#and why tower of dawn is the best book

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

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James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

[tashames]

Snuggles | Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: Waking up and finding yourself snuggled up with Bob on the couch, when it dawns upon you that maybe you do love him.

Word count: 1.6 words

Content: fluff, confessions, snuggling

A/N: This is my first time actually writing and post a fanfic about anyone. Hopefully it's good for everyone! I will be writing more now if this hits good :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been 6 months already living in the tower. Everyone has settled down now and the New Avengers are going in and out through missions, except for Bob.

Today was one of those days where surprisingly everyone was in the tower and no missions popping out of nowhere. Alexei and John and have been on the table playing cards for the past hour while Yelena was next to them reading a book. You and Ava were sitting on the couch skimming through the tv, trying to find something good to watch. Bucky was on the one-seater couch, fixing up his arm. Bob was in the kitchen, just getting a glass of water.

“Hey, look at this,” Ava called out, looking over the couch to where Yelena was. “It’s about a robot in the wild, The Wild Robot, huh.”

Yelena looks over and reads the description. “Seems like a good movie, let’s watch it,” she says as she’s already jumping over the couch and sitting between Ava and you.

“We watch movies together, like family,” Alexei says loudly, setting down his cards on the table and walking over to the other larger couch.

John grunts, rolling his eyes, “It’s gonna be a stupid movie, trust me. It’s a cartoon.” Bucky finishes up with his arm and leans back, putting both arms on the couch.

“I-I can make popcorn,” Bob calls out from the kitchen.

You get up from your spot and head over to a small cabinet, taking out blankets and handing it out to everyone.

“Why are you giving us blankets?” John takes the blanket from your hands and starts to open it to cover himself with it.

You look at him and down at the blanket with a smile, “Blankets are good with movies, makes you feel more comfortable.” Bob comes out and has serval bags of popcorns in his hands. You rush over and help me out with carrying them. As you grab the bags, you fingers touch his lightly. You look up to see Bob’s cheeks lighting up with a pink hue.

“Let me help you,” you say with a smile.

You’ve had started to develop feelings for Bob after the Black Out. Smiling at him and making small talk to spending time with him when you’re not on any mission. Yelena and Ava have called you out on having feelings for him and to just be upfront about them.

_________

Yelena, Ava and You were just returning from a mission that was only 3 days long. Just a simple, find target and bring them in. With Yelena being the Widow she is, she was best at capturing the target while Ava would help them escape and You would help protect them with your powers, using force fields. On the flight back home, Yelena had asked a simple question that had you blushing.

“Do you have a crush on Bob?”

You darted your head up, looking at Yelena with huge eyes as if you’ve been exposed. Which you have. You feel your cheeks start to warm up quickly. Ava folded her arms against her chest.

“She’s blushing. Of course she has a crush on Bob. Have you seen the way she looks at him,” Ava asks turning towards Yelena.

“Yeah I’ve seen. That’s why I’m asking. So do you?” Yelena tilts her head.

“I-I um I guess,” you stutter out.

Ava raises an eyebrow. “You guess? What do you mean you guess?”

You look down and start fidgeting with your suit. “It’s just that yeah I do like him but I don’t want to ruin our friendship, you know? He just started to open up to me but if I tell him how I feel, I’m scared that he’s not going to speak to me again,” you say, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest.

Yelena scoffs, making you look up her. She has a smile on her face, staring at you. “Bob not speaking to you? As if. That man has a crush on you too. Have you not seen the way he is around you? Or the way he stares at you when you come in the rooms sometimes? Or when he serves you a cup of coffee before he gets himself one,” Yelena laughs out.

You look towards Ava, seeing her nod her head. “Do you really think so,” you ask them both.

Ava laughs. “Think so, we both know so. Just be honest to him about how you feel. It’s so hard seeing you both trying so hard to not accept each others feelings. Plus it feels awkward when you both are just staring so lovingly into each others eyes.” You look between them both and smile, thinking about Bob and your feelings towards him.

————

You and Bob have just gone back to the living room to see Ava, Yelena and Alexei on one couch while John was sitting down on a bean bag and Bucky stayed in his spot. The other couch was empty, leaving it being the only option for you and Bob. You look to Yelena and see her smirk. You hand out the popcorn bags to Bucky and John while Bob gives the other couch their popcorn bags. You walk back towards the couch and sit down, sliding the blanket on top of you. You look around, trying to find the other blanket you had left for Bob.

“What happened to the others blanket I left here,” you ask. Yelena and Ava both shrug and look at each other. You look up at Bob, smiling to him as you pat the couch next to you. Bob sits down next you, thighs touching. You stretch the blanket over Bob’s legs covering them as he opens up the popcorn bags for you. “Let’s start this movie then,” Ava says as she presses play.

During the movie, you had slipped your hand into Bob’s hand. Intertwining them your fingers with his, underneath the blanket and out of sight of everyone else. You smiled to yourself, feeling a blush hit your cheeks.

The movie credits were rolling as everyone just stared at the screen. John had been wiping his cheeks as tears ran down. Alexi had both his arms wrapped around Ava and Yelena, rubbing their shoulders. Bucky had been sniffling for a bit but no tears. While Bob had leaned his head onto your shoulder and was currently sleeping on them.

“That movie was alright,” John said, pulling off the blanket.

“Alright that it made you cry? John I saw you almost sob at the part where Roz left them,” Yelena pointed out while she stretched her arms, standing up.

Ava looks over to you and smiles. Yelena follows her gaze and sees Bob sleeping lightly on your shoulder. She quickly gets Alexei up, shushing him as he’s about to object to her. Ava grabs the blankets and leaves them on the couch while patting Bucky’s shoulder, signaling him towards you. Bucky looks over and smirks, shaking his head. Everyone quietly heads out to their rooms, leaving Bob on your shoulder.

You turn slightly trying to get comfortable but not wanting to wake him up. Bob stirs in his sleep, lifting his head up. “Oh I was just trying to sit better,” You tell him. He looks at you, his eyes softening. You smile to him, seeing his eyes looking down to your lips. You quickly stand up, the blanket falling off your lap.

“We should uh, go to our rooms,” you whisper to him. Just as your about to leave, Bob takes a hold of your wrist. You look back to him, seeing him looking at you with pleading eyes. In a swift motion, Bob has you laying down as he grabs a hold of your waist.

“C-Can we stay like this for a bit longer? Please?” He pleads. You nod and lean closer to his chest. You can smell his cedar wood 3 in 1 bottle, on him. Just then, Bob holds you closer and puts an arm over your shoulder, leaning over the edge to grab the blanket from the floor. He covers you both with it. You can feel his heartbeat against your hand, pounding rapidly. You feel your eyes get heavier until you completely shut them, letting the sleep carry you away.

You slowly wake up, opening your eyes and blinking a bit. A dark wool sweater is what you’re staring at. You look up and see Bob, sleeping peacefully with a small smile on his face. His arm is draped around your waist while his other arm is underneath your neck. Staring at him, you realize that maybe you should tell him how you feel about him. You love him with all your heart that you don’t want to lose him. Bob stirs a bit before waking up fully. He looks down, seeing yo stare at him.

“O-Oh. Good morning,” he whispers. You bring a hand to his cheek, caressing him.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes widen at the words that came out of your mouth.

“W-What?” You shake your head and bring in your hand back down.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. Just thinking some stupi-“ You get cut off with Bob’s lips on yours. You close your eyes and kiss him back. He brings his hand to the back of your head, holding you closer. You’re both kissing so softly but yet so full of love. Pulling away, he stares at you with a smile.

“Bob, I think I’m falling in love with you,” You whisper.

“I think I’m already in love with you,” he whispers back before capturing your lips again with his.

[kemendin]

A Bit of Well-Deserved Softness

Gale basks in the quiet delight of his home in Waterdeep, and the drow with whom he shares it. Gale x Ace!Tav Words: 3200 A/N: This all started when my dear friend @deeafrotailmisstress gifted me this wonderful Dhamari/Gale art for my birthday a while back. And of course I went 'well now I've gotta write a fic to go with this'. And so here is the result! Post-game fluff, so general spoiler warning.

Waking up each morning was not, strictly speaking, Gale’s favourite part of the day.

But it was undeniably one of the best parts.

It was the breeze that always stirred his senses first, cool and light and laden with salt as it tumbled in from the open window. Cavorting round the bedroom like an eager sprite, sweeping up the scent of well-worn books; until at length it darted through a gap in the gauzy bed hangings and Gale could draw in a long, full draught of it as he lay there. Breathing happily of home.

Then the sounds would start to filter in. The cry of restless seabirds outside his window, and the multitudinous clamour of the city below, gently muffled by the bulwark of his tower’s enchanted walls. 

Sometimes, as he listened, he would make a game of it - keeping his eyes closed against the dawn as he sought to isolate one distant sound or another, then supposed what it might be and its location.

On this particular day, however, very little focus was required to recognise the heavy peal now echoing across the city of Waterdeep, signalling that the morning was already half spent. 

Gale scrunched his face in astonishment, and hurriedly palmed at his eyes to open them. He was greeted by a room radiant with sunlight, warm and strong even through the semi-translucence of the bed canopy; and in that moment he had no alternative but to acknowledge that it was, indeed, quite late.

A rueful huff of surprise fell from his lips as he turned his thoughts back to the previous evening. He hadn’t greeted his pillow until well after midnight, and truthfully, he wasn’t accustomed to retiring at such an hour. Months of gruelling travel had impressed upon him the need to retreat early to his tent - to rest, if not to actually sleep - because daybreak came soon for weary bodies and even sooner for brooding minds. And in what seemed like another lifetime - in the years before he was daily being menaced by threats of ceremorphosis and self-combustion - more often than not he would become so absorbed in his evening literature that he simply didn’t go to bed at all. Why bother with such mundane things as sleep, when he could instead be seated in his favourite chair by the hearth, with a heavy tome and a purring tressym vying for place upon his lap?

And so instead of slumber, the night would pass in glints of wine, and in the crisp sigh of pages, and the fire would crackle its soothing counterpoint to the clink of ivory keys, until at last even the flames fell quiet and there was only the piano’s solitary melody to usher in the dawn.

But now - now things were different. Now he had something else to stay up late for, and something - someone - to retire with. And he looked forward to both occasions immensely.

Read on AO3

Gale gave a lazy turn onto his side, and felt a fond smile tugging at his mouth. The ‘someone’ in question was currently well-burrowed into the blankets beside him, hardly visible at all save for a mane of wild black hair flared across the purple-cased pillow. It was he who’d insisted on curtains round the bed; even after several years spent living on the surface, abrupt sunlight was still painful on his eyes, and he’d grumbled enough each morning that before their first week in Waterdeep was over, Gale had held up his hands in defeat and promptly gone down to the tailor’s shop to have some hangings made.

Levering himself up, Gale leaned over his bedmate, and after a moment he lightly eased the blankets back so that he could consider the drow beside him. Dhamari was resting on his stomach, a fact which on its own spoke volumes to his level of comfort. He’d confessed once to the wizard that he was careful never to leave his back exposed while sleeping, lest an enemy take him by surprise. Gale had gotten the impression that when it came to survival in the Underdark, trust was frequently considered to be the greatest enemy of all.

But this was Waterdeep, not a backstabbing drow metropolis. This was Gale’s tower, safe and secure. And although Dhamari rarely required the wizard’s protection, Gale was of course always ready to offer it, should such necessity arise.

He continued to hover over his partner, gently studying the sleeping sorcerer - his face like a page from a favourite book which Gale had long since memorised, yet never tired of reading. Skin the muted blue of an early twilight (save on those rare occasions when he became flustered and warmed to a faint purple, which Gale personally found quite endearing). A visage marked with sharp tattoos the colour of storm clouds, curving down from his brow to cradle his eyes and cut across his cheeks, emphasising the narrow angles of his face. So often Gale would see Dhamari’s lips drawn back in fury as he bared his pointed teeth; but now his mouth was closed, and soft with sleep.

Gale sighed, slightly wistful. A glance in the mirror each morning reminded him that their shared adventures were penned in deeper lines fanning around his eyes and across his forehead, but Dhamari appeared virtually unchanged. He was still young for a drow, not even midway through his second century, whereas Gale was… well, he preferred to think of himself as accumulating wisdom, rather than gaining years. But he knew that unless he borrowed a page from his old friend Elminster, and sought out some arcane means of extending his own life, Dhamari would far outlast him.

Yet what would ordinarily be rather melancholy musings seldom troubled him these days. After all, he’d had his chance. He had gazed upon the promise of immortality, wrought of metal and Netherese magic, and glimpsed for a moment the very summit of all his fervent strivings. And then he had glanced beside him, and seen again the choice he’d made in the depths of Moonrise Towers. And in the end he’d found that he couldn’t bear to release the soiled, bloodied hand caught so tightly within his own, when becoming a god would make him, for better and for worse, untouchable.

Whether I condemn this world or not, he’d said, I choose you.

And Gale held no regrets for making that choice. Wonderings, yes - that was only natural. Speculations and suppositions, silent imaginings of what might have been, had he faced both Karsus’ folly and his own, and decided differently.

But regrets? No, none that he could find. And he had no intentions of spoiling his remarkably good mood by looking for them.

Canting his head, Gale reached and lightly brushed his forefinger along the curve of Dhamari’s long ear. It twitched beneath his touch, and the wizard chuckled in quiet delight, knowing now that his partner was at least marginally awake.

He nudged the ear again, more firmly this time.

“Come on, Ari. Time to face the day.”

He drew the blankets back farther, eliciting a barely-audible grumble from the drow, accompanied by a small expression of displeasure. Dhamari clutched defiantly at the pillow with both hands, and pressed his face deeper into its plush embrace.

Gale smiled even as he shook his head in admonishment. “Come on now, up you get,” he said in a mild voice. “We’ve plans for today, remember? Need I remind you, the bazaar only remains on the Material Plane until sundown - and that is now several hours closer than I’d initially projected. As things stand, we may only have time enough to peruse two-thirds of it.”

At this, Dhamari twisted his head enough so that he could crack one eye open. To Gale it often looked like drawing back the shutters on a narrow window at night - seeing the drow’s moonlike iris floating in a field of black.

“Unless more than two-thirds of the offerings are books,” mumbled Dhamari, “I doubt that will prove a problem.”

Gale huffed archly. “While rare tomes may be the main attraction for me, this market offers much more than books, I can assure you,” he replied. A barely restrained eagerness crept into his voice as he leaned himself over Dhamari. “Just picture it - wonders from across the realms, laid out at our very fingertips. And,” he added, “most of them brought from places of which you have never even heard, let alone clapped eyes on.” He tapped a teasing finger on the end of Dhamari’s nose. 

“Be warned - I may very well decide to quiz you afterward. So you had best be sure you’re paying attention to what we find there.”

But Dhamari made such a face in response to this, his nose wrinkling and his upper lip curling unpleasantly, that Gale burst out laughing.

“You’re an awful grump in the mornings now, do you know that, Ari?” he chuckled. “I don’t recall you being anywhere near this cantankerous in Baldur’s Gate. Not until you’d picked your first fight of the day, at least.”

“That’s because you’ve spoiled me,” grunted Dhamari. “You’re making me soft, Gale. Soft and lazy.”

“Ah, but is that such a terrible thing, my love?” Gale asked him, his lips still quirked in amusement. He wriggled forward until he was nearly draped over the drow. “After all those months slogging through mud and brambles, staving off darkness and despair - personally I am more than delighted to give myself over to a bit of luxury. And by that I mean hot baths, silk sheets, stout meals, and a bottle of wine that doesn’t smell as though it was left to age inside someone’s forgotten pair of farming boots.”

He set his chin on Dhamari’s shoulder for a moment. His smile broadened when he saw how the drow’s own mouth had curved grudgingly at the corners, and so he pressed on:

“We deserve that, you and I. We deserve a bit of softness. A few weeks, at least, free of fighting and fear -“

“And full of food, if you’d have your way,” Dhamari broke in. “You spent five hours in the kitchen yesterday. Who are you expecting will eat all of that? Tara?”

“I thought I might pack up most of it and take it with me when I visit the Academy tomorrow,” Gale answered brightly. The invitation to meet with the Blackstaff in person had not been a complete surprise, considering the sum of both recent events and his exploits as a former apprentice, but he’d read it with anticipation nonetheless. “I’m sure there are at least a dozen famished young wizards-in-training there who would appreciate a lavish, home-cooked meal.”

Dhamari’s lips pursed lightly. “So now that you’ve succeeded in spoiling me, you’re branching out,” he noted. He stretched his shoulders back - as much as he could beneath Gale’s weight - then added pointedly, “That sort of decadent treatment would never be allowed in any drow academy.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t in Sshamath,” returned Gale, his smile unsullied by the drow’s griping. “For any number of reasons, I daresay.” 

Dhamari still kept much of his drow life to himself, and rarely talked of the city where he was born. Gale suspected this was not so much due to discomfort on Dhamari’s part, but rather an attempt to avoid shocking the wizard with tales of his Underdark existence. Such light treading was hardly necessary; Gale had seen more than his share of horrors over the course of their conflict with the Absolute, and he’d gleaned enough from what Dhamari did say to form a rough, unhappy picture of the other’s past. But there was something touching, something unexpectedly tender, in Dhamari’s wish to shield him from such understanding, and so Gale did not press the point.

He saw his partner’s visible eye narrow slightly; but then it closed in a slow blink, and when it opened, the drow’s manner was easy again.

“Yes,” Dhamari agreed, and he offered a wry little smile of his own. “A very good thing.”

Gale grinned. “Now we are in Waterdeep,” he proclaimed grandly, with a small sweep of his hand. “The Crown of the North, City of Splendours.” Tipping his head, he set his cheek on Dhamari’s shoulder, and his eyes were alight as he went on with quieter zeal, “And there is so much I want to show you. To share with you.”

He let a heartbeat pass, a moment of pure bliss as he gazed into the drow’s open eye, and saw his devotion reflected in the obsidian depths. Then -

“On which subject,” he added, and in one dramatic movement he sat up and swept the blankets off them both. “Time to get up.”

Dhamari let out another long, loud groan in protest; but under the encouraging knead of the wizard’s fingers into his back, he reluctantly levered himself up. Chuckling, Gale reached over and smoothed down a few of the most aberrant strands of the drow’s wild hair. Dhamari glanced at him across his shoulder, squinted, and then gave a hard, deliberate shake of his head, instantly nullifying the other’s efforts. 

Gale huffed fondly. “Alright,” he said, “suit yourself.” He leaned away to tug aside the bed hangings, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed; but further efforts towards verticality were impeded by the drow who now latched himself onto Gale’s shoulder.

Gale turned his head, arching his brows at the offender, but any mild rebuke melted away as he watched Dhamari almost idly nuzzle his forehead against his shoulder. The drow had been immensely touch-averse at the start, so much that early on Gale had considered their holding hands for pleasure as well as purpose to be a noteworthy accomplishment. He’d never pressed Dhamari into closer contact than was comfortable, but gradually the sorcerer came to realise, with the other’s reassurance, the rewards of gentle physicality. To see him be so easy with it now, without flinching or fear - Gale could feel his own heart brimming with elation, and with pride.

He reached around with his free hand, again combing his fingers through the narrow mane of Dhamari’s hair, and he smiled when his partner leaned automatically into the touch. After a moment the drow lifted his head, but it was only to prop his chin on Gale’s shoulder this time. He blinked still bleary eyes up at Gale, and then his gaze wandered slowly from the wizard’s face down to his chest.

“I like this,” Dhamari murmured at length.

Gale’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “As do I,” he assured him.

Dhamari shook his head. “I mean this,” he said.

Gale felt an unanticipated brush upon his chest. Tucking his chin, he looked on with faint bemusement as the drow’s finger traced the dark line of the orb still marked upon his skin. 

“You do?” Gale’s brow furrowed quizzically. The ball of half-formed Weave still buried within him slept now, thank the gods. No longer throbbing tortuously beside his heart, its gnawing hunger assuaged at last; and by this point he wasn’t overly concerned that it might reawaken. All the same, it remained an uncomfortable reminder of what his hubris, more than once, had nearly cost him, and he would have vastly preferred to be rid of it altogether.

“Yes,” replied Dhamari, through a jaw still braced upon Gale’s shoulder. He splayed his hand out over the orb, and smiled a little. “It’s… striking. It suits you.” He flicked his eyes up again, one ear angling lower in an almost shy expression. “And it makes me think about our first night together.”

Gale pushed out a rueful breath. “The night when you categorically tore me apart for allowing the orb to control every facet of my existence?” he asked. “How could I forget? I’ve rarely been subject to such a brutal awakening.”

“You needed it,” said Dhamari, and both his face and tone were, for an instant, unrepentant.

“I can't argue with that,” conceded Gale. He’d been so long mired in misery and woe that he hadn’t been able to recognise the dark depths to which he had fallen; not until Dhamari’s harsh candour yanked painfully at his numbed senses, and showed him a better path than the precipice beneath his feet.

“Good,” said Dhamari. “We argue enough as it is.”

His fingers continued to trail thoughtfully along the lines that flowed up the side of the wizard’s neck. But Gale caught his hand and brought it to his lips instead, and pressed several long, leisurely kisses to the drow’s twilight skin. It was an act of consecration to him, of worship - but a different sort than the one he’d once ascribed to. One that now asked nothing of him, save what he desired to give.

Not for the first time, Gale wondered that he could ever have bowed his head before she who demanded his death, and called it love.

He lifted his eyes again, and from their corners he could see Dhamari. Still with his chin set on Gale’s shoulder, the harshness of his features now made so much softer by the contentment - the happiness, Gale dared to deem it - hovering on his face. Gods, how he loved that expression. He wanted to sit here for an eternity and drink it in, certain it could fill him as well as any wine, and would grant an even headier feeling of delight.

But they did have plans for today, after all, and Gale was not about to give them up, no matter how distracting Dhamari could be.

Not this time, at any rate.

“Come on.” He placed one more kiss on Dhamari’s knuckles for good measure before straightening up and passing his partner’s hand back to him. “Enough of your moon eyes. We’ve got a magical bazaar to peruse.”

He gave a little pop of his shoulder, enough to dislodge the drow leaning on him, and got to his feet before Dhamari could latch on again. He padded over to a chair nearby to retrieve his purple houserobe, glancing back towards the bed as he shrugged it on. 

Dhamari had scooted to the edge of the bed, and was now perched there with his legs - rather shorter than Gale’s - dangling above the rug-festooned floor as he yawned, stretched, and tried without much concern to rake down his rumpled hair. Gale felt his lips twitch in fond amusement at the sight. The drow was a danger, a menace, and yet here and now he looked so domestically harmless that Gale almost couldn’t believe the stormy trails of destruction that Dhamari tended to leave in his wake.

Almost.

With a rueful shake of his head, Gale turned and strode briskly for the bedroom door. “Up!” he called back over his shoulder. “Before I send Tara in to drag you up with her claws.”

The last thing he saw before closing the door behind him was Dhamari’s disgruntled face, glowering at him in (mostly) feigned outrage over the wizard’s tressymic threat.

Gale laughed quietly as he headed downstairs, mentally framing each moment of the last half hour. Perhaps there might be days, he thought to himself, when waking up was his favourite part.

[juniperwoodwell]

Exhausted

Welcome to the first post of my Keanuverse writings! This was a request from @scarlettspectra! I gave myself the goal of 1k words for each character since I'm still learning how to write for them(which I achieved), it's not my best work but I had a ton of fun writing! I hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): Neo (Thomas Anderson) x F!Reader. Aged up!Ted Theodore Logan x F!Reader. Tom Ludlow x F!Reader

Word count: 3,383k

WARNINGS: use of Y/n, Cursing, suggestive flirting, fluff, a bit of angst, minor references to death, aged up Ted (18-19), most likey OOC for all three.

Notices: For Tom's story it is written in first person. Not sure if they even count as fluff. And I'm not sure why all of them end with sleep... I'm just that exhausted I guess.

-

"Neo" Thomas Anderson.

“Where’s Y/n?” Neo’s voice cut through the hum of conversation in the rec room of their ship. Trinity's shrug was almost imperceptible, but Neo caught it.

“Where do you think?” She didn’t need to elaborate; they all knew Y/n's penchant for losing herself in her work. Neo nodded, understanding, and made his way to find her.

Y/n lay in a chair, her brow smoothed out in sleep, her breaths soft and even. Neo stood beside her, the dim lights casting shadows across her face. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the strands of her hair, a stark contrast to the constant chaos of their reality.

“What does she even do there?” Neo asked Morpheus, who had been waiting nearby.

The older man’s laugh rumbled low. “Whatever she wants. It’s her construct, her rules.”

Neo observed her for a moment longer before making his decision. “Want to join her?” Morpheus asked, knowing the answer already.

When Neo entered Y/n's construct, he was greeted by a world unlike anything he had seen in the Matrix. Towering skyscrapers were replaced by lush trees, the cacophony of the city silenced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

“Neo, what a surprise.” Y/n's voice reached him before he spotted her, nestled beneath a tree, bathed in the warm glow of simulated sunlight. He approached, the soft grass yielding beneath his boots. She patted the spot beside her, and Neo couldn't refuse. As he settled next to her, Y/n leaned against him, their connection tangible in the serene stillness.

“What are you working on?” Neo gestured towards the notebook nestled in her lap, his eyes lingering on the sketches and notes scrawled within its pages.

“Her,” Y/n replied softly, nodding towards a figure seated at a nearby picnic table, engrossed in a book.

“Your mother?” Neo asked, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Y/n nodded, her gaze distant. “Trying to capture her essence, her spirit. It’s proving more challenging than I anticipated.”

Neo pulled her closer, a silent understanding passing between them. He admired her resilience, her determination to resurrect a piece of her past.

“Tell me what you've achieved,” Neo encouraged, eager to share in her triumphs.

“Well, her physical appearance is mostly accurate, but...” Y/n trailed off, a shadow crossing her features. “But her presence, her aura... that’s proving elusive.”

Neo listened, his heart aching for her. Despite their reality, Y/n persisted in her quest for connection, for closure.

“I feel like I'm at my wit's end,” Y/n admitted, her frustration palpable.

Neo stood, offering his hand. “Let's walk,” he suggested, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Hand in hand, they wandered through the idyllic landscape, the sun casting long shadows across the grass.

“Wits end, huh?” Neo teased gently, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

Y/n rolled her eyes, her laughter echoing in the tranquil surroundings. “A bit dramatic, I suppose.”

As they walked, Neo couldn’t help but admire Y/n's simplicity, her authenticity in a world built on deceit.

“What made you finally decide to join me?” Y/n asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Neo glanced down at her, his gaze softening. “Curiosity, I suppose. And maybe a bit of... admiration.”

They paused, the world around them shimmering with an ethereal beauty. Neo pulled Y/n close, her warmth seeping into his bones.

As their lips drew near, a jarring ring cut through the peaceful scene. Reality beckoned, but for a moment longer, they lingered in their shared sanctuary.

A few hours after departing the simulation, Y/n navigated the ship's corridor, her steps weary but determined. As she reached her room, she found Neo leaning casually against the doorframe, his presence both comforting and electrifying. “Neo…” she breathed his name, a mixture of longing and anticipation hanging in the air. “Got a moment?” he asked, his voice a low murmur in the dimly lit hallway. She nodded, her resolve wavering in the face of his magnetic pull. “For you? Always,” she replied, her voice a whisper carried on the currents of their shared reality.

Once inside her quarters, Y/n settled onto her bed, the weight of the day settling around her like a heavy shroud. Neo joined her, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos of their world.

As she removed her shoes, his eyes traced her movements, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she carried within her. When she turned to face him, his touch was urgent, his lips meeting hers with a fierce intensity that ignited a fire within her soul.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the boundaries of their reality blurring as they became lost in the ecstasy of their connection. It was a sanctuary, a brief respite from the trials that awaited them beyond the confines of their shared embrace.

As they pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, Y/n's heart soared, her desire for him consuming her entirely. Neo's laughter echoed in the quiet of the room as he trailed kisses along her jaw, his touch a balm to her restless soul.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, a hint of regret in his eyes. Y/n protested, her need for him palpable in the air between them. “If we continue, you'll never rest,” he cautioned, his voice a gentle reminder of the responsibilities that awaited them.

Y/n met his gaze with defiance, her determination unwavering in the face of his gentle admonishment. “That's not for you to decide,” she countered, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of their shared intimacy.

Neo's smirk was both infuriating and endearing as he regarded her, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of admiration and desire. “Very well,” he conceded, his fingers trailing along her cheek. “Let's rest, for now.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes alight with mischief as she draped her arms around his neck. “Agreed,” she murmured, pulling him close for one final kiss before surrendering to the call of sleep.

As Neo guided her beneath the covers, Y/n felt a sense of peace wash over her, his touch a soothing balm against the chaos of their days. “Will you stay?” she asked, her voice a soft plea in the darkness.

Neo nodded, his gaze unwavering as he ran his fingers along her back. “Of course,” he replied, his voice a whisper against the silence of the night.

As Y/n drifted into sleep, Neo remained by her side, his presence a steadfast reminder of the love they shared amidst the tumult of their existence. In the warmth of their embrace, they found solace, a sanctuary amidst the storm.

And as the world faded into darkness, they surrendered to the sweet embrace of sleep, their dreams intertwined in the tapestry of their shared existence.

Ted Theodore Logan

-

Ted’s joyful greeting interrupted Y/n’s intense focus, her eyes reluctantly leaving the dense textbook pages. With a weary smile, she raised her gaze to meet his, her exhaustion evident.

"How’s it going, babe!" Ted’s tone brimmed with joy as he slid into the seat beside her, his presence a welcome distraction.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm, though she couldn’t hide her weariness. "Very... Very slowly," she sighed, running her hands down her face in exhaustion.

Ted's mischievous grin widened as he settled beside her, his excitement palpable.

As she looked at him, a mix of concern and curiosity flickered in her eyes. "What are you planning?" she asked cautiously, bracing herself for one of Ted’s wild ideas. His grin grew wider, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I’ve just had the most excellent idea, dudette. Let’s go!" With a swift motion, he grabbed her hand, pulling her up from her seat, his enthusiasm contagious.

Y/n hesitated, her responsibilities tugging at her conscience. "Ted Theodore Logan! I can’t just leave; I’ve got a paper due in the morning," she protested weakly, knowing deep down that Ted’s persuasion was hard to resist. But his determination was unwavering, and before she knew it, she found herself grabbing her jacket as Ted dragged her along to the Circle-K.

Standing before the familiar store, Y/n couldn't help but voice her skepticism. "Really, Ted? The Circle-K again?" Her hands found their way to her hips, her gaze fixed on the unassuming sign above.

Ted shrugged, undeterred by her doubt. "I know, I know. But tonight, we embark on a daring quest: to conquer every slushie flavor they possess!" Y/n couldn’t suppress a laugh at his infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, dude. But this time, you’re footing the bill... with your pretzel money," she teased, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

With a theatrical flourish, Ted swung the door open, bowing as Y/n entered with a mock curtsy, their banter echoing through the aisles as they filled their cups with an array of vibrant colors. But by the time they added the cola flavor, the mix turned a dark purple—not a very appetizing color. Y/n handed Ted her slushie and told him she’d go get some snacks. They met at the counter and pulled out all their loose money. Ted refused to let Y/n spend a dime on anything tonight, so she negotiated a penny, which he agreed to because he couldn’t argue with her logic.

Exiting the store, they embarked on their customary leisurely stroll home, tongues stained and spirits high. Ted's tongue became the subject of Y/n's laughter, prompting a playful exchange as they walked hand in hand. Ted stuck out his tongue, and Y/n laughed loudly. "Your tongue is so purple!"

"You should see yours!" he countered as he nudged her shoulder. She nudged him back a little harder, then bolted ahead. Ted followed after her, catching her with his free hand and pulling her into him. "You’re mine now, babe!"

Their journey led them to Y/n's backyard and her cherished treehouse, adorned with twinkling lights. It was her sanctuary, a haven away from the chaos of the world.

Ted sat down on one of the three beanbag chairs on the floor of the treehouse. They hadn’t had much time together lately. Y/n had been sent to an all-girls high school after getting into trouble too many times, being the third member of a certain-rockin'-duo. Ted and Bill had blamed themselves for a while, but now, they all had their own paths. Y/n was an A-student, and the boys were still very passionate about their band.

Y/n sat on the floor beside the window, next to where Ted was sitting. She looked out toward her house; her parents were in the dining room building a puzzle. 'How boring' she thought.

"Y/n," Ted’s usually bouncy, aloof demeanor wasn’t present in his voice. When she looked over at him, she saw the vulnerability she saw in him when he was around his father. "Yeah, Teddy?" The rare use of that nickname caused his heart to race. Only she could call him that, only Y/n. He looked away and shook his head, finishing off his slushie. Y/n sat up and placed her hand on his knee. "What’s wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"I- It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it," he quickly smiled to cover up his sullen attitude. "That won’t cut it. Tell me, or I’m kicking you out." He laughed. "Again!? But I just got pardoned!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Y/n stood up, her hands on her hips. "Teddy, I’m going to sit down." She spoke but didn’t give him a chance to respond. She straddled his hips, causing them to sink further into the beanbag. Ted’s face erupted in red, his ears, cheeks, and neck red as a tomato.

"Talk." She crossed her arms, knowing this was like Wonder Woman's lasso of truth to him.

Ted groaned, a mix of surprise and irritation. "Fine. I was gonna tell you anyway! You didn’t need to..." He motioned to her hips. She raised a curious brow, and his head fell back. "You’re acting like I don’t do this all the time." His head snapped back up, and he glared at her playfully, his hair looking wilder than usual. Y/n reached forward to thread her fingers through it. Ted’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.

"I miss you," he admitted softly, his hands finding their places on her hips. Y/n’s face softened in understanding. "Oh- I see… I have been really busy, haven’t I?" Ted nodded. Y/n continued to play with his hair. "You haven’t been around; even Bill misses you."

Y/n hummed. "Yes, I bet he does. But my sweet boyfriend misses me more, doesn’t he?"

"More than anything," his words were slow and mumbled. He was exhausted; this was probably weighing on him more than he realized.

Y/n removed herself from his lap; his hands reached for her as he groaned in protest. "Hold on for a sec, babe." Y/n spoke sweetly as she moved to open the trunk in the corner of the treehouse.

She pulled out a thick, fuzzy blanket and then moved back over to Ted. She sat down in his lap, her legs draped over his, and her head rested on his shoulder as she put the blanket over them. "Teddy, I’ll try and make more time for you and Bill. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that I was neglecting you." He shrugged tiredly, a goofy, tired smile on his lips, his eyes still shut as he struggled to keep his head up. "It’s totally cool, babe, no worries," she smiled at his words, allowing sleep to consume her.

Tom Ludlow

-

The sun was setting over LA, casting a warm glow that enveloped the balcony of my apartment. The fading daylight's gentle warmth kept me company as I lounged outside. A cold glass of iced tea sat on the table beside me, the ice cubes clinking softly as they melted. It was 7 o’clock, and I waited patiently, soaking in the tranquility of the evening.

Thirty minutes passed, and finally, the door to my apartment swung open and then slammed shut. "I’m home," my boyfriend's rough, tired voice echoed through the space. I rose from my chair on the balcony and made my way inside. "Green, Yellow, or Red?" I inquired, our signal for the mood we were in after work: Green for great, Yellow for moderate, Red for really shitty. I found him by the front door, shrugging off his coat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Red. Bright fucking red," he grumbled. I nodded silently, understanding that it was my cue to let him set the pace. When he turned to face me, his shoulders visibly softened. "Look at you. Did you dress up for me, or?" he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. Even on Red days, we didn't bring our troubles home; they stayed on the doorstep. But we would address them eventually.

I smiled and shrugged, playfully turning away and heading towards the kitchen, with his heavy footsteps trailing behind me. His favorite meal awaited him on the table, along with a beer at his usual spot. He chuckled as he took in the spread. "You're amazing," he said, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head. I leaned into him, and he embraced me tightly, seeking solace.

"Don’t tiptoe around me tonight; I’ll be alright," he confessed, turning me to face him. His eyes scanned me from head to toe. I wore his favorite outfit—not too flashy, just the right mix of sweet and sexy. "Shall we eat?" I nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth, feeling his hands softly gripping my hips. I could tell he needed to unwind, and I was determined to help him relax.

So we sat down to dinner. I held a glass of wine in my hand while he nursed his first beer. Across from each other at the dining table, he turned the attention to me. "How was your day, sweetheart?" he inquired. I hummed, "Boring. Forced leave is stupid." He rolled his eyes. "You fell down a flight of stairs and had a mild concussion. I think it’s justified," he remarked. I scoffed, "I wouldn’t be here if I had just bought those new shoes you told me to." Tom chuckled, taking a long sip from his bottle. My wine remained barely touched.

"You're worried," he stated, knowing me like the back of his hand. He could read me like a book, even from the day we met. "Yes... I mean, you rarely have Red days anymore, so of course I’m worried," I confessed. He nodded, understanding, placing the bottle on the table before standing up from his seat. Standing beside me, he lifted my chin and kissed me tenderly. I melted into his embrace; I was supposed to be the one to relax him, not the other way around.

He pulled me up from my seat, guiding me to the living room as he peppered kisses along my jawline. His warmth enveloped me as his body pressed against mine. Sitting me on the couch, he knelt in front of me, and I tilted my head, curious. He smirked, "I can’t let my girl get stressed over me," he declared, his knuckles brushing against my ankles as he slipped off my heels. My eyes brimmed with affection as I watched him. What a sap. I chuckled at the thought, and his gaze met mine, his smile genuine.

"What’s so funny?" he inquired. I shook my head, smiling. His eyes darkened, locking onto mine like a predator eyeing its prey. Tossing my shoes aside, he stood up, maintaining his intense gaze. "I won’t ask again," he asserted with feigned authority. "You're a sap," I teased. He laughed, a genuine, happy sound. Surprised, he smiled. "A sap, huh? Why don’t you slip into something comfy, and I’ll come find you in the bedroom."

I nodded and stood, grabbing his hand and giving him a brief kiss before darting off to our shared bedroom. "Comfy" meant wearing his shirt and a pair of PJ shorts. I sat on the bed, organizing my bedside table, removing empty pill bottles and water bottles. This room had become my sanctuary during my leave, but I had let it become cluttered. As I threw away the last bottle, Tom entered the room. His expression was soft, and I noticed his hands were damp.

"Did you wash the dishes?" I asked. He nodded. "Oh, Tommy, you didn’t have to," I said, touched. He shrugged, "It gave me some time to think. Ready for bed?" I nodded wearily, then crawled under the covers. I watched him as he shut the bedroom door and began undressing, but he disappeared into the bathroom to change. "Tease!" I exclaimed, hearing his deep chuckle from the other side of the door. "Nothing you haven’t seen before, baby," he quipped.

When he emerged, he wore a pair of low-waisted black sweatpants. Nothing else. It was warm, and I didn't blame him. He climbed into bed, and we leaned against the headboard, me nestled against him with a book in hand. He turned on the TV, the volume low, quickly finding a rerun of an old TV show. This was our routine. If we weren’t tired, I would read while he watched something.

Tucked against his chest, I read my book. "How many is this?" he asked. "Four. Hopefully, next weekend I’ll have finished the fifth one," I replied. He hummed, kissing my head. "We lost an officer today. He was just a kid. It really hit me hard, and I’m not sure why," he confessed. I placed my book face down, looking up at him. "Oh, baby…" I caressed his face, kissing his cheek. He held my hand, kissing my palm.

"I’ll be alright. I’m taking the day off tomorrow. It’ll be just us," he assured me. I smiled, nuzzling back into him. "I like the sound of that. A day of infinite possibilities." We relaxed into each other, my book untouched, and the TV left on. A peaceful slumber enveloped us in its warmth.

[inocyde]

"The Husk" terminal of Jormara 25x35

In the north of Jormerun... in fact in the north at all, at the antipodes of all civilization, at the end of the world, you'll find the Jormara ice pack. A wild, inhospitable desert of ice. An expanse of shifting, all-consuming, ever-changing pack ice. Instead of fine sand dunes, you'll find titanic icebergs frozen in time or floating in deathly calm along the shores of this sea of ice.

In this labyrinth of frozen teeth and fangs, you'll sometimes catch a glimpse of great black columns silhouetted against the blizzard. These gigantic peaks of basalt rock are Jormara's only fixed points, the summits of lost mountains. Dating back to a time when civilizations and men still slept the benevolent sleep that preceded their birth. The banished gods is the name given by the few inhabitants of this white hell to the mountains that rip through the depths of this frozen ocean.

If your eyes see one of these black towers emerge, after weeks of travel in the blind blizzard, you'll be able to contemplate the flickering, fragile glow of hundreds of torches on all sides of the peak, staking out the body and entrails of the rock. If you get any closer, you'll be able to hear the song of these gods, a symphony of clatters and sharp blows. The pickaxes of dozens of miners echoing in the wind.

That's why there's life here, barely surviving, eating the snow and chasing all forms of heat so as not to die out. The treasure of the dead gods, the heritage of an entire people, glory and wealth for deserters and adventurers. Mithril.

Veins of mithril almost outcropping! Mines so abundant and rich that sometimes you only have to stoop to pick it up. This is the honey that attracts bees of all races and all countries to this great chase: the mithril hunt of the Jormara ice floe.

That's where you set off, hoping with all your soul not to end up like all those pioneers, frozen for eternity on their knees in the middle of nothing, frozen with their hope and their life's fortune packed in their bag.

After two months by boat, you arrive at the furthest point from inhabited land. Zigzagging between icebergs that have become mountains, you can't go any further. You're at the gates of Jormara, one of the departure camps for the Great Devourer.

Welcome to the Husk, home to 3 and a half people and a few sled dogs.

On the menu for the year: fish in fish fat, all cooked in melted ice.

It's best to book your bed in advance if you don't want to brave the polar night and enrich the next day's ordinary.

Make the most of the fire fed by the remains of ships that weren't lucky enough to arrive, like yours, in one piece.

As you watch your nave sail away into the dawn, you'll realize that you are now a resident of Jormara. Your wealth, perhaps, your prison, surely, and your grave, no doubt.

-Sileas Kel Pionner of Jormara

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[memecucker]

guess im cycling back to ASOIAF fixation posting but anyway

personally i still hold out a sliver of hope for Ashara being Jon's mother not bc i have anything against RLJ in itself but I just like Ashara Dayne i think she's neat and House Dayne is really cool and Dawn is the coolest sword in the setting (sorry Blackfyre) and the Sword of the Morning is a really really cool title that has been fucking vacant since the Tower of Joy and also Daynes are the only people with purple eyes not because of Valyrian ancestry which like it means something right i mean Dawn is from a magic meteor like its not just meteoric iron the Daynes have what the Royce's want like everything detail given about the history of House Dayne feels like a massive Chekov's Gun there's no fucking way all the stuff about Ashara in Barristan's chapters in ADWD was just some attempt to misdirect a fandom that was incresingly seeing RLJ as de facto canon like changing stuff on the fly to try and misdirect fans that figured things out is something you do in comic books not an author that averages a page every two weeks like if he really wanted to try and make RLJ a surprise he wouldnt have given the OK to use it in the show (he probably regrets that but for other reasons) and Dawn and Sword of Morning fighting the Long Night etc etc like why not Ned could save Lyanna's child and also have his own bastard maybe thats who Young Griff is and "Aegon" is just to hide the bastardy like "Ned, promise me" could mean "Promise me that youll take my baby to this weird bald guy that sounds like a choir boy" like you werent there. maybe the Golden Company figured a Targaryen bastard is like, technically close enough to a Blackfyre why not.

"what about the Winter Rose stuff huh Lyanna is associated with the Winter Rose over and over again and there's that one legend where a King-Beyond-the-Wall abducted a Stark daughter and left a winter rose and later she turned up pregnant and her bastard son then became the new Lord of Winterfell and also Dany's vision of a winter rose embedded in a wall of ice doesnt that mean Lyanna's child has to be associated with the North and the Wall specifically which Young Griff isnt?" uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah well,. Ok you know what maybe he did bring the child north but he didnt want to humiliate Cat even more by being like "im back and have more bastards than legitimate children" so he gave Lyanna's kid to..... i dunno Roose Bolton yeah ok thats my new theory R+L=R Ramsay Snow is actually a Targaryen like oh what are Targs suddenly not allowed to be evil have there never been evil Targaryens i mean the Night's King was probably a Stark "Why the fuck would Ned give the baby to fucking Roose " um what does that go against Ned's well known character trait of knowing who not to trust i mean "I did warn you not to trust me" why wouldnt Ned trust the guy wearing the "I Am Fucking Evil" shirt since he did swear an oath afterall thats good enough for Ned "Howland Reed one of Ned's best friends and vassals was literally at the tower with him" ok well Howland Reed lives in a swamp in a weird castle that moves around "That literally makes it the safest place to hide Rhaegar's bastard from Robert" fuck you you werent there team dayne

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 1/?

Warnings: 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

A/N: Hello! This is my first ever ACOTAR fic and I hope I do Azriel and the other characters justice! This fic will follow the majority of the plotline from the 2nd and 3rd books but please note that I took some creative liberties in some parts and shifted from the plotline in the 5th book.

The towering mountains looked especially magnificent against the blue and pink-hued sky. Crisp morning air whipped around you as you whirled past the horizon, your white and gold-tipped wings beating hard and straightening into a glide. This was always the best part of your day, flying just before the sun rose.

You craved the sun’s soft warmth and glow against your skin. Keeping your eyes on the brightening horizon, you focused on the breeze that swept the scent of the wisteria, lilac, and honeysuckle that adorned the Palace. The beautiful home made from sunstone sprawled below you, its bridges, and towers glowing as it waits to be sun-kissed. You couldn’t believe you managed to protect the Palace for 49 years, a pang of guilt flowed through as your fae eyes focused on a rebuilding village miles away.

You were hoping to catch the sunrise today but then two sharp whistles came from somewhere within the castle. With a groan and a roll of your eye, you dove down with blinding speed. With a swoop, you land gracefully on Thesan’s office balcony. You slammed his door open and glared at the High Lord who perched on his desk.

“Did you just fucking whistle to get my attention? Like one of your birds? A simple shout of my name would have sufficed!” you snapped.

Thesan smirked, “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

You grabbed a decorative trinket from a nearby shelf and hurled it at him, “What are you doing up so early? I thought you and Callon would still be rolling in bed at this hour.”

He crumpled a piece of paper and threw it straight onto your forehead. "I may be your cousin but I'm still the High Lord. You can't say things like that!"

With a mischievous smirk, you sat on the couch and clasped your hands pleadingly. With the grace of a seasoned actor, you softened your features and gave him the most innocent look you could muster. "Forgive me, High Lord of Dawn, I was just wondering why you summoned me. You know I don’t like to be disturbed during sunrise."

Thesan wanted to scold you for being so dramatic, but he couldn't, not when you were his little cousin whom he loved fiercely. "Rhysand and his courtiers are coming for a visit in two days.” He held up a hand and gave you a pointed look. “Before you ask, I don't know how long they'll stay here."

All traces of your playfulness disappeared; the face of a hardened warrior took over your features. You jumped up and stalked over to Thesan, your power, and energy rolling off your body.

“Those evil little Night Court brutes are coming to the Palace. Why?”

Thesan looked at you coolly, deciding he was going to approach this cautiously when he noticed the absence of the usual jewels around your neck. “Rhysand wants to come by and have diplomatic meetings and spend some leisure time here in Dawn Court. I have no doubt he’s here for something else, but we’ll find out eventually, and please, when the guests are here, wear your siphons and glamour them if you want. I can’t have them catching a whiff of what you are.”

You grumbled as you waved a hand over your neck to magically place the necklace on yourself. The necklace had three sapphires strung together by a chain of diamonds, it was gifted to you by Thesan when you reached maturity. The largest jewel sat in the middle flanked by two slightly smaller counterparts. It was beautiful and fit for Dawn Court’s royal family, but it also had a purpose. It helped you contain and conceal some of your magic, you could even see your power thrumming underneath it if you looked close enough.

With your overwhelming magic mostly contained, Thesan lets out a breath and finally felt comfortable enough to bark out orders to you. He wanted you to check on all the wards, secure the vaults that held ancient artifacts, and make sure all the guards and servants were briefed about the Night Court. Even though your guests weren’t due for a couple of days, Thesan reminded you to keep your wings hidden just in case they popped by early. Only the Peregryn’s and a select few people in your court knew that you were half High Fae and half Peregryn. And even fewer people knew the extent of your power. Thesan had them partake in an unbreakable vow to never reveal your true nature until the day you decide to reveal yourself.

By the end of the day, everyone in the Palace was exhausted from their efforts to prepare themselves for the upcoming visitors. Callon, who was Thesan’s lover and the Captain of the Peregryn legion was pissed that your cousin had invited them to Dawn. He was running himself ragged and snapping at you the entire day to make sure the troops were ready and planned all the security around the Palace and surrounding villages. Callon was annoying you so much that you had to remind him that he was outranked by you and to watch his tone. He apologized and you just scoffed, he was, unfortunately, a man in love, and it made him a nervous mess. You expected better from the captain of the Peregryn legions.

The sun had set and you, Thesan, and Callon had settled down by the fireplace and shared multiple bottles of wine. They were laughing at a joke Callon made when you heard a faint whisper in the corner of the room. You look and see nothing; you were about to ignore it when another whisper was heard. You looked at the pair, but they were in deep conversation, and no one seemed to have heard it, you looked back again and saw these dark wisps moving from the corner and going past the half-open door. You excused yourself and quickly slipped past the doors keeping the black wisps in your sight. They were no longer whispering but moving faster through the halls, you keep your footsteps light hoping you wouldn’t startle whatever this was. You stealthily followed it around the castle, and it seemed to be looking for something, it wasn’t until it reached the doors of the vault was when you did something. Not exactly sure what to do, you quickly leaned down and wafted the dark wisps with your hand. It spasmed and you swear it was almost startled to see you, it lingered for a few more seconds before disappearing into thin air.

“Mother above, what in the hell was that?” you said out loud.

With the Night Court arriving in a few days, there was no way this wasn’t their doing. Bursting into a run, you screamed Thesan’s name as you bounded up the stairs hoping it gave Thesan and Callon enough time to separate themselves from whatever they were doing in the few minutes they were left alone. You opened the door and Thesan was already standing, his eyes big at the sound of your panicked voice.

“What?” his eyes looked for any bodily injuries. “What is it?”

“I saw these black wisps moving around the Palace. They were trying to go into the vault before I stopped them,” you said.

Thesan frowned and then his jaw clenched, something he did when was he aggravated. “That must be the Shadowsinger, it’s incredibly annoying that he got through the wards. We'll have to strengthen them now. I’ll take the first half of the Palace and you reinforce the wards in the back.”

You nodded and hurriedly made your way to the south side of the Palace. Shadowsingers were extremely rare, and courts coveted them because they were the best spymasters. People could train for years but nothing would ever beat a shadowsinger. Until now, you honestly thought they were this tall tale they’d tell kids to scare them into behaving. You began to feel uneasy, was the shadowsinger in the Palace or was it just his shadows that he snuck in? Either way, you hated that this person was able to infiltrate your court.

***

The day of their visit finally arrived, and you peered in the mirror making sure you looked perfect, you wanted to make a good impression, this was the first time they’d meet you. Your lavender silk dress hung over your body perfectly, you gave a little spin in front of a mirror and examined the low back. Just in case anything turned hostile, your wings will have no obstructions if you ever need it. You waved a hand over your sapphires and glamoured them to be invisible, they were glowing brighter these days and it was easier to hide them than explain why your sapphires are more than jewels. Reaching for a mauve-colored bottle, you reapplied the color onto your lips and considered dusting blush on your cheeks, but you decided against it.

You lifted your hand and tenderly brushed the scars on the right side of your face. There were two parallel jagged lines, one nicked the bottom of your eyebrow and dragged up to your hairline. The other ran across the top of your cheekbone. You weren’t thrilled that it was so prominent, but you never thought to hide it. It was usually the first thing people noticed when they looked at you, the day Thesan was freed from Under the Mountain, he tried to get rid of it but even the High Lord of Healing couldn’t do anything about it. You could glamour it to make it disappear, but you wanted it there. It was a reminder of what had happened when Amarantha ruled Prythian, of what you endured and did for the people of Dawn Court.

Smoothing down your dress one more time, you left your bedroom suite and walked to the entrance to join Thesan and Callon. You were admiring the wisteria that hung along the arches above when the air shifted. Darkness filled the air for a split second then the High Lord of Night and two other courtiers appeared in front of you. The High Lord’s power hits your senses before you could even get a good look at their faces, your eyes are drawn to the violet-eyed male standing in the middle. Your eyes shift to the female on his right and then swept to the even taller winged male on his left. The High Lord was attractive, his feline smile already told you what kind of man he would be. What caught your attention was the winged male, he was the most attractive person you had ever set eyes on. His hazel eyes flickered to meet yours and it took everything in you not to gasp, you didn’t expect his gaze to be so scrutinizing. Rhysand gives a delicate nod to Thesan and his courtiers bow to your High Lord. Thesan returns the nod as you and Callon bow respectfully to the Lord of Night.

Glowing gold and moving with grace, your cousin opened his arms and swept it to gesture to the Palace. “Welcome, Rhysand. Allow me to introduce you to my cousin who happens to be my 2nd in Command.”

A friendly smile graced your lips as you allowed your golden glow to shine through, it was more subdued than Thesan, but you preferred it that way. “Welcome to Dawn Court, High Lord Rhysand. I look forward to getting to know you and your courtiers.”

Rhysand took your hand and pressed a kiss on top, a customary gesture that was a sign of respect to females in your court. The smile he gave you had you fighting a blush that threatened to bleed onto your cheeks. “Please, call me Rhys.”

Thesan introduces Callon and like the tough Captain he was, his greeting was reserved as he sized up the males and female. Rhysand introduced Feyre Cursebreaker and you threw all propriety out the window when you grabbed her hands and thanked her for bringing your cousin back.

Rhysand then gestured to the tall muscular man next to him, “This is Azriel, my spymaster.”

It was then when you noticed the small wisps of shadows that surrounded the tall Illyrian, you did your best not to gawk at them. He was dressed in all-black formal wear, his clothes just as refined as Rhysand and Feyre. The only difference was he was the one strapped with a weapon, from the looks of it something special and much older than you. That handsome man was the shadowsinger, probably the same one that was spying on you a few days before. You’re not sure if he or his shadows know it was you that disrupted its spying, but he showed no signs of recognition as he stepped forward to kiss your hand. You noticed the significant scarring on the tops of his hands and fingers, averting your gaze, you focused on the way his lips pressed onto your skin.

“Lady Y/n,” he said, his voice low and heavenly.

While he wasn’t as outspoken or flirtatious as his High Lord, his hazel eyes held yours in curiosity. It was only broken when Thesan clapped his hands and gestured for everyone to enter the Palace and have lunch before the diplomatic talks started. You fell into step with Feyre who stared up at the wonder of the Palace. Her eyes traveled from the hanging flowers to the bridges and towers of the estate. She tells you that it was beautiful which filled your heart with pride. This was your home, a place that you bled and fought for.

Thesan had used magic to make the dining table smaller, he preferred his meals with guests to be more intimate. It also made it easier to read them if they were in proximity. Thesan and you sat at the ends, a reminder to Rhysand that he was still in your court, and if this bothered him, he said nothing. Callon and Feyre sat by your cousin which left you flanked by Rhysand and Azriel. The Palace conjured chairs suitable for wings for Callon and Azriel, the spymaster nodded in appreciation. With a wave of Thesan’s hand, a feast appears on the table and the smell of roast beef and stir-fried vegetables filled the air. Everyone eagerly dug into the food and compliments from Rhysand had your cousin smiling in thanks.

Casual conversation flowed and it surprised you, this was not what you thought Rhysand and his courtiers were going to act like. You were expecting arrogant bastards, and you bluntly told that to Rhysand’s face. Thesan almost choked on his wine and Callon’s face blanched. Rhysand’s violet eyes widened in surprise, no one had ever spoken to the High Lord of Night like that. Azriel and Feyre looked at you in shock, they couldn’t tell if you meant to be rude or if you were genuinely curious. You innocently looked at Rhysand waiting for a response, no one at the table breathed until a deep and genuine laughter came from Death Incarnate himself. A beat later, the sound of chuckles comes from Azriel.

“In the spirit of keeping up our alliance, I thought it’d be beneficial if we acted more like ourselves instead of the ‘arrogant bastards’ we could be,” said Rhysand, an amused smile on his face.

Content with his answer, you smiled at him and continued to eat completely oblivious to the situation.

Thesan took a deep breath and faced Rhysand. “While my cousin is a strong and competent second-in-command, she has the horrible habit of saying the first thing that comes into her mind. I profusely apologize for her comments, she has much to learn as a courtier. My cousin hasn’t had a lot of experience in court.”

You stopped chewing when you realized how rude your comment sounded. You apologized and Rhysand brushed it off, he told you that it was a smart observation to make. As mortified as Thesan was and embarrassed you were, that conversation ended up making the atmosphere more casual and friendly. You discover that Rhysand is an overconfident flirt, but his advances aren’t disgusting, you find yourself enjoying the banter. It also helped that the true object of his affection was the woman next to him. You had an inkling of his feelings after observing how he looked at her. Feyre was curious and asked many questions, and Thesan answered them patiently. It was Azriel whom you kept stealing glances at, he looked like the quiet type, but his silence was unnerving. His shadows were calm, but you could swear they twitched every time you looked at them.

You were about to ask Azriel about Illyrians, you had never met an Illyrian and you were so curious to ask about his species of faerie when Feyre cleared her throat.

“Were you there Under the Mountain?” asked Feyre. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Rhysand and Azriel leaned in, they’ve been to Dawn Court a couple of times over the past centuries, but they have never seen or heard of you. They were surprised when Thesan introduced you as his second in command, they were usually well updated knowing who held power in the other courts.

“My cousin,” you said as you shot a pointed look at him. “Is like an overprotective mother hen. He didn’t let me make a lot of public appearances in court until I was about 50 years old and whenever we had visitors, he made sure I was off somewhere doing some training or working with the other healers.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked at Thesan.

“While suffocating at the time, it was what saved me from being trapped Under the Mountain. I had broken my arm during training the day Amarantha invited the High Lords to that party. I didn’t feel like being a courtier, so I didn’t heal myself and used that as an excuse to stay behind. Only a few faeries knew of my existence, so Amarantha and her people never noticed my absence. The day she drugged the High Lords and used the spell, Thesan used the last of his power to put wards up to protect the Palace and send me a note with instructions,” you said as your eyes clouded thinking of the past 5 decades. “I went crazy the first year, the pressure of protecting the estate and the villages around it was too much. Everyone I knew and trusted was Under the Mountain, I was alone for a while. I raged when I realized I couldn’t leave the court for fear something might happen to it while I was gone trying to get my family back.”

You weren’t mad that he was protective when you were young. Yes, it was isolating but you understood why Thesan did what he did. If they knew the true extent of your power, you’d probably have the biggest target on your back. You sipped your wine and looked at your cousin as his remorseful brown eyes stared back at you. The day Thesan winnowed back to the Palace, you held each other and wept. He promised to never leave you alone again.

Azriel studied your side profile as you talked, he took in every curve of your nose, cheekbones, and lips. You were the female that caught his shadows, they practically ran to him in distress because they’d never been detected while spying before. All his shadows told him was it was a female who discovered them, they failed to mention it was Thesan’s 2nd. His eyes traced the jagged scars that did nothing to hinder your elegance. Your beauty rivaled Morrigan, he even dared to think that you may be more alluring than her. He watched you as you told your story, he could see your radiance dim as if the mere thought of the last 49 years had drained you. He could see the pain in your eyes, it was the same thing he felt when Rhys locked them in Velaris. At least Azriel had his family with him, from the looks of it, those closest to you were trapped Under the Mountain.  

“I understand how you feel,” said Azriel.

All heads turned to him; it was the second time he had spoken out loud since arriving in Dawn Court. Amused, Rhys watched his brother lean closer to you as if he was captivated.

“Something similar happened to me, I can’t imagine not having your family there to help you.” He looked at the permanent marks on your skin. “Your scar—was that from one of Amarantha’s creatures?”

A low warning growl comes from Callon as he glared at the Illyrian, how dare he mention your scar. Rhysand almost spit out his food, Azriel was the politest and most well-mannered person in his inner circle. Azriel hated talking about his scars, yet he blatantly asked you about yours, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rhys looked at Thesan to see if he was mad, but your cousin was just as curious as how you would respond.

Your fingers went up to trace the jagged lines, and the memory of torn flesh resurfaced. “This happened about 20 years ago, a Bogge was slaughtering faeries in a village. I’m no High Lord but I was the next best thing for my people. I went and hunted for it or-- at least tried to drive it away but I barely made it out alive, if I wasn’t a gifted healer myself, the scarring would be worse.”

“How did you escape it?” asked Feyre, her mouth opened in shock after hearing that you encountered the wretched monster by yourself.

This was when you had to lie and tell half-truths to protect your other identity. You looked at Thesan and he gave a discreet nod.

“The Golden Warrior came just in time to drag me up into the air. Bogge can’t fly so it wasn’t able to reach me. With teamwork and a miracle from the Cauldron, we were able to kill it,” you replied.

Azriel looked at Rhysand, but his brother was already on it. “We’ve heard about your warrior-- the Golden Warrior,” said Rhysand. “We heard this faerie had deadly power, the ability to bring down armies onto its knees.”

All playfulness was gone from Rhysand’s handsome face, his demeanor was all business. Callon bristled at the change in mood, but the High Lord of Dawn just frowned.

Thesan tutted in annoyance. “You could have waited until tonight’s drinks to bring up politics, Rhysand.” He waved his hand, and the table cleared, and tea and pastries filled the space. “Please continue.”

“We were just curious about the Golden Warrior; his power is something that could be useful in the future.”

Thesan squinted at Rhysand. “You know something I don’t know… what is it? You wouldn’t be visiting me if something big had happened. Is Amara…” he trailed off; he didn’t like saying her name. Especially after he watched her kill one of his Peregryn courtiers and plucked the white feathers of their wings. The next day, she wore a feathered dress to dinner just to watch Thesan and his court try to hide their fury.

“The evil queen is dead and will stay dead,” reassured Rhysand. “I just wanted to visit my allies and make sure everything between our courts is okay. If something or somebody like Amarantha pops up again, I want to know if we can depend on Dawn Court to ally your foot soldiers and Peregryn legions.”

Thesan frowned again and looked at Callon who gave him a small nod. You bit down on your tongue before you could say something that would contradict Thesan in front of the visitors. Your cousin does not like conflict, he tried to avoid it at all costs. He looks at each of his guests who look at him expectedly, his gaze reached yours and you glowed a little brighter as if to beg him to say the right thing.

“My court knows how I feel about war but… historically, you know I’ve always been loyal to the solar courts,” said Thesan.

You exhaled in relief and Rhysand’s relaxed demeanor returned. It wasn’t a clear “yes”, but it was much better than outright rejection. After the table was cleared, you offered a tour of the Palace and its grounds. Feyre gladly accepted and Thesan let you take the lead as you walked through the Palace. Staff, visiting nobles, and citizens both winged and non-winged, waved at your group and you waved back. The Night Court would nod and keep quiet, curious to see how your court was run. They decided that while Dawn Court was a little bit more formal, they saw that they had good relations with their people, and parts of the Palace were open for the public to enjoy, such as the library and gardens.

Rhysand was itching to talk about politics so after leading them to Thesan’s office, they walked in before Feyre insisted you finish the tour while the males talked about some stupid hunt, they had attended in Autumn Court a century ago. The Lord of Night gave her a look of longing before everyone parted ways, it was subtle, but you noticed it. Once the doors were shut and you walked a good distance from the door, you looked at Feyre with a sly grin.

“Is there something going on with Rhysand?” you asked casually.

She looked at you in shock, “No! What makes you say that?”

You made your way to show her the bedroom suites her court would be staying at.

“I can feel the attraction, you’re both constantly looking at each other.”

Feyre’s cheeks turned red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s the most insufferable person I know, I’m not sure how you can handle all that flirting. Besides, I should be the one asking about your obvious interest in Azriel.”

It was your turn to look stunned as Feyre smirked. “I’ve never met a shadowsinger before, it’s hard not to stare at the shadows moving around him. It’s-- unnerving.” You weren’t lying, it was one of the most peculiar things you’ve seen in your life. It didn’t help that he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen, but his shadow’s movements and his piercing gaze were hard to ignore. You were still mad he got through the wards, you were hoping to talk to catch him off guard one day and ask him about his spying.

You find yourself getting along with the Cursebreaker even though you knew there were ulterior motives for her visit to Dawn Court. The rest of the day was spent roaming around the castle due to Feyre’s “curiosity”, it was tiring but it was better that you were present instead of Feyre going off by herself. It was becoming obvious that they were letting Feyre look for something and used their meeting with Thesan as a distraction.

***

After dinner, you found yourself feeling extremely restless once everyone retired to their rooms. Wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, you walked out of your chambers for a stroll around the Palace. You were making your way to one of the courtyards when you heard a whisper to your right. Looking at the spot, you see this wisp of a shadow and you huffed in annoyance.

“Show yourself,” you commanded, eyes focusing on a spot in the shadows. You couldn’t see anything, but you swear there was a figure somewhere in all that darkness.

Azriel froze, no one ever saw him when he was in the shadows, he was supposed to be undetectable. The High Lord of Night himself couldn’t see Azriel unless the shadowsinger made himself known but somehow, you saw him. Quickly removing the surprised look on his face, Azriel stepped out of his shadows and was met with your calculating gaze. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked under the moonlight.

“Why were you following me?” Your voice was cold, and all traces of the gracious and friendly host were gone.

As smoothly as he could, Azriel said, “I wasn’t following you, I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a walk.” Azriel wanted to cringe, he was capable of infiltrating courts, but he was stumbling.

Detecting the blatant lie, your eyebrow quirked up unimpressed by the spymaster’s skills. You sized him up and then jerked your head towards some cushioned seating in the courtyard. “Come and have tea with me, I need to talk to you,” you said already walking away from him.

His footsteps followed you and it was only until he adjusted his wings and settled down on the cushioned seat that you conjured tea and cookies from the kitchen. You prepared your drink in silence, the both of you eyeing each other in anticipation of who would break the silence. He seemed content to sit there, so you sipped some tea before clearing your throat.

“What is the night court doing here, Azriel? Between you and me, I don’t think the three of you came here to talk about alliances and politics.”

His hazel eyes met yours, he didn’t think you’d be so blunt. “What makes you think that?”

“Your shadows,” you said watching the wisps dance behind him. “I caught them looking around the palace, what were you doing?”

He inhaled slowly, keeping his handsome face neutral. “I was just doing reconnaissance. Making sure no surprises were waiting for us in Dawn Court.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked, “My cousin may be stubborn at times, but we have always been loyal to the solar courts. After 50 years of chaos, how would we even have the time or energy to launch an assault on the Night Court? I don’t know how it is back at Night but we’re still rebuilding most of our cities.”

Azriel’s shadows swarmed around him as he guiltily thought about Velaris. How protected his city was from Amarantha’s wrath. “I was just doing my job. I apologize on behalf of Rhysand; we didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I think you were looking for something the other night,” you continued. “You know…you guys can just talk to us, right?”

The shadowsinger shifted in his seat, squirming under your attentive gaze. “We think Dawn Court is hiding something powerful,” he admitted before realizing what he said.

Azriel wanted to slam his head on the table, he couldn’t believe he just said that. He cursed himself for revealing any information, Rhysand had lectured Feyre on how to deflect questions, who knew the spymaster was the one to need a refresher? He looked at you with this renewed sense of realization, there was something different about you. Were you a siren? A witch? He was the best spymaster in all of Prythian and here he was spouting whatever came into his head. Even if this was his first time meeting you, Azriel felt as if he could trust Dawn Court’s second-in-command.

Fuck. They know we’re hiding something, you thought. Stirring more honey into your tea, you forced yourself to be nonchalant.

“That’s quite an accusation, shadowsinger,” you said coolly. “Something that you shouldn’t repeat in front of Thesan if you want a solid answer for our allyship.”

 This must have been the strangest situation you’ve been in in a while. You and Azriel stared at each other, gazes burning, waiting to see who would reveal their secrets. The visible scars on his hands and wings told you that he has been a warrior his entire life. He was probably the most dangerous faerie you’ve ever met. This male had infiltrated the Palace and spied on you, that act alone should have pissed you off and made you hostile towards the male, but it didn’t. You were only intrigued by the handsome faerie in front of you.

Azriel smirked, “So, you’re not denying that Dawn Court is hiding something?” His voice came out in a taunting purr.

You think about the glamoured sapphires around your neck and the wings that hide beneath your skin, of that dark power that you have. This was why Thesan spent decades hiding you, so other courts and faeries weren’t going to be sneaking around and finding ways to utilize your gifts.

With a bored huff, you lean on the palm of your hand. “We have nothing to hide, Azriel. I think everyone’s just a little on edge after what happened Under the Mountain, scared that someone like Amarantha is going to wreak havoc on our frail country. We’re all feeling vulnerable which is why I think we should call it a night. Politics should be discussed with everyone present in a meeting room, not over tea and cookies.”

The shadowsinger doesn’t respond for fear he would say something stupid again. You had found a way to graciously end what could have been an ally-ending conversation and he was thankful. Who knows what he could have said, he might have even revealed the existence of Velaris or irritated Dawn Court’s 2nd to the point of no return. He stood up and gave you a courteous bow, but not without taking one last look at the strangely magnetic fae with the sharp eyes.

This is going to be an interesting few days you thought as Azriel walked away.

As he sauntered toward the direction of the guest suites, he could swear he could feel your gaze sear through his back. He wished he knew if it was curiosity or if you were imagining driving a knife through his back.

[diamond-dangeresque]

Kasmeer suddenly understands why Jory calls Chihiro 'beanstalk'.

Chihiro Yadora was tall even back when they had first met in Southsun Cove. Despite being of Canthan blood like Marjory and her sister, he practically towers over the others in this room. His musculature suits him, sure, but it also makes him even more of a sore thumb around guards and warriors with thinner frames than him. Kasmeer can see Minister of Security's Li Ha-Eung glaring at Chihiro, noticing that Kasmeer is looking in Li's direction, and then promptly fucks his vision off to someplace else.

But the surface thoughts linger in his mind, either unaware or uncaring of the Mesmer in the room, loud like a hammer to an iron pot: He may look like us, but he won't ever be like us. Godsdamn, what is his problem. Kasmeer does her best to not bug out at the hate still echoing in her ears.

Her mental gaze turns to the Commander. Or the 'Herald,' as he sometimes calls himself. Radio silence. A feat that for ten years she's been unable to figure out. The first few years they knew each other, Chihiro would joke, 'Well, I don't have anything important in this head anyhow~' and leave it at that. And given his behavior back then she sort of believed it, too. But by the time he comes back to life from Balthazar nearly cutting him in half, and when there's a lot to think about on the possibility of deicide...still, nothing. He's magical, sure, but his magic is like Rytlock's: Mists-drenched and arcane. It's bizarre, aberrant. And whatever magic it is exactly that Chihiro channels, it lets his brain sit in a magical black box that tastes of lakewater and rot.

The MinSec department head and the CEO of Xunlai Jade are arguing with each other about the jade bots wandering around Shing Jea. She won't admit it, not openly and hopefully not ever, but she has an apprehension nowadays around "robotic guards". Safe to say Scarlet left a hell of an impact on her thanks to her...generous ideas around what Watchknights should be able to do. And she doesn't find too much fault in maybe having security be a little bit less autonomously handled.

On the other hand, Li is a cantankerous man and a raging racist. Any point he makes however legitimate has himself as its own millstone 'round the neck. And Kasmeer would rather swallow her fear around a jade bot than deal with...well, with people like Li.

"Ambassador Meade?" calls out the drab-looking advisor standing aside Empress Ihn. She looks towards Kasmeer, but her attention is soon drawn to Chihiro. He doesn't move an inch.

What is with this man and drawing unwanted attention??

"The Krytan ambassador, Lady Kasmeer Meade." If Kasmeer didn't know any better, she'd say the advisor was trying her hardest to not look like she also had bones to pick with Chihiro. "And retinue." Despite only having just met here, right now.

"Retinue?" Taimi hisses, clearly offended at her lack of being treated with something resembling decorum.

Chihiro only lets off a small chuckle. "Not now," he tells her.

Kasmeer bows, trying to remember the exact way she should do so and to what depth based off of what little information she could cram-study on the way to Shing Jea plus Marjory's...well, actually, she was less than helpful. But she tried, and that is worth something. Just not for a meeting with a foreign country's leader. At least the Priory still had books on court courtesy. "Your Imperial Majesty. Warmest regards from Queen Jennah at this unexpected dawn, a renewal of our ancient friendship."

Something almost resembling a scowl forms on the Empress's face. "Not exactly how we remember it." But it relaxes. She reaffirms her cordial, courtly manner. "Please relay Cantha's best wishes to our sister, the queen, whom we look forward to meeting at the soonest opportunity."

The conversation goes...as smoothly as it can go given how bumpy this whole situation had become to begin with. The Aetherblades had apparently been slumming it in Shing Jea, hidden from the general populace until it came time to loot and pillage, and the Commander's sudden arrival on Cantha's shores only agitated the situation further, not to mention stoked fears of a foreign invasion. The Commander's reputation wasn't unknown to the populace; tales of his dragonslaying, godkilling, and tyrant-culling have pre-colored his reputation. Empress Ihn is infinitely gracious and patient in trying to hear this foreign dignitary's situation out. But Minister Li is having none of it. Joon tries her hand at defense, but to little use. He smells blood in the water. He wants to find an excuse, any excuse, to throw them all out one way or another. And, with a diplomatic gesture, Li is sequestered out of the main hall along with Joon to a nearby antechamber. Whatever heated discussion they're surely about to have—and gods only know how tempted Kasmeer is to peek into the conversation—is their business and theirs alone. All eyes, physical and psychic, have to remain in this conversation.

Doubly so since now Ihn is the third person here to take a keen, if troubled, interested in the Herald. Though, at least here, it's in a military-political way. She probably thinks herself in counsel with a famed foreign general, as much of a hardass as Minister Li. If only she knew...

Kasmeer looks back. Chihiro's remained upright and stiff this whole time, quiet as a mouse, with his hands held behind himself. Must be very used to meetings like this, it looks like. But more importantly, he's not trying to draw attention to himself. He's learned that lesson from Grothmar, if nothing else. His stance, his aura, it all says, 'Please don't mind me.'

And yet.

"Well, that went about as I expected." The Empress's posture...loosens. Ever so slightly. Even she seemed to have felt the heat from the Head of MinSec's undue judgment. "I assume these are the aforementioned colleagues?"

"One of them, Majesty," Kasmeer answers, still maintaining that sweet but calm voice every diplomat needs, "The Commander here."

"Commander? What are you commander of?" She knows. Has known arguably since Kasmeer arrived. But she wants to hear, specifically, what the Commander says. How he says it. Gauging him to see how much of an enemy he truly is, if Li is to be believed in any capacity at all.

Chihiro approaches. He bows, as formally as he had been taught at least, and slips his blindfold off of his face to 'round his neck. "Formerly of the Pact alliance, Your Majesty," Chihiro answers. "To be disbanded soon." His eyes, a dark shade of teal, squint in the light before quickly adjusting. He has a particularly steely gaze now. Where did that come from? (Or did he always have it, and the blindfold merely obscured it?)

The Empress tilts her head. It's so slight you could be forgiven for believing she hasn't. Ihn looks upon the Commander with something like bemusement. The advisor Navan, meanwhile, is locked in. "Ah yes. I've heard of this Pact." Navan seems far more apprehensive, more...ready. Curiously, like Chihiro, Kasmeer couldn't get a read on any surface thoughts from her, either. Like peering into a murky lake undisturbed. There was just... nothing. But under the stone-like face, there's an errant twitch to one of her eyes, her lips drawn ever-so-slightly taut.

"As I said, Majesty," Kasmeer continues, "we know the Aetherblades. We know their ways, their tactics. The Commander was fighting them when the airship crashed and would relish a chance to repay Cantha's mercy. Armed with any intelligence your Ministry of Security may have, we can bring them to justice for you."

Empress Ihn lets off a soft chuckle. "Let's hope you're a better pirate hunter than airship pilot." She again reaffirms her courtly demeanor and states: "That is acceptable to us. Speak to Minister Li about it."

Kasmeer and Chihiro both bow to the Empress, the latter slipping his blindfold back on. They begin to head for the antechamber when the Empress calls them back once more. "A word or two for the Commander." But when Kasmeer turns around with Chihiro, Ihn speaks up, "Ambassador Meade, and your companion, you are free to go."

Kasmeer looks at Chihiro. He doesn't turn his head, but she can feel his gaze. Confusion. Anticipation. 'Go,' he mouths. It doesn't feel right to leave him alone in the maws of social danger like this, especially when he's just recovered from having been in a coma for a week and a half. But she obliges the Empress's words. Has to.

"What's that all about?" Taimi asks Kasmeer, doing her best to keep her voice hushed as they make their way to the antechamber. She tries to raise an ear for listening in but Kasmeer pushes it back down.

"Best to leave this sort of thing alone," Kasmeer answers, "at least until the Commander tells us himself." She watches Chihiro walk towards the throne before looking forward, ushering Taimi into the antechamber where Joon and Li await.

.

.

Chihiro approaches the throne with measured steps. Lone leather soles echoing across the now quieted hall, guards stone-faced but eyes tracking the foreigner. Ihn eyes the Herald with something between curiosity and concern. Navan warns Her Majesty to either shoo the "huu na mang" from the throne room or... She doesn't finish her sentence, and looks at Chihiro with a glare that is measured only enough to appear dignified with her Empress's gaze averted. There's fire behind those eyes. Navan hates Chihiro for reasons he can't fathom to guess.

No matter. If she doesn't make that hatred known or transparent, it's none of his business. And he'll keep knowing the language to himself, even if "huu na mang" escapes him; better to appear an ignorant expat than upstage and embarrass the royal advisor, make another incident around himself.

He bows, again as formally and deeply as he had been taught to do years ago. "Your Majesty," he asks, "you've summoned me?" Again he slips the blindfold off. Headwear removed before royalty, as he was taught.

"There is a curiosity we wish to satisfy." Ihn's posture on the throne...relaxes. Again, just a bit. "There are talks within the Monastery's Ritualist community. You wear a blindfold, as initiates do, and can see and move despite your physical blindness. You've aided in quelling restless spirits around the island, often without raising a blade. Exorcising Purist specters while granting mercy to ancient Canthan visages."

A grin, controlled, creeps onto Chihiro's face. "I am a spiritual man, Your Majesty," he answers. "Well-attuned to the Mists and in the old ways of mediumship." Not entirely a lie. But one of many he believes he'll need to tell so this conversation isn't torpedo'd. He doesn't want to be here just as much as Navan doesn't want him to be here, if her moldering poker face is any indication. "I believed such skills to be of value in situations such as you've described."

"We are pleasantly surprised to see those old ways live on beyond Cantha's physical borders, made further robust through outside teachings," Ihn remarks, "and it appears you've left a good impression on those within the Monastery. Our curiosity lies with the blindfold you wear–" She raises her arms. Smooth hands peek from massive sleeves as they're raised closely together. clap-clap. "–though perhaps not for reasons you may believe."

A guard steps out from one of the other antechambers, flanked by two other guards, as he carries out a small wooden lockbox. Its intricate paint coat and gildleaf fading and chipping away to reveal aged teak wood underneath. The three guards approach Navan and kneel, center-escort guard unlocking the box and holding it raised over his head. Navan steps over and gently picks up whatever exactly is in the box that the Empress had prepared. Navan turns around, the object draped over her hands.

The color drains from Chihiro's face.

Navan walks closer to the Herald, hands in a precise and unmoving position. Draped over them is a long cloth the color of a bearded iris. It looks almost utterly identical to his own blindfold. To his mother's blindfold. The only real difference is how worn the blindfold cloth over Navan's hands are; it hangs threadbare and wrinkled, untouched by humans in over two hundred years until now.

"Navan," Ihn states, gesturing at her advisor. "If you please."

The advisor clears her throat, hands remaining unmoved. Her face doesn't look so angry or tense anymore. Just frustrated. She begins: "This is one of the treasures the Royal Dungeoneering Society was able to rescue from the ruins of Raisu Palace in the decades following the Zhaitan Disaster. The blinding-cloth of Emperor Kisu's Imperial Seer. It was said to have been one-of-a-kind, earned from her travels abroad." Navan takes a deep breath. Chihiro can see the advisor's gaze flick towards the vibrant cloth. She refocuses. Glances back to her Empress, then to the Herald. She exhales. "We've gained information from your stay with the Ministry of Security. You sign your name as Yadora Chihiro. You portray yourself as a spiritually-in tune individual. And so it seemed odd that you also have...such a remarkable counterfeit in your possession." Navan stops. A stray thought catches her, lets go as she remembers where she is. She concludes: "It's precise, down to the fabric and shade of dye. Her Majesty inquires into its origin." Into you, it almost seems like she wants to say.

Chihiro looks again at the aged cloth hanging from the advisor's hands. He feels his heart climb into his throat. Navan seems to have picked something up from Chihiro's changed disposition. He has to pivot, and quickly. The very idea of denying the validity of the artifact he wears, feels like spitting in the face of his mother. But doing anything except affirm the validity of the relic on Navan's hands would only invite further trouble. Chihiro wonders how much of this is genuine inquiry.

Chihiro takes his own deep breath. Looks Navan in the eyes. She's waiting, scanning, looking for that weak spot. He answers the advisor and the Empress, "It was something Amm– ...something my grandmother got for me when I was young." He pauses, the gears in his head spinning. And then: "She noticed I had the 'family gift.' Wanted to nurture it as best as she could. She got me this–" He thumbs the cloth around his neck. The softness of the silk calms his nerves. As it always does. "–and told me that her ancestor always regretted not coming home for the funeral. Always regretted not seeing her sister one last time.Couldn't even stay around long enough to gather her things..." One last pause from Chihiro. The specific word almost hitches in his throat. "So this replica was the next best thing."

The silence hanging in the throne room could strike a man dead from its weight. The Empress is stunned, perhaps surprised. Navan is scrutinous, head tilted down slightly as she glares at Chihiro; brow furls, eyes squint just so. Ihn doesn't appear to disbelieve the story, which is good. The advisor may not be convinced, but that doesn't seem to matter now if the important mark believes the story. He just needs to make sure his words don't invalidate or ruin Kasmeer's. The last thing he wants is to be taken back to Kryta and dragged to Jennah's throne room, having caused Yet Another Political Incident.

"You affirm relation to the Sisters, then?" Navan asks Chihiro. Her voice is deadly serious. Almost seems like a question asked before. Probably was, if he hazards a guess. Her gaze and posture tempers again, becomes more of a leer as she pulls her chin level and stands upright. Almost as if she's expecting something to happen. Maybe hoping Chihiro admits the truth. Whatever, exactly, that's supposed to look like.

"Yes," he answers. And then he adds, hoping Kasmeer isn't overhearing all this, "And if there's still any doubt, I can seek proof of my lineage from my home country's archivist. I have personal records–"

"There will be no need for that at the time being," Navan states to cut Chihiro's sentence off, "but all the same the gesture is appreciated and we thank you for it." Navan turns around, goes to return the relic back to its container. Chihiro feels a deep pang in his chest as the old cloth moves further from him. An old, lingering pain. He swallows his trepidation and refocuses. Not here. Not now.

"Thank you for your answers, Commander," the Empress tells Chihiro. She appears ready to be lost in thought herself. Or so she appears to behave. "There is much for us to think about. You are free to go. And, a last word of warning."

"...Majesty?" Chihiro slips the blindfold back on as he bows one last time. Through second-sight, he watches Navan place the relic in its box and lock it, dismiss the guards, and step back to by the Empress's side. Her head turns to look at Chihiro. Still eyeing him, it seems.

"The royal family hold the Yadora Sisters to very high esteem. They have, through their efforts, served Cantha and her people twice. A Betrayer vanquished, an usurper silenced. We will forever owe them gratitude for how they gave to their country, as our ancestors did before us." There is a pause. Ihn's calm, painted smile fades. Disgust takes over what remains. Subtle, but there within the tone-change of her voice. "But not all will look upon their names with such reverence, as it shames us to say. Be very careful who you share such information to."

"...Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you." A final-for-real bow, more muscle memory at this point than willing gesture, and he turns around to walk towards the antechamber where the others wait.

Empress Ihn's words stick to his mind. He's not sure how to parse them exactly. Threat? Warning? Both, maybe? Navan had no issues signaling her distaste of the Commander, and it wouldn't surprise him if the advisor was emoting for two. But Ihn herself seemed...well, if she did dislike him, she's done very well to not make it too obvious from herself. He enters the antechamber and tries to clear his mind. Kasmeer and Taimi have many questions, he's sure.

The air in here is just as tense and suffocating as it was in the throne room. Joon and Li aren't talking to each other...or they were, and this tension is the aftermath of it. Taimi looks like a deer caught in a spotlight. Kasmeer looks relieved to see the Herald, and he whispers to her, 'I'll explain later' before focusing on the Minister Li. "Minister, I understand you're…preoccupied with other matters, but I'd appreciate your help with something."

.

.

"All that drama over a blindfold?"

Chihiro shrugs. The wooden chair he sits in is somewhat rickety and uncomfortable, but he can ignore it so long as it lets him lean as far back as he is without breaking. Taimi sits across, fingers fidgeting with hair, processing Chihiro's account of his more personal talk with the Empress. Kasmeer sits to Taimi's left, Joon to her right. The former is fiddling with her comms device looking for Marjory's number. The latter is sitting quiet, gazing at the Herald. Yeah, he can see the resemblance to the Empress. That way she carries herself, the confidence she oozes. It's an infectious sort of charisma he's not unfamiliar with.

"They took offense to my name," Chihiro mumbles, mind already wandering to recollect upon his talk. Navan's behavior bothered him. Something about her bothers him. But he just can't put a finger on it.

"Makes sense," Joon chimes in, "ever since the Imperial Seer's passing and her sister's disappearance from the mainland, phonies and charlatans claiming descendance from the Sisters cropped up frequently. One of the few good things the Ministry of Purity ever did was put a stop to that nonsense, though that was to..." She chuckles. "Ugh, how did that history novel describe it? 'To prevent undue hero worship of unscrupulous and unpatriotic individuals.' A half-step forward for fifty steps back. Good riddance to those Purist fucks." A small gasp, realizing something. "Ah, apologies. Probably shouldn't mouth off like that around dignitaries."

"What happens in this room stays in this room, right Taimi?" Chihiro asks, a playful tone added to try and raise morale.

"Your secret's safe with us," Taimi responds, all too happy to play into Chihiro's bit. "The magnanimous Yu Joon keeps her image sparkling."

"But yeah...I didn't know about the whole..."

"Don't sweat it," Joon answers ahead of Chihiro's awkward response, "not like you could have known or guessed. Cantha's been through a lot. Her people wanted heroes. Needed heroes, at times. Some people were all too willing to lie about who they were for a quick coin. And with the Ministry of Purity putting sword, torch, and churning earth to anything they didn't like or approve of...it got hard after a while to tell who was telling the truth. So it became a sort of blanket response: we know the Seer died without heirs, and thus we assume her sister did as well. Their bloodline ended with them. Easy, clean, and it kept the Purists off your back as a cold comfort."

Chihiro thinks over what Joon tells him. He asks, "So then...you believe me? Her Majesty seemed convinced, and Navan just hates my guts I think."

Joon smiles. "You could say the Empress is a cautious optimist. From her point of view, a foreigner would have little to gain from lying about this. And your offer to provide documents at least tells her that you're willing to put your own integrity on the line for this truth. Willing to drag Lady Meade down with you if you were found to be wrong." Kasmeer looks up. She looks bothered. A bit angry. Snaps a quick glare at Chihiro. This was not agreed between us, Herald. "She may ask for evidence later, now that you've offered. Just in case."

"And the advisor?" Kasmeer interjects, trying to mask her emotions with her dignitary behavior and placid pseudo-smile. "I will concur, she seemed...fettered by the Commander's presence."

Joon folds her hands, rests her chin on bridges fingers. She mulls over her next few words carefully, it seems. "Navan has a keen eye for people," is all she says on the matter. "And if you're in Navan's eye, it's for a reason."

Silence. Taimi breaks it before Chihiro. "A good reason, maybe?"

Joon does not answer.

Taimi looks at Joon, then at Chihiro. She tells him, "Might be high time to go look for Detective Rama. That evidence won't investigate itself, haha." She tries to play it off. Maybe she'll talk automaton shop with Joon, to get rid of the strange feeling around those cryptic words. Or maybe she should listen to her own screaming instincts and book it from Shing Jea. Last time the Commander was the apple of someone's eye, she got caught in that crossfire. And she almost died for that obsession. Not again. Never again.

This room...is suffocating.

"Joon! Why don't we discuss sci-lit? I heard The Glixx Lectures made it even all the way here! Though uh...with some fresh air on the side?"

Joon's face relaxes. Her smile seems earnest enough. "Yes, we can take this conversation outside. And the Lectures have reached here, in a sense. I've extensive notes on it. Page to page." She gets up. Taimi follows suit. The two walk outside, Joon careful to manage her stroll speed. Kasmeer gets up, trailing behind. She shoots one last glare at Chihiro—we are going to talk about this very soon—and leaves the room.

Chihiro leans far more physically in his chair. The chair legs groan. He props his up on the table. Slips his fingers underneath his blindfold. He rubs his eyes, the rough calluses a tactile relief to his nerves. His right eye involuntarily weeps on touch. Still damaged. It feels like he had a wish granted by some djinn drunk on irony. He pulls his hands away, right index and thumb mindlessly rubbing the shed liquid.

It was one thing to feel like no one knew who you were back in Kryta. It's a completely different feeling to enter a land where your name is known yet taboo.

He's not sure which one he dislike more.

[free-queer-books]

Prism Reads Stuff Your Kindle Day -May 22nd, 2025

A book blast of free LGBTQIA+ ebooks across several genres!

Books with exact representation that I can confirm include:

Achillean books

Bidding on You by Kandyce Marie (Amazon)

Aromantic and arospec characters

Bidding on You by Kandyce Marie - aceflux demiromantic character, pan-greyrose character (Amazon)

Asexual and acespec characters

Off Script by Sarah Zane - demisexual (Amazon)

Glass and Sass by Laura Greenwood - demisexual (multiple stores)

Bridging the Gap by Jem Wendel - demisexual (Amazon)

Bidding on You by Kandyce Marie - aceflux demiromantic character, pan-greyrose character (Amazon)

Dawn of the Obsidian Sun by R.M. Barbosa - asexual romance, but can't confirm specific characters (Amazon)

Dragons & Dumplings by Laura Greenwood - asexual character (Amazon)

Bisexual characters

Off Script by Sarah Zane (Amazon)

The Seven by Erin Curran (Amazon)

Glass and Sass by Laura Greenwood (multiple stores)

When the ball drops by J C Bryer (Amazon)

Loving Lee by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Love on the Sunny Side by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Zone Entry by Maya Kinley (Amazon)

Olivia's Loving Threesome by Tamara Earthsong (multiple stores)

Rayne Check by Gabbi Grey (multiple stores)

All the Oceans by Polly Emorie (Amazon)

The Blindfold Date by K.C. Carmine (Amazon)

Blood Bound by Kayla Brooks (multiple stores)

Keep by J C Bryer (Amazon)

F/F

Bitter Winds by Marina Tempest (Amazon)

Tower of the Heart by E.K. O'Connor (Bookfunnel)

Claims by nkr (Amazon)

Just One More Day by nkr (Amazon)

All the Oceans by Polly Emorie (Amazon)

Sophie and the Sea by Cassidy Langue (Amazon)

Caught with Zeus by Arizona Tape (multiple stores)

Heart and Soul of the Wolf by Arizona Tape/Ariana Jade (multiple stores)

Under Lock and Key by Sarah Zane (Amazon)

F/M

Claims by nkr (Amazon)

Glass and Sass by Laura Greenwood (multiple stores)

Love on the Sunny Side by Cozy DuBois (multiple stores)

Dragons & Dumplings by Laura Greenwood (multiple stores)

F/NB

The Travelling City by Adrienne Miller (Amazon)

Gay characters

Loving Lee by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Love on the Sunny Side by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Wild Obsession by F.A. Ray (Amazon)

Shuttered Hearts by Trey Lari (Amazon)

A Glorious Mess by Kennedy Sutton (Amazon)

The Art by David Gray (Amazon)

Lesbian characters

Bitter Winds by Marina Tempest (Amazon)

The Curse of the Old Woods by Elizabeth Andre (Amazon)

Just One More Day by nkr (Amazon)

All the Oceans by Pollie Emorie (Amazon)

Sophie and the Sea by Cassidy Langue (Amazon)

M/M

Monday by Erin Curran (Amazon)

Immortal Bones by Margot de Klerk (Amazon)

When the ball drops by J C Bryer (Amazon)

Loving Lee by Cozy DuBois (multiple stores)

Bridging the Gap by Jem Wendel (Amazon)

Zone Entry by Maia Kinley (Amazon)

Wild Obsession by F.A. Ray (Amazon)

Crunchy Orange Chicken by Trey Lari (Amazon)

Shuttered Hearts by Trey Lari (Amazon)

Rayne Check by Gabbi Grey (multiple stores)

Moonlight by Evie McGlynn (Amazon)

Bidding on You by Kandyce Marie (Amazon)

Garrett by Shaw Montgomery (Amazon)

Where There's A Will by Anna Sparrows (Amazon)

The Blindfold Date by K.C. Carmine (Amazon)

A Glorious Mess by Kennedy Sutton (Amazon)

Under the Dragon's Spell by Ann-Katrin Byrde (Amazon)

Dad's Omega Best Friend by Anna Wineheart (Amazon)

His Alpha Unlocked by Anna Sparrows (Amazon)

Omega's Forever Home by Lacey Daize (Amazon)

His Mate by Vengeance by Mel Aitchess (Amazon)

Spell of the Werewolf by J.R. Loveless (Amazon)

Caller of Crows by Silvana Falcon (Amazon)

Blood Bound by Kayla Brooks (multiple stores)

The Art by David Gray (Amazon)

Trying to Kill the Sun by T.F. Author (multiple stores)

Pansexual characters

Loving Lee by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Love on the Sunny Side by Cozy Dubois (multiple stores)

Polyamory books

Olivia's Loving Threesome by Tamara Earthsong - FFM (multiple stores)

Santa's Elf by Lacey Daize - MMM (Amazon)

Keep by J C Bryer - why choose with primary MF and secondary MM and FF (Amazon)

Dawn of the Obsidian Sun by R.N. Barbosa - F/NB/M with F/F flashbacks (Amazon)

Indecent by Gwin Savage - FFF (multiple stores)

Sapphic books

The Curse of the Old Woods by Elizabeth Andre (Amazon)

Tower of the Heart by E.K. O'Connor (Bookfunnel)

All the Oceans by Polly Emorie (Amazon)

Sophie and the Sea by Cassidy Langue (Amazon)

Caught with Zeuz by Arizona Tape (multiple stores)

Heart and Soul of the Wolf by Arizona Tape/Ariana Jade (multiple stores)

Under Lock and Key by Sarah Zane (Amazon)

Trans and nonbinary characters

Loving Lee by Cozy Dubois - trans characters, nonbinary characters (multiple stores)

Love on the Sunny Size by Cozy Dubois - trans male character, trans female character, nonbinary character (multiple store)

Dawn of the Obsidian Sun by R.N. Barbosa - nonbinary character (Amazon)

The Travelling City by Adrienne Miller - genderqueer character (Amazon)

Trying to Kill the Sun by T.F. Author - trans romance, but can't confirm specific characters (multiple stores)

[physalian]

Can I complain about modern fantasy book titles and covers for a second?

I don’t like these books anyway. Why doesn’t matter, they have their audience and I’m not part of it. But eight whole books, and I read seven of them (not Assassin’s Blade) a few years ago now, and I could not tell you in what order they should be read if someone handed me a blind pile, or even what cover belongs to each book because they’re so painfully generic (and missing numbers on their spines).

Nor could I tell by the titles which are also painfully generic. Yeah they read like fantasy titles but there’s nothing distinct about them, they’re just fantasy buzzwords and they’re so vague that even Tower of Dawn leaves me vaguely recalling that kingdom with the giant birds, I think? Heir of Fire might be the romantic side quest that lasts an entire book, but that’s based more on my memory of the order of events than the title or cover would suggest.

Blank of X and Y she used for ACOTAR (which I did not read and know nothing about so I skipped them) is just so boring to me if the Mad Lib is nothing special. “Heir of Fire” could be a Game of Thrones fanfic for how unique and evocative the title is. A Court of Thorns and Roses literally stole the cadence of A Song of Ice and Fire but guess what?? Those aren't just nonsense words. Ice and Fire and how they're related are hugely thematic and relavent elements in those books. "Thorns and Roses" just ripped off a Poison song.

I assume these were the original covers since they’re not so manicured and actually have character. The titles are the same but the colors are so much bolder and the imagery isn’t a greyscale girl for 7 out of 8 titles. They’re distinct and memorable and while they’re still not evocative of the actual story, if I was a bigger fan of the books I’d probably have stronger associations. They do try. I have fuzzy memories coming back of EOS having the cool pirate with the map hands, KOA being the climactic battle book, QOS... might be the boring side quest with the dragons. This does not look like assembly line popcorn fantasy. This looks like it has heart, and an air of mystery. They draw you in and have you asking questions, they have you wanting to know more.

These books are, in my opinion, superior in many ways to anything SJM has written, but the covers? The exact same problem on steroids. And I only read four of them, there’s six total apparently. King’s Cage is the best title of the bunch. I know immediately from the title “that’s the one where the protagonist spent the whole book as a political prisoner in, you know, the king’s cage”.

But the covers, though they all share the same aesthetic and would look pretty on the book shelf, are absolutely devoid of any and all context within the book, save King's Cage. They’re all feminine crowns and tiaras, too. They could have at least given a man’s crown or at least something with harsher angles and thicker lines to evoke, idk, maybe the titular character the third book is about? It helps that the series (at one point) was only four books so it was less titles and ambiguous covers to juggle, but now there’s six so I guess that’s out the window.

Pretty, but purely window dressing. The best thing they have going for them is how distinctly minimalist they are that sets them apart from other fantasy.

I have incredibly mixed feelings about these books but the colors. Very much carrying on the PJO tradition of titles that actually fit the books and art to go along with it. There’s so much drama and movement to each one and they are, once again, scenes from each book, so many little details to look at. Festus was a huge part of TLH, then Percy's back in action, front and center in SON, then... uh, MOA... then Percy and Annabeth looking scared shitless in HOH and then... uh, BOO. Exists.

They all draw you in and I very much remember the cover drop for House of Hades and losing my mind over it. Much more face-focused than the reserved originals, much bolder, but still, mostly, Percy Jackson.

I looked this up on google images and couldn’t even read the titles there tiny at the bottom. The exact same color scheme for every single book. This is for the box set, I know that, so the spines all make one image when you line them up, but the spine doesn’t have to be the same image as the front cover.

That said, the cover images are still distinct and still hold true to the originals—showing actual elements from the books, like Blackjack and Polyphemus and the Labyrinth. Updated but a bit too sleek for my tastes (maybe that’s just nostalgia talking). The titles though, love the titles. At least they kept the series number on the covers (unlike TOG or RQ).

Now this. This here. These have everything. Bold, distinct colors on the spines, beautiful unique and very fantastical art, art that actually pertains to the book it’s about with an air of mystery every single time. You want to ask why there’s a kid floating in Long Island Sound, who that giant eye belongs to, who has that pegasus so frightened, what’s in the golden coffin, and… well the last one is just noire and I like it.

The titles, though. The. Titles. “Sea of Monsters” cannot in any way match up with the plot of the rest of the series. These covers are perfection.

Now I did not read these books, just saw the movies. These covers are dated, but there still wonderfully, charmingly whimsical, for an entire series about wizards and witches. The colors are distinct, the font choices reflect the vibes of each book, the art depicts the stories within the pages—Harry joining the Quidditch team, Fawkes coming to the rescue, Buckbeak, the mermaid egg thing and the other competitors in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the (I think?) prophecy room/Ministry of Magic, the Remembrall (I think??), and, you know, the last one is cool too. The style of the drawings are rather unique to Harry Potter. Harry also visibly ages across each one.

The titles themselves, like PJO (while predating PJO so setting the trend I’m aware) cannot be separated from their books. Order of the Phoenix? That’s the book about the Order of the Phoenix. Deathly Hallows is about, shocker, the Deathly Hallows.

Putting Twilight here at the bottom. I like these despite them being minimalist because, unlike every other cover on this list, they’re minimalist fantasy. Barely urban fantasy. The red and white motifs are evocative of the romance genre and vampire fiction and at least the covers of Twilight and Breaking Dawn do reference scenes in their books, with Edward catching the apple in the cafeteria and them playing chess on their honeymoon.

They also speak to a more adult, mature audience with the sleeker look. These are romance novels with vampires, *not* fantasy novels with romance. You see any of those covers among other adult romance in a bookstore and they’re going to catch your eye. The titles… eh. Not so much. Nothing to do with the story they just sounded pretty and evocative but this is romance, not fantasy, they’re supposed to be sensual and evocative and “Bella Swan and The Broody Vampire Boy” would not at all fit that vibe.

—

It’s not like these modern fantasy novels are devoid of creative terminology. I don’t like SJM at all but her books did have some really creative and wonderful moments in isolation. It’s like the publishers were afraid to be authentic and sincerely fantastical, so they went with something safe and clean and uninspired both in title and in art.

“Throne of Glass” means nothing to me and could be applicable to like, four of the books in that series. If I squint I can see it as a metaphor for the fragile state of the ruling house but there is quite literally glass everywhere so maybe it’s just one cool element—that should have then been on the cover—but like, the whole book is about the Assassin’s trial, right? So call it The Assassin’s Trial or Tournament of Assassins. You know. The plot of the book, not just one random ass element in the background.

Be authentically fantastical, or don't write fantasy.

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Blackstaff Academy: Part 4

Gale had invited you to his home, no, his tower, that was all you could think to yourself as you walked home, cradling your books in your arms. You had wanted to research healing magic and now you had somehow found yourself agreeing to meet Gale at his tower to discuss a Weave seminar. It seemed like an odd dream as you made your way home to your humble cottage, a one bedroom and homely place that you had inhabited for the last few years.

It did not take long for you to walk home, your mind reeling and daydreaming made the journey feel shorter. The door to your cottage was ever a sticky one, you had a special way of rattling your key in the lock to open it, every time it made you smile, the cottage was not perfect but neither were you, it felt like you were made for this place and it was made for you. Finally walking through the door you sighed, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the books you were carrying, dropping the extensive reading material onto the table before heading to the small living area, plopping yourself onto the old and well loved couched, you may have fished it from the sidewalk of a neighbouring town but you loved it no less, you felt no shame that it was a cast off, it was perfect for you, a second best and underappreciated. Your family never asked how you were fairing at Blackstaff, it was a prestigious school and you would have hoped they would be proud of you by now, ever looking at the letter box, hoping they would have sent something to you. Yet it was not so, you would sit always alone at your quaint cottage grasping onto the hope that you would be loved one day.

Sitting in your lonely chair you recalled Gale’s proposition after a moment, a request to meet him in his tower to plan a seminar on The Weave, the one he had previously scrutinised your own teaching on, why on earth would he want you to help him teach it now? You sighed and leaned back in your old sofa, wondering if he meant it or if it was a joke, then your mind floated to something else. Thinking how handsome he looked as he read his books, how enrapturing he was when he spoke about the Weave, how passionate he sounded when he spoke to you last.

You shook your head and tried to cast him from your mind, even now you thought of him. You spent a full semester avoiding him only to be unravelling at the seams now, daydreaming of him, letting the memory of him make you blush. You moved swiftly from your chair, washing the dishes in your sink to clear your mind, how could you face him again, you did not know if you would blush before him or be indifferent, you didn’t know if you hated him of if you were enamoured with him now, the confusion swirling in your mind. The night drew on and you gained no sleep, Gale ever on your mind, flitting between him criticising your lesson and then remembering him at the library, how handsome he looked enthralled in his research. You finally decided that you would meet him, casting aside your first impression of him, you were not optimistic about the wizard, but you believed he deserved a second chance at the very least.

Dawn broke but you did not wake properly, it was still half term and you very much relished the late starts to the day, rolling over and spreading out in your bed, enjoying the comforts of it for another hour before you finally had to rise. It finally became time for you to wake properly for the day, annoyed as you were than you had to leave your bed you did not grumble under your breath. Beginning your daily ritual of breakfast and coffee before looking at what the calendar demanded of you. Today was the day you would meet Gale at his tower, you pinched the bridge of your nose forgetting that you had agreed to this meeting the day prior, you wanted to help explore the weave yet something was holding you back, you were hesitant to meet him, nervous from your previous interactions. Gale was a prodigy, you were not, it brought up all the insecurities you had from your upbringing with your sister, worried that Gale would look down upon you and decide that you were not worthy of his time or the magic you learnt to wield.

After your coffee you felt calm as you walked through the streets of Waterdeep, an oxymoron in your mind but it helped to assuage your nerves for now, feeling that you were somewhat ready to meet Gale in his tower. The streets of Waterdeep were beautiful this time of day, the afternoon glow shining against the watercolour windows, musing to yourself that it was a shame that you never took notice when you walked them previously, now admiring the architecture of every building, anything to take your mind off your meeting with Gale. Once you arrived at Gale’s tower you gave a hesitant knock, craning your neck upwards to take in the majesty of the building as you waited for a response, nervously tapping your fingers against the book in your hands, waiting for the door to open, wondering if he would be condescending like you thought him to be, or would he be the Gale you met in the library yesterday.

A few silent moments pass, convincing yourself that he would not answer, that this was all just a joke at your expense. You were ready to turn away from the tower and walk home, your head hanging in shame until you heard rustling behind the thick wooden door. Your ears pricked up at the noise, sounding like someone was hurrying to tidy things away but you could not be sure as you stood there awkwardly tapping away at your book, waiting to see if someone would open the door.

“Ah Tav!” Gale opened the door slightly flustered yet enthusiastic to see you, greeting you as if you were an old friend. “Thank you for coming, please come in, I have many a fine wine and wide selection of food for you” You walked into his tower hesitantly, ignoring his comments as you took in your surroundings, it was not dirty but it was messy, giving the impression of a scholar that had gotten carried away with work, reading too many books and scrolls at a time. The air was filled with the scent of old parchment, a scent that you breathed in deeply to make you feel at ease, books had been your only solace for a significant part of your life, a place you could escape to, to learn and to grow your knowledge.

“Shall we?” Gale’s voice was chipper and excited as he guided you to the second floor of his home, leading you to his library, the one place where he could feel at peace and the one room he spent most of his time in. It felt surreal to you to be in his house, the one man you avoided for a full semester had welcomed you into his home. You followed Gale up the winding staircase, wondering where he was taking you, still thinking in the back of your mind if this was truly a good idea, until you reached his library, then your eyes lit up. The library was vast to say the least books upon books and various scrolls littered around any open space, it was not a large room by any means, but the knowledge encapsulated in it was incredible. You stood there in the threshold of the door, taking in the sight of the room, imaging what you could accomplish with even a fraction of this knowledge.

Gale stood watching you taking in the sight of his library, his eyes soft as he took in your shocked state, he had always thought it was excessive to keep this many books littered about but your response made him happy, you had not spoken but he could read your body language, the hunger behind your eyes for all the knowledge that you could see before you. A smile broke upon his face before he interrupted your thoughts with a slight cough “I have some wine and food for us Tav.” Gale chuckled under his breath as he saw you come back to reality, realising that you were here for a purpose. You took you seat opposite him on the antique table, thinking to yourself that this too was old and expensive, worried that you would damage it in any way. You placed your book down beside you on the floor before turning to Gale, wondering what his motive for this meeting was, still sceptical about the man, trying to gauge what he really invited you here for, not believing it was to collaborate on a seminar of the weave.

Gale was oblivious to your look, taking a glass of wine that was before you both on the antique table, after all what occasion could not be improved by wine, is what he thought to himself when he chose the bottle of Arrabellen Dry for you both to enjoy. Gale swirled the wine before savouring the flavour as he sipped it, enjoying the woody notes that this brand was famous for. It was a silent few moments as you watched Gale nonchalantly sip the wine before you, the burning question on your mind burst forth from your lips without you even thinking. “Why am I here Gale?” confusion lacing your words, your arms clutching against each other, trying to assuage your anxiety, thinking this was all just a joke.

A confused and hurt look washed over Gale’s face as you spoke “You are here to help me with the seminar?” The hurt look on Gale’s face made you sad, you did not want to hurt him, but you did not trust him. You took a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth, about how you thought he belittled you and disliked you, criticising your lesson on the first day, facing away from him as you spoke, confrontation was never your strong point, thinking even now it would not serve you to be confrontational with your colleague, yet you could not stop yourself from speaking. Gale listened intently to your words, feeling hurt himself that he ever made you feel less than worthy to channel the weave and even more sad that you believed he thought so little of you.

“Well Tav, apologies are very much in order I feel, yet first I shall introduce myself properly to you, it was a disservice on my part to not do so when we had first met” Gale stood from his chair opposite you and moved towards you, straightening his clothes and brushing the lint away before he stood upright in front of where you were sat. Gale bowed with a hand on his chest, and one stretched out before you, looking up through his long eyelashes he spoke. “I’m Gale of Waterdeep, a wizard of renown and one with a weakness for a good book and a glass of wine, a pleasure to meet you” He knew that he was never a suave man, trying to rely on things he saw Astarion do in his months of travelling with him, hoping that this would work on you. You took his hand gingerly in your own, feeling the warm skin of his hand upon your own made your heart flutter and smile at him, feeling the slow heat of a blush creep upon your cheeks, perhaps you were wrong about Gale.

Gale took your hand in his and kissed it gently with a smile, hoping his awkward act as Astarion had worked. He enjoyed watching the blush spread to your face from his action, having watched you from afar for so many weeks. It pained him to hear that you had disliked him for so long but seeing your smile and the blush upon your cheeks was encouraging to him, knowing that he still had an option to court you properly.

[revvethasmythh]

i have never read anything by sarah j maas but i would like to know why she sucks (if you have time/inclination)

okay, i need to preface this that there are some actual deeper things I could talk about (and might! who knows! maybe i'll get there) but this is primarily about my 11+ year long personal grudge with this woman. my negative opinion of her is incredibly rooted in the fact that I am a grudge-holding person and for the past 11 years people have been trying to convince me her books are good when they aren't. they just aren't. on a craft level, she is a bad writer and her books are bad. she is, tragically, a storyteller who occasionally comes up with interesting and inventive ideas that will never ever reach their full potential because she doesn't need to invest in her own skill to sell the shit she writes and so she doesn't. she will occasionally create a cool and interesting character, but because she has the attention span of a goldfish, all of her characters get personality reassignments every 1.5 books in a series. since i was SIXTEEN people have been telling me how good she is.

tbh the only reason i ever read anything she's written is because she happened to do an author event at a library near me and i attended because i attended every library author event, and acquired the first 3 books in the throne of glass series. she seemed like a legitimately nice person when i got my books signed. this was circa....2014? there was then some unpleasant scuttlebutt i learned about her after that due to being a teen bizarrely in-the-know about YA publishing at the time, but I shan't repeat any of it because I do not have access to any sources other than the citation: (I Was There, 2014) and i am uninterested in practicing citationless behavior. due to acquiring her books and having an impressive teenage wherewithal for reading things I didn't like that much, I read them. I thought throne of glass was mid at best, i hated crown of midnight (the twist at the end is so stupid it's mind-boggling), and i actually loved heir of fire, which, in retrospect, i'm 95% sure is because the main character got tortured during it and i really hated her. she might be my least favorite YA protagonist perhaps ever, actually. which is saying something, as a person who's read a lot of bad YA.

this was the beginning of my spiral. because, you see, i liked heir of fire. that meant I read the next book and, in fact, the only book in that series i never finished was the last one. i gave up, i couldn't do it, tower of dawn (book 6) sapped the life from my body and i couldn't even hate-read anymore. in between the throne of glass books, i read the acotar series as it was coming out (the original trilogy, I have not subjected myself to any books past those). and the thing was: some of those books were better than others to the point that i could convince myself she was improving. and then she'd publish another book that was so bad I wanted to burn it out of existence (tower of dawn). this was pattern. it lured me in. i didn't escape the demonic pattern until 2019, i think. to this day, if i say sarah j maas's name in my household, my mom goes "not her AGAIN" because i've complained about her so much. i think she was my first toxic relationship, actually. we had a 5 year long toxic relationship

beyond my own petty grudges and admittedly parasocial toxic relationship, there are some serious problems with her books that go beyond craft-level bad writing. not to keep harping on tower of dawn (it deserves it, though), it's pretty egregiously racist imo, not to mention ableist in ways i can't get into without spoiling plot points. i don't think her stories are even in the ballpark of feminist, and certainly not the way some people think they are, particularly some of the more recent ones that carry some really unpleasantly conservative messaging about like. informed choices around childbirth (again, can't be specific without spoilers) and...let's not even talk about the male characters. that would need to be it's own post. after receiving critiques about a lack of people of color in her books (not even TOUCHING on the Nehemia of it all) out of nowhere there was official art of two different characters exclusively described as white in the books as being Asian. it was a whole thing. and don't even get me STARTED about her decision to include intentionally titillating, sexually explicit scenes OUT OF NOWHERE in the 5th book of a YA series that had exclusively had fade-to-black sex scenes in the past. like, i'm of the opinion that sex (explicit sex, at that) 100% has a place in YA fiction, but smut does not. I don't care if your YA protags are 19-20; outright smut is for a different age-range. and to do that in the MIDDLE of the series, with no warning, was appalling and arguably has negatively affected the genre ever since, but that's a different conversation.

like she's a bad writer who puts out bad books and really really wants to pretend to be good and feminist and empowering and it's not true and her popularity KILLS me because i've been on that "she's not even close to as good as you all think she is" grind since I was a literal teenager. it's haunting, she haunts me. i could be mad about this ALL day, she is my nemesis and i WISH i was kidding

[grovermungus]

i read seven of the eight books in the throne of glass series, and holy shit it’s awful.

in order from best to worst it goes as such:

-tower of dawn

-assassins blade

-empire of storms

-throne of glass

-i don’t give a fuck they’re all at the bottom

when it got to reading kingdom of ash, i just couldn’t. i tried, i picked it up once and then again a month later, still there was no want in me to read it. how you bitches love this shit so much i’ll never understand but each to their own i guess.

to start the complaints, the thing is poorly written, but given that it’s a debut series i cut it a little slack, that being said it goes on for FAR to long. the main character is one of the most uninteresting, shallow, millennial esk, boring characters ever written. i felt zero connection to her at all, she didn’t feel like a character she felt like words on a page. the same goes for both the mmc and a good handful of the side characters too. they’re all very one note. the only character i enjoyed near to the beginning was killed off far to soon for a shit plot point that made little to no sense and could’ve been done without easily.

this aided with the fact that, as you may know, sarah’s writing style usually leads to the last 100 pages of the book being the action, which is all good and fun if there’s a. characters you’re interested in, b. something else going on in the meantime to keep us interested, and c. a reason for us to be reading what we’re reading. this however, does not happen, a majority of the book is just build up for the ending, and that’s it, it’s all they talk about, i could honestly tell you nothing that happens for the whole of the books except for the final part. every time i put one down i would think “oh wow i enjoyed that” but then once the rush of the action dies down i’m reminded rudely of the ache it got to get there. this is made worse by the fact that each of the books gets larger with every instalment, the last being almost 1,000 pages, the thought of even having to begin the 900 pages of dicking around makes my brain feel like it’s going to pour out my ears.

as the series progresses, there are a few little hidden gems here and there, mostly for me the world building when outside of adarlan and the woods was good, hence why i enjoyed assassins blade. not only that but as we meet more characters later on, they’re better written (nesrin and sartaq my beloved). tower of dawn was my favourite by miles, mostly because aelin wasn’t in it. the world building was there, the plot was there, and there felt like there was actual STAKES, when aelin and rowen (more aptly named the prince of mediocrity, my friend actually described it perfectly as him being the “edward cullen” type, zero personality, handsome, strong, obsessed with his girl) are the main focus it never feels heavy, because we already know that she’s just gonna pull some fucking sun beam out her ass the moment things get tough.

tower of dawn to me feels a lot more reminiscent of acotar, it’s better to think of it as a standalone than as a part of the series, it’s also why i think i enjoyed empire of storms more too, i tandem read so anytime i felt like dragging a claw down the fleshy inside of my skull, i had a soft reprieve in tower of dawn. it’s also why i won’t read kingdom of ash, i was reminded of what it’s like to actually love and enjoy the book you’re reading, to actually want to pick it up and not only do so because you feel bad about having been bought the entire series as a gift and now hating it.

all in all, i have to say it’s one of the most overhyped book series i’ve ever had the misfortune of reading, this, a court of silver flames (a shit show i could make a whole other rant about), and a lovely dose of zionism, is why im no longer bothering to read any of sarah’s books.

[pixies-and-poets]

SO!!!! Recently @bowletta sent me an ask about vamp!Phantom taking care of Woodrow while he was sick, and my brain went "yeah but what if Phantom was sick instead, WHAT ABOUT THAT HUH??? How do vampires even get sick?"

And then... this entire story exploded into my head almost instantly. Apparently that ask was just two days ago but it feels like longer because this fic has been clawing at my brain incessantly the whole time. It is BY FAR the longest Phanpire thing I have written and makes me all squishy inside!! These bunnies SO are not done with me yet! I hope you enjoy my Phandrow vampire AU hurt/comfort fic ty ty

One Paw in the Grave

It was the middle of the night, and the poet found himself wandering the castle.

By any measure, its rooms and hallways were oppressive. Dimly lit by torches, if they were lit at all; windows closed by default so that no one would forget to close them and let any sunlight in during the day; barely-visible portraits and suits of armor and tapestries haunting the imagination at the corners of one's eyes. It led to a feeling of claustrophobia- and yet, this was his home now, and there was comfort and familiarity in it.

The poet felt the alternating textures of cold stone and ancient carpet beneath his footpads as he went onwards, with no particular destination in mind. He had written well in the past few hours, and thought he deserved a break. It was still a long time before the dawn, before his Lord would return. Perhaps he would visit the castle's plentiful library, and find a new book for inspiration-

And then a noise peirced him to his core. It was a plaintive howl, from far up above, echoing as if it came from within the castle itself. Even worse: the howl terminated suddenly into a series of sharp yips. Then the howling started again for a few seconds, and then more barking- the distressing cycle began to repeat. Like an alarm.

Just as the writer was recovering from his shock and beginning to move again, a blur passed him. It was one of the castle's servants, a Depleter, traveling somewhere in a hurry. He turned and blinked after the newcomer, only to hear a scrabbling- a Lone Wolf skittered and scrambled past him, going the same direction, down the hallway and dashing up a set of stairs. The howling had not stopped. In terror, but at least able to move, Woodrow pulled his coat close around himself and dashed after them.

"Excuse me," he said with trembling voice as another wolf came up beside him, "what's going-" ...but the canine rabbid had overtaken him and disappeared to join the others without saying a word in response.

Woodrow followed the noise of the howl, and the flow of what seemed like every servant in the castle, up and up, along further hallways and stairwells, until he arrived at what he knew to be the castle's tallest tower. He climbed up the stairs, panting and out of breath - he was never a very energetic creature at the best of times, and especially not lately. Indeed, he seemed to be the last person to arrive on the scene. So frightened was he, that he just now registered that the howling siren had stopped at some point.

As he reached the landing at the top of the stairs, he saw the wooden door that led to the small garret observatory was ajar. A multitude of the castle's residents were inside, crowded around something, whereas even more were on the landing as they could not fit inside. In front of the door, looking angry and out-of-sorts, was a Spooky Buckler whom Woodrow recognized as the captain of Lord Phan's guard.

"What's- going on?" the poet asked again, this time his ragged breath choking out the words. "Has something- happened?"

The Buckler looked at him furiously, the pinpricks of light in his black eyes glowing extra-bright. "Of COURSE something's happened, idiot mortal. Get out of here. You should not be here."

Woodrow's heart leapt into his throat. "W-why?!" he stammered. "What's wrong? Is- where's Tom-"

"Get OUT of here, little prey," snarled the Buckler ferociously. "You will only trouble us."

"No! I want to see him-"

"You shall not," said the guardsman, now closing the door behind him. "It will break you." He slammed the bottom of his shield onto the ground in front of the poet. "Now GO. To your chambers."

----

Woodrow stared down at his paws in the candlelight. He was too riddled with anxiety and terror to care that he had sprinted through the castle and exhausted himself for nothing. He sat now in his room, as he had been ordered.

But for how long had he been here? Twenty minutes, an hour? It was impossible to say. Of course he could not read, or write, or do anything- he had only stared at his paws, or lain in bed and stared at the top of the canopy. He tried to fall asleep, but of course he could not do that either. He had found himself staring at the bloodstains on blankets and pillows, stains that it was as pointless as it was futile to try and remove. Stains of his own blood, to which more were added every single day, at the border between darkness and sun.

Every second seemed eternal. What was going on? What was the emergency? Surely Tom could not be in trouble... that was impossible. He was, after all, himself- the great beast of the night, unchanging and ever wonderful. And yet- vampires WERE vulnerable. Mortals had figured out so many ways to kill them, had pinpointed their weaknesses. What could have happened-

The poet jolted as if electrified, and nearly screamed as the heard the door to his room slam open. Then, when he looked up- he DID scream, and jumped out of his chair.

In the doorway, several Depleters and Ghostly Walkers were supporting a large, ghostly body that was unrecognizably Tom. Only- he was naked, and he was not well. Splotches and speckles of livid red covered his chest, his neck, his arms, and even parts of his face - in some places smooth, others swollen into a welt or rash - they were burns. Half of his fur had been burned away. No blood swirled in his belly, only a gramophone that itself now looked old and tarnished. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and with the other, he looked up weakly. "Tristan..."

The poet dashed over, reaching out a hand to gingerly touch the side of the vampire's face where there appeared to be no injuries. "Oh, Tom!" he cried in anguish. "What- what happened-"

"Get him into the bed," came a gruff voice, and Woodrow saw the captain of the guard again, in the hallway. The ghosts supporting Phantom did so, laying him down in the bed that he and his beloved prey so often shared. They lifted the blankets and covered up his lower half.

"Begone now," said the vampire, weakly but firmly, looking out at his servants. "Prepare the ritual for the next sunset. I shall summon you if I need more attention."

"But my Lord-" the Captain began.

"I shall be FINE," said Tom Phan, and the others all bowed and left, closing the door. No one remained in the room but the vampire and his beloved.

Woodrow had been standing at the bedside in shock, and now clambered onto the bed, sitting up next to the vampire. Tom's eyes were closed, and he was propped up on some pillows. Once his servants were all gone, he let out a tremendous cough, a bit of darkened old blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Oh, Tom," the poet said again, his voice shaken with grief, taking up one of the vampire's large paws in both of his own. "Who did such a thing to you? How could this happen??"

Phantom opened the less-injured eye, and smiled weakly at the poet. "My darling," he said with a quiet laugh. "Surely you must have realized that I have enemies?"

"Well..." said the poet, stroking the velvet softness of the vampire's paw-pad and looking down at the claws that extended above them. "I suppose so, yes. Creatures of darkness usually do. I know you have rivals. I just, I never thought-"

"You never thought anyone could best me, eh?" The vampire smiled wider. "You are as sweet as your blood, mon cœur. If charmingly naive."

"Before you tell me what happened, tell me- will you be alright?"

Tom nodded. "Yes. I am stable for now, and I will recover. But I will not do it on my own. I am not mortal, and I will not heal naturally. There must to be rituals, although it is too late to perform them tonight. Until then, I desired to rest here throughout the day. I am stable for now."

"Rituals?" asked the poet.

"Yes," said the vampire. "And I will need plenty of fresh blood, too- Ah! Stop it!" Woodrow's hand had gone immediately to his own collar, ready to unbutton his coat. "Do not be silly. I need far, far more than you could give. Even at your fullest."

"Still- can I at least help? Please, Tom, let me."

"Mmm..." murmured the vampire. "I do not think it will be nearly enough to matter. Still, I suppose it couldn't hurt, either."

And before the ghost could say more, Woodrow had taken off his coat and thrown it aside, as quick as he had ever done anything in his life, nestling down under the blankets next to his Lord. Slowly, weakly, but eagerly and deliberately, Phantom slid his arm underneath his beloved's neck and lifted him, pulling him close to his side. He closed his eyes and bit into the usual spot, but without the usual panache or passion, and drank and swallowed at a steady pace. Woodrow felt no pain; not today. Only that familiar, curious sensation: as if every vein and artery and cell in his body was being pulled towards the wound as his blood was taken from him. He released a heavy sigh laden with worry and agony and love, and ran his hand through his darling's hair as he tenderly fed.

It was not long this time before Phantom left off, letting go, licking his lips and his fangs. Woodrow got up silently to clean and treat his wound- it was something Tom usually did for him, but he could manage it for himself today. As quick as he could, he returned to sit on the bedside.

"Do tell me you feel at least a little better now," he said, putting his glasses back on, and Phantom nodded, seeming contented indeed.

"Now..." the poet continued. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Lord Phan sighed. His swelling had gone down somewhat, and he looked at his beloved with both of his eyes. "Tristan," he said, "there are worse things out there than other creatures of the night. I have enemies. Mortal enemies who wish me great harm. And the worst of them all are the Brothers."

"The Brothers?" said the writer curiously. "Go on."

"Yes. There are two of them, twins, although everyone thinks of them in terms of the firstborn and the young one. The firstborn, the Red Warrior- he is a vampire hunter. Well, a hunter of vampires and werewolves and all manner of physical beasts. And the secondborn, the Green Mage, is a ghost hunter. Now, do you see? I am their perfect target- a vampire, but also a spirit. With me they can collaborate. I coalesce into being their perfect rival- and oh, how I hate them both."

"Are they Rabbids like us?"

"No. They are humans."

"Humans!" cried Woodrow.

Phantom laughed wryly. "Indeed, I do not blame you for being surprised. They are hardly intimidating creatures, normally. And yet- when they are powerful, they are astonishingly so. Take the Princess of this very kingdom, for example. She wields power that keeps us creatures of the night isolated here on the outskirts - places like Spooky Trails, the Darklands, Forever Forest. But she is busy, and more of a protector than a fighter- and so she sends the despicable Brothers into the places her magic does not touch, to do her dirty work. Still, I am smarter than them- usually."

"I see," said Woodrow quietly. "So you encountered the Brothers tonight?"

"Indeed," Phantom continued. "It was... I was a fool. I thought them above using such dirty tricks. But they lured me into a trap, like a feral and careless animal. I was ambushed." He shook his head, his face contorted with disappointment at himself. "An injured Toad, in a clearing- I could not resist, you know. Pathetic creatures, but their blood tastes like mushrooms- one of the few times I can get a taste of old food, that I remember from centuries past. Mushroom soup! Ha-" another violent cough- "Ah- but 'twas not an injured Toad at all. Merely one in cahoots with the vile Hunters, playing along. As I got ready to attack, he sprang up, gave the call, and out jumped Red and Green, and-" he closed his eyes again for a moment, then opened them, and lifted his arms to stare at the burns and patches of missing fur.

Woodrow did not speak, only stroked a non-injured patch of his shoulder, methodically, repeatedly, lovingly.

"And, well, they attacked me," said the vampire finally. "They had brought everything in their arsenal. Holy water from the springs of Star Road. And they had Power Stars- vile, holy things, each one of them a miniature sun. They used them on themselves, all glowing like the agonizing sunlight, and being in their mere presence was enough to injure me. They hardly needed to lay hands on me at all. I struggled, but they got the best of me, I-"

"Tom," whimpered the poet, tears dripping down from behind his glasses, as he held the vampire's paw to his cheek.

"I shall spare you the gory detail. Just now that- I actually looked far worse than you see me now. I really believe they meant to kill me, tonight. It was all I could do to retreat in the end. I turned into a bat, and with all of my strength flew home, to my tallest tower. The powers of my servants and of the castle itself stabilized me, and restored me somewhat. But I will need further rituals to heal."

"And you will heal?" the poet asked softly.

"Yes. I will be my old self again, in time. Although how much time, I cannot say."

They were quiet for a long time. Woodrow let Tom rest from his long speech, and from reliving those memories. As the vampire closed his eyes, his prey gently stroked his hair, his cheeks, anywhere he could find a spot with no burns.

Then the writer suddenly spoke, after some time. "My Lord," he said, softly but with determination. "These brothers... where can I find them?"

The Phantom opened his eyes, meeting those of his partner, and let out a laugh. "Oh! What shall you do, my lamb, my dove? Do you wish to avenge me? You, gentle artist?"

"I.... I must do something. Perhaps I can spy on them, and make sure they do not repeat such a plan as tonight."

The vampire's smile became tender, and he reached up to touch the other's face. "Very well," he said. "c'est une bonne idée, mon amour. We can speak of such things later, perhaps. They do not know you, and they do not know your relation to me. But for now- you must keep yourself safe and whole. That is the best you can do for me."

"But how can I help you? How can I help you right now, besides giving of my blood?" He swallowed, trying to fight the lump in his throat. "I... I am frightened, Tom. I- I did not know you had such enemies."

The vampire was quiet for a moment. He took his companion's small, delicate paw into his own, and stared at the flickering candle on the bedside table.

"Mon poète," he said. "Have you never considered the power you have? You know a mortal can kill a vampire. It is not even difficult. The hardest part is access."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking about you, chéri. You could so easily snap your umbrella in half, and with its broken shaft, pierce my heart. You could go out and procure a bulb of garlic and slip the whole thing into my mouth when I am in my death-rest. There are so many, many ways you could harm me."

"Tom-" Woodrow said, his voice trembling. "I... suppose you are correct, but it has honestly never occurred to me. Why would I ever do such things? Such horrible things? Not even when I first came here did I consider it, and now... to drive a stake through your heart would be to drive a stake through mine own. As you live or perish, so goes my soul. Oh, surely you understand that I love you with every drop of blood in my body, all of which I would gladly give, if it were the only way to save you-"

"Shhh! Calm down, mon cœur!" The vampire squeezed his companion's hand; the poet had grown extremely passionate indeed. "You do not need to explain. I know you would never do such things. And therein lies the beauty. You are not my thrall; your loyalty to me is of your own will. And yet... I trust you, as I have never trusted a mortal creature of the daylight, in all my years of undeath. At first when I brought you here, I had fearful day-dreams of your betrayal... but I soon saw that I could share your bed, that I could pass into torpor by your side, and that you would not harm me. My sweet dove of the dawn... I can assure you that I love you, as you love me."

Woodrow felt himself melt; in an almost involuntary movement, he was under the blankets again, nestling into his beloved's body, ever so tenderly, careful of the welts and rashes, his eyes closed, his glasses off, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

...It took him a moment to realize.

"But Tom," he said softly. "You never answered my question. How can I help you now?"

"By being with me," was the answer. "Because, when you have existed for as long as I... in darkness and cold and an endless cycle of hunger... well, sometimes when faced with the prospect of your own annihilation, you want to take it. Well, what would be so bad about letting their holy light burn me away to nothing? Finally, rest..."

Tom felt the warmth of tears on his neck as Woodrow reacted to the thought. But he continued: "And yet, I refused to take that rest. Because I wanted to get home. I needed to make it home. I have a reason to exist. To get home and hear the poems you wrote tonight. To get home and see your face."

"Oh, my Lord-"

"Shh. None of this My Lord, anymore." The vampire nuzzled into his beloved's head, his chin on his wispy hair, and spoke softly into his ear. "You are my partner, the sustainer of both my body and soul. You may not be vampire, but you shall be Lord in this castle just as much as myself. I declare it. I heard my Captain refusing to let you see me, although I was too weak to argue at the time. But I wanted nothing more than to see you, to touch your face, for I thought I might still perish in that moment. From now on, none in this place shall refuse your desires. I am yours, and you are mine, and we are Lord Tom Phan and Lord Tristan Woodrow. ...Now, doesn't that sound nice?"

"Dearest Tom! Why, it's almost like a fairy tale... the strangest and most macabre one to still have a happy ending." He pulled away and looked the other in the eyes. "...Is this a proposal? Are we getting married?"

Tom laughed again, weak but jolly, his large body shaking under the blankets. "I do not think there is such need for the rituals of the living," he said. "I have enough rituals to worry about at the moment. ...But when I am recovered, we can discuss it." He smiled. "Now... I do believe the sun must be coming up, for I feel myself sink ever more into exhaustion. Will you read me your new poems, while I fall into my rest?"

"Of course, my dear," said the writer. "I do not need to retrieve my notes, for they are still fresh in my head."

And so while the injured vampire closed his eyes, his fellow-Lord purred verses into his ears, words that only the two of them would ever know. The vampire's powers kept the poet safe from his own misfortune - and though he be but mortal, and weak, he would do anything to protect his darling in turn.

[rohanneofcoldmoat]

I've been thinking about Tyrion and his connections to the next Battle for the Dawn/Second Long Night, and there's just so much there. Tyrion effectively begins his story by heading to the Wall, it's his stated intention to do so in his first chapter. When he arrives there he befriends key players Jon Snow and Jeor Mormont and has firsthand experience with the primal, supernatural fear generated by the Others and the dangers lurking beyond the Wall.

As he stood there and looked at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with the wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts, Tyrion Lannister felt as though he could almost believe the talk of the Others, the enemy in the night. His jokes of grumkins and snarks no longer seemed quite so droll.

Jeor later says that House Lannister has never been a friend to the Night's Watch, but Tyrion's experience there in AGOT results in him breaking that mold a bit. The issue of the Wall is raised again when Tyrion is acting hand, and while he maintains a level of distance and disinterest to protect his image, he does offer them help. Throughout the book, he consistently sends the Watch men, usually as a punitive alternative to executing them, from Janos Slynt to the various dungeon occupants he sends with Alliser Thorne to the men who planned on helping the Redwyne twins escape Kingslanding. And in the instance where Thorne demands an audience and calls Tyrion a fool for brushing him off, Tyrion is once again reminded of that feeling of doom and danger he felt while looking out at the lands beyond the wall.

Tyrion remembered a cold night under the stars when he'd stood beside the boy Jon Snow and a great white wolf atop the Wall at the end of the world, gazing out at the trackless dark beyond. He had felt—what?—something, to be sure, a dread that had cut like that frigid northern wind. A wolf had howled off in the night, and the sound had sent a shiver through him.

And the issues of the Wall and the dangers lurking beyond it are raised again, when Tyrion's power and influence are considerably reduced as Master of Coin. He advocates for the Gold Cloaks who deserted their post during the Blackwater to be sent to the watch rather than crippled and left to beg in the city. Tyrion also tries, insistently but unsuccessfully, to convince his father that Janos Slynt is the wrong man for the job of Lord Commander. Clearly, there's a level of personal grievance there, as Tyrion sent Slynt to the Wall to get rid of him. However, the scene is couched with Tyrion expressing genuine concern and regret that Jeor Mormont may be dead, and as a result there's a sense that Tyrion is genuinely advocating for what he believes to be the best interests of the Watch.

Tyrion liked that notion not at all. "The black brothers choose their own commander," he reminded them. "Lord Slynt is new to the Wall. I know, I sent him there. Why should they pick him over a dozen more senior men?" --- Tyrion hitched forward. "Janos Slynt is the wrong man, Father. We'd do better with the commander of the Shadow Tower. Or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." --- Tyrion's anger flashed. "Lord Janos is a hollow suit of armor who will sell himself to the highest bidder."

So Tyrion has been something of a "friend to the Watch" consistently throughout the series, and it's almost certain he's going to meet up with/became an advisor to Dany. If he continues his efforts advocating on behalf of the Night's Watch in that role, I think he'll find a much more receptive ear.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent.

[midohader56]

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