#cale: i have had this body for an hour and i now can do sword hands

[duunswitch]

"Ah. I see. A «parasite», then. Seeking to possess that which you haven't earned."

Perhaps if she'd yielded authority, it might be convinced otherwise but she hadn't so it would not. "Pity my «Master» likes you. You'd have been a fun trophy." It's definitely a magic sword, based on the way it dodges the initial chains easily enough; fortunately for Gil, taking his face does not confer a Gate to the sword.

Less fortunately for Gil, it has figured out how to use its own hands as blades without losing its shape.

     THE child-king, for a moment, says nothing — he simply smiles his same gilded smile, radiant and exalted, a gloriole carved into flesh. Then his lips part, his voice dripping like venom mixed with sickly-sweet honey. 

“Who said I ever intended to wield you, object?”

     CIRCULAR ripples of gold manifest faster than the human eye can perceive, chains bursting from them like metallic claws set to mercilessly ensnare the boy’s quarry — aiming straight for its every limb.

[nanshe-of-nina]

People of the Edwardian phase of the Hundred Years War as dril tweets

Philippe VI de France: Time and time Again. People on here Fuck me over and ruin my life. simply for starting the Dialouge.

Edward III of England: thinking of wrapping my entire body in barbed wire and becoming Sovereign.

Jehan II de France: a teen approached me at the food court and said “I see you wore your clown costume today” and i spent the next 9 hours processing the insult.

Jehanne de Bourgogne: CHILD: Papa.. tell me once more about WIFE’s DUTY. PAPA: it is WIFE’s DUTY to protect her husband from villains, always.

Jitka Lucemburská: Damn. the MomTown forums just started requiring 4 point Mom Verificaiton to be able to post there for some reason..anyone got a work around?

Philippa de Hainaut: my opinion on politics: my opinion on politics is that politidcs is extremely good, but sometimes it is bad.

Ludwig IV, Holy Roman Emperor: bigmouth fake priest telling me to “drink a shitload of holy water and kill yourself” as penance? this has happened at three churches now.

Pope Benedict XII: it is with a heavy heart that i must announce that the celebs are at it again.

Jehan III, duc de Bretagne: i just left an enormous pile of vomit behind golds gym for all of you abominable pig clowns to pick at #blackfridaydeals

Robert III d’Artois: (in really quiet, barely audible voice) hope your dick falls of bitch.

Hugues Quiéret: currently employed as Water Guru at the beach. it’s sort of like being a lifeguard except i have no inclination to touch the drowning people.

Geoffroy d’Harcourt: OH im so Fucking sorry “Your Majesty”, i didnt realize that dick rings were banished in this dystopian piss earth. Ur probably a 9gag poster.

Jacob van Artevelde: (in highly rational and cool voice) i have the higher follower count than them. i wiont let them undermine me.

Pope Clement VI: may the wind carry my tweets and soothte the sick, the wounded, the downtrodden of both man & beast, across the savage shit earth of trolls,

Jehanne de Valois, comtesse de Hainaut: startling how im the only person on this site with an actual human soul. you would think the other guys on here have one, but no.

Eudes IV, duc de Bourgogne: myth: making me mad is cool FACT: making me mad is a crap move& people who do it are all sociopathivc criminals with fucked up rotten brains.

Jehan de Montfort: turning my headlights off when driving at night,.. so that my Rivals cannot see me.

Jehanne de Flandre: i just want to find the optimal bra for sniper operations, but everoyne here is so rude, and pieces of shit.

Johann der Blinde of Bohemia: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts.

Charles II, comte d’Alençon: ((SPILLING BLOOD ALL OVER KEYBOARD) THIS IS WHAT U WANT. THIS IS WHAT U FUCKING BASTARDS WANT RIGHT (1 WEEK LATER) WHY ARE THE KEYS STICKING

Jehanne de Clisson: as far as im concerned the best revenge is ordering wolf piss online & pouring it into soneones car. “living well” is too hard.

Arnaud de Cervole: i will raze every forest and devour each city in blood tribute for the crime of 9/11!! please nbring back blue collar TV

Frank Hennequin: the jduge orders me to take off my anonymous v mask & im wearing the joker makeup underneath it. everyone in the courtroom groans at my shit.

William Montagu, 1st Earl of Salisbury: im at the point in my life where i cant relate to any popular fictional characters unless they use massive amounts of hair gel and steriods.

Antonio Doria: my name is Destyn. i build crossbows and sell weed to all your dads and im 15.

Gautier VI de Brienne: MYTH: my posts are for the Pauper REALITY: my posts are for the Prince.

Étienne Marcel: looked at a newspaper today. looks like we’re getting taxed out the wazoo, with this president. anyone else see this shit? tax out the wazoo.

Guillaume Cale: “FEAR IS USED 2 ENSLAVE THE MASSES,” I SAID AS I RIPPED THE FUCKIN DECORATIVE CARDBOARD SKELETON OFF OF THE COMMUNITY CENTERS BULLETIN BOARD

Edward Montagu, 1st Baron Montagu: girls always love to telling people not to“ Mansplain” but they do not care of, “Man's Pain”

Louis Iᵉʳ, comte de Flandre: 1) i do not owe you mother fuckers a damn thing 2) i will not hear any more questions or comments unless they pertain to MetroPCS, or Pepsi.

Philippe III de Navarre: the crusaders fire ballistas into my throbbing diaper- unlesashing a torrent of mustard yellow shit and poisoning the entire village.

Gaston II, comte de Foix: i am going to plunge a sword into our bed and officially end outr 40 yr marriage if you do not stop yelling while i am recording my stream’s.

Henry de Grosmont, 1st Duke of Lancaster: please help my cousin “Bruno_THought_Leader” who just had his account suspended for threatening to “Fuck” brexit.

Robert Le Coq, Bishop of Laon: i have absolutely zero interest in friendship, i have absolutely zero interest in jokes, i am simply here to collect data and earn respect.

Jehan Iᵉʳ, comte d’Armagnac: the joke is on you fuck face. i actually love getting screamed at and publicly shamed for my dumb-assed bull shit . I love apologizing.

Bardi and Peruzzi families: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool’s Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Jehanne II de Navarre: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and NIce manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT.

William de Bohun, 1st Earl of Northampton: if you have less than 1000 followers i can guarantee you that me and the boys share your posts in vip chat rooms and call you a "Muthafucka”.

William de la Pole: thinking about getting the dow jones back on track, simply by making a few phonecalls. but certain people have been a bitch to me, so i wont.

Thomas de Beauchamp, 11th Earl of Warwick: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right.

Thomas Holland, 1st Earl of Kent: ive heard from a reliable source that people arre putting their lips on to my girl friends avatars and going “muah muah muah.” cut it out.

Raoul II de Brienne, comte d’Eu: hate it when my boss knocks out the front leg of my desk with a baseball bat and funko pop lego shit flies every where.

Karel IV, Holy Roman Emperor: “RESULT You are the Serpant. YOu dislike loud places and people are constantly putting drama in your life. But you’re strong.” This is true.

Charles de Blois-Châtillon: torturing my damn dick with corn cob holders in Penance for the foul tone i took with the subway corporation today.

Jehanne de Penthièvre: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc.

Jacques Iᵉʳ de Bourbon, comte de La Marche: “ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders” Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

John Chandos: DOCTOR: you cant keep doing this to yourself. being The Last True Good Boy online will destroy you. you must stop posting with honor ME: No,

Jehan d’Artos, comte d’Eu: , who had gone missing for 17 years and was presumed dead after failing to return from his ultimate dumpster diving life quest

William Douglas, 1st Earl of Douglas: i get emails. i get emails saying the trolls have won, and that i should bow to them, since i have lost the battle. to this i say FAT-CHANCE.

David II of Scotland: “jail isnt real,” i assure myself as i close my eyes and ram the hallmark gift shop with my shitty bronco.

Charles de La Cerda: i think that turning myself Gay in the summer of 2013 would really impress my overseas investors.

William de Montagu, 2nd Earl of Salisbury: my watch beeps whwich means its time to stand in front of my ex-wife’s house and play “Hit THe Road Jack” while dacning and licking her mail.

Edward the Black Prince: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

Jehan III de Grailly: its fucked up how there are like 1000 christmas songs but only 1 song aboutr the boys being back in town.

Louis II, comte de Flandre: U Have Forced Me To Take Extreme Measures To Protect My Business And My Lifestyle.

Blanche de Navarre: the wise man bowed his head solemnly and spoke “theres actually zero difference between good & bad things. you imbecile. you fucking moron”

Charles II de Navarre: Sovereign Citizens Getting Owned Compilation

Philippe de Navarre: shooting off automatic rifles making horrible diarrhea shit noises as the recoil makes my tiny dick flop around. hell yeah. thats cool to me.

Charles, Dauphin de Viennois: surprise, dad. while you were witnessing the pennsylvania state lottery i tried on all your work gloves and they looked very handsome on me.

[proseandpeonies]

You Won’t Miss Much, Pt. 1

This fanfiction is so near and dear to my heart, I’ve been waiting a while to post it but here it is! I have posted more chapters on Ao3,  and I will post those here as well. 

Summary: It’s been months since the war that changed every aspect of life in Erilea. Aelin Galathynius has survived against all odds and now is the rightful queen of Terrasen, but there are demons that still haunt both her and her court. And when she sends her king to deal with the rising tensions in Eyllwe, those demons begin their assault on everyone’s mind. And in the midst of it all, another surprise will either be the making or breaking of Aelin.

Warnings: Mentions of rape. Suicidal thoughts, torture, insomina, ptsd, depression.

Chapter Two

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

The wind was tousling his hair. That was the only thing she could focus on. The near-rhythmic way his sliver-white hair was blowing in the cold winter wind. She wanted to run her hands through it, as she had last night. And again, this morning.

 She smiled weakly as Rowan cupped her cheek, his callouses scraping against her skin. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said quietly, gently, and Aelin felt tears well in her eyes. 

But she couldn’t cry, not now. Not as Aedion and Gavriel sat atop their own horses, watching and waiting for their king and queen to say goodbye. Not as Lysandra watched them, too, a stony expression over her face.  Aelin flicked her eyes away from his, over his shoulder and to the castle gates. Gates, he would soon ride out of, and away from her.

“It’ll be two months, Rowan. Three at most, you won’t miss much,” she said with equal quiet, but her voice wavered, and Rowan wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her forward. 

“I still don’t like the thought of being away for so long,” he said onto her hair, and a small part of her laughed at the thought of the lords and ladies watching their king and queen embracing in such a way. 

“I know, but you need to go. The other kingdoms need to see we stand with them,” she murmured against his chest. “And,” she added with a smirk, “Every now and again, us ladies need some peace from you heathens.”

Rowan huffed out a little laugh and squeezed her against him. Aelin inhaled deeply, memorizing his scent. She knew, deep down, that he would be fine. 

The disturbance was in Eyllwe, a group had gathered that disagreed with the current reign’s relationship with Terrasen. They said they were aligning themselves with the enemy, allying with the very same country who had once burned their villages. They refused to see that it had been Maeve burning those villages. They were revolting. And, gods-damn it, it scared the hell out of her.

But there was something else that nagged on Aelin’s mind, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She pulled away from him slowly, savoring every single moment his body was in contact with hers’. “You’d better be on your way; it’s a long trip.”

She took him in, the tight armor, the elegant swords strapped to his back, the numerous blades no doubt concealed about him. He looked like her king. She smoothed down the skirt of her ruby gown then slid her hands up over his chest, the leather warm and somehow comforting. Rowan’s eyes darkened slightly as she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him, but she held back for a moment. “I love you,” she said as she brushed back a lock of his hair from his brow. “Come home to me, you Buzzard.” Rowan gave her that smile she loved and leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and sweet against hers. The pine scent of him wrapped around her and she tangled a hand in the hair at the back of his neck.

  After a long moment, they both pulled away and Aelin felt the wind pick up around them. “I love you, too, Princess.”

She gave him a little smile and offered him her arm, which he took and led them to his horse, a chestnut beauty that was pawing the ground in anticipation. 

Rowan swung the cloak that had been resting on his saddle around his shoulders in a swift motion. He gave her a long look then stepped up into his saddle, swinging a leg over. She came around to his horses’ front, resisting the urge to slide a hand along his leg.

“You’ll write me any time you can, right?” She asked, looking away from him and towards the sprawling city of Orynth below them. “Of course, and anytime I can’t,” he said with a grin. 

Rowan scanned her face unflinchingly, and offered her his hand, which was warm and solid. “I’ll be back, Fireheart. You know that. And,” Rowan gave a grin that sent a thrill through her. “when I do get back, I am going to steal you away for a little while. Perhaps, to the manor. A week or so alone sounds lovely.”

Aelin nodded, smiling at the thought. “King Rowan,” came Aedion’s voice from behind them, and Rowan winced. He told Aedion not to call him that. “King Rowan, it’s nearly noon.” 

Aelin smiled ruefully and released his hand. “You’d better go.” Her voice was quiet, timid, and Rowan nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Fireheart.” Rowan studied her a moment longer, then leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her brow. “I love you, Ro’.” 

Her king smiled at the use of that nickname, “I love you, too.” Rowan glanced around, his green eyes scanning the horizon. She saw the war-commander slowly rise in him, and watched, a little fascinated as Rowan spurred his horse forward. “Don’t get in too much trouble while I’m gone, Your Majesty.” 

He called over his shoulder as Gavriel and Aedion fell in behind him. The castle gates swung wide and Aelin memorized every single inch of his body, every movement he made as he rode away, she memorized those eyes that were still trained on hers. 

“No promises,” she called back, waving a hand slowly in his direction. And as Rowan rode away, Aelin felt something stir inside her, but she ignored it, too focused on her mate as he left.

Aelin watched as they trotted away, smiling as she heard the cries of joy and admiration coming from her kingdom as they saw their king. She heard, more than saw, Lysandra walk behind her. 

“I don’t like them leaving,” Lysandra said after a moment of silence.  Aelin nodded, hugging her arms to her chest. Lysandra sniffed and turned towards the castle, her black hair whipping in the wind. 

“We just finished a war, and here we are again,” Lysandra spat, the venom in her voice tangible. Aelin closed her eyes. This wasn’t a war. It was just her generals and husband going to speak to them. Show solidarity. “Not a war, Lys,” she reminded her again.  Lysandra huffed. “I know, but still…”

Aelin turned back to her friend. “I don’t like it either, but it has to happen. They’ll be fine, all they have to do is speak to few officials, shake some hands, be diplomatic.” In all honesty, Aelin wished she was traveling with them. She missed the friends she’d made in the Eyllwean court, but she had much to do here. Most of which had to do with tax plans and defenses and their relationship with the now tumultuous Fae kingdom. Aelin offered Lysandra her arm.

“Come, we’ve got tea with Lady Cale,” she said as she started inside, Lysandra lagging a bit beside her. The shifter laid her head on Aelin’s shoulder and they walked inside together, and Aelin gave her a pitying stare. “They’ll be back, Lys,” she reassured her.  Aelin tugged on the glimmering bond that connected her to Rowan, smiling when he felt his response.

Love you, Princess. Rowan’s voice rumbled through her mind, and she felt a smile in his voice. Love you, too, Prince, she purred back. A satisfied rumble raised goosebumps on her arms and she laughed under her breath. Lysandra raised a dark eyebrow. “Rowan?”

Aelin flushed, and Lysandra laughed, the sound echoing through the cold halls leading into the warmth of the castle.

“Yes, as a matter of fact it was,” Aelin squinted down at Lysandra, who was still leaning against her side. “How’d you know?”

Lysandra raised her head and shrugged, “You always get that little glint in your eyes when you talk to him.” Aelin rolled her eyes. “Alright, Lady. We’ve things to do,” Lysandra groaned and laid her head back down. “How about we hide in the kitchens for two hours.” Aelin grinned and dragged her friend to the tea soaked hell that was waiting for them.

When Aelin finally finished her duties for the day and returned to her chambers, she was utterly exhausted. And aching. All over she ached with tiredness and longing. She knew she was missing her mate, but shoved down on the feeling as she started her bath. With a sigh, she stripped off her gown without much difficulty. She could have called a servant, but it was easier this way— quieter.

Aelin settled deeper into the bath, the water covering her chin. Tonight would be a long one.

The scent of jasmine and verbena caressed her nose, and she sat forward, hugging her knees to her chest. Absently, she stared at the water swirling with her movement.

  It was horribly lonely without him there; without his quiet comfort. Aelin huffed a breath and grabbed a cloth from the bench of the large tub. Without much effort, she scrubbed quickly, then rinsed with equal vigor. 

As she did so, memories of the night before slipped into her mind. The memory of how Rowan had pressed kisses beneath her jaw, his hands achingly soft against her back. How he’d wrapped his arms around her and carried her from their spot before the fire to their bed, lying her on the soft mattress with reverence. The way his hands had felt on her skin as he worshipped her like one of the zealots at the temples.

I’ll think of you every moment, Aelin. And I’ll miss you… I’ll miss your touch.

He’d breathed those words into her ear after he’d made her break upon him… Aelin closed her eyes and splashed water on her face, but it did nothing to cool the fire in her veins. The ache for him was nearly debilitating, and she’d known it would be like this. She’d been preparing for it for the past week. But somehow, when he’d rode away, it had felt like a punch to the gut. Before, the carranam bond had made it feel like she was missing a limb, but now… 

Without her mate at her side it felt like someone had removed her heart. Angrily, she slapped the water with a hand. She would not let herself mope around for three months. 

  Forcing motion into her limbs, Aelin finished quickly and stepped out of the large tub, the air outside of the now-lukewarm water was freezing against her skin, and she snatched a towel off the edge of the tub. Longing for the warmth of her bed, she dressed quickly in one of Rowan’s undershirts and a pair of fleece lined leggings, and silenced the candles burning around the room.

As she finally slid into her bed, a book in hand, Aelin realized how deeply cold she felt. The damned winters.  “Fleetfoot!” she called, and smiled as the hound leaped onto the bed, her huge tail flopping against the pine bed post.

The dog lumbered up the bed and curled up on Rowan’s side, laying her head on his pillow. The dog looked up at her with doe eyes, and snuggled onto the pillow, huffing as she settled. Aelin rolled her eyes at the ridiculous comfort of her dog, and pulled her hair over her shoulder. 

Settling back against her pillows, Aelin opened her book and began to read, but after repeating a paragraph at least three times, she decided sleep was her best option. She tossed the book on the night table and smothered the flames burning around the room. “Goodnight, Fleetfoot,” she said as she tugged the blankets around her.

The dark silence of her room pressed in on her suddenly, and a breath ripped its way from her throat. Her breath began to quicken, and she felt the meal she’d somehow found time for earlier rise in her throat. She sprang up, tossing the sheets and duvet off her in an attempt to escape

. With a gasp, she lit the candle on the nightstand. Darkness retreated in the light, and Aelin exhaled harshly. It had been a damn long time since she’d last had panic attack. Silently, she thanked the gods that it hadn’t escalated.

Aelin?

She nearly sobbed in relief as she heard Rowan’s voice rumble through her mind. Rowan— I’m fine. Truly, I just got nervous.

Aelin pressed her forehead to her knees, inhaling through her mouth, exhaling through her nose.

What was it?

The words were gentle, and she could almost see the concern in his green eyes.  

I wasn’t ready for the dark, she admitted.

Light a candle, Fireheart. You’re safe. I promise, Rowan’s voice soothed her more than she wanted to admit.

I know… I did. I’m fine.

Are you sure, Aelin? You could always go to Yrene for a tonic, or—

And though her heart ached at his worry, Aelin ran a hand through her hair and gave an exasperated sigh. I know, Rowan. Don’t get too pissy, I just panicked.

She felt his displeasure at her dismal, but ignored it. And, Your Majesty, don’t think that you get out of writing me just because we can do this.

Aelin felt his laugh, and she couldn’t fight off the weak smile tugging at her lips.

I’ll write you, Aelin. I promised.

She nodded to herself and nestled back into her pillows. She didn’t let herself think about why she needed that conformation that he was alive and writing to her.

I’m sorry I woke you… I love you, she said as she turned onto her side, and wrapped her arms around Fleetfoot.

Don’t be. And I love you, too, Aelin. Always.

With those words, Aelin felt an ease settle into her heart, and she sighed again. “Goodnight, Rowan,” she said, aloud. He was right, she thought as sleep edged its way into her body. She was safe and living and breathing, and the darkness had no chance.