#at the fete all i could think about was that she would be a perfect snow white

[groovesnjams]

HONORABLE MENTION

"A&W" by Lana Del Rey

MG:

I tend not to read interviews with musicians I’m already familiar with anymore. I’d rather make my own sort of sense of their work and persona and I’m no longer at all interested in getting swept up in the crowd noise of whether or not this person is good or right and it feels like the wisdom of the comment section is inescapable anytime someone even halfway famous verbalizes a thought. But Lana Del Rey, who openly loathes giving interviews, did a cover story with Rolling Stone earlier this year and I saw a pull quote saying, I’ll paraphrase, that when she released Born to Die she thought she’d be for the boys but her career has revealed she’s for the girls – she’s probably less right about that now that she’s being lavished with critical praise and feted with Grammy noms, but it’s clear that the way women recognized and idolized her (particularly on Tumblr) made a huge impression on her and, I think, made space for “A&W” to exist. This song is unflinching in its depictions of femininity and femininity’s proximity to masculinity. It’s intensely vulnerable and personal, intertwining the living memory of the woman born Elizabeth Grant and the singular vision of the artist born Lana Del Rey. But it’s also a version of the story almost any woman could tell you, whether they’re on the cover of Rolling Stone or posting selfies to Instagram, whether they say they live in Rosmede but really they’re at the Ramada or it’s some college dorm room and the America’s Best Inn. Anyway, when she sang about her unslakable thirst for men on songs like “Blue Jeans” and “Video Games,” the girls loved her, they loved her loose hot roller waves and her thousand yard stare and her crookedly perfect smile. And now that she sings about being raped and gets dogged with criticism for gaining weight or dressing sloppy or, in her own words, “looking like a sidepiece at 33,” men love her, too. It’s not just the experience of an American whore, but exactly what it takes to become one and how little say she really had in the matter. Lana was for the girls when she represented something glamorous and unobtainable and strong but Lana was a girl when she wasn’t able to be any of those things at all. “A&W” does not deserve to be relegated to the honorable mention, but to ignore it entirely would be an even worse injustice

[fateviled-aa]

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚈𝙰 ... @heartvalor (continued.)

the winter fete was her busiest time,    she had to tailor more than usual.   found herself glowing at the end of the night.   but not from using her powers   -   but from his gaze.   she felt absolutely beautiful with the captain of the guard’s eyes locked on her as she maneuvers through the party.   only wishing he would come join her.   there was no one she wanted to dance with quite like him.   the man who had held her heart for as long as she remembered.   maybe even since the first time she met him.   about eleven years old,   stubborn with a cut to his head.   given to him as a parting gift from his father.   she had been hurt by men before,   had sworn she would stay far away from love.   and there had chaol westfall been   ...   with that laugh of his and his beautiful smile.

he did not need any tailoring,   no.   genya found him to be absolutely beautiful all by his natural self.   so once the queen is satisfied and settled,   she sneaks to his side.   peering up at him from her short self.            “   the happier moments  ..  are they all with me  ?   i’d hate if you were happy with other grisha ladies around here,   sir.   ”          she speaks,   a faint but still present blush on her cheeks.   one that she was dying to tailor away,   but she lets him see it.   reveals her cards to him.   take me as i am,   chaol.   and she knew he would.   he had never said no to a challenge,   not when they came from her.

“   i wish you’d come dance with me.   i wish i could just   ..   ”           leaning close to breathe against his ear.   lips gently brushing the lobe.           “   i wish i could be in your arms all night,   and show all these rich bastards that i belong here and nowhere else.   ”           feeling herself choke on something uncomfortable.   she knows there are eyes watching.   that the king had people watching her on nights like this,   yet she grips onto his hand.   looking into his eyes with a soft nod.           “   you owe me a dance,  chaol.   ”

and hopefully,   it would be somewhere private where they could laugh and she could finally get the kiss she was yearning for so terribly.

                    finding  himself  so  engulfed  in  his  affection  was  in  itself  a  contradiction  to  everything  that  chaol  westfall  was.    duty-bound  soldier  with  nothing  to  give  but  loyalty  to  his  king,    service  the  escape  that  had  finally  set  him  free  from  the  horrors  of  a  past  whose  memory  still  burned  like  snow  under  his  palms  as  it  mixed  underneath  him.    that  had  been  a  lifetime  ago,    but  the  impression  of  it  had  refused  to  fade;    it  was  meant  to  be  a  reminder  of  why  he  was  who  he  was,    the  push  that  kept  him  on  track  when  thoughts  of  faltering  cascaded  over  him.    (as  if  chaol  had  ever  faltered    —    as  if  he  would  ever  let  himself,    before…      before…)

                    was  that  was  love  was  meant  to  be,    a  contradiction?    all  of  the  stories  had  told  him  otherwise.    to  love  was  harmony,    a  feeling  of  belonging  that  was  more  like  coming  home,    knowing  you  were  where  you  needed  to  be.    with  the  person  you  needed  to  be.    it  certainly  couldn’t  be  the  hammering  of  his  heart,    gazing  down  at  her  and  forgetting  everything  that  came  with  the  word  duty.    only  swallowing,    the  dusting  of  red  over  her  perfect  skin  stirring  something  within  him.      ❝  none  compare  to  what’s  in  front  of  me,    my  lady.    ❞      a  tad  breathless,    more  honest  than  he  thinks  he  was  intending.    chaol  can’t  be  bothered  to  care;    he  would  never  lie  to  her,    not  about  this.

                    ❝  i’m  not  sure  that’s  a  good  idea.  ❞      his  words  soft  enough  to  be  lost  in  the  murmur  of  conversation  around  them,    but  hesitant  in  their  determination.    again,    he  forgets  himself    —    wishing  nothing  more  than  to  wrap  his  arm  around  her  waist,    to  return  the  favor  of  a  shiver  running  down  his  spine  by  tucking  his  fingers  under  her  chin  and  guiding  her  lips  up  to  his.    instead,    he  brushes  his  fingertips  over  her  hand,    the  closest  they  can  come  to  holding  each  other.      ❝  but  someday…  ❞      he  swears,    voice  low.      ❝  all  of  the  dances  you’d  like,    they’ll  be  yours.  ❞  

                    it  wasn’t  a  promise  he  could  make.    he  shouldn’t,    and  yet    —    if  she  said  the  word,    he  would  keep  it.    without  a  second  thought  of  his  responsibilities.    offering  her  a  smile  again,    he  tilts  his  head  towards  the  exit.      ❝  my  shift  will  end  soon,    and  if  you  can  excuse  yourself  even  for  a  moment…    the  garden  looks  lovely  tonight.  ❞

[asexual-hugger]

Chapter 5: The Flight

SA KA FETE RESTAURANT

ST. LUCIA

Everett didn't say a word as Test Subject Number Twenty went from timid and scared to open and talkative within five minutes. She explained everything, from being taken away at the age of six to becoming a lab rat and a trained soldier over a course of two decades. She left nothing out. She even explained being born with her unusual powers.

“That’s why the men wanted me,” she finished. “They’re training us as weapons of war in a dark and deadly game. No one knows what we’re training for. Boss thinks it’s some kind of apocalypse where the Earth will be consumed in the Age of Flame.”

“Wow.” Everett gaped, shaking his head in wonder. “So that’s why you’re so crazy powerful. You nearly gave me a migraine. What was that voice in my head anyway?”

“Telepathy,” Twenty explained. “I can connect to your subconscious and communicate with you without using my voice. It’s the perfect area of exploitation. Once Boss found out that there were children that possessed these gifts, he did everything he could to round us all up and hold us in the facility. Our powers have grown so strong now that the warriors of the Age of Flame will be completely taken off guard.”

“So let me get this straight, and correct me if I'm wrong,” Everett started. “Your hair changes color with whatever emotions you’re feeling, you can move stuff without touching it, and you can connect with people through their thoughts. Now you’re saying that you are actually one out of twenty other people with the same exact abilities, all of them innate, and you’re on the verge of some freak-show destiny to fight against a bunch of fire lords that are going to bring about the end of the world? And you’ve been training since you were SIX???”

“Yes,” Twenty replied. “That’s basically it. I haven't been in the outside world in twenty years. This is the first time I've escaped successfully.”

Everett had seen the marks on her body when she’d been changing in the bathroom. He’d gasped in horror at the sight, but he hadn’t been sure how to approach the issue. Now was a good time to bring it up.

“T, I saw the injuries,” he confessed. “You had bruises and burns all over your back. Was that from when you tried to get free before?”

“Yes,” Twenty nodded. “They punished me every time I attempted to escape. They placed tracking chips in all of us to keep us in line and make sure we didn’t disobey orders. Everything those two men told you was true. They tracked me here through the code on my chip. They aren’t police officers. They're agents with the International Weapons and Warfare Agency. That’s why I panicked when you tried to report me being abused. You’re risking your life. I can’t let that happen. These are powerful people working under the government.” Pause. “So now you know my story. As I said, you can do what you want. Call me crazy, kick me out of the restaurant, the choice is yours. I don’t have anywhere to go other than the facility anyway. I was practically raised there.”

Silence. For a long time, Twenty believed that he would kick her out. Her story was so crazy even she didn’t believe it at times. She waited for him to lose his temper, just like he had done on television, call her a freak, and hell, even insult her.

None came. Instead, he reached for his phone. She had placed it on the counter when he’d given her the towels and chef’s uniform. Her red hair instantly changed back to purple when she saw him unlock his screen.

“Don’t worry, I'm not reporting you,” he said in a monotone. He held the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Cam?” All business now. “Hi. It’s Everett. Yeah. Uh, is the jet available, by any chance?” Pause. “No, I know I'm not supposed to be back yet. There’s been a change of plans. Can you inform my pilot that I need the jet over here ASAP? I'm at Sa Ka Fete. Tell him to meet us over at the St. Lucia Airport immediately.” Another pause. “Yes, I said ‘us.’ I'll explain later. Just let him know. Thanks.”

He hung up.

“What?” Twenty asked curiously. “Are you sending me away?”

“Yes, but not like you’re thinking,” he replied. “That was Cam, my assistant back in LA. I have a home there. I contacted him to send my private jet down here to fly us back. I'm not scheduled to shoot another episode of ‘Taste of the World’ until another couple of weeks. I've decided to come back early due to all the craziness here, and you’re coming with me. I've heard enough information about you to know it is not safe for you here. You are never going back to that godawful research lab. That hell is a prison.”

“Wait.” Twenty stopped him. “You’re...you’re not getting rid of me?”

“Hell, no!” Everett responded quickly. “I'm not letting anything happen to you, T. Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me. Who in their right mind does science experiments on kids and turns them into superhuman fighters just because they have special abilities? And to think the government is behind it? That’s downright sick.”

His phone buzzed and he picked it up.

“Everett Flynt.” Pause. “Fantastic. We’re on our way now.” He locked his gaze on Twenty. “Ever fly on a plane before?” he asked her.

“Once,” she replied. “When I was a baby.”

“Well, you’re about to fly in style,” he told her eagerly. “My jet comes with all the amenities a new flyer can hope for. This will be a trip you’ll more easily remember. Let’s get you out of here before those creepers come back for you.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the restaurant, turning off the lights as he went. “I guess you'll have to meet my family some other time,” he said to her. “Your safety is all that matters to me in this moment.”

They walked together quickly out into the dark night. The rain had died down, but there were still clouds blocking out the moon. Everett seemed to know the way by heart.

“How far is the airport from here?” Twenty had to almost run to keep up with his long strides. “Can we walk to it?”

“Pretty much,” was Everett’s response. “Hold on to my hand. I don't want you to get lost.”

Twenty was on high alert, listening for any sounds of soldiers. The night was quiet.

The jet was waiting for them on a platform when they arrived, and a flight of stairs descended from the side, ready to go. A flight attendant stood in the entryway.

“Mr. Flynt. Welcome.” She greeted him. “Your message sounded urgent. Is everything all right? It isn’t like you to leave your island home in such a hurry.”

“Yeah, I know,” Everett replied. “Normally I wouldn’t, but this was an exception. Thanks for coming.”

He led Twenty up the steps. The flight attendant looked at her curiously.

“It’s a long story,” Everett explained. “As I told Cam earlier, I'll explain everything once we land in Los Angeles. I hope there’s space for two on this flight.”

“There is space for as many as you wish, Mr. Flynt,” the flight attendant told him. She smiled at Twenty. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she said in a low voice.

“Thank you,” Twenty answered shyly. Her eyes grew wide the instant she stepped into the cabin. It was definitely not going to be an economy-class flight.

Just as Everett moved to follow after her, however, the attendant gripped his shoulder. Her gaze flicked to the young woman for a brief moment. “Who is she?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Neither have I, until she showed up in front of the restaurant all alone and soaking wet,” Everett responded. “She appeared lost and cold, so I took her in. She’s my new sous chef.”

“What?” The woman was taken off-guard.

“Trust me,” Everett insisted. “I've never been wrong about anyone yet. Go with this one, okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Flynt.” The woman nodded. “You two enjoy your flight, and if there’s anything I can do to make your trip comfortable, just ask.”

“We will,” Everett promised.

He found Twenty standing by a table near the back of the plane, looking awed but hesitant. Her face brightened when she saw him.

“Everett.” She spoke his name in a relieved tone.

“Hey, T.” He greeted her. “Shall we sit?”

Twenty carefully sat down on one of the benches, and he sat on the one across from her.

“This is your jet?” she asked in wonder.

“Well, it’s not exactly mine,” he revealed. “It belongs to the network that runs my show. It just feels like mine because I'm always using it for travel.” He nodded out the window. “This isn't an ordinary flight,” he explained. “You can stretch your legs, and there’s a bed in the back section if you want to lie down for a bit. The flight to LA is going to be kinda long.”

Twenty looked out the window. Everything was pitch black. Somewhere out there, IWWA was looking for her. Her tracker chip had already given Michaelson and Abrams her location. Now, thanks to her telekinetic blast, they were probably lying unconscious somewhere in the woods.

“I am a bit tired,” she admitted, stifling a yawn. “But I'm scared.”

“Scared?” Everett drew back. “What are you scared of?”

“The bad men coming back,” she replied. “They already found me at the restaurant. They won't stop hunting me until I'm back where I belong. They can track me from all corners of the world. They’ll find me again and again, as long as the tracking chip is active.”

“There is no reason to be scared now.” Everett gently placed his hand on top of hers. He could feel it trembling. The plane began to jolt as it rose into the air.

“Attention, passengers.” The pilot’s voice came through the intercom. “This is your pilot. Feel free to enjoy the amenities offered on our jet as we head for Los Angeles. It will be a long flight, so get comfortable. We predict sunny skies in California.”

“Told you.” Everett grinned, hoping to relieve the tension. “It’s going to be okay, T. You’re free now. As long as I'm here, no one will touch you. I have connections. The security on my show set is rock solid. I'll make sure no one breaks through. There is nothing to be scared of anymore. When we get to California, I'll see what can be done about that tracking device, but for now, get some rest. You've been up for far too long. I'll show you to the bed.”

He got up and placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her out of the seat. She allowed him to walk her down the cabin.

“They'll wake up,” she was muttering. “They’ll go back to the facility and they’ll report in. It’s what they’re trained to do.”

Everett clicked on the light in the back room, revealing a comfortable-looking sleeping space with a rather wide bed. He led Twenty over to it and helped her lie down.

“Are you going to be close?” she asked him, lifting her legs up on to the mattress.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’ll be right outside the room. I'm going to stay up a little longer and tend to things out here. No one’s going anywhere. We’ve already lifted off, so those agents can’t chase you even if they tried. And don’t worry; the pilot is a smooth flier. The ride will be very gentle for you.”

Twenty seemed reassured by these words and shifted her body so her head was lying on one of the fluffy pillows. She felt more tired than she’d realized. She yawned again, her cheeks flushing at the fact that Everett was right there.

“Good night, Everett.” The words came out quiet but audible.

“Good night, T,” Everett answered, standing up and walking to the doorway. “We’ll all be here if you need anything. I'll wake you up when we arrive in LA.”

“Mhm.” Twenty murmured and rolled over on to her side, her eyes closing almost instantly. The bed was so comfortable, it was like sleeping on feathers. The bed in her room at the research lab was nowhere near this high-quality. It was comfortable enough where she could sleep on it, but not so much where she could stay asleep.

The door closed, the light from the cabin disappearing. She didn't even notice. Exhaustion had overtaken her.

[iseultandtristan]

thoughts on sab from someone who didn't read the books

I LOVED IT! The show was so well-paced, so gripping, the characters were amazing. I stayed up until 4 last night watching it and was always so shocked when an episode ended because it felt like they went by so quickly. 

I really like Alina and Mal. I found their relationship/connection to be really moving especially in the first half of the season when they were pretty much one another’s every thought and they were trying so hard to get to one another. 

i love the crows. i wish there was more of them too!! they were definitely my favorite part. thank god for jesper-- i swear he carried the humor of this show on his back. KAZ AND INEJ. im totally obsessed with them. he is so devoted to her- the fact that he put up the whole club for collateral just so he could keep her with him? get u man! plus i live for the fact that kaz doesn’t really seem to care about anyone but her (and jesper of course). i think the casting for kaz is so spot on. there’s something about that actor’s features that feel really fitting for a bastard of the barrel, cunning thief type. and INEJ, oh my god im in love with her- she’s so skilled and cool and beautiful. i mean all three of them are, like the way they constantly held their own against the grisha who have actual powers like damn! I also thought the whole religion/faith aspect of the show and how that divided kaz and inej on the subject of alina was super interesting. 

and i ADORED nina and matthias. they were such a great dynamic and had so much fucking chemistry. honestly might have been my favorite duo from the whole show and i really hope nina is joining the crows and finds a way to save matthias/regain his trust. bc that’s the answer right? like they were lamenting the fact that their two sides are enemies and wanting to go somewhere where it doesn’t matter who they are and it’s not like the crows would care where they come from, all the crows care about is what others can do for them

so, yeah, this is just a post of me gushing, but i thought the whole thing was just super cool and im very much looking forward to the next season. i almost wanna read the series just so i can look at the tags and be more a part of the fandom but i really loved the show as is and don’t want to have my perspective on it altered so ill probably just continue blacklisting the tags

(on that last note: pls pls continue to tag any book related info that wasn’t in s1 as sab spoilers thank u!!)

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 16

The Darkling x Reader

'It's work-related Baghra, I'm not here because I miss you'

'Then get to it.' She snapped and walked around you, settling in her seat by the fire.

'How is Alina getting along?'

'Like a wounded animal' You sighed. As much as you hated the woman, she had a knack for training Grisha and always succeeded so this wasn't good.

'How bad is it?'

'She can't light a doorway on her own without Aleksander clutching her wrist.'

'Surely she's not that weak. Maybe you're just losing your touch'

'Get out.' She snapped.

'The Fete is 2 weeks away, it would do you well to make sure she doesn't embarrass herself' You let a subtle threat slip into your words but in reality, you couldn't touch Baghra, Aleksander forbade it himself.

'Or else what? You'll wrap my own shadows around my neck and wring me to death?'

'Perhaps.'

'Foolish girl. You have a pretty face but deep down you are uglier than the Black Heretic himself.' Baghra always seemed to have a paramount of new insult ready to throw your way.

'Well isn't it lucky that I share a bed with him'

'You are absurd'

'Only the best of us are.' With that, you left the blistering heat and made your way back into the palace, your mind drifting back to your first ever encounter with Baghra.

----

'You'll train with Baghra' General Kirigan said as you awkwardly stood in your lavish suite, feeling the ill-fitting Tidemaker kefta weighing heavily on your shoulders.

'I can fight already there's no need' You didn't want to be here, you wanted to go back to your regiment in the First-Army and sleep on an uncomfortable cot surrounded by your friends. The Palace reminded you too much of your old family home to the point of it making you uneasy.

'Not that kind of training' As handsome as the General was, you didn't let yourself succumb to his looks or that faint smile, even if it did erupt small butterflies in your body. Don't trust him.

'Do I have to wear this coat?' It was the first time you'd put it on and although it was very well made, you didn't think it suited you.

'That's your uniform from now on I'm afraid.' He gestured to his own black kefta. It was magnificent.

At the time, you hadn't yet known you could possess more than one Grisha power, but that was about to change really soon as he led you down the narrow steps leading to a hut.

It was nestled deep in the Palace gardens, and you longed for the same privacy. It wasn't anything like the Little Palace with its dull exterior and homely interior. But the heat, oh the heat, it was scalding. You fiddled with the kefta belt and buttons, tugging the thick coat off of you as you looked around, awaiting the woman the General referred to as Baghra.

'Hello?' You folded the blue coat over the back of a chair, feeling too awkward to sit down.

'You must be the Elemental, child you stick out like a sore thumb' An old woman appeared in the doorway. Her hair was graying and her clothes looked worn.

'An- wha- elemental?' You tested the words on your tongue, were you not a Grisha?

'Sit.' You did as you were told as she sat opposite you, leaning forward and having a good look at you.

'I've only ever met one of you, you're very rare'

'What am I' The urgency in your voice was strong.

'You take powers from other Grisha. You don't have any of your own.'

'So I'm not a Grisha. Why am I here then?' You scoffed.

'Just because you can't conjure up on your own doesn't mean you are not Grisha'

'I don't want to be here.'

'You've made that quite obvious.'

The room stilled as you thought about which questions to ask next.

'Is it hereditary?'

'Most likely. One doesn't don't know they are an Elemental until they touch a Grisha who is conjuring, hence why you're so rare. There's no test for it.'

'I don't fit in'

'No. You don't.' At least the old woman agreed. 'But don't let that be the reason you flock to change. There are those out there that would kill to have you in their ranks.' She eyed you again, a hidden meaning in her words that you couldn't decipher.

'I can be more than just a Tidemaker?'

'You can be much more, but only if you know how to control it.' She gripped your wrist suddenly, and a weird feeling spread through you, much like the one when General Kirigan touched you. It was like a rush of calm and surety.

'You have potential, a lot of it.'

'How are you going to train me if you've only ever known one of me?' You didn't mean to sound as harsh as you did, but you were growing impatient.

'Grisha science is simple child, even for those who come from Merzost.'

'Merzost?'

'Maybe in due time, Y/N. Maybe then I'll explain.'

-----

She never explained it, never mentioned it to Aleksander, never taught you properly. She held you back constantly and consistently. It was only when you left and almost died did you learn the true reason behind your kind and it still made you apprehensive.

You had yet to dabble in Merzost yourself even though your whole being came from it. You had felt drawn to it sure, but you understood that there was always a price to pay. Like Aleksander with the Fold, or Ilya when he created the amplifiers. You weren't willing to satisfy that silent thirst just yet if it meant sacrificing something dear to you.

The Palace was swimming in life right now despite the brutally cold air. The children had just finished school for the day and were running around playing in the snow while the Summoners were practicing on their grounds. It was nice to hear their laughs and content conversations, a stark contrast to the life you led a mere month ago.

The Little Palace wasn't perfect, but it was the sanctuary Grisha needed and you took pride in the fact that you helped achieve that. Aleksander may have done the bulk of the work, but you put blood, sweat and tears into ensuring that all kinds of Grisha felt safe in Ravka.

You watched as the young Tidemakers used all their might to break through the thick layers of ice on the lake. They worked in unison and in silence as the water shot up and behaved as if it were their puppet and they controlled the strings.

'Reminiscing?' Aleksander appeared at your side in his dramatic black cape.

'When I first came to the Palace, I truly thought I would be stuck as a Tidemaker forever' You laughed at your childish insolence.

'What's so wrong with being a Tidemaker?'

'Hmmm, maybe the fact that East Ravka is land-locked?'

'We have a lake' He pointed out with an amused grin. 'How is Alina?' He changed the topic.

'Your mother is doubtful'

'Isn't she always' His eyebrow raised in a sign of annoyance.

'Claims Alina cannot do anything without an amplifier by her side.'

'She's holding back.'

'Alina or Baghra?'

'Both.' You turned away from him, returning your gaze to the Tidemakers.

'You think she's up to something?'

'When is she not up to something, I fear your return has made her antsy.' You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

'Baghra is unnerved by me, my life goal is complete.'

'She thinks you corrupt me.'

'Does she know it is the other way around?' You mused and took hold of his hand, the action hidden behind his cape.

'I'm offended Ms.Y/L/N. I was under the impression we are both as bad as the other.' He squeezed your hand back, the cool silver ring pressing against your skin. You shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a cape.

'I think I have to go back in' You said as you watched your breath leave in a cloud of fog.

'I think that's best.' He gave your hand one last tight squeeze and let go, leaving a brief kiss against your temple. You watched the elegant sway of the black material as he made his way to Baghra's hut.

You ran back to the warmth of the indoors and requested a food tray be brought back to your chambers while you dealt with stationing new Grisha around the camps. It was tedious and boring but once you got this done, the rest of the day was yours to do whatever you wished. The library was calling your name, but so was the banya. You had spent so much time in the Little Palace covered in mounds of work you completely forgot to enjoy yourself.

As you signed the last station order, you leaned back into your chair with a sigh and sipped the rest of the kvas in your glass. It wasn't even dinner time yet but you found yourself stifling a yawn. Your mind wandered to Aleksander for the umpteenth time that day. Why did he go to Baghra?

-------

His steps were loud as he descended the stairs into the main part of the hut. Baghra was still sitting in her chair from her previous talk with Y/N when she heard the door squeal open.

'Mother.' His voice echoed throughout the small building alongside the crackling of the fire.

'Have you come to ask about your Sun-Summoner? if so then the Witch has already beat you to it'

'Don't call her that, she's your Deputy now'

'I will call that brat whatever I please.'

'Baghra, I am warning you.' He didn't care for her petty games.

'Do you not see her for what she is Aleksander? She hasn't changed. You cannot go back from the atrocities she has committed.'

'Have you forgotten who I am, who we are?' He spat through his teeth.

'But you have a cause Aleksander, she craves power for the simple reason of it being addictive.'

Baghra had tried to reason with her son countless times about the girl. She pleaded with him when he'd first given himself to her, she's a monster, she will ruin you.

'I have shown you so much mercy Mother, am I not kind enough to you? Must you curse the woman I love?'

'Love is foolish my son and it never got you anywhere. She is trouble, let her go.'

'You would be an amazing court jester' He laughed and sat down beside her leaning in closer 'I am an arm's length away from finding the stag and when I do, the sun-summoner will be at our disposal and Ravka will be ours.'

'The stag is fictional. A myth. You are wasting your time.'

'If a Sun-Summoner walks amongst us, a magical stag isn't in the least a doubtful tale.'

'I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, your biggest worry right now is getting rid of the plague that haunts this Palace.'

'And what would that be, do enlighten me, mother.'

'The woman who came in here earlier bragging about sharing your bed.' Aleksander's heart leaped in his chest. She wasn't ashamed to admit it.

He leaned in closer to his mother, taking her worn hand into his.

'I suggest you find a way to get over your hatred for Y/N before it's too late. Nobody disrespects the Queen and gets away with it'

He got up and made his way to the door, ignoring the look of fury on his mother's face. He was too far away to hear her whisper;

'My boy, you will never get either of those things as long as I live.'

-----

Part 17

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

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[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Prologue)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: None just yet, enjoy my writing as I lead up to the story!!

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

| Chapter 1 |

“Dearest, have you read the newest Lady Whistledown?” Your mother burst into the drawing room with a flurry of her skirts, clutching the article in her fist as you, your brother and your father took in her frazzled form. 

Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was nearly vibrating with delight, “no, Mama. I haven’t.” You answered her, eyebrows pulling together gently and she barrelled forward, slapping the scandal sheet in your hand. 

You abandoned your needlepoint on your lap and opened the reports gingerly, perusing the freshly printed words with increasing distress:

‘In related news to this year’s promising season, my dearest reader- my sources say that a discreet candidate was called on by the Queen herself!

In a show of good faith and generosity to the newly signed trade agreements between the Crown and the elusive, yet breathtaking realm of Mandalore; it seems that this mysterious suitor has touched foot on our verdant lands in search of one of this season’s blossomed flowers to pluck for his own. 

I have heard that this particular aspirant is eager to secure an acceptable match, perhaps with the season’s named Incomparable? 

Or, perhaps there will be a sweet winter blossom that bloomed so richly as she was presented to Her Majesty, the Queen for her third season. Could the magnificent daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wintere snatch such a lucrative title from Miss Daphne Bridgerton?

I so do adore a good rivalry between two influential families and as such, I would like to express my most exuberant notions of good fortunes to each family and may the best woman win.

This intrepid author would also like to disclose that there should be a number of severe competitors at the Danbury Ball this evening- and even worse, bloodthirsty mama’s charging forward with energetic hopes to secure the prospects of such an exceptional suitor.

After all, it is not everyday you are offered the chance to become a Queen.’

“She has named our dearest daughter a ‘winter blossom’, no doubt in reference to our family crest, darling!” Thomas’ eyebrows lifted at the high praise and yes, it was true. The family crest consisted of blooming hellebores and a snowy owl taking flight. “She also named our daughter to be a worthy adversary of the season’s Incomparable, Daphne Bridgerton!” Elaine gushed, taking a seat beside her husband and her skirts pooled with the air trapped but she seemed nonplussed as did Thomas who watched her with an adoring smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?” 

“I’d consider that a high honour indeed!” Thomas boasted proudly, raising his teacup to you and a sigh left your lips, ever world-weary. 

“Looks more like a wilted weed to me.” Your brother teased and earned a reproachful stare from your parents, Ryder shrugged off the blistering glare from your mother before turning back to his book. 

“Mama,” you implored, the paper crinkling in your tight grip, “do not put any stock into Whistledown’s scribblings- she has a tendency to exaggerate and her words incite challenge when there is no need for it.” You scoffed, tossing the offending scrap on the plush cushion beside you, “she has surely just made Daphne and I targets for the 200 other girls for the entire season!” 

Ryder stood from his place across the room and moved closer, snatching the crinkled sheet from the pillow and plopped himself down, taking in its contents for himself, “Cressida Cowper is going to eat you alive, dearest sister.”

“Please do not remind me of Cressida Cowper, do I not appear distressed enough for you to cease your mistimed jibes, brother?” Your tone heightened, echoing somewhat in the drawing room.

Ryder’s smirk softened into a worried frown and took your hand in his in a soothing fashion, soft thumb massaging the space between your knuckles, “apologies, sweet sister. I only wished to make light of your situation for your own piece of mind.” 

Sighing, you whispered your own apology at your sudden snap and you hummed softly in thought before a mischievous grin curled against your lips, “if anyone should feel concerned about Cressida Cowper’s intentions, I would think you to be more perturbed than I, older brother. The heir to the Duke of Wintere, a monumental promise of success to any willing debutante, I’m certain.” Ryder shuddered at the thought of the ill-mannered girl setting gladiatorial eyes on him and the notion of the high prospects he would bring to the mart. Immediately abandoning your hand, he burrowed himself deeper into the seat beside you and flicked the sheet out dramatically.

It was an indiscreet attempt to occupy his mind elsewhere as he kept his eyes firmly on the black print, yet he took not one word of the information in.

“Darling, this is good.” Your mother’s voice gently eased you from you and your brother’s banter as she reached forward and took your hand in hers, “this means that suitors will now take notice of you, and if this king hears word of your beauty in Whistledown’s musings, then I believe we should all be thankful to the woman, do you not agree?”

Your fingers curled around hers but your eyes remained downcast at your half-sewn needlepoint and you sighed softly, “I don’t see the need for such articles to be published. There will be enough dramatics to satisfy the weak-minded all season.” 

“Your mother and I only want what is best for you, little owlet.” Your eyes raised to meet Thomas’, his gaze warm, tone loving as he levelled you with an adoring smile, “if it eases your mind, I have come across some news of this new ruler during my time at the club. I have heard he is just and fair. An honourable gentleman if somewhat mysterious as Lady Whistledown reports. You have nothing to lose by dazzling him with your grace and charm- but you have everything to gain if you succeed in wooing him. You have no need for tricks or deception to win the attention of any suitor, for you are perfect just the way you are.” Tears blurred your vision, threatening to slip down your cheeks. Your frown turned into a watery smile as your father placed his warm, large hand over you and your mothers, “and I shall be there to protect you and only agree to a match deserving of a jewel such as yourself.” 

You sniffled back the forming tears before smiling warmly, “thank you, Papa.” 

“There is no need for gratitude, dearest. This is a father’s duty; one I aim to fulfill to the highest regard-” Your father’s words were cut short as one of the servants walked into the drawing room.

“Your dresses have arrived, Your Grace, my Lady.”

“Ooh!” Elaine shot up from her seat, clapping in excitement before grabbing your hand and hauling you upstairs to your room, “we must find the perfect gown for tonight’s fete!” 

Your sputtering and half formed protests carried down the hallway as Thomas opened the newspaper that had been sitting untouched in his lap, chuckling indulgently, “ever the child, your mother.” 

Ryder shook his head in amusement, a smile curling his lips.

"Have you read the newest Whistledown? Foreign royalty searching for a suitable bride? I suspect this season will turn out to be exemplary.” 

"I heard that this King's treasury is one to rival the Crown itself."

"I heard he has a son, yet there is no mother that has come forward to claim the child. A most scandalous affair, indeed!"

"I heard that their land is rich in minerals. Some type of iron that is nigh indestructible! I'd wager it'd fetch a high price."

"Daphne Bridgerton locked in a violent competition with the Duke and Duchess of Wintere’s daughter? How delicious."

"I have never heard of this Mandalore, is it near Scotland?"

You were barely able to contain your ire for the gossiping hounds polluting the air of the ballroom. 

Your jaw ticked imperceptibly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard you would be able to see the back of your head.

Their whispers were anything but that as you walked past each intrusive mama and daughter as they revelled in the rumors etched in the latest scandal sheet authored by Lady Whistledown, containing information of a supposed king attending the ball. 

Your eyes scanned the ballroom and made contact with the youngest Featherington- carving a path for her, her rounded figure swathed in a bright, eye-catching yellow gown that suited her complexion and figure little, yellow beads and jewels glittering in the lights overhead.

You caught her eye and her shy demeanor slipped somewhat as she smiled, excited to see a familiar face and you curled your arm through hers and locked them together, “why have I not seen you on the dance floor, Miss Featherington?” You asked and Penelope sighed. 

“I am just admiring the view, Lady Dalton,” you raise one brow at the title and her tiny frown curled into an indulgent smile as she corrected herself and called you by your given name, “you seem to have taken the room by storm when you joined the dance floor, every bachelor here has his eyes on you and Daphne tonight. I would think many of the suitors here are bursting at the seams for your hand- and it is your third season as well.” 

“No doubt to Lady Whistledown’s meddling, I’d wager. I have already entertained enough male suitors tonight. I shall take my leave of them for the time being,” your tone changed to a slight whine which served to incite Penelope’s rich giggles, “have you taken your turn about the room?” 

“I’m afraid I am not as carefully provided for as you, my Lady. Father has decided to forego these events and my mama is not quite so attuned to my aspirations to ensure a well-rounded tour.” 

“Well, then, allow me, Miss Featherington.” You hummed politely, smiling brilliantly at the shy girl who returned the gesture just as brightly and you led the way about the hall. Nodding your head politely to every suitor that greeted you, you curled closer to Penelope, “I see your mother is surveying the hall with Lady Cowper and Lady Edgecomb.” Penelope’s world-weary exhale betrayed her true thoughts and you ran a soothing line along the back of her hand with your thumb, “the determination of rumormongers is indeed boundless, are they not? Perhaps, we shall next be blessed with the sight of them suspended from the rafters with ear trumpets to survey even the most meagre pieces of gossip.” Penelope giggled, covering her mouth with her hand daintily as she did so, bowing her head. 

“Ah,” Anthony Bridgerton exclaimed, his arm encircled with Daphne’s as they stepped in front of you, “Miss Featherington, Lady Dalton.” 

“Penelope,” Daphne spoke your names warmly, her bright smile widening as she curtseyed perfectly.

“Lord Bridgerton, Daphne.” You and Penelope greeted in unison, curtseying elegantly though you felt your arm tense as Penelope teetered on her feet in an attempt to keep her balance. You rose rather quickly to save her any embarrassment, “how fares the hunt, Daphne? Many of the most eligible suitors have presented themselves at this fete, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” Anthony spoke over his sister, answering for her. “Quite a well-rounded affair. Why, I can count every worthy bachelor on each finger of my left hand.” Daphne stared at her brother, aghast but your tinkling laughter could not be hidden with a well-placed hand over your mouth.

“I could only hope that you could spare a finger for my own brother, my Lord? Is he not worthy of your high praise? I would hate to inform my father of this scandalous news!” You teased slyly, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as Anthony chuckled.

“Of course, my lady. Ryder Dalton, heir to the title Duke of Wintere is honest and true. A man worthy of the title he will one day inherit.” You bowed your head gracefully at the praise.

“Did you read the latest entry of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet?” Daphne asked, head inclined slightly in question and your lip curled in irritation, earlier humor forgotten.

“Unfortunately, dearest Daphne. What does this author hope to accomplish by sowing dissension among peers? It is only going to be harder for us if we are to be locked in this invented rivalry until the season ends. Not to mention that all other 200 fine young women will see us as common adversaries to quarrel for a desirable bachelor.” You shook your head and sighed wistfully.

“Perhaps, Lady Whistledown’s sources were incorrect in their counsel. I have yet to see a comely King from a foreign land in our midst.” Daphne teased and you chuckled, nodding as you looked about the room but gazed over no fanfare nor buzzing enthusiasm.

“Nor a royal guard. What do you think, Penelope?” You hummed and the young woman beside you almost wiggled with excitement to be counted.

“I believe that Lady Whistledown is breeding a development early in the season to incite challenge.” You voiced a wordless agreement and Penelope continued, her fingers still clinging to yours, “Her Majesty is one to be enthralled and I would think that the public invitation to this monarch of Mandalore is an attempt to bring about said excitement.” Penelope’s curls bounced around her rounded face as she spoke and you took her words in with great thought. 

“A compelling view, if I ever heard!” Anthony complimented and Penelope bowed at Anthony’s flattery, “if you ladies will excuse us, we still must take our view of the room.” 

“Ah, we shall keep you no longer! Happy hunting, my Lord. Good luck, Daphne.” You sympathised genuinely and Daphne huffed in agreement as her brother pulled her away. “That was excellent, Penelope. Sharp wit, indeed!” 

Your words were met with sweet giggles from your friend as you continued your turn about the room, dance cards dangling delicately from your gloved wrists in and quizzed Penelope on the memory of her miniatures, impressed with her skill to point out each suitor with ease.

Once Penelope tired of walking, she took her rest by the edge of the dance floor and you bid her luck before striding to the refreshments table in search of a beverage to quench your thirst.

Your eyes remained locked on the small glasses of lemonade, unbothered with taking care in your surroundings- you were shocked to feel someone knock into you rather forcefully. You stumbled, unable to right yourself and you could feel your traitorous feet tangle around each other. 

Time seemed to slow to a complete stop, though your mind ran freely and aware. A frisson of fear crackled down your spine at the premature embarrassment of the predicament you were just about to drop yourself in just as you felt strong hands slip against your back, righting you almost as quickly as your legs betrayed you. 

“Oh, goodness, please do excuse my-” your apology trailed off into stunned silence as you took in the unfamiliar man you could call your savior. This stranger that had his arms around you in a most improper fashion and you know you should untangle yourself from his touch immediately but the heat of his large, ungloved hands bled into the exquisite material of your gown, through your corset and seared directly into the flesh of your arched back.

His clothing was much the same of every suitor attending, nothing unique or flamboyant to stand out amongst the countless other candidates. The slight crinkles in his suit brought an air of indifference- as if he cared little for the state of his dress. What persuaded you to fully take in his form, was his sun kissed, bronze skin that shone deep in the synthetic light of the chandelier accompanied by the ornate lights mounted on the wall; so striking and different from the many men that boasted pale complexions and youth.

You could see the ruggedness in the etchings in his skin, the lines that betrayed his advanced age compared to the others in attendance. The hair atop his head was rich and dark with slight streaks of gray, airy soft curls that adorned his head like a crown, wild and untamed. The same dark hair that graced his head, also carved around his jawline and upper lip, small patches of hair scarce in some places- so unlike the pronounced fashions in high society and you found yourself preferring the unkemptness. His eyes were a harsh change from the softness of his hair, striking and bold. They glittered like dark gems in the gentle lights as he perused your features, intelligent yet curious as he took you in with a cool countenance and thick brows pulled together in an expression of concern.

A prominent nose curved down with a hooked slope, rather large but it suited him and you fought the urge to caress the curved bridge with your fingertip. Pink lips parted, thin but pillowy as the tip of a red tongue slipped between to hydrate the slightly chapped flesh. 

It set him apart from the rest, a beauty you so desperately wished to explore.

Just as you studied this unfamiliar man, he also took your form in. 

His gaze was not leering like many of the bachelors loitering about the room- nor a lecherous grin curved those sinfully soft lips as he drank in your appearance with ease, noting every detail and micro expression with rapid ease and forced himself to cease the ever growing notion to tighten his arms around you, drag you closer to his chest when he felt the way your body curled into his touch, seeking the warmth he provided on a subconscious level. 

Clearing his throat softly, he righted you on your feet and took a step back, bowing at the waist and a soft curl slipped in front of his handsome features, concealing his left eye, “forgive my impropriety, my Lady,” his voice was deep, rasped and foreign and those same lips curled around each word with an elegance none of the men here could hope to match, “my intentions were pure, I assure you. I did not mean-” 

“-t-the apologies are mine, my Lord. I did not see you.” You cut off his apology, your usual confidence abandoning you and curtseyed softly before you both straightened in tandem, “please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

“Only if you accept mine, my Lady, as I was the one to knock you.” This man raised his eyes to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips at your stunned expression. 

Realising how unladylike you seemed, you quickly smoothed your expression into a serene smile and bowed your head gently, “well then, I accept your apology, my Lord.” 

“And now, I shall receive yours.” He bowed once again, though his eyes never once strayed from yours, his hand coming to brush back the curl that slipped in front of his face, freeing his eye from the obstacle. “Quite an affair, is it not?”

You turned to look upon the room and the dozens of bodies packed in the lavish ball and the bodies moving in rhythmic synchronisation as they flounced around the dancefloor, skirts billowing and waistcoats whipping. “Yes, my Lord. It is certainly a promising fete.” You ripped your gaze from the dancers and you looked back to the mysterious suitor that you know for a fact his profile has never graced your miniatures. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my Lord.” You introduced yourself and he bowed his head in a nod to your status. 

“Din Djarin, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

You did not miss the way he left out his title, not many men did. It was refreshing to meet someone unbothered by status and titles. You smiled brilliantly and for a moment, he had trouble remembering how to breathe. 

How did people do this?

“What brings you to London, Lord Djarin? I do not believe I have seen you here.” You certainly couldn’t recall seeing those mesmerizing, yet prominent features etched in your miniatures.

“I’m in town for business, mostly- but I thought I would attempt to join the fray of finding a beautiful woman to make my bride.” Din’s eyes found yours when his lips curved out the word ‘beautiful’. You could feel your cheeks heat and quickly brought the tiny glass to your lips and took a long draught- almost emptying the glass entirely. It was unseemly on your part but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, you needed to soothe your drying throat and tame the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And what better place to be than a cotillion for ambitious debutants who are searching for the perfect match?” Betraying your inner emotions, you struck up kind conversation, performing an air of confidence and strengthened your resolve. A wide smile stretched his lips, revealing perfect, straight teeth and the act of a simple smile brightened his features. Your heart slammed against your ribcage in response, your steely courage cracking in half with little to no effort.

He took a sip of his own lemonade just as a pair of gossiping mama’s walked past you both, talking loud enough for you to overhear their conversation with minimal exertion- if any, “and where, pray tell, is this so-called king?"

"Perhaps, Whistledown's sources were wrong. You can never trust a scandal sheet these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a charlatan." 

You swallowed the sigh you desperately craved to release and inwardly shook yourself free from the coils of irritation that started to constrict around you before turning your attention back to the mysterious lord, only to notice his eyes were following the rumormongers and you helped yourself to a portioned sip of lemonade in an endeavor to quell the heat burning within you. A certain dark fire heated his gaze, stoking a reaction in you. Something deep and primal you had never experienced before and you suppressed a shudder at the ferocity clearly displayed in those deep, dark eyes.

“What are your thoughts on this foreign monarch, my Lord?” You barely managed to choke out, Din’s eyes snapped back to you as your question hung in the air and you swallowed subtly as his piercing gaze burned through yours.

“My thoughts?” He rasped, shifting on his feet in a show of subtle anxiousness. His earlier fire dissipating and awkward trepidation took the forefront.

“What do you make of the rumors surrounding the arrival of a ruler of a distant land coming to London to participate in the season?” You tilted your head in innocent curiosity, “surely, you have heard of this mysterious King hailing from his distant realm?”

“Rumor articles and gossip do not interest me, but yes, I am familiar with the topic you wish to discuss.” His smile twisted his lips into a forced stretch- barely passing for genuine and you weren’t sure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable when just moments earlier he was quite at ease conversing with you.

“And what do you make of his scarcity when his arrival was rumored to be a most certain guarantee? I should think the King would be thankful for not attending. Overbearing mothers and their equally simpering daughters have proven to be nuisances at the best of times.”

“Is that so?” Din looked at you, surprise colouring his pleasing features at your unfiltered response, “are you not disappointed that you may not meet this ruler and further your prospects on the mart?” His hand gestured subtly at his side, the barely touched lemonade sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “it would be a high honour to catch the eye of a king, now would it not?”

You chuckled, ducking your head for a moment, reflecting on your answer before opening your lips, “as silly as it may sound, I wish to marry for love.” You raised your hand, noncommittal waving it about, “I realise it will never happen, you do not endure two seasons with silly notions of love intact. I must maintain a status beholden of my title and secure a proper, advantageous match. But I can operate under the illusion of hope, can I not?” Din’s eyes cast down in thought, your words were soft, spoken quietly as if you were afraid another may overhear- whether by accident or on purpose, he could not say.

But the sincerity in your eyes could not be overlooked, the innocent yearning for a future that could very well be out of your reach sparkled against the hues of your irises. 

“Perhaps your aspirations will be met, my Lady.” Din smiled kindly and you hummed in thought, but your brilliant smile was dim. Working up his courage, he set the small glass of his barely touched lemonade on the refreshment table and vaguely gestured to the dancefloor, anxiousness twisting his features almost comically, “w-would you care to dance?”

His hand was large, rough with thick fingers. They were working hands, familiar with hard labour and you shivered imperceptibly at the thought of those hands running down the expanse of your naked flesh. 

You took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectable distance for propriety’s sake. With a smooth movement, you gently leant around him- his eyes never left yours as you placed your glass on the refreshment table beside his.

A gentle scent curled into your nose, blessing your senses with the subtle hints of sweet spices, oak and . . . a touch of gunpowder.

A heady, peculiar scent and it suited its wearer perfectly.

You slid your gloved hand into his, fingers slipping against his palm. The gossamer material caught on the rough skin of his palm and his lips upturned into a grin. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Djarin.” He grinned and you helped him by pointing to the card around your wrist and he made a soft ‘oh’ sound before taking hold of it and let go of your hand to grip the tiny pencil- thick fingers swallowing the dainty stationary and you smiled as he filled the Canon Galop Quadrille with his name in sharp, messy strokes.

“Shall we?” He let the card and pencil drop as his fingers snaked up your wrist slowly, feeling every dip and hollow before clasping your hand gently and leading you to the dance floor. “I must confess, I’m not accustomed to dancing all that much. I pray you forgive me if I fumble.”

You chuckled softly as you joined the other couples on the dancefloor and took your places. You smiled at Din who shuffled in place subtly, waves of anxiety pouring out of him, “I will not judge you, Lord Djarin. You have my most sincere promise and if you have any issues with the steps, I shall guide you. Do not worry.” He looked at you, your soothing tone calming the raging storm of distress inside him and he reciprocated with a smile of his own. 

The music began to play as you curtseyed to the other couples and took your place in front of Din, your hand slipping into his and a strong muscular arm wrapped around your back, large hand splayed across the expanse of your skin and you suppressed another shudder at the addicting heat he emitted. With a gentle nod, the tempo in the set increased and you began to skip about the room with practiced ease.

You gently tilted in a different direction, silently alluding to the next movement and he carried you effortlessly through the throngs of couples, winding around the dancefloor perfectly.

Giggles erupted from your throat, this particular dance always brought out the child within you and Din smiled at the sound, finding that he wished to hear it more often. “I dare say, my Lord, that you move quite well for not being accustomed to this particular dance.”

“I’m rather accustomed to a life outdoors, perhaps it has aided me well.” Din murmured, tightening his hold against your back.

You twisted and twirled around the dancefloor, weaving around bodies and as you separated to complete the next act of the dance, your eyes never left his and the mysterious man seemed more than content to hold your gaze and then you were back in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps, we could discuss the matter of dancing etiquette further, at a more. . private venue?” You asked quietly, alluding for him to call on your home. 

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a loud thump hit the ground and the music paused abruptly and you both stopped, all the guests' gazes swivelled to the ballroom doors as they were thrust open violently.

Gasps and shrieks rippled across the room as two armoured warriors marched forward, spears in hand and their features concealed by unusual helmets, stark colours streaked across the material in a wash of deep reds, browns, yellows and teals along with similarly handprints. A dark- completely opaque visor stretched across their helmets before spanning down, splintering the armour in half.

The curve of their coloured breastplates indicated their feminine physiques, pieces of vibrant painted plates clung to the thick, almost tribal clothing they wore beneath- sharp hues of red and brown adorned their bodies, hems tied tight with pieces of dark leather around their wrists and calves. Fur lined the capes around their shoulders as the thick material flowed to their booted feet, the leather scuffed and worn- creased from years of dedication and physical labor. 

Yet your eyes remained trained on the pure silver spears they held at the sides, pointed ends lifted straight in the air as they slammed the butts of the weapons down against the polished floors in tandem. 

A loud metallic ringing filled the ballroom and harsh bootfalls began to echo. 

Din stiffened in your arms before gently extricating you from his hold, the both of you turning to face the open entrance.

You swallowed harshly as a hulking figure took the space of the doorway, silver armour gleamed in the lights above, clearly displaying the pure gold accents weaved through the chest plate and accompanying pieces- dark clothes thick and concealing any form of skin to be shown, brown gloves worn, flaxen tips stark against the deep colours.

Just like his guards, he was not unarmed. But unlike carrying a spear of his own- you did not miss the pure obsidian claymore sheathed around his back. The hilt was brilliant against the darkness of the blade- made up of what seemed to be the same material that adorned his body. 

His helmet was simple- unlike the tribal colourings of his people, his was silver- notes of gold bled through the seams of the visor, framing it with its simplistic beauty and fur lined his shoulders, gold chain clinking against the silver metal and the crimson cape billowed behind him as he continued with his heavy gait. 

“Is it him? Surely not!”

“I expected a fanfare- yet this is not what I had imagined.”

“Do they dress like this in Mandalore? Will I have to?!”

“Look at them, so primal!”

“Why do they carry weapons? So uncivilised.” 

Whispers filled the hall as the foreign stranger stopped, his helmet scanning the room.

“The twenty-fourth monarch of our sovereign land,” The guards called, demanding silence from all in attendance, “The First of Clan Mudhorn and sole ruler of Manda’yaim. We present our king, the Manda’lor.” Their fists beat against their breastplates as they turned and faced their leader and bent their knee to the floor, heads bowed in respect. “This is the Way.”

The dark visor continued to survey the hall until it stopped-

-directly onto you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes caught your reflection staring back at you from across the room, you could no longer feel Din’s presence beside you. A quiet, rasping voice rang true from beneath the ornate silver helm, so familiar and yet completely unplaceable.

“This is the Way.”

[tanadrin]

Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

[amiramorozova]

Secret Penpal within the little palace pt. 5 -The first Gift-

Amira's pov:

I didn't know what he was going to say and I guess that was going to be what to expect. Not knowing as I was sitting with my friends. We were preparing for the fete deciding our routines. Since I was not out I was with the Tidemakers. We were enjoying our time with Fedyor brought the letter to me. I looked up at him as I knew who it was from but I accepted it as I opened it.

A,

I went for a walk last night to clear my mind after all the things we've shared in the past two letters. After you told about using your light at night, I wondered if I could see it for myself and walked outside the windows of the Tidemakers where I noticed a slight glow from your room. Seeing that you can do that but not so bright is still amazing.

You want no secrets? I wouldn't divulge any secrets over our writings but one day you'll be able to hear the secrets no one else knows. Until then I suppose we'll just make conversation through these letters till you wish to meet face to face. I want to make sure you are comfortable with meeting me in person.

Your mother was in 2nd army? I suppose that's fair you wish to keep her identity secret with you being in the Tidemakers. Though if her last name has changed I doubt I would be able to figure out who she was. It sounds like you are close to your family that you keep letters.

The idea of you being speechless brings a smile to my face knowing it can't be easy. I can't imagine why no one would ever look at you unless you have just kept yourself out of the sight. The idea you've tolerated her for so long and not even once wanted to say something is surprising.

I can only wonder what you look like. Tomorrow, I'm setting out to the training grounds to take a look at the Grisha. I always do this but maybe I'll get a chance to look at your face without knowing it's you. Since you stay in a small group there is always a chance I could spot you without knowing.

-General Kirigan

Ah..we're at the stage he can start looking. What else can happen? Uh presents..wait he's going out to the training grounds tomorrow?! I thought

I read over it again knowing this was not what I expected. I gulped but figured I would hold off replying till afterwards. I just needed to see how this played out. So I took the time and waited for tomorrow. I knew my identity was kept secret with just being A so I would keep to that.

The night seemed long as I laid there and waited but soon enough I woke up and got ready. I looked at his letter knowing I'd do it. I'd send the letter back now as I wrote it up quickly.

General Kirigan.

I could not describe what it feels like to have the sun on your face at night nor would I expect you to understand..but as someone who may understand. I believe the people would consider us a perfect match a Dual Summoner who they would look at as a Sun Saint and you a Shadow Summoner who they would call the starless saint. What a pair we probably could be.

I look forward to the day we are able to talk face to face with everything going on. As for your time out in the training grounds, I promise you that when you got out there you wouldn't have noticed me. While I may watch in the shadows of everyone else I have always admired you in a way that can't be explained. Yet I remain in the shadows of everyone else to keep the girls who wish they had this opportunity to write to you.

I grew up with the stories of the little palace but the kefta she has at home was older styled. I used to wear it growing up and say I was going to be just like her. Yet as I write to you I look in the mirror at my Kefta and feel a fraud. I'm blending in with the Tidemakers when I'm also a Sun Summoner.

When ready, I know the perfect meeting place that is green with grass and trees not far. It's still warm outside despite us only so long before the winter fete. So if we don't meet at the place I'm thinking of, you'll see me at the fete. I'll be the one who exits the fete within the first hour after the Tidemaker performance.

-A

I looked over it before giving it to Fedyor to take to him, I needed to get this done and over with for my own benefit. I knew that it wasn't going to be easy to keep my inner feelings from surfacing. I'd been fighting my feelings for the General for years and I've been told to avoid him. I've decided I'm done hiding from him and I will figure this out before I went to the training grounds.

I started doing training with Marie, my Inferni friend as we were practicing Tidemaker vs Inferni. I was focused for the most part but then he came out as he said and I lost my focus. I only was able to act fast with water as Nadia got my attention and I checked seeing I had no burns. I hadn't even used light so that was good.

Go away...get out of my head..calm down.. I thought as my friends led me away and we started talking which distracted me.

Then Aiden walked over as he showed me his letter and it had an A. "You got an A name?" I asked as he looked at me. "Not funny. Fess up you wrote this, you are a Tidemaker." Aiden said as I looked at him and shook my head. "I got someone else so sorry brother but you seem to have a secret admirer. " I said as he seemed shocked and he mouthed 'who did you get?' as I looked at him and my eyes looked over as if I was looking at the wall. Aiden knew if I was doing that they were out there and so he looked as if he was looking at his paper but briefly looked up spotting the General. 'dad's gonna be pissed.' he mouthed but I shrugged.

Aleksander's pov: I wondered if she would reply back but nothing came that night so I figured she would wait. It was when I walked out to check on the 2nd army was I being mindful of the Tidemakers. I watched everyone of them but noticed a Tidemaker and an Inferni going against each other. It was clear that they had done this before but that Tidemaker I saw her look at me.

It was as if she was distracted but she had reclaimed the practice with ease when her friend had yelled her name and brought her out. She was on my list of Tidemakers that could be the possible match for the person I was writing. But as I thought of asking her I knew it was still too soon.

Amira..so that is Amira Silina. I thought putting the face to a name for once, she did have a small group of friends and then I noticed the squaller come over. He accused her of being the one writing to him and she said she was not. Yet she did not answer who she was writing too. As I was about to walk away though some girls came over trying to claim they were the person writing to me.

"Ok, if you are the writer what is your brother's name?" I asked knowing that I could ask questions to verify if they were. "And what was your mother in second army?"

I made sure these questions were loud enough that all the Tidemakers heard as I saw Amira look over. Her eyes seemed to widen at my questions and that made me suspicious of her that she would react in shock since only the writer who wrote back to me would know the answer to the Questions.

"uh...I don't have a bother" two of them said but a two others gave names that didn't match the letter. But all of them had the same answer to my 2nd question "My mother wasn't in 2nd army.."

So it's none of these girls. I thought

I looked over seeing Amira still looking as I remembered the words in the letter. Brother's name is Aiden Nikitin and he's a squaller as I noticed that was exactly who was right by Amira. She also had a small group. Yet when I looked at her I saw her turn and run to Baghra's hut before I could even approach her. I sighed knowing this was not going to be easy and I might be wrong. I would relook at my list of Tidemakers.

It's not really a meeting yet. I thought

When I returned I found her letter as I read over it noticing the way she'd prepared it for after I had gone out there.

A,

You're quite bold to think of the possibility we'd be a couple but I did offer you the chance to have a partner to walk with. The idea that you think so too brings amusement. I would love to see you do this in the night, being right next to you as you call forth the light.

You say I wouldn't have noticed you but I just might have. I was out there with everyone when a group of girls, Tidemaker girls decided to come up and claim to be you. I asked two questions that only the true writer would know. One Tidemaker in particular reacted to these questions and I suspect it was you. Which would mean I know your name and I've seen your face but you could lie and say it wasn't to keep the game going.

There is one Tidemaker who left taking her Kefta, retired to get married. Amara Cortez, I remember her well after she'd been in service for so long. I assume she's your mother and if you are who I think you are. Then you remind me of her except your eyes blue as the sea.

I think that would be a great meeting spot but I want to keep this going so I've decided to give you a gift. I want you to wear it when we meet, I want people to know you are already going to be with someone. People will talk about it since it will show you are mine.

General Kirigan

Once I was done I walked to Fedyor but told him to have a ring made. I gave the description of how it should look and that he knew who she was to have it measured to her size. He went without a word but as I went back to work I couldn't shake the way Amira Silina reacted.

Amara Cortez's daughter...how interesting. I thought

Amira's pov:

When I returned to my room I found his reply letter with a box as I looked at it but instead of reading it first I picked up the box and opened it. I was shocked! This was whole new level stuff as I looked at it.

TagList: @lifeisingrey​,  @houseoftoomanyfandoms​, @mizelophsun11​, @budugu​  

[dragon-kazansky]

Shrouded in shadows | The Darkling

Gender neutral reader

[Masterlist]

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Part 31

It's the day of the Winter Fete, first thing in the morning. You're up early. Genya has to see to Alina, needing to make her perfect for her display, so today you have to look after yourself.

Aleksander had told you the day before he wouldn't get a chance to see you until a bit later in the day. You were free to go out and see the festivities until the performance.

David was bringing your kefta to you. While you waited, you bathed and sorted out your hair. You wanted to look your best for Aleksander.

As soon as you were done, a knock sounded at your door.

You get up and answer it. David stands with a kefta folded over his arm. You let him in and he sets out on the bed.

"It's made to measure," he tells you.

You smile as you thank him.

"It's wonderful."

"It will certainly spark conversation. You're wearing his colour now," David points out, a little awkwardly.

You nod.

"Oh, before you go, I was hoping you could do me a little favour today," you smile softly as him as he tried to make his leave.

David, holding open the door, looks back at you.

"What is it?"

He doesn't trust the glint on your eye, or the curve of your smile. You're up to something.

"Will you speak to Genya today? She's very much looking forward to seeing you later."

David becomes a bit sheepish.

"I'm very busy," he says, excusing himself.

You just chuckle as the door closes behind him.

You turn to the kefta and smile.

It's beautiful.

Black. Red on the shoulders, blue on the sleeves, purple along the hem, and along the front was black and silver running down the middle.

This kefta was a representation of all you could do, of all classes.

The box that had been set beside the kefta caught your eye. You hadn't noticed it before.

You pick it up.

You open the box and gasp at what's inside.

A pendant. A gold pendant. His emblem, the sun in eclipse...

You smile.

You were his and he was yours. At least, that's how it felt.

You put it down with the kefta and decide to change into your usual one for now. You wanted to see what was happening outside.

As you leave your room, Sven comes over to you. There is a huge smile on his face.

"Have you seen what's happening outside?"

You shake your head.

Following Sven, you exit the Little Palace. Tents and stalls are set up in every free spot. Performers practise along the sidelines. Children run in and out of the crowds. Balloons and flags are pinned up on every available space. Music plays faintly from afar.

You smile wide.

"This is amazing!"

"I know! And it hasn't even started yet," Sven chuckles.

You walk through the courtyard and over to the gates. All the way, as far as the eye can see, there are carts, performers and musicians.

You smile.

"There are a few acrobats setting up in the courtyard, want to see?" Sven offers.

You nod your head eagerly and follow him.

They had just begins getting up, but there they were, out in the open practising.

You smile with fascination. You've never been to the fete before. You have been missing out, it seemed.

And to think you would be attending with Aleksander...

The young man leaning against the crate justin front of you peers over his shoulder. You meet his eyes and smile. He returns it.

Then his gaze shifts behind you.

You turn and see Genya and Alina put and about.

She wasn't suppose to be out here.

You frown.

"Alina, what are you doing?" You ask, meeting her halfway.

She doesn't look at all deflated as she approach her.

"Taking a look!" She beamed.

Genya looked worried.

"You're not suppose to be out here. Genya could also get into trouble."

"No one knows. I just wanted a peek."

You sigh.

"It's all very exciting, but no one is suppose to see the Sun Summoner before her debut later on."

Just being Genya, you spot Ivan.

"You've been spotted," you warn her.

Both of them turn around to see the Corporalki looking at them slightly unimpressed.

"You could get into trouble," he warned.

"You're out here," Alina says, turning back to you.

"I have permission to be out here," you tell her.

"By Kirigan?" She asks.

"That's General Kirigan to you, and yes."

She looks a little smug, mood not affected by her being caught outside.

"Ivan, escort them back inside, won't you?" You ask him.

Ivan nods and offers his arms to them.

Genya and Alina chuckles as they take an arm each and wave at you as they pass by.

You turn back around with Sven and watch the acrobats again.

The young man has gone now.

You smile and decide you want to try some of the snacks before you have to go back and get ready.

Sven is eager to join you.

@luciadiosa @fablesrose @mischief-siriusly-managed @aleksanderwh0r3 @charistory @messrsmoonee @edithsvoice @carlywhomever @ladyslytherclaw @paintlavillered @ohsorandomlyme

[sourwolfandlilred]

Out in west texas, it hardly ever rains

(but when it does, it’s amazing grace)

Stiles Stilinski flipped off the radio, tired of the breathless play-by-play of the Friday night football game. Golden boy quarterback Derek Hale had already scored four touchdowns guaranteeing the “douba-yah”--as it was called around these parts--anyway. 

His jeep bounced along the rutted road as storm clouds gathered in the distance. Heat lightning flashed in the distance, but it would likely burn off before it got to Marfa. 

The church stood sentry on the edge of town, parched dust-cracked earth stretching for miles and miles behind it. Stiles parked the Jeep and headed inside. 

To the piano. 

It was an old model, the C key so worn the ivory dipped where a finger tip would rest. But it played just as pretty as the best grand out there. Stiles didn’t bother with lights, just sat on the bench, and played. 

The thunder accompanied him, a deep bass line that Stiles felt in his chest. By the time he finished the song, his cheeks were damp and the storm had passed. 

***

“You weren’t at the game.”

Stiles slammed his locker and rolled his eyes, side stepping Derek Hale in all his snapback, wanna-be frat boy glory. “While I’m oh-so-flattered that you noticed my absence, me thinks you should get an MRI to check for brain damage if you thought I would show in the first place.”

Derek wasn’t deterred by Stiles’s acid tongue. Instead, he fell in step beside him, despite the fact that Stiles--for reasons he wouldn’t admit to--knew that Derek’s first class was on the opposite side of the school. 

“Would you come if I asked you?”

Stiles stopped abruptly enough to earn himself a curse from the freshmen behind him who hadn’t been expecting. He met Derek’s eyes. “Why would you ask me to?”

The corner of Derek’s mouth ticked up, but it was almost self-conscious rather than smug. “Does it matter?”

***

Stiles went to the fucking game.

***

Lydia Martin hosted a party every friday night to fete the celebrities of their podunk town. Stiles had never been to one, though all sixty-three of their classmates were always invited. The place was too small for bullying tactics and popularity contests.

Someone shoved a red solo cup into Stiles’s hands, and he downed half the contents in one swallow. His fingers itched for smooth ivory and he tried to ignore the jittery sensation of looking for someone in particular. 

“Brooooo, you came,” Scott McCall slurred in Stiles’s ear while slinging an arm around his neck. Stiles took the weight of his drunk, pliant body, turning the tackle into a hug. They rocked like that as Stiles laughed. Scott loved everyone and everyone loved Scott, but Scott loved Stiles best. 

“Hey where’s your QB?” Stiles asked as casually as possible, and Scott beamed at him. Apparently he hadn’t been subtle. 

“Gazebo,” Scott waved, flashing all his white teeth so that his eyes squinted into tiny bits of happiness.

Stiles maneuvered him toward Kira and then wove his way through gyrating bodies and couples who had too little sense of what level of PDA was appropriate. 

When Stiles stepped outside, his skin tingled with the electricity in the air. Something was coming. 

Derek was alone, surprisingly. It seemed like he was forever surrounded by fawning groupies, or at the very least his phalanx of ride-or-die friends. Stiles didn’t bother saying hi as he sat on the bench next to him. 

“Did you have fun?” Derek asked as he took a hit on his joint. Golden-boy wasn’t always so golden. 

Stiles let his legs fall apart until their knees touched. “No.”

“But you came.” Derek said, said without looking at him. 

“But I came,” Stiles agreed, plucking the joint out of his loose fingers. Had they been doing this dance for years now? Stiles couldn’t tell. Derek was a part of the landscape as much as the snow-topped mountains in the distance. 

They’d never really been friends. Stiles’s father was the Sheriff, Derek’s mother the lawyer. They had enough crime that it caused friction between the two families. But they weren’t exactly Romeo and Juliet, either. They were just two dudes trying to make it out of this god-forsaken town anyway they could. 

For Derek that was football. From the Smurf League when they’d been kindergartners it had been obvious exactly where Derek was headed in life. First draft pick for the NFL. 

For Stiles it was the long-shot Juliard--a dream his mother had passed onto him the day she’d died. 

He and Derek were as different as could be, and yet still... 

Maybe it was the way Derek’s eyes lingered on Stiles’s mouth when he took a hit. Maybe it was the Stiles let his hand drop to Derek’s thigh after he handed back the joint. 

Something in the back of Stiles’s brain itched, though. Him and Derek? It wasn’t just two queer kids finding each other in bumble-fuck Texas. He just didn’t know what it was. 

“Do you want to play?” Stiles asked, his eyes on the lights from the house. “Professionally I mean.”

“Nah,” Derek shook his head, earning a sharp glance from Stiles. “It’s what I’m good at but... no.” He laughed softly. “I like my brain intact.”

Stiles huffed out a breath. “Same.”

Derek glanced over. It wasn’t often that Stiles complimented him. Then he lifted one shoulder. They were close enough that it brushed Stiles’s arm. “I’ll use it to pay for college. But I want to be...”

He took a hit instead of continuing, and then handed it over to Stiles. Stiles bumped his knee against Derek’s. “Yeah?”

A blush crawled along Derek’s perfect cheekbones, and Stiles had to look away lest he do something utterly mortifying. 

“I like gardening,” Derek mumbled. “I thought maybe landscape architecture.”

Maybe some version of Stiles would have laughed at the admission. The idea of snap-back wearing, pick-up truck driving, all-American stereotype in the flesh planting daisies should have been funny. 

It wasn’t.

Stiles took a hit. Held the smoke in. Then in one swift move shifted so that he was in Derek’s lap, his knees on either side of Derek’s hips. Derek’s fingers came up, gripped the skin just above the waistband of Stiles’s jeans. 

The moment seemed frozen in time, syrupy and unreal. Stiles leaned in and Derek’s lips parted. Smoke slipped out between them, but in the next moment, Stiles was pressing it into Derek’s mouth. 

Derek breathed it in. Breathed Stiles in, really. 

When they drew apart, Derek’s eyes were wide, almost vulnerable, and Stiles ached with every part of his being. He wanted this to be real. 

So he ran. 

***

The church was as quiet as it always was when Stiles came to practice at the old piano. He made sure of it. 

But for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to play. 

The keys had always offered him an escape, a dreamworld where his mother wasn’t dead, his father wasn’t an alcoholic, and he wasn’t a weird kid who talked too much and dreamed too big for this small Texas town. 

For once, he didn’t want to escape. 

He pressed a thumb to his lower lip, as if he could capture the warmth of Derek there. The way the tip of his tongue had darted out in what had turned into a goodbye. 

“Play for me?” 

Stiles didn’t startle. He’d almost expected Derek to show, though he couldn’t say why.

But you came. But I came. 

Without acknowledging the request, Stiles dropped his fingers onto the keys. Amazing Grace was so easy, he didn’t have to think about it. By the time he finished, Derek was on the bench beside him. “Beautiful.”

Stiles chewed on the inside of his mouth. “My mother taught me how to play.”

A beat. And then, “Do you play because she wanted you to, or do you play because you want to.”

The question struck, like lightning, in the very center of Stiles’s chest. “Does it matter?”

It was a deliberate echo and Derek huffed. “No.” 

Maybe it had seemed like walls going up when that wasn’t the case at all. So Stiles took a breath. “Aren’t all of our lives made up of a combination of that? Expectations and hopes and desires and rational thought and irrational emotions? Her wanting me to play doesn’t mean it’s any less important if it had come from nowhere. It just makes it all the more meaningful that I am doing it, doesn’t it?”

“But what about your life?” Derek asked, and in that moment Stiles realized how much Derek’s trajectory had been guided by other people. 

“It’s not an either or,” Stiles said as carefully as possible. “For me.”

Derek nodded, his eyes on the piano. In the smallest voice Stiles had ever heard him use, he said, “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Stiles nearly laughed at that. But instead he nudged Derek’s shoulder. “No matter what you do, I’m pretty sure it would be impossible for you to disappoint anyone.” He searched for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t dismiss the fear, the ones that wouldn’t add more weight to Derek’s shoulders. “I would be proud of you no matter what you do.”

That blush again, the one that would drive Stiles to distraction. “Play it again for me?”

“Anytime,” Stiles promised and surprised himself by meaning it. 

Outside the clouds opened up and the rain beat against the windows. 

Inside, Derek hooked his ankle around Stiles’s, and the music played.

[politicalmamaduck]

so ere you find where light in darkness lies

A soulmate AU written for @darklinadaily Darklina Week 2021! You can read it on AO3 here. Title taken from Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost.

She was born with the mark on her left wrist.

The sun in eclipse.

Ana Kuya said she’d never seen a soul mark like it and it portended a tragic future. Therefore, Alina needed to pray even harder to the Saints to give her a good future.

At night, she was alone, not praying--but hoping that one day she would meet her soulmate and truly belong.  

She loved Mal, but not in that way—his mark didn’t match. He was her best friend, but not her soulmate.

So she waited until she would meet her soulmate, her partner with the mark on their arm, and find out what the sun in eclipse meant.

There was no one else she ever loved enough to show them her mark. Not that she loved Ana Kuya, but she loved Mal. She never got a chance to love anyone else--not when the First Army was always on the move, or even before that, when other girls--normal girls, girls with parents--were settling down as proper Ravkan wifes and mothers. 

Alina was different, had always been different, even beyond just the mark on her skin. 

Being different made no difference to the volcra, however. Their attacks were indiscriminate, their taste for human flesh insatiable. 

The last thing she could remember was reaching for Mal in that interminable darkness, the soulmark on her arm aflame, her bones and sinews straining, reaching to hang on to the barest thread of hope contained in his fingers, her anchor to life. 

Light burst into the Fold’s darkness, the volcra screaming and tearing away, unable to bear it. 

Alina gave in to the darkness behind her eyes, tasting blood.

When she awoke, everything hurt, and the world had changed. Her world changed more rapidly than she could process.

She was not afraid of the Darkling, despite what she’d heard. Still, when he demanded she lift up her sleeve, she did what she always did.

She protected herself.

She lifted her right sleeve, her bare arm, her unadorned wrist.

The world burst into sunlight, flame, shadow. Alina saw not the light pouring forth from her, but stars behind her eyes. The pain, the pleasure, the release--there was something inside her yearning to break free, to push beyond the boundaries she set all those years ago, to reclaim the life she took from it. 

Alina collapsed to the floor, but before she hit her head, he caught her. 

Her weight was solid in his arms, but she felt light as a feather, protected, cosseted, before the darkness claimed her once more. 

After awakening and being packed off to Os Alta, she bit back a retort about a head injury and horses not being the best combination after passing out twice in the space of hours.

The Grisha didn’t care, but they did care for her wounds. 

She tried to view herself as one of them, and failed. She was still too different--a summoner who could call the sun, even rarer than the Darkling’s shadows. And how would they view her strange soulmark?

When Genya Safin and her team of attendants marched into her new bedroom the next morning, Alina knew she was in trouble. She was unceremoniously stripped and forced into the bathtub while the washerwomen insulted her in Old Ravkan.

It was Genya who looked at the mark first, though, after ordering the attendants out. “Your mark,” Genya said, taking Alina’s hand before she could snatch it away and hide her arm. 

Her bright blue eyes met Alina’s. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen another like it.”

“Really? At the orphanage, they told me it portended a dark future.”

Genya shook her head, her perfect curls bobbing and catching the light. 

“I don’t think so. I think your future will be what you make of it. Now, let’s get you ready.”

Genya’s magic--the Small Science, Alina reminded herself--glossed over her skin, and Alina thought perhaps she finally had a friend other than Mal. 

Maybe she could belong in the Little Palace. 

Maybe she would find her soulmate, the eclipse to her sun, after all. 

In front of the Tsar, in front of his court, she felt the terror she had been denying herself. She wasn’t prepared, she needed more time, she couldn’t do this--

And then the Darkling met her eyes in the darkness. 

He was calm. He trusted her. 

“Now call the sun,” he whispered, and something in her reacted to his voice. Stay, she wanted to whisper back, don’t leave me alone.

He reached for her wrist--

No, she wanted to scream, not that wrist, don’t--

The world burst into light. 

Alina burst into light. 

Her soulmark burst into flame once more. 

It was a beautiful pain, an exquisite torture. 

Don’t let go, she wanted to beg. 

She felt bereft when he did. 

“Welcome home, Miss Starkov,” he said. She knew he meant it. Perhaps, she could believe it after all. 

The next morning, she refused the kefta in his color. She didn’t want to stand out more than she already did. But as they rode through the forest, she realized that with him, she didn’t feel like an outsider, an interloper, a foreigner. 

With him, she felt like she mattered. 

And so it did not matter, later, when she learned the story he told her by the fountain was only partially true. He may have lied--but so did Alina, all those years, denying herself her own truth, so desperate to not be alone. 

It did not matter, for she belonged with him. Both the Darkling and the Sun Summoner, denying their own truths until their reality could not be contained within them any longer. 

The sun in eclipse. Light and shadow--all shall fade, but they were eternal. 

“You are not alone,” she told him, when he laid bare his truths before her--the Grisha were suffering, Ravka was suffering, and they would suffer to see them through the winter, through the Fold, through the dark night before the dawn. 

She left his chambers before she could think too deeply about how her heart was racing, how she longed for his touch, how her soulmark burned whenever their skin made contact.

The morning of the Winter Fete, she kissed him before she could regret it, before she could talk herself out of it, before she could think about it too deeply. The choice was hers, and hers alone, regardless of their soulmarks. 

His smile was like the sun peeking through shadowed clouds after a storm. Alina’s heart felt at peace, even if they were interrupted, never a moment alone for the Black General of the Second Army and his Sun Summoner. 

When their lips met after their presentation, she never wanted their kiss to end. She wanted to devour and be devoured, pour her sunlight into his shadows, subsume and be subsumed. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded, smiling as though she had never smiled before. 

They kissed again, and at the back of her mind, Ana Kuya’s voice echoed. Despite how far she had come, some part of Alina would always be a scared little orphan girl from Keramzin with a dark soulmark on her arm. 

“Aleksander,” she said, when their lips broke apart again. 

He met her eyes, and waited for her to continue. Her general, following her lead. 

“I--” she started. How to tell him? 

She looked down from his face to her arm, covered by her black kefta. She would continue to let her body do the talking for her, for it was truer than her words. 

She pushed up her sleeve and held her arm, the truth of her, out to him. 

He looked from her eyes down to her arm and back. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought there were tears in his eyes. 

“I thought you should know,” she said. “So you could be sure--”

Her words were silenced by his kiss. 

“Alina,” he said, when he released her. “Oh, my Alina.”

He held his left arm out to her, and lifted his own kefta sleeve. 

There, as ink black as her own, matching perfectly in shape and size--the sun in eclipse. 

She looked from his arm to his eyes to find the tears matching her own, and closed them for another kiss. 

When he kissed the mark, it was as if her entire body were set aflame. 

Alina was Aleksander’s, and Aleksander was hers.

In his arms, she finally found the belonging she sought. 

He carried her from the war table to his bed, rich and opulent with black sheets, though she hardly noticed at the time. 

There were too many layers between them, keftas and pants and tunics and belts.

Their kisses, their touches, were frantic, as if the world were on fire along with their bodies. 

His hands were on her neck, in her hair, cupping her cheeks. 

Her hands were shaking as she undid the many clasps on his tunic. 

Her soulmate, her belonging, her future. 

When their clothes were removed, their bodies laid bare, she reveled in their truth. His touch was like a brand upon her skin, marking her, claiming her as his own. If they did not consciously know then, their bodies knew the truth of the other, as they always would.

Intimacy was about the truth of oneself and another, of finding oneself with their partner.

His lips met and caressed nearly every inch of her body, his fingers tracing her curves just as hers traced his muscles. 

She was on fire, alight with life and love, aglow in her lover’s arms. 

He took her into his mouth and she moaned, desperate for more, to never be parted from him, to feel his tongue inside her again and again. 

She cried out when she came, clutching at his hair. Her body was taut, yet relaxed, and she felt calm though her heart was racing, her core pulsing with her climax. 

He kissed her once more, smiling, and lifted her from the bed into his arms effortlessly. His lips were at her neck and ear, his arms so strong as he adjusted their position. 

“Alina, my Alina,” he murmured as he entered her. 

“Aleksander,” she replied, breathless, feeling so full, so whole, so complete. 

She cried out once more as he moved within her, clinging to him, savoring the sensations. 

They came together, his arms around her, their bodies entwined. They collapsed to the bed after, still holding each other, the world contained to their arms, their love. 

The world would wait until the morning. The night was theirs, to explore as they explored each other, the darkness giving way to the dawn just as his shadows would dissipate before her sunlight. 

The sun would be shadowed in eclipse, yet reign eternal forever more, one soul bound to another.

[lostysworld]

My dar(k) ling – The Darkling × reader

Part 13

Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warnings: none?

Summary: Another fete, another challenge for you and Aleksander. Another person between you and the man you love.

– What the hell is that?

You step on the training ground that you usually keep during archery trainings with young grisha. But seems this time your today's training started without you. Instead of empty space on your usual place a tall young woman is standing next to the line of targets with children not far from them.

Unfortunately, Baghra is here too.

– I found a replacement for you for this day, - the old woman waves her hand and a dark-haired woman sends a suspicious glance towards your side.

– Once it's for a day, and then for a life.

Baghra only rolls her eyes on your barely audible mumbling. When she brings you closer to that woman, you realize you've seen her before during trainings.

– It's Zoya, one of the best grisha in the Second Army.

You trace her slim figure in navy blue kefta with critical glance, waiting patiently for her any reaction. Not that you are against new people, but definitely not today, the day after your latest conversation with the general.

– Zoya Nazyalensky. A Squaller, - she extends her arm for a handshake, and you notice familiar pattern on her sleeve and smirk.

– Yes, I can see that.

Nevertheless, you extend yours in response, with a blank expression.

– She will train them, - Baghra nods towards kids. – While I am dealing with you, young lady.

– What else? - you grit your teeth in annoyance. You still have some lessons with Baghra, but usually they are about one and the same.

– I'm not done abusing you. Not yet.

– I am done.

– What? - the woman raises her brow and stops, turning to you.

– I don't need your lessons anymore. Though I'm grateful for the things you taught me, Baghra.

– Did my son brainwashed you with his teary puppy eyes-

– He has nothing to do with it. I just learned everything I wanted.

You already turn to leave her on the gardens' line, but the old witch doesn't intend to let you go.

– Your ancestors could do incredible things, and you only learned how to summon two elements and think, that you can outdo those grisha, who are here from the childhood.

You freeze on one spot, slowly exhaling and inhaling to calm yourself down. With one swift movement you are standing in front of her again.

– Air I can summon is still in your lungs, so be careful with your words, Baghra.

The corner of her lips twitches, as if she's waiting for a reaction like this. When the first wave of rage passes you relax a bit and you step back.

–And I still think that you are wasting your time here.

– What should I do? - you throw a glance to her, throwing arms to the sides in grim surprise. – To destroy the Fold with my hands?

– It's time for youto decide whose side you are on, girl. Are you with Aleksander, or you are helping to destroy him from the inside.

Your blood turns cold. No wonder, Aleksander became so impulsive with a mother like that.

– As far as I know, the boy still trusts you, Y/N.

– It is the perfect reason for me not to trust you.

The woman shakes her head, seeing the girl in front of her as a lost one for her to save. Worse that her son's influence is her own stubbornness and youth.

– What was Aleksander like? - you draw her attention. – Before the Fold.

– He laughed... A lot.

– Well, he seemed to do this with me either.

– That's what I am talking about, - she comes closer to you making you flinch. – You may bring some light to his life, but you won't change him.

Nonsense. You shake your head. Every new conversation with Baghra leads both of you to her attempts to turn you against the general. Every time. Always.

– I would never ask him to change-

– But it doesn't mean you won't want him to, Y/N. He is used to ruin people who are dear to him.

You lower your gaze, observing the ground. Loud noises from the training ground reach your hearing. Seems Zoya entertains young grisha more than you.

– Well, - you take a step back to show the woman, that your conversation is over. – Seems, my life has been already ruined before I met Aleksander.

The woman scans you with a mixture of judgment and motherly adoration in her eyes.

– There will be no happiness between you, if you are so alike on this point.

– Be that as it may, - with only one sentence Baghra gets to set your mood up and down.

As soon as she nods towards your side, you turn away, heading to the palace, passing by the training ground. Your head is full of useless information and whirlwind of emotions, so you at least can be used as a bad example of a trainer now.

When you get closer to your room, where Genya should meet you to try the fete dress on, you notice a familiar figure behind you. Even not turning your head, you know who it is.

– That's what the general meant, when was talking about constant pressure.

Ivan smirks smugly to himself.

– Oh, shut up, please! - you reach the door and halt to face the intrusive heartrender behind you.

– I am not a little girl, I can cope with it.

– And I am glad to hear it, - his face just perfectly shows how he enjoys himself at the moment.

– Shouldn't you look after your husband, hm?

– He is not my husband-

– Well, he should be.

With that you slam the door in front of Ivan's face, making him drop this mean smile from his face. If you two go on with communicating like this, you will become besties for sure.

You have never felt yourself so stupid and uncomfortable in your entire life like right at the moment, standing near the wall of the ballroom.

Genya abandoned you about a half an hour ago, and you are standing looking at the only one person here, that may draw your attention.

Aleksander spends his time discussing something with lieutenants on the opposite side of the room. Seems he is not interested in the fete or, what's most important, in you.

Not this gorgeous dress you are wearing, not your hairstyle, nothing can make the man turn his glance on your. After your last conversation none of you dared to speak with each other or look at.

Most of dates to the dance are already preoccupied with their partners, and you have only to throw sympathetic glances to Fedyor and Ivan, where one of them sometimes salutes you with a champagne glass by turns.

Not that you are just standing alone, some of familiar grisha join you from time to time having a small talk. And you may even easily escape from this party, but the chance that Genya will catch you somewhere in the corridors is pretty high and unpleasant.

But one small detail doesn't go unnoticed for you. Only couple of seconds ago the music becomes quieter, and you casts a quick glance towards the orchestra. There from their side, Aleksander is looking straight at you.

But it is not a problem at all. This detail doesn't seem to you; as soon as you follow others' glances with yours you notice a person coming to you.

The one you don't expect to see next to ever.

White coat with golden epaulettes, blond short hair and unusual charming smile instead of dull glassy glance.

Vasily Lantsov is walking straight to your side.

People around are not used to see the part of the royal family dancing with someone at parties like this one, so even musicians slow down a bit.

You are not nervous, but the whole scene is like not happening with you, so you just watch.

– Miss Y/L/N, may I have the pleasure of the dance?

His voice pitch is not high, not low, but something in the middle, although not unpleasant to hear.

You hesitate, but feeling of the general's burning glance on your figure makes you smirk slightly and nod, laying your hand in prince's one.

The music halts, but when the young man leads you to the center of the ballroom, it starts again with new force. The constant thoughts, that you are the only couple now and everybody is looking at both of you vanish as soon as Vasily's hand lays on your waistline, pressing you closer to him.

He doesn't talk, but the man is always looking at you, attentively, with the hidden interest, and you unconsciously compare this dance to your first one with general. It is stupid, because, honestly, it's nothing compared to the first fete.

You were kind of in love, charmed by a handsome stately man, who you trust with your life, and what's now?

Lost, without direction, still in love, but more love than in love, you are dancing with the prince, but not enjoying it. Though the dress is charming. With long waves it waltzes with your every movement, black and red.

Your lips touches a one sided smirk and you can only imagine what an impression this dance has on Aleksander. Surely, his subordinates will have a hard day tomorrow.

Fortunately for you, the music stops soon and the man, as a perfect gentleman, lets go of your palm and smiles in the end. You curtsy and step towards another wall, closer to the exit. One dance is pretty enough for tonight.

But when you intend to leave the room, someone's hand wraps around your wrist, slightly squeezing it, and you turn around immediately.

Lantsov doesn't go away, but stands still peering at you.

– Would you like to join me this evening, miss Y/L/N? - your eyes narrow in suspicion. Carefully you try to take your hand away from him.

– Don't think me to be rude, your Highness, but you are not known for spending time with ladies.

The young man smirks to you and you literally feel that burning gaze from another side of the room.

– I am not, but you will rescue me, if do that, - you clearly don't understand his intentions and wince.

– Otherwise, I will be sentenced to never-ending grumbling of my mother about searching for a bride.

– Oh...

– "Oh" indeed.

You barely hold yourself from chuckling, but the the prince steps closer to you, and suddenly you think that this scene can be used as a motivation. Of course, not for you.

– What do I get out of it? - you take his hand, that Vasily gladly offers to you.

– A way out of your difficult situation.

His words lit a sparkle inside of your mind, your thoughts find a common point, and you switch your interested gaze on him.

He waits for a second and casts a glance on that side where the general should be, but you decide not to test your luck, and keep staring right at the blond man in front of you.

Suddenly you remember that the ring Aleksander gave you with the letter is left in your room, on a night stand.

A nasty rotten feeling crawls inside you and all your previous thoughts vanish away.

When you turn to the direction where Kirigan stood, you see no one. There is definitely not a good sign, and you quickly look around to sneak out of the hall without Genya noticing you.

You excuse yourself and runs out of the ballroom. All this evening leaves your head full of conflicting thoughts and feelings, so you just need more fresh air.

Usually it's Aleksander who comes to your room either to make up or to take his time alone while your sleeping. But something is telling you that this day is not one of them. You need to talk to him first.

The door behind general's back slams loudly, he can even hear some of the pictures on the walls shaking. Everything in the war room is left like it was before he left for the fete. But the man isn't the same.

He ruffles his hair, exhaling tensely, marching from one corner to another in strange mix of helpless rage and jealousy.

He doesn't know, what is going on with him. All these day it was not so hard not to pay attention to this girl, and now, when Lantsov shared a dance with her, the Darkling is furious.

He unconsciously registers his own shadows crawling to his figure from the darkest sides of the room. If he goes on like this, he will surely have troubles with controlling his powers in future, leaving it to his anger.

The full moon is in the night skies and millions of glittering stars are shining radiating a slight pale light. The sudden thought of leaving the palace and having a night stroll dies with a barely audible knock.

Not many people afford themselves a luxury of disturbing the general so late at night, but anyway he heads to the door.

He opens the door rapidly and he blesses himself for wearing a usual cold mask, the general doesn't give his surprise away.

– Zoya? To what do I owe your esteemed company?

The girl's hesitating, but determined expression almost makes him smile, but he holds himself back.

– You left the fete so soon, I was afraid something happened.

Aleksander steps aside inviting her in. Honesty, he may even use this night visit to forget his predicament, but something holds him back. Something is telling him, it is not his way out.

Unconsciously his hand slips into the pocket of his kefta, fingers find the ring of black metal and green stones. He knows the similar one is somewhere here, in Y/N's room.

But when the squaller walks in further into the room, straight to the table, both of them hear one more knock. Loud, clear one. Aleksander will never mistake him for any other.

– Come in!

He doesn't busy himself opening the door, and when it's opened by the woman he is afraid to see, Kirigan finds himself enjoying the moment.

– Am I interrupting? - the witch's cold voice rings in the tense silence of the place, as she cocks her head to the side. Zoya straightens her shoulders.

– I was just keeping company with the general Kirigan, - the man follows Y/N arching a brow without any other visible signs of displeasure. – People tell it helps when you are alone. Isn't it convenient? You should know about it.

Venom in Zoya's voice is clear, but it's not enough for freaking the young woman out.

– Yes, I'm forgetting all my troubles the moment someone breaks into my chambers in the middle of the night.

Kirigan presses his lips in thin line, trying not to smile or smirk. Despite this difficult situation and visible intentions of Zoya towards him, he can't not to admire his forest witch. The little girl turns into his queen. It's just her character, that doesn't let her admit it.

– Zoya is already leaving, - Aleksander pushes himself from the wall, attentively looking at the squaller.

The dark-haired woman passes by you, not even sharing a last glance, and when the door behind her closes, you feel like finally relaxing.

– Don't like the company of the royal family?

The general locks the door and comes back to you, eyeing your figure with a silky arrogant gaze.

You, in turn, don't leave his eyes too, but with completely different expression. The man, who adored you so much, when we first met and developed your feelings towards each other, who worried about your opinion about him, now only pushes you away as hard as possible and even harder.

You indeed are not recognizing the same man you loved. But maybe you should learn to love him again.

– What was that? - your quiet voice seems to shake him to the ground. This strange calm power on the bottom on your eyes frightens him.

– What was what?

– What made you what you are? - you come closer to the man knowing that he won't go away. There are no more places where he can hide from you. – Tell me, Aleksander, what have burnt the heart out of you?

His glance is a mix of shame and disgust. He can't just not look at you and solve his problems with that. With the woman who sees through him.

– You don't want to know, Y/N.

– Well, I'm here..., - you throws your arms to the side.

Kirigan turns away and comes up to the table with maps leaning on his hands. His glance is slipping to the documents and plans, but he feels you're coming with his back.

You can't wait anymore, come closer to your lover. Lean with your hip on the table to face Aleksander, desperately staring into sharp lines of his features, trying to find that very young man he was once, so long time ago, beyond all the darkness that surrounds him.

– What do you want to hear? I was killing people in their backs all these years. I have terrified them, terrorized using my shadows, I was Ravkan punisher. Fouler than death itself.

– I understand, - you say quietly, wondering if there is still soul inside of this man. Burnt down black desert. That is all he has instead of it.

– Do you regret?

You flinch, when low voice rings in complete silence after a pause. Instead of answering you just shake your head.

– Not a minute of it...well, - Kirigan's gaze switches to yours, when you highlights last words.

– Aside from the moments when you tried to send me away.

One-sided light grin touches his face.

– Don't tell me later, that I didn't warn you.

– Even if I ever regret about my decisions, I will never blame you, Aleksander.

Something in him clicks and he straightens turning his head to you. Need in the glance only softens you more.

– Call me that again, - everything inside you clenches, as you hear his broken voice.

– Aleksander-

– No, not like that.

On a short moment you don't understand his words, but then you are finally lighted up with an idea. His hand that lays not far from you appears under your gentle touch.

– Sasha.

The walls he was building for so long are crushing down at this very moment. You make a quick move to embrace him tenderly and tightly. The man immediately hides his head in the crook of your neck.

– Has the darkness in me won over the light, Y/N? - you feel these words as he touches your skin with his lips while speaking.

– I don't know, darling. I don't know.

– Maybe they are right, - he raises his head, and you see these two burning pools of pure madness in his eyes. – Maybe the beast should stay with his own kind-

– Shut up!

Kirigan blinks and fever in his glance vanishes. He definitely doesn't expect this outburst from you.

Your hands laying on his shoulders and chest before, now are cupping his face, making the man look you in the eyes.

– Stop talking nonsense, - his eyes are searching for something on your face, something that gives up your true feelings. – I love you, Aleksander. And you are not even close to a monster. Don't you dare taking about it again.

You bring his head a bit down so your foreheads touch. Only a moment before you notice tears gathering in his eyes.

– I thought I had lost you, Y/N. My dearest love.

You move closer to finally connect your lips, savouring the perfect moment of peace. Your name sounds like a lament from his lips.

– How can you still stand me after knowing who I am?

Kirigan steals one last kiss from you touching the tip of your nose with his. This tension he felt before slowly leaves him.

– I choose to love you for the things you have control over. Yes, I may not approve your methods, but I know that you want the best for your people. That's enough for me.

– If I knew that you become the only thing I needed, I would not come into that forest.

You chuckle and this turns into light laughter, that Aleksander catches too.

– I'm taking it as a compliment, dear.

When you two stop, you realize that it is pretty late already. You won't forget yourself tomorrow's morning for the lack of sleep.

– May I stay with you? - you are searching for the answer on his face.

– Come.

Aleksander leads you to his bedroom where you stayed a couple of times, laying his broad palm on your back.

He gets rid of his own closer and changes it, handing a new clean shirt for you to change as well.

Honestly you have a small collection of his shirts in your wardrobe now, and the whole palace will probably know about it, if you ever done wrong with Genya.

When you take you places on the bed you notice, that the man is still restless.

– Just try to fall asleep, - his hand twitches under your soft touch. – Don't think about anything else, okay?

He is silent, and you go on.

– I see how you talk to your people, Aleksander, I know that you are trying for them. Grisha are dedicated to you, because they know you care about them, - your fingers start brushing circles on the back of his hand. – Though, as I said, your methods are questionable for me.

– I want grisha not to be afraid anymore. Anyone.

– I know. But I can't advise you anything. I'm sorry.

He shakes his head, covering your hand with his.

– It's okay. I'm grateful, that you are here at all, and...

Emotions overwhelm him, and the general falls silent. Suddenly you move closer and hug him tightly, placing a chaste kiss on his brow.

– Shh, sleep. We will think about this in the morning

@aleksanderwh0r3 @all-art-is-quite-useless @carlywhomever @cynthianokamaria

[caiuscassiuss]

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.2

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Part One is HERE 

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) choking, rough sex), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo​ for helping me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you!)

Saturday February 1st, 2020

Y/N’s Apartment

10 AM HKT

The little jingle of a FaceTime call echoed through your silent apartment, and you snuggled into the sheets of your bed.

“Hello? Kun huang?”

A flash black hair and a sweet smile appeared within the view of the camera.

“Huang Gua!” you exclaimed.

Instantly, the happy smile slipped off his face and transformed into an annoyed expression.

“Can you not? We’ve been over this,” he complained.

“Oh come on! It’s so funny,” you jibed.

“It’s not.”

“You only used to eat cucumbers for years. You earned that name yourself.”

“So?” he snorted. “You used to eat shrimp chips as a kid. I don’t call you shrimp, do I?” A devious expression flashed over his face.

“Kun Huang…” you warned.

“Maybe I should start now. Right, shrimp?”

“Oh my god, stop!”

“No, shrimp. I can keep going, you know.”

“Okay, fine, fine. I submit!” You laughed.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

“So how are you now, Hendery? How’s your mom and dad? Oh my gosh, Hengwai!”

“I’m doing fine, as are mom and dad. Hengwai misses her little sister. They all want you to call them more. Sometimes I think they miss you more than me.” He pouted.

“Awww, poor baby. But give them my well wishes too! I miss everyone so much,” you said. For some reason, tears welled in your eyes.

Obviously, Hendery could tell you were about to start crying and started to panic.

“Y/N? Talk to me. Oh, you know I can’t take it if you start crying!”

He never really could. Even after many years spent together in your childhood, he was still awkward as hell around your tears.

You waved him off, swiping the tears. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just so lonely around here.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine! I swear!”

“Literally, one word and I’m on a flight to Hong Kong. I’m not playing,” he said gravely.

“Hendery, no. Besides, don’t you have some farms to run? I would never expect you to do that.”

“One word, Y/N. Just one.” He looked you dead in the eye. 

You looked away. “Anyways, how are your farms going?”

A smile split his face and his eyes sparked. “Guess who just got their hundredth farm?”

Your jaw dropped. “No way, you’re fucking joking! One hundred?! I’m so proud of you! Kun Huang!” you squealed.

“Yeah, I know right? It’s so weird knowing so many people depend on me for their livelihoods now. I get sort of scared when I sit back and think about it…”

As Kun Huang went on about his day to day troubles in agriculture, a small, wistful smile played upon your lips. Why didn’t you just stay back and fall in love with Kun Huang? It would have been so easy. Being with Kun Huang was like breathing, and you could’ve spent the rest of your life like this. No Minghao, no BDSM, and most importantly, no… him.

Dolos.

Master?

Sicheng.

You hated how smoothly the puzzle pieces fit together. Sicheng always left early on Fridays, even though he always stayed late. At office parties, he lacked a significant other by his side, even when many would drop everything if he so much as winked at them.

It was hard not to think about him. You had started to feel an increase in your heartbeat whenever you thought of Dolos before Wednesday. You had originally wanted to know who was behind Dolos’ mask and if he returned those feelings. But, fuck, he would be so mad if he found out who you were.

Not to mention, how humiliating it would be if he knew. You had staked everything on being a cold-hearted bitch when Sicheng took particular pleasure in sneering at “the inherent submissiveness” of her gender. So if he found out Dove, who liked to be slapped during sex, and her, the la dame sans merci of the company, were the same person, it would destroy any chance of credibility you may have had in his eyes.

This was all one big mess. One big, gigantic and catastrophic mess. For so long you had rigorously kept your professional and personal lives apart, but the universe had conspired against you: to make the best dominant you ever had to also be your work nemesis.

Some higher being was laughing at you, you knew it.

Sunday February 2nd, 2020

The Dong Family Villa on the Shek O Peninsula, Hong Kong

1 PM HKT

A curl of disgust twisted his lips as he looked down on the lawn party going down below him. 

“Don’t you look happy, Sicheng.”

Sicheng acknowledged ChengCheng out of the corner of his eye and went back to glaring at the party in contempt.

“This is not how I wanted today to go.”

His childhood friend snorted and plopped himself down in a lawn chair, contemplating the blond haired man.

Sicheng spun around and picked up his glass of wine, downing the drink in one gulp. He settled himself next to ChengCheng with a frown.

“I just wanted to come here and fucking relax, but, no, my parents just had to use it for the fucking party. Fete. What-fucking-ever.” He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair. 

Chengcheng looked over the balcony railing curiously. “Looks like a luncheon to me.”

“Fuck off.” 

“Christ, what’s up your ass?”

“Just some work stuff. It’s nothing.”

The brown-haired man frowned. “Then why aren’t you at Black’s then? Nothing can’t be resolved by a good fuck.”

At the mention of the club, a pained expression flashed over Sicheng’s face and his knuckles inadvertently tightened around the stem of his glass. The tension that had been in shoulders wounded itself up even more and this clued ChengCheng in.

Something other than work had Sicheng in knots. Very rarely did the blond man ever show he was angry—not even when his father lashed him as a child, nor when the family forced him to work for the company—so he was evidently very troubled by this ‘something’.

Sicheng’s phone rang and broke the silence. The man himself fished it out of his back pocket irritatedly.

“Excuse me for a moment, ChengCheng. I need to take this phone call.”

“Sicheng speaking,” he spoke as he stalked into the study.

“Hello sir, how are you—”

“Did you get the information or not?” Sicheng asked, cutting off the family’s retainer. His leg bounced, as he sat against the desk and he ran a weary hand through his hair.

“A-ah, unfortunately, Black’s doesn’t record pseudonyms digitally or on paper…”

“Fuck!” Sicheng yelled. Mr. Lau just had to be fucking careful, he thought irritably.

“... However, sir, I was able to obtain a membership list since the club was digitally updating their monthly list. I then compared it to the list from the previous month and found several missing names, indicative of them terminating their membership. I have compiled a dossier of several females that match your description of Dove and forwarded it to you.” 

Sicheng quickly logged into his laptop, his blood rushing through his ears. The identity of the most perfect submissive he’s ever had could literally be sitting in his inbox right now.

With trembling fingers, he opened the attachment.

Wang Fang, age 25—

“Sir?”

The blond man glared at his phone. “Thank you for your service, Liu Wei. Goodbye.”

Wang Fang was a tall, spindly woman with a face like a horse. The policy of privacy by masks was kind to her at Black’s. However, the jaw was all wrong and he knew in his gut she was not his Dove.

He scrolled to the next page. Leila Williams, age 27—British expat, was absolutely gorgeous. But, even through the screen, she exuded an unshakable aura of self-assurance. A dominatrix, probably, so that excluded her from his search.

He went through 2 or 3 more documents; each one too plain or too ordinary to be Dove.

Y/N L/N, age XX.

Sicheng blinked rapidly, sagging into his office chair.

Y/N is—was—a member at Black’s?

The picture provided was the one from her LinkedIn profile: a professional headshot with a grey background. She was smiling tightly, coldly—just as she was in the office. The other image provided instantly tented his pants.

It was her, clearly on a night out. She was in attire that flattered her body and he could easily see himself running his hands over her. Y/N looked fucking fantastic with her unbound hair, so unlike her tight updos at the office. However, what drew his eyes was the most vibrant shade of red painted on her lips, which was parted slightly as she was laughing.

He recognized that lipstick. The same shade of firetruck red had been smeared across Dove’s cheeks many, many times. YSL Rouge Satin Lipstick—the one he told her he liked and she, like a good girl, had religiously worn.

Could that mean…?

Glancing at the side bar, he noticed there was one more page left in the dossier. Please let the next one be Dove…

His hopes were instantly deflated. Kwon Myunghee was too old and too artificial to be his gorgeous submissive.

With his heart in his throat, he scrolled back to Y/N’s page. Enlarging the picture of her laughing, he put a hand over her eyes and leaned back to observe.

Sicheng would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that mouth. Red fuck me! lipstick on an equally fuckable mouth parted in pleasure, or screaming his name while strung up on a cross. He would be an absolute fool if he did not recognize that neck, covered in purple and red hickies or his fingermarks. An absolute damn fool.

Yet, at this moment, he would’ve given anything to be one.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Y/N was… Dove? And Dove… was Y/N?

So why did she leave? How did she end up at Black’s? Did she know? Did she end up there on purpose? Why—

Eventually, all the questions piled up in his head until he was left winded. Sicheng buried his head in his hands, pulling at his blond locks and breathing heavily. Something was bubbling in his chest and—

He started to laugh. He cackled, howled, at his shitstorm of misfortune, luck, and confusion until he was sprawled undignified on the Oriental carpet, staring up at the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling.

Monday February 3rd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

6 PM HKT

Shutting the door to your office, you collapsed into your chair and massaged your temples.

Today was the day Mr. Lee had left the office, leaving his official resignation. The top sales officials (including an off-color, brooding Sicheng) gathered in his office to congratulate him and give him an official goodbye. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into afternoon drinking when Mr. Lee pulled out the good liquor from a secret cabinet underneath his desk. You accepted a drink with a grimace, but Sicheng declined and remained uncharacteristically detached the entire time. Granted, you too were detached from the conversation, uncomfortable with the lewd retirement and mistress jeers spouted by the older sales officials as they steadily got drunker and less inhibited.

As the time ended and a consensus to leave had been reached, you thought you could escape and actually work... that was until Mr. Lee walked alongside you and stuck himself in the elevator with you.

The bastard had the audacity to grope your ass in the crowded elevator. You shivered, remembering the awful and grimy feeling as his hot breath whispered in your ear that he was available any time for a “catch-up”.

This day was a mess. You had a shit-ton of work to catch up due to that fucking meeting and you had been sexually harrassed; you were also anxious about the promotion and, on top of that, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Sicheng.

Huffing, you ate some red-bean bread as you powered up your desktop. This was fucking ridiculous. You knew Sicheng had noticed your odd, reticent behavior around him and this skittishness was impeding your ability to work. Well, no better way to forget about your problems was to solve other ones at work.

For the next two hours, you slogged through work emails and analytics as the sun set over Kowloon Bay. Your hair had been unbound and your blazer had been messily thrown over the back of your chair as your work progressed. Since most of the office had left by now, you figured it was safe to relax in your office.

It was night time by the time you had finished your last project and you sat back in your chair, staring at the skyline. Was this how your life destined to be? At the top, surrounded by the comforts of life, but alone?

A knock sounded at the door, jolting you out of your thoughts.

Who the fuck would be at the office at 8 PM?

“Come in.”

You caught sight of a golden head of hair slipping inside of your office and you sighed. Of course, it was Sicheng.

He took a seat unbidden and stared at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. His eyes roamed the contours and curves of your features.

You arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you with anything, Sicheng? I’m about to leave the office.”

He fought with himself inwardly, his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally settled on what he wanted to say. “I’d like to ask a question.”

You adjusted yourself in the chair. “Feel free.”

From his blazer’s pocket, he pulled out an aged sheet of paper and slowly opened it, before setting it in front of you. Sicheng settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his lap, the lights of the Hong Kong skyline playing across his face and making his sharp features stand out.

“Do you recognize this?”

The blood literally froze in your veins as your eyes caught sight of your handwriting in the letter, along with the tear-stains that blotched the paper and the text. Your heartbeat rose to your throat and all you felt was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Y/N?” he prodded.

You gulped and straightened out your top, your fingers trembling as you did so.

“No, I don’t. W-who’s Dolos? Why does this concern me?” you lied, stumbling a bit.

He watched you, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“Don’t lie to me, Dove.”

“I-Dove? My name is Y/N,” you replied shakily. Grabbing your purse, you hurriedly stuffed all your personal belongings in while avoiding catching his seething stare. “Excuse me, I’d really like to get home.”

His jaw clenched and his palm twitched as he saw you had no desire to come clean.

“Look at me.”

Unthinking, you ceased all movements, put your trembling hands in your lap and looked up at him. “Sir?”

Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth; your eyes darted around the room in search for an escape. You felt akin to a caged animal as he grinned meanly, incongruous on his cherubic features.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No—”

“You thought you could get away with this? You thought you could fucking play me?!”

You were aghast at seeing Dolos and Sicheng finally merging together in front of your eyes, and the result was grotesquely beautiful. His grin slipped off his face and twisted into a malevolent sneer. The naked fire in Dolos' gaze was finally unveiled in Sicheng’s eyes and, for the first time, you could see who Sicheng really was.

“Answer me, Dove—Y/N! Fuck, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Sicheng shouted, running his hands through his hair while he paced around your office.

You stared unblinkingly at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Fuck, this was all your nightmares coming true. You were going to be ruined and he was going to laugh on and on now that he knew you and Dove were the same.

“It was never supposed to end up like this,” you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up underneath your lashes.

“How was it supposed to end, huh? Fuck, you strung me along for six months—half a fucking year—”

“I didn’t fucking know, you ass! I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole if I knew who you were!” you hissed.

He laughed harshly. “You did a hell of a lot more than touch me, Dove. But after you got your fix, you pretended that this never happened.”

“You would’ve done the same, so this never did happen. Walk out right now and this will have never happened and we can go back to our normal, spiteful dynamic—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, if you think—”

“You don’t understand, Sicheng! Can’t you see I’ll be ruined by this? That we’ll both be ruined by this? I can’t afford that!”

“So you thought to just leave me? With just a fucking letter and nothing else?”

“I didn’t know, okay! I didn’t know what to do!”

“You lied to me, Y/N. Fucking lied to my face!”

“I had to! Because you and I were never supposed to find out!”

Sicheng moved to yell, but clamped his jaw shut. “You lying, cheating, slut,” he seethed.

Your mouth trembled for a moment at the sheer vitriol that sprouted from his lips, but you stood tall. “You know what? Maybe I am. But I can live with that if you’d just fucking let it go!”

“You think I’d be able to let go of this?!” He cupped your jaw roughly and pulled you into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss—not one with even a hint of finesse. Lips smashed into lips, with tongue and teeth grappling against each other as his hands bruised your wrists.

Your back hit your desk and he swept your belongings off the desk haphazardly, letting go of your chin to lift you onto the desk with no effort.

“Forget my tongue on your skin? Forget my hands in between your thighs?” he murmured between hungry dips of his tongue. “I’ll fucking show you.”

He kissed down your neck, stopping to nip at your collarbone, and left a trail of stinging lovebites all over your shoulders. Sicheng’s hips pinned you into the desk as he popped each button of your blouse, hurriedly ripping it to the side to leave more hickies upon your chest and breasts.

You moaned as he pushed the cups of your bra down, using his wicked tone to swipe complicated patterns but never once touching your tips. Finally, he nipped at them hard causing you to squeal embarrassingly.

“S-sicheng,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as he pushed up your skirt.

The blond man carelessly pulled your underwear aside and thrusted two fingers in.

“Fuck!” you gasped, as you buried your red face in the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t see it, but you knew he was smirking smugly so your hands drifted down to his tented trousers and gripped his erection hard.

“You wanna fucking play? Let’s play, baby,” he grunted and hastily unbuckled his belt. His glorious cock sprung up in the space between your thighs.

Sicheng pushed your back down onto the desk, leaving him to tower over you. Without warning, he roughly pushed his cock into your slit.

You both groaned at the pleasurable friction. Fuck, how could you forget this? His length stretching you out deliciously? His broad shoulders heaving in exertion?

He bottomed out slowly, stilling as his hips pressed into yours. A sly smile glanced over his face as his hand drifted over your neck.

“Sicheng! You asshole, fucking move!” you said to him, thrusting your own hips weakly for effect.

His devilish smile split his angelic features, and he shook his head. “Wrong name, Dove.”

His hips pushed into yours roughly and you whined, scratching at the edges of your desk. Sicheng withdrew just as quickly and thrusted in again, watching the lust ripple upon your expression. He had missed the way your left eyebrow ticked when he brushed against your G-Spot, your nose scrunching as you clasped his shoulders. Finally seeing your full expressions fulfilled something in him that he didn’t care to reflect upon.

After deep, staccato thrusts that had you gasping for breath, he settled into a smooth rhythm. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your back bowed, thrusting your breasts up to his hungry perusal. Unable to resist temptation—the godless Tantalus he was—he settled his plump lips over your nipples, raised his eyes to yours, and sucked.

Even with your palm practically stuffed in your lips, your keen echoed around the room loudly and slick dripped down your thighs, making the desk underneath your bottom sticky and wet.

He tsked, lifting his head up and looked deeply into your eyes. A slight grin settled over his lips and Sicheng tilted his head mockingly. “Oh sweet girl, haven’t you forgotten we’re in an office?” His eyes darkened even more. “I’ll have to keep you quiet, then, whore.”

His featherlight touches on your rib cage was replaced with a bruising grasp to your throat, stealing the air out of you. His wrist settled into your collar bone and his slender fingers mimicked playing the piano, placing pressure on different parts on your throat to an unheard rhythm. The blood rushed to your ears, the dizzying sensation of it blurring your sight and distorting your thoughts. The veins on his forehand, twisting and rippling in the light, caught your vision and he moved—ever so roughly—into you.

Sicheng set a new pace, stretching your legs even wider and your head fell back onto the desk with a thunk. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; you just felt the numbing sort of pleasure that radiated from your pussy.

“Fucking slut,” he gasped. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you? Wrapped yourself around my brain and haven’t let me so much as breathe without thinking about you.” His grip tightened around your neck. “I’ll show you.”

Suddenly, your phone on the floor rang and you both froze. He released the grip on your neck and bent down.

His back was like one of those old sketches the masters of the age practiced with, the light played upon his back and his muscles rippled under his skin—belying the power hidden within him.

“Who the fuck is Kunhuang,” he said flatly, wrath bubbling in his words.

You sat up. “H-he’s a friend. Nobody. No one.” 

“See you soon, love,” he read mockingly. “Call me when you have time.”

Sicheng crowded into your space, your eyes jumping around to avoid looking at his incensed face.

“Kunhuang.” He spat like it was filth upon his lips. “You left me for him?”

Feeling his constrained fierceness and his frantic gaze, you pushed harshly at his chest and bared your teeth at him. “It’s not like that. He’s my childhood friend!”

His rage bubbled to the surface and his nostrils flared. It was all the warning you had before he suddenly took your hips and flipped, forcing a scream out of you.

Your chest and breasts now pressed against your desk. Sicheng tugged you down to his hips, lifting one of your legs to rest on your desk and exposed your core to him shamefully. 

“I’ll take you from behind like the whore you are,” he stated. His rough tenor the grating upon your ears and scraping upon your skin.

He lined up and thrusted hard and you bit your lip, cheek against your deck and tears streaming down your face. It felt so good to be in his embrace, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your muscles.

Soon, you felt that feeling rising in your stomach, burning behind his eyelids as your orgasm began to build. His hands grasped your throat and he pulled, bowing your back to his chest and forcing his mouth to yours.

Teeth and tongue clashed and his cock hit this spot in you and you screamed into his mouth, tensing up beneath him as you shuddered painfully.

A grunt left him as he felt your muscles nearly strangle his cock and he only lasted a few, staccato thrusts until his vision went white.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7 AM HKT

You purposely did not look into Sicheng’s office window as you strode briskly down the hall with a coffee in your hand. 

A few days ago felt like a watershed moment, but after you two had caught your breaths, the sheer amount of emotions in the room—frustration, satiation, anger, hunger—weighed upon your lips and forced them shut. He had quickly dressed himself, not saying a word, but he casted a glance in your direction that was undecipherable and left.

You, at the moment, did not know how to feel. Hurt? Angry? Sad? But you settled upon your usual solution: ignoring that anything had happened and resuming the normal.

Alas, the fates were unkind. They neatly disposed of your plans to avoid the man when the two of you were scheduled to meet with other sales heads in the afternoon. Unfortunately, when the time came to be, you and Sicheng were the first ones there.

He studiously avoided looking at you, busying himself by opening up his laptop and flipping to a new page on his legal pad. You ignored him as well, scrolling through the latest news on your webpage. However, as the seconds ticked by, you could not resist resting your eyes upon him. It felt like a damn magnet was pulling your gaze to him.

He looked good today, from the brief glances you stole at him. Freshly shaven, his hair was styled neatly and he was in a dark green, cashmere sweater. Was this your fate? To be shamefully attracted to a man that equally repelled you?

“Interesting.”

The both of you shot a look at the door, where an unrecognizable, lanky man with a proud, straight nose was peering down upon you and swinging a plastic bag in his hand.

“Chengcheng? What the hell are you doing here?”

Completely ignoring Sicheng, he settled his lidded gaze upon you before his eyes lit up in recognition.

“So you’re the one that has shaken him, then.”

Dead silence permeated the room. He looked at the two shocked faces, both ashen. “What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? Please. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to ignore the way you two gravitate to each other.”

Your two quick glances that were meant to be unnoticed clashed, resulting in your eyes meeting. You both turned your eyes away.

Chengcheng snorted, as if that moment confirmed everything for him, and he chucked a bag at Sicheng.

“You forgot your lunch, remember?”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened. “Thank you.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned and ChengCheng’s eyes switched back and forth between you like a particularly exciting tennis match.

“You two need to talk. You’ll both age prematurely at this rate, with the angst you two are producing. Talk.”

He left with a wave, striding down the hall casually and stealing many of your female coworkers’ gazes.

“... He’s right, you know.”

Sicheng’s eyes flicked up to yours and he focused his full attention on you. Intensely, he contemplated you, tongue poking at the sides of his mouth.

“I agree. We can meet—” he cut himself off, looking around surreptitiously. “—at Black’s.”

You sucked your lip in between your teeth. “Fine. Neutral ground.”

He took a good, long look at you, like a man seeing water after seeing nothing but sand. 

“Tonight. At 8.”

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

Black’s

7:50 PM HKT

Strangely enough, you felt comfortable despite the jittery nerves under your skin as you walked into Black’s. 

The receptionist had given you a knowing look as you repeated the guest password, letting you in without question. You strapped on the standard, white lace mask and steeled yourself, opening the mahogany doors.

The club was abnormally busy; the guests and members crowded the couches and loitered on the floor. The quiet string music that could usually be heard was masked by the loud chattering of the people in the room.

“Is that you, Dove?”

You spun around to see the smiling, wizened face of Mr. Liu.

A grin broke out on your face and you took his hands. “Mister Liu! It is wonderful to see you.”

“I am happy to see you as well.” He chuckled with his eyes gleaming fondly at you. “Have you decided to visit this old man?”

Playfully, you lightly smacked his shoulder.

Mr. Liu was an important figure to you. All those months ago, when you arrived at Black’s to be screened, as a potential member and straight out of a relationship with Minghao—broken, shattered, hollow—he took one look at you and said no.

Why? You remembered asking tearfully. Am I not pretty enough? Rich enough?

He searched your pale, wan face, as if seeing the emotional scars Minghao had lashed into you, before sighing.

You shouldn’t be asking me that. Are you enough for yourself?

Confused, you had asked him to elaborate. He sympathetically replied that he could see you were entering the club for the wrong reasons. You were different, he’d said. You looked so innocent that he could not morally allow you into the club, despite the depraved patrons that gained membership. He knew, at the time, entering the club would cripple you.

So, what now? You asked, confused. He said he would keep your file open until you came back ‘at the right time.’

The ‘right time?’

You will know it when it comes.

And somehow, you did. After a few months of picking the pieces of yourself together and stabilizing your life, you had grown into a physically and emotionally healthy person. The “right moment” came and you sat in his quaint little office again, opposite of a smiling Mr. Liu as he stamped his approval.

After chatting a few moments, the volume in the room increased slightly and you frowned.

“Why is it so busy today?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what today is?”

“No?”

“Today is the evening before Valentine’s day, dear girl.”

“... Oh.”

New information in hand, you looked at the scene more closely. You could see that some couples in the crowd seemed to curl into each other, the affectionate brushes and knowing glances giving you a sick, sick feeling.

And that’s when you saw Sicheng.

Even masked, he drew attention from the members—attached and non-attached. His lean, fit form struck a figure and you couldn’t turn away from him.

He looked directly into your eyes and only a few seconds passed by as you two observed each other.

“Sicheng somehow found out, hm? Clever, devious boy.” Mr. Liu observed the dynamic much like ChengCheng earlier. His gaze was enraptured how the two of you clashed yet sunk into each other, the way two tidal waves—in a rare moment of offbeat rhythm—struck each other and subsequently merged. Push, pull, push, pull.

“Listen to him and he will listen to you. You two match more than you think,” he advised, bowed, and sunk off into the backrooms.

“Sicheng.”

“Y/N.”

Frustratingly, his face was unreadable. Nevertheless, he offered you his arm (a surprising show of manners) and he led you to a place you had never seen before.

This place was much less pristine than the rest of the club. The wallpaper was older, much more faded, and the wood looked much more worn.

This was one of Mr. Liu’s apartments.

The pair of you entered a comfortable sitting room with the lights low, to which only large candles had been lit.

He made sure you were properly ensconced into an armchair before he turned his back towards you and made his way to the drink carts.

“Would you like something to drink?” Sicheng asked, voice measured.

“A gin tonic would be wonderful.”

After carefully making your drink and pouring himself a healthy 4 fingers of bourbon, he handed your glass to you and sat down in the chair opposite of you.

Silence permeated awkwardly and you turned your eyes towards the tapestry in the middle of the room, giving yourself something to do.

“Were those feelings true?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Elaborate, please.”

“The last night…” He looked quickly at you, before turning his eyes away and clenching his jaw. “The last night we were together.”

“Ah.”

Absolutely, unequivocally. Dolos was everything you had searched for in Minghao and, while your relationship was unusual, you could not deny the string between you two.

Something burned at your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yes. Then and now,” you stated, opening yourself up for an attack.

His eyes widened and the twitching in his fingers stopped.

“And you, Sicheng?” you enquired boldly.

“Always,” he stated without hesitation. “It was never something as trivial as pillow talk.”

Seeing as he was on the brink of closing off, due to his rare moment of vulnerableness, you wrapped your hand around his.

His eyes shot to yours, then to your linked hands, before tightening his grip.

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. “I… One thing that has always been on my mind—why did you dislike me so much?”

He smiled bitterly. “Sometimes, I forget that you don’t see the way I see you. You are a smart, dauntless woman, who’s pushed all my buttons. It all just built and built upon each other until I found you—Dove—here.” He pauses. “I projected my frustrations onto Dove—you—here. But never, for a moment, doubt my feelings aren’t genuine.”

You pursed your lips. “Forgive me, but I cannot accept your accusations of me being the office slut—very rude, by the way—were without malice. You constantly pushed me down, clashed with me in the workplace and you were just plain classist.”

Sicheng’s eyes were casted down, but his grip was steady. “I will not lie. Those words I spat at you were with malice. But now, in retrospect, they were nothing more but words of immature frustration that I channeled towards you. I know that I cannot take them back and they will forever linger in the air between us, but I can apologize and recognize those words were completely unacceptable.”

He angled his body fully towards you and clasped your hand in both of his. “I am sorry for my actions. My anger was misplaced and the sentiments do not represent me anymore. I am sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

“And then what? What do you want now, Sicheng?” An edge of desperation tinged your voice.

He smiled bitterly at you. “Everyday, the smell of you lingers and I, like Pavlov’s dog, cannot help but feel an ache in the marrow of my bones when I see your crimson red lips. Every night, when I go to bed, you are seared across the back of my eyelids and I cannot escape you, even in my dreams.” He paused. “I want you, or whatever scraps you’re willing to toss me.”

A sharp exhale left you nose and you blinked rapidly. “I don’t want to get hurt. You get off on hurting people.”

“With your consent.”

“Say I want a completely vanilla relationship,” you challenged. He didn’t flinch. “What about then?”

Sicheng clenched his jaw and held your gaze fiercely. “Anything.”

“I hate that you are all I’ve wanted in a man,” you admitted unwillingly. He hummed. “Will we be each other’s destruction? Or will we be each other’s maker?” you pondered nonsensically.

“Aren’t we already both?” he retorted.

Slowly, without releasing his hand, you rose from your chair and lowered yourself into his lap. His eyes traced your every movement. For a few, brief moments, you looked into each other’s eyes without the obsurance of a mask or the encumbrance of a workplace rivalry. Your left hand cupped his cheekbone and stroked the skin underneath his eye.

“This will be interesting,” you said.

He gave no sign of reaction, but tilted his head into your palm and closed his eyes. “After us, the flood,” he recited.

Monday, March 2nd, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

7:50 PM HKT

A secret grin tugged at your lips as you looked across the table at Sicheng, who was intensely focused on the presentation your coworker was giving. Perhaps he’d felt the weight of your gaze on him as he chanced a glance at you and gave you a small smirk.

The past month in your relationship with Sicheng was equally fulfilling and frustrating. There were times where both of you deliberately looked for a fight or misinterpreted each other, but there were also times you could shed your layers and just be yourselves with the other.

Even each fight, where you or Sicheng stormed out, or broke things, you came back to each other at the end. Pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling relentlessly. The flood, indeed.

You focused back in on the meeting and contributed to the smatter of clapter for the end of your coworker’s presentation. As he turned off the projector and people stood up to leave,  Xiao Daiyu—the interim head of the Sales department—stopped you and Sicheng.

“Y/N, Sicheng, please stay back for a moment. I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Lee’s replacement.”

You and Sicheng glanced at each other and you sat back down. A while ago, you had both agreed the decision wasn’t going to break the quiet relationship you had built. It was going to be sour. You knew, when someone was chosen, things could get messy and awkward. But this… this was too good.

Daiyu sat down and put her hands together. “After much decision and going through your interviews, the CEO has stepped in and we are sorry to say neither of you are getting the position.”

You jerked your head around to Sicheng and he did the same—wild confusion and anger in both of your eyes. Both your years of loyalty and dedication are being passed over?

“Instead, we have decided to hire outside the company for some fresh intake. He may be young, but it comes to us that he’s highly recommended and would fit in with our culture well.”

A sour feeling came to your stomach and you narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to frown. They had decided to hire outside the company? This is how they decide to reward their workers? This was betrayal.

Glancing over, you could see Sicheng felt the same. His right hand grasped the arm of the chair tightly and you could see his knuckles turning white.

“I’d like to meet him and he’s coming—” She took a glance at her watch. “—right about now.”

A knock came from the door and a head of messy black hair peaked into the room.

“Daiyu laoban, great to see you.”

No. This could not be happening to you.

The wire glasses. The tall, lanky frame that filled the doorway. The almond shaped eyes hiding behind pitch-black hair, as black his shriveled little heart.

Daiyu, like the little bitch she was, giggled. “Y/N, Sicheng, please meet your new Sales Head: Xu Minghao.”

His eyes focused on you and your world suddenly felt tilted, careening sideways while the nausea hit you all at once.

“Nice to meet you,” he said cheerfully.

You could feel Sicheng’s concern radiating from him at your ashen face and look of shock, but you couldn't even think as flashes of blood and tears and pain shuddered throughout your body.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m pleased to be working with you!”

(”After us, the flood” or “Aprés nous, le deluge” is an expression from Madame Pompadour, King Louis XV’s lover.)

And it’s finished. Thank you. Please don’t forget to read, comment, and reblog. I love you all and goodbye.

[firelxdykatara]

kitty i can't wait for your thoughts of Shadow and Bone asdfasfaw

Ok well I just finished and I have so many fucking thoughts. Most good! Some, less so. Part of it may just be my bias because I’ve only read the Six of Crows duology and have little interest in actually reading the original trilogy, because I know how it ends and Leigh clearly hates me personally and doesn’t want me to be happy (/j), so I was already predisposed to be far more invested in the Crows and Darkling/Darklina segments (genuinely, the Mal/Malina scenes/storyline bored me to tears, and while I appreciate that the show went out of its way to change Mal’s character to make him much less of a toxic douchebag [I’ve read enough excerpts and explanations of his actions in the books to really loathe book!Malina], it isn’t enough to make me ship them when Darklina is right there), but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the Crows absolutely stole the show.

It’s actually kind of funny, because I’d assumed they were only being so heavily marketed to hype the show up even more, since while there’s a lot of TGT/SoC fandom overlap they are also two fundamentally different genres and I’d wager there are a lot of people who are massive fans of one but not so enthused with the other, while remaining fairly insignificant to the overall plot. Turns out, they make up fully half of the show’s runtime (much to my delight). Which is part of what I think will help this series stand on its own, both as a book adaptation and simply as a fantasy TV series.

I’ll put more of my story-specific thoughts under a cut, so there’s lots of show spoilers to follow!

I know that a lot of early reviewers were saying that Alina’s motivations and storyline revolved too much around Mal, and that really held true for me. It made sense in the beginning--he was the only constant in her life, she was thrust into something new, terrifying, and completely unfamiliar, and they’d developed an unhealthy codependence as a coping mechanism for their childhoods and the traumas they faced, the lives they lead growing up in a war-torn country. But she started coming into her power, falling for the General--not just his power and charisma, but what she felt when she was with him. The way he helped her summon the sun, the way she felt free in a way she never had before.

Until it all went to shit--but the Darklina make-out scene in episode 5? Fucking iconic. Poetic fucking cinema. The way they were quite literally about to have sex on that wartable (and someone better write fic of that moment, what if they hadn’t gotten interrupted), and the General left, but then he ran back just to kiss her one more time... this is what OTPs are made of ok.

I think what really bothers me overall is that Alina ultimately lacked agency in her one storyline, pretty much the entire way through. She did make a few choices, but they were mostly incidental, and a lot of it was Alina desperately trying to get back to Mal rather than seizing her own power and destiny and running with it. The most prominent example is the end of episode 5--Alina is having happy make-outs and almost bones the General in his own war room, and then he leaves, and Baghra comes in and infodumps to her about how evil he is and how he’s only using her and she needs to escape.

I recognize that a lot of this is probably because that’s essentially what happened in the book and Leigh is an executive producer for the show so she has a lot of shot-calling power. However, I really think that even in the book this plotline would’ve been better-served by having Alina make these discoveries on her own.

For example, imagine that the letters which were used as framing devices for episodes 2 and 3 were vitally important to the plot, rather than being one-offs that are mentioned a few times but not really affecting much of anything. Alina begins to get suspicious when she doesn’t receive word from Mal, and she starts wondering if her letters are even reaching him--so she starts snooping. She finds ashes in the war room hearth, late at night,, and recognizes a fragment of Mal’s signature and larger piece of her own. She now knows that someone--possibly the General, but maybe that creepy priest guy, or someone else in the palace--is keeping her and Mal from contacting one another. So she starts snooping around even more. She asks the General leading questions, trying to figure out what the truth is of his intentions. She still feels this pull--this connection to him, and she hopes she’s wrong, but she’s not willing to just sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop.

The Winter Fete still happens, she still gets the hot make-out session with the General, and then when he’s called away, she snoops through his papers, looking for anything that can tell her the truth. She finds a hidden compartment filled with journals.

She reads about Aleksander’s past (and, incidentally, wasn’t that supposed to be a huge moment in the books, him revealing his true name to her in private? kinda wish it had been kept that way in the show but who knows where they’ll go with it in the future)--that leads to the flashbacks in episode 6. She feels for him, but she also reads further--she gets a firsthand look at his desire for power, something that began as a noble desire to save his people, but was twisted by a lust for vengeance (for his lost love and all the Grisha who were killed) and shot through with greed, the realization that if he found the Sun Summoner he could control the Fold, rather than just destroy it. He could create a new world where Grisha could live without fear--where Grisha could rule.

Alina is terrified. Whoever the General used to be--whatever humanity she saw flickering in his eyes, the way his heart fluttered when they kissed--she can’t trust that it’ll be enough to save her from plans centuries in the making. So she goes to Baghra, the woman who helped her discover her power, learn to channel it--the woman who always seemed to know much more than she ever let on. Baghra gives her side of the story--Alina got it from the General’s perspective first, now Baghra is telling her something framed much differently. She isn’t sure what or who to trust, but she knows that Baghra seems willing to help her escape--but rather than trusting her ‘loyal Grisha’, she makes the choice she made in the show, to choose the other path, and winds up with the Crows.

Idk how Mal and the Stag thing would fit into this (if it isn’t obvious by now, Mal just... doesn’t interest me), but Alina’s story and her character arc would be so much stronger for it. And she’s supposed to be the central character, so her story being weak and her agency so frequently being compromised ultimately hurts the show as a whole.

I know I’ve gone on and on about Alina and the Darkling (look, I’m a slut for enemies-to-lovers, and also lovers-to-enemies-and-back, so Darklina and Helnik are where so much of my investment is rooted--plus Kanej, but that almost goes without saying), but the true standouts of the series were the Crows. Inej, Kaz, and Jesper, and Nina and Matthias in their episodes, stole the show (along with the Darkling, Ben is far and away the best actor in the cast and I love that for him, but Freddy, Amita, and Kit are also amazing, and Danielle&Calahan were fucking phenomenal as Nina and Matthias--I do have to say, though, that the whole cast is really solid and has amazing chemistry).

They worked together so perfectly--Freddy and Amita communicated so much with their eyes alone, especially together, and a whole lot of their relationship dynamic is rooted in how they exist together, which really came through. The show altered the Crows timeline considerably (I’m pretty sure Kaz would’ve been 14 during the original trilogy lol), so Inej is still at the Menagerie, but things like Kaz putting up the Crow Club for Inej’s freedom, the way Kaz needed her but could never bring himself to say it (until the end of the season dklhfgdkjfgh i SCREAMED)--the way Jesper played off the both of them, and it’s so obvious they all love each other even though they’re criminals and thieves and murderers, and Kaz would never admit it (out loud--which actually feeds into my theory that his love language is acts of service; Kaz does things for the people he cares about, he never announces it and he will almost always try to downplay it, but the way you know he cares is if, for example, he puts his entire life, everything he built, up as collateral for your freedom), but they’re a family.

One thing that I was kind of iffy about was Inej’s refusal to kill--but I thought it might be something they were planning to work into her overall character arc, and they did. It was the one line she hadn’t crossed--in the books, I’d imagine that it took a while for Inej to wind up at that point, being willing to kill on top of everything else. So I actually like that they worked that into the Crows plotline, and Inej killing for the first time was to save Kaz’s life.

Just like Kaz’s first selfless act was to save her.

(He’d deny it, of course. He protects his investments. He needed her for the job. But the truth is, he did it for her. And he’d do it again. Even if he’d never admit it.)

Meanwhile, Nina and Matthias’ storyline was pretty much note-for-note according to their backstory as it was revealed in Six of Crows, and I loved every second of it. Their chemistry was perfect, their journey from enemies to begrudging allies to friends to maybe something more (Matthias’ stomach cockblocking them when they were about to kiss had me fucking SCREAMING AT THE TV, and then of course the whole ‘betraying him to save him’ thing happened and I sobbed), and then suddenly right back to enemies.

Because from Matthias’ perspective, he trusted a witch--believed in her, liked her, wanted her--and she turned on him. He has no idea that she wasn’t the one who knocked him out in the first place, and no reason to believe her, because as far as he knows, she just confirmed everything he’d ever been told about Grisha. That they are deceitful and treacherous, would turn on you as soon as look at you, that they are dangerous and not to be trusted. It wasn’t revealed in-show but I imagine Matthias’ backstory is largely the same, which means that his entire family was slaughtered by Grisha when he was a young boy, and then he was turned into a brainwashed child soldier by the witch hunters and never knew anything else.

They are perfectly primed for their SoC arc next season and I, for one, am so stoked to see the rest of their journey. And if I slip Netflix a couple twenties, maybe they’ll let Helnik have a happy ending please please please.

Anyway, yeah! I have a lot of thoughts but things are still percolating in my head so I’ll probably float around the tags for a bit and let things settle. This is just a preliminary overview of my thoughts in the immediate aftermath of bingeing the entire show in one night kldfjghdkjfhgkjgf

EDIT TO ADD: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT ABOUT THE TRUE STAR OF THE SHOW, M I L O

MILO BEST BOY. MILO THE MVP. MILO DESERVES ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD AND I HOPE HE LIVES A HAPPY AND HEALTHY AND FULL LITTLE GOAT LIFE.

[andypantsx3]

in cinders | 2 | preparations

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 24,362 words / 9 chapters

summary: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate.

tags: cinderella AU, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

In the weeks that led up to the ball, you had your hands full.

Literally, some days, since your plans relied heavily on your long history of bribery via pastry.

Hagakure, Ashido, and Kaminari had not been easy to convince. You’d had to beg and plead and pilfer any sweet cake you could get your hands on, cashing in every favor and ounce of goodwill you’d stored up over the long years. Between your shifts, you’d spent almost every hour of the last weeks in their respective quarters, pleading with them sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. Kaminari had required the firmest touch, scared out of his mind at the thought of retribution from the notoriously foul-tempered Captain Bakugou for leaving his post.

But one week out from the ball, you had the makings of a plan and the raw materials needed for its implementation.

The one unexpected hurdle was Ochako herself.

“Go to the ball?” she gasped the evening when you revealed your plan. “Me?”

The two of you had been readying for bed in the small storage room that doubled as your shared sleeping quarters. She stood frozen over her bed where she’d been about to climb in.

You smiled coaxingly. “Just picture it, Ochako! The pink fluffy dress! Dancing with a handsome noble! I have it all arranged.”

She looked doubtful. “I don’t know about all this.”

You fixed her with a dead-eyed look. “Have I ever led you astray?”

She stared back. “Well, no, but--”

You waved her off. “Then just trust me.”

She stayed standing as you flopped onto your straw pallet. A stalk had escaped from its covering and poked you insistently in the back.

“Ochako, I want you to be happy,” you said, sighing.

She blinked. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with getting back at Kamiko for what she said the other week?”

You couldn’t help the guilty look that flashed across your face. “Only a little.”

Ochako huffed a small laugh, but quickly sobered. “Y/N, you’ll be whipped if they find you out. And me!”

You shot up in bed. “They won’t! And I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I have a plan.”

Ochako finally sank into the straw of her own mattress. “I don’t even know how to dance.”

You grinned. “You will tomorrow morning. I roped the palace dance instructor into teaching you a few basic steps. Did you know honey cakes are her husband’s secret weakness?”

Ochako fidgeted. “Y/N, I have work tomorrow morning.”

You stretched. “No, I have work tomorrow morning. Your half day of rest has mysteriously been extended.”

You heard the straw of her mattress rustle. “You...you shouldn’t have done this for me.”

You smiled to yourself. “Maybe not, but at this point I’ve filched so many pastries that we might as well see it through.”

A soft chuckle issued from her side of the room. “You must really love cleaning those fireplaces. The housekeeper will be so furious if she finds out - she’ll have you up to your eyeballs in the kitchen hearths for the rest of your days.”

You laughed. “Lucky for me I look rather fetching in black.”

She laughed again before a friendly silence descended on the room, and you heard no more argument from her. You dropped off to sleep, satisfied.

In the morning, you were less satisfied having to be out of bed in the cold, pre-dawn hours on what was usually your one morning off. But it was worth it for Ochako. Almost more than that, it was worth it entirely for the purpose of wiping the smug smile off Kamiko’s infuriatingly cherubic face. Ochako was going to become a fucking princess, as far as you were concerned, and if all went well, she could have you trained to be her ladies’ maid.

As you let yourself into the kitchens to light the fires and put on water for the morning's tea, you let yourself imagine it, smugly watching Kamiko clean the chambers of the girl she had once made fun of. If you planned on calling for Ochako’s linens to be changed way more often than was necessary, well, that was nobody’s business but your own.

The chambermaid in question eyed you suspiciously when she came into the kitchens hours later for her breakfast. “Isn’t it Ochako’s morning to be on shift? Where is the little wench?”

You shrugged, stoking the fire with more interest than usual. “She’s not feeling well. I’m to cover her morning off. Got her schedule memorized, do you?”

Kamiko wore an expression like she’d bit into a tart to find it full of ants. “Don’t test me, cinders. I’d hate for Rikido to have to look into where all his missing sweets have gone.”

You froze, then forced yourself to relax. There was no way for her to know you’d been running a small but successful pastry ring out of the kitchen for years. If she had, you’d have already been reported into your next lifetime.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” You fixed her with your most innocent look.

She sneered, “I’m sure you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but ignored her and set about the rest of your work with enthusiasm. Right at this very minute Ochako was learning the steps that would waltz her straight onto the throne. Petty revenge could come later.

The rest of the day dragged, but you attacked your chores with unusual vigor. At night, you returned to your room to find Ochako bouncing excitedly around the room, sweeping into elegant curtsies.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed as you entered, looking tired but pleased. “You’re back!”

You sank thankfully onto your pallet, glad to be off your feet. “How’d it go?”

“Wonderful!” she smiled. “Dance mistress says my steps are rather basic at this point, but they would go a long way in getting me through any fete.”

You chuckled. “Little does she know which fete.”

Ochako smiled. “Do you really think I’ll look like I belong?”

You sat up and rustled around underneath your pallet, digging out something blindly pink and thrusting it in front of her.

“With this, you will,” you gestured with it meaningfully. Ochako took in the sight of the dress, eyes widening.

Though unfinished, you thought you’d done a rather good job. With Mina’s help, you’d been able to procure enough of the bright fabric and tailor it to current trends. The bodice was close-fit to the torso, but swept out in a dramatic waterfall of fabric at the hips, meant to emphasize the wearer’s hourglass shape. Mina’s tiny, perfect stitches decorated the collar and sleeves, while your own fumbling attempts had been hidden closer to the waist and skirt hem, further from the eye. Once the dress was set with the lace Hagakure had ferreted out of the laundry rooms, Ochako would be indistinguishable from any noblewoman in that room.

Ochako gasped. “It’s perfect!”

You smirked, then turned to your mattress, pulling out a matching mask, embroidered with small roses done in a light pink thread. It was much better than your stitching on her dress. This, you thought, was your masterwork. A perfect example that you would be well-suited to being Ochako’s ladies’ maid, once given the proper training.

“Y/N, I can’t believe this!” she said, taking the mask and dress in hand. She ran her fingers over it lovingly, the way you’d been setting a proprietary hand to the prince’s birthday books. You could tell she liked it.

“You may repay me in a tidal wave of fine foods once you’re a noblewoman,” you laughed. "You can teach me how to read and let me spend Sundays lounging."

She blushed. “You don’t actually think I’d catch anyone’s eye.”

You certainly did. Ochako was shy, but there was no arguing her good looks. Even without her sweet-tempered charm, she could have reeled Prince Shouto in by her cute face and ample bosom alone.

“Of course you will,” you said. “If you don’t have at least three proposals by the end of the night, I will eat Kamiko’s apron.”

She chuckled. “Why Kamiko’s?”

“Well if you don't, I'll still need mine, won’t I?”

She laughed again, and you took the garments from her, stowing them safely away under your mattress again.

The two of you settled down to bed, feeling giddy. Only three more days, you thought, until your weeks of work paid off.

The three days passed quickly in a flurry of chores and midnight sewing. Your fingers were raw from the stitching and you spent every shift bleary-eyed from the nights spent hunched over Ochako’s dress, but this was the evening it would all become worth it.

Or it would be, if Ochako hadn’t suddenly come down with a case of cold feet.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she fretted that morning, spooning over her thick porridge. “I feel sick.”

You gaped at her. “Ochako, you will climb into that fluffy monstrosity or so help me I will feed you to Captain Bakugou.”

This didn’t even make her laugh and your heart thumped in your chest. Was she really going to back out? Did she really feel so self-consciously? You hadn’t accounted for this in your plan.

“You have to go,” you said, feeling a little brittle yourself. “Ochako, you’ve wanted to so badly.”

She scratched a pale fingertip against the rough wood of the servant’s dining table. “I don’t know if I can. I’m so nervous.”

You ducked down to look into her face. “You’re going to look so beautiful and you know the dances,” you said. “You’re going to be incredible. What more would make you less nervous?”

She was silent a moment, the scritch of her nail the only sound in the drafty dark of the pre-dawn kitchens.

“Would you go with me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“To the ball!” she said, turning to you. “You could come with me!”

You scowled. You had in no way intended to go to the ball yourself, looking forward to spending the evening most servants had off tucked up in your bed with the scraps from the dinner preparations. You’d been eyeing the buckwheat noodles the prince so loved and had fully intended to see what all the fuss had been about.

Besides that, you’d only accounted for Ochako going. You’d produced one dress and one mask, and even those had taken weeks of multiple people pinching fabrics and sewing late into the night. It wasn't like you could magic more garments out of the air.

“Ochako, I don’t have any clothes,” you said. “I can’t go.”

“Please!” she cried, latching on to one of your threadbare sleeves. “I don’t think I can do it without you.”

You were saved from responding by the first trickle of servants pouring into the kitchens for breakfast. You closed your mouth, thinking hard as you got up to fetch hot water for those stations above you, serving them tea and fetching them plates.

An idea had dawned on you by the time the crush of servants cleared out after their hasty breakfasts. The thought of pulling it off made you stiff with fear - as there were so many factors that could go wrong -- but it was worth the risk.

You thought about it long into the day, Ochako shooting you nervous looks. You would have to be careful, but you thought you could make it work.

As the day faded, the lanterns were lit. The ball would begin soon, and servants made their way to an early bed. You left Ochako to prepare in your bedroom, stealing into the dark and empty laundry rooms.

If Ochako wanted you to be there, then you would make it happen. You were going to fairy godmother this self-conscious girl into a happily ever after.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 20

The Darkling x Reader

He carried you to your bed that night, gently slipping off your kefta and taking out the uncomfortable hairpin in your hair while you slept like a baby.

Zoya had barged into his office earlier and mentioned that you were swarmed with duties so naturally he did was had to be done and took it all on himself for that day. Your door felt no vibrations from knocks after Zoya left and the 'accidental dozing off' turned into your full night sleep with Aleksander by your side yet again.

You were furious as you woke up, to say the least. Your enraged muttering breaking Aleksander's sleep as you whipped out from under his arm and out the bed. You only dared to shoot him a look of displeasure before you slammed the door shut as you left. He barely registered your body running around the room, nevermind the nasty gaze sent his way

'Good morning to you too'

****

'Is everything in order?' You were still fixing the kefta belt as you approached the head of guards.

'Yes Deputy. We've been letting performers in for about an hour now and it's all going smoothly.'

'No requests to see the Sun-Summoner?'

'Plenty, but we've taken care of them just as Zoya Nazyalensky told us to.' He curtly nodded, tilting his head in the way of the prison-holding cells.

'I'm glad to hear that.'

As you went to see how Marie's kefta was coming along, you found the room empty and her nowhere to be found, the seamstress looking equally as confused as she entered the bare room. You caught Genya heading for the Vezda suit out of the corner of your eye and called her name loudly.

'Marie is late to her kefta fitting, like very late. Do you have any idea where she is?'

'I think she may be with Alina, I'll be sure to fetch her' she said and waltzed away from you.

'Genya wait!'

'Yes?'

'When you get Ms.Starkov ready, give her this ring' You dug around in your pocket for the metal ring and handed it to the red-haired Tailor. 'Make sure she's wearing it.'

'Of course Deputy.'

You watched her white kefta diminish behind the doors and sighed loudly, going down the mental to-do list of the morning. I'm already tired.

*****

'Have you seen the Deputy?' Aleksander asked Ivan as they headed for his chambers.

'Last I seen she was helping conduct perimeter checks with Fedyor.'

'Good.' He wanted to see you in your winter fete kefta, silently hoping you chose to keep with the black but he knew he was being greedy. He can't have both you and Alina.

'Get her for me, I need to speak to her.' Ivan nodded and turned back around in search of you, clearly displeased at the task.

Putting his lust for you away, Aleksander returned to a working state of mind. He needed to speak to you before the fete started. It was essential you heard what he had heard from the Grand Palace.

He retreated to his chambers and began to get ready for the fete until a certain someone entered the room unannounced.

***

'Deputy Y/L/N, the General wishes to speak to you.' Ivan was at your door with a glum look on his face as a team of ladies tended to your hair and face.

'Now?' You laughed but he only shrugged. You rolled your eyes and signaled for them to finish what they were doing and let you leave.

The ladies frowned but stepped away, clearly dissatisfied. Not only did they get a late start due to you chasing Alina and Genya down on the Palace courtyard, but now they had to finish early too. You had yet to change out of your kefta and into the fete's outfit but for now, you ignored your appearance.

All that mattered to you was that the evening went smoothly and without security threats and if the General requested to see you, you would be there to discuss whatever had gone wrong. This is Ravka after all, something always goes wrong.

'I'm coming, relax your frown for once.' You joined him at the door and walked silently alongside him to the Darkling's quarters. The Palace was buzzing with life as foreign ambassadors took up residence in the rooms and servants prepared the spaces with brimming luxury. Ravka needed to display its strength and wealth today and if it meant meticulously counting the fresh roses in each room, that was what was had to be done.

Although your demeanor showed a relaxed and posed facade, you were very stressed. You hadn’t gotten enough sleep recently and given your extreme training schedule before you arrived at the Palace, the amount of time you spent using them now, or lack thereof, had managed to dwindle you mentally. You were hanging on by a mere thread.

Ivan knocked on the door for you before moving away to the side. You didn't wait for his response and just walked in but stopped short when you looked ahead. The Sun-Summoner you had scolded not even 30 minutes ago was standing in his quarters, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He stood next to her looking equally as red-handed. Realization flooded you that you had interrupted an intimate moment between the two summoners. You cleared your throat, trying your best to act normal.

'You requested to see me, General.' His head tipped up at your collected demeanor, wondering whether you felt the tension too.

'Yes, I did' He moved around to the table, walking past Alina who decided it would be best she left and got ready. You smiled at her as she left, muttering some pleasantry about seeing her at the fete but deep inside the jealousy began boiling in you despite your attempts to rationalize it.

'Y/N -'

'Let's not talk about it. Please.' Your voice was a whisper, a strong contrast to the voice Alina heard. 'I agreed to the plan, I have no right to argue with you.' You feebly smiled. His stare was pitiful on you but he did as you asked.

'I need you to speak to the Queen when she arrives at the Little Palace.'

'Why?' Your face contorted into an expression of confusion and disgust, quickly forgetting about what just happened.

'My intel tells me she is in awe of you. Genya overheard her speaking to one of her aids about you and a possible position for you in the Grand Palace'

Your eyes widened at his words. You had been tolerating the Queen like a toddler, giving into her whims and tantrums in hopes of her staying calm, not in hopes of being whisked away to work for the crown.

'Are you serious?'

'Yes'

'Saints' The weird headache was back, settling into the back of your head like a dull drum.

'Listen to what she has to say'

'Do you think I would accept whatever she has to offer? You'd be a fool to assume I would even consider it.' He turned away from you, displeasure obvious on his face.

'I just ask that you entertain her. And would it really be so bad? Whatever it may be, it would aid our course substantially-'

'All I ever wanted and needed were my Grisha, Aleksander. That's why I came back, not for the Lantsov Crown.'

'I'm not forcing you into anything Y/N. Just listen to her.' His voice was soft and gentle like he was lulling you down from an outburst but you knew he was plotting, taking every advantage he could grasp.

'Alright.' you sighed, still processing all the information at once. The Queen, The Fete, The Grand Palace, Alina, and Aleksander. It was clouding your mind like a fog. 'I should go get ready' Your mind was bursting at the seams with thoughts and speculations, you needed to have some alone time and you prayed to the Saints 20 minutes would be enough to put yourself at ease.

He reached out for you but you were already moving to leave, leaving him hanging in his chambers with a look of sorrow on his face.

Your feet dragged you to your chambers with little energy but much heaviness. The Summoner blue gown and kefta hanging on the door were glued to your gaze as you debated even going to the fete.

Within a span of 10 minutes, Aleksander had somehow managed to overwhelm you to the point of a lingering breakdown. You weren't sad or angry or jealous, you were overwhelmed, your mind was blank yet full and it made you want to cry. The stress of the last couple of days did not help either.

But alas you got yourself together, wiping the lone tears away and putting on your fete attire. It was heavy and comforting, like an armor ready to be destroyed as you entered the battlefield. The foreign diplomats were to meet you today and bring word back to their home countries about the Witch, the Deputy Commander of Ravka's Grisha Army and you would look the part too.

You held your head high and radiated the most powerful energy you could muster while you walked to the makeshift throne room before the official start of the fete. She was sitting there next to the King looking every part of a Lantsov Queen.

The crown settled on her head nicely and looked to be of perfect fit as you approached her, curtseying and making pleasant conversation. It was draining to listen to her empty stories in anticipation of what you knew was coming. In a shocking reality however, you had no idea what she was really thinking and neither did Aleksander, or Genya, or anybody.

It wasn't until she grabbed your wrist tight in her hold and made you kneel next to her in the empty room did you freeze and crumble beneath her. The King was watching eagerly with his head held high and a smirk on his face. In that moment all you were was their subject and she was the Queen, commanding a commander. You were no General, or Grisha, or high ranking officer. You were simply a girl who held their eyes for too long. A girl who was not simple but regal.

It was nothing short of debilitating. The facade crumbling and crashing to the ground with silent thuds while the words stuck in your head like a pulsing bee sting.

'We wish for you to marry my son, my dear Nikolai'

--------

Part 21

Shockerrrrr I know but don’t worry for those who haven’t read the novels, I will not be introducing Nikolai as a character. Maybe I will when I decide to move this to AO3 but not as of right now.

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