#cassandra vaine

[genus-militum]

Anonymous asked - “Do you like oranges?” Cassandra holds out an orange to the stranger. ( theorphanalchemist for Adam )

@theorphanalchemist​​

It was rare for Adam to be outside during the day, but the Nest was strangely noisy for the day time, making the outside the more quiet option. 

He was sitting on a crate down the street from the Nest, the hood of his coat helping to block out the sun. Usually he was asleep by now, so things were a bit too bright for his liking. Perhaps he looked sketchy, or homeless, but people where leaving him alone, so he wasn’t about to complain. But he wasn’t expecting to be approached by a random teenager.

"Um. They’re alright. I guess.” Adam answered, turning his attention to the green haired stranger.

“Do you go around offering oranges to everyone, or just the freaks like me?“ He questioned, reaching for the offered orange.

[heartlogan]

living to learn

✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in deadpool & wolverine)

✮— summary: logan mulls over all that he has lost, and all that he has found, in the void

✮— a/n: i was enabled by yall - please heed the warnings! you dont need to read pt 1 to read this!

✮— warnings: MAJOR DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, major character deaths, angst, incredibly sad backstory, dead kids / teenagers, practically a genocide of mutants, suicidal ideation (from logan, kind of), reader acts as a mother figure for someone, incorrect dialogue from dp&w, a smidge of comfort, again ANGST, lmk if there’s more!

part one | masterlist

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It’s almost impossible not to linger on the things that you have lost.

And for Logan, it is impossible.

He spends every waking moment craving for the touch of somebody he lost, and he’s painfully aware that it’s all his fault. He caused the loss. And he’s the only one left to mourn you, because god knows the humans won’t.

Even for him, some two hundred years old, it’s all too painful. And he has experienced plenty of pain in his life. But this? Losing you? Losing everyone? It’s too much. So, he does what he can, he pours so much alcohol into his body that he can’t think, can’t imagine what your final moments must have been like.

But between bars, when his healing factor wears the alcohol down, it’s all he sees.

He imagines you there, surrounded by all of your loved ones except for him, unable to save them. And he can remember finding you so vividly, can remember the ashy tone your skin had taken on, all the life drained from you. He can remember exactly where he found you, in front of the doors, your dying action being to try and save the kids in the mansion. He prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in that you died before they did, because knowing that you hadn’t been able to save them would have killed you.

And the other X-Men, they died the same way. Trying to protect each other, trying to protect those kids. And perhaps the only one who knew that it was all in vain would’ve been Jean. Jean, who he found in front of the children.

Where was he?

At some bar, surrounded by humans he couldn’t care less about, all because he was selfish. All because he didn’t want anybody thinking he wanted to be part of the team. God forbid he actually care about something.

And because of his selfishness, his fear, he lost it all.

He lost you.

So when Wade said he could fix Logan’s universe, he would’ve done anything to make that happen. Anything that Wade asked for, he would’ve done. And as soon as his universe was fixed, Logan would go to you and get to his knees, he would beg for your forgiveness.

And all of that, that hope that had evaded him all those years, was for nothing. For an educated wish.

Logan couldn’t do anything but resort to his old habits, grabbing the first bottle of actual alcohol he saw, and finally numbing the image of you dead in his arms.

“There’s five of us.” Elektra told Wade, and Logan paid her no mind. Everything was futile now, pointless. He was only helping Wade to help the team, to help you, and that was likely impossible. So whatever these so-called heroes were planning, he wanted no part in it.

Logan had already secured his legacy in his universe, and it wasn’t the one you had always imagined for him. He was the Wolverine, and he was every bit of violence that name suggested. Because even though he hadn’t been able to save the X-Men, he sure as hell got his vengeance. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, until every single human who was remotely involved in the blood bath at X-Mansion was dead.

You wouldn’t have been proud of his actions, true, but you were dead.

Cassandra had mentioned something about temperance, earlier, and it hadn’t taken him long to recognise that you were the anchor of his. Without you, Logan hadn’t managed any sort of self-restraint. He had slaughtered people. And he could only bring himself to regret those that hadn’t quite deserved it.

By the time the red had faded from his vision, Logan realised he had gone too far. He hadn’t just killed the ones who had murdered his friends, but anyone in connection to them, and anyone who had gotten in his way. The only reason he wasn’t arrested was because they were too afraid of him, and the only reason he hadn’t been killed was because he couldn’t fucking die.

Even the fuckers that had slaughtered the X-Men couldn’t figure out how to kill him, and that was a sick kind of irony.

“Logan, that’s who I was telling you about! X-23!” Wade said excitedly, pointing across the room at a teenage girl, who stared at him like she was seeing a ghost. From the sound of what Wade had said earlier, she probably was.

And the sight of her, for some reason, tugged at his chest. He drowned the feeling with more whiskey.

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“Hey.” Laura greeted you, fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she watched you enter the back of the base, carrying a bag full of food. She seemed nervous, and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Hey, Laura, everythin’ alright?” You asked fondly, glancing at her as you started unpacking the supplies that you’d found scattered across the void.

She hesitated, glancing back through the doorway she was stood in, before focusing on you. “Yeah. Uh, I need to talk to you.” She said, sounding incredibly serious, which wasn’t unusual for her. Laura had been through so much, including everything that she had told you about her life before the void. Being here hadn’t made her life any better.

You immediately paused your actions, and turned your full attention towards the teenager across from you. You nodded for her to start.

“I was out patrolling earlier, and I found some people.” Laura said slowly, thinking her words over thoroughly before she spoke them aloud. She didn’t want to make this any worse. “I drove them here, and we’ve made a plan to attack Cassandra’s first thing. Except for one of the two, who doesn’t want to help.”

“Okay…” You said cautiously, almost confused. “This all sounds good, doesn’t it? Whoever they are, they can stay here if they want. Fill me in on the plan, and we’ll handle it.”

“It’s… okay. It’s about who they are.” She clarified finally, giving up on trying to approach the situation cautiously. “It’s a variant of him. Of Logan.”

Your chest squeezed painfully immediately, and you hand to hold a hand to your sternum to try and ease it. If it were any other situation, Laura may have made a joke about you having a heart attack, but she knew better. She knew how she had felt when she first saw the man, so she could imagine how you were feeling.

Immediately, your heart was torn between rushing to see him, and refusing to lay your eyes on the man at all. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him, or, well, a variant of him.

It hurt too much. Every day you were reminded of how you had failed to save him, but you had to keep going, for the others in the void. Because they needed you, just as much as you needed them. Laura needed you.

She knew your pain all too well, having lost her own Logan. So you knew what she was telling you was the truth. There was really, finally, a Wolverine variant in the void.

“You okay?” Laura asked, after you had been silent for more moments than she was comfortable with. She was looking at you with such concern, and you could tell that her own heart was practically bursting in her chest from the sight of him.

“Are you?” You asked in return, eyebrows raised as you finally started to get a grip on yourself, shaking yourself from the pit of loss you had begun to get stuck in. She nodded, and you nodded yourself before pausing to think. “And this… Logan, he doesn’t want to join to Cassandra’s?”

Laura shook her head, looking down momentarily. “No. He’s… he’s as messed up as my Logan was.”

You approached her, drawing her into a silent hug. She squeezed you tightly, and the strength her mutation — Logan’s mutation — had given her wasn’t lost on you.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” You asked her quietly, and felt her nod against your shoulder. “Alright. Where is he?” You questioned, silently steeling yourself to face a copy of the man you had lost. The man you had loved.

She pointed you in the right direction, letting you go with a simple, “Good luck.” The entire walk outside, you were holding your breath, trying to prepare yourself somehow. As if this was something you would ever be able to prepare for.

And the moment you saw him, you knew it was all in vain. Because nothing could’ve prepared you for seeing him again, after all this time.

For a moment, it felt as though time was stood still, suspended.

Until he opened his mouth. “‘M not lookin’ for company.”

It was him. His familiar voice. The voice that you would’ve recognised anywhere, even after so long not having heard it. He sounded just the same as your own Logan, the same gruff tone to his voice, all grumpy expressions and furrowed brows. You could imagine it all as though your Logan was still alive, as though he was actually here. It took more than a moment for you to recall that this wasn’t your Logan.

You shuffled over to the log he sat on, the sun setting over the trees surrounding the two of you. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips, glancing at you as you sat. His entire body went shock still, and he turned to look at you fully.

You smiled, and prayed he said nothing about the way your eyes became watery. “Hi, Logan.”

He said your name, sounding as though he was a mere man sat before a god, reverent. The bottle slipped from his hand as he spoke it aloud, his eyes watering immediately, his lip trembling as he looked at you like he was seeing you for the very first time.

“Are you… her?” He asked hesitantly, hand hovering halfway towards you, and you hated to be the bearer of bad news. But if you had to be conscious that he wasn’t yours, it was only fair for him to know the truth.

Reluctantly, you shook your head. “I’m sorry. I’m not your version of me, and you’re not my version of you.”

His hand fell to his lap, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you for a moment. He seemed reluctant to believe you, and you couldn’t blame him. He looked just like your version of him, grey streaks and all. But it wasn’t him, you knew, because he wasn’t coughing up blood, wasn’t actively dying in your arms.

You cleared your throat, glancing to the fire before him, watching the way the smoke curled into the slowly darkening sky. “My Logan died. I—I couldn’t save you. I’ve been here, in the void, for a year, I think.” You elaborated slightly, not wanting to overwhelm him with information. “I’d like to go home. Mourn my losses.”

He stared at you, saying nothing, fingers still outstretched where his hand lay.

“Laura said you weren’t coming with in the morning. I was hoping you might change your mind. We need your help.” You continued, trying to remain convincing despite the shake in your voice.

But that seemed to do the opposite of what you wanted, and he blinked out of the trance he had been in. He started shaking his head immediately, fingers clenching into a fist. “You got the wrong guy. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

“Maybe not, but, Laura told me you were always the wrong guy, up until you weren’t. And to her, that means something. To me, too.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t pull away further than he already had. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to lose another Logan. You wanted to see him and his friend succeed, even if you didn’t. Maybe, this time, this Logan, you could save him.

“You don’t get it.” Logan refuted, shaking his head, glancing towards the fire as the sun finally finished descending the horizon. He seemed to get lost in the blaze, and you watched his eyes become unfocused, showing him images that weren’t really there. “I failed them. My team. You.”

You stayed quiet, wondering if he was going to elaborate, or if he was too caught up in his vision.

“D’you know something’?” He asked, blinking until the fire came back into focus. “You used to beg me to wear this suit. So did Storm, Scott, Beast. All of you. And I refused, because god forbid anybody believe I wanted to be there.”

“What happened?” You asked him, wanting to reach for his hand, but knowing it wouldn’t help him get through this.

“I went out. And the humans went mutant hunting. By the time I stumbled home shit-faced from the bar… you—you were all dead. Every single mutant in that house.” He explained, his voice shaking, his lower lip trembling once again. You were almost certain he was seeing those images again, because he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

A surge of sympathy shot through you. You wanted so badly to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but you knew he wouldn’t believe it.

“So now I wear this goddamn suit as a reminder. To remember all of you. To make sure I never forget what I did.”

You released a deep sigh, the story sounding familiar to you, in some ways. He glanced over at you, seeing somebody else for a moment. After another few seconds, you reached into your shirt and pulled out the dog tags you had been carrying with you. You turned them over in your hand, running your thumb over the inscription.

He glanced wearily at them, and you reached out, grasping his fist in your own hand and pulling it loose until you could fit the dog tags in his hand, which you then squeezed shut. “I carry these with me, for the same reason. To remind myself that I failed you. That I can’t take that back. That I have to do better, even if all I want to do is give up. You aren’t the only one who did something wrong, here. If I could fix my mistakes, I would, but I can’t. So I carry on. For Laura. For anyone who needs it. And it seems like this… Wade needs it. From you.”

His hand was splayed open, turning over the dog tags in his palm as he listened intently to you.

“Be the hero you weren’t the first time around.” You told him finally, reaching out and placing your palm in his, squeezing around the dog tags, before letting go.

You went to stand, and he stood after you, reaching out.

“I—I know you aren’t her. I know that. But can I pretend, for a minute, that you are?” He asked you, and the vulnerability of the request wasn’t lost on you. Your Logan rarely ever asked for anything, even if he desperately needed it, so you could only imagine the courage that this Logan had mustered to ask you that.

You nodded, silent.

There was a pause, and he looked into your eyes, searching for something that you didn’t know you possessed. But he seemed to find it.

“‘M sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Logan told you at last, the apology seeming to burst from the depths of his chest. “I love you. I have loved you the whole time. I should have told you as soon as I felt it.” He confessed, and you saw the dog tags hanging from his fingers as he reached for you. And you couldn’t help yourself — you reached right back.

Your hands landed on either side of his face, so full of care, and you watched the tear run down his cheek. His own hands gripped you tightly, scared to let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, voice broken.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You told him firmly, before rushing forward, pulling him into a hug so tight you could’ve heard his metal bones creak. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, and held you tight. “I don’t blame you. I love you.” You said, breathing the words into his ear as though that would make him believe it. He gripped you tighter, squeezing you against him. “I love you.”

You cradled the back of his head with one hand, pressing him close, because you were just as scared to let him go. Distantly, you heard Laura call your name.

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, only to press your forehead against his for a minute. You could pretend that he was your Logan, selfishly, just for a moment more.

Laura got closer, calling out your name once more, and you pulled back to look in his eyes. “I love you.” He told you one last time, before he allowed you to pull yourself from his grasp.

You had no idea whether he would be joining your group tomorrow, but you walked away from him with an empty chest, wiping away the tears that had dared to fall during the encounter. You would leave the last of the motivational speech to Laura, who you smiled gently at as you passed her in the woods, nodding towards where Logan still stood.

Logan had gotten what he needed from you. And you, from him.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 5!!!!!

Okay I promised I'd share my Splinter reference notes, so here I am! Also wanna take a moment to thank everyone reblogging the prev. parts. All the tags/notes are so sweet!!! Anyway, here's our one and only Rat Man,

Splinter Character Notes

Language Habits:

Catchphrase: "HOOOOOT SOUP!!!"

Will yell "whoa/oh nelly!" when in a tight spot or stumbling around

Makes puns/dad jokes, and laughs at said jokes to himself

A poor liar, will skirt around the truth until you drop it

Penchant for interrupting people if he's not interested, devout user of "yada, yada", "ah, bup, bup, bup"

Verbalizes his attacks/moves, something his sons pick up on. Could be a habit picked up from his action star days, such moves include: lights off jitsu, and slow motion jitsu

Uses 2010's slang, (i.e. "totes", "chillaxed"), could see him incorrectly using up to date slang to embarrass his boys

In a group refers to his sons as "boys"

One by one will refer to his sons by their designated colors, but will pull out the full name (not nickname) if the situation is serious

Also refers to Donnie as "the funny one"

Personality:

A performer, well he is an actor after all. He knows how to captivate an audience. Splinter likes attention--something that may be connected to his strict childhood with high expectations--but he also performs for his boys. To keep them happy, but most importantly safe. This also means he keeps his true emotions tucked closely to his chest

Jovial. Despite his dark past and heavy responsibility thrust upon him at a young age, Splinter is always laughing. He finds the fun in everything

Secretive. As mentioned before, Splinter tends to keep things close to his chest. Despite this, he's a terrible liar. He'll just avoid the truth until it comes back to bite him in the ass. This makes him sometimes a little emotionally unavailable

Lazy. He always finds the easiest way to do something, and procrastinate on his responsibilities as long as possible

Vain. He's glory seeking for all the proper attention he lost in his youth. So the Lou Jitsu aspect of his life boosted his ego in irreparable ways. He also uses the identity of Lou Jitsu to escape from the idea of being stuck as a rat. Glorifying the past is way to find comfort for him

Adrenaline junkie. Part of that glory-seeking and glorification of the past manifests into him needing adrenaline to feel alive. (i.e. when he steals the tank)

Attentive and empathetic. He can be a little hare-brained when it comes to remembering the details, but he's always very attentive to his sons needs. In flashbacks he's shown to supply them with items needed for their interests (i.e. little Mikey gets art supplies), and always apologizes when he messes up (i.e. the conversation he had with Donnie). This empathy also extends to other people and animals, as he was sympathetic with Cassandra when she was lamenting about the foot clan and was immediately worried about the turtles Draxum had in his lab

Protective. He would sacrifice everything to save his sons, and he does

Miscellaneous:

His tail is Very expressive, and one of the most active parts of his body, so if you want to subtley show emotion I'd focus on that

Has a Lou Jitsu body pillow

Remembers all his stunt double's names

Snores loudly

Talented singer, can sing opera and lived next to a karaoke bar in Japan

The show he watches the most is called "Soapy Treadmill", a Japanese game show where they throw things like scorpions at people who are soapy on treadmills

Has a "do not touch!" cabinet, full of trophies, mystic artifacts, and mementos of his past

I have a List of all the mentioned Lou Jitsu movie names mentioned in S1, but I'm probably gonna wait till the end of my S2 rewatch and post it separately (it's also long too). Will link here!

I'm also gonna add a recommendation here at the end.

This is for the white and non East Asian folks. I'm not as well-versed in East Asian or Japanese culture, but Splinter is a first generation immigrant! He keeps a distance from his heritage because of the trauma of his youth, and the role Lou Jitsu probably also forced him to westernize his identity to make it more palpable to Hollywood. But it would be a disservice to sever parts of his identity, because one is uncomfortable or not knowledgeable in writing it.

For my white folks intimidated by writing a person of color because they want to get it right, research always helps. Research helps with everything!!! writingwithcolor here on tumblr actually has a lot of useful resources, here's their guideline, and a research chart one of their moderators created, which I personally found to be very helpful. I believe their ask box is closed right now, but if you ask questions in the future be nice!!!!

Anyway I'm gonna do April next :)

[scarltzwitch]

UNEXPECTED CONFESSIONS — WADE W. WILSON.

PAIRING: Wade Wilson x Howlett!OFC.

SUMMARY: After an overwhelming battle against Cassandra Nova, the Howlett family tries to settle into Wade's universe. You feel pressured by your sister, Laura, to talk to him. Overwhelmed, you step out onto the balcony, where Wade follows you and, in a moment of sincerity, confesses his feelings for you. Surprised, you realize that you feel the same way. The encounter ends in a kiss, marking the beginning of an unexpected and special relationship, observed and supported by your small family.

WARNINGS: Bad jokes. Amateur writer.

So, here’s the problem. You feel something for Wade Wilson, the best friend of the variant of your real father, Logan Howlett. Just like the rest of your small family (both Laura and Logan), you were an experiment called "X-15," created through Logan's DNA. After Charles and Logan died, you were left in Laura's care, but that didn’t stop the TVA from taking you both to the Void once they saw you were no longer useful. You had lost all hope, but thanks to Laura's long walks through the woods, you found a new reason to climb out of that dark place.

Now, you were in Wade's small apartment, where you had decided to organize a little family reunion after a long trip to what would be your new home. You were grateful for the new opportunity Wade was giving you in his universe. You were so deep in thought that you didn’t hear Laura calling your name.

“Hey, are you listening, or are you thinking about Wade again?” your younger sister whispered in your right ear, hoping that her father or Wade himself wouldn’t hear her. But that ended up being in vain because both of them looked up at you.

“Me? Thinking about Wade? You're crazy,” you replied nervously. “Why? Why do you ask?” you said, trying to relax while holding Dogpool in your arms, who was playing on your lap.

“It’s obvious on your face that you want to talk to him, why don’t you try?” Laura whispered to her older sister while grabbing Dogpool's paws.

“Just shut up, will you?”

Fed up with Laura’s insistence that you talk to Wade, who was happily chatting with Vanessa, his ex, you turned to her with a serious expression. “I’m going to get some fresh air, don’t get in the way,” you said quietly, leaving the puppy with her, grabbing your coat, and heading out to the balcony of the apartment, ignoring the others’ stares, looking for a bit of peace away from Laura’s tormenting questions.

You leaned on the railing, enjoying the fresh air as it brushed your face while you tried to calm your thoughts. You were so lost in your reflections that, despite your ability to hear the slightest sound, you didn’t catch the approaching footsteps. Feeling a presence behind you, purely by instinct, you turned around, revealing your sharp claws in defense mode, ready to protect yourself.

You turned so quickly that you barely had time to process who was there before your claws gleamed in the sunset light. Wade stopped in his tracks, raising his hands in surrender, with that mischievous smile you couldn’t help but find charming, though you wouldn’t want to admit it.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy, Tigress,” he said, slowly lowering his hands. “It’s just me, the handsome guy who was in there chatting with his new friends. It’s not a big deal, right?”

You lowered your claws and looked at him with a mix of surprise and annoyance. “What are you doing here, Wade? I thought you were busy with Vanessa.”

Wade took a step closer, his gaze softening as he observed the unease in your eyes. “And miss the chance to be alone with you in a romantic scene that the readers would enjoy? Even I’m not that dumb.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help a small smile. “Always so dramatic.”

“It’s one of my charms,” he replied, tapping his chest. Then his tone changed, becoming more serious. “Listen, I know Laura’s been bugging you to talk to me, and I know I’m not the ideal guy. But… I don’t want you to keep thinking that everything is a joke to me.”

The sincerity in his words surprised you, a side of Wade he rarely showed. You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“What I’m trying to say,” he continued, nervously scratching his neck, “is that… I care about you. More than I thought possible for a fool like me. And I know I’m a mess, but when I’m with you, everything seems to make more sense.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t common for Wade to be so open with his feelings, and the tenderness in his voice made you lower your guard completely. Before you could think of a response, he took another step closer, narrowing the space between you.

“What I’m trying to say, and I’m doing it horribly, is that I like you. A lot. And I’d love to know if maybe, just maybe, you feel the same.”

The vulnerability in his gaze disarmed you. You took a deep breath, stepping toward him, closing the remaining space between you. “Wade… I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice soft but firm.

He smiled, that radiant smile he rarely showed, reserved only for special moments. Without saying another word, he leaned in, and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips meet yours in a kiss that was sweet, tender, and full of all the emotions you both had been holding back.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, leaving the two of you lost in that instant, where nothing else existed but the warmth of one in the other’s arms. When you finally pulled away, Wade rested his forehead against yours, whispering softly, “I never thought someone like you could like someone like me. Thanks for proving me wrong.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I think we have a lot to learn from each other, Wade. But I’m willing to try.”

He nodded, and in that moment, you knew that things between you were changing, for the better. Wade took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, both of you enjoying the shared silence, knowing there was no rush for what came next.

You were so focused on each other that you barely noticed the soft click of a shutter. A sudden flash surprised you both, and you turned your heads to see your small family group gathered at the window, smiling and holding a camera.

“That’s going straight to the familiar album!” Yukio commented with a knowing smile, clearly delighted for her friends.

Wade let out a soft laugh, not letting go of your hand, while you couldn’t help but blush a little. “Well, I guess it’s not a secret anymore,” he murmured, looking at Yukio with a mix of amusement and gratitude. But instead of being upset, the presence of your friends and their support made you feel more secure, as if that moment was even more special, shared with those who mattered the most to you.

“Why don’t we make that picture worth it?” you said, turning your attention back to Wade, your eyes sparkling with complicity. He smiled, understanding the invitation, and kissed you again, this time with a little more confidence, knowing that, whatever happens, you weren’t alone in this anymore.

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[ @nikkicloudie ]

Hi, hi! I'm really, really sorry for the delay, but here’s the Wade Wilson x Howlett!Reader one-shot. I hope you enjoy it!

— XOXO, LILY.

[blackmistral]

Bound by Love - Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader/OC

Omg first of all - HI! so no one knows me here (😞) but if any of you ever wrote a fanfic about Alcina, i most probably read it bc i'm literally in love with her! I began writing this a long time ago for myself and decided to finish it to publish it here! My first language isn't english and I originally wrote it in french so I hope the translation isn't too bad! Please feedback for any mistakes! (it's so goddamn short ngl)

The path to the village was by no means hard to access. The only real dangers were the traps and the lycans - who nevertheless kept a relatively safe distance from the young woman. But on this day, there was no such danger.

   Laura made her own way to the village to go to the night market, claiming she didn't mind the task. Alcina Dimitrescu's three daughters, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela, had all offered to accompany her, but she had told them she'd be quicker on her own. So, she dressed warmly, given Romania's capricious October weather, and went out with nothing more than a sorrel basket and a small purse. She hadn't gone to notify Alcina of her departure, since she was still working in her office and wish not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

   So, she headed down towards the village, keeping an eye on her surroundings. The trees around her looked threatening, as if they were warning her off. As she went deeper into the forest and looked back for a moment, she noticed that she could no longer see the castle in the fog. Clenching her fists for courage, she started walking faster. Each step seemed to lead her back towards an uncertain danger; and she widened her eyes when she spotted a large shadow behind her. It must have been there for some time, but the bad weather had prevented the young woman from seeing properly. A hand came to rest on her right shoulder, and she jumped. Thinking at first of a lycan, she was, for a moment, calmed by the realization that the figure behind her was not a monster but a man. But when she looked at his dirt-covered face, she was astonished to discover that there was nothing human about his gaze. He was glaring at her bitterly, as if she wasn't really to his liking. A wry smile appeared after a few seconds, however, and she suddenly remembered that she was alone - and defenseless - against this stranger.

   “Did you get lost, pretty girl?”

   His voice sounded to her like a low growl, meant to be threatening. Laura tried to step aside and answer, but the hand on her shoulder moved abruptly to her throat and grabbed her neck. It was hard to breathe now, and the realization hit her once again. Not only was she alone, but she wasn't expected back at the castle for at least another hour. Alcina, she thought. She imagined her face until the grip around her neck tightened and the man pushed her to the ground. She tried to catch her breath, but her assailant came dangerously close, giving her no respite.

   She wondered how this had happened. Alcina had told her, warned her, that she shouldn't go out alone. Laura had found her reasons somewhat foolish before, until now.

   He threw himself at her, a terrifying smile plastered on his face. She began to cry now, her tears falling into the mud. The man grabbed her jacket and blouse and yanked them off, tossing the clothes aside. She was now in her underwear and bra, her face twisted in fear, trying in vain to scream for help. She felt naked, humiliated. He moved his fingers towards her chest, ignoring her pleas and cries, forcing one of his hands over her mouth to silence her. It was when he touched her breast that a ferocious growl was heard, stopping the man in his doing. He frowned.

   “What the hell?”

   Behind him, a shadow nearly ten foot tall made him break out into a cold sweat. He turned around slowly, and Laura recognized her. She'd recognized her by the rumble in her voice. Alcina. She now approached at full speed, growling again, and sank her outstretched claws into the mortal's throat. Blood splattered onto her white dress, but she paid it no mind, her gaze fixed on the one she was about to kill.

   “My wife. My partner. You dare lay your hands on her? Prostule!” she exclaimed almost breathlessly, the rage consuming her.

   He choked as he tried to answer, but she dug her claws into his chest, and he stopped breathing. Laura watched the scene before her, torn between relief and fear. Alcina dropped the lifeless body to the ground, seeming to regain awareness of what she had done. She rushed over - still with the same elegance that fascinated Laura - and knelt beside her, taking her in her arms.

   “My darling,” she murmured.

   Laura noticed that Alcina was trembling too and put her arms around her neck.

   “Alcina... Alcina,” she sobbed.

   “I'm here, comoara mea.”

   The vampire ran her gloved hand through the young woman's hair and embraced her, rising to her original height. Laura wrapped her legs as best she could around her broad torso and rested her head on her breasts. She was still sobbing, shocked by the events that had taken place in such a short space of time. Alcina stayed silent and walked carefully to the castle.

***  

   Inside, the oil lamps were still burning brightly. Laura's skin was pale, slightly bluish at the tips, and her teeth were chattering. Alcina went straight across the central courtyard and into the building where their apartments and luxurious bathroom were located. A bathtub, with gigantic dimensions to match the vampire's supernatural size, was set in a corner of the room, near a window overlooking the forest below. Alcina placed Laura gently on the cabinet and sat her down, then tried to pull away; unsuccessfully, in view of the small, trembling hand that held her by the sleeve of her dress.

   “I'll just run some hot water, darling. I'll only be a moment.”

   When the young woman nodded softly and let go of the cloth, Alcina moved to the bathtub and turned on the hot water tap. She added one of her wife's favorite foaming soaps, then returned to her. Laura had never looked so fragile. True, she was a “tiny” woman, but this was one of the only times she'd seen her so terrified.

   It was a sight she never wanted to see again.

   She approached again and slowly ran her hands over the marks on Laura's neck.

    “My beloved... Forgive me for not having been here before. As soon as I knew you were in danger...”

   The vampire lowered her face to her wife's throat and planted her canines delicately in the mark she had given her at their wedding. Laura stroked Alcina's hair as she kissed the bruises. The brunette took Alcina's face in her hands and gave her a tired but sincere smile.

   “I'm fine now. You saved me, as you always have.”

   Yet, despite her reassuring words, Laura was still trembling. Alcina stepped aside, undressed and removed Laura's remaining clothes with ease, then led the young woman to the bath. She placed her at the front of the tub and settled herself behind her before pulling her back against her chest. Warm and tender kisses were placed on the nape of her neck and Laura sighed.

   “For a moment, I thought... it was too late,” she whispered.

   The big arms around her instinctively tightened and Alcina nestled her nose in his neck.

   “I'll always be there to protect you. From anyone and anything. I sensed you were in danger the moment you came across that... horrible lucru stupid de om.”

   Alcina growled softly, then tenderly kissed the back of the young woman's neck.

   “When I sensed your fear, your anguish... the first thing I did was look for you all over the castle. The girls came to see me and told me you'd left... Why didn't you warn me? You know the risks of leaving my lands alone, my angel.”

   “I didn't want to bother you,” Laura admitted. “You're so stressed with the investors these days…”

   “Those stupid incompetents - and my wine - are not my priority. You are my priority,” Alcina whispered, turning the brunette's head to rub her cheek against hers. “I apologize if I let you think otherwise.”

   Hearing these words, Laura turned in her wife's embrace to face her.

   “I didn't mean it that way. Even though I often find it hard to believe, I know you love me,” she said, smiling sheepishly, her cheeks flushed. “And I'm enormously grateful. Without you and our daughters... I'd be nothing.”

   Alcina ran a hand through her companion's sleek hair and smiled back.

   “Just like us, darling.”

***

   When the water turned cold and Laura had fallen asleep, Alcina decided it was time for them to go to bed. Their daughters had probably gone hunting, and it was late in the night by now.

   Once settled comfortably in their bed and dressed in a light nightgown belonging to Alcina, Laura looked peaceful, the vampire thought. She lay down beside her and wrapped her arms around her again. Alcina was by no means an insecure woman. She was afraid of nothing and nobody. But in the presence of such a fragile being... She couldn't help wondering if she would ever be too late.    She frowned. “No one's going to take you away from me. I love you too much for that to happen.”

[misseviehyde]

GHOST LIT

Melissa had never thought she would meet the love of her life, fall instantly in love and get married so quickly, (especially after being single for so long) - but all her dreams had finally come true.  Dan was gorgeous - a well-read and well-spoken gentleman who had an impeccable taste in fashion and interior decoration and was the CEO of a small, but successful limited company.  

Melissa was a piano teacher, and she'd met Dan when he came for lessons.  As he brushed back his sexy hair and grinned at her with his confident smile, she'd felt her stomach flutter and known she had finally met the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Her heart had sank when she'd seen the wedding ring on his finger, but he'd blushed at her gaze - almost reading her mind.

"I... was... married.  She died in an accident.  I still wear the ring, though I don't know why.  My former wife... well she wasn't a very nice person.  It wasn't until she died that I realised she'd been dominating my life, gas-lighting me into thinking everything was my fault.  She had me totally under her heel and treated me very poorly.  Sorry, I shouldn't speak so ill of the dead, but I'm glad she died, I finally feel free.  That's why I'm having these lessons, I want to live - I want to finally do all the things I should have done when I was married to Cassandra."

They'd hit it off immediately and begun dating a week later.  A year later and they were married - and Melissa was finally moving into Dan's amazing mansion home.  She didn't care that he was rich, or that he'd lived here with his evil ex-wife... all that mattered was that she was finally with the man of her dreams.

Still - as they passed into the house, Melissa couldn't help but shiver.  The house still bore the marks of Cassandra's spoiled influence.  The more Melissa had learned of the evil, manipulative, vain and cruel Cassandra - the more she was glad she had never met the bitch.  She wondered how Dan had ended up with such a bad girl - or why he had allowed her to gaslight him for so long.  Dan had told him that Cassandra had even fucked other guys, but somehow made him feel it was his fault for being an inadequate lover. 

"She gets into your head and makes you her puppet," he had sighed sadly.  "Sorry - I mean, got into your head.  You know... it's funny, but sometimes I almost feel like she is still here. Crazy I know! Just ignore me, I'm being a fool of course."

That had really made Melissa shiver.  The thought that Dan's ex-wife might be haunting the house - watching them like some malicious purveyor really made her feel uncomfortable.  Good job she didn't believe in ghosts. 

"This is our home now baby," she had smiled. "We're going to be happy here.  Now forget all about your ex-wife and lets start our new life together."

****

In the dark corners of the bedroom an evil spirit gloated as it watched Melissa innocently unpack her things. At last - a woman was here.  A weak, willed, goody-two-shoes of a woman.  A foolish little slut with no idea of the transformation she was going to undergo. Cassandara smiled as she drifted close to her victim and tasted her innocent spirit.  Sustained by spite and bitterness, the spirit of Dan's former wife looked appraisingly at Melissa as an artist might look at a piece of clay.  So much potential... so much fun to be had.

Melissa shivered and she turned her head, almost as if she sensed something.  Weird, it felt like she was being watched.  For a moment the tension seemed to stretch out and then Melissa shrieked and nearly jumped out of her skin, as with a clatter, something fell from the top of the wardrobe... almost as if it had been pushed off.  Regaining her composure, Melissa convinced herself the object had fallen naturally and walked over to pick it up.  It was a jewel case containing a DVD.  Why it had been hidden on top of the wardrobe, she wasn't sure.  

"What the hell is this?" she mused, walking over to the bedroom TV and sliding the DVD into the player beneath. It whirred up and Melissa sat on the bed to watch.  To her surprise when the screen came on, it showed a video of the very bedroom she was now sitting it, only it was at night.  Red candles and soft lighting lit the room, and the sheets were white satin.

Melissa gasped and her hand went to her mouth as she saw two figures on the bed.  One was Dan, only slightly younger looking - the other was an amazing looking woman with a perfect, toned, body and firm full breasts.  Her body oozed sensuality as with a moan of pleasure she lowered herself onto Dan's cock and began to ride him.

Melissa watched in horror as the woman in the video fucked her husband.  Fucked.  That was the only way to describe it. When she and Dan had sex it was gentle love-making, this was like watching a porn video.  Dan's face was a mask of ecstasy, the woman on top of him moaning as she thrust her hips obscenely like she wanted to suck his dick up into herself and she took his straining cock deeper and deeper inside her.

"Oh Cassie, fuck me," he moaned... "I need you so badly."

"That's right Dan," she hissed, "my pussy controls you - only I can make you feel this way.  Say it."

"YES! OH YES, CASSIE, your pussy owns me - you're better than every other woman.  Only you can make me feel this way."

"Mmmmmh, good boy - I will ALWAYS be in control of your life."

Melissa felt sick to her stomach, yet she couldn't stop watching.  Cassie bounced on top of Dan with hot wet slaps, moaning and laughing as she squeezed her tight pussy around his dick and made him hers.  Dan was shaking, his uncontrollable lust for his bitch wife clear to see.  His eyes shone with devotion and with a wracking sob, Melissa realised he had never looked at her like that.  

"Oh my God Dan, why did I have to see this?" she sobbed.  "I thought we had a special connection, but now I see what you were like with her... you'll never need me like you needed her.  I can't believe this, I can't compete with that bitch!"

Hearing movement downstairs, Melissa quickly turned off the DVD, ejected and hid it under the bed.  She used some tissues to quickly blot her tears and put on a fake smile as Dan entered the room.  He walked over and put his arm around her lovingly.  "Everything okay baby?"

"Of course," she lied, "everything is fine."

****

It was hours later and Melissa couldn't sleep.  She couldn't stop thinking about the DVD and what she had seen.  The scene seemed to replay in her mind again and again and again.  As she lay in the bed, tossing and turning, with Dan snoring next to her, she wanted to scream but she couldn't.

Grinning maliciously, Cassandra floated over to Melissa and took a position up behind the bed-head. Reaching down she slid her spectral fingers towards Melissa's brow and sighed pleasurably as her phantasmal digits slid into the other woman's head.  She'd tried this before, but Melissa's unconscious mental defences had been too strong.  Now her mind was wide open.

Melissa groaned in relief as a sudden cool sensation seemed to slide into her head.  After hours of restlessness, she suddenly felt drowsy, and though the sex scene in her head continued to play - it no longer made her feel sad.  Instead she began to feel horny as she watched the lovers fuck.

The memory became a dream, and as she watched the lovers rutting - Cassie's face seemed to melt like wax and then reform.  With a gasp of astonishment Melissa realised she was now watching herself riding Dan - only, with a body like Cassie's.  Melissa couldn't believe how good her face looked on that bitchy body, all tanned and perfect.  She felt her heart beat faster and a sudden yearning to be like the woman in her dream and make this fantasy come true began to fill her mind.

Why not become more like Cassie?  Why not see if you can make Dan lust for you like he used to lust for her?

Melissa sighed happily in her dreams as strange thoughts and whispers filled her mind and her lips twisted into a unfamiliar smile.  Finally she slept, and her dreams were sooooo naughty that night...

*****

Dan blinked in surprise as he walked into the kitchen to find Melissa on a stool whistling and doing her makeup.  For a second he was struck by deja-vu then he realised why.  

"Melissa, are you wearing my ex-wife's clothes?  What the hell? I packed all that stuff away in the garage months ago!  Did you go unbox it?"

Melissa looked at him in confusion.  "Baby, I found this stuff in my wardrobe, I thought since you'd left it out, you wouldn't mind me wearing it.  I never thought of wearing clothes like this before, these leather pants feel really nice. Don't you like how they look?"

Dan had to admit that Melissa did look good in Cassie's bitchy clothes... he felt his cock twitch. There was something kind of hot about nice girl Melissa being a bit more like his nympho-ex, but why was she lying to him?  

"Melissa, tell the truth - I never left those clothes out - you must have got them from the garage."

Melissa frowned, "Dan - I promise you, they were in my wardrobe when I woke up this morning.  Are you accusing me of being a liar?"

"Of course not," he said reluctantly - but full now of spite, he snapped - "They don't fit you anyway, you'd need to lose weight and tone up to pull those off."

Melissa scowled. "Maybe I will then!" she snarled, stomping off back up to the bedroom.

Dan immediately regretted being mean to Melissa, but he was too proud to go apologise, so he left her to fester.

Cassie smiled as she invisibly watched - it had all played out exactly as she had known it would.  Floating through the wall into the bedroom she smirked as she floated behind Melissa and slid her fingers into the other woman's head.  They slid in easier now, like Melissa's mind was embracing their touch - almost pulling them in.

Melissa's eyes widened slightly and a lovely relaxed feeling throbbed through her body as Cassie's evil influence pulsed into her body.  The clothes seemed to pulse with the same corruption, Melissa was now encased in Cassie's bitchiness and it was starting to transfer into her body.

He's right - you do need to tone up and shape up - and you will.  You know you deserve to wear these clothes and you only want to dress like this.  Throw away all your old clothes, go to the garage and take all of Cassie's things - replace your entire wardrobe with hers.  Dan will only lust for you if you become more like Cassie.  Do it...

Melissa moaned as her brain pulsed with pleasure.  Standing up she walked to her wardrobe and with a sneer, began to rip her old clothes out.  It was time to upgrade... and join a gym.

****

"Yes, this is more like it," smiled Melissa as she admired herself in the mirror a few weeks later.  The amount of weight and toning up that she had achieved in such a small amount of time was incredible. In fact, it was almost supernatural.  If she didn't know better she'd say that some outside force had been assisting her - speeding up her physical transformation from a slightly frumpy housewife into a toned and athletic looking hottie.

Dan had certainly noticed, but not complained - their sex becoming more ambitious and his pleasure in her superior body noticeable.  Melissa had almost completely stopped playing the piano or taking lessons in order to shape up and Dan hadn't objected when she had told him she wouldn't be contributing to the finances this month. 

In truth, he felt guilty that he had told Melissa she needed to shape up, and his guilt gave her power over him. Power Melissa was starting to enjoy.

She walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed.  All at once the delicious tingling throbbing feeling she got in her head whenever she was in this room came back and she smiled happily.  She always had her best ideas in the bedroom - it was almost like someone was projecting ideas into her head and the more she relaxed and welcomed it, the faster the ideas seemed to come. 

"Yes, I should try on some of the tighter, bitchier, clothes that Cassie used to own. I can probably fit into them now," grinned Melissa as she opened the wardrobe where she had put all the naughtiest clothes she had found - but had not quite been able to fit into - in.  Now she was about the same body build as Cassie though, it should be easy.

Melissa shivered as she stroked the latex clothing, faux-fur, leather boots and bougie jewellery on display.  Could she really wear this stuff?  It seemed like something some sort of slutty bad bitch might wear.

"Hurry up and try them on... you're going to feel sooooo fucking hot and horny in those clothes.  Haven't you seen how Dan has been responding to your physical improvements, next you need to start acting like a bad-bitch.  He enjoys being bullied and pushed around, it actually turns him on.  Try it. Put on an outfit and go tease him."

Melissa shivered and nodded.  Sometimes it felt like there was a voice in her mind whispering such deliciously evil things to her, but she had to admit - everything the voice told her to do worked.  With shaking hands she reached out and chose a bitchy outfit.

It was tight - far tighter than anything she had ever worn.  A tight black one-piece black and white bodysuit.  It was funny how the suit seemed to squeeze her tits up and out - she was sure they seemed bigger these days.  High heels shoes also pushed her up - her feet felt smaller and more arched since she moved in with Dan and a generous application of expensive makeup made her look like a total bitch.

She was immediately aroused and she felt hotter and more powerful than ever before.  With a confident stride, she clip clopped around the room, smirking at the feeling of power Cassie's clothes gave her.  It felt like the old her was being smothered and something cruel and bitchy was taking over.  She loved the feeling and wanted more.

Striding next door, Melissa felt arousal as Dan gasped at her outfit.  His eyes lustfully drank in her body and she smirked to see the effect she was having on him.  He came towards her, but she disdainfully pushed him away.  "You'll spoil my makeup, keep back.  You've been pissing me off lately, so if you want a piece of my ass, you're going to have to start treating me better."

For a moment Dan looked like he might object... then he licked his lips nervously.  "Yes... dear, whatever you say. I'm sorry."

Melissa felt her pussy tingle and her nipples get hard.  Wow - making your man do what you wanted, felt really good.  "Good boy, perhaps later, if you're good I'll reward you - but for now I'm going shopping and I want to spend some big money.  You don't mind do you dear?"

"Of course not baby," muttered Dan.  

Melissa was acting more and more like his old wife every day - yet somehow, that was really turning him on.

******

Cassie looked around the shop in delight - her hold over Melissa had grown strong enough that she was now finally able to leave the house.  A thin cord of energy, steadily growing thicker and heavier was growing between them and Cassie could feel her influence pulsing into the other woman, feeding Melissa's lust, ambition and cruelty. 

Melissa's body had changed so much in the last few weeks and the stupid bitch hadn't even questioned how her tits had got three sizes bigger.  Instead, she was proud of her sluttier body and thanks to the constant corruptive thoughts Cassie was sending into her protegee's head - she was getting worse by the minute.

"Yes, I deserve nice things and for Dan to pay for it all," hissed Melissa in glee as she tried on a pair of $500 boots that felt so nice over her latex bodysuit. She knew she didn't need the boots but she wanted them, so she took them.  It felt great to get what she wanted and be a spoiled bitch.

Melissa admired herself as she passed a mirror.  She'd been for a full body-wax this morning and her perfect abs, big-booty and huge tits were straining to break free of her super tight bodysuit.  She looked amazing and she revelled in feeling the hungry stares of men and women alike as they passed her.  "I'm a fucking Goddess," she laughed as she strutted down the street in her new boots, heading for home.

Entering the house, Melissa found Dan in the living room and beckoned him with a finger.  "Come with me. I'm horny and I want you to fuck me."

They entered the bedroom and Dan excitedly unzipped Melissa out of her latex suit - her smooth, naked body ready to be ravished.  She smiled excitedly as she pushed him onto the bed and drawing the curtains lit a number of candles.  There - now things looked exactly as they had on the DVD.  Dan seemed confused, but also turned on as Melissa straddled him and with an excited gasp lowered herself onto his cock.

"Oooooh, yes," she groaned loving how good it felt to finally be the bitch of her dreams as she began to gyrate her hips and ride her husband, just as she'd seen on the video. 

"Oh my God Melissa, your pussy feels so tight... it's amazing," groaned Dan.  

"I've been working out," purred Melissa as she fucked her man.  "Tell me that you like the bitchy new me, tell me how much you love that I've become more like your ex-wife."

"Ohhhh yes, I love what you've become, I don't know why or how, but it turns me on so much."

"Good boy," purred Melissa as she increased her bounces.  "I love what a bad girl I'm turning into and it feels like there is still so much more for more to do."

Cassie watched proudly as Melissa took control of Dan and made him her pussy slave.  Corrupting the other woman had been so much fun and there was still so much more to do.  A bit more gas-lighting and Melissa would be even bitchier.  Cassie was wondering if eventually she could even make the other woman worse than she had ever been.

It was definitely going to be fun to try...

****

EPILOGUE (Weeks later)

Ghosts don't sleep - but they do fade in and out from time to time. Cassie had been somewhere else when she was suddenly rudely pulled into reality.

She was in a room - her living room - only there were candles lit everywhere. This wasn't something she had planned... what was happening?

In the middle of the room around the table sat Melissa and Dan. They were holding hands and Melissa had her head thrown back as in rapture.

"Hear me... spirit of this place. I summon thee and bind thee. Thou shalt obey me."

"Honey are you sure this is a good idea? You don't really believe there is a ghost do you?"

Melissa's lips twitched into an evil smile. "Oh yes honey. There is a ghost and I know who she is. But don't worry - I know how to deal with her."

Cassie felt a flash of panic and admiration. How had Melissa learnt of her existence - she thought she had been careful.

"Oh spirit of Cassie. I bind thee and summon thee into my body. All your bitchiness, all your knowledge shall be mine. I absorb thee and consume thee. Make me even more powerful!"

Cassie tried to fight, but her spirit was being pulled towards Melissa. She screamed as she was sucked into the other woman, her personality and consciousness unravelling as Melissa greedily sucked her up and consumed the concentrated evil.

Melissa screamed in pleasure, her tits swelling up even bigger and her body becoming hotter and stronger as she absorbed all of Cassies power, knowledge and memories.

In moments it was done. The ghost was no more and now only the fully evolved bitch Melissa remained.

"Mmmmh," she giggled stretching her slutty body with pride. "I love how it feels to be such a fucking bitch. Now I have ALL the power."

"Did you banish the ghost my love?" stuttered Dan.

"What ghost?" smirked Melissa fake innocently. "You must be imagining things. There was never any ghost and if there was - well she isn't a problem anymore."

Laughing cruelly Melissa strode off leaving her pussy whipped gas lit husband to tidy up the room.

She was the only bitch around here now and she wouldn't be manipulated by a ghost.

She was the gas-lighter now... and she loved it.

[txttletale]

cassandra is the archetypal RTD Misogyny Moment. he's not as outrageously bad as moffat or chibnall so people don't notice it but there is a lot of stuff in RTD's first run that essentially amounts to "haha, stupid shallow vain women, always obsessed with their looks and bodies"

[hejee]

Finally introducing my inquisitor Myrella Lavellan (she/they) 🫶

also some facts about her:

ex-clan member of the lavellan clan (got exiled for arson and attempted murder lol)

sore loser

not herald of andraste

that mage who’s surprisingly great as a spy

elfroot enthusiast

the elf that always has a surprise dagger hidden somewhere

a bit vain and prideful

is out there dreadwolf-hunting with varric and cassandra

always scares the fuck out of their keeper (her sister scolds her for it)

may or may not have tried blood magic before

the template for the first pic is here:

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - epilogue

"you're afraid I won't wait."

"I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

age 30 // attending physician

6th June

Havana, Cuba

The day Taehyung walked away, Cassandra didn't only lose the only man she'd ever loved but also her best friend.

A lifetime without him seemed empty and pointless and she was still mad at him for putting her through this misery.

However, she couldn't hate him, even if she wanted to. He hadn't done anything wrong after all, neither one of them had. What he'd done, he'd done out of love, to keep her far away from the danger lurking around every corner he took.

No. She'd never be able hating him because in the end, he'd never broken her heart. He had just stolen and run away with it.

And it still hurt.

The first first days, weeks, months after the break-up were characterised by denial. She was used to extended periods between seeing him again after all. Even the fact texts and calls had stopped, couldn't change that. Only when postcards had stopped coming as well, it'd finally downed to her.

Of course, in reality she'd already known it long before that, from the very first moment he'd left. She could see it in his eyes. He'd meant it back then, every single word. He wouldn't come back.

And yet, denial kept her from accepting it earlier. Kept her from even admitting or acknowledging it. Denial had her bargaining, believing that, even if he'd meant it, he'd surely change his mind eventually. That he'd certainly regret it. Denial gave her false hope.

When months passed without any new postcard, however, that was when she'd finally let herself admit defeat. When the denial couldn't hold up anymore. When the bargaining ended up in vain.

And instead, a phase of upsetness and depression, in constant pendulation, entered. A permanent restlessness accompanying her from that day on, knowing she'd never be able finding what they'd shared with someone else.

Until she'd finally accepted it and got accustomed to never seeing him again.

The tiny hope she'd once held, long stored back in a box and buried by then. Only the necklaces remained as a remnant of the past, not ready to give them away. One day maybe, but not yet.

However, just because she had managed accepting it, it didn't mean everything was back to normal for her.

Passing by their old places, she couldn't help but always see the ghost of them together there, everything turning dull. Unable to pass by Casa Batlló anymore without aching at the memory of their sunsets, the beach without remembering New Year's Eve, without seeing the 'magic fountain' and remembering his birthday present or the art museum above it where he'd clumsily confessed to her later.

Not even being able staying too long in her own apartment, constantly getting reminded of their first kiss or the countless nights they had spent there laughing, crying, fooling around and loving each other.

Her once dream city had turned blue and gray.

She simply couldn't bear staying in Barcelona anymore after completing her medical training last year, deciding to realise her once silly idea of revisiting the place of her childhood memories for her specialisation training instead.

A place with no attachment to him. Far away from everything and everyone.

She was essentially running away - or at least tried to. Although she knew she'd never be able to fully run away from it all, carrying him with her anywhere she went.

Perhaps there was also an underlying irony in the fact she'd chosen emergency medicine as her specialisation out of all medical fields. Perhaps it was evidence for the residual hold the artful marksman with the cheeky grin and the warm eyes still had on her and probably always would.

Over a year had already passed by now ever since Taehyung had left and interpol showing up hours later, questioning her about the boatyard. Over a year and she still caught herself falling into her memories every once in a while. Still couldn't stop becoming sorrowful whenever she did and plunging into work or her films for distraction.

She felt like a fool, considering a year should've been enough time to get over someone, something she'd used to do in a day or two.

At least she had stopped looking for him in other men a long time ago. Unintentionally comparing anyone she'd crossed paths with him at first, a fatuous and unhealthy habit which thankfully had subdued by now. Not that she even wanted or tried to find anyone to replace him. It'd be impossible, but also the mere thought of any men made her shudder.

No, she didn't even feel like glancing at anyone, much less date anyone. Her busy work schedules and introverted personality were a true blessing after all, making avoiding them easier.

So there she was now in Havana, the capital of Cuba and place of one of her earliest childhood memories.

It was the beginning of summer, although high temperatures had been constant for weeks. But it was nothing she couldn't handle and otherwise she enjoyed her life there so far. She wouldn't have the right to complain anyway, Havana being her chosen getaway after all.

Cassandra opened the door to her apartment in the first floor, the coolness inside a much needed contrast to the warm afternoon outside. Her aparatment was a bit bigger than her old one, but still decorated in a similar fashion. She couldn't get rid of her beloved posters, plants or plushies after all.

Her backpack sliding from her arms to the floor with a thud as soon as she pressed the door shut behind her.

A five-hour-long seminar sounded more painful than it really was, but perhaps she'd simply got used to this, who knew. Numbness to certain things was one of the requirements for this kind of profession, which she had almost mastered by now - finally.

With a dragged sigh, she slipped out of her disgustingly warm sneakers, although she was accustomed to such temperatures, they still took a tall on her. First she poured herself a much needed glass of water. Gulping it down in one go before changing into more comfortable clothes and preparing something to eat.

When the food was ready, she settled in front of her tv to continue watching a crime comedy she'd started awhile ago.

Old habits died hard after all.

The second half of the episode was reached when Cassandra noticed her eyes growing heavy, the tiredness of the day and the food making her drowsy. Eventually fluttering shut, causing her to almost miss the anxious knocking on her front door.

First she dismissed it as a neighbour's hammering, but when she paused the episode to figure out which one it was, she realised the noise was coming from her door. And she tensed up, staring at it with wide eyes.

Wonder mixed with an odd feeling of déjà-vu crept up on her as she slowly went to answer it. Assuming it was just irritation causing her trembling hands as she grabbed the door handle, her knuckles turning white when pressing it down and opening the door.

It felt like a sick joke of the universe first. Then she feared her mind was only playing tricks on her, projecting a memory of him. But it couldn't be a memory. He looked different.

Not because of the beaten up posture and the torn clothes - she had seen him way worse. It wasn't even the shorter mop of waves, tousled and sticking out at some ends, or his broader frame.

No. It was the distress written all over his gentle features, a mild sunburn tainting them in a pinkish shade, that told her something had to be severely wrong for him to stand again in front of her door, more than one year later.

And her initial excitement sunk.

"Cas -" Taehyung tried catching his breath and propped a toned arm against the doorframe. It was evident that he had been running. "I know I have no right, but Jimin - he - he needs you."

At the mention of his friend's name and the way he choked it out, she sensed her initial fear being correct. Something was terribly wrong.

Any lingering feelings and unsolved regrets got swept aside in that moment. Her ego and tiredness long forgotten, instead instincts from years of medical training kicked in. And she immediatelly rushed to the bathroom.

Perplexed at her sudden move, he wanted to call after her when she returned seconds later with a familiar object in her hands. The blue medical kit. She held it firmly in one hand while slipping back into her sneakers with the help of the other.

"Take me to him."

Taehyung smiled softly, not even surprised by the determination in her voice. She hadn't changed at all, she was still the same.

He nodded then, wordlessly grasping her free hand in his and Cassandra let him pull her downstairs to his waiting car.

THE END

»»»

if you wanna know how Tae x Cas's story continues, make sure to read the main story "among thieves" and the sequel "a thief's end" ;)

hope you enjoyed this prequel! it got longer than expected haha

i plan to edit "among thieves" and add more details to make it equally as long as the other stories + i plan to write one-shots for jungkook and jin, perhaps namjoon and hobi, too, if i come up w smth good for them. so stay tuned!

Don't forget to like, comment & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

taglist: @lilanyxta @naoolammao345 @memna234 @tetehion @myblacklilame

[flowerandblood]

The Vanity and Variability (2)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & VhagarMoodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When their father received a letter of marriage proposal from Otto Hightower he was furious. He thought it would be humiliating for him to give any of his daughters away to a proud, vain bankrupt who would choose any of them by grace, just for their vast fortune.

He decided to create a small domestic gathering and called her, all her sisters and their brother into their living room.

They sat at the table listening with attention and surprise to what he had to say to them. Their father was met with a completely different reaction than he had expected.

"Please, father, he is almost like a prince. I would live in a palace!" Exclaimed Maris, already imagining in her mind how she would walk through the grand chambers of their gigantic mansion located in London.

"The Targaryens are one of the most important names in our country, it would bring great honour to our family. Your grandson would have royal blood, father. What harm would it do for us to have him come here to determine if we would like him?" Cassandra asked, and their father could not find the right answer to this question, so he finally gave in, recognising that it was nothing official for now.

He replied to Mr Hightower that his grandson could come to his estate to get acquainted with his daughters under his watchful eye to decide if they liked each other.

She had no idea what she thought of the arrival of someone like him; her sisters lived only for his person, counting down the days until his arrival.

One evening they sat all together in their nightgowns in Cassandra's room, which she was entitled to as the eldest daughter and was the largest, talking animatedly. It was good custom for it to be the eldest daughter who was married first, and it was clear that she was concerned about what Mr Targaryen would think of them.

"When he arrives here, we must all behave with decorum and maintain good manners. Do you hear me?" She directed her words at her and she swallowed quietly, nodding and lowered her gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her chemise.

She was the youngest of them, standing next to them looking less like a real, full woman and more like a child in her eyes.

Although the shape of her breasts and hips were outlined under her chemise, she didn't look as serious as they did, she still tied her long hair up with a ribbon at the back of her head instead of forming it into an exquisite bun like they did.

She tried once to style her hair in such a bun, but found that it completely didn't suit her. She looked as if she was just trying to disguise herself as a grown-up woman, a wife and mother, which she was not, and she gave up sadly, telling her maid to let her hair down again.

She had never thought about marriage or love before, being far in line behind her sisters, but one day she realised that since it was not agreed that Mr Targaryen would marry Cassandra and that he could choose any of them, he could choose her too.

The thought terrified her.

"But what will I do if he chooses me?" She asked one day on a walk, walking with them leisurely into town to see the new hats in the shops, and Floris laughed out loud at her words.

"Don't bother, you look like a child and you're unkempt. You have nothing to worry about." She said lightly, and she felt burning tears of humiliation under her eyelids, slowing down and following them completely behind.

Although she did not want a husband at all, it hurt her cruelly that they thought he would despise her not only as a possible future spouse, but as a person in general.

She confided her worries to her father, standing before him and weeping, struggling to put her distress into words, and he looked at her with paternal concern, running his hand over her chin. When she had finished speaking he stood up and walked over to her, catching her soft cheeks in his large, rough hands.

"My dearest, why do you need the attention of someone like him? A man who only wants your wealth, who I am sure will not respect or value you? I hope that after his visit your sisters will change their minds and no marriage will take place, and you will pay no attention to him at all when he arrives here. Even if he wanted you for a wife, I would never give you up to him for the devouring of those vultures of London with only vanity and volatility in their hearts." He murmured lowly and leaned down, kissing her forehead, and she felt an immense sense of relief.

Her father, as well as her brother, were always able to comfort her.

When the day of Mr Targaryen's arrival came, her sisters had been dressing up all day, shouting and running around the house, accusing each other of stealing jewellery or dresses, losing something every step and crying. She watched this with amusement, dressed in her everyday summer gown, looking calmly out of the window, thinking only that this commotion did not concern her.

She had stopped feeling bad about the thought, but she was curious to see what kind of man he would be.

When his carriage finally arrived outside their manor house everyone, according to good manners, went out to meet him with their father in the lead. When the carriage door opened a large, beautiful white dog, looking like a fox, suddenly jumped out of it.

She thought it was love at first sight.

She immediately ran towards her despite her father's calls, and the animal jumped on her, putting its dirty paws on her shoulders, licking her face. She laughed, embracing her around her waist, dishevelled by how sweet this dog was.

When she finally jumped down she stroked her soft fur and raised her head, noticing the man looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pale, his lips tightened into a thin line expressing impatience and embarrassment, his gaze piercing, cool and uncomfortable, the black ribbon bow tying his almost white hair into a long ponytail.

He pulled off his cylinder, tucked it under his arm and it was only then that she noticed his famous black eye patch, the long scar stretching across the entire left side of his face.

She thought that, contrary to what she had imagined, he was not scary, but, according to her father's words, he seemed to her infinitely vain and distraught at having to be here, even though they were doing his family a favour.

She decided not to think about him and leave the conversation with him to her sisters, leaving all her attention and love to his dog, whose name, as it turned out, was Vhagar.

Taking advantage of her owner's absence, she decided to lock herself in her room with her along with a piece of roast on a plate and practice tricks with her.

"Sit." She said lowly, and Vhagar immediately sat down, looking greedily at the piece of meat she had in her hand. She handed it to her as soon as she followed her command, and she devoured it greedily, licking herself with a loud click.

She also appeared to be able to lie down and stand still on command, as well as running up to her leg.

"Give me your paw." She said, extending her hand to her, and she sat up, wagging her tail, looking with big eyes at the next piece of meat she was holding, panting heavily.

She sat down next to her on the floor, still holding her outstretched hand in front of her.

"Give me your paw." She repeated, and she began to squirm and bark, not understanding what was expected of her, what she had to do to be able to eat this delicious piece of chicken.

She took her paw in her hand and shook it, showing her what she was supposed to do, then placed a piece of meat in front of her, which she immediately swallowed.

"Good doggy." She praised her and stroked her, taking another piece from her plate, again extending her hand to her.

"Give me your paw." She said softly, Vhagar twisted in her place and barked. She repeated the command and she scratched her thigh with her paw, checking to see if this was the movement she had in mind.

"Good doggy! Such a good doggy!" She said happily, letting her eat another piece of meat, stroking her fur, praising her wisdom.

They both jumped when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened it and was startled to see the silhouette of their guest, looking down at her as if he was about to kill her, Vhagar threw herself at him cheerfully, longing for her owner.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her coolly, clearly frustrated, and she pressed her lips together, deciding that she would share the rather pleasant news that his dog was able to perform a new activity thanks to her efforts.

"I was just teaching her a new trick." She whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping family members and was already about to explain to him what the trick was specifically about when he spoke directly to her, looking at her disapprovingly.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed and whistled at Vhagar, motioning towards his room.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a sting in her heart at his unpleasant and cold words, but thought she might have expected it. She saw to her surprise, however, that his dog turned towards her every once in a while, standing and apparently considering whether she felt like continuing to play with her instead of going to sleep.

Despite her owner's efforts, she refused to budge and jumped up when he suddenly grabbed her violently by the fur on her neck, pulling her forcibly towards his room, as if he had completely lost his temper, furious, she pulled in the air loudly and squealed in despair at the sight, hearing her whine full of pain and terror.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She called out pleadingly, and suddenly, as if he realised what he was doing he looked at her surprised and let go of Vhagar, who immediately ran away from him, hiding back in her room. She looked at his face and was surprised to find that he was broken, she had a feeling that he was about to cry.

What was the matter with him?

She swallowed loudly, wanting to quickly alleviate the situation she ran into her room and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it under Vhagar's nose. She immediately followed her, curious, and they both left the room, but when she saw her owner standing in the same place she panicked and lowered her tail, fearing that he would do the same to her as he had a moment ago.

She approached his stony figure, she had the impression that he had completely frozen absorbed in his own agony at the thought that his dog would now hate him.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She whispered to him pleadingly, handing him the meat she held between her fingers. They both crouched down, looking at Vhagar, who watched them with lowered ears, alert. He held out his hand to her, she could see that his fingers were trembling.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered with difficulty, brokenly, no longer resembling at all the man she had seen getting out of the carriage. He seemed suddenly human to her, full of some cruel contradiction she could not comprehend. She felt the pain pouring out of him, the fear of rejection, and involuntarily felt sympathy.

She realised that he had probably been forced to come here, exposed as if in a market to be watched and judged by her sisters, all the time in the limelight, having to make a choice even though they, in his eyes, were not worthy of him in status.

She thought he had no right to feel superior to them, coming here only for their fortune, but she couldn't help seeing him now as just an ordinary man, terrified by the vision that his beloved pup would be afraid of him.

Vhagar approached him slowly and hesitantly took from his hand what he had on it. She saw his fingers stroke her white fur with tenderness and gentleness, and then her head snuggled against his chest, his face pressed against hers expressing something like relief, his lips tightened, his eyes red.

She smiled at the sight, feeling at the same time remorseful at the fact that all this had happened because of her, because she hadn't asked his permission if he would mind if she played with his dog.

"− I'm so sorry −" She whispered softly and he looked at her, she noticed with surprise that his gaze was not cold and chilly. It was focused, uncertain, filled with feeling, suffering and loneliness, depth and emptiness at the same time.

He did not answer.

She stood up and called out quietly to Vhagar, heading for his room, and she immediately moved to follow her. She wanted to lead her to his bedroom and force her to stay there to end this whole unpleasant situation.

She sat down on the floor and reached out to her. She immediately laid down next to her and put her paw on her thigh as she taught her. She smiled and stroked her soft fur, then lifted her gaze and saw that he was standing over them, looking at them as if they were some amazing creatures, in his eyes surprise and shock that she dared to enter his room in the middle of the night in just her nightgown.

The realisation of this gaffe hit her with redoubled force and she stood up quickly, explaining that she only wanted Vhagar to go in there after her, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her, running to her room and sighing heavily, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought that this was not a good start to their acquaintance and that he probably hated her for sure now.

However, she decided that since he wouldn't consider her anyway it didn't matter, she was more worried that by her behaviour he would have a bad opinion of her sisters, and she knew how Cassandra cared about this marriage.

She was the eldest and felt time was slipping through her fingers, many men had asked for her hand because of her father's wealth, but they were too old for her or unpleasant to look at.

It appeared that she might have been too fussy, and now someone from a royal background almost their own age had come to their house and it seemed the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn't want to ruin her happiness.

However, as always, Floris was unable to restrain her nosiness even at breakfast, pestering her with questions and accusations that she did not have the strength to answer. She felt Mr Targaryen's eye on her, and if she didn't know him she would have thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

"My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself." Her father finally said to her, and she swallowed loudly, lifting her gaze to him.

She could see that he was looking at her uncertainly, terrified of what she might say, of what she had seen, which could reflect badly on his reputation.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out with difficulty what she really wanted to say to him and saw that he swallowed loudly, lowering his eyes and hummed under his breath as if in thought, running his fingertips over the table top.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, startling her completely, and as he lifted his determined, burning gaze to her she understood that he wanted to tell her that he was ashamed of his behaviour.

She felt a warmth in her heart at the thought that he had decided to apologise to her even though the fault lay with her.

She heard Floris snort at his words, displeased that he had not rebuked her.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, looking her straight in the eye, and she felt humiliation spilling over her body, her cheeks red.

She swallowed hard, breathing unevenly, lowering her gaze, repeating to herself that she couldn't make a scene and start crying in front of him, that Cassandra would reprimand her again, saying she was acting like a child.

She felt she was losing to her own distress and got up at last, apologising quietly and left quickly, running out into the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her a moment later and didn't even have to turn around to know it was Royce.

"Wait." He called out to her and she stopped, looking at him with parted, trembling lips, tears streaming involuntarily down her red face. Royce put his arm around her waist and she embraced his as they moved ahead, looking forward, saying nothing.

"Don't mind her. She can't bear the thought of not living in a grand palace. Unfortunately, I can't say she's the smartest of my sisters." He said amused, and she burst out laughing through her tears, hugging him, as usual feeling relieved in his company.

"What was he apologising to you for?" He asked after a moment, and she grunted quietly, unsure if she should talk about it.

"He was angry that I locked myself in my room with his dog. But he was right. That's all." She said briefly, figuring she would skip the details, not wanting to put him in a bad light in front of her brother, recognising that she had known him too briefly to judge him so quickly.

Royce already wanted to go home, but she said she wanted to continue her journey and walk to the lake to calm down completely. She loved listening to the quiet sound of the water sitting by the shore and had no desire to look at Floris for the next few hours.

So she moved ahead alone, taking comfort from the beautiful summer views all around her, the fields surrounding her green and full of flowers, the air clean and crisp.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard a loud barking and saw Vhagar running quickly towards her. The dog pounced on her and started licking her face, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you doing so far from home?" She asked, stroking her snout as she fell back onto her four paws, and it was only when she looked around that she noticed Mr Targaryen's silhouette sitting on the shore, his impenetrable gaze directed towards her.

For a moment she considered returning home, but realised she didn't want to go back there. Even more so if he wasn't there now, her sisters would lash out at her with questions and accusations, keeping at least a hint of civility in his presence.

Only Ellyn was being nice to her, Cassandra tried to fight the feelings warring within her, but she could see the frustration on her face.

No matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she kept running right into him.

She thought that maybe if they had her attitude they would experience the same thing.

She sighed heavily and started walking towards him, recognising that it wasn't just his shore, that she was the first to discover this place and had as much right to sit there as he did.

She sat down beside him on the sand, a safe distance away, which Vhagar took immediate advantage of to lie down between them, laying her head on her thighs.

She was sure he would get up and go somewhere else, discouraged by her presence, he, however, seemed to make nothing of it, sunk in his own thoughts. She closed her eyes and began to listen to the sounds of the wind and water, the pleasant breeze wrapped around her face. She felt sleepy.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, looking around as if half asleep, and saw to her surprise that Mr Targaryen had fallen asleep beside her, his head settled on his shoulder, his face unusually gentle and calm.

She thought he needed a moment of rest and solitude too, and smiled at the thought.

With some strange warmth in her heart, she lay down next to Vhagar and wrapped her arms around her, wanting to fall asleep next to them.

After they had returned to her mansion, after what he had said when Floris had assaulted her, she herself was not sure what she thought of him.

On the one hand, she felt grateful because he had stood up for her, refuting any rumours or conjecture about the nature of their walk, but on the other hand, his words were so cruel and insolent that she thought he would never have referred to a woman of his status in such a way, that he was showing how much he despised them, that he did not regard them as equals.

The next day they were all due to go to church, and as it was literally a five-minute walk from their property, they decided to go there on foot.

She wore her bonnet on her head, so she tied her hair up in a bun like her sisters to make the whole thing look right, the colour of her headdress warm cream, just like her dress.

She did not know if the form of the walk made Mr Targaryen happy or not, his expression remained invariably indifferent. He walked at the front with her father and Royce, Royce telling him something with amusement and he seemed to be partially listening to him.

Further along walked Cassandra, Maris and Floris, adding a word or two to their brother once in a while, and she walked at the back with Ellyn.

"Floris is very jealous." She told her quietly, clearly wanting to comfort her. "She teases each of us behind closed doors and says very nasty things."

She did not feel surprised by what she heard. Floris always cried when her father refused her, loving to point out mistakes to everyone but herself.

She thought that she had felt overlooked all her life and was now trying to make up for it by getting everyone's attention, the higher-ranking person it was, the better.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a beautiful little brick church surrounded by a stone wall and orchard. They went inside, their father greeting everyone, the presence of Mr Targaryen sparked great interest and everyone wanted to shake his hand.

She could see the tension on his face, the enormity of his discomfort in the presence of so many strangers, and she thought he was in constant pain, forced to be polite and courteous when he felt like running away.

One by one, they all began to sit down in the pew where their family always sat, but when she wished to take her place at the end, Floris placed her hand on the seat.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." She said lightly, and she felt a tightening in her throat, tears of humiliation filling her eyes once more.

"There's enough room for everyone." She whispered, her father leaning over, looking at her concerned, not understanding why she and Mr Targaryen were not yet seated.

"There isn't."

She looked at her with red eyes, feeling her clenched lips tremble, but there was not a trace of hesitation or sympathy on her sister's face.

So she turned back, swallowing loudly, sitting down in the empty bench behind them, her father turning his head after her, startled.

"What are you doing?"

She did not answer him, for she looked shocked sideways when she saw that Mr Targaryen had stepped into her pew following her, placing his cylinder on his free side, undoing one button from his tailcoat, sitting down beside her with his legs crossed.

Floris turned towards him, apparently wanting to announce to him that there was a place for him on their bench, but before she could open to say anything, a single, cold sentence left his lips.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon."

Floris turned pale and pressed her lips together, turning away, pretending nothing had happened. She looked at him sideways and swallowed loudly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He growled and she shook her head, pulling out her prayer book from her small pouch hanging on her hand, not daring to turn her gaze to him for the entire liturgy.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate on what Pastor Thomson was saying, thinking only of the fact that he had given up the seat he was entitled to by his status and sat next to her.

She thought he did this because he wanted to avoid her sisters, because after their nap at the lake he knew she would not torment him. That he sat next to her because he wanted to show Floris again what he thought of her.

She figured that perhaps he wanted to comfort her too, that he didn't want her to sit alone away from her family, rejected and abandoned.

The last thought filled her heart with gratitude and warmth and she found herself thinking that he was a more complicated man than she had originally assumed.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, Mr Targaryen let her go ahead and, squeezing between him and the pew, she involuntarily brushed against his body and heard him quietly gasp through his nose, all tense.

She knew he was standing behind her in line, she could hear his breathing behind her, she could feel his gaze on her. This was a test, he wanted to see if she would get distracted again, if she would think about him, if she would end up pestering him like her sisters.

She thought he didn't deserve her treating him so objectively.

She preferred to think of herself as his friend who, understanding his needs, would not impose on him, allowing him to remain comfortable in her presence.

She didn't look at him as she passed him in line or as she sat back in the pew and they both listened to the psalms, waiting for everyone to take communion.

She swallowed loudly as she felt him spread his knees, sitting down more comfortably, his leg rubbing against hers and pressed to her barely perceptibly.

She felt a pleasant shudder and swallowed loudly, running her fingers over the book lying on her thighs, but she didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

She gasped, her heart starting to pound like mad as he righted himself on the seat and grunted, leaning back with his shoulders against the rest of the bench, his knee pressed almost painfully hard against her leg now.

She felt herself breathing through her mouth, droplets of sweat running down her neck, her fingers tightening on her prayer book.

She felt him looking at her.

She felt his breath directed towards her, enveloping her face.

She glanced at his hand lying on his knee pressed against hers, his pointing finger tapping restlessly against the material of his trousers, as if impatient.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this, playing with her, putting her in this position?

She drew in the air in horror when his hand suddenly pulled away from his knee and moved over her thighs towards her fingers, as if he wanted to grab them.

She clutched her book, terrified, and heard him hum under his breath as he grabbed her prayer book, sliding it out of her hands in a slow movement.

She felt her whole body quiver, her fingers trembling as they lay numbly on her lap.

She knew he had seen it.

Was he deriving some kind of dark satisfaction from it?

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked through her prayer book page by page, even though he had his own lying on the backrest in front of him.

Hers was older, had belonged to her mother, was her only memento of her after her death, and she felt uneasy seeing it in the hands of someone else.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." She whispered quietly and heard his murmur expressing surprise or displeasure.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed low, licking his finger and turning the page, something about the gesture seemed inappropriate, ungodly to her and she thought he had done it on purpose.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled helplessly and felt him suddenly freeze.

She didn't look at him but she could feel the atmosphere of discomfort between them, his knee pulled away from hers as he grunted, swallowing loudly, pointing her book towards her, holding it in his hand.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, and their fingers involuntarily touched, she had the feeling that his thumb had purposely run over her skin, as if in a gesture of apology, of comfort that made her want to cry, she felt goosebumps on her cheeks.

She put her prayer book back on her thighs, clasping her trembling hands on them, breathing hard, feeling as if he was mocking her, taking pleasure and satisfaction in what he could do to her, in how naïve she was.

She felt as, despite her mind's tremendous efforts, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, but they kept flying.

She saw his hand, which again laid stretched across his knee clenched into a fist, his fingers moving restlessly.

He knew she was crying because of him.

When the liturgy ended she stood up first and headed quickly for the door, not looking at him or her family.

When she turned into the field corner and knew no one could see her anymore she burst out into a loud sob, tired of her sisters, tired of this strange, variable men who played with her, who would never look at her or her family as equals.

She drew in a loud breath when she heard quick footsteps behind her and, thinking it was Royce, turned hopefully behind her. She turned pale and parted her lips with a sound of mournful despair when she saw him, breathing loudly, his hair in partial disarray, slipping out of its ribbon.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me." He mumbled, not believing himself that these words were coming out of his mouth, clearly surprised and ashamed of his own behaviour. "I have no idea what has gotten into me."

They stood before each other in silence, looking at one another with wide eyes, she struggled to calm her breathing, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She almost wailed, shaking her head, looking at him with anguish, something flashed across his face, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened, he swallowed loudly, her words hitting something deep inside him.

She did not give him a chance to reply. She turned her back on him, seeing her family approaching, and set off towards her mansion, thinking with despair that she already felt sorry for whichever of her sisters this man would choose as his wife.

______

Taglist 1 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[lagunapoint]

A small love Solavellan scene💚 I was interested in the image of a slightly more audacious Solas and a more irresponsible Lavellan, allowing herself not to fulfill the duties of studying diplomatic books and the genealogies of the Orlesian nobility (because she's distracted by Solas hehe).

warning: books, kisses, kisses, and more kisses

Ellana stretched, her legs tangled in the warm blankets, while the cool air brushed against her skin, sending a pleasant shiver through her body. She desperately tried to hold on to the fading remnants of her dream, but the gentle voice of ever-concerned Josephine appeared in her thoughts. "Don't miss your lessons, you've got a lot to catch up on." She always worried more than necessary, but that concern warmed Ellana's soul. Their relationship had long since evolved into something almost sisterly and very comforting. With a defiant glance at the stack of books on her desk, she sighed. "How many more years will I have to deal with all this?" she muttered, as her feet touched the cool floor, finally dragging her from her sweet slumber. ***

Ellana lit another candle, scanned the pages of the book, and dipped her quill into the inkpot with frustration. From outside, the sounds of the bustling courtyard reached her ears, where soldiers were training. Cassandra’s commanding and confident voice brought a smile to her face. A light breeze, eager to extinguish the candles, carried with it the scents of bitter herbs and steel, always grounding her back into reality. 

The door creaked, and Ellana, expecting a messenger, lazily leaned back in her chair. But her eyes lit up when Solas entered the room, carrying several volumes and scrolls in his hands.

“Don’t tell me...” she covered her face with her hands and sighed in exhaustion.  

“I’m afraid so,” Solas’ voice was soft, almost tender, as he set the books on the table. He leaned against the edge, his gaze drifting from her to the contents of the book she was trying to study.  

“How interesting,” he murmured, a barely noticeable smile playing on his lips, his voice tinged with a light playfulness that always made her heart beat a little faster.

“This part is the hardest,” Ellana admitted, shrugging.

“In that case, I see no other choice but to stay here. Perhaps you will have questions,” he said thoughtfully, picking up one of the books. He sat on the couch, crossing his legs in his usual manner, and opened it in the middle.

Lavellan smiled and shook her head, settling more comfortably at the desk. Under his gaze, watching her over the top of the book, she felt incredibly self-conscious, but it was the kind of pleasant awkwardness that, with one quick glance, turns into desire. “Does he really think this will help me finish the chapter? Oh, Maker…”

Ellana pretended not to notice his eyes on her as she heard him slowly turn the page. She read the same line over and over again, but goosebumps danced across her skin, and all her energy was focused on resisting the urge to steal a quick glance at him. At his relaxed posture, his leg crossed over the other, his thoughtful eyes fixed on the pages. She tried not to dwell on how his long fingers held the book firmly or how delicately they grasped the edge of the page to turn it. But it was all in vain. Each time, her thoughts returned to his presence, and she imagined countless ways those hands could be used on her body.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and a cold wind rushed into the room, blowing out the candles and scattering the parchments across the floor. A messenger ran in, his hurried steps echoing off the stone walls.

“Lady Inquisitor, lady Montilyet asked me to check if the new books have arrived.”

“Tell her everything is fine.”

The messenger nodded but continued,  

“Lady Montilyet also inquired if you might need a consultant to assist with the materials?”

Ellana met Solas’ gaze, feeling her heart skip a beat for a brief moment. His eyes were calm, but there was a quiet confidence in them.

“Tell her I already have a consultant,” she smiled.

“Lady Montilyet anticipated your response, lady Inquisitor,” he blurted. “She asked me to get the name of your consultant so she could give them clear instructions on your study plan.”

Ellana barely held back a smile, sensing the atmosphere thickening with unspoken intrigue. Her eyes met Solas’ again, and time seemed to slow. In that moment, the room felt smaller, filled with unsaid words and secret thoughts.  

Solas observed her with that same enigmatic expression that always stirred her soul. Ellana blushed to the tips of her ears; she had never spoken aloud what she was about to say, and her heart noticeably sped up.

“Messer Solas,” the words slipped from her lips with a strong, perhaps overly confident tone. “He doesn’t need any additional guidance. He… is perfectly skilled in everything necessary.” She continued without breaking eye contact with Solas, as if issuing him a challenge, one he answered with the faintest, barely noticeable smile.

Then, she picked up her quill, her entire demeanor signaling that the conversation was over. 

“Of course, lady Inquisitor,” the messenger muttered, stammering slightly. “I’ll relay this to lady Montilyet.”

The messenger turned on his heels, and only then did his gaze land on Solas. He had just noticed him and, flustered, gave a quick, unsure nod in his direction. Solas, unhurried, returned the greeting with a slow, deliberate nod. Ellana watched the way his elevated mannerisms surfaced in every gesture, glance, and the proud way he held his broad shoulders. She first noticed it at one of the early banquets in Skyhold, where they spent quite a bit of time in the same room, content with merely exchanging fleeting glances. Thoughtfully, she touched her cold fingers to her neck and took a deep breath, trying to push away the images beginning to form in her mind.

When the messenger finally left, the door clicked shut softly behind him, and the room was once again bathed in half-light and silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs in the hearth. She stared uselessly at the page open before her, doodling swirls on the parchment instead of taking notes. Her thoughts were entirely consumed by Solas' teasing gaze across from her. He made no moves, simply reading in silence, intensifying the electric tension hanging in the air. And with that calmness, he only fueled the fire burning inside her.

“So, Messer?..” Solas stretched the words, his eyes still on the book, but his voice carried an undercurrent of desire he could barely contain. Ellana laughed, and her laughter, like a flowing breeze, filled the room, gently touching his heart. In that moment, he could no longer resist - her laughter was almost unbearably pleasant.

Ellana rose from her chair and leaned against the edge of the table, her gaze drifting toward the balcony and the snow-covered mountains, shrouded in mist. Solas closed the book and approached her slowly, unhurriedly.

“Perfectly skilled?” Solas’ voice held a low, playful edge, a teasing lilt. He wasn’t crossing any lines, but his desire was palpable, like an invisible thread pulling them closer together. Ellana felt a soft shiver run through her, not from the cold, but from the sweet anticipation.

She didn’t answer, feeling the warmth rise to her cheeks.

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Ellana, and each of his slow, confident movements was deeply felt, sending a shiver down her spine as the space between them seemed to shrink with every step. The air around them thickened with unspoken tension, and her pulse quickened in response to the undeniable pull drawing them together. Solas leaned in, as if about to say something important. His warm breath grazed her skin, causing her self-control to falter.

“Perhaps you should confirm that for yourself,” his lips curving into a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. Ellana couldn’t suppress the deep breath that filled her lungs. Her heart raced as her fingers barely grazed his wrist, gently pulling him closer.

"...and as my consultant, you must suggest a more effective way to learn," she whispered in his ear, her warm breath teasing his skin. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her entire body against his, her cold nose brushing his neck. Feeling his fingers tangle in her hair and his other hand rest comfortably on her hip, she gently ran her fingertip from his earlobe down the delicate skin of his neck, knowing how much he liked it. She took her time, savoring the moment, breathing him in, soaking up his heated warmth. Ellana allowed herself a quick kiss on the hollow of his neck. Her kiss burned him, sending a sweet haze through his mind. She gasped softly as he suddenly and tightly pulled her closer to his body.

His lips met hers, and their breaths intertwined. The tension that had been building between them all day finally burst, and they both got lost in a moment that seemed impossible to escape from. In that instant, the outside world disappeared, leaving only the two of them in the quiet of the cozy room, surrounded by the warmth of the fireplace and the bitter scent of herbs.

Without breaking the kiss, Solas confidently slid his fingers under the edge of her blouse, tightly pressed by her corset, fueling his desire. Ellana met his touch with a hot sigh into his heated lips. She surrendered completely to his caresses, to his presence, to his warmth. And for a moment, it seemed as though all her worries, all the unanswered questions from her books, had vanished in this quiet and tender moment between them.

Solas lifted his head slightly, his breath barely brushing her lips. He looked thoughtful, as if he were wrestling with inner doubts. His gaze was serious, but it held the same desire that blazed in Ellana's heart. With a playful, airy gesture, he ran his fingers along the top edge of her everyday corset, brushing against the thin fabric of her blouse and sensing the tempting softness of the skin beneath. His burning touch moved to her sensitive neck, and finally, his fingers slid into her hair, gently gripping it at the roots.

"Vhenan," his voice was quiet, barely audible, and she sensed something deeper, something troubled in it, "you have no idea how much you tease me."

His gaze softened, and he slowly leaned toward her, his forehead touching hers.

"And I can't... stay away," he whispered, his voice filled with sincere turmoil, "I don't know where this will lead us, Vhenan, but I can't pretend this doesn't exist anymore."

Solas's words filled the room with a thick silence, and the tension between them became almost unbearable. His gaze grew darker, and a flicker of desire, one he could no longer suppress, gleamed in his eyes.

Ellana's heart pounded even harder at his words. She gazed at Solas intently, feeling in every one of his movements the internal battle raging within him.

"Solas," her voice was quiet but steady, "These moments... they’re real. We are real. Let us stay." 

In that moment, his resistance finally wavered. He could no longer fight what he felt, and as if freeing himself from the internal struggle, he leaned in, his lips slowly finding hers. The kiss was gentle, but it carried the depth of the desire that had been held back for so long. Ellana responded to the kiss with equal passion, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her breath mingled with his, and the entire world outside seemed to vanish, as if they were alone in this cozy, warm space created just for the two of them. 

His hands slid to her waist again, but this time without hesitation, with a certainty that showed he had no intention of retreating anymore. Her fingers gripped his strong shoulders, and she became lost in the moment, feeling his touch sending waves of warmth through her lower belly. Each second felt like an eternity, yet too fleeting, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other.

When they pulled apart for just a moment, Solas gazed at her, his eyes full of the deep tenderness he usually kept hidden. They both knew that uncertainty lay ahead, that each of them had their duties and dark secrets, but in that moment, nothing mattered except the two of them.

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

Like her uncle, Vesper’s solemnity and wit not only coexist but intertwine, leaving her equal parts charming and responsible. The only true adventurer of her generation–she maintains that Gwen just likes getting into trouble–she seems, more specifically, to have inherited the unfortunate habit of flirting regardless of sensibility.

Her diplomatic filter is firmly on in most circumstances, but sometimes she truly can't help herself. Cerkonos definitely fell in that category, as did far too many of her "rivals". Honestly, she doesn’t have a good excuse for the vampire. She’s fairly certain she wasn’t charmed, and she needed a minute to think of her next move, and he had said she looked ravishing, and calling him a dozen synonyms for handsome was the first thing she thought of. Apparently, that particular stupidity runs in the family.

She’s also the only one to have met her uncle–twice. The first occurrence even Vex can’t be one hundred percent sure, but they both want to believe the specter that appeared to her in the afterglow of Vesper’s birth was her uncle, sharing, for a moment, in that joy. The second…well. Vesper has only been resurrected once, but it wasn’t pretty. It took so long for her to die she assumed he was just another hallucination, at first, at least until the pain and cold subsided and her vision cleared and he was still there. He held her gently, shaded by the arc of his feathers, and talked about tradition and divinity and flowers and a hundred little stories they would have shared, had they been alive at the same time. He stayed with her the entire three days it took her team to find and resurrect her. His words have never left her.

Like her uncle, Leona Pike De Rolo hates having her hair in her face, but can’t stand to have it completely pulled up and bunched away. She’s the older twin–by twenty-one excruciating minutes–and her preferred weapon is throwing knives. She doesn’t care what kind of blade, really, she’ll throw an ax if she has to–but still, close enough.

She’s also the one who talks to ravens. Wolfe likes to joke that she is a raven–a petty thief, always attracted to gears and widgets and other shiny things–but he’s the only one that says such things, and only in carefully chosen company. At first Vox Machina thought this might be her way of showing some druidic inclination, but the reality is much simpler; she hates being alone. When her twin huffs off in impatience, or her father delves too deep in focus to be disturbed by conversation with an amateur like her, she prays under her breath and sooner or later a bird tends to appear.

Like his uncle, Wolfe Kristof de Rolo is incorrigible to everyone except Vex’ahlia. The male twin of his (almost) matching pair, he finds himself liable to teasing for being prissy and vain; those that tease him too incessantly find themselves liable to bloody noses and crushed fingers, dealt by either twin. And yes, Leona may be a far better hunter, but Wolfe fights dirty, when he deigns to fight. He fights quick and decisive and disappears as soon as he’s dealt his blow. He fights like his uncle.

He’s also the only one as fearless as Vax was. He climbed a tree in a lightning storm to carry down one of Cassandra’s kittens at twelve years old; at twenty, he swam a mile and a half through floodwater. He’s not as brave as Vax–bravery implies an end goal–but he is every bit as selfless and reckless and unswayed by fear. It’s part of why the twins take their mother so seriously; she's the one who taught him such things, after all.

Like his uncle, Vax’ildan Fredrick de Rolo has dark hair, darkvision, and a dark-and-stormy disposition. The most obviously elven in ancestry, at least by Syngornian standards, he’s also the bearer of the most obvious inheritance. Vax’ildan isn’t a common name, especially since the second root derives itself from an ancient drow war hero, but it is a name that is commonly known, like those of all of Vox Machina. Vox, Vax, Vex…he almost named his bear Vix, to complete the set. He didn’t, only because Cassandra put her foot down at having a “Vax” and a “Vex” and a “Ves” and a “Vix” in one household.

He’s also the one who has never felt at home. It’s irrational, maybe, but anxiety is rarely rational and he is an extremely anxious child. He is slow to learn to walk, to speak, to make his first friend; there is a reason he bonds so thoroughly with Trinket and Charlie, and not another child. Besides, the twins are clearly Vex’s favorites, and Gwen is Percy’s from the moment she’s born; Vesper is gone a good portion of his youth, already an adult herself. He’s not smart or brave or charming like the rest of them, he's just him. He knows he’s loved. He’s the black sheep anyways.

Like his uncle, Gwendolyn Zahra Melanie von Musel de Rolo is the sneaky sibling. She loves growing her skills in shadowing and stealth, and taught herself to write at age three by making (terrible) forgeries of her father’s sketches. She’d rather stab a sparring partner’s armor through the back than lose following conventional chivalry, and she’s as quick a thief as she is a runner.

She’s also the first of her siblings to die. Tieflings don’t live as long as half-elves or the celestially blessed; rogues and wizards don’t live longer lives as they advance in power. They bury her with her father, adjacent to an empty, ceremonial, tomb.

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

My thoughts about episode 3, season 3 of The Legend of Vox Machina :

Thordak is such a drama queen : "Soon, my children, very soon, the corpses of our ennemies shall be your cradles, and their eternal agony your milk !" But Lance Reddick makes it terrifying.

We're going to Draconia ! Of course, with the non-existence of a certain dragonborn and his asshole actor, they had to redo the "why", but it works ! Because amongst other things, this means we're going to learn a little bit more about Allura and Kima, and that's never a bad thing.

Cassandra is such a good little sister who's annoying :

Also she's right. When Vex invites you to your room...

I OPEN THE DOOR, COMPLETELY NAKED

Love it so much. I knew it was coming and yet. The stroke of genius of Laura Bailey lives on. I told the story of this scene in the Campaign to my sister and friend, remembering her exact tone of voice from the campaign, and laughing so much while telling it.

Love that they did the superposition of the Vex/Percy scene (hot) and the Keyleth/Vax scene (not hot at all, but sad).

I love less the fact that it's Vax who says "We can't be together" in this adaptation. Of course it's logical with his vision (my sister guessed he was going to say that). But me, a Campaign viewer, who was drawn by Keyleth's indecision between her youth, her affections, her moral fortitude and commitment to the Aramente, all of that while knowing she's supposed to live a very long time, and also drawn by the fact that she was the one who chose to renunce hapiness (at first, then chose to believe in Vax)... I don't like it. that's all. I'm hoping she will have some other character growth.

As my sister said : "Some people know how to have fun in this castle" :

Oh, Scanlan. He continues to break my heart.

Really vain note, but Pike's nightdress is so cute, I want the same

THE WALK OF SHAME, HAHAHAHA

The misunderstanding with "Dis" is excellent. It reminds me of when the cast sang all the time "We Built Dis City".

the desing of the Hells is so good (I saw horrible things so it's good, it respects the assignment).

Allura and Kima backstory ! Oh, there were crushes, heh ??!! And resentment ??! And ... oh, that bitch.

"Nice steering, babe !" while running away from a dragon. I love Kima so much.

that shot is INCREDIBLE :

oh oh. With Dohla dead, I just realized... Allura can't open the portal by herself ! They're stuck in the Hells !!

That chase sequence was so good, by the way.

The Vex/Percy relationship is such a good one, fantastic adaptation. I love them so much.

Oh, hi Matt ! ewwwwwwwwwwww

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 10 - Gallantry and Bravery

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

The tourney had claimed most of the afternoon, but there were still plenty of hours left before the feast, and you wanted to spend them alone, lying on your bed and staring up at the canopy. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking about the way Lord Glover had died, his body hitting the dirt, and the smile which had filled Aemond’s face. So pleased, no remorse.   

He'd never looked more like a dragon than he did in that moment, and you’d never despised him more either.  

Yet the tourney had been a success, the crowds had cheered so vibrantly, the entire royal box filled with celebration.  

It seemed only you who was disturbed by Glover’s death, and you supposed death at a tourney was commonplace. There had been three others, but they were strangers killed by strangers and Glover’s death felt personal.  

Not just because you’d given him your favour, but because of Aemond. Maybe it was unfair to hold him to a higher standard, but he was no stranger, and you didn’t like to think of him as the kind of man who could kill so easily. So senselessly.  

More than anything, you couldn’t stop wondering if he had killed Glover for you .  

Perhaps that seemed vain, but you could not be blind to Aemond's misplaced affection a moment longer, even if you had no intention of ever returning it. 

Rolling onto your side, you stare out the window and Maris burst through the door with a letter in hand. 

“Helaena has invited us for tea,” she says excitedly, plopping herself on the bed so all you can see is her bright smile. 

You groan, staring back up at the canopy, “can you not go with Cassandra?” 

“She’s had too much sun and needs to rest before the party,” her voice lowers with a small but wicked laugh, “her nose has turned quite red.” 

“You’re cruel,” you say, pushing her shoulder and she laughs again before clinging to your sleeve, her grip tight and desperate.  

“I must find out why Prince Aemond asked for my favour,” she says and, though you’d been wondering the same thing, you can think of nothing you’d like to do less. 

“Why can’t you just go alone?” you say, and she rolls her eyes, still clinging onto your sleeve. 

“You know I cannot be the one to ask Helaena of Aemond’s intentions, it would be far too forward. But if you ask...” 

You groan dismissively as she stands, trying to pull you up. 

“Oh please, please, please,” she begs, “you know I would do the same for you in an instant.” 

Of course she would, there was no end to her scheming especially when it concerned matters of the heart. 

"Please sister,” she begs again, and you know her well enough to realise she will not stop until you give her what she wants. 

So you sigh, and roll from the bed, before striding towards the door and yanking it open.  

“Well , are we going or not?” you say unhappily, and Maris’ smile is so triumphant as she hooks her arm in yours as though she thinks you might change your mind and abandon her at any moment.  

When the guards open the doors to Princess Helaena’s quarters, the first thing you notice is two blond haired toddlers who are playing on a plush rug with their nursemaid. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.  

You’d never seen them before and wave your fingers, hoping for a dimpled smile. But they only stare, suspicious of strangers, their lips in soft baby pouts.  

The second thing you notice is Aemond and your heart just about leaps into your throat at the unexpected sight of him.  

He’s lying on the chaise; his torso completely bare except for the bandage wrapped tightly around his bruised ribs.  

You know you shouldn’t be looking, but you can’t seem to claw your eyes away as they sink to his stomach, where the tight definition of his abdomen dips below the lose strings on his breeches.  

He normally wears leather, but these are soft, black cotton and his feet are bare, relaxed .  

You’ve been staring long enough for your cheeks to turn pink before you try to retreat back through the door.  

“Perhaps we should return another time,” you suggest, crashing into Maris, who not only blocks your escape but pushes you deeper into the room.  

“You will have to excuse my brother,” Helaena announces, waving her hand to beckon you both out onto the balcony, but Maris makes no attempt at excusing Aemond’s presence.  

She rushes to kneel at his side, her smile more triumphant than when you’d agreed to come here.  

“You fought so gallantly today, my prince,” she gushes, her eyes like two saucers which are ready to plate him up.  

Aemond groans as though her kind words are an insult, before his attention returns to you. 

“Have you come to scold me, Lady Baratheon?” he says. 

Maris laughs nervously, “ why would she do that?” 

“Because your little sister seems to disapprove of everything I do.”  

He presses his hand to his bandage and forces himself from the chaise with a pained grunt. 

“I did not realise his grace held any esteem in my opinion,” you reply, but you know it isn’t true and Aemond laughs softly. 

“Yet you like to give it anyway, don’t you Lady Baratheon?”  

“My preference for the extent of our communication has not changed since the first instance. In that I should prefer to avoid it at all costs.”  

“Yet you are here ,” his voice is louder now, “when there are a thousand other places in the Red Keep, or shall I vacate the entire castle for your solitude?” 

“I would not expect his grace to vacate anything for my benefit. So I will leave, if it suits the princess,” you say, glancing to Helaena and hoping she will intervene in some way because, despite what you’ve just said, you cannot seem to get your feet to move as Aemond stalks closer. 

“I would rather you told me what you thought of the tourney,” he demands. 

You say nothing. Waiting until he’s crossed the room, and you can see every shade of purple which blossoms in the bruise beneath his good eye, as much as you can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.   

He killed a man ; you remind yourself as your eyes scrape across his swollen lip to where the cut has crusted over.  

“I do not think his grace would enjoy my answer.” 

“Try me.”  

You glance at Maris who’s giving you a pleading look, but if Prince Aemond wants the truth, you won’t sugar coat it for him. In fact, you’ll give it so harshly that he’ll stop looking at you the way he’s looking at you in this very moment. 

His soft pensive expression, almost forcing you to forget how much you’d despised his actions less than 3 hours ago.  

You wind your shoulders back as though you’re a knight preparing to strike a blow. “I found the whole thing to be a spectacle of senseless violence with no use but to pet your own sense of grandeur. Ser Glover was the better fighter and-  

“Sister!” Maris interjects, the word shrill and horrified. 

“No, do go on, Lady Baratheon,” Aemond encourages, his eye levelling with yours, his fingers splaying wider across his ribs. 

“You killed him in cold blood like a petulant child who cannot stand to lose a game.” 

Silence commands the room, and then laughter. Aemond’s laughter, stifled by the pain in his ribs but still there and not at all disturbed by your stark analysis as he returns to the chaise. 

Maris stands, the expression in her eye beyond angry, yet her lips are sealed in a tight line which could never be broken in front of the prince. 

“Come ,” Helaena says, offering her hand for Maris while giving you a harrowing look, “let my brother stew in his self-pity.” 

When they disappear onto the balcony, you know they probably don’t want your company, but you feel as though you cannot leave either.  

So, you resign to follow, but stop short when Aemond reaches out to catch your wrist, the rough touch of his fingers searing across your skin without a glove to mask it.  

You look at his face, then to the place where he’s gripping you so tightly, and it's the same place Lord Glover had touched when he’d kissed your hand, yet the feel is entirely different.  

Glover was trying to seduce you with gentleness, but Aemond’s touch isn’t gentle, its certain , and your heart isn’t just fluttering, its beating so hard you feel it might burst into flames.  

“Your grace?” you whisper, hardly daring to meet his eye. 

“You’re right. Lord Glover was the only man who dared to face me, and he did better me. So I killed him to ensure there was no man in all of Westeros who could ever stand against me.” 

You look at him now, your voice tight, “then you’re a coward.” 

If your words wound him, he covers it well, tugging your arm so you’re forced closer, crouching to stop yourself from falling ontop of him.  

“If only you held yourself to your own lofty standards of bravery, then perhaps you would not spend your time at court skulking in the shadows and pretending you don’t enjoy every second you spend in my company.” 

“I am not brave and never claimed to be and... I don’t need to pretend.” 

"Neither do I, and I don’t give a shit about tourneys or gallantry. I’m no white knight hero from a song and I would kill every man in Westeros if they stood in my way.”  

“If you care so little about tourneys, then why bother competing?” 

A smile flicks across his lips and you regret your question as his hand sinks between the cushions on the chaise to retrieve a handkerchief. 

“I must admit, you have no talent for needlework,” he teases, and your eyes grow wide as you notice the wonky cornflower which is now caked in dust and grime. 

You hadn’t seen him collect it from the end of Glover’s lance, and never imagined he would either.  

When you reach to snatch it from his hand, he shoves it back below the pillow with a taunting laugh, “you’ll have to try better than that.” 

You don’t take the bait. You’re not about to scramble around on top of him for the sake of a handkerchief.  

He can have it, it’s just a piece of cloth so it doesn't mean anything . Yet it also means everything , and you know how much it would upset Maris if she knew it was your favour he kept by his side instead of hers.  

You wrench your wrist back, wanting to at least take your arm from his grasp but Aemond doesn’t give that up either. 

He holds you firm, neither of you saying a word before he chooses to relinquish your arm. Because he decides, not you .  

Hastening to your feet, you grip your skin where his touch had been. 

“If you think I could ever enjoy your company, then you must be completely deranged," you say before hurrying out onto the balcony which now seems like a refuge, except, when you sit at the table, you feel like the arrival of a dark cloud on a pleasant afternoon.  

Maris and Helaena both stop what they’re doing to stare, but they don’t ask you to leave, and you thank the gods for propriety as you drink your tea and pick at your cake as though there’s nothing amiss.  

Still, Maris has not forgotten about your little outburst. So when Helaena excuses herself from the table, she pinches your arm with all her might.  

“Ow ,” you whisper harshly, trying your best not to squeal.  

“You are the worst sister in the entire world!” she hisses, her voice shaky and filled with emotion. “You are ruining my chances with Aemond, is that what you want? For me to be miserable?” 

Rubbing your arm, you can’t meet her eye as you say, “that’s not what I want.” 

"Then can you at least try to be nicer to him?” 

You wanted to scream or shake her, “believe me, if I were nicer to the prince, it would not increase your chances.” 

Her eyes flare brightly, her cheeks hot, “and what is that supposed to mean?” 

You sigh, your words carefully chosen, you’re not trying to hurt Maris. “I mean you are lovely enough for any man to want regardless of their feelings for me.” 

"Well, if you care about me at all, you will apologise to him, or I will never talk to you again.”  

You want to tell her ‘no’, but Helaena returns and Maris’ mind is already made up on the matter.  

So, when it is time to leave, and Prince Aemond is still lounging on the chaise, she jabs you in the ribs with a pointed look before announcing, “my sister has something she wishes to say...”  

You clench your nails into the palms of your hands, and try not to roll your eyes, as everyone in the room focuses their attention on you.  

“Please... accept my apologies for the way I spoke before. I am unused to such… gallantry and bravery .”  

It seemed your traitorous tongue could not be stopped, but Maris was satisfied with your apology, even if Aemond looked as though he could see into the very inner workings of your mind. 

“Such heartfelt words, Lady Baratheon,” he began, “but I cannot accept an apology of which I have no need. If my lady thinks I am behaving like a... ‘ petulant child’ then she must be certain to tell me at her earliest convenience.” 

“Well ...” Maris frowns, forcing a laugh, and looking as though she is completely unable to decipher whether the apology had worked in her favour or against.  

“My sister also had the most wonderful idea of making you a remedy,” she added, kneeling by the prince's side once again.  

“It's an old family recipe for swollen…” she tilts her head, glancing down his body, “muscles and um…” she meets his eye, “ lips.” 

You could die of embarrassment for her, but you’re soon distracted by the amused way Aemond turns to look at you, “a remedy? How thoughtful of my lady.” 

You shift from one foot to other, meeting Maris’ stern expression and feeling as though you might strangle her for concocting such a ridiculous scheme.  

“She will bring it to you before the feast, my prince,” she added as if the mere suggestion wasn’t bad enough.  

“Then I will look forward to it,” he replies, giving her, for once, the pleasure of a genuine smile.  

When you’re walking away from the room and out of sight of the guards, it's your turn to pinch her arm and she does squeal. 

“What remedy?” you demand.  

Maris shrugs, “you said you would try to be nicer to him and I thought it would be a good gesture.” 

You heave a very heavy sigh, “if it is you who wants the prince… don’t you think it should be you who brings him the remedy for his…” you mock her voice in a high falsetto, “swollen muscles and lips.”  

She folds her face into her hands, completely dismayed, “oh no! Why did I say that?” 

“Why, indeed?” you ask, annoyed beyond measure.  

~~~

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! As Lady Baratheon, what would you put into Aemond's remedy? Are you softening to him or do you like to see him suffer?

[nehpetssanders]

Tessomancy at Madam Puddifoot's (Tea-Sons Greetings)

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Frankly, I was 'bit' disappointed with the "study" session with Cassandra in Madam Puddifoot's tea shop in the last update, so I decided to do something about it. So, this chapter is for those who feel the same way

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Winter had settled over Hogwarts that morning, casting the castle in an enchanting blanket of snow. As the chilly winds whispered through the halls, you and your classmates found yourselves in the Divination classroom that looked more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. Everything was illuminated by a soft, crimson glow; the numerous lamps were covered in scarves of dark red, and the curtains were drawn at the windows. It was oppressively warm, and the fire behind the packed mantelpiece was heating a big copper kettle while emitting a thick, nauseating kind of incense. 

Professor Trelawney, draped in flowing fabrics, looked around the room with her usual far-off gaze as she seated herself in a winged armchair in the center of the room.

"Now, my dear students," she began, her voice a melodic, misty murmur, "In the ethereal dance of destiny, we shall embark on a Tessomancy project. The patterns in the dregs of the tea leaves shall unveil secrets yet unknown to you as you gaze into the future! I have already divined the pairs through my Inner Eye, and it has whispered its choices to me."

The class listened intently as Trelawney listed the pairs, connecting students in mysterious ways only she understood, pairing students who are more than likely come to blows or heated duels before they could even have a sip of their tea to read their tea leaves. Case in point: Fischer being partnered up with Daniel (who already had his wand out, just in case), and Colby being partnered up with Ivy. Your other friends, Lottie, Kevin, and Robyn, were not safe from this either, with Robyn being paired up with a quidditch-hating, know-it-all attitude Ravenclaw, Kevin being paired up with a thrill-seeking and daredevil Gryffindor, and Lottie with a disinterested Slytherin.

For each partner she called, she instructed them to take a seat beside their partners

You, on the other hand, are desperately pleading, praying even, to Merlin and whatever wizarding gods you know to spare you from this fate. 

"Cassandra Vole and (Y/N) (L/N)," Trelawney declared, her eyes glazing over as if peering into the mystical threads of fate.

Alas, fate is cruel and has some twisted sense of humor it seems.

You suddenly felt your jaw drop out of disbelief. Daniel, Robyn, Kevin, did the same, while Ivy and Lottie had their hands over their mouth. The rest of the class exchanged glances started murmuring amongst themselves, surprised by the seemingly unlikely pairing. Cassandra Vole, known for her sharp wit and vain attitude, and you, a student whose path (and wand) often crossed with hers. The air seemed to crackle with a blend of anticipation and uncertainty.

After quickly composing yourself, you hesitantly made your way to Cassandra's side, she offered no more than a subtle nod of acknowledgment, before turning away in a huff, leaving you rubbing your nape awkwardly as Trelawney began partnering up the rest of the class. The unspoken understanding was that this was merely an academic collaboration, a project to be completed, and nothing more. You knew this as Professor Trelawney began spending the entire lecture on giving instructions on what to do for the project, expecting a report on their findings before the end of the week.

Looks like you've got your work cut for you, it seems.

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In the few short hours that followed, whispers of the Tessomancy project spread throughout the castle like fiendfyre. Students discussed with their partners and speculated on the outcomes of their readings. Rumors circulated that Professor Trelawney's divination insights had paired students who, under normal circumstances, might never have worked together, thus they were all bound to fail. You and your friends were, of course, aware of this as you sat in the Great Hall for lunch to discuss the project.

Daniel, who sat beside you, sighed and shook his head, playing with his beans for lunch, his elbow against the table, his head propped up with his hand. "I don't know if Trelawney is trying to deliberately make us fail her class—"

"—or she's just being mental and loony as usual," Robyn interjected, her face flushing from anger after some sort of disagreement with her partner for the project, no doubt it's about the Ravenclaw talking Robyn's ear off for the project.

"Well, knowing Professor Trelawney, it's probably a bit of both." Lottie added as she joined the table, looking a bit disheveled. Looks she too had some disagreement with her partner regarding the project. "She thrives on making everything unnecessarily complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement." Kevin grumbled, "My partner won't stop talking about the alignment of the skies and how it correlates with the steam rising from her tea. I swear, I might need to invest in earplugs if this keeps going for the whole week."

Amused groans and laughs resonated across the table as they shared in the collective struggle that was the Tessomancy project. Amidst the banter, a curious expression crossed Daniel's face as he noticed you being silent throughout, completely immersed in your own thoughts, no doubt worried about your partnership with Slytherin's vain 'Princess'. 

Truth to be told, you had harbored a small crush on Cassandra since your first day at Hogwarts, a crush that quickly waned as you witnessed her... less pleasant qualities. Still, you couldn't deny the charm she exudes—confident, clever, stylish, and powerful. And, of course, incredibly beautiful.

It wasn't that you despised her; you didn't hate anyone. You simply didn't appreciate how badly she treated your friends whenever the opportunity arose. Dealing with bullies had been challenging enough at your previous muggle school, and it was no easier at a magical school like Hogwarts. But you believed in standing up to bullies, no matter who they were.

"Speaking of which, how's your partnership with Cassandra going for you, (Y/N)?" he inquired, snapping you out of your stupor, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

Robyn, who had been in a bad mood, suddenly perked up, her interest piqued. "Yeah, spill the tea—no pun intended. How's the dynamic between you two?"

While your friends giggled at Robyn's comedic wording, you merely sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Nothing. She just told me to wait for her owl to give me the specifics on when we'll start."

As if on cue, a loud screech from the ceiling caught your attention. You looked up, and a majestic snowy white owl suddenly swooped in, landing gracefully in front of you. Its beak carried a small, emerald-green envelope.

You regarded the owl with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. Taking a deep breath, you reached out, careful not to startle the elegant creature. It was evident whose owl this was, given its immaculate grooming. Cassandra's owl extended its head, presenting the emerald-green envelope, and the Slytherin crest embossed on the seal confirmed its sender. You gently nuzzled the owl and offered a meaty piece of your lunch before it gracefully took flight back to its owner.

"Well, open it!" Robyn exclaimed, her impatience matching the curious glances from your friends.

You examined the envelope, turning it over to see something written that said, "For YOUR eyes only."

Giving your friends a knowing look, they relented, granting you the privacy to explore the contents of the letter. After carefully breaking the wax seal and unfolding the parchment inside, Cassandra's elegant handwriting adorned the small page.

"(Y/N), Meet me at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop at 3 in the afternoon. Don't be late.  AND DON'T TELL ANYONE. -C.V."

The simplicity of the message struck you. No pleasantries, no unnecessary words. Just a direct command.

"Well? What did the letter say?" Ivy asked inquisitively, already finished with her lunch.

"Can't say, really," you replied, deciding to respect Cassandra's wishes regarding the letter.

Your friends raised their eyebrows at this, looking rather unconvinced, and seemed to assume more than they let on.

"Well, whatever it is," Robyn couldn't resist a teasing remark. "Looks like you've got a date with destiny, (Y/N)."

"More like a date with academic disaster," you mumbled, shaking your head.

The rest of your lunch passed with a mix of laughter and speculations about the mysterious rendezvous. As the appointed time approached, you couldn't help but wonder why Cassandra would pick Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop of all places to meet. The air was thick with anticipation, and you knew that whatever awaited you there would undoubtedly be intriguing, given the circumstances.

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The remainder of the afternoon crawled by, every hour marked by the anticipation of the looming meeting with Cassandra. You couldn't help but wonder about the purpose of this rendezvous. Was it solely for the Tessomancy project, or did Cassandra have something else in mind? The mystery surrounding her intentions hung in the air like an enchantment.

As the clock hands finally converged at 3 o'clock, you made your way to Hogsmeade and straight Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, a place usually associated with romantic rendezvous. As such you made none of your friends followed you on the way.

Upon arriving, the village of Hogsmeade bustled with activity, students roaming the cobblestone streets, their laughter and chatter intermingling with the magical atmosphere. The quaint tea shop exuded a warm glow, its windows adorned with delicate pink lace curtains and stacked teacups.

Upon entering, the aroma of various teas wafted through the air, creating an atmosphere of coziness. The interior was adorned with pink floral patterns, and small, intricately decorated tables were scattered around the room. You spotted Cassandra at a corner table, her posture composed and her expression already reflecting her disdain for the environment.

"There you are. Took you long enough," Cassandra remarked, her tone cutting through the air. "Well, don't just stand there! Sit down so we can get this over with."

You complied, taking a seat across from her in the flowery and frilly atmosphere of the tea shop. Madam Puddifoot approached with a beaming smile, eager to serve her special Couple's Special tea.

"Welcome to Madam Puddifoot's, bringing people together one cuppa at a time. Can I interest you dears in our Couple's Special?" Madam Puddifoot offered, her eyes glinting with a spark of matchmaking enthusiasm.

"Err, that's okay. Two cups of Earl Grey would be fine," you replied, preemptively dispelling any misconceptions.

"Are you sure? Our strawberry rose tea is made with an infusion of hibiscus blossoms and rose petals. It's sweet, floral, and ever so romantic," Madam Puddifoot persisted.

"Let me make this very clear," Cassandra interjected sharply, "This is not a date. The only reason I'm here with (Y/N) is because Trelawney assigned us as partners on a Tessomancy project. And the tea the Hogwarts house-elves make is vile."

"Very well, two cups of Earl Grey coming right up." Madam Puddifoot, though a bit disappointed, nodded understandingly and left to prepare the ordered Earl Grey.

"Finally. Now let's hurry up and do this stupid reading before anyone we know sees me with you. I'll go first, naturally," Cassandra declared, her impatience palpable. "I'll take a drink and tell you what I see in my tea leaves. You interpret what I say and make a prediction."

As soon as Madam Puddifoot arrived with the tea, Cassandra wasted no time. She expertly took her cup, blowing on the piping hot liquid to cool it down, and sipped until only the dregs remained. Following the instructions provided by Professor Trelawney on scroll of parchment you had on you, Cassandra swills the dregs inside her cup three times with the left hand, then turns the cup upside down on its saucer, waiting for the last of the tea to drain away.

Meanwhile, you frantically rummaged through your satchel, realizing with a sinking feeling that you had forgotten your copy of Unfogging the Future—the key reference for the Tessomancy project. Cassandra, noticing your mild panic, merely rolls her eye at you as she decides to give you her copy, sliding it across the table to you, all the while chastising you for being forgetful.

As the last of the tea drained from Cassandra's cup, the two of you finally began the Tessomancy project in earnest.

"Right," said Cassandra as you opened her book at pages five and six. "So, this blob looks like... an acorn?"

"I think that means..." You consulted Unfogging the Future, tracing you finger on the printed words. "You can expect a windfall of riches in your future."

"Really? Not that I'm surprised. It is the natural outcome, after all, for one as gifted and intelligent as myself." Cassandra replied, a hint of smugness in her tone. "In fact, you'd better pour me another cup. My future's too full of potential for one to be sufficient."

"But—"

Before you could even protest, Cassandra had ordered another two cups of Earl Grey from Madam Puddifoot. The process repeated, with Cassandra going through the same swilling and draining ritual as before. You just sighed at this as you held the textbook reference you had in front of you as Cassandra began peering into her drained cup.

Now I see... a cat? " Cassandra's brow furrowed as she scrutinized her teacup, turning it around as if seeking a better angle to decipher the dregs. "No, a dog? No... both?"

"That's an easy one," you responded confidently, scanning the pages of Unfogging the Future. "You're going to... develop an unlikely relationship with a polar opposite. In, other words, someone you wouldn't expect to get along with. Well, what do you think? Ring any bells?"

Cassandra's gaze shifted from the teacup to you, her skepticism evident, before she finally, ever composed, merely raised an eyebrow.

"It seems the pink and frills have gone to your head," she remarked dryly. "Well, I've had quite enough of this for one day. You can go ahead and leave first."

"But what about my reading?" You interjected.

"I don't have to look at your tea leaves to know what the future has in store for you, do I?"

Intrigued, you prodded, "Oh, really? And what's that?"

Cassandra leaned back, a knowing glint in her eyes, her gloved hand raised near her mouth, stifling a giggle. "A failing grade in Divination."

"Oh, har har. Very Funny." You rolled your eyes at her, "And I'm not leaving my seat until you predict my future, Cassandra." 

The air between you and Cassandra crackled with tension, a silent challenge passing between your eyes. The ambient sounds of the tea shop faded away as the world narrowed down to the space between the two of you. 

The seconds stretched into moments, and the bustling sounds of the tea shop became distant echoes. It was a peculiar tableau, the two of you engaged in a duel of gazes, oblivious to the curious glances from other patrons.

Her gaze was like a storm, intense and unyielding. Dark emerald eyes bore into yours with a sharpness that cut through the awkward silence. It was a contest of wills, a battle communicated through the language of stares. You, on the other hand, maintained a composed exterior, though the undercurrent of nervousness rippled beneath the surface. The challenge was set, and neither of you seemed willing to be the first to look away.

Cassandra's raised eyebrow suggested amusement, as if she found the situation more entertaining than inconvenient. Finally, Cassandra's lips curled into a half-smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken exchange.

"You're stubborn, I'll give you that. But fine." She flicks her golden blonde hair over her shoulder and sits closely to the table. "Hand me that stupid book," she declared, her words carrying a blend of irritation and amusement, "so I can predict your stupid cup and be done with this!"

In response, you acquiesced silently, sliding Unfogging the Future in her direction. Cassandra seized it without hesitation, her deft gloved fingers flipping through its pages with practiced efficiency. The sound of parchment rustling punctuated the air as she reached the designated pages, her focus shifting from annoyance to analytical determination.

Fortunately, you already have your tea cup prepared so it was a matter of just discerning the dregs.

"So? What do you see?" Cassandra impatiently asked.

"I see..." Your eyes narrowed with effort as you scrutinized the dainty cup. "Some sort of... thin bird? No, wait. Those lines on the edge of the wings continue, forming into some sort of a.... heart? A perfect heart."

Cassandra felt her breath hitch in her throat, and her cheeks warmed slightly before she composed herself almost instantaneously.

She then sighed rather dramatically, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It really does look like the frills and pink went to your head this time, (Y/N)."

"Hey, I'm just telling you as I see it!"

"Well, you clearly need to get your Inner Eye checked," Cassandra rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. "Why don't you go and order us some food from Madam Puddifoot, while I try to make peace with your cup. This whole ordeal is making me famished."

Deciding not to irk the Slytherin girl any further, you gracefully made your way to Madam Puddifoot's to order more tea and some food this time. Meanwhile, Cassandra seized your cup, examining the tea dregs herself. Imagine her surprise when she found out the dregs truly did resemble a heart.

The only difference was you had described it as perfect, but in her 'Eye,' it appeared crooked and blemished. Confused, she consulted "Unfogging the Future" and leafed through its pages until she found what she was looking for.

There were two drawings of a heart, one crooked and one perfectly shaped. The descriptions read: The perfectly shaped heart appears only to the owner of the cup, symbolizing a love that is harmonious and destined to be in his future. When one discerns the heart in its blemished form, crooked in any way, it signifies the fickle love or admiration they hold for the owner of the cup.

Cassandra nearly dropped the cup from utter surprise after reading the last passage from the book. Her eyes widened, and she looked from the cup to the book, realization slowly dawning upon her. The revelation left her in a momentary state of contemplation before she glanced up, meeting your gaze with an unreadable expression.

Returning with the ordered tea and food, you noticed Cassandra's thoughtful demeanor.

"Everything okay?" you asked, unaware of the revelations unfolding in the tea leaves and the pages of the divination book.

Upon speculation, maybe it's because of the fact you had saved her life on different occasions, especially during your nightly excursions in the Forbidden Forest for rare potion ingredients for some project, or maybe because you were the only partner she'd choose during your dance club practices. In fact, Cassandra can’t remember a time in the past few years you and her haven’t been dance partners. And when you asked her about it, she merely responded by saying you were the only one that did not have two left feet.

Whereas other students would praise her and practically throw themselves at her feet begging for her attention, you were the only one who treated her as a fellow student, and she seemed to have grown to admire that in you. Something she'd never openly admit to anyone. Especially to you.

"Yes, everything's fine." Cassandra blinked, snapping out of her introspection.

Upon setting the tray down, you sat back down and helped yourself to another helping of Earl Grey Tea as well as a fresh macaron from the tray. As you observed her, you couldn't help but marvel at the way her usually composed exterior seemed to waver ever so slightly.

"So," you started, trying to break the silence that had settled over the table, "What did your Inner Eye see from my cup?"

"A load of soggy brown stuff," Cassandra replied with a rather unnerving and sickeningly sweet smile.

One you'd wish to never see again, nor ask Cassandra ever again regarding what she saw in your cup.

[mythologyolympics]

Mythology Olympics tournament round 1

Propaganda!

Cassandra in Greek mythology was a Trojan priestess dedicated to the god Apollo and fated by him to utter true prophecies but never to be believed. In modern usage her name is employed as a rhetorical device to indicate a person whose accurate prophecies, generally of impending disaster, are not believed. Cassandra was a daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy. Her elder brother was Hector, the hero of the Greek-Trojan War. The older and most common versions of the myth state that she was admired by the god Apollo, who sought to win her love by means of the gift of seeing the future. According to Aeschylus, she promised him her favours, but after receiving the gift, she went back on her word. As the enraged Apollo could not revoke a divine power, he added to it the curse that nobody would believe her prophecies.

Propaganda from the submitter:

The literal inventor of ‘I knew this was going to happen please I am begging you to LISTEN’ on account of refusing to betray her vows and sleep with Apollo and subsequently getting cursed with “everything you ever foresee will come true but no one will ever believe you”. Also she then got murdered by the wife of the guy who took her home to be his slave after her city was destroyed.

Coyote (Navajo: mąʼii) is an irresponsible and trouble-making character who is nevertheless one of the most important and revered characters in Navajo mythology. Even though Tó Neinilii is the Navajo god of rain, Coyote also has powers over rain. Coyote’s ceremonial name is Áłtsé hashké which means "first scolder". In Navajo tradition, Coyote appears in creation myths, teaching stories, and healing ceremonies. Coyote is a key figure in Navajo mythology, and of all the figures in Navajo mythology, Coyote (Mąʼii) is the most contradictory. He is a shadowy figure that can be funny or fearsome. Coyote is greedy, vain, foolish, cunning and also occasionally displays a degree of power. "In common with Tricksters generally, he serves to test the bounds of possibilities and order." Coyote looks like a coyote in animal form and she looks like a sagacious woman in human form.

Propaganda from the submitter:

Coyote is smarter than Odin, and trickier than Loki. Coyote parties harder than Dionysius and made more stars than Hollywood. You can't fuck with Coyote, because Coyote has already fucked with you.