i said yes” i retort watching as he becomes flustered and that adorable blush comes back to his cheeks.

“Would it make you stop… moving your thighs so much” he struggles his hand moving to my other thigh squeezing  and i grin knowing he had a thing for them and he can no longer hold back. His eyes meet mine until i lean forward placing a few soft kisses on his lips.

“Promise”

Ok that was a lie. It was all a lie.

Sitting on his right leg, my back pressed up against his chest and 2 of his fingers buried inside me the squirming absolutely hasn't stopped but it doesn't seem to affect him one bit as he edits the last bits of parts i wrote for our project.

“This is so good sweetheart, how about a third finger?” He ask rhetorically lips brushing against my ear and i'm so close to cumming at Dom!Choso cause whewwwww what a turn on. He curls his two fingers up as if he’s trying to pull the orgasm from inside of me and my legs clench together trying not to make too much of a mess.

He chuckles right against my ear and I'm losing myself at the stimulation, Biting my lip as he uses a third finger on my clit. My vision begins to blur and I feel myself about to cum for a second time.

“Look at you trying so hard to hold back those gorgeous moans after you spent the past month teasing me, fucking with me… mmm so wet” he groans in my ear spreading my lips causing the squelching sound to be louder. His fingers brush a particular spot deep in my core making me fall apart as I bite my lip harder cherry lip gloss mixing with the iron taste of blood.

“I love every little sound you make Why try and hide it from me, would you really deny me?” He kisses up my neck using his other hand to pull my bottom lip from my mouth releasing a string of curses, his fingers never stopping their exploration of my walls.

He did show mercy, slowing down other hand snaking up my shirt cupping a boob until his fingers found my nipple. 

“You're so wet for me… just me” he groans his teeth leaving marks down my neck to my shoulder and the idea of him being slightly possessive wanting to mark me so everyone knew i was his? My insides clench and he hums at the feeling.

His fingers pick up the pace once more and I have to close my eyes to hold on to every drop of restraint I have left between the way his fingers are moving expertly inside of me, the contrast of his warm hands to the cold rings on his fingers. I could stay here forever, one hand clutching his bicep the other on his thigh.

“Ch-choso i—mmmmm” i try to get out feeling my hips have a mind of their own grinding down on his fingers needily unaware of how he had me completely wrapped around them. He bites onto my neck and my release follows earning a groan from him as im left panting in his lap. What i dont expect to hear is the wet sound of him licking each of his fingers and the sight has me wet all over again my heart racing.

He chuckles pulling my chin toward him as he places his lips on mine i instantly kiss back gently sucking on his bottom lip earning a groan from him. He doesnt hesitate as his hands rub my thighs gripping and squeezing our tongues dancing together until he slowly pulls away lips and cheeks both red. 

“Lets go” i murmur placing another soft kiss on his lips only to receive a confused look.

“Yuji and Sukuna both are going to a party so they wont be back until 7am… i have a free house where i dont have to worry about being quiet”

[vivienne-writes]

My Little Fairy 🧚🏻

Summary: Being one of the youngest in the family, Prince Garreth is far down the line to inherit the throne and is more than content to be left to his potion studies. However, his parents have decided to marry him off to a princess he's never met. Or... has he?

AO3: x

A/N: Here's my late submission for Weasley Wednesday! I wrote all this in one go. My brain feels like a sponge. The drawing above was based on a scene I omitted from the story cause it's right after the wedding, and we all know what happens after a wedding 👀 The princess is unnamed, so readers can base her off their MCs, but I had to give her a face so here's my OC. I'm absolutely in love with Oscar Weasley as well (all ya'll in the discord are to blame) so he's definitely making an appearance here, along with a few other made up characters to pad the story.

All was quiet in Prince Garreth's room save for the sound of bottles and flasks tinkling as he examined one after the other, debating which ones to take and which to leave behind. They were filled with an assortment of potions and ingredients alike, but far too many for the trip to his new home. Aurora. A neighboring country that prided itself on its scholars and academic breakthroughs in astronomy and ancient magic. 

He had been there once before, on a trip with his father to forge an alliance between their two nations. It was nothing like his home, Camellia, a land of sloping green fields, lush rivers, and forests teeming with beasts and critters. Home to humble hamlets and cities best known for their bountiful trade in rare magical ingredients and plants. No, Aurora was situated high in the mountains to get a clear view of the stars and the heavens, the altitude keeping the nation chilly and brisk for a large part of the year. 

Garreth did not mind the weather so much, nor its people. But then again, he had only been a child when he had visited. No more than a boy of eight, if he recalled correctly. But the purpose of that trip had been successful, and Aurora had deigned to ally with Camellia. However, it wasn't until quite recently that Garreth learned of the terms of their alliance. Aurora sought to solidify the alliance by way of marriage, and he was the unlucky one chosen to wed their only princess when she finally came of age. Why him and not any of his other brothers? Garreth had no clue. He'd ask his father, the King of Camellia, but Garreth was still too shaken up about being kept in the dark for so many years that he avoided his father since.

A knock at the door dragged Garreth from his thoughts, but he didn’t deign to answer. He knew who it was, and his visitor never bothered to wait for a response anyways. 

“Garreth, are you still sulking?” Oscar asked, resting an elbow on the door handle as he watched his youngest brother take a whiff out of an unlabeled flask. Garreth gave no reply, but Oscar forged ahead, unperturbed by the other’s silence. 

“Come on, getting married isn’t all that bad. Look at Septimus! Consort to the lovely Queen of Amaryllis with five children and counting. He spends his days hunting, reading, rearing those adorable nieces and nephews of ours… I’m sure you’ll get to be Potions Master of Aurora if you please the princess well enough.”

Garreth rolled his eyes. "I'd rather be Potions Master here like I've always planned," he grumbled under his breath. 

Being one of the youngest, Garreth knew he wouldn't have any claim to the throne. Not with seven brothers and four sisters ahead of him, and he didn't want it either if, somehow, all his siblings dropped dead and gave him a clear shot at being king. Since he could learn to read, Garreth possessed immense talent and love for potions, and his parents supported his studies. They indulged him with a tower of his own, supplied him with everything and anything he could ever wish for, and placed him under the tutelage of the court's Grand Master. He was more than content to have stayed on this path, forging his life by his terms and no one else's. But he supposed there was a reason now for his parents' indulgence. Perhaps he'd go along with the marriage without complaint if they gave him everything he wanted. 

“Why can’t you marry the princess instead, Oscar?” Garreth asked, throwing his brother a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d be able to win her over with that charm of yours.”

"Would if I could. I hear the princess is quite lovely. But father's word is law." 

Garreth returned to his packing, dejection weighing his shoulders with a slump. Oscar was right. As doting of a father the king was, there was no swaying him once an order had been decreed, and none of his brothers could save him from this miserable fate. 

Oscar regarded his brother with a sidelong glance. Out of all his siblings, he was closest to Garreth, pulling him into all sorts of mischief and saving him from them. But this was one predicament he had no hold over. He had spoken to the king about the matter more times than he could count, going so far as to argue with him. Oscar even pleaded with his mother to do something. The king loved his queen and took her word before anyone else, but she only shook her head sadly. Switching the princess' betrothed would be considered an insult, and Aurora was too great an ally to lose. 

Garreth finally looked up, staring out the window as he fought back the tears that prickled his eyes. "I just don't… understand why they'd keep this from me for so long," he finally admitted. Sure, an arranged marriage was awful in itself, but the lack of trust from his parents wounded him. "They could've told me ages ago. Kept me from believing the false truth that I had any agency of my own. It would've been easier to accept it that way." 

Oscar bit his cheek with a frown. “Perhaps they only wanted to protect you,” he answered softly, “to keep you happy as long as they could.”

Garreth scoffed. Happy. If the king and queen truly wanted their children happy, they’d let them choose a life for themselves than marry them off to strange princes and princesses. And if Garreth were to marry for himself, there was only one girl he could think of. One lovely little maiden that had haunted his dreams for years…

~~~

“Garreth? Your father has requested your presence – oh dear, he’s not in his room again.”

Lady Matilda rubbed her temple with a frustrated groan. Leave it to her youngest nephew to escape when he’s needed most. “That child’s probably wandering the grounds again,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her, head reeling with all the possible places he could be hiding in. As she turned around a corner, she nearly slipped and snapped her ankle. 

"Genevieve, what have I told you about leaving your toys in the corridor?" Lady Matilda eyed the youngest of her nieces, hiding behind a curtain, as she picked up the offending marbles strewn over the floor. 

"Aunt Matilda, I know where Gaz went," the child giggled with a toothless grin, her beautiful locks all tousled and in need of combing. "I think he went to the gardens to find lacewing flies again." 

“Just because you tattled on your brother doesn’t mean I won’t be back for you, young lady,” Lady Matilda said as she tossed the marbles back into Genevieve’s room with a wave of her wand. “And that hair better be brushed when I return.” 

“Yes, Aunt Matilda,” Genevieve pouted. 

"Now, to find that little prince," Lady Matilda sighed. 

Meanwhile, heat crept up Garreth’s neck, forcing him to tug off his sweltering vest and leaving it to fall in a crumpled heap on the grass. He’ll come back to it later. But right now, he was searching for any sign of a bowtruckle. His eldest brother William told him they liked to hide in the hedges, between the branches that provided camouflage underneath the thickly packed leaves. Garreth wondered what they looked like outside his book's diagrams and ventured out to see them. 

But the morning had gone on, and after much crawling and searching, Garreth found neither stem nor leaf of the little creatures and was beginning to turn back to the castle for a fresh glass of pumpkin juice when he heard a sharp shriek. 

"Help!" cried the girlish voice, one of his sisters most likely. Garreth sprinted around the corner and came face to face with a little lass dressed all in blue and silver with stars crisscrossing her dress. They were not the colors of his court, red and gold, which all the princes and princesses of Camellia wore. Garreth knew not where this little lady came from, but she was in dire need of assistance as a couple of naughty pixies had begun pulling her hair and clothes this way and that. 

“Leave me alone, you pesky things!" the girl cried as she swatted them away. But they returned, taunting her while pinching her skin. 

She seemed about his age, so Garreth wondered why she didn't repel them away with magic. Well, whatever the reason, he didn't think the poor thing should be left to fend for herself. So, with a flourish of his wand, Garreth sent the impish creatures flying with a repelling charm. Their teeth chattered, and their fingers clicked impudently, cursing him in a language he didn't understand as they flew off before he could repel them again. 

The girl straightened up, fixing her eyes on Garreth as she looked him up and down. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," she grinned, patting down her skirts to form some semblance of tidiness before readjusting the ribbons in her hair. “I shan’t think what would become of me if you hadn’t come along.”

She waited for his response, but Garreth stood speechless, captivated by the stars bedazzling her eyes as she looked him up and down. She was a pretty thing, not like anyone he's ever met around his father's palace. And she was very eloquent, her accent dancing with a different lilt than he was accustomed to. Having realized that he was staring, Garreth cleared his throat.

“You could’ve simply used magic to save yourself, you know,” he mumbled, keenly aware that she was staring just as intently as he was.

The girl shrugged. "I've no magic yet," she stated simply, as if that were a common occurrence, for it wasn't, at least, not in Camellia. Children began displaying their magic around five or six years of age, and this girl may have been around ten or eleven. Her eyes darted to the wand in his hand. "I see you're quite skilled already," she nodded at chin at his wand. "Have you started on lessons yet?"

"Of course," came his reply. "I'm a prince. We're taught far earlier than most." He wanted to ask why she had no magic or wand yet, but it seemed rude to ask that of someone he just met. 

The girl tossed her hair with a huff. “You’re no prince. Your clothes are all messy!”

Garreth looked down. His pants were scuffed with dirt from crawling around, and his shirt was wrinkled and creased everywhere. He even had leaves in his hair now that he brought his fingers up to push them away from his sweating forehead. Fighting the urge to blush, he bit back, "I am a prince! I –"

“If you’re a prince, then I’m a fairy,” the girl teased. There was no way this ragamuffin was a prince. Princes were supposed to be stately, well-dressed, and handsome. And although this boy before her was handsome, he was anything but stately. Well-dressed, yes, but his clothes were an utter mess. 

“Why are you even here?” Garreth demanded. 

The stars sparkled in the girl’s eyes as she beamed with excitement. “I heard there were unicorns here. Is it true? I’ve been walking around in search of them.”

Garreth blinked. Of course, there were. The forests of Camellia were filled with them. Even the royal stable housed a few for his sisters' delight. But if she wasn't from this court as he suspected, there was a good chance she had never laid eyes on them before. Garreth decided that this girl was pretty. Immensely so. And he'd like to impress her just a little bit. 

“Come this way. I’ll show you.” And as they walked, she practically skipped with glee, unleashing question after question about the numerous beasts that proliferated the lands of Camellia. And for once, Garreth was glad to have the answers. 

As the afternoon drew to a close, Garreth realized there was more to the adorable stranger than he initially thought. Where most of the young daughters of his father's courtiers were shy, timid, or downright snooty, this girl was excitable and feisty. She didn't care if he was a prince or not. She didn't seek his favor or endeavor to please him. Throughout the day, she teased and taunted but always good-naturedly. She asked many questions but listened with rapt attention to all his explanations. About the unicorns, his court, and most of all, his potions. 

He showed her the gardens where he got most of his ingredients, and she knew several of the plants already, having read about them in books. Like him, she had a penchant for snacks and shared several with him until her pockets ran out. 

"I feel awfully terrible," Garreth said, watching her skirt twirl in the wind now that it wasn't weighed down by candy and treats. "You sure I can't give you some in return?" 

The girl shook her head. “Consider it thanks for showing me your sisters’ unicorns. Felicity was my favorite one.” 

Garreth nodded. This was the most fun he'd had in a while, and something about this girl enchanted him. Everything she touched or looked at made them seem new and magical to his eyes. She saw the world with a fresh perspective he had never thought to see before… and it made him want to bask in her presence a bit longer. She was magical, this girl. Even if she didn't possess a lick of magic herself. 

“I’ve got an idea,” she whirled to face him. “You see that tree over there? Want to climb it?”

"Sure," he chuckled. At this moment, he'd do anything she asked if it meant keeping that bubbly smile on her face. 

“Good! Last one’s a rotten egg!” she jumped to a sprint. 

"Wait! No fair!" Garreth called out, but she stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder, her thin legs dashing even faster. 

Unbeknownst to either, the king and queen of Camellia had been watching their son from atop a third-floor window with an emissary dressed in a fashion similar to the girl’s. 

“They seem to be getting along swimmingly,” said the king, giving his wife a thoughtful glance. 

But the queen remained worried, clutching a hand to her chest. Garreth was her youngest son. Her baby. She harbored a soft spot for him and wanted him home for as long as possible. With an electrifying glance at the emissary from Aurora, she asked, “Won’t my other sons do? My second eldest, Septimus, has always wanted to marry a princess. He’s a sentimental boy and woos ladies aplenty with his poetry and prose.” 

But the emissary shook his head. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I must remind you that while the terms of the alliance hinge upon the princess’s union with one of your princes, it must be of her��own choosing. And as such, I have no say in the matter.” 

The queen returned her attention to her son, who was now busy picking fruit from the tallest branches of the tree for the princess. While affectionate with his sisters, Garreth has never shown any inclination or affection for any other young girls in their court. No matter how well-dressed, respectable, or accomplished they were, he never gave them so much as a glance. The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her reverie, and the king and queen turned to find Lady Matilda.

“Garreth is hell-bent on escaping me, it seems,” she began, but the king held up a patient hand. 

“No worries, dear sister,” he gave her a soft smile. “He’s with the princess.” 

~~~

“Where the fuck is the princess?” 

“Genny!” Septimus hissed reproachfully. “Must you use such foul language?!”

“Must you be a bore, Sep?” Genevieve stood on tiptoes, craning her neck to find her future sister-in-law’s carriage amidst the procession trailing into Camellia’s royal court. “I hear she rides a carriage of fairest white and starlight. But it’s too dark to see a blasted thing through this window!” 

William tapped a finger against his chin before taking out Oscar's bishop with his rook. "You'd see the carriage if you'd just wear your bloody spectacles," he murmured. 

Genevieve spun around. “I heard that! And you know why I refuse to wear them. They make me look like Aunt Matilda.” 

Oscar looked up and clutched his heart with feigned surprise. “Aunt Matilda! How long have you been standing there?” He dodged Genevieve’s shoe as the others erupted into laughter. 

"Prick," she bristled with annoyance, skipping across the room to fetch her shoe. "Anyways, has anyone seen Garreth? He's the man of the hour. He should be waiting downstairs with Mother and Father to receive his lovely bride." 

Oscar shook his head with a frown. “You know where he is.”

“Hiding,” said everyone in unison. 

It would have been funny, but their brother had stubbornly refused to appear before anyone, dreading their well wishes and congratulations. What should’ve been a joyous event felt like a death sentence, and Garreth was doing everything he could to stay hidden and out of sight. It was a shame, for his siblings have traveled, or are still traveling, from far and wide to see him and witness his marriage. 

“You would think,” Genevieve plopped down sadly beside Septimus, resting her feet on her brother’s lap, “he’d come out and spend time with us before he goes away.”

“If it’s any consolation,” said William, “Aurora is practically next door. He can visit us or vice versa whenever we wish.” 

“It’s not the saaame,” Genevieve moaned, hugging Septimus’ arm. “One by one, you’re all leaving me. Save for you, William, since you’re taking father’s throne. So, I’m stuck with your sorry ass.” 

“You might be married one day too, Genny,” said Septimus. 

“Never! I’d rather be a spinster like Aunt Matilda and serve Camellia to the end of my days. Mother knows I’m too capricious to be wed.”

“Never say never,” Oscar muttered, upending the chessboard as he realized his inevitable defeat.

The sounds of William's protests and Genevieve's shrill laughter escaped the study, and Garreth, who had been eavesdropping for a while now, frowned with a painful pang of his heart. This was his last week with his siblings, and here he was, running away from the sight of them like a petulant child. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't withstand their pity. Their fake happiness. But… if he were to face the rest of his life stuck in a loveless marriage, perhaps it was best to enjoy what remaining love he could get from his rambunctious siblings. 

With steady resolve, he plastered on the best smile he could muster and opened the door, greeting everyone with a decidedly cheery look. The others knew it was a façade, but they made no mention of it, relishing in their brother's presence before he was taken away from them forever. 

~~~

The week leading up to the wedding was a hectic mess that whizzed by in a blur. From outfit fittings to dining with guests, Garreth was extremely grateful for his siblings' help. Many of them were married and helped him endure the craziness of being a royal groom-to-be. And the ones who weren't, like Oscar and Genevieve, managed to steal the limelight whenever they noticed Garreth growing increasingly overwhelmed by the attention. 

Thankfully, out of the dozens of guests, Garreth had not been requested to meet his future bride or her parents. He wondered if she dreaded their wedding day as much as he did and if she was soaking up the last days of freedom before being shackled to a man she'd never even met. 

But as the wedding day drew nearer, word of his fiancee’s beauty began to spread like wildfire. She seemed to be roaming the grounds, coincidentally avoiding places Garreth was known to linger in. But she couldn't avoid his siblings' notice, with William and his other sisters claiming to have met her during a walk around the pastures. Genevieve, being the most eager to lay eyes on her, finally met her where the unicorns were allowed to graze and went on and on about the princess's kindness and beauty to whoever would listen. 

So much so that Garreth was beginning to grow nervous. He didn't care about his fiancée, to begin with, but… if she truly was the beauty they claimed her to be, would she find him dull and ugly? Garreth twirled a lock of hair around his finger. He knew it sent many girls’ hearts aflutter, but would it be enough to impress the princess?

“Genny’s a right ole church bell,” Oscar groaned from the sofa he was napping on, crossing an arm over his eyes. He opened one eye lazily and watched Garreth fuss over his hair. “I could be mistaken, Gaz, but are you seriously primping yourself right now?”

A flush crept over Garreth’s face. “Shut up, Oscar.”

Oscar bit back his smirk. A nervous Garreth was better than a sullen Garreth. 

~~~

Come the morning of the long-awaited wedding day, the palace was awash in the sun’s buttery gold light, flitting through the towering glass windows in soft, dazzling beams. But the entire court was abuzz with servants and nobles running to and fro to get everything ready, too busy to take notice of the sun’s blessing light. 

Garreth dressed slowly, his limbs moving of their own accord while servants helped him with his vest and refinery. This would be the last morning he’d ever wake up in his own room as a single man and free prince of Camellia. He wondered if it was too late to hop on a stallion and make his escape. 

“Don’t even think about it,” came the gruff voice of the Grand Master from the doorway. 

“Professor Sharp,” Garreth swallowed loudly. Even with a limp, his master still managed to come off foreboding. “What are you doing here, sir?”

"Making sure you don't do exactly what you're thinking, son," he replied, ambling towards the nearest armchair. He studied his protegee with an unreadable look before saying, "I know you must be expecting the worst, but you'll come to love Aurora."

“How do you know that, sir?”

Professor Sharp gave a wry smile. “Because I was born and raised there. Everything I’ve taught you, I learned in Aurora. They can teach you things you couldn't learn anywhere else."

Garreth gave a tentative smile in return. In all the years he spent under his master's guidance, this was the first time he divulged anything about his personal life, and Garreth was grateful for it. It appeased his heart a little and gave him something to look forward to, even if this marriage might be as torturous as he expected. 

And to Garreth's dismay, the torture started as soon as he stepped into the massive ballroom where the wedding would take place. Grand and luxurious, no expense was spared for this wedding, and the heady scent of flowers filling the room began getting to him. Standing on a dais with his brothers as his best men, he wondered which of them would catch him if he were to faint. 

“Quit your fidgeting, Garreth,” William chastised, peering over Septimus’ head. “And Hector, spit that gum out of your mouth before I get it out myself,” he snapped at their second youngest brother. 

Garreth rolled his neck, clenching his teeth as the fabric of his coat made his neck itch. He utterly despised formal events. The stuffy clothes, the simpering nobles, all of it got on his nerves, and William seemed determined to make everyone as equally annoyed as he was. Thankfully, Oscar had the mind to discreetly transfigure his coat, widening the neckline to give Garreth more room to breathe. 

Garreth gave his favorite brother a grateful smile and turned his face towards the double doors as music began to fill the room, the peaceful strum of the orchestra drowning out the wild beating of his heart as it began to race. 

This was it. 

The moment he'd been dreading for. But regardless of his feelings, Garreth would push through the day with as much grace and charm as possible. There was no sense in starting off on the wrong foot with his soon-to-be wife. 

~~~

The princess clutched her bouquet nervously as she waited for the doors to open. The musicians began to play on the other side, signaling her queue to get ready to walk. Her cold, clammy palms started glistening with sweat, and she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. 

This was it. 

The moment she'd been waiting for. The moment to find out whether she made a good choice all those years ago when she was not but a girl older than ten. She felt soft, comforting hands grip her arm gently, and the princess turned her head to gaze down at her loving mother, tears threatening to spill down her face. A sob from her other side, and the princess wavered at the sight of her father, the stoic king of Aurora, now weeping into his handkerchief. 

She was their only daughter. The only girl to have been born in three generations, equally as witty and intelligent as her brothers. They knew this day was coming, and she would still reside in their palace as the heiress to the throne, but it hurt to hand her off to be wed. The king and queen had so many words to tell her, so many ways to say they loved her, but when the doors flung open, they knew it could wait. This day was to celebrate a new love. A love they hoped would grow between their daughter and the youngest prince of Camellia. 

From behind her thick veil, the princess could barely make out the silhouette of her groom. All her focus was centered on her feet, ensuring she didn't trip on the extravagantly puffy skirt. While the veil was annoying, it at least shielded her from the crowd's immense staring, as many craned their necks and eyes to see if she was as lovely as the rumors had whispered her to be. If all went well, she'd only have to do this once in her life, a thought that didn't seem as comforting the longer she pondered it. 

Goodness, did this walkway never end? Her petticoat was a bit itchy, and she wanted nothing more than to kick her heels off and scratch that itch. The princess focused on trivial matters to push the nagging possibility that Prince Garreth might never come to love her. Oh, she's heard the rumors. He didn't take the news of their betrothal well, and it broke her heart a little to learn that he didn't remember her at all. 

Well, no use crying about it now. The grave's been dug, and it's time to lie in it. She came to a halt right before the priest, each of her parents breaking protocol to hug her before sitting beside her new parents-in-law. And when she turned to the priest again, she felt her fiancé's arm barely graze against hers, sending ripples down her spine. Even years after, without a clue how he looked or acted now, he still had the same effect on her. 

~~~

The priest droned on about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of unification between nations, and Garreth fought back his drooping eyelids. From the corner of his eye, he saw William reach an arm to pinch Hector awake, and a chuckle escaped Garreth’s lips before he could stop himself. 

“Any day now, Father,” he muttered as quietly as he could, and Garreth swore he heard a soft giggle from behind the veil. Well, he supposed this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as he thought if his wife possessed a shred of humor. 

When all was finally said, the priest stowed away his holy book and looked to the young couple before him to ask if they would take each other as their lawfully wedded spouse. Oscar sighed in relief when he heard Garreth say, "I do," although knowing his brother best, it sounded a little too much like pulling his nails out. And when the bride finally spoke, "I do," everyone in the room waited with bated breath for Garreth to reveal his new wife's face. 

His hands shook with trepidation as his fingers met the soft fabric of gossamer and tulle. He shouldn’t be this nervous. He had no reason to be. But his eyes fell on the bride’s hands, and the bouquet quivered in her grasp. Garreth realized she was just as anxious as he was, and it consoled him. Made him realize he was not alone. 

Gently, so painstakingly slowly, he lifted the veil inch by inch, past her chest, her shoulders, then her chin, and – oh. 

Garreth's breath stilled, his skin blooming a viciously red hue as he took in familiar, star-bedazzled eyes framed by exquisitely long lashes and the most luscious pair of lips he had ever laid eyes on. Lips that curved in a shy but taunting grin as she dared him to remember her. Remember that distant day of chatter and play. Judging from how he gaped at her, it all came flooding back, clear as a bell. 

"I guess you ARE a prince, after all," she teased, eyes still searching his for any sign of assurance. Any sign at all that she did not make a mistake by choosing him. Over Garreth's shoulder, the princess could make out his siblings, straining to catch a glimpse of her face, but one in particular, Genny, waved at her with an enthusiastic grin.  

All tension in Garreth's shoulders fled him as he smiled down adoringly at his new wife without care that all eyes were on them. "There she is," he hummed pleasantly. "There's my little fairy."

The rest of the world dimmed away in a blur as Garreth leaned down to kiss his bride, his skin erupting into flaming ripples at the feel of her soft lips against his. This marriage may not be so bad after all. 

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

***

Chapter 2

Éomer King really -really- wished he could put his hands around his wife’s pale neck and…

Do nothing. He wasn’t that type of man. He’d never put his hands on his wife -or any other woman, as a matter of fact -in violence.

Even if Lothíriel was seriously testing his patience, he’d never hurt her. Maybe just a light spanking…

No. He couldn’t do that to a princess -now his Queen -the daughter of a good friend. Even if she did deserve it.

What had she been thinking when she sent him that letter?

He’d been so furious that Éothain had actually thought they were under attack. His friend had even pulled his sword and looked around wildly, only to find nothing. Éomer had barked an order and had Firefoot brought immediately to him. He didn’t even know how he got to Edoras alive. (He did know; Firefoot was a very well trained horse.)

And he’d come all the way so fucking furious with Lothíriel. How dare she? How could a Queen -his wife! -write such improprieties to her HUSBAND?

He had no idea what she planned with this stunt, but he was going to get to the bottom of it as soon as he saw her.

And then, there she was, calm as ever. Embroidering, not a care in the world.

Throwing his absence in his face.

And sure, he hadn’t been a present husband. He didn’t know how to deal with the situation and with her.

Lothíriel was supposed to solve a problem. Instead she became a bigger one.

When Éomer became a king -a position he’d never been prepared for -the Mark was in chaos. Not only because of the war and its destructive ways, but also because of Gríma’s and Saruman’s influence. Only once he was sitting on the throne and getting reports did Éomer truly understand the damage done to his country.

There was also a lot of concern related to heirs. Even though Éowyn was still quite well, some of the lords were worried about the fact that she was married to the Prince of Ithilien, and what would it mean if she had to sit on the throne.

Apparently people thought he could die at any given moment.

Éomer was in no hurry to marry -all things considered -but it became clear that it’d be for the best to just get it over with. However, as soon as he declared he’d marry, the lords were pushing their daughters, sisters and nieces at Éomer. They all seemed to think they had the best bride to offer.

It became a problem because lords from the Eastfold believed the Queen should hail from there, the lords from the Westfold believed one of their ladies should be the Queen. It’d turned into an actual situation, because Éomer knew that choosing one place over the other would cause resentment.

After talking to Aragorn, he’d thought he'd found the perfect solution: he’d marry a woman from Gondor. That meant he wasn’t showing ‘preference’ over any region in the Mark, and it’d also solidify the alliance with the country.

That was how he came to know Lothíriel and they eventually married.

He should be proud, because their marriage had unified the Mark. As in, everybody fucking hated it.

According to some people it’d have been better if he’d chosen one region over the other than bringing a Gondorian to be his Queen. Nobody was happy with this marriage, and eventually, neither was him.

He did know it was his choice -he wasn’t an idiot. He also knew it wasn’t Lothíriel’s fault, it was just… She should’ve been the solution, and she wasn’t.

He hadn’t even wanted to marry. At all. He had so much to do, so many concerns, so much grief, and no one cared about those things. No one cared that a Marshall had just lost his entire family and suddenly became responsible for the whole country.

It felt like no one cared about him at all. He didn’t resent Éowyn for leaving. He was happy for her, because no one deserved love and peace more than her. However, her leaving so soon hadn’t made things any better.

At some point, after marrying Lothíriel, he’d just… Given up. He focused on his work and ignored the marriage that’d brought him nothing but headache.

And yes, he did know Lothíriel had nothing to do with his problems, he knew she tried, but it was just easier to stay away from her and act like she wasn’t really there.

If that made him a asshole then… What was wrong with him?

What was wrong with her?

No. This wasn’t right. If his dear wife thought she could play games like this with him, she was out of her mind.

It was time to show her who ruled the house.

He should probably write to Éowyn.

[unseededtoast]

Antedate | Bucky Barnes

Part 7/13 | Part Six, Part Eight

Summary: Sometimes making the right decision feels like the wrong one. That decision can stick with you for years and leave you wondering what would happen if you had chosen something else. But the alternatives likely lead to a much darker path; you'll never know for sure though. One thing is for certain, the decisions I have made will have lasting consequences.

Prequel to Rectify

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, physical and mental abuse, mention and description of death

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"You're mine. Remember that."

My mouth hands slightly agape. I knew this was coming but there was a small part of me that hoped my father would turn down Dane's plan. It doesn't make sense to me. Anger floods my body and I feel my face get hot,

"You can't be serious." Is all I can come up with. My eyes are trained on my father. He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face.

"I am deadly serious and you are not going to fight this. This alliance will solidify the power we have in this organization, Adalyn." My mind is running a million miles per minute. I know I don't have any say in this, I have to be subordinate to my father. I shake my head in disbelief, any sort of respect I had for my father has quickly died.

"Whatever you say." I reply to him. Who know what this means for me now. I know that all appearances will have to be made with Dane now. Surely he doesn't actually want me to follow through in a legitimate marriage with him, right? I turn on my heel to walk away, but am stopped by another voice,

"This means you are not only subordinate to me, but Dane as well now. Your sole responsibility is to tend the Soldier and help create contracts when needed. That is all, agent." My father speaks. It stings a little as he calls me agent, but all I can do is nod.

"Understood." I say in a monotonous tone. I leave the office and walk the halls. Hopefully Dane doesn't follow me.

I have no destination in particular, but I know if I go back to my room I can easily be found. I know for a fact if my mom were still alive this would not have happened. It's disgusting my father even considered Dane's proposition. He's easily in his mid twenties, and I'm not even eighteen yet. This isn't right but I know nobody can stop it.

I end up in the Soldier's room and see that I left the bloody knife on the desk. My mind flashes with different ideas and uses for the knife but I know I cannot follow through with any of them. I grab the cool metal handle and take it outside to the lab and clean it off. The rusty red blood wipes off the blade and swirls down the drain.

I return the blade to its place in the briefcase. I can't jeopardize my position here by trying to pull off some stupid attempt. Plus, if I were excommunicated from the organization I have nowhere else to go. However, I feel as though I would not be excommunicated, but executed. I take a seat at my desk and sigh, letting my head rest on my arms. Maybe things won't be as bad as I expect them to be.

I silently stand as agents buzz around all around me. Today another Winter Soldier contract is going to be completed. As I had predicted, after the success of the first one, we received several other contracts in the following days. However, I no longer have a hand in creating them. Meaning I have no control over the terms, the only thing I have control over is the man himself.

The Soldier stands on one side of me, and Dane the other. I've noticed that while Dane makes advances on me when we're together one on one, he doesn't dare try to touch me while the Soldier is near. It's ironic that the world's most elusive and elite assassin is the one person who makes me feel the safest.

In the weeks following the agreement, I've taken the backseat on most of the duties I used to be in charge of. Dane now speaks at all public events regarding the Soldier and he creates the contracts as well. In the eyes of the organization and Hydra's clients, Dane is the one in charge of the Winter Soldier.

"Sir are you good for transportation?" The Hydra agent asks Dane. Dane nods his head and the three of us load up in the armored vehicle.

The ride is brief, though I did zone out for more than half of the trip. I just haven't been able to feel like myself lately. It's like I don't have a personal identity anymore, I'm just here to serve others. I'm a tool for them, and not much more.

We reach the destination and the communications equipment is set up. I check the Soldier over once more to make sure he has all of his necessary equipment. I give him another short pep talk before he's whisked away to the hit point.

I stand with the others around the monitors and feel Dane's arm snake around my waist. I resist the urge to get sick all over the monitors and instead swallow the lump in my throat. His advances on me haven't been easier to handle, it gets harder each time.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and do my best to focus on the monitor and mentally remove myself from the contact Dane is making with my body. I watch as the Soldier is put into position and the earpiece given to him. These contracts are almost routine at this point.

To make the hits easier to watch, I began picturing Dane as the one getting assassinated. In a way it's almost therapeutic to think of the target being him. The Soldier is creative sometimes in the way he chooses to dispatch the targets. I've noticed he seems to prefer using knives over guns if he can.

Watching the Soldier complete his missions is interesting. At first, it was difficult to watch but now it's become something so routine that the feeling has numbed itself. It still hurts if I think about it too much, so I quit thinking about it. I quit thinking about a lot of things lately.

The hit begins and I watch the Soldier cooly and calmly approach the targets. He throws a blade at one, hitting the man in the neck. The man falls to the ground and the Soldier rips the blade out of his neck as he walks past. The Soldier makes his way to the other target who is trying to open a door to escape, but can't seem to get the handle to move. Probably because we had an agent barricade it before the hit.

The soldier pulls a small gun from a side holster and shoots the man point blank. Another successful mission it seems. As usual, people celebrate. Every time a contract is carried out successfully people act like it's the first time all over against, it's becoming quite bland and boring.

"Another great day." Dane says and pulls me into him. I stare at the corpses on the monitor. At least now I know I'm about to get some time away from Dane. He never accompanies me to the Soldier's room after missions and I'm thankful for that.

Once we arrive back at the base I quickly excuse myself and the Soldier. I can tell Dane is upset I got away so quickly so I'll probably have to deal with that later. But for now, I need to focus on the Soldier and making sure he's taken care of. He is my only priority.

As usual, I take his weapons off and store them, keeping the bloody blades on the desk so they can be cleaned separately. I gather the rubbing alcohol, water, and cotton balls so I can clean his skin up. He closes his eyes as I remove the eye black and for a moment he almost looks relaxed. But I can tell from the tension in his shoulders that he's anything but.

I take my time to be sure that he's in good condition and that he's clean of all blood. I run a wet cotton ball over his hands, wiping away any dried flecks of blood that may have spattered on him.

I wish so badly that I could just take the Soldier and get away from here. He deserves a second shot at life, and I hate being here. But I know that's not a possibility. So instead, I try to make his life as comfortable as I can, to show him he's cared for. I know I'm the only one here who still views him as a human, and not just a killing machine.

I brush his hair like I do after every mission, and I hum the same song. I think doing this shows him he's cared for and in a way it makes me feel as if my mother is still here with me. I know my mom would be proud of me for showing as much mercy as I can to this poor man I'm responsible for.

I feel like the Soldier and I have some unexplainable bond to one another. We're both like caged animals in this place, unable to exercise our free will. We're under the rule of others here, but he has it much worse than I do.

I finish our routine and he gets into the cryogenesis chamber. I kiss his stubble-covered cheek and engage the cryogenesis cycle once more. I take my time in cleaning up the cotton balls and other supplies, I know nothing good waits for me once I'm done here.

I clean the blades in the sink and watch the brown water go down the drain. I dry the metal and look around the empty laboratory. My eyes linger on the spot where Leroy was shot years ago. He didn't deserve to die.

Eventually, I put the blades back in their cases and go to my room. As expected, Dane is already waiting for me in there, picking at some of the flaking paint on the wall. He hears me enter the room and he looks at me with nothing but disappointment on his face. I already know what's coming.

"Adalyn, dear. You and I both know your behavior today was unacceptable. What has gotten into you? You know how you are to act on these contract missions. If you don't keep up appearances people will begin to question us. They'll question how strong our bond is and then question how strong their leadership is. We both know we can't have that. Right?" He asks, a mad look in his eyes. This man is unhinged. I lick my lips and look up at him,

"I know, I'm sorry for my actions today. It won't happen again." I say, not really meaning any of it. Maybe people should question their leadership here. Dane stalks over to me,

"It better not happen again. Do you need reminded of your place?" He asks and I shake my head, not that it is going to deter him from doing what he already intends to.

"Speak." He demands, leaning in close to my face.

"No, sir." I say in a soft tone.

"I don't believe you." He says and I know I haven't done a good job convincing him I'm truly sorry.

I feel his hands start roaming my body, and I feel like I could pass out. His hands feel like fire on my skin. He lets himself touch me in any way and place that he desires. I close my eyes and fight back tears. I wish I could stop this but I know it's best to just let him do what he wants. He tends to get violent if I protest against him. The last time I tried to fight him off he violated me in the most abhorrent way possible. I'll do anything to keep that from happening again.

I feel his hot breath on my skin as he forces me to kiss him. I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand. It feels like he forces himself onto me for an eternity. He releases me from his grasp and puts his hand underneath my chin to force me to meet his eyes.

I feel my eyes watering but I fight them back. He caresses my cheek with his thumb and I clench my jaw tightly.

"Adalyn, honey. You're mine. Remember that." He says in a sickly sweet tone. He walks out of the room and as soon as he's gone I let the tears fall down my face. In some twisted way, I still think I got off quite easily that time, at least it was only a kiss this time.

I curl up into a ball on my bed and hold my pillow close to me. The tears won't stop falling from my eyes and I fight to keep my breath steady. I feel like I could hyperventilate and throw up. I hate Dane with every fiber of my being. I hate what he does to me.

[anxious-allie-ren]

I couldn't help myself from posting the next chapter already. I'm just too excited about this story and sharing it with you all! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter as well! It's probably my favorite thing I've written so far.

A few trigger warnings for this chapter: Violence, death, and childhood trauma.

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Erota

Your majesty.

The invitation had arrived at his castle months ago. It sat open on his desk with no response for three weeks. He stares down at it as he finishes putting on his attire for the evening. It was a last minute decision to go. He still wasn't confident in such a decision, but it was too late to go back on it now. His aunt and uncle would be expecting him.

Ben had been a quiet boy. Growing up on the palace grounds was very secluded. High society members visited the King and Queen of Chandrila often. Balls, banquets, and glamorous events took place nearly every fortnight. But it was rare a child would accompany their parents. It was even rarer that Ben was allowed to attend such events.

His father was a strict man. He had married into power, Queen Leia taking control of the kingdom after her father had passed. He was anointed king soon after their marriage and took on numerous responsibilities. Most notable being the military and war plans. He was a courageous soldier, fighting in many of Chandrila's most notable wars. This tough exterior and pride carried into his parenting. Han pushed Ben to be just like him. He was to be strong, both physically and mentally. Any sign of emotion was seen as a weakness.

When Ben was just a boy, no older than four years of age, he had attended a hunting trip with his father and a few other noblemen. He kept to himself as he followed the men deep into the woods. He struggled to carry his bow and arrow, the weapon still larger than him. He observed the men bantering and preparing weapons of their own. He was much too young to understand what was to happen on this trip. But he would soon find out.

The group was stopped for a break within a small clearing. The men chugged bitter wine from their flasks and exchanged raunchy jokes. Ben was too busy watching a brilliantly blue butterfly floating about to absorb their words. He is ripped from his peaceful moment as his father quickly grabs his own weapon near his feet.

"Look across the clearing there, men. We've got a large one!"

Ben follows his fathers line of sight to a marvelous buck grazing the meadow in the distance. He was immediately taken with the animal. He had wooden toys of woodland animals just like it. A smile spread across his face as he watched the buck chew on blades of grass, its long antlers sat on his head like a crown. It reminded him of the crown his father was wearing now. Ben turns to look upon it just as his father pulls back the arrow and releases it. The buck is speared in the chest, just inches from its heart. It collapses in the grass, too stunned to take off. Han yells out in frustration.

"Motherfucker! That was a clear fucking shot!"

Ben's eyes water as he watches the buck writhed in pain, releasing wails that cut through the calm woods. Han looks to Ben and sees the tears trail down his chubby little cheeks. He rips his dagger from his boot and grabs Ben by the back of his collar, dragging him towards the wounded animal. Ben cries out in protest, trying to wriggle from his father's grasp.

"No father! I don't want to go near it!"

Han stops in front of the animal, shoving Ben in front of him and forcing the dagger into his tiny hands.

"Finish him off, boy. End his suffering."

Ben shakes his head, tears still falling from his eyes. He looks from the buck and back to the dagger. Blood is flowing from where it was punctured, creating a pool near his feet.

Ben sniffles and starts to back away. He lets out a small whimper and cries out, "I can't father! It was good! It did nothing wrong!"

Han growls in anger and pushes Ben closer to the animal.

"Do it, Ben! You need to stop being so fucking weak! Good or bad doesn't matter when you're facing another man's sword. All that matters is who comes out of the battle alive."

"But this isn't a battle! It's just an animal!"

Han's anger finally boils over. He grabs Ben's hand, forcing the dagger into his little fist and shoves it through the buck's heart. Ben screams in horror and fear as blood splatters onto his arms and chest. Han releases his grip on his hand, yanking out the dagger and wiping it on his pant leg.

"This kingdom has no use for a sensitive, spineless king. Toughen up, Benjamin or you will fail."

That moment had traumatized him. His father's words sunk into his soul, like a rock sinking to the bottom of the sea. He came back from that trip a bit hardened. As he grew, he continued to collect bricks of trauma, adding them slowly to the wall he hides behind. His fortress was solidified the day his parents passed.

He never got along with his father. His relationship with his mother wasn't good either. When he was an infant, Leia doted on him. She took on the responsibility of caring for him by herself, leaving her other duties to her advisors. She spent as much time with him as possible. But when Ben was about the age of three, she seemed to abandon him. Leia brought on nannies and wet nurses to care for him.

Leia was brought up as an independent, able lady. During her time in the ton, she was one of the most desired debutantes. But by the end of the season, she had chosen Lord Han Solo, the son of a Baron in Chandra. He was below her in status, but she was so enamored with him that they married quickly after meeting. Ben was born just ten months into their marriage. He provided Chandrila with its sought after heir. But a spare would still be needed in the event that tragedy were to strike. Leia tried desperately for another child, but nothing seemed to stick. She went as far as to bring in witch doctors and herbalists in hopes of success. The spare never came and the stress weighed on her greatly. The pain became too much to bear.

Leia returned to her duties and never spoke of children again. She distanced herself from the one she had as some way to cope with her failure. Seeing her living child grow only reminded her what she was lacking. They would remain separated for the rest of her life, only seeing each other at events.

Ben was only fifteen years old when his parents died. The king and queen were travelling to Chandrakant for a meeting with the Earl to discuss funding when they were attacked. Soldiers from a neighboring kingdom ambushed their carriage during the night. They were found in the morning by merchants traveling along that path. When their bodies were brought back to Chandrila and laid to rest, Ben was crowned as king.

During his coronation, he was given the choice to take on a reign name or keep his own. Both his parents had kept their names during their rule. His grandparents had as well. But he made the decision that day to let his past die along with his family. He would take on a new name and bring on a new era for Chandrila. From that day on he was formally known as His Majesty, King Kylo Ren of Chandrila.

Kylo had been living a secluded life for many years at this point. He preferred to stay introverted, doing what he had to for his kingdom and nothing more. The ballroom that was once filled with balls and galas had been retired. An event had not been held at the palace since his parents were alive. Meetings with nobility took place in the throne room. He did not travel. He did not leave the palace grounds.

But Kylo has now come of age, surpassed it by a few years even. His advisors were now beginning to push the idea of marriage on him. A heir and spare would be needed for the succession. Kylo simply brushed off their pestering questions during court. He would take a wife when he was good and ready.

But finding a wife meant leaving the grounds to search. This meant he must attend the events of the ton. Kylo had absolutely no interest in stepping foot in such frivolous festivities. When he decided it was time, he would simply have his advisor pick a lady for him. It's not as if the marriage would ever be anything more than a societal alliance. A way for both notable families to gain from the prospect. The notion of love was not even on Kylo's mind. He had lacked it all his life, never experiencing it to know what he was missing. A marriage and creating an heir would become another royal duty for him to fulfill.

He couldn't deny that he was shocked when the invitation was brought to him in his den. The King and Queen of Corellia had invited him to the first banquet of the season. It was to be held at their summer estate in the countryside of Corellia. He hadn't been there since he was a small boy.

During the nice summer months when the air was humid and the sun stayed in the sky long past his bedtime, his family went to visit the King and Queen. Uncle Luke was his mother's twin brother. They had both been raised in Chandrila and had been very close most of their lives. When they both came of age, it was decided that Chandrila would divide into two kingdoms. One for Princess Leia to rule, and one for Prince Luke. This is how the kingdom of Corellia was created. Ever since, Uncle Luke has ruled those territories.

Kylo had been fond of him when he was young. But when his parents passed and the responsibility of Chandrila was thrusted upon him, Uncle Luke never came to help. He didn't attend their burials. He didn't assist the young boy in the transition. He too, had abandoned him.

He realized on one late night, weeks after the invitation had arrived, that this was some sort of olive branch. A way from Luke to worm his way into Kylo's good graces. But this would not be enough for him. He wanted answers. He wanted justice. Overall, he wanted revenge. So he decided then to accept the invitation. Kylo would attend this banquet and get what he deserved.

But all those plans were put on hold the moment your name was announced to the ton.

Kylo had arrived about an hour ago. He entered through a back passage he remembered as a child, so as to not draw attention to his arrival. He had taken a glass of champagne off a passing tray and stood on the outskirts of the crowd. Young ladies gawked and whispered about him, giggling amongst one another. He paid them no mind, he was on a mission and he intended on completing it.

He was slowly making his way towards the back of the ballroom where his uncle sat when your arrival had been announced. He took no notice of it initially. But he stopped in his tracks as he got a glimpse of you through the crowd. Your deep red dress stood out against the pastels surrounding him. You were delicate in your motions, curtsying before your king and waiting for his command. He watched as Luke approached you, his uncle clearly as enamored with you as he was. Everyone in the room could hear his words as he spoke to you. Singing praises and compliments that undoubtedly made you beam with pride.

Your father had led you away after your interaction with the king. Kylo lost track of you as a group of gentlemen approached him to exchange pleasantries. He did his best to be polite, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than he clearly already had. He again tried to make his way through the crowd, only this time he was in search of you.

A petite young woman appeared in front of him before he could get his eyes on you.

She had shiny black hair, pinned up with elegant pins. Her dress was a nauseating pastel green and her jewelry constantly caught the light, nearly making him squint to look at her. She presented her hand to him and gave him a toothy smile.

"Hello, your grace. My name is Charlotte Ventress, the daughter of Lord and Lady Ventress. I saw you standing here all alone and felt so compelled to introduce myself."

Kylo nearly cringes from her introduction. Debutantes we're never meant to approach gentlemen. In fact it was the other way around. Her forwardness was immediately a turn off. It's unlikely he would have been interested in her, if he hadn't already been so taken by you. Kylo clears his throat and takes her hand, giving it a gentle shake.

"Hello, Miss Ventress. I'm humbled by your need for introduction, but I'm afraid you're using the wrong titles."

Charlotte looks at him confused, an eyebrow raising at his statement.

"Is that so? Well, then what title should I be using exactly?"

Her words were laced with attitude and sarcasm. Kylo smirked to himself, looking down at his pristine, shiny dress shoes. Did he look anything less than a king? He figured his attire would have given his status away, that's why he chose not to wear his crown. By her tone, he can only assume she thinks he's below her.

"The correct title would be your majesty, miss."

At this she tries to hold back a chuckle, placing her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. Charlotte places a hand on her hip, her posture becoming more relaxed now. She thinks he's joking.

"Your majesty? Sir, I'm pretty sure the only royalty in this room is sitting over there."

She nods her head towards the back of the room, motioning to the thrones where his aunt and uncle are sat. Oh this poor girl has no clue.

"I believe you're referring to my aunt and uncle. I'm King Kylo of Chandrila, King Luke's nephew."

He watches as the recognition flies across her features. Eyes going wide and eyebrows raising in surprise. Charlotte immediately stands back up, making a poor attempt at presenting herself as dignified. It was much too late for that now.

"Oh, you're majesty! I'm so sorry for my lapse in judgement. How silly of me."

Kylo holds back his eye roll. Just another young woman fluttering her lashes at him for his titles. He nods to her and finishes off his champagne.

"Right, of course. You must excuse me, it seems my glass is empty."

With that he walks away from her, back on his pursuit to find where you'd gone. He comes to the outskirts of the dance floor, watching as lords and ladies waltz around in circles. A waiter begins to pass by and he is quick to place his empty flute on their tray.

Kylo stands in a relaxed position, hands clasped behind his back, as he watches the couples in front of him. He raises his eyes from the dance floor for a moment, hoping to spot your crimson colored dress amongst the crowd. That's when Kylo locks eyes with you from across the room. He takes in your features, admiring your beauty. He admittedly had very little experience with women. It was a rare occasion for him to speak with them. His interaction mostly took place with the ladies in court. All of them married and much older than him.

Kylo finally understood his uncle's words to you earlier. You held his intense gaze, allowing him to see the secrets held within your eyes. He felt like he was stuck in place, frozen in time with just your look. The moment ended abruptly as a ginger haired man stepped in front of you, blocking his view of you and cutting off your eye contact.

He instantly felt possessive. Kylo could see your discomfort through your body language. He kept watch from the side of the dance floor as you took the man's arm and joined him for the next song. He wanted your full attention.

Kylo decided then that he needed more of you. He wanted to know you, needed to know you. If joining the ton and surviving this season was what he had to do to make that happen, then so be it.

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Poor baby Kylo! How are we feeling about Kylo's perspective? I'm hoping to include his view of things very often in this story. Please let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

[bluejayblueskies]

peaches and roses

happy international asexual awareness day! this doesn't deal directly with asexuality (though jon and martin are both ace in this)--it's a follow-up to one of my aspec archives week fics, agape, but can be read as a standalone!

ao3 link in the source

.

The bell that hangs above the door to the bookshop—hung there by Gerry and too high up for Jon to reach without significant effort—jingles, and Jon immediately snaps the book he was thumbing through shut like he’s been caught committing a crime.

“Hi!” Martin says cheerily, his cheeks red and wind-bitten from the chill of the October air, and Jon’s never been more thankful for a dark complexion that doesn’t give away the fact that his face is burning up at the moment as well. He subtly slides the book to the side and covers it with another as Martin steps fully into the shop, a travel mug of tea in each hand. He approaches the counter and hands one of the mugs to Jon with a smile before saying, a bit playfully, “Got any new poetry books?”

“No,” Jon says, too-quickly. “No, uh. Just the usual.” He thinks he should probably say something along the lines of We’ve already got too many books of poetry for any self-respecting bookshop or You would just complain about their excessive use of metaphors anyway, but all he manages is, “Any, er. Any new blends this week?”

Martin hums and gestures to the mug Jon’s holding. It must be quite cold outside—Martin’s cheeks are still bright red. Jon makes a mental note to dig his gloves and hat out of the back of his closet. “It’s, er. It’s not really a new blend? I- I mean, it’s- it’s new, it’s just not… it’s not something I’m serving in the shop yet.”

“Oh,” Jon says, looking at the mug in front of him with growing curiosity and, beneath it, something warmer that curls in the pit of his stomach. “I… what is it?”

“Oh, just- just some, uh—you know, it- it’s a combination of things—well, of course it is, all blends are—just some, er, you know, a- a bit of rosehip and dried peach, Lady Grey and- and oolong—”

“You hate oolong,” Jon says, amused.

“Yes, well, it’s not for me,” Martin says, a bit snappishly in that way Jon adores, where his forehead creases along the middle and his lips purse ever so slightly. “Threw in some dandelions too, I know you’re fond of those, and just a bit of almond because I would never hear the end of it if I left that out—”

“Martin,” Jon says, his stomach twisting into something light and fluttering and fond in a way he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Martin makes a small noise in lieu of finishing his sentence and says, quietly, “Yeah. It’s, er. You- you’re the first to, er… try it, so- so let me know if it’s not—you know what, I’ll just let you… yeah. Should- shouldn’t be too hot.”

This has to be the thousandth cup of tea Martin’s given Jon. It’s certainly not the first that’s been made specifically for him; Jon can still taste the smoke on his tongue, tinged with almond and blueberry, when he thinks back on the day he’d stuttered his way through a poorly-executed coming-out and Martin had taken it with a smile that sent Jon’s heart racing in his chest.

Maybe he’d known before that, that he was a little bit in love with Martin Blackwood. But the first sip of that tea had solidified it into a flower that blossomed within him, growing ever bigger with every smile and cup of tea and teasing remark.

Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the way Martin says his name, like he’s learning it again for the first time. He never, ever wants to stop hearing him say it.

The tea warms Jon from the inside out and tastes like spring mornings and summer sunsets and Martin, Martin, Martin. With the lingering taste of rosehip on his lips, Jon says, “It… it reminds me of you.”

Martin makes a small, choked noise. “Y- yeah? Does… does that mean it’s good?”

Softly, Jon says, “How could it not be?”

“Oh,” Martin says, just as softly. And, well. It seems as good an opening as any.

“You know, I- I never really liked tea before I visited your shop the first time. It served a- a utilitarian function, so to speak, a slightly more palatable caffeinated alternative to coffee. I’d always just get black—whatever was cheapest—and try to pretend like I didn’t hate it.” Jon lets out a small laugh. “Gerry used to joke that I wasn’t a real Englishman.

So—and forgive me when I say this, Martin, I- I really do know better now—I didn’t come into your shop with the… highest expectations. I honestly think I just chose at random from the menu—your selection is quite extensive, Martin, much as you seem insistent on expanding it every other week. But I- well, to say it was a life-changing experience would probably be a touch excessive, but it- it did change me. Er, a bit.”

Jon swallows, ignores the little curl of embarrassment in his stomach, and continues, “I- I made it a mission, if I’m being honest. I thought, maybe it’s just the one. Maybe I- I just got lucky, found the- the one kind of tea that I like. So I came back the next day and got a different one. And it was good.” Jon laughs, a bit breathily, and says, “They’re all good, Martin. Even- even the kinds I don’t like, the- the herbals and anything with peppermint, they… they’re still good, in their own way.” Jon hesitates, only a moment, before deciding that if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. “I still don’t know if I like tea, but… but I like your tea, Martin.”

Martin is staring at him with wide eyes, and Jon curls his fingers around the mug in front of him so he won’t lose his nerve. The warmth seeps through his palms, a comforting presence, and he lets out a small breath to relieve the tension. “I- I like the way you notice what I like, the- the flavors and the kinds of leaves, things I- I don’t really understand. I like the way you smile at me, when- when I tell you I like one of your blends, and- and the way you say my name. I like the way you talk about poetry, and even though I- I’ve never understood the appeal of it before, I… I want to.”

Jon tries not to let his hands shake as he reaches over and retrieves the book he’d been leafing through earlier, the small scrap of paper still stuck in between the pages to mark his place. “I- I’m not very good at…” He trails off and waves his hand in the air, gesturing at Martin and then himself and trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. “And I- I wanted to write you a poem.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, as they bring with them a hot flush of embarrassment, augmented by the way Martin’s mouth parts slightly in shock, and he continues quickly, “But, er. I thought this might be preferable.”

He flips the book open to the marked page, takes a precious few seconds to attempt to steady his breathing, and begins to read.

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,

And sweet is the voice in its greeting,

When adieus have grown old and goodbyes

Fade away where old Time is retreating.

Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand,

And earnest a kiss on the brow,

When we meet over sea and o’er land

Where furrows are new to the plough.

After he finishes, there’s a few moments of silence before Martin says, quietly, his voice cracking around the words, “But… but that’s Keats. You hate Keats.”

It’s true; Keats is a bit too old-fashioned for even his tastes, and half of his poems sound like frivolous drivel. But even still, Jon had picked up the Keats book as soon as it had arrived, had skimmed it over and over, had carefully chosen the best poem he could find for his purposes, because…

“But you like him. And… and I like you. It’s- it’s not personalized tea blends, but I… I wanted to give you something. To- to show that.” Jon runs his thumb along the edge of the page, a nervous motion prompted by the steady increase of his heartbeat. “And- and maybe to ask if you… wanted to get dinner sometime? With, er. With me.” Of course with you, you’re the one who’s asking him.

Jon opens his mouth again, not entirely sure what he’s planning on saying but certain that it’ll end in another stuttering mess of embarrassment, when Martin’s voice cuts him off.

“Yes.”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut so quickly his teeth click together. “Yes?” he says, so quietly it’s barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Martin laughs; it’s a beautiful sound, like the twinkling of wind chimes and the tweeting of birds at dawn and the whistling of the wind through tree branches. “Yes, Jon, I- I’d love to get dinner with you.” He laughs again before pressing his hand over his mouth, hiding that smile that Jon adores so much. His words devolve into giggles a few more times before he manages to say, “Christ, sorry, I- I’m just… happy.” He removes his hand then and looks at Jon, a new, shy smile upon his lips that Jon’s never seen before but that he immediately holds close to his chest to treasure forever. “I’m just happy.”

Martin leaves eventually, and Jon presses the Keats book into his hands as he goes, letting his fingers linger on Martin’s skin for a moment before they part. The tea is still hot when Jon takes another sip, rose and peach and almond blooming across his tongue, and he feels his lips curl into a smile, wide and giddy, against the lip of the mug.

The bookshop smells like roses and paper and ink and Martin, Martin, Martin.

It smells like home.

[sailorshadzter]

Prompt: Joffrey reveals himself to be a monster to her towards the start of the stay at Winterfell .Knowing that her parents cant reject the match between herself and the Crown Prince without repercussions,she stages a kidnapping and slips herself into the group heading to the Wall. Maybe she cuts off her hair/dyes her hair/steals some of Brans clothes.Kinda like a Mulan AU I guess?

OOOOOH WOW

this is one of those asks that i have to scroll for a minute to get to!!! but i got to it!!! IM SORRY ITS TAKEN ME SO VERY LONG but inspiration strikes when it strikes. anyways, i might come out with a part 2 / dont tempt me to make this into another au i never finish but man the idea is GOOD.

anyways

i hope it was worth the wait.

As the night begins to dawn, Sansa Stark finds it hard to keep both feet on the ground.

She's lovestruck, falling hard for the golden haired Baratheon prince that's been put before her. With his charming good looks and regal posture, he's enough to make any maiden's heart flutter. In truth, even now with Joffrey and his parents, the King and Queen of the Iron Throne there in her own home, she's finding it hard to believe that she, she, of all people, will be the one to marry the prince. That someday she might be a queen as beautiful as his mother, Cersei Lannister, who smiles so sweetly whenever they meet, who speaks so tenderly, who upon after the betrothal was made official, calls her daughter, as if she so truly were.

"Come my lady, let us take one last walk." It's Joffrey now, bending over his arm in a bow as he approaches where she sits among the other young ladies of Winterfell. They erupt in giggles around her as she blushes to the roots of her hair but nods all the same, reaching out her hand to take his, allowing him to help her up onto her feet. Though she glances towards her mother, who sits engaged in conversation with her father and the King himself, Joffrey tugs on her hand and she can do nothing else besides follow after him. She knows it's inappropriate for her and the prince to sneak off alone like this, but she can't help but to excitedly wonder if he means only to steal her away for a private kiss. Besides, they are to be married in only a few short weeks, so what harm would it do?

They walk together out into the moonlit night, a surprising chill to the air that sends a shiver down her spine. If Joffrey notices, he does not speak on it, rather he continues to lead her through the courtyard where only a handful of guards and nobility mingle. It was astonishing just how many people came along with the King and his family and Sansa isn't certain there would ever be a way to remember all of their names. Along the back, they step into the gardens, the darkening sky pierced by the soft white light of the moon. "I will miss the moonlight of the North," she says as they fall to a stop before the brimming fountain, her lips curving with a smile. "But I suppose I will love it all the more whenever we return."

At her words, Joffrey turns, his expression not one she's seen before. It's not confusion, but rather, it looks like anger. No, it is something far beyond anger, and it frightens her down to her very core. Startled, Sansa begins to stammer an apology, but Joffrey silences her with a wave of his hand. "Return?" He scoffs, looking from her back towards Winterfell and back again. "We'll not be returning here once we leave," he goes on, shaking his head with a scathing sort of laugh that is far more chilling than the wind had been.

"Y-your pardon, I only meant... When we visit..."

"Did you not hear me, my lady... Once we leave here in two days, we shall not be returning. Not you and certainly not me. You will be my queen and you will stay South, where you belong." A strange feeling is creeping up within her; it's cold, it's deep, and it's so very dark. There is something about the way Joffrey says this that she knows it to be true. She realizes then, quite suddenly, that if she leaves with him as intended, she will never again return to Winterfell. She swallows. This isn't right, she thinks, he musn't mean it.

"I know the North is not entirely to your pleasure, but it is my home... I can't imagine never returning," she smiles, hoping her easy going tone is not lost to the shaking of her voice. "You may even grow to enjoy it here, if you give it a chance..." To her horror, Joffrey's hands shoot up and for a single instance, she thinks he means to strike her, but rather he takes hold of her by the upper arms, his grip like a vice. "M-my lord, you're h-hurting me," she whimpers, staring up into Joffrey's blazing eyes.

He leans in close to her, as close as he might have done for the kiss she had once hoped he'd bestow upon her, and breathes a simple reply. "Bid your home farewell, sweetheart, for we ride south in the morning." His grip lessens and then, he lets go entirely, taking a single step back from where she stands. The morning? She thinks, these words sinking in, realizing now that though she'd been told it would be another day before leaving... Evidently, someone had decided that there was no need to stay another night and no one had chosen to tell her. She wonders if this is cruelty on Joffrey's part or kindness of her parents, hoping to spare her the pain of knowing it was her last night home. Either way, it matters not, because she knows there's no way she can go South.

Not ever.

[ x x x ]

As she lays in bed, Sansa can do little else but stare at the ceiling above her bed and wish to be someone else. If she were anybody else, she would not be marrying the prince, and she would not be leaving home. Sansa had tried to explain her feelings to her mother, who had merely laughed and said it was nervous jitters. I had them, too, before I married your father, Cat Stark had said as she brushed out her daughter's hair for bed one last time. The next time she brushed this head of hair, it would be for her wedding day. The longer she spent with her mother that evening, the more Sansa realized she could not simply back out of this wedding. Sansa was not a stupid girl, though Arya might have argued differently, and she knew of the trouble brewing between the families. Between the kingdoms. She's overheard enough whispers and listened to enough speculation between her brothers to know that war was a very real possibility- some said only the good friendship between the Baratheon king and their father was what kept them safe. Sansa also knows, even just from the words spoken during their betrothal, that her marriage with Joffrey solidified the peace between them.

And yet...

The longer she thinks about it, the more she knows that despite it all, she cannot ride South. She knows of the stories, the ones of what happens to Stark men that go to King's Landing... What was stopping something terrible from happening to her as well? There had to be a way, there just had to be a way to free her from this wedding and ultimately, the prison King's Landing was certain to be.

It's just as she's resigning herself to her misery that something comes to her.

One of the stories she had read as a young girl, a story of a princess taken in the dead of night by an evil lord. Said princess was to be rescued by her true love, a shining knight of virtue that rides in on his white horse. And more is coming- it's not just her that is to leave on the morrow- but Jon, as well. Jon, her bastard brother, was being sent to the wall to join the Knight's Watch. He certainly would not be her knight, but if she could somehow slip in among him and the others heading out... Yes, it might possibly work.

But if it's going to work, she must work fast, as she knows the men are set to leave before morning light. And so she leaps from her bed and pulls on her dressing robe. It is late into the night, hours still from the morning call, but there is always the fear of a guard or even her father discovering her out of bed at such an hour. But she says a silent prayer to the Old Gods and then tiptoes from her room.

[ x x x ]

When the morning call comes, she's already gone, a single note hastily scratched in writing she hopes looks entirely unlike her own penmanship.

She's been gone well over an hour by then, for just as she had planned, she manages to slip away among those leaving for the Knight's Watch. With an old cloak draped over her shoulders, she keeps the hood up, shielding from those around her the red hair she's so well known for. Before leaving, she managed to snag some old breeches and shirt from the laundry, and she's braided her hair and tucked it up as much as she could. Luckily for her, she's mostly ignored by the other men, aside from one man who growls at her when she bumps into him halfway into the morning that first day.

The group walks for hours; far longer than she's certainly ever walked at one time. She's tired and she's hungry and she hurts in places she's never hurt before. But, there is a strange sense of warmth comes over her as she settles into a place of her own, away from the others, nearer to the river that runs through the forest. With no knowledge of how to build a fire, Sansa is thankful for the warmth of the summer night and hungry as she is, realizes she's far more tired than anything else. After a sleepless night and endless walking, she will forgo food if only it means she can sleep.

And so she wanders closer to the water's edge, where there beneath the canopy of darkness, she finally lowers her hood.

From where he watches, Jon finds himself intrigued by what he sees.

He can't really say what draws him to follow the hooded figure out to the river beyond simple curioisity. But now as he watches, he sees hands pulling what certainly must be pins from hair and to his shock, long hair comes tumbling down. Now he's really curious.

And just then, a cloud above them shifts and the moonlight illuminates her.

The red hair is vibrant, the pale moonlight weaving between the strands like ribbons. He's stunned, but his foot snaps a twig all the same. When she whips around, it's steel blue eyes he finds himself staring into and Jon wonders, despite sixteen years beneath the same roof as her, he's never noticed that look within her eyes. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips before he can stop it and he realizes now that she is quite like a deer in the crosshairs, a creature torn between fight and flight.

She can't believe this.

Her fleeting sense of safety has fled, vanished into the night the moment those Stark gray eyes settled upon her. Of course, she can't now understand how she ever expected to avoid Jon forever, but she had hoped to at least be further out than this when they did meet. "Jon," she greets, taking a step away from the river and closer to where he stands. The moonlight is bright and it illuminates Jon in a way that makes her blink, makes her think. "Please..." It's the only plea she can offer, the only words that in this moment, seem right to say.

Jon studies her for a long moment; all things considered, she must have had a good reason to come. Sansa Stark wasn't the type to just... Throw it all away without a reason. Her dream of marriage to a prince was to come true, after all. Her golden haired Prince Joffrey had arrived in Winterfell only days before; a smug, ugly sort of kid that had grown tall, taller than even Robb, but one that had stolen Sansa's heart all the same. Jon wonders what could have made her do what she'd done. "I won't," he promises suddenly, earnestly.

Her face relaxes, she smiles.

She feels safe once again and it is far warmer than it was before.

[lightdancer1]

A reworked scene from the Fire Sage AU:

Prince Zuko was exceptionally proud of himself, and even his father was likewise. It was one of the few times he'd seen his father smile when he returned with the Avatar, who looked glum. Father had warned him not to ram the ship into the ice, and out of familiarity with his father's temper and the ease he could go from bad to worse with it he had complied. And now here. Lala would grow old and die with Aunt Hino in the Temple of Roku, far removed from war or fame. He felt contempt and pity in its own ways, because who could imagine scholarly bookish Azula as an actual fighter? You might as well imagine those two old bats who'd trained him in Firebending as young and pretty.

He still wondered what she, as a Fire Sage, would have made of things. The strange woman who'd appeared on the ship and was clearly spirit-touched, wearing a robe of crimson with golden fringes and only drinking a strong liquor with a faint taste of honey. The Avatar, not an old man and powerful, but a little boy. A boy who'd chosen to turn himself in to save a few savages, for what little that was worth. They were almost at the cell he intended to put the Avatar in when he'd yelped in shock. The strange woman was there and the Avatar was looking at her with horror and a strange kind of familiarity and his eyes were going from brown to grey and slowly and imperceptibly to white.

The woman had always been dark skinned, very dark. The darkest he'd ever seen or imagined and her long hair was red, a color he'd never imagined either. Now he and his Uncle, two Firebenders, were sweating profusely from a terrible heat. It was when he looked at her that he realized something of why the Avatar was panicking, her eyes that had never been too easy to see and this was one of many things that led to visible unease were burning pools of molten heat, her smile far too wide along her face. The metal around them was beginning to turn molten and he could see her feet were bare and what was worse, there were claws that dug into the metal. She seemed to move or breathe and the air rasped with the motion as her lips parted and she spoke.

You have awakened, Raava. It begins.

"Who are you?"

His question was a harsh one.

"This is a Royal ship of the Fire Nation and where my Uncle might not have cared about a stranger here, I do."

She held up a hand that had turned a deep inhuman dark hue lit by rippling elements of reddish light and a single clawed finger. The claw was wickedly sharp and looked easily able to tear steel if it had wished.

Be silent, boy. This is a matter for your betters. Your father indulges you because he is seeking to please his brother the Fire Lord. I will not.

"I am a Prince of the Fire Nation, and a warr-" He was abruptly held upside down by a clawed hand that gripped his angles deceptively lightly.

If you want to keep that mouth, boy, you will be wise and you will depart. There are words that are to be spoken and plans centuries ancient to be fulfilled. Little children who are the lesser sons of lesser fathers do not have places in these stories.

Then there was light in the right hand of a man who strode into the room with a bored disinterest as Prince Ozai stepped into the room.

"Unhand my son, spirit."

Zuko fell all right as the entity turned from the Avatar to the Fire Lord, a lip curling and then for a moment she was a figure of strangely draconic shape, horns lit with bright blue flames and eyes shining like pools of lava. In a sudden flash of light they were within their quarters and the door was locked with the lock melted and solidified as a twisted and jagged angle of metal.

The being turned back to the Avatar, clad in dark golden armor.

"I know you."

Aang's voice was that of an older man.

I would say you do, Kuruk. You sought to slay me in the Spirit World.

The entity's grin was wider still and the scabbard dented the metal as she leaned down on it.

I found it, the tree you were so intent to stop me from finding. Wards that have held for ten thousand years are indeed formidable.

She leaned forward slightly and the Avatar would find himself sunburned from proximity to that heat.

But I am a breaker of worlds and of gods. Angra Mainyu will fall.

"Angra Mainyu?"

The entity gave him an unpleasant smile.

I am telling you my plans, Avatar, as there is nothing you or anyone or anything in this world can do to stop them. Yangchen fell to my blade. So did Kuruk. I am of the realm known as the Home of the World-Destroyers. It is a name that we have earned. By our fires the ice was parted and the Gods that brought forth nine realms were able to be born.

We are slayers of gods and the annihilators of life. And that is without my other gifts and the other half of my being.

For a moment she stood then tall and splendid as a woman of darkness with skin that pulsed with an eerie molten hue.

All Gods die at our blades, Raava.

[abberant-butler]

Peace

Barbatos, Luke. Word count: 693 😌💕

Although Luke may never have been able to say it out loud, the excitement on the young angel’s face was always evident when he arrived for a new lesson. Those bright blue eyes sparkled all the way from the foyer to the kitchen as Barbatos explained what they would be doing that day. Even for the usually reserved butler, it was hard not to smile at the fledgling’s enthusiasm.

“Does that mean we’re going to make the crust this time, too?” A few over exaggerated steps that were nearly jumps punctuated the angel’s question.

“I intend to show you how, yes. However the resting period is usually overnight, so I have also prepared a couple of crusts for us to use so we may practice the filling as well. Then you’ll have something to take home.”

Luke began to explain all about how Simeon had told him to stop keeping the results of his baking practice in Purgatory Hall. Only so much could ever hope to be eaten, and it was a shame to waste good treats. Conveniently the Avatar of Gluttony was also a rather well-behaved guest when he wasn’t promised more than was delivered, and Luke talked on and on about the schedule he had with Beelzebub to pick up any left-over sweets. What a long way the fledgling had come. Barbatos kept his pace measured as they walked down the halls, but from time to time even the demon found his hips swaying playfully along with Luke’s when the angel got to a particularly passionate part of the story. It usually included Beelzebub eating something whole, however it no longer carried the undercurrent of horror. The lack of Simeon’s dutiful presence also cemented a warm realization in Barbatos; Luke trusted him.

As usual for their lessons, the kitchen had been laid out with pre-measured ingredients surrounding their stations. Luke’s station had a step stool in front of it that matched the metal of the countertops so as not to draw attention to itself. Barbatos had installed it after their first lesson when he observed the angel struggling to see what was going into the bowl. He’d never directly mentioned it. Neither had Luke, even as the angel excitedly lifted himself up, rocking even further forward onto his toes to look over everything on the counter.

“I thought you said we were making a human-world apple pie?”

“We are, yes.”

“Then why are there lemons?”

“I’ve chosen tart apples, which will be balanced by the citrus of the lemons and the sweetness of the sugar. It’s not very traditional, but it is something unique which I don’t think many humans or angels have often had.” Even with Barbatos’ explanation, Luke looked rather unsure. “Think of it as an exercise of trust. Sometimes the bitter things in life can become sweet with kind effort and direction.”

This was what seemed to settle the angel enough that they could begin their task. Removing his gloves, Barbatos was surrounded by the lingering history of warm sun and swift harvest, of brief brushes with human life and effort. He always tried to use imports for baking with Luke. It was a nice way to solidify his own skills with the foreign food, and to assure the young angel that nothing cursed or wicked had worked its way into the treats he liked to give out as gifts. The expense of it was easily written off as a necessity for the exchange program.

As always, Luke was observant and thorough in his questions and replication. Barbatos tried to go slow enough for the fledgling to predict his movements and even ‘lead’ from time to time, just so he could hear that bubbly laugh and watch those bright eyes. How strange to find the angel so changed from when he’d first arrived. Stranger still for Barbatos to realize how fond he’d grown as well. Watching Luke lean in close to meticulously crimp the edges of his pie, and painstakingly cut out some stars to put on top of the crust before brushing it all down, Barbatos saw the first real glimpse of Prince Diavolo’s plans; peace.

Tart Apple and Lemon Pie

(Mun note: pie crust is best formed half in math and half in magic. I leave that up to you. Store-bought is also fine.)

Filling:

5-6 tart apples (about 6ish cups sliced) 2 tbsp all-purpose flour 1/3 cup packed brown sugar (dark or light) 1/2 fresh lemon, sliced into thin rounds, seeds removed 1 tablespoon butter cut into small cubes

Preheat oven to 425F. Roll out one circle of pie crust and place into pie dish. (Do not stretch the dough). Make sure to gently guide it into the corners of the plate. Set aside until ready to fill.

Peel, core, and slice apples. Place in a large mixing bowl. Thinly slice half a lemon into rounds. Cut each round in half, remove the seeds. Add the lemon to the apples. Add the flour and brown sugar to the mixing bowl and gently toss to coat. If you have very tart apples, taste to check sweetness levels. If needed, add sugar as necessary.

Pour the apple filling into the pie dish, forming a mound in the center of the pie. Dot the filling with the butter cubes.

Roll out the top crust and place over the pie filling. Trim excess and crimp the edges.

Bake the pie on the middle rack for 15 minutes at 425 F, and then  (without opening the oven)  reduce the temperature to 375 F and bake an additional 45 minutes until the crust is golden. Check the pie approximately 15 minutes before the cooking time is up and tent the edges with foil or a pie protector to prevent excess browning.

[teiasviago]

une nouvelle vie, chapter 2

AO3 | @frogsmulder

Heedless of the rumors, the pair have Lily’s belongings transferred to Selden’s flat within the week; they reminisce over the dress she wore during the Brys’ tableaux and meld what little she owns with his. When all is said and done, he disappears for a day on “urgent business” with a chaste kiss accompanying his farewell. He returns at the end of the day with a small jeweler’s box in tow and presents its contents with an uncontainable grin. Selden slides the ring onto the appropriate finger, explaining how he has spent the last week searching for the perfect one and finally chose this particular engagement ring because the gem set within it is the same color as her eyes—a soft blue.

“We’ll invite Gerty and Carry Fisher, of course,” Lily says, her beauty incomparable due to her happiness as she gazes down at the ring. “We shall need their help to plan it.”

Selden laughs softly. “And here I was prepared to take you to the courthouse tomorrow,” he divulges. “We have more than enough for a dress, if you care to go looking with Mrs. Fisher.”

She presses a kiss to his lips and squeezes his hand. “I’ll write Carry now to see when she is available, but I believe Gerty should be the first to know. We should do her the honor of visiting her flat tomorrow to give her the news.”

He nods and lets her hand go, but seems to recall something and begins to dig inside his pockets, eventually procuring a key. “Here. This is your copy.” Selden takes one of her hands and sets the key on her palm, folding her fingers over it. “This is your home as much as mine, now.”

Lily softens her smile and nods before looping their arms together. “Have you eaten supper today in your rush to procure an engagement ring?”

Selden purses his lips in slight embarrassment. “I must confess, the thought slipped my mind.”

She shakes her head with a wry smile and leads him to the kitchen. “You’re in luck: your neighbor across the hall was kind enough to welcome me with a gift of food not three hours ago. I’ll warm it up for you.”

He smiles as he sheds his overclothes, leaving an acceptable layer on should anyone come by, despite the chances being slim. “You’re too perfect, my dearest.”

“I could say the same of you.”

—

Lily’s letter to Carry is vague enough so that her friend has no idea what the occasion for their meet-up is, but is sprinkled with clues and tidbits to whet Mrs. Fisher’s appetite. You must come to my townhouse at once! she writes back. I will arrive there within the week and there you shall spill all of your secrets to me. You do know how I love knowledge of people’s life developments.

Thus, a week later finds Lily at her friend’s sprawling house on the outskirts of the city. “Miss Bart!” Carry Fisher exclaims, looking as radiant as ever. She embraces Lily before leading her into her sitting room. “You simply must give me the news! I heard that you are no longer at the boarding house and that you were seen last with Mr. Selden!”

Lily cannot keep the grin from her face as she responds: “It is news of the greatest import and joy, my friend: I’m to be married!”

“Oh, Lily, that is wonderful! To whom? Mr. Rosedale? I would not have thought it in his repertoire of actions considering that h—”

Lily cuts her friend off by placing her own hands over Carry’s. “Not Rosedale, Carry. Selden.” And after a brief pause: “For love.”

Mrs. Fisher’s eyes grow wide preceding her leaning towards Miss Bart conspiratorially. “Lawrence Selden? For love? Goodness! Lily, if I had known of your reciprocated affections between you and Mr. Selden I would have proposed a match between the two of you as one to pick up on when all others soured. And from where I now sit, I see that had that occurred, much of your suffering could have been prevented. Do tell me how it could have taken you so long to act on your emotions! You have been close with Mr. Selden for so long now!”

Lily shakes her head, a small and demure smile playing across her lips. “My dearest Lawrence has helped me to see the life before me for what it is, and I have realized that I never would have been satisfied with a marriage without love. It would have been dismal, Carry! I may have had in my possession the finest of silks and the most ostentatious of jewelries but I would never have known what it is like to return home to the arms of the man one loves. There is nothing like it. I hope that you may find a happiness such as this one day, my friend.”

Carry smiles softly. “Today is centered around you! You very well could have written to me of the news; there must be something more you have to say to me.”

“There is: I cannot very well plan a wedding all on my own. I should like to enlist your help. I have already brought my dearest friend from my childhood, Gerty Farish, into this knowledge for the purpose of planning the event.”

As she had proposed to her fiancé, Lily visited her friend the next day and supplied her with the excellent news, at once bombarding Gerty with questions as to whether the women of her club might be interested in attending and if she would be so kind as to take care of the guest list, seeing as she has hardly anyone left who can be safely referred to as a friend. And Gerty had agreed, offering congratulations.

“I am happy that you have found peace, Lily,” she had said.

“And I am happy to be sharing it with you,” Lily had said back.

“Oh, Lily!” Carry exclaims at present, eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of planning her friend’s wedding. “Your marriage to Selden will be the most wondrous affair, and it will be the talk of the city! I will make sure of it so that the likes of the Trenors and the Gryces and the Van Osburghs shall all be jealous of yours and Selden’s happiness.”

“I do not want you to think that the affair need be ostentatious—we are inviting only a select few, after all.”

Mrs. Fisher tempers herself with concerted effort. “Of course, Lily! Ostentatious is nothing you need worry yourself with. I shall plan the perfect wedding. May I assume that you had guests in mind before you arrived?”

“You may.”

“Then I know what my role is to be!”

“Our first order of business is my dress, I should think,” Miss Bart suggests. “Lawrence conveyed that our finances can be dipped into for one.” Lily blushes and continues: “I should like to think that his jaw will drop when he sees me, Carry. I should like to feel beautiful for another day.”

“You have been beautiful every day of your existence, Lily, and continue that pattern. Do not be silly.”

The two women then plunge into their calendars and decide upon a date on which they will travel to Carry’s modiste to have Lily measured and discern which—if any—dresses are to her liking. Mrs. Fisher assures her friend that financing the wedding in part is the least she can do upon Lily worrying over the possible prices.

“I cannot thank you enough, Carry,” she says when the planning is done.

“Seeing you happy is thanks enough.”

—

In the whirlwind of the next two months, Lily and Selden’s wedding is planned. The venue is chosen, the dress is tailored, and the wedding party is formed; when the June date makes itself apparent on the week’s calendar, the bride and groom separate.

“I’ll miss you every moment you are gone,” Selden swears, holding Lily’s hand in his own.

“‘Tis only for a night, Lawrence,” she tells him, yet her lips are quirked in an affectionate smile.

“The invariable facts of time seem not to apply when faced against the incomparable magnitude of my love for you.” He brings her hand to his lips and lets her leave for Gerty’s flat.

Tomorrow will solidify Lily’s decision from several months ago to finally give in and marry Selden. And, not to her surprise, she feels no trepidation towards the act of becoming legally tied to Lawrence Selden. In fact, she looks forward to the prospect of being his wife and he her husband—quite possibly elated, even.

[megashadowdragon]

What Noctis Learned: a tl;dr essay

So I've been thinking about this for a while and seeing so many posts/articles/character analysis on this game has finally prompted me to put it down in words. This is going to be a giant spoiler for the whole game so if you haven't finished it or Episode Ardyn yet then do that before reading this.

Everybody good? Okay.

I've heard lots of people look at FFXV as a coming of age story, with the main character changing and growing from a somewhat lackluster teenager to a responsible adult and in some respects that's absolutely right. It is a story about Noctis' growth from a reluctant and poor leader into a Kingly King like his dad (get it? Regis? Kingly King?). But then people usually follow that up with stating that Noctis started out as a selfish guy who didn't appreciate his friends thought he was too good for them and....wha? Were we playing the same game? Were we watching the same story?

Noctis has always appreciated his friends. Noctis has never thought he was better than them. That was never his issue. In fact, the issue is somewhat the opposite problem. Here me out:

The lesson Noctis needed to learn was about sacrifice. Not just self-sacrifice, although that's certainly part of it. But the heavy burden of sacrifice that only Rulers experience. He needed to learn how to sacrifice others or let them sacrifice themselves for the greater good. The theme was laced throughout the game from the beginning.

Everyone sees Regis as a great King. What makes him so great, though? Well, he knows how and when to sacrifice, not only himself but others for the sake of the future. He takes on the burden of knowing that people are dying for him, and for his kingdom. The Crystal is just a big old reminder of that burden, and so is the Wall, a physical representation of what it means to sacrifice.

Everything outside the Wall has been sacrificed to the enemy so that everything within the Wall may have peace. And then when it's revealed that Regis must sacrifice his only son in order to save the world, he accepts that burden too. He also accepts than in order to let his son realize his destiny, all of Insomnia must be sacrificed.

When Noctis rages at Cor in the tomb, it's because he doesn't agree with his father's sacrifice, both of himself and Insomnia, in order to save Noctis. He doesn't accept that noble burden. He rejects it and is plainly not ready to take his rightful place as ruler. He sees that a bunch of people just died for him, including his family members, and he doesn't think he was worth that sacrifice at all.

When Gladio demands to know before the fight with Titan if Noctis is "of Royal blood or not" it's because he feels the weight of his own father's sacrifice and needs Noctis to understand that he is ready and willing to do the same. If you'll note in the scene, this happens after Noctis has recklessly tried to dart ahead of Gladio and prevent him from doing his job (i.e. shielding and sacrificing his own body for the King) and he wants it reaffirmed in Noct's mind to accept that duty. To accept that yes, he might actually need Gladio to die for him and since Gladio's going to that extent he needs to know that Noctis will actually be worthy of that sacrifice and continue on to fulfill his destiny.

Luna's sacrifice in Altissia, followed by Ignis' blinding and then his moment of doubt where he actually asks Noctis to halt their journey basically represents the lowest point for Noctis, where all his fears seem justified. Noctis fears that he's actually not special or "chosen" at all, he can't save everyone, he couldn't even save the one person he thought he was meant to save, and now Ignis who already sacrificed his eyesight for him is voicing out loud his fear that all this sacrifice might be too high a cost.

So Noctis falters. He doesn't put on the ring. He doesn't head for the Crystal right away. And Gladio becomes upset, not because he thinks Noctis doesn't care about Ignis, but because him not pushing on despite the sacrifice kind of renders it pointless. And Gladio doesn't know that Ignis himself kind of tipped the scales on Noctis' reluctance to sacrifice others for the good of the kingdom here.

Then Prompto gets yeeted off the train, Gralea happens and the sacrifice of Noctis' last real link to his dad, the Regalia. And Noctis has to go it on his own, using the ring's power to survive, and here's where people like to say that being without his friends makes Noctis appreciate them. But I think being without his friends actually makes Noctis realize that he HAS to continue on without them, that his destiny still needs to happen with or without his friends and family surviving to see it. He's starting to accept the true burden of being a leader.

The scenario before he enters the Crystal has him needing to choose between fighting with his friends or possibly leaving them to die in order to fulfill his Calling. Ardyn taunts him with this choice, calling him selfish for abandoning his friends.

Ardyn himself never learned the lesson of sacrifice, which started the entire problem in the first place. As a healer, he refused to accept the deaths of others, and thus kept taking more and more Scourge into himself rather then letting a single person be sacrificed, even to the point where it would damage the future envisioned by the Gods. While we're obviously supposed to regard Somnus as the other end of the extreme; sacrificing people pointlessly for his own gain, I don't think we are supposed to view Ardyn's refusal to sacrifice anyone as a good alternative either. A good leader is supposed to know when and how much to sacrifice for the good of the nation, so when the Crystal rejects Ardyn it's because he hasn't learned how to sacrifice.

So we get to the timeskip, Noctis baked in the Crystal and now he's all done and ready to accept the true burden of being King. No turning back, no preventing his bros from sacrificing their own lives for the effort, no changing his mind about whether it's "worth it" or not. Noctis finally learned the burden of sacrificing for the future, one that he won't get to be a part of.

Originally, the Lucis Caelum line was meant to be a sect that worships Etro, Goddess of Death. Some remnants of the story still show this, what with the Ring of the Lucii requiring blood sacrifice or at least a sacrifice of lifeforce in order to gain its power, the theme of skulls and the significance of the colour black for the royal family.

All this long rambling is meant to say is that FFXV is a story about the main character learning how to accept the burden of noble sacrifice and not really about a lazy slacker learning how to stop whining and appreciate his friends.

source: www . reddit . com/r/FFXV/comments/ol3te6/spoilers_for_the_entire_game_what_noctis_learned/

comments :

Noctis's lesson is also exemplified when he has to encourage his own dad to deal the final blow that sends him to the void. It mirrors Noct's own reluctance, and the choice to push onward anyway, when the sacrifice feels too great to bear. It solidifies the fact that he deserves his seat on the throne.

I agree overall, though I'm also inclined to think that sacrifice itself is intended to throw value judgments into the starkest possible relief by demanding the loss of a lesser good for the sake of a greater good.

Regis makes the astoundingly vast sacrifices that he does because the salvation offered by the Chosen King is the greatest available good. And it takes Noct a long time to understand that because his value judgments are off -- he can't bear being responsible for the loss of an individual even if the alternative is the loss of every individual.

And yes, I think that Noct's choice to let his friends hold off the daemons while he went ahead to reach the Crystal is the point where he truly understands what's required of him... and that it is a very effective reflection of the difference between the point he had finally reached and Ardyn's continuing rejection of that dynamic.

One interesting thing about Ardyn is that he is willing to sacrifice others for his plans, but his value judgments are still really wonky. He went from valuing individual persons to such an extent that he risked being completely ineffective to valuing nothing but himself and his own desire for revenge. Somnus' value judgments are wonky, too, of course, because he over-values his own ambition.

As for the ultimate conclusion of Noct's growth, he develops a quiet confidence in his value judgments that allows him to take risks and accept sacrifice without second thoughts. ("A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.") Just before he ascends the throne, his friends have to stay behind to cover for him again... and he doesn't think twice about allowing them to fulfill their duty by doing so. Then he willingly endures an agonizing self-sacrifice knowing that doing so will bring about the much greater good of the world's salvation.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

hiya !! i love you lots and lots !!💖 all your writing is absolute gold 🥺💕💕💕 your answers are so detailed and sweet, makes my heart go doki doki — if you’re still taking requests & it’s not too much trouble could i ask for C U Y for mozart perhaps ? many a thank 💖💕💖💕💖💕

Hello!! Omg of course you can sweetheart, thank you for such sweet praise! I do my best, I hope you enjoy these answers for our dearest Mozart~ 💖💖💖 Ily3!! it’s always a pleasure to see you!!! :D 💕💕💕

I placed a cut before the last one because it was long, but all you need to do is click to see the rest! All wholesome, no content warnings ;)

(These are so long you can hear the Mozart stan in me OTL the limit of my Wolfie love does not exist)

Fluffy ABC Headcanons listed here for requests!

C = Cuddling (how does he like to cuddle?)

(Awwwww shit, I’m softe ;-;)

Mozart tends to be a very private man about his love, so I don’t see him cuddling too much in any kind of public space. The only exception to this rule, however, is that blasted carriage! Though he’s a little mortified he needs comforting, he will melt into MC’s arms when they have a particularly bumpy/bad carriage ride. Usually he’ll try to content himself with holding her hand, or just chatting with her--leaning his head close to her shoulder. But she seems to sense how overwhelmed he is this time; how his hands are locked together to conceal their shaking, his jaw visibly tightening. She’ll draw him into her, settling his head against her shoulder/chest--right where he can hear her heartbeat. He’ll freeze at first before he sinks into her embrace, arms wrapping around her waist. His ears are burning with color, his fair skin easily revealing a blush, but she knows now isn’t the time to tease him about it. His breathing will calm bit by bit, and he’ll settle quickly as his grip around her tightens a little. He’s pouting but it’s clear just how much he needed this, murmuring “Danke, Meine Liebe.” She just drops a kiss to the side of his head, signalling there’s no need for any shyness or thanks, she’s happy to do it after all c;

Another way I see them cuddling is at night in their bed no sexy times, get your head out of the gutter kids. Usually he’ll be doing revisions and composing well into the night, mulling over possible adjustments and melodies single-mindedly. He’ll be sitting up against the headboard, sheet music in his lap as he reviews each page. He loves it when she just climbs into bed and settles against him; whether that means fully climbing into his arms and resting against his chest, or just laying her head against his stomach/lap. He’ll smile fondly and stroke her hair, letting the smooth texture calm him into clarity as she dozes off. These are the moments when inspiration finds him most powerfully, the lovely sight of his muse working wonders.

U = Upset (how does he act when she’s upset?)

Oh my god send help, send help he needs some milk!!! 

All jokes aside, I truly think Mozart is at a loss at the sight of her upset ;-;. If he’s not the source of the distress, he immediately goes into comfort and resolution mode. He will try to calm her with all the sensitivity she deserves, offering a hanky and holding her close if she’s crying. He hates to see her cry, but he also understands that in this moment she needs to let it all out, to just feel it through before they can do the work of fixing things. He'll murmur sweet nothings--not that he wants her to stop crying--but that he’s here for her, that it’s all going to be okay and that’s a promise. When she’s ready to talk or feeling up to sharing he will listen intently, silent as a grave, until she’s communicated her feelings. 

When she feels heard and comforted, only then will he ask her to wait a moment. He’ll return with freshly made hot cocoa--only the best for Meine Liebe--and hopes the warmth will be able to help soothe her further, focusing her senses elsewhere. If she wants it, he will play music for as long as it takes to relieve any stress/crying headaches. When she manages to fall asleep from the exhaustion, he’ll tuck her into bed and hold her close. He will turn off the lights, but by no means is he going to sleep. He will spend another few hours seething with rage at whoever/whatever it was that hurt her so that she doesn’t have to see him like that (he doesn’t want to distress her further). Or, if it’s something more abstract, he will spend that time trying to puzzle out a solution.

If she’s only mildly upset, he’ll call Schelm to the balcony and hope the fluffy friend will be able to take her mind off of things. He’ll hug her close and rock her gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, waiting until she just relaxes against him. As mentioned before, he’ll make hot cocoa, play music, ask her about the flowers she’s tending; just about anything he knows will make her perk up in an instant. He’s pretty simple and straightforward, but it’s because he pays attention to what works and he’s sincere--he’s very consistent in his affection. From afar it’s obvious he’s concerned because he will smile very gently at her, and whenever she turns around his face drops to his neutral/thoughtful expression; you can hear the cogs in his brain moving. It would be funny if the poor guy wasn’t so worried HAHA

Now then, here comes the real doozy. While it happens less and less the deeper they get into their relationship (their understanding of how the other works solidifies into trust), now and again Mozart pulls a stupid. He will know immediately when he’s fucked up because her expression tightens and shuts down, concealing every feeling from him. (She's hyperaware that she can sometimes be more irrational than him, so she locks down her thoughts and emotions.) 

She’ll walk away because she doesn’t want to explode and needs a moment to just calm down, reassess. He knows she needs time--and so does he to figure out a proper way to apologize--but fuck if those few days don’t make him wither in self-loathing. He hates it when he says things he doesn’t mean, things that were remnants of a bygone era because they were sentiments that deserved to die. He hates that when he gets stressed out he is prone to verbally lashing out; and he needs to learn how to work at a reasonable pace instead of doing too much and hating every second of his life. He needs to find balance, both for his own sake and because he can’t stand that look. The look that says “not you, too. Please, don’t.” You want the quickest way to gut Mozart? There you have it. Part of it was that she had given him that same look when he first yelled at/intimidated her in that first week at the mansion, and it’s still something he deeply regrets doing. He shouldn’t have frightened her when she was already scared out of her wits and threatened by Arthur.  The mere prospect of stooping to that level makes him nauseous and angry he would ever act with such indiscretion; he expects better of himself and he intends to be better than that. He may be a vampire now, but that doesn’t give him grounds to be a monster.

He doesn’t know squat about how to love someone, and maybe he doesn’t even deserve to be with her--but he’ll be damned if he hurts her without trying to amend what he’s done. When she’s calmed down she’ll return to him and try to apologize for the distance, but he won’t let her. He’ll tell her if anyone needs to apologize it’s him, and that he really does feel horrible about what he said. He’s going to promise to be more careful about his workload from now on, since that tends to be what makes him snap. But more importantly, he’s going to try to amend the behavior regardless of that. Anything that hurts her isn’t worth doing; he firmly believes that.

MC doesn’t worry too much after the few times it happens because he crushes the behavior in its tracks very, very quickly in the aftermath.

Y = Yes (how would he propose to her?)

Honestly? Mozart is the type to be a classic romantic when it comes to proposing to his beloved. While one can argue he really only takes music seriously, the same can be said for the person he has chosen to hold dear to his heart. He will spare no expense--no extravagance--in the process of wooing her. He believes that he needs to offer a proposal worthy of her and nothing less if he should seek to secure her hand in marriage. 

He pulls out all the stops. He plans it all out to the minute. Buys her the perfect dress, rouge and assorted accessories, and tells her to prepare to enjoy herself all night--no other plans. She agrees easily, though she’s a little flustered by how much he’s spoiling her. When the time comes for them to head out he enters her room with an enormous bouquet of roses, and she’s just speechless as she seeks to soak them in a vase before they go. Dressed to the nines, he escorts her to a lovely restaurant where they dine together. She’s sparkling in her attire, nothing short of dazzling; it’s not just the champagne that’s bringing a light blush to his face. He spends most of that night psyching himself up, working to seem normal, and losing himself in her beauty. Not that he doubted his course of action before this moment--it just strikes him even more deeply how precious she is to him. He would never be here, smiling and laughing and enjoying himself, if it wasn’t for her.

And more than anything, he doesn’t want to give her up to anyone else. He wants to be the one to spoil her like this, wants to be the person she goes to first when she needs something. He wants to be the only one to know her most intimate thoughts and desires. He wants to be the one to make her smile like this, to make delight shimmer in those eyes--to be on the receiving end of such excited chatter. Every part of her is so very dear to him; the mere thought of giving her up makes him feel like he’s been hollowed out.

After dinner, he takes her to a concert hall he had rented out for the occasion. He plays a moving collection of pieces that she inspired (only the best) since coming to the mansion, since she filled his life with so much color. She’s already in tears at this point, and his heart aches at the sight of her eyes glistening--as moved as he is by music, one of their greatest commonalities.

He dries her tears gently with a hanky when it’s over, rising from the bench and coaxing her up with him. When she gazes at him in question, he drops to one knee and reveals the ring that has been heavy in his coat pocket all night. He considered a more extensive appeal, but something about rehearsing a proposal felt wrong, felt too wooden. Instead, he went with the words that were resounding from deep within his heart, the feeling that had brought him to this moment.

“Meine Liebe, you are the only reason my music can continue to thrive. But more importantly,” he presses a light kiss to her hand, squeezing it gently, “You are the only reason I can thrive as surely as my music does. I spent so long lost to myself; I had forgotten why I loved what I did in the first place.” His eyes are lowered, remnants of a surpassed shame lingering in his features. “If not for you, I suspect I’d still be ripping up half-filled scores, half-mad with frustration.” 

“Wolf…” her voice is soft, but full of sympathy. It was that tender heart that saved him, that made him really able to live again.

“The prospect of life without you...I can’t imagine it anymore. I want to be the one to make you smile for the rest of your life, to ensure that these tears can only ever be happy ones. Will you make me the happiest man alive in return? Will you marry me?”

Needless to say MC goes straight back to crying after managing a breathless yes, and Mozart sags with relief before pulling her tight into his arms. He slips the ring onto her finger with no shortage of pride, as perfect on her hand as he’d imagined it would be. 

Following his proposal, Mozart is even more smitten than ever. Whenever he wakes up before she does, he’ll gently take her left hand and marvel at the sight of the ring throwing rainbows in the morning light, sighing blissfully. When MC stops by to bring him Rouge/Blanc or coffee and a snack during the day, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the sight of it. “It’s nothing, MC!!! Composing is just...going well today...” Somebody help him his uwus are spilling everywhere

Mozart be like: look at me. serotonin is stored within the MC.

[almotherorion]

Hey, for the art request, I would love to see more of Marlious and Ben au, I don't have really any specific ideas though 😣

not me posting this late 👀;

These sorta tie into each other since they’re more focused on Marley’s side of things but the first is something that kinda struck me on a whim. As if this AU wasn’t self indulgent enough already-

1. Primals are very skilled in the use of magic and have quite a good grasp of energy manipulation, however, over time, they have found ways to better fine tune these abilities via weapons specifically tuned to them. Often times, Primals will craft and forge their weapon of choice once they reach a certain age and depending on what field they go into. In this case, Marley chose to be a warrior- specialising in close range combat and spell casting.

The weapons forged can often be summoned with the help of a spell but, more often than not, Primals will store these within themselves as energy for quicker and easier access in the case of an emergency. That said, it is a fairly tricky technique to get a grasp of but it is recommended by most that due to its convenience- although, the number of Primals capable of this is on the smaller side due to the difficulty of the skill.

Upon first “bonding” to Ben, Marely does end up losing the ability to call forth his own weapon for a while until Ben becomes more accustomed to handling Marley’s abilities and partial transformation. Still, it’s a difficult thing for them both to learn and, half the time, it just doesn’t end up working but it mostly comes down to practicing it consistently.

Still, Ben isn’t very experienced with this form of combat as a human so that’s quite a learning curve for them both as well.

2. As I said, Marley chose to be a warrior and, as such, fight for his kind whenever they needed him.

However, Primals aren’t the nicest of species; often times using their militant force to conquer and expand their territory than in the defence of their own. They’re very much warlords and love a good fight- easily rivalling Tetramands, Incurseans and Vilgaxians with their wars fought and conquest of various planets and systems.

To no one’s surprise, upon conquering these systems and planets, they enslave its inhabitants and strategically place their forces around to keep things in check. This is really one of the only roles their militant force serves as almost all Primals are capable of fending for themselves in one way or another due to their own natural defence mechanisms.

When Marley had chosen to become a warrior, he’d been more than aware of this reality and saw no issue with it- after all, it just happened they were the stronger ones. So he went about doing what any warrior would do and fight the battles they needed and nothing more.

Though, he does end up interacting with the inhabitant of one of these planets and learns from them. He thought he’d known the reality of it all but, as it had turned out, he’d ended up finding out a lot more than he’d wanted to know. At first though, he doesn’t see why it matters but, as time goes on and he sees what his kind is doing to these other species up close and personal, doubt starts to set in about their plans.

Those in charge do catch wind of this though and decide to “talk“ to Marley about this but it only ends up giving further life to his already mounting doubts.

It ends up stewing for a while after until one singular event sets everything in motion, solidifying his belief on his kind and driving him to stage a coup- one that ends horribly and with most of his very trusted comrades dead and him in exile with various other Primals hunting him down for treason.