#i was originally going to have 'you better not be running off with that maid' 'already eloping' 'why am I not surprised?' but I didn't know

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Hei-Ran: Do you want poor Yingyong to get surprised by rustlers? Or starve to death? Rangi: We're not going to be here that long! Hei-Ran: You don't know that! Does preparedness not carry the day anymore?

[aegonstradwife]

conception | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aegon have 4 daughters. while aegon is in a meeting they discuss the fact that the king doesn’t yet have a male heir. otto suggests aegon taking a second wife to have a chance at producing an heir. it pisses aegon off that otto would even suggest that.

warnings: talk of general misogyny, established relationship, smut. (riding, creampie.)

a. note: link to the original request.

It's a warm day, perfect for taking the girls out to play in the courtyard. They are glad to be free of their daily lessons, and you of your queenly duties.

One day away from such responsibilities couldn't hurt, and the sun shining down on your grouping had you in higher spirits than you had been for months.

Until you spied your husband stalking his way through the corridor toward you.

Initially, you lit up as you saw Aegon, as did your daughters upon seeing their father; he is so often away from them in council meetings or tending to other kingly duties.

For Aegon, seeing his wife and daughters makes him happier than he's been all day. It's a rare sight, seeing him smile so warmly, especially these days. But sadly, it doesn't last long.

The girls may not notice, as Aegon scoops the youngest into his arms, but you sure as hells do.

That menacing look, the red rimming his eyes. Telltale signs that Aegon isn't feeling his best, which unfortunately have been more prevalent of late.

"Aegon?" You lay a hand on your husband's arm, squeezing. "What's the matter, love?"

His violet eyes lay upon your hand squeezing his arm, and he tries to keep his terrible mood in check, so as not to take it out on you or the children. "There's nothing wrong, my dear."

But he refuses to meet your gaze as he presses a kiss to your daughter's forehead.

"Nothing?" You raise your brows, studying him. Something is wrong. Perhaps something you'd better not discuss around the girls....

"Ladies, why don't we break for lunch?" You announce, herding your daughters to one of the maids nearby.

With one last kiss to her chubby cheek, Aegon sets the youngest down and allows her to waddle off with the rest to the kitchens.

"Talk to me, my love." Once alone, you run your hands up Aegon's arms to his shoulders, kneading. "What happened? I thought you were meant to be at council all day...."

The king grumbles, frustrated to be questioned by you, but at the same time relishing the feeling of your talented hands kneading the tension out of his shoulders. Of which there is a lot.

His gaze meets yours, and there's a hint of annoyance in it, though whether at you or other matters, you can't initially tell.

".... Otto has brought a most pressing matter to the council today."

The breath he takes next is measured, trying to keep his composure, though he finds doing so much easier in your presence.

"What?" You frown, any number of terrible things flashing through your mind. All of them ending with the palace in rubble, your family ruined as Rhaenyra takes the throne. "Is it her? What awful thing has she done now?"

You dig your fingers ferociously into Aegon's shoulders.

A small pained noise escapes him, though he tries not to wince as he places his hands over yours to loosen your grip.

"It's not Rhaenyra." He continues to stare at you, his eyes full of an exhaustion you wish you could wipe away. "It's Otto."

You smooth your fingers apologetically over his shoulders, soothing the hurt. "So you said. What did he say?"

Aegon closes his eyes, that furrow between his brows relaxing for just a moment, as your fingers stroke him, before returning. He pauses, unsure how you're going to take the words that must next fall from his lips. Knowing they might hurt you. "He said we need a son, that we desperately need a son and soon...."

Your stomach falls. You knew this was coming - for years now you've only been able to produce girls. With every birth, Aegon's joy only grew, and your worry along with it.

What if you couldn't produce an heir at all? What if -

"We'll keep trying," you say resolutely. "I know I can give you a son. Just let's keep trying, please...."

"That's not all that was mentioned." It looks like it physically pains Aegon to tell you this. "The matter of a second wife was also raised, to try and help produce a male heir...."

You know husbands - especially kings - often take second wives when the first is unable to birth a son. Gods, it will about kill you if Aegon turns to that ...

At a loss for what to say, and feeling tears threatening to spill if you utter so much as a word, you cling speechlessly to Aegon, hoping for him to make it all better.

His hand is under your chin, cupping gently, forcing you to look at him. "But.... what if.... what if I don't care for a son?"

Shaken by this declaration, all thoughts of crying banished in worry, you clap a hand over your husband's mouth and glance around for any passing servants. "Do not say that, Aegon! What if someone were to hear...?"

A determined hand encircling your wrist, he pulls your fingers gently from his mouth, a grave look on his face. "And if they did? Why is it so important they think we care about a son? Why.... why couldn't one of our daughters be queen? Rhaenyra seems to think she has some claim to the throne. Why not our eldest?"

That intense stare does not waiver as he continues to peer at you.

"Aegon, please, not here..."

The cogs in your head are turning, as you grab him by the hand and pull him along into a spare room, Aegon following silently along.

It seems he, too, is thinking about what he's just said as he closes the door behind you. His expression is still earnest when he turns to face you.

You turn to face him at the same time, arms crossed. "You're saying you would name Syryn as your successor, as queen?"

"Yes," comes his simple yet fervent reply. "If Rhaenyra believes Viserys named her heir, then surely I can do the same?"

You chew thoughtfully at your cheek. "Otto will never accept it. I doubt the smallfolk would either. Isn't that why we're in this situation in the first place?"

"You think they won't accept it?" Aegon asks, cornering you and placing his hands on your shoulders. "I'll make them accept it. I'm the king, damnit. I don't want a son, I don't need a son. I have everything I need already."

The conviction with which he says it almost makes you believe it. "And.... you don't want to at least keep trying? For a son? Or even another daughter?"

Seeing your husband all worked up like this is making you feel.... things.

Aegon notices the immediate change in your expression, the way you look at him, your need for him.

"We will keep trying.... but not because I want a son."

His hands relinquish their hold on your shoulders to instead grab for your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you flush against him. That earnest look in his eyes is now dark with desire, gaze roaming hungrily over your body.

Your hands come to sweetly cradle his jaw, humming contentedly as your body is pulled to his. "I love hearing you talk about our family this way. I love knowing you love us and will do anything to protect us, as king."

Twining a lock of his hair around your finger, you look up at him through your lashes. "I would love to give you another child, Aegon. Son or daughter."

He purrs as your fingers weave further into his hair, his hands tightening their grasp on your hips, pulling you ever - impossibly - closer.

Aegon leans down, breath hot against your ear, and breathes, "Then you'd better be prepared to keep trying.... over, and over and over again."

You can't help but grin, ecstatic at Aegon's joy over your family. You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders and kiss him; a biting kiss, teeth clashing, tongues sliding over each other.

"We should try now," you gasp, tugging at the back of Aegon's jacket. "While the girls are at lunch and you have some time away from the council."

Aegon groans agonizingly into your mouth before he pulls away, gaze now even darker.

"Such a desperate little thing, aren't you? Wanting to take advantage of your husband while he can spare the time," he teases, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside.

Even just those words - Aegon calling you desperate, seeing you for what you truly are - are enough to make your legs tremble.

"Oh please, Aegon. Right here, I need it here."

The room you've found yourselves in is bare, with naught more than a fireplace and a few suits of armor dotting the perimeter.

As such, you pull him back toward the wall and lean yourself against it, fingers dipping under the collar of his exposed tunic. "I need to feel you, my king."

Aegon presses you back against the wall, your back aligning with the cool stones, his body now pressed firmly against yours. His lips find your neck with a huff of hot air, kissing and nibbling, hands grabbing for every bit of you they can reach.

"You're always so needy, so desperate," he mutters. "I'll give you what you need, my wife. I'll give you everything you desire."

As his hands work their way over you, yours do the same over him. His body has the perfect amount of cushion to it - being held against him is the most comfortable feeling in the world.

"Aegon...." You whisper, lifting a leg to wrap it high around his waist. "Give me another child. Please."

A deep growl escapes him at the wrap of your leg around him and he presses forward, wanting to make sure you can feel every searing inch of him against you.

"You want another child, do you?" His lips blaze a scorching path to the collar of your dress, which he tugs out of the way with his teeth. "You want me to fill you up and give you what you need?"

In a hurry to have him inside of you, you gather your skirts and pull them up with a quick nod. "Let's not waste too much time. Someone will be looking for one of us sooner or later."

He whines as your gown is hiked up, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of your legs and the heat between them. He runs his hands over those legs, leaving burning trails in their wake.

"So impatient," he murmurs, "but I have to agree with you."

He hunches down, positioning himself properly between your legs, and curls his hands around the backs of your thighs. "Wrap your legs around my waist, love, and hold on tight."

With your back still anchored against the wall, you wrap your legs tightly around your husband's hips and allow him to lift you from the ground. Your hands are still moving all over him, eventually skimming down to his trousers, which you start to undo the buckle of.

Aegon grunts his approval, allowing you to unbuckle his breeches. His gaze never leaves yours, though, as his breaths grow shallow.

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me one day," he sighs, hands squeezing at your thighs. "You always know how to drive me absolutely wild."

At this angle, it's hard to get your hand all the way inside the opening of Aegon's pants. But you do manage to circle your fingers haphazardly around your husband's half-hard cock and give him a few solid pumps to bring him to full hardness.

"And the way to drive you wild is to ask you to fill me full of your babies, isn't it, Aegon?"

His breath hitches at the feeling of your hand around him, a frustrated groan falling from his lips. His entire body quivers with desire as he leans in. "You know me too well. The thought of filling you with my seed, of giving you more children.... it's enough to drive any man wild."

"Any man?" You 'tsk.' "Doesn't the thought of just 'any' man getting me pregnant make you jealous, my king?"

With your legs already around his hips, it's hard to get the waist of his trousers low enough to allow his erection to pop out and Aegon has to help you, shoving the constricting material down so that the head of his cock can nudge at your folds. "I'm wet for you.... can you feel it?"

Though he doesn't say it aloud, he feels a sharp pang of jealousy at your words, a possessive need surging through him. He growls, hands gripping your thighs even tighter, eyes practically blazing with desire.

"Don't play with me. I know you're teasing, but it's enough to make me lose control." He leans in even closer, breath blistering against your skin. "Put me inside, my love. Let me feel you."

Arching your back away from the wall, you position yourself so that Aegon's cockhead is pressing insistently at your opening. "…. should I make you beg to fill me up?"

That simple question sets his body quivering with yearning for you. His fingers dig into your skin as he tries to hold on to his composure, but failing all the while.

"Please…." He groans, his voice low and hoarse. "Please, my love, let me fill you up. I need it, I need you."

"Good boy," you sigh, and after a quick peck of a kiss to his nose, you begin to relax the muscles in your back, allowing your wet cunt to slide down on Aegon's cock, welcoming him inside of you.

Aegon's eyes roll back in overwhelming pleasure at the feeling of your warm, wet heat around him. With a sharp inhale, he redoubles his hold on your thighs, pulling you down onto him as he begins to move with you, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your moan and Aegon's desperate grunts. Aegon's face finds your neck again as he continues to drag you down onto him with abandon, deeper and harder with each thrust.

"You feel so good, my love." His voice is tremulous, hands beginning to shake where they hold you up. "I'm not going to stop until I get you pregnant again."

And it all feels so dirty, the hem of your gown trapped around your waist as your husband pulls you down by your hips, driving himself into you. Your hands try to grapple for purchase at the wall beside your head, but then settle for resting your wrists at Aegon's shoulders, tips of your fingers clawing and scratching at the back of his neck.

"Please, Aegon…we don't have long. Someone might come looking soon…" At this point, you don't even care if you climax, as long as Aegon's seed finds its home deep inside of you.

In response, Aegon nods, hips now moving even faster as he feels your nails digging into his neck. He can feel his own release building, evidenced by the way his chest heaves and his face has gone pink all over. The need to give you what you want is overwhelming for him.

"D-Don't worry, my love," he gasps. "I won't last long like this."

And with that, he gives one final, powerful thrust, burying himself deep as he empties himself inside of you, shouting your name like a war cry.

There are few things in this world you enjoy more than the feeling of Aegon's warm seed splashing inside of you. You hum, eyes rolling back, as the king spends himself inside you.

He pulls you close, holding you tight against his chest. "I love you," he gasps, with a kiss to your temple. "And I love our daughters. Fuck a male heir. Syryn will be queen."

Capturing his lips in another kiss, you run your hands gladly up and down his chest. "Syryn will make a great queen. She already bosses the other girls around like it's her job."

Aegon chuckles, pulling back to look down at you with a gleam in his eye. "I think she takes after her mother in that regard."

[tonixe]

"When you scream, it drives me nuts If you hang up, I'll spill your guts"

n.o.t.e.s - Tbh the original is always better.

w.a.r.n - non-con to dub-con, NSFW (ofc) penetration, blood kink, creampie, fingering, just plain nasty.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - Stu macher x fem!reader

w.c. - 1.9k

"Creak~"

There was a strange noise that was coming from downstairs of your house. You woke up from the strange noise, and your breath hitched as you heard the noise coming closer.

You got up from your bed slowly as you inched closer to your door, as you look outside your chamber's door. Nobody was there, your parents left on business. They left you alone, alone with your maid, alone with your butler, and alone with your bodyguards.

As you look at the big ben clock perched on the hallway's wall.

2:00 am

The window was glaring in moonlight, making the hallway more daunting. You were born in rich family, your parents barely being there as they were almost all on business, either with each other or away. Most of your house help was gone, and your guards already sleeping, as you heard soft snoring.

Your thought was interrupted with soon fear covering your whole body, as you heard a loud thump, it didn't alert your guard as they kept on snoring.

You walked back into your chambers, as your window was open, you quickly peered out and closed in, covering the window with silk purple curtains. You sighed, realizing it was a broken tee branch, it was odd, the tree wasn't dying just for the branch to fall off.

There was another noise, your phone rang. It was 2:00 am in the morning, there was no way it could be your parents or your friends, maybe it was Tatum and couldn't sleep.

You ignored the thoughts running through your mind, as you sat down on your bed in the dark look g at yourself in the mirror, before covering yourself with a blanket, ready to back to your slumber.

You gingerly got up from your bed and answered the phone that was propped near your vanity. You answered with a quiet but audible, "Hello" you mumbled from out your sleepy lips.

"Hello beautiful" an almost sounding rough voice, deeply satisfying, dare you say sexy voice spoke from the phone, maybe it was Tatum pulling a prank on you, "What do you want?"

"Can't a stranger have a conversation with a pretty girl" the voice ranged out, you couldn't lie the little pet name and compliment were making your heart flutter.

"At 2:00 am at night, buddy?"

"Sure why not, I mean your still on the phone with me, a stranger"

" I got to go, I have school tomorrow"

"That sucks, doesn't it"

"Ya, that's why I gotta go now"

"Wait-" the stranger said quickly before you could place the phone back.

"Yea?"

"Wanna play a game?"

"No, thank you" before you hang up the phone, "Hang up on me, I'll fucking spill your guts" the once calm voice turned ominous, as it said the threat on the landline.

Your heart started pounding from the threat, and your eyes started to water up as well, and you heard noises from the stairs.

"So, do you want to play the game now?" the ominous spoke out.

You didn't respond, the sound of your hitched breathing was being heard through the telephone to the stranger that was calling you, you muttered a small yes, still audible to be heard.

"I'm glad you came to your sense, darling" the voice cooed at you, you felt sick to your stomach, as fear covered your body, plaguing your mind.

"Mmm, let's say Horror as the category of the questions"

"First, who was the first victim of Freddy Krueger?"

You weren't a fan of horror, but know some of the horror characters from all the movies your friends watch on opening night, especially Billy and Stu, "T-tina Gray!" you yelled out, "It was her", you answered as you cautiously exited your room looking around your surrounding, walking down the stairs.

"Good, really good" the voice spoke,

"Second, who was the original slasher of Friday the 13th?"

Fuck.

"Um, JASON!" you yelled out, The sound of the stranger clicking their tongue was heard, "Damn, and I really thought you were smarter than that Y/N" your heart dropped when the stranger mention your name.

"H-how did you know my name" you whimpered, as you dashed down the flight of stairs, "It was fucking Pamela, everyone knows that poor Y/N,... but since I'm nice, I'll let you redeem yourself, but it not looking good for your dear bodyguard" As the stranger uttered his words, you stopped to see a shattered window, and a dead body of one of your bodyguard, the body had stab wounds, bleeding out from his mouth.

You released a blood-curdling scream, as you ran away from the body to the kitchen. Tears started running down your face, as you grab one of the chef knives from the rack, arming yourself.

"Y/N, you know better than that, everyone knows when there's a killer in the house you should be quiet, but for now let try a game of hide n go seek"

Your breath was shaky, "P-please no" you whimpered.

"Well you have to know, not everyone in the fucking world get to have everything when your born, your parent should taught you better, than spoliing you with riches, Y/N, your just the girl that dies in the end nothing more and nothing less.

"What did I do to you" you cried in the phone, slouched down near the counters, your face wet with tears.

"It's too late to beg for mercy, just try to live through the night~" the voice ranged out as the stranger cut off the phone call.

The house was silent, it was eerily silent. The one you couldn't dare to breathe in.

You started crawling to find shelter, before you saw a figure in your house, holding a knife and wear a black robe, wearing a white ghost mask.

Your breath hitched, as you pressed your hands to your face. The figure's footsteps were silent, barely even heard. You crawled near your garage before you even got to the knob. Your heart dropped straight to your stomach as your face came to contact with the ghost mask.

You screamed and ran, as the hooded figure chased after you, you clutched your knife to safety, still managing to hide behind one of the doors, you peered out, seeing the ghost figure swinging its head.

Clutching your hand to your mouth to make less noise, the steps of the figure came near you as you heard the creak of the wooden flooring.

"Hah..haah" you breathed, your breath hitched as you heard the figure stopping near you.

You felt the figure near you, their murderous intent radiating onto you. You heard the figure walking toward you, and you sighed quietly, as soon you did, the figure came from behind you, knocking.

'AHHHHH!' you screamed running upstairs, as the figure chased you with a hunting knife. You ran up, as you slammed the door at the figure moving your closet to your door, you tripped landing onto your bed.

The sound of your door rattling, as you heard the slamming of the door, and your whimpering was heard.

"Come on, Y/N, don't be a bad girl for me now" the figure spoke from the door, as you were scared by the figure smashing your door, their arm becoming visible, as you backed up from your bed to your closet.

"P-please...PLEASE!" you cried, as the figure finally got out and opened the door, walking slowly toward you, their hunter knife in hand.

Your salty tears dried onto your face, and you held onto your closet. The Ghostface figure grabbed you by your hair, and you scream out. The figure throws you onto your bed, as you squirm.

"Y/N, you have been a very bad girl" the figure holding your face, as the figure brought their head near you, their mask touching your face. The figure touching your thighs, "I'll let you live if you grant me a favor" the figure's hand slowly inching underneath your nightgown.

Your intimate parts slowly become arousal, as their hand inches towards your underwear, "Let me...have my way with you, and be a good girl, and you'll live" the figure whispered in your ear before retracting back.

"O-okay" you muttered, as you threw your head to the side, avoiding the mask, your breath hitched when the figure slowly took off your panties.

Placed it in one of their pockets, the cold air hitting your arousal, as you gave a silent moan, as tears were building up from your lashes, and you whimpered out.

The figure took off one of their gloves, and their hand got inserted into your plushy wall, as you squeeze their fingers. "F-fuck your so tight, it's wonderful how it feels when my cock is inside" your wall squeezing his fingers tighter, "haah~" you moaned out, as he thrust into you.

His fingers thrust into you, as you arched your back, moaning out, the warmth from his hand being withdrawn, as you looked at the figure taking off his pants, teasingly at you as you threw your head to the side, full of embarrassment.

"Your so eager aren't you"

"You gotta beg for it baby~"

"P-please"

"You have to do more than that, haha"

"P-please, just fuck me already" you rubbed your thighs together, as you spread your pussy lips for the murder. You felt disgusted with yourself, you're giving yourself to a murderer that killed, not even 20 mins after"

"P-please" you gently touch the tip of his cock.

You swore you saw the figures dick getting harder, as the tip started dripping precum.

"I cant wait to fuck the shit of ya" as the figure lined up to your pussy, not even a moment you felt the sharp pain inside of you, as the figure started thrusting into like a animal.

"Haah~" you moaned, your back watched as your eyes crossed between each other, lolling your tongue out.

"Shit, I was right. You're so fucking tight" he groaned out, as the figure gripped your thighs. Their thrusts were getting sloppy by the second, as they grabbed their hunting knife slitting the top of your nightgown, your breast jiggling from the animalistic thrust.

Relief came down on your body, as you moaned out.

"Your skin is so soft, isn't I wanna the mark the shit out of you" the figure soon carved your skin as blood pricked up. The cut soon appears throughout your body. You looked messy, like a porn model, and your nightgown was turned into rags.

"Do you want me to cum inside of you baby~" the figure grunted, "P-please" you moaned out, your eyes half lidded.

As the thrust got sloppy, as soon you felt warmness filling up your pussy, as you heard groaning from the masked killer.

Panting was heard throughout your room, your ripped clothes sticking onto your sweaty body, feeling your body growing tired, as the last thing you saw was the masked killer getting redressed.

The phone ranged, as Stu picked the phone, as the caller was Billy, one of his best friends.

"So did you kill her"

"No not yet, just saving her for something special" as Stu place a blunt between his lips, lighting it up, as he started at the window of your home.

"You got to be fucking serious, Stu, I swear to god if your plan doesn'work I'm going to-"

"Chill dude, it's gonna work, just trust me Billy" as stu blew out the smoke.

"-Just trust me"

[just-some-random-blogger]

Edge Of Ever After | 1

Part 2

Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you… you turn my shit into gold."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader POV shifts!, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, remnants of forced marriage, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: so this is a the sequel to my Safe Keeping series. both that and this is originally posted on ao3. you dont have to read the previous series to understand what's going on, but naturally, it will make more sense if you do. I've decided not to tag everyone that asked me to tag them in safe keeping because this is another series after all. ❤❤❤ hope you like it!

Brown Wood rarely ever has its lights out, as it housed so many people. Rare were the times the place succumbed to darkness. Still, there were moments when all the servants, maids, men, and women were asleep and not candle was lit.

Lord Clegane purposefully returned to Brown Wood amidst this darkness. As he opened and closed the gate with as much care as he could, determined not to make a sound, he finds himself thinking of the first time he came here with his wife, her servant, and their dog. The darkness Brown Wood was succumbed to was not the same it was now. Where once there was fearful abandonment now had peaceful slumber.

If you told him this was the childhood home of his lady's family, he'd believe you; it was a large estate, abandoned as it was. And if you add it had been abandoned once because of a plague of woodland monsters that ended killing her family, well, he'd still believe you, because damned if he doesn't.

That's where he had come from, the cursed forest.

But the Brown Wood estate was no longer cursed, and it was all because of her, the sun of this side of Westeros, his beloved wife. It was because of her that this haunted place was now bustling with life, because of his bride... that he was so eagerly avoiding.

Sandor prayed to the gods that his wife's loyal mutts would not wake to the smell of him. He prayed as he reached for the door handle that they had not slept near the fireplace in the living area, but if they did, that they were too tired to wake.

He sucks a breath and enters his home.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

He releases the breath as he shut the door.

Pants. Patters. Chuffs.

"Fuck."

Sandor looks down and catches flashes of dark furred creatures circling around him. One, he recognized to be Rose because of her size, got on her back legs and rested her front paws on him. The other two began to get excited as he swatted their sister away. They thought it a challenge to start playing.

He recognizes Sage as he softly barks and immediately drops on his knees to shush the dog.

Sage and his sisters come upon him and begin to lick his body. He would have tolerated it, had he not been covered in black, tar-like muck left over on his skin and armor.

"Fuck off, pups," he whispers as he pushes them away and stands. Lilac, ever the big mouth, began to bark in protest. Her barks echoed across the whole place.

"SHHH!" he silences in a panic, "you're going to wake your mum!"

His ghost nearly leaves him when he hears, "she was never asleep to begin with."

Sandor turns and finally spots the woman that had been sitting in darkness all this time. "Bloody seven, girl," he gasps in shock, "what are you doing in the dark?"

He walks over, lighting a candle on the table, then looks at her. Her eyes were dark and tired. Her arms were crossed and jaw was clenched.

He watches her stand and look him once over.

He immediately says, "I'm not injured."

She rolls her eyes and looks away, "I can tell, Hound."

His face twitches as she walks past him. He follows after but winces when she hisses that he better not keep the candle open.

And so the Hound blows the flame out and the rest of the dogs follow their master across the place.

He wants to tell her he did good today. He really did! He saved the villagers from an attack, helped them with their cow problem too! And he counted and killed 20 monsters in the fucking woods. Twenty!

But that was the fucking problem, and he knew it. Hell, even the pups knew it.

He was spending so much time trying to eviscerate the tar fucks he was barely home anymore. But what was he to do? Not kill the them and have his wife go on an expedition to fucking Volantis looking for a witch Littlefinger told her to look for? Fuck no. He would rather feel her sheer disappointment for coming home late than to have her go to a foreign land looking for answers she doesn't even know for certain she's going to get.

Sandor soon realizes she's leading him off to the bathroom. She opens the door and lights candles for him.

"The water is surely cold now, but you'll have to make due," she says as she brings a flame to four waxen cylinders. After setting them down, she shoos the pups that followed them in and closes the door once they were out. She then walks over and helps him out of his sticky armor.

Sandor thinks she's like a fairy in this light, though she was clearly displeased with him and exhausted from waiting up.

"Forgive me for staying out late," he mutters, wanting nothing but to hold her arms as she removed his top. He wouldn't dare touch her in this state though, caked in muck.

She scoffs, "I'll forgive you when you stop doing it."

Once Sandor was out of his metal top, she looks up at him and sighs, "bathe quickly."

"Aye," he nods surely, "I will."

"I cannot sleep alone."

"Aye," he says weaker, "I know."

"Yet still you make me wait for you," she retorts tiredly.

"… I thought you'd be able to sleep with the pups."

"The pups aren't you, Sandor."

"I-"

She walks off to wash her hands. Sandor scrams to help her.

Once her hands are clean, she curtsies and exits the bathroom.

"I'll be quick," he says, because he can't say 'I didn't think it through.'

She simply hums in acknowledgment.

My eyes were heavy, head was hurting. My whole body was crying out for respite, yet I could not sleep. I hear the door. I slowly open my eyes.

I feel Sandor draw near, but he doesn't lie beside me. I barely make out his form but I hear him kneel by the bed. He takes my hand slowly into his.

"Come to bed," I mumble under my breath but even I can't hear it with how low it was.

I open my eyes enough to make out his face, at least as much as the darkness would allow me.

He speaks with the softest of voices "I don't want you to go to sleep upset with me."

I don't have it in me to continue a conversation. Instead I pull away from him and scoot back.

Sandor is perfectly still on his spot.

Once there was a good space between us, I beckon him over by patting and rubbing the bed.

Sandor climbs to my side and I immediately sprawl on top of him. The smell of his body was a comfort, the feel of his form and warmth nearly made me faint.

I could feel his tension. I rub his ribs and shush him, "go to sleep."

Sandor lifts his head to look at me. After, he lets himself relax and stare at the ceiling until sleep takes him.

When I wake up, I'm laid atop my husband. My head was rested by his left collar bone and my leg was thrown across his hips.

It takes me a few moments to realize he was rubbing my thigh. Upon looking at his hand, then his face, I confirm, he was already awake.

Sandor looks at me and frowns.

I frown back and raise my brows.

He brushes my hair away from my face, "you're mighty tired, girl."

I relax and realize what the frown was for. Normally, twas I that woke up earlier. He was concerned because that was not the case today. "I cannot sleep well without you."

"Aye," he sighs. He brings his hand to the curve of my bum, "apologies."

My breathing grows heavy as he pushes my dress up.

"I feel terrible," he mutters, "let me make it up to you." Sandor kneads at my hip and sequentially pulls me atop him.

I do not say a word, I simply let him rub his hands on my thighs. I rest my palms on his chest and watch him examine my body.

His hands find their way up my nightgown and into my smallclothes. He locks eyes with me as he tugs them down, testing to see if I'd give him permission.

I lick my lips and tilt my head. I grab his wrists. We stare at each other for a moment.

"I do not like this routine," I mutter.

Sandor's face betrays him. He looks panicked.

I huff and shake my head, "you taking me because you're guilty."

He clenches his jaw.

"I do suppose is better than… nothing… but…"

My heart leaps into my throat when Sandor calls my name. It was a rare occasion when he did, as he opted pet names; it did things to me. When I tense, he takes the opportunity to pull away and grasp my wrists.

"Tell me how to make it up to you," he whispers.

Sandor and I watch each other's stillness.

After a moment of waiting, I pull my hands away and lean into him again. I prop my hands on his chest and he allows me to do as I please. After some shimmying and hovering, I rid myself of my underwear.

He watches as I toss it off the bed and straddle snuggly on his hips. I grab his wrists and bring his hands underneath my clothes, a silent encouragement to touch me.

The Hound squeezes and claws. I suppress a sound when he bucks into me. I feel my belly swirl in excitement but I do not allow my mind to be fogged before I get to say what's long overdue.

"Stop hunting at night."

Sandor releases a deep breath as he shifts upward on the bed. He licks his lips, "you know I won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm so close to purging those fucking monsters," he mutters as his hands roam up my body.

"H-" I whimper when he kneads my breasts. I huff, "h-how do you know that?"

"Because they're few and far between," he shifts upward again and sequentially pulls my dress off me. Before I can cover myself, his mouth covers me, or more accurately my right breast.

I lean into him and grip his shoulder.

He sucks on my flesh then licks my nipple. He grips my ribs and further sinks into my bosom. He brings his face into my cleavage and begins to suck. He was intent, I knew, on leaving marks.

I feel him begin to rock his hips and I audibly react to the feel of his pants against my bare flesh.

I bite my lower lip and grab at his shirt, attempting to pull it off him.

He groans and pulls me closer into him, unwilling to separate his mouth from my skin. He pushes my hair back and trails kisses up to my neck. He nips my skin before finally pulling away.

Now fully sat up, he looks at me darkly. He rubs the places he'd kissed, as if examining his work, then finally, takes his top off himself.

He stills when I fondle with his waistband. He rather unwillingly allows me to move and rid of his pants. Once it was past his bum, he pulls me back down like he was scared I'd run off.

I whimper when he does so. Sandor rids himself of his final piece of clothing.

"Dance on my cock, darling."

My breath hitches. My cheeks flush.

His hands sprawl across my thighs, covering them nearly wholly and urges me to move back and forth.

I gulp as I feel my body heat up as I maneuver my hips.

The groan that leaves his mouth is high praise to me.

I garble out a sound when his thumb rubs at my nub. He hisses when he feels the wetness there, "fuck, sweetheart. You drive a man mad."

He plays with me some more then pulls his hand away to spread the wetness across his fingers, "gods be fucking good, all this for me?"

My face burns with embarrassment. I bring my hand across my chest, "Sandor."

He perks with concern and immediately cages me in his arms. He peppers kisses down my neck, "no, my lady. I'm in awe of you."

I mewl when he digs his fingers into my hair and tugs at the roots.

"Such sweetness...." he whispers against my ear, "this for an ugly dog?"

"S-stop it," I quip and give him a shove.

He pulls back and looks down at me.

I hold his gaze and scowl, "don't speak like that."

"What? R'you saying you think me pretty?"

"I do," I retort.

He laughs and rubs my arms to warm me, as if I could be cold against him. He grabs my hips then ruts into me. I make a sound as I watch him take his hardened length and slowly sink into me. I gasp as I feel him press balls deep into me.

He shudders against my ear, "liar."

The Hound begins to thrust upward and the sounds I make are muffled by his mouth. He kisses me like he's starved, and perhaps he was.

He tightens his arms around me. He buries his face into my neck. He breathes in deeply. He sighs, "color me flattered though."

I squeak when he shoves me on my back and pushes my calves into my thighs. He grunts, "fuck ya good for it."

I screw my eyes shut and throw my head back as Sandor snaps into me. With every flick of his hips, the bed creaks and I move farther and farther down the bed. He has so push me down in place to keep me from slipping any farther. He pins me by my shoulder and brings my legs up in front of him.

My legs rest his shoulder. He kisses my ankle, "my darling wife."

The Hound persists in a rough and quick pace, hardly stopping, slowing only to tease me. He gnaws at whatever part of me his mouth can reach and grunts as he explores my body. He molds me against him, hands pawing at my flesh, touching, feeling, steadying.

I'm a toy, a chew toy of a hound, something he craves to stretch, gnaw, and tear but so is very selfish and protective of.

He rubs my belly and it pushes me on edge.

When I come, I'm exhausted; I always am.

When he comes, he's spent and hot and dripping; by extension, as am I.

Sandor curses as he gives his final thrusts. I'm shaking and raw beneath him. He eventually stops and looks down upon his destruction. He spreads the slick on my thighs. He wraps my legs around him like a belt.

"I love to see you like this," he mutters in between breaths.

I heave as I blink slowly. My eyes act like I didn't just wake up from my sleep; I feel exhausted.

"Want to see you heavy with child," he rubs my belly, "my child. Fuck. I want to see you full. Love to see you leaking but I can't have that."

I try to move my legs, he instantly prevents me, "a bit more, love."

"… my leg is cramping," I cover my face with my arm.

He presses my thighs back into my chest, "just a bit more."

Sandor was laid back in bed, tracing his wife's spine with his fingers. She was straddled around his waist, laid upon him like a blanket. He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and slowly, involuntary, they begin to breathe at the same pace.

He could not express the relief, the astonishment he felt the very first time she let him hold her. The fact was, his tongue itches to tell her, to thank her for allowing him to relish the softness of her body, the warmth of her skin, the gentleness of her, even when she did not have to, even when he was not she was not getting anything in return, not like when they had sex.

But he would not express this. For what good was thanks if he had nothing to show for?

Words are empty.

For his lady, he'd carve out every skull and lay them upon her feet. He was good at that. But words? Empty.

Sandor watches as his wife stirred and looked at him.

Her hair was wild, skin sticky, eyes heavy, lips swollen. If gods were real, she was one of them.

"I think we should get dressed, husband."

His stomach skips at the name. He hated that he was so affected by it when he knew that it was duty to her; all she could feel for him was borne out of duty.

He brushes her hair back and nods, "I will not keep you longer than you'd like."

He notices how she purses her lips. He notices how she smiles. A dutiful smile.

Sandor smiles back. He wishes she'd grin at him the way she did her pups but he was hardly anything to grin about.

He watches as she pushes herself up and stands. He watches as she grabs her shift from the floor and heads to the bathroom.

Sandor rolls on the bed, breathing in the scent of their fucking… their love making. He loved her.

How could he love her if he hurt her?

He sighs and fantasizes about his wife being with child. He wonders if she'd like him more or stop caring for him once that happens.

He shakes it out of his head before he makes himself sad.

Later that day, he's back to training the boys how not to get themselves killed with their own swords. They've learned to be punctual all on their own (Polly snitches on whoever was late for the day, though he's never really set a time when practice starts).

Sage liked watching practice. He never did anything besides walk around and sniff whatever he could put his nose to, but he was always there. In some way, Sandor was very touched by this.

He was very protective of the pup, and found himself watching the small creature more than the kids he's supposed to be teaching.

But of course, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone else when his wife comes out.

"Sandor."

Immediately, Sandor turns around and perks up at the sound of the voice. Unbeknownst to him, the rest of the people in the yard do as well.

Lucy walks next to her lady. She holds a basket in one hand while she brings the other around her lady's arm. He feels a bitterness in his mouth, a bitter envy over the comfort the two women had with each other. He knows he'll never have that with his wife, but it doesn't hurt him any less.

"Lucy and I will go out to the market."

He drops everything and steps forward, "I'll accompany you."

Sage sticks his tongue out as he runs towards his beloved master, as if he understood the conversation, as if saying he, too, would be coming.

Sandor takes one look at the pup and says, "you sure as fuck 're not invited, dog."

Lady Clegane hushes the dog and reiterates a puppy cannot join them, then she looks up at Lord Clegane, "you do not have to join us either."

Sandor doesn't argue, he simply looks at Lucy, who was giving him a greasy look, and heads off to the gates.

Sandor had absolutely no idea which part of the market they were headed, so when they got there, he constantly glanced over his shoulder until eventually, his wife stopped at a vegetable stand. He turns back and hovers by them.

"Do you think we should get pumpkins?" Lady Clegane asks while absentmindedly holding an onion.

Lucy tilts her head, "we could but I don't think I could carry it."

"I'll carry it," Sandor chirps.

The two turn to him. His wife smiles and Lucy grins like a fool.

They end up buying a pumpkin that was nearly the size of his head.

Sandor is unable to make out what the two women were talking about as they walked in front of him because of how many people waved good morning or greeted him far too jovially. At a point, the women had to stop as Sandor got held up by a crowd of people wanting to have small talk with him.

Like a star, his wife saves him with her shining smile, garnering all the attention of the people for herself and quickly dispelling it. He has no idea how she does it.

They move on after and then his wife spots a stand of strawberries. He vaguely hears her excitedly tell Lucy how much she loves strawberry pie. Lucy tells her she knows this in the same excited way.

Lady Clegane is allowed to sample a strawberry. The Hound catches himself smiling at the way his wife savored the fruit.

They buy a basket full of strawberries and, just as Lucy and her lady walk away, Sandor asks the vendor where he could strawberry seeds. He doesn't get a straight answer right away and by the time he does, the women have walked off quite far.

Thankfully, by the time they notice their Hound was missing, Sandor managed to come back with a pouch of strawberry seeds in his pocket. He doesn't say anything about it though.

When they get back to Brown Wood, he immediately asks the groundskeeper, Job, if he could help him plant strawberries.

One of the servant girls, Margaret, was helping me out today. I was attempting to bake strawberry pie, and after three failed attempts, it was shaping up to be a futile task.

Margaret, face flushed and temples moistened with sweat, placed the fourth pie she fetched from the oven onto the kitchen counter. I frown as she wipes her forehead on her sleeve but play it off when she turns to me with a grin. Margaret says, "it smells so good, milady."

I give her back a smile, "I am glad to hear it."

She watches as I grab the knife and lean onto the counter. She says, "I'm very, very, very sure that we managed to make the pie just the way you like it."

I chuckle at the girl and place a hand on her shoulder, "I would hope so. I feel terrible for taking you from your chores, Margaret."

She perks and immediately shakes her head and hands, "don't be, milady! We all of us love helping you out," she brushes her hair away from her face, "even if we have to make twenty more pies to suit your taste, I would not complain."

I laugh softly as I take a towel and hold the hot pie tin in place. I take a slice of the dessert, though it was still scalding, and transfer it to my plate. I then move it towards the 3 other pies on the counter.

The truth is, there was nothing wrong with the pies. I had Margaret help me with making them precisely because she knew how to and I didn't. It's just that they didn't taste like the ones in my childhood, and I could not take it.

There was a pit in my stomach because of my lacking attempts. It was not of hunger, make no mistake, it was of longing.

I take a forkful of pie from my plate and take my time blowing some air on to the jammy thing before taking it into my mouth.

Margaret watches me with anticipation as I chew.

I look at her hopeful eyes, wanting nothing but to tell her we finally did it, but I supply her the truth, "it still tastes different."

Margaret deflates. I place the fork down on my plate as I lick my lips.

"Although the lemon and the cream did help a lot," I offer as consolation.

The girl perks and claps her hands, "then we're on the right path!"

I clear my throat and smile.

"Perhaps we can try adding other fruits into it. Or maybe you can try to recall some more details about the pie? Like a smell? Vanilla is hard to miss."

"Mmm, I don't think they added vanilla." I push the plate towards Margaret, "have a try, but be careful. It's still piping hot."

She grins at me, "thank you, milady!" then grins at the pie, taking her own fork.

I laugh at her, feeling a giddy sensation as I watch her lean forward as she takes a slice.

Margaret was the youngest out of the servant girls. She was 10 and 5 but looked quite mature for her age because of her height and fuller figure. Her demeanor was fully that of a darling girl though. Her parents used to be bakers. She told me she does not remember where their bodies were buried, so she occasionally offers prayers for them at an oak tree she used to swing on.

I imagine what it would be like for me to have my own child here in this moment. Would they also like strawberry pie? Would they care to help make it? Would they smile at me like Margaret?

I look up and see the Hound marching over. He looked a bit winded, and I figure he came from training. My belly tingles as we make eye contact.

Margaret finally takes a bite and she quite literally jumps up. She covers he mouth as she speaks, "THIS IS DELICIOUS!"

I giggle, "is it really?"

"By the gods, milady. You mean to tell me what you used to eat was better than this?"

I chuckle and watch as Sandor walks over. He heads for the cupboard where he immediately snatches a bottle of wine. He uncorks it with a pop and chugs it.

"Ehm, in a word it is," I reply to Margaret, "all I know is that it tastes different. I can't quite figure what however."

Sandor lets out a satisfied breath as he pulls the bottle away from his lips. He walks towards me, and it seems as though Margaret noticed him only now, judging by the way she jolted back and quickly greeted him.

The Hound ignores her though as he scrutinizes the countertop. He turns to me, "been baking all day, have you, little girl?"

I part my lips and battle with myself on a response. On one hand, I want to nag about how I was suddenly little girl again, but then again I quite enjoyed how his lips subtly curved upward as he spoke it.

Margaret steps back as Sandor takes up all the space by my side.

Although it was not glaringly obvious, there was a look of amusement in my husband's eyes. He sets the wine next to the pie slice and leans on the counter to get eye level with me, "you gonna give me a taste?"

I watch as he licks his lips and catch the way the wine stained them.

And so, to ward off my inner turmoil, I nag him about that instead, "alright. A slice in return for this," I snag the wine bottle, shocked by how he managed to drink it half empty already, though I really shouldn't. "You've had enough wine for today, Hound."

Sandor straightens up, dumbfounded by the turn of events. He shifts on his spot to watch me hand over the wine to Margaret, "get me a pitcher of water, my dear."

"Fuck water," Sandor scoffs.

Margaret looks between me and Sandor, heavily unsure and anxious of what to do next.

"Give me the bottle, wench," the Hound barks.

Margaret gulps and I take a step between them.

"Stop it," I scowl at him.

"But-"

"You won't enjoy the flavor of the pie if you ruin your tongue with wine." I look over and dismiss Margaret. She quickly curtsies and runs off.

"Hey- GIVE IT BA-"

"Stop it!" I grab his shoulders, "quit scaring the girl!"

The Hound walks back as I push him, "she took my wine!"

"You can have wine at supper," I quip, "if you're going to have pie, just have pie."

Sandor huffs as I release him. I then take my fork and slice a chunk for him. I bring the fork to my lips and take a moment to blow on the pie. Once it's cool enough, I bring my fork towards Sandor, my other hand underneath it to catch any falling crumbs. I get on my tiptoes to have a better hold on the fork.

He pulls his head back at first, but two seconds later, he leans in and takes a bite.

I relax on the pads of my feet and put the fork down.

He chews as he looks down on me.

I stare up at him with expectation.

He licks his lips and nods, "it's good."

I wait for him to say anything more but he doesn't. I press my lips into a line, "that's nice to hear."

He looks at me for a moment, hums, and tilts his head, "what do I owe you, then?"

"What?"

"What do I owe you?"

I raise my brows.

"Want me to feed you next?" he raises a brow.

I furrow my brows, "no…? You don't owe me anything."

He hums and shakes his head, "how about a kiss?"

"What?"

Sandor smiles lopsidedly. He bends and places his hands on my waist, yanking me into him. My body blazes with crackling flames as I'm pressed against him.

Before he can lean in, I push him by his chest with both hands. I immediately turn my face away and quip with my eyes shut, "you don't have to kiss me!"

I hold my breath. Sandor watches. Slowly, whatever expression he held slips off and gets tugged down along with the corners of his lips.

He releases me and I catch my breath. Sandor feels like his hands and arms were foreign appendages that had no business being on him. He awkwardly clenches and unclenches his fists.

I turn back to him with knit brows. He looks at me with a hard expression.

"You don't owe me things, Sandor."

His expression tightens.

I huff and place a hand on his chest, "I don't do things so… you have to repay me…"

A deep line forms between his brows.

I shake my head, shrug and smile softly, "I do them because I want to… you should only do the same."

He sighs through his nostrils and takes the hand I had on his chest. He brings it into his large ones and looks at them.

He opens his mouth and speaks so softly, under his breath, "you have such a strong sense of duty."

I blink at his words, thinking they somehow feel out of context. I figure it was true anyway, so I agree, "a sense of duty keeps me together."

Sandor turns back to me, "just as your duty being my wife."

I raise my brows.

He kisses the back of my hand before setting it down. He nods at me as he mutters, "I want what you want… If you don't want me to kiss you, then I won't."

My eyes widen, "I- I didn't say that."

He chuckles dryly, "you pulled away so fervently."

"Because you asked me what you owed!" I exclaimed, "you don't owe me."

He laughs a bit louder, "everything's got a price."

For a moment we stare at each other.

"Then how much do I owe you?"

He seems to thinks for a moment. He offers no response.

I suck in a breath, "if you want to kiss me, kiss me. Kiss me because you want to, not because… you owe me." I feel pathetic as I add, "I do not wish to buy your affection."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

I feel my mouth go dry. It's as though my voice is taken from me and I barely manage to croak out a, "yes."

It takes too long. The Hound does not believe it. He shakes his head and says with no conviction, "very well."

[tenaciousbouquetearthquake]

Shall I tell you how many Nazis I killed today?, pt1

I originally posted this on ao3, but I'm posting here just to see what happens and because I haven't been on tumblr in like three years since my last fandom got too toxic to stay in and I have no idea who's on here anymore/what people are into. Except Destial because apparently that's trending and I completely support that. XD

Read it on ao3 / Check out the story’s masterlist

You're a medic on the Maid Honor during the mission to rescue Appleyard. You and Anders *may* have developed a bit reputation in the short time you've been together. The guys are 100% done with accidentally walking in on the two of you. Contains some mild smut.

Every time Anders Lassen smiles, it does things to you. In fact, it does a lot of things to you, although whether it makes you go cold with fear or hot with excitement depends entirely on if he has a weapon in his hands and is covered in blood or not. 

It’s better when he’s covered in Nazi blood and has a weapon in his hands. That’s when you know that Anders is doing well—he comes back from a mission with a nary a scratch, a quiver without any arrows left, a thoroughly used blade, and covered in a truly disturbing amount of blood…but he’ll be smiling, a particular smile meant only for you as he walks in your space on the boat and leans idly against the wall.

The sight of him is always a bit of a shock when you glance up from where you’ve been surveying your medical supplies. He’s too big for this space, always, and it’s not just his physical size. Anders Lassen is too big a personality, too strong a presence, for any room to contain. “I return to you victorious, min skat ,” Anders says in that low, soft voice of his, arms crossed in a way that showcases the well-developed muscles in his arms. He does it on purpose, knowing the way your eyes are drawn to them each time, a subtle form of preening meant just for you. “Shall I tell you how many Nazis I killed today?”

Your eyes stray slowly from those muscular arms to the broad width of his shoulders, moving gradually toward his tanned face as one side of his lips quirk up into a hint of a smirk. You try not to notice it, and when that doesn’t work, you try not to let it affect you—even though it does. God , how it does. “Oh? Are you keeping count now?” You continue to pat your hands dry with the cloth you’re using, having just reassessed all the medical supplies you brought with you on the boat. “When did you have the time to do that? I thought this was a rescue mission, after all.”

His smirk grows a little bigger as he watches you, humming a low sound before he pushes off from the wall and takes a rather large, predatory step toward you. “Yes, but…that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun, does it?” He takes another step, his smirk altering into the hint of a grin when he sees you twitch ever so slightly in response, as if you’re preparing to run. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Y/N?” Another step, his intense gaze focused entirely on you as you force yourself to stand still—although this is as much prey behavior as running away would be. “I only want to have a little fun with you.” Another step, and this time he’s so close that he does force you backward, pressing your body against the wall as Anders towers over you. If he wasn’t already predatory enough, he leans forward and rests his palms on either side of your face, his heavy arms pinning you in place as he invades your personal space. “Do you not like to have fun, min skat?”

It's hard to concentrate with him so close, even when he’s not looking his best, and Anders Lassen covered in blood after what was probably a massacre isn’t exactly your favorite look on him. You find yourself licking your lips softly, teeth scraping over the bottom lip, and force yourself to take a deep breath as you look up at him, trying to buy yourself a few extra seconds before you respond. “I like to have fun,” you reply, surprised that you’ve managed to keep your voice steady. “At appropriate times and in appropriate places.” You silently cringe when you say it, simultaneously aware that you’re the team medic and that Appleyard is going to require your attention, and Lassen’s body is so very, very close to your own.

Anders feigns being hurt, looking crestfallen at the rejection, still pressing into your space, and with each passing second you grow intensely more aware of other details—the blood soaked into the collar of his shirt, the faint beating of his pulse on his neck, the shallow cut above his eyebrow.

The sheer weight of his body in front of you, the heat of him. Heavy and oppressive and so fucking hot that your body instinctively clenches in response, every inch of your skin aware of his presence. He tilts his head forward, nearly resting it against your forehead as his eyes close and he takes a deep breath to breathe in the scent of you. Then those chocolate brown eyes open again and his gaze fixes on you, and it’s all you can do to remind yourself to breathe.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play with me, Y/N?” Anders says, his voice low enough that the words are meant only for you, and the sound of that voice just makes it all worse. “I even brought you a present.” His body presses against yours a little more now, letting you feel the hard lines of him against you. “A Nazi heart. I cut it out myself. I thought I might give it to you as a token of affection.”

“Yo—” you stumble over the words, pausing to clear your throat and breathe before you continue. Anders looks at you with a mixture of amusement and pure male satisfaction. “You brought me a Nazi heart?”

Anders hums for a moment, tilting his head as if in consideration. “Yes,” he says with a sigh and a small shake of his head. “But now that I’m here, I think I might give you mine instead.” He adjusts his weight above you as he moves one of his hands from beside your head, his bloody hand coming to cup your chin, tilting your head back for him as he leans in ever closer, his thumb tracing small circles near your mouth. “Ja, I like that idea much better.”

If Anders is the predator and you’re the prey, then Lord help you. You’re about to be devoured and not even care. In fact, you silently welcome it as he claims your lips with his own, chapped with the midday heat but delicious as hell as your lips part for him and his body presses fully against yours and you can feel yourself melt under the hard ridges of him, gentle but demanding and growing even more intense when he feels you respond. There are a thousand reasons why you shouldn’t have come on this mission—the violence, the danger, the lack of combat training.

The fact that every time you and Lassen come within ten feet of each other, you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other.

You don’t even notice when Anders moves his other hand and it comes to rest at your waist, or when it begins to hike up underneath your shirt, the heat of his palm trailing over your bare midriff as your body instinctively arches into his touch. You’re not even aware of how far this interaction between the two of you has gone until you faintly hear Freddy groaning from across the room, accompanied just as enthusiastically by Gus.

“Bloody hell, not again.” Freddy’s voice is all exasperation, as if he’s witnessed this scene far too often and isn’t in a hurry to see it again. “We leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re already trying to tear her clothes off. Can’t you at least wait until after the mission is over?”

Anders pulls back from you, just a little, and lets out a low growl at the interruption. You’d probably be amused, if you weren’t still feeling drunk on the kiss—and the feeling of Anders’s hands on you. “I was simply reporting back to the medic for a check-up,” Anders says with ease, the muscles in his arms visibly tensing as he forces himself to take a step back from you.

“Listen, Lassen,” Gus says, escorting in an injured Appleyard, who appears just as put off by this scene as the rest of them. “I understand that the two of you are—” Gus pauses, reaching up to scratch at his beard awkwardly as he glances between you and Anders and you move to adjust your clothes back to normal, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Well, the two of you. But given the circumstances—”

“What circumstances?” Anders asks innocently, as if he hadn’t just been caught feeling you up and firmly about to try and fuck you against the wall.

“You just cut a man’s heart out,” Freddy declares in response, gesturing toward Anders as he helps Appleyard further into the room. “You’re still covered in his blood!”

“Oh?” Anders glances down at himself and acts surprised before he shrugs and looks back at them. “It’s just a little dirt,” he says. “These Nazis, they don’t keep their camps very clean, do they?”

Gus lets out a heavy sigh as he and Freddy help Appleyard move past you and Anders towards one of the beds, although Freddy does shake his head at Anders. “There’s something seriously wrong with you, chap,” he tells Anders.

Anders takes the comment in stride. “Ja, I know,” he says. “Why do you think I came to the sick bay?”

At night is when you see the other side of him, the other smiles that make your blood run cold with a kind of fear that you didn’t even know you could experience. Nighttime at sea can be nearly pitch-black and it never stops being disorienting when you wake to a gently rocking boat and the sound of waves outside, but none of the usual sounds of life. There are no crickets chirping gently outside, no distant voices of people coming or going in the next apartment, or the sounds of war in the background.

No bombs dropping from overhead, the impact of it rocking the ground in a hard concussion that knocks your feet out from you and the air from your lungs. At home, you’d spend these hours crouched under a table, knees to your chest, listening to the building around you shake and feeling yourself go quietly numb in self-preservation until the onslaught was over. It would be minutes, sometimes hours, before you felt yourself slip from that mental retreat, the sounds of someone crying in the next apartment and the smell of smoke slowly bleeding into your consciousness. At sea, there are none of these things.

At sea, you’d think there wasn’t a war on at all.

But wars are not only made up of physical confrontations, and a family you loved desperately isn’t the only kind of casualty.

Anders isn’t in bed. It’s the first full thought that you have when you come fully awake, the blanket still tucked in neatly around you as you cradle his pillow to your chest, surrounded entirely by the scent of Anders Lassen—a mixture of soap, sweat, and something woodsy and distinctly him , as if part of him really was wild, a beast made man. You shove the pillow away and push yourself up in the bunk, looking around for him in the dark and not finding him. It’s disconcerting enough to wake up at sea, but to wake up without Lassen—that’s something else entirely. You’re unsettled as you shove the blankets aside and quietly tiptoe out of the bunk, finger combing your hair back from your face and feeling around for Anders’s spare coat. It takes a little effort to get past the other bunks without disturbing them, even as Freddy, who’s supposed to be on watch, snores loudly enough to wake them all.

You find Anders above deck, his form visible in the moonlight as he handles some of the spare rope, winding and unwinding it around his arm as if in ritual, the movements slow and precise. You can see the moment he realizes that you’re there, the subtle pause, the slight tilt of his head as if he can hear you. Then he keeps going, silently working the rope as you cross the deck to him, shaking his head the closer you get and clicking his tongue. “ Tsk, tsk, tsk . Shouldn’t you be sleeping, elskede? Safe in your bed.” He heaves a dramatic sigh as you come next to him, aware now of his bare chest in the moonlight, the subtle curves of his body as he glances at you. “It’s dangerous to be above deck, all alone, in the middle of the night.”

You pull his coat closed around you and stare at him for a long moment in feigned consideration, tiptoeing around him silently and feeling his gaze on you with every step you take. “Is it, though? It seems rather quiet up here to me. A bit boring, really.” You move around him in a slow circle, appearing as if the two of you have changed places and you’re now the predator while Anders is the prey. “Frankly, I think a little danger would be exciting.”

“You would like some danger?” Anders sounds intrigued as he watches you silently pace around him, your movements slow and relaxed. “You’re not happy with the peace and quiet?”

You shrug, glancing at him, giving him your best unconcerned look. “I like peace and quiet just fine,” you say, sounding bored, pacing softly around him. He doesn’t turn to follow you as you loop behind him, but you can tell from the tension in his shoulders and his back, and the way his head angles in your direction, that he’s aware of your every move. “It’s just that sometimes, when it gets too quiet, I have this irresistible urge to…” You deliberately let your words trail off as you pace behind him, coming out the other side and to the front of him again, still only faintly glancing at him.

You can hear the curiosity and interest as Anders gladly takes the bait, prompting you for more. “You get an urge to what?”

You sigh as if it can’t be helped, moving again, his gaze now firmly following you as you move. “I have this irresistible urge to find a tall, incredibly handsome Danish man and have my wicked ways with him.”

Anders has a small grin when he responds, his voice filled with humor. His gaze only leaves you in the brief moments when you cross behind him to come back out the other side. “So, you want to have your wicked ways with a tall, handsome Danish man.”

You hum in acknowledgement before adding, “Ravish him completely.” You slowly pace in front of him again, although now you decide to play with him a little, pulling the front of his coat open enough to show him a hint of your curves beneath your shirt, letting your hips sway enough to draw his gaze slowly downward.

“I never knew you were interested in such things.” There’s still humor in his voice, but now there’s something else, too—something dark and hungry. “Tell me, what exactly would you do to ravish this man?”

You’re moving to cross behind him again. You can see the muscles in his back and arms growing more taut and when you’re near enough to his side and his head is craning to follow your steps, you give in to the need to reach out and touch him, a gentle ghosting of your fingertips over his arm and trailing softly over his the tight muscles of his back. You hear his breath catch for a fraction of a second as your hand moves lower, skimming softly enough over that one spot where he’s particularly sensitive that it’s more the shifting of the air near his skin, more the anticipation of touch, than anything else. “I think,” you drawl, keeping your touch low on his body as you cross around his other side to the front again. “The first thing I would do is to make him sit for me.” You’re slower now as you move in front of him, your touch against his skin becoming a little more greedy as your hand skims against his waist, the first real skin on skin contact you’ve made. “I’d probably tie him to a chair, make sure that he’s completely helpless for me so that I can touch him however I want to.”

Anders’s lips twitch at the idea of him being completely helpless, but you can see the look in his eyes clearly enough, even in the dark above deck. Wolfish. Hungry. Alert. You drag an open palm over his stomach, letting your hand slip gently under the waistband of his trousers, feeling him clench at that first initial touch before his body relaxes into the touch. “And how,” Anders prompts when you don’t immediately continue, his voice heavy with lust, “would you want to touch him?”

You’re passing around him again, but you’ve been moving in smaller and smaller circles with each new pass, now so close to him that you let the sleeve of your coat brush his arm, your hand never leaving his body. He doesn’t turn his head to track your movements now, barely even moving at all, seemingly content to just let you touch him. You lick at lips that are suddenly dry, the air between the two of you so warm that the coat is suddenly hot, too hot . “First, I would run my hands over his body and feel every inch of him.” You can hear the change in your own voice at your arousal, your skin too sensitive as your nipples pebble against your shirt, heat pooling between your thighs. “I’d follow all the cords of his muscle,” you tell him, letting your palm follow the lines and cords of his body underneath it, feeling his body tense and hot as he forces himself to take slow, steady breaths. “And I'd find all the places where he’s sensitive,” you pause and deliberately ghost your fingers over that spot on his back, near his left hip, hearing his breath hitch as he stands deathly still for you, “and all the ways I can touch him to make him shiver.” Anders is still, so very still, as you move around him now. “And when I've decided that he’s ready…” You're around his front, circling around him again. “And he can't take me touching him anymore…” You pause behind him, leaning your body flush against his back so he can feel the shape of you through his coat, and standing on your toes to lean close to his neck. You let your nose brush against him before gently licking a hot stripe on his neck near his ear. “ I would use my mouth instead .”

Anders trembles–all six feet of him, the bear of a man, the Danish hammer, practically a modern day viking–fucking trembles at you whispering in his ear and the feel of your tongue on his skin, your breath hot. So fucking hot that you're burning up in the coat, that Anders’s body is a giant furnace, that the night air is like ice against your face but you're not aware of it because your body is on fire with need. You swallow against your own desire, your own need to stop teasing him and just let Anders take you right there, and instead press one kiss, then another, on his neck. You nuzzle there for a long moment before moving onto his shoulder and letting your teeth scrape over him in a small, sucking kiss. He’s so tense underneath you, so taut that you'd think he might snap, but god– god –how you want him to snap.

To lose all his control…to be the one to make him lose control. You could get drunk on that power alone.

You rest your body against his back, angled enough to his side that you can reach around him and slip a hand into the band of his trousers. Anders practically growls as your hand explores the vee of his chest, moving gently over his hip, teasing slowly toward his cock. He’s already hard when you touch him, the first hint of your fingers on his cock making him audibly pant as you tease near the base. “I would make him wait a very long time,” you say against his shoulder, letting the hot wet of your breath settle there, “before I open his trousers and touch his cock like this.” You stroke over the hard length of him, straining against the material of his pants, teasing your fingers over the tip as you feel his body practically vibrating against you. “But when I do…” You ease your hand around him, drawing it back up the shaft as you hear him bite back a moan. “I'd take him in my mouth…” Another long stroke upward. His back is straight against your chest and you'd swear you could feel his heart pounding as you touch him. “And I’d taste him as long as I want to…” You pause to let him feel your tongue against his skin again, tasting sweat and the salt of the sea air on him, drawing the moment out to let him imagine your tongue on his cock. “And I wouldn't let him cum until he begged me for it.”

You're about to continue the torture, to stroke your hand down the underside of his cock, teasing his balls softly before stroking downward, when you're surprised a hand gripping your wrist. You almost jump in surprise at the sudden contact, the break in the scene, the strength of his hand around your wrist as he keeps you in an unforgiving hold. You glance up at Anders to see his jaw hard and his nostrils flared as he swallows and tries to maintain his control. “It's not nice to tease, min skat.” His voice is a growl, eyes closed tightly. Seconds from breaking.

“You tease me all the time,” you reply, letting him feel you smirk against his shoulder. “My turn is long overdue. Don't you think?”

Anders doesn't let go of your hand and for a brief moment, you think that he's not going to let you continue, but when he doesn't move you away from him, either, you decide to try again. You move carefully to his front, meeting his dark gaze and holding it as you slowly put a hand to his chest and begin to push him back. Anders doesn't fight you, letting you direct his heavy body back slowly, one small step at a time, his hand never leaving your wrist and your hand never leaving his chest. It's like a dance, the two of you moving with a slow precision until the back of his legs meet a trunk of supplies and you stop pushing him. The two of you stand still, gazing at each other, as you wait to see what happens next, if Anders will let this little scene continue or not.

His thumb begins to move gently against your wrist, circling your pulse point. “No ropes, elskede,” Anders says, his voice barely audible. “No restraints.”

There’s silence between you two for what feels like an eternity, even though it must only be a few minutes. Waves rock the boat gently, a soft breeze caresses overheated skin. A look, an understanding, passes between you and Anders. Because restraints aren’t safe above the deck, when he’s meant to be keeping watch—to be keeping you safe. 

Because you don’t know the whole story, but just as you have your demons, Anders has his, too.

You bite your bottom lip and shrug. “I don’t need to tie you up to have you at my mercy.”

A quirk of his lips, slipping into a smirk. You can see the way the humor and warmth reaches his eyes, even in the darkness. His grip on your wrist tightens imperceptibly, his thumb pausing on your pulse, on the very beating of your heart—a heart that belongs entirely to him. The water sounds like the blood rushing in your ears, quiet and deafening all at once. “Ja,” he agrees then. “That is true.”

Reluctantly, Anders lets go of your wrist. 

Reluctantly, you pull your hand from his pants, but it’s only a temporary retreat. Anders doesn’t resist, not even a little, when you gently push him backwards and he sits down on the trunk, his back rigid as he gazes at you. He waits patiently, watching you with an intensity that sends a fresh wave of heat through your body where you’re standing in front of him, moving to undo his pants. You pull his cock free, watching his lips part as he exhales a moan at the touch of your hand and the cool night air. His body responds without any conscious thought as you grip him tightly and begin to move your hand up and down, stroking his cock with long, even motions that leave him nearly panting. 

You’re about to get on your knees when Anders breaks the scene once more, taking hold of your shoulder, although his grip is less firm this time. “No.”

Your eyebrows go up as you pause, your body frozen. “No?” You half wonder what you’ve done wrong, if there’s some unknown line that you’ve somehow crossed, but Anders shakes his head with a small smile, something surprisingly soft and tender, given the circumstances. 

“I want you.”

God. God above . Have there ever been three more beautiful words in the English language? Have there ever been three more perfect words, more exciting or fulfilling words, than those?

You don’t think so. How could anything else possibly compare to the sound of Anders Lassen saying that he wants you?

“I thought I was in charge.” Not that you’ll complain, not really. Being with Anders is being with Anders, no matter what form it takes.

Then Anders says something even more surprising, even more beautiful or enticing. “Please, Y/N. Let me have you.” 

Please . Let me have you .

You’re too stunned to respond immediately, and just when you’re about to recover, just when you’re about to try and rewrite this little script you’d figured out in your head when you woke up without Anders in your bed and found him restlessly adjusting the ropes above deck, Anders continues being Anders…perfect, beautiful, strong, and knows how to play you like a fucking violin, Anders Lassen. “Have pity on a poor, weak Danish man like myself,” he says, mouth turning up into that smartass grin of his, the one you’re never certain if you want to kiss or slap off of him. “ Ravish me .”

You try, really fucking try , not to laugh at the ridiculousness of your own words. Of the whole scenario, really. Poor, weak Anders Lassen. Conquered by you . At your mercy. Being ravished on the deck of a boat with four other men on board, sleeping, while you travel to a Nazi infested destination on a mission to save England and…and…

Well. “I suppose,” you begin, drawing the words out, making a show of pretending to consider his request, “you did beg for mercy.” You watch as Anders nods enthusiastically.

“Ja, yes. Mercy.”

“And what kind of person would I be if I ignored such heartfelt pleas as those?” You move to shrug out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor and leaving you in only the big nightshirt you’d worn to bed earlier. 

“Not a very good one,” Anders answers you. His hands come to rest on your thighs, just above the knees, but as with all things with Anders, nothing is ever static for very long. He’s feeling up the length of your thighs before you’re even positioned where you want to be, cupping the curves of your ass with his big palms and finding the edges of your panties. “Not a very good one at all.”

“And you do owe me for that little scene you made earlier.” You nearly jump when you feel Anders’s hands slipping under the sides of your panties and beginning to tug them down. “When you knew the others were coming and still pinned me to the wall.”

“ Oh .” It sounds like a moan when Anders makes the sound, letting your panties fall to the floor and gently nudging your legs apart. “Yes. That was very bad of me.” You gasp when you feel his big, warm hand between your thighs, cupping your cunt with a possessiveness that’s impossible to ignore. “I should’ve finished what I started instead of making you wait for me to take you.” He strokes over you softly, petting your folds in an easy move that leaves you leaning forward against him as he plays with your cunt. “I definitely deserve to be punished for that one.” He explores your slit for a long moment, burying a finger inside of you as your hands close tightly over his shoulders and you lean into his neck, his mouth at your ear now. “Would you like to punish me, Y/N?” He nips at the shell of your ear as he moves to stroke wet fingers over your clit and your mouth opens to moan but no sound comes out. “Would you like to make me finish what I started earlier and have me fuck you right here, for anyone to see?”

It’s a twist. Suddenly, Anders is in control again, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he’s touching you like that. Not when his voice is that deep and low in your ear. Not when he’s saying what he’s saying.

“ Should I make you scream so the others can hear us? ”

In the end, it’s easy— far too easy —for Anders to make you come undone. His finger on your clit, his voice in your ear, one hand slipping under your nightshirt and trailing up your chest, to the underside of your breast, skimming over a sensitive nipple, hot to the touch and too cold from the breeze. A complete sensory overload that’s unyielding and all-consuming.

“ You’re so wet for me, allerkæreste. ”

It’s harder and harder to concentrate. Too much—it’s just far too much. You’re sinking against Anders, as if you were two halves of one being, as if your body just realized that you’ve always belonged there and it never wants to be parted from him again. His hand cups your breast, squeezes, teasing the nipple. He plays with your clit, merciless in his touch. Your fingers dig into his shoulders.

Anders doesn’t fucking care.

He never does.

“ Do you know how badly I want you right now? ” His nose nuzzles against your face, his eyelashes tickling your cheek. Your body becomes liquid. “ Du betyder så meget for mig .”

You don’t scream when you cum. You barely make any noise at all. As much as Anders likes to tease you, he knows you’re not that comfortable with the others knowing—and hearing—so much of your private time together. But you do practically fall into his lap, your legs trembling and too unsteady to keep yourself upright. You do look up at Anders to see him gazing down at you with that smartass grin of his, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the canary, like he just said some ultimate truth that you’re not privy to because you don’t speak Danish and this little game that you started no longer belongs to you.

Which, to be completely fair, is true. Whatever Anders said, you’ll never know—you don’t speak Danish and he doesn’t give you the chance to ask before he’s nudging you onto his lap, opening your legs to straddle his waist. By the time he’s tugging at your nightshirt and you’re pulling it over your head to discard alongside the rest of your clothes, the question of whatever he said is so far from your mind that if you ever try to bring it up again, Anders will probably just feign ignorance. 

And you may have started this game between you, but it belongs to Anders as his hands move over your now naked body, covered in goosebumps from the cool air and arousal. In fact, you have no chance whatsoever to recover the game as his big hands close around your hips and he helps you adjust on his lap, angling yourself into the right position above his cock so that inch by delicious inch, you can sink down onto him. In the haze of pleasure that quickly envelopes you, one thing is absolutely clear.

You belong to Anders Lassen, body and soul. Whatever becomes of you two on this ridiculous mission, in this impossible war, in a life that’s sure to be filled with heartbreak, Anders will always be your true north. Nothing will ever change that.

“ Fuck .” It’s a guttural moan of a word that’s so uncharacteristic for Anders that you can’t help but laugh, burying your face in his neck and stroking his chest with your hands. “Are you laughing at me?” Anders tries to sound threatening, but in the context of the moment, it drags another round of laughter from you as you shake your head. “You shouldn’t laugh at the Danish Hammer, you know. It’s not a wis—”

You can’t help yourself, cutting his words off with a kiss and holding onto his shoulders for dear life as you start to move against him, grinding your hips against his and sliding your body to fill yourself up with his cock again, and again, and again . It’s everything, that feeling of him inside of you. His hands on your hips as you rock against him. Your hands as you move to cup his face and stop the kiss so that you can look at him, just look at him as you take him there, on the deck, in the darkness.

You may not understand Danish, but you know that look. The one that’s reserved only for you, that says everything necessary without Anders having to utter a single word. 

He can own the game. He can have whatever he wants. Anything—and you’ll gladly give it.

But a perfect moment, by definition, can only last for a moment. Eventually, it has to end. You feel your body clenching around him, your toes curling, and Anders can tell how close you are. When your movements start to slow, the rhythm of your bodies moving with each other starts to slip, his hands grip your hips more tightly and those bulky arms of his start to pick up the slack, pushing you effortlessly closer and closer to the edge. You’re vaguely aware of someone panting, of soft moans and whimpers that sound like you. Your forehead falls against Anders’s and your eyes drift closed, and just as the climax starts to hit you, just as your mouth is falling open with what would surely be an embarrassingly loud noise that would reach down into the cabin where the others are sleeping, Anders kisses you and drowns out the sound.

Although you doubt anything could’ve silenced the noise he makes when he cums inside you. The two of you are going to hear about this endlessly tomorrow.

Which is just fine with you, because tomorrow is not tonight, and tonight, you can wrap your arms around Anders’s neck and settle into his lap with his coat around you while the two of you keep watch. You’re leaning against his chest and half watching the night sky, trying not to feel the tug of sleep as you look back at him. There’s been something about Anders today, something that’s been bothering him. You could tell when he came back to the boat earlier.

You could see it when you came above deck.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” The question is greeted only by the night air and the crest of waves against the side of the boat. Anders stills when he hears it, but he doesn’t reply, choosing instead to close his coat around you more tightly and pull your body closer to his. He shakes his head and glances down at you from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s time to sleep, min skat.” His lips quirk up into that smirk. God, how you love that smirk. “I know that you’re tired.”

You are tired. Your eyes are heavy. You were exhausted by the time you climbed into bed with Anders earlier and you fell into an easy sleep beside him within minutes, disturbed only by sensing that he was no longer beside you. Whatever energy you’d managed to recover is completely spent after what just happened.

“Did you really cut a man’s heart out?” The question is out before you can stop it, impossibly small against the great weight of the sea and the war and the heaviness you recognize in Anders’s shoulders, as if the entire world were resting there. The smirk disappears so quickly as Anders’s face darkens that you’d almost wonder if it had ever been there at all, if a man filled with the sort of torment and pain you see then could be capable of such a light expression.

It feels like hours before he finally responds, barely loud enough to be heard over the water. “Yes.”

You reach up and stroke your knuckles over his cheek, your thumb on his chin. “Why would you do that?”

There’s no answer, just a smile so grim that it chills you to the bone, a new sense of fear so deep in your soul that you can’t even put words to it. That you’re not ready to think about or acknowledge at all. Then the smile slips and Anders just looks tired, so fucking tired.

You fall asleep in his arms, listening to the sound of the waves, the creaking of wood as the boat rocks gently, the steady sound of Anders breathing. He doesn’t answer you. You don’t demand an answer. 

Maybe some questions just don’t have any answers.

Sometime in the night, however, Anders does look down at you and whisper to your sleeping form. “ Du giver mig lyst til at være en bedre mand .” But even if you could hear it, you don’t speak Danish, and Anders isn’t ready to say the words in English. 

He’s not sure if he ever will be.

[pinkkittysaw]

CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and  taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close. 

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed. 

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead. 

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him. 

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once  the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.  

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music. 

[devondespresso]

Wiggy Wednesday🧠🪱 - A Robin (Buckley) Hood au

tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @shares-a-vest and @hotluncheddie Thanks guys!!! 💕🫂💝

continue-the-game tags at the bottom, you guys absolutely don't have to read this whole thing for it, it won't hurt my feelings cause this thing got long sgnxgnxnh

💚>> EDIT: @carolperkinsexgirlfriend expanded on the aro robin thing and its literal perfection!! <<💚

tbh the past few days ive felt like i was loosing my spark a bit (could be a medication thing now that i think about it) so the plans for today are to rewatch some really damn good motion pictures, feel some emotions probably, and go from there.

having said that, i was able to put together a fun little idea about Robin Stranger Things as Robin Hood, Steve and Little John, either Vickie or Chrissy as Maid Marian. Chrissy would fit the secretly badass princess type very well, thinking princess peach in the mario movie, while vickie would be slightyyy more tough girl princess, thinking fiona from the first shrek. I'm not like a huge fan of slapping character names into roles just because, so i think most antagonists would be of the robin-hood-world and some might get left out. Dustin and Erica would be there, possibly as merry men, or i also think itd be cool to mix another vaguely-medieval story that fits the kids group better, have it be something in the backstory or future or something like a story living in the edges of this one. Eddies also an easy fit as the minstrel and could be tied to chrissy's story too if you want

im not planning on writing anything for it, but the story ideas that are jumping out to me rn are mostly characters meeting/origin stories. Steve and Robin meet early on in her outcastery, Robin in jail for stealing and Steve also locked up close by either for something outrageously stupid or something definitely illegal but for the sake of his little brother and friends. They swap stories and then swap even more jokes and fun banter. Either Robin loops him in on her plan to break out, or Dustin and Erica come to break Steve out during her escape and they all team up. Maybe a little part where they visit Dustin and friends, let him know Steve's fine even tho him and Robin are fugitives, maybe Dustin tries to follow them but they have to send him back until he's old enough to move out, an emotional "we're not gone forever" talk, concluding with Robin and Steve heading off to camp in the woods and figure out what's next. maybe robin comes out here, maybe steve had confessed and whatnot similar to the show, maybe robin just needed to establish that she's not into him before they started adventuring just the two of them. Maybe she mentions her future plans, to stay firmly on the laws bad side, maybe to reunite with the lady she found at the edge of palace gardens, something that would make the road alongside her rougher than his already will be, and Steve chooses to join her anyway.

also a romantic subplot with Chrissy or Vickie.

if its chrissy, i think itd go similarly to the disney movie (relative to vickie's anyway), chrissy has her princessy life and through circumstance (maybe an archery contest, maybe they run into each other, probably a combination of run-ins) they meet and are into each other, maybe Robin crossdresses and after she's revealed to be a girl Chrissy's head over heels, maybe Chrissy runs away, maybe robin wins her favor, lots of fun princess tropes to play with.

with vickie, i keep leaning into the Fiona-style angle where she very much doesn't care to be in a royal setting, not rejecting femininity just spinning the princess archetype on its head. So maybe she's a runaway, maybe she rescued herself, or maybe she faked her death or something extreme, and she runs into robin (maybe robins disguised and she looks extra rougish, maybe vickie had only heard bad stories about her) and they fight. if vickie wins she notices in her victory robins actual personality, realizes shes not aggressive like expected and they talk, and if robin wins she does a mercy thing, maybe disarms her to get enough time to run off and vickies like 🤨mysterious🤨 or they spark up conversation. Maybe part of Robins group comes in either ready to defend her or diffuse the situation and their appearance soon splits the fight. lots and lots to play with. one way or another vickie tags along or joins the group, she and robin fall in love, yippee

aaaand third option: polyarmory, where chrissy joins the group first, they run into vickie second, and the three of them fall in love.

fourth option: aro robin (lol get it. cause. arrows.) who picks up princesses (plus steve too) like its her job and those princesses fall in love

r*nance (* for search because this isn't exactly abt them, NOT to be a dick about it) could work too ig but its not my jam so im not diving into that angle

i also love the idea of expanding robins relationship with any of the kids (Dustin and especially Erica, because scoops troop has solid character dynamic potential thats barely touched. Robin and Max too, and it'd make sense to bring in Lucas too with his ties to both Erica and Max)

if this gives anyone else brainworms and you want to write it, absolutely go for it, i know im definitely not going to sit down and write scenes or anything for it, and if you're comfortable tag me so i can read it!!

_

for Wiggy Wednesday im tagging (no pressure ofc): @starry-eyed-steve @marvel-ous-m @lightoftheseraph @pearynice @puppy-steve

@tinytalkingtina @dreamwatch @flowercrowngods @withacapitalp @writing-kiki

@queenie-ofthe-void @carolperkinsexgirlfriend @eriquin @hairstevington @sunflowerharrington

@imfinereallyy @sourw0lfs

[xoxo-sarah]

I Wanna Be Yours || Part 11

Part 10 | part 12

↝a/n: I feel out of love with this series after chapter 4, if you can't already tell by the effort I put into the chapters after. I refuse to just scrap it through. Also ⚠️ I need help on picking a song for this fic. I have been listening to different songs from the 80's to see which one should be reader's favorite, but then I had the idea that I could just use the song that this story was based off of (since the series kinda went off the tracks with the original plan). I Wanna Be Yours by Artic Monkey's is a good song and I could make it work. Obviously it wasn't released in the 80's but this is fiction anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Should I continue looking for better songs or use I Wanna Be Yours?⚠️ Your opinion would be highly appreciated 🩷

↝pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!Wheeler!reader

↝Warning: not proofread, possible spoilers, cannon events, nosebleed, flashback of flashback from chapter 3, pining, cursing, not proofread

↝⎙ 7.30.24

“Couldn’t we have tried a road, or something just slightly less creepy?” Robin and Nancy were walking ahead of you, treading through the dead forest of the Upside Down. Steve and Eddie were a little behind you, deep in conversation.

“I think we’re getting close. We’re out of here. Don’t worry.” Robin nodded at Nancy’s reply, before falling in step with you, leaving Nancy to lead the way.

You weren’t sure why she fell in step with you. You hadn’t said a word since the mini earthquake. “Feel any better?”

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I would say you need to eat something, but I highly doubt the food in the pantry would taste any good.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile, appreciating her trying to lighten the mood.

You decided to play along, “I don’t know, there might be some saltines.”

Before Robin could reply, the ground shook again. You feel the opposite way of each other, where you had landed harshly against a tree. You felt the pain shoot through your shoulder, through your arm to your fingertips.

“Okay, second on my list of least favorite things: earthquakes. Seriously, I’m unsteady enough as it is.” Robin seethed, looking up in time to watch Nancy run off. “Nancy! Where are you going?”

Looking up, you mentally cursed your sister and the thoughts her brain came up with. As soon as the ground stopped shaking, you all ran after Nancy, yelling out for her.

You ran until you found her, overlooking your neighborhood. “Come on.” She walked forward, toward your house.

It was weird, seeing your house standing. The water of Lover’s lake was dried up, trees dead, but your house stood, surrounded by the dried out version of the trees you, Nancy, and Mike would play in as kids.

Nancy took a deep breath before opening the front door.

“Ew,” You stepped over the vines littering every inch of the house.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin stepped beside you, watching her next step.

“Come on, I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.” You followed Nacy up the stairs, falling back as they made their way to her room.

Steve turned back half way up the stairs, looking into the living room, but you paid him no mind.

Your door to your room creaked open. You set your eyes upon your room. The same tacky paint laid on the walls, pure nostalgia. It was from your childhood, which you covered up when you hit sophomore year. The memory of you and Chrissy played in your mind.

She spent so much of your friendship trying to get you to open up- to be yourself. ANd you couldn't even get her to open up about what was bothering her. You could’ve asked.

“The way he looked at you!” Chrissy continued to gush, kicking her feet in a 'schoolgirl' way. She stared up at you with her head in her hands, laying on her stomach. Homework was long forgotten.

“He looks at everyone like that.” Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your dresser, looking in the top drawer for a certain shirt you were meant to have worn the day before. You were pretty sure Nancy had stolen it at this point. Wouldn't have been the first shirt that had just wound up missing just for you to see either in Nancy's clothes basket or on her. “I saw him look at Mrs. O'Relle and I thought he was going to combust. He's just a naturally flirty guy. I don't even think he realizes it most of the time."

“Oh, okay. Yeah.” With her tone and the smile on her face, it was obvious she didn't believe a word you said.

After closing the drawer harder than you meant to, you turned, glaring at the girl. “Anyway… I don't like him.”

You regretted the way you said 'him' as soon as it rolled off your tongue. But you tried to play it off cool. However, she didn't.

“So there's another guy!” You were quick to shush her, with it being night and Holly had already been put to bed and the fact you did not want your parents or siblings knowing anything about your love life. “Sorry.” She moved to sit up, watching as you sat on the edge of the mattress. “So…?”

“So what?”

“What's so special about this guy?” She said it as if you were stupid for asking.

“Nothing. Well, not like-” Closing your mouth, you couldn't find the words. Your eyes danced around your room, taking in the tacky paint from your childhood that you have yet to cover up. “He's different.” No matter how much she tried for you to meet her eye, yours stayed glued to the wall In front of you.

After a few moments of silence, you glanced over, her face telling you to continue. Her smile was so sweet, happy for you.

“He's nice.” She. She's nice. But Chrissy didn't need to know that. This is the first time you've told her about anyone you have ever fancied in the 5 years you two have been the best of friends. She was over the moon. “He's smart. He looks good in blue or green.” Chrissy noticed the way your lip twitched into a small smile at the thought of this mystery 'man'.

“What does he look like?”

“Light-brown hair, blue eyes.” You began fiddling with your nightshirt. “Tall. Taller than me, at least. Uh,” You glanced back over, not wanting to be telling her this anymore. Sure, you've wanted to tell someone how you felt, how a girl you barely talk to could make you feel all kinds of giddy without meaning to. But this was too much. “Actually, I don't want to talk about this anymore. If you don't mind.”

Before she could reply, you clicked your lamp off, leaving you to get under the blankets in the dark.

Robin's nice. She's smart. She looks good in blue or green. She had light-brown hair and pretty blue eyes. She is taller than you. She is beautiful. She is someone you couldn't even admit to liking to your closest friend.

You know Chrissy would never judge you or make you feel less than, but it was just different. It always would be. Sadly.

“He sounds nice, like someone you should admit your feelings to.” Chrissy spoke up after a moment of silence, of which you had stared above you, darkness blocking the color of the ceiling. You nearly scoffed at her words. But you settled on humming in agreement, or maybe just to satisfy her.

…

Chrissy was never one to judge.

The worst things always happen to the best people.

“Y/n?” You heard Nancy yell, frustration clear in her tone. Scrolling out of your room, you leaned against the doorframe, the pain in your shoulder slightly subsiding. “‘83, the year Will went missing.” Nancy stared at you, “We’re stuck in the past.”

“I’ve noticed.” you deadpanned, growing frustrated at the whole thing. “I don’t know why you're looking at me like that. It’s not like I have access to Vecna’s brain and know everything about this stupid place and stupid vines, and this stupid shit flying around in the air.”

You frantically waved around you, the bits flying around you, like a fly that keeps annoying you, getting on your last nerve- “Wheeler, hey, chill out, yeah?” Eddie stepped forward, bringing his hand to your shoulder. You instinctually recoiled, not wanting him to touch it and make it begin to hurt again. You put your arms back down at your sides, looking up at them. Their looks of confusion turned to concern. You felt your nose running. Blood coated your fingertips when you went to rub at where something wet was leaking onto your top lip.

“Dustin? Dustin!” Steve yelled from somewhere else in the house. You waved them off when they hesitated to leave as you tried cleaning up your nose. You grabbed the nearest dark clothing in Nancy’s room before going after them. “Dustin! Can you hear me, Dustin?” Steve frantically circled the kitchen and dining area. “Dus-Hello? Hel-Hello?!”

“Maybe he really does have rabies.”

Nancy ignored Robin, watching with concern, “Steve, what are you doing?”

Steve swung around, shining the flashlight into everyone’s eyes. “He’s here; Henderson. That little shit, he’s here. He’s like…He’s in the walls or something. Just listen.” He put his hand up, motioning for you to be quiet and listen. “Dustin. Dustin! Dustin, can you hear me?”

You could faintly hear Dustin’s voice, leading to everyone yelling out for him. STeve took a break, “Alright, either this kid can't hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”

“Will found a way.”

“What?” Steve turned to Nancy.

“Will,” Nancy realized, staring up at Steve, “He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights.” “Lights?” He trailed behind, watching as she tried to flick the lightswitch.

“You okay?” Eddie shoulder cheeked the one that wasn’t hurting, making sure to be gentle. You sniffed, “Yeah, it stopped bleeding.”

He pursed his lips, “ ‘m not talking about your nose. You about had a meltdown up there.”

“Sorry,” Your voice was only a whisper.

“No need to apologize. Shit is about to make me breakdown, too.”

“It’s all so much. There might not even be anything we can do.”

Eddie watched as you ranted. He knew you weren’t the talking type, much less the venting type. But he knew you hadn’t had time to properly grieve. He knew you wouldn’t give yourself time to do so until they figured out more about Vecna. You would burst at any moment, and they would only be able to watch as you did.

Robin watched your face, slowly watching as you crumbled more and more throughout this week. You didn’t deserve Vecna’s curse, she knew that for sure.

Steve spoke, “Guys, you seeing this?” You turned toward him, following where he pointed his flashlight at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The bulbs glowed, flickering a little. Particles swirled around like dust in the air. The bulbs sparked as you stepped closer. Nancy raised her hand, moving it to the sparkling particles. It was so much prettier when it was glowing and not in your face.

“Woah,” Eddie stared in awe.

You could still hear Dustin’s voice.

Steve raised his hand, doing the same as Nancy had. Soon, you all had your hand up, gawking.

“It…tickles.” Steve drew his eyebrows together.”

“It kinda feels good.”

Eddie smiled at Robin in agreement.

Nancy jerked her hand back, “Does anyone know morse code?”

“No,” you all shook your heads.

“Wait, does S.O.S count?” Nancy looked at Eddie, “Is that…is that good?”

By now, the only people who haven’t taken their hands away were you and Robin. Your hand tingled as you looked over at her, a slight smile on your lips. Although the rest of the upside down was dark and gloomy and gross, the lights lit up her face a little. It showcased her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, and her chin. Her eyes left her hand, catching your eyes. Even though the light didn’t illuminate her eyes, you could make out the specks of blue and green. Your eyelids half-blinked, too scared that if you fully closed your eyes, even for a second, that Robin would disappear or look away.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Eddie stepped forwards after talking to Steve and Nancy, explaining the plan. You had pulled your hand back as soon as he stepped closer, as if you had gotten caught. Robin had a hard time watching as you did so. Were you too scared to simply be seen holding eye-contact with her? She could hide her disappointment easily, she thought, atleast.

You had gotten through to Dustin on the other side. Now, you all kneeled on the side of Nancy’s bed. The kids had the idea to get Holly’s Lite-Brite, and communicate with that, as they kneeled in the same place in the other dimension.

“Okay,” Dustin yelled to be heard, “You guys seeing this?” Nancy raised her hand, the same light radiating in the particles.

Dustin’s cackle could be heard, before he said that they were unplugging it. As everyone stared in awe, you caught something- someone- in your peripheral. Robin smiled at the image in front of her. All frustration dissipated in your body. Your shoulders relaxed. Even if you were on the edge about Vecna and his cures, as long as Robin kept smiling, it would be okay. Maybe that was a delusional way of thinking but it made it all easier. Or maybe spending your last moments staring into her eyes makes it less scary. Your last moments don't matter- not when Max is in the same boat as you Blinking back to reality, you heard Dustin yelling, “We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. That there’s a gate at every murder site.”

“Does anybody understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy questioned, watching as everyone shook their heads. She wrote a question mark in the dust, waiting for an answer.

“Seriously?! How many times do I have to be right on the money before you trust me?” Dustin’s frustration was clear as day. Steve sighed, “Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check.”

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie leaned over, agreeing with Steve.

“I know.”

Nancy ignored the boys, like she has been doing this whole time. “So, how far is your trailer?”

You felt your blood run cold. No way you had to go to the place Vecna had sucked the life out of your best friend.

“Seven miles.”

The rest of the conversation went over your head, your only thought being Chrissy. Unknowingly to you, someone was watching you, sympathy in their pretty eyes.

It was so easy for everyone to forget that you were going through something. Even if they noticed how odd, quiet, and distance you became, they didn;t make it a priority to ask. Robin noticed- the headaches, nose bleeds, the distant look in your eyes- she noticed it all. There was a checklist in her head of your symptoms and she didn’t like how it was looking. You flinched when you felt something graze your knuckles. Looking down, you noticed Robin's hand beside yours, palm open for comfort. Your eyes shot up to hers, to find that she was looking away, acting like she wasn’t trying to silently comfort you. Robin had to fight back a grin as she felt your hand slip into yours.

Your eyes were trained on the gate in Eddie’s trailer's roof. It’s like you were in a trance. The pulsing red pulling you in, but at the same time, keeping you glued to your spot. “This is where Chrissy died. Like, right right where she died.” Eddie broke the silence, grimacing at the memory.

“Jessica?!” Chrissy stopped painting her toenails, fixing her back and gawking up at you. “The one everyone thought the Steve Harrington boy was going to end up with?” Your lips formed a thin line. You and Jessica had talked about the rumors. The two of them hadn’t even interacted much, only interacting as much as you had to with the other people in your grade. Jessica thought the rumors were funny, you not so much.

“Yeah, safe to say she’s not his type.”

Chrisst bit her cheek in amusement. “So,” She went back to hunching over her knees, beginning to paint her nails once again. “Are you together now or…?”

Your movements stopped, frozen in thought until you closed the nail polish bottle in your hand. “I don’t know, i mean” Sure, you liked her, but it was all fun in games. It was just complicated. Jessica was pretty, nice, witty, but it always felt like something was missing. Her touch was nice, her green eyes were pretty, her pink lips felt soft, but it wasn't what you pictured when you fell asleep. Her lips weren’t what you yearned for. “What we have is fun, but…” Your voice trailed off. Chrissy gave you a sympathetic look, finishing your thought for you, “She’s not Robin.”

•© 2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

• My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

🫧 Taglistׂׂ ૢ ~ @overtrred28 @ihatepeanutss @jovana1234578 @dobbycarl @kyleeservopoulos @marirxse @ch-3-rry

[qiutls]

TNGDH 010

The first day of the Northern festival dawned.

It was noisy all over the place. I woke up early in the morning and sat up on the sawdust with uneven hair.

I'd love to sleep more, but I had a lot of work to do. First of all, it was necessary to increase the miracle value to further increase the duration time of "Summon."

I'm at a loss on how to fill up the remaining percent, but at least I know I can't fill them in this house filled with damn mealworms and crickets.

Yeah, let's go out.

It is also good to go out and grasp the atmosphere of the castle, and check what happens in < Heart of Winter > at this time. And if possible, I may change some of the events and slightly raise the miracle value.

I only have 30 minutes a day, I really need to use it well…

[ Should I use "Summon" now? (｡❛ᴗ❛｡) ]

'No!'

Not now, I don't have any clothes!

Ugh, but there's no better time to go out than now. It has only been 10 minutes since Kyle went to survey the castle for the festival. It would take an hour to complete one roundtrip.

If only there's other clothes available, except for the clothes the magicians picked up…

'Ah! That's right!'

Just then, a wonderful thought came to mind.

The space where Sen found me and chatted along with the other maids. It was the place where they do laundry. In other words, I can get the clothes that servants wore.

Let's just get one of out the pile. Even if it's a bit uncomfortable to know that someone has already worn it, it's way better than being naked.

You never know, I might be able to wear a sleek, and well-washed butler's uniform… Don't you think it'll look good on me?

I had a pleasant imagination in my own way before using "Summon" in the corner of the room.

[ Good luck! (ෆ`꒳´ෆ) ]

*

However, there was another problem that I've never anticipated.

"I've really lived…"

Originally, life was something you were supposed to know when you've actually lived once, but if you were going with this kind of development, you should at least give me a preview.

I sat with my legs spread out on the stone steps in the corner and put my elbows on my knees. And with an infinitely gloomy look on my face, I stared at the maid's uniform in amazement.

"….."

I should have expected, all the people gathered then were maids. There was no such thing as the butler's uniformed I imagined earlier. Shirts, vests, pants, and shoes are nowhere to be found.

The best I could find was an ankle-length black skirt and an ornamental white apron, and for now, it was the only clothes I could choose.

I screamed silently ruffling my hair with my hands, how can I walk around like this! What do you mean I have to wear maid clothes, I'm a man!

"What's the difference between this and running around naked!"

[ Do you want me to turn off "Summon"? ]

No, don't! That's not what I meant. On second thought, this is not that bad. It's warm and I can move freely, it's even a bit nice… Damn it.

"It's hard to make ends meet."

With this outfit, it's best not to be caught by maids. No, it's best not to be seen by anyone. Hey system, do you have any transparency skills? I'm going crazy here.

Even though I hated it, I had to move anyways. I only have half an hour a day, I need to make the most out of it. I shook myself and went downstairs.

"It would be nice if we could hold the banquet sooner."

"What kind of clothes will do you think His Highness will wear this time?"

"Do you think there'll be more people than last year?"

I tactfully intermingled with servants here and there and heard stories of this and that.

The Northern festival is held only once a year, and it lasts for a week starting from the day when the night is the longest that year. It was no exaggeration to say that it was the grandest even held at the Blake's estate.

The usually dull and cold Blake Castle was now animated and people kept bringing in food from the storage. You can see that the merchants also brought a full carriage. 'Indeed, a festival is a festival.'

The last memory of a festival I remember in my old life was drinking makgeolli at the university festival and suffering from a massive hangover the next day.

At that time, key information suddenly fell into my ears.

"I hope this year goes by without any problems…"

"That's what I'm saying, why am I so nervous? Last year, aristocrats who were in favor of the prince came and bothered me, but this time apparently, the prince himself will attend the banquet."

"Is the rumor really true?"

"Is the prince really coming personally here in the North?"

I crept up behind them with my ears perked up. Of course, I didn't forget to use the broom I got to pretend to sweep across the floor and move.

They went into the banquet hall, loaded with goods, and soon began to decorate the place with flowers and moved the tables around the central dance hall.

"I know right, when this land was a wasteland, he didn't care, even when his subjects asked for his help."

"But since Lord Kyle came, things have improved remarkably. Didn't they say, the reason why the prince never came even thought there was a festival here every year, is because of the bad relationship between brothers? Isn't that the famous story?"

"They sent him to die, but he didn't. Tsk. Tsk."

"Apparently, His Highness Belial will also come, along with the previous Serena, who's on bad terms with Duke Kyle. Their age difference is also…"

the one on bad terms with Kyle is Belial and not the previous Serena, which is a different Serena from Sen​

Oh yeah, this is the kind of gossip I want to hear.

'As expected, people who are preparing for the banquet, know the most.'

I should get closer to them, let's step around these servants who are contemplating what to do with the old chandelier, and try to hear more information…

"Woah! That scared me!"

Just in time, the worker who was complaining about the old and loose chandelier ring, turned around and our eyes met.

Wow, you have a really loud voice, thanks to you I was surprised and almost jumped.

"Wait a minute… I don't think I've seen you here before."

… Oh dear.

The skill "Summon" uses my original form and face. I don't know how the system brought my life's data into this world, because if I asked it would never shut up, but right now this person is seeing a face it has probably never seen before, a Korean's face.

In other words, it's a face that doesn't fit this world.

I turned around as naturally as possible and kept sweeping.

​Just be natural…

"Hey you!"

It felt like my joints were squeaking whenever I moved.

Indeed, I have zero talent for acting. During the school festival, I always played the role of a tree or a stone. Of course, I didn't want to play that role but for some reason, everyone left it up to me.

The man who looked at me suspiciously, tried to reach for me. But just before he reached my shoulder, I started to move.

I don't care about acting or anything, I just know if I get caught here, it's the end.

"Hey system, how many minutes are left for the skill?"

[ "Summon" will end in 7 minutes. ]

There's less than 10 minutes left.

I can just run until the skill ends.

"Isn't that, that guy?"

It's just your imagination. It can't be you'll know it's me from looking at the shoulders and the height right?

"I'm going crazy."

I only had those clothes to wear. What was I supposed to do in that situation, technically I'm a victim too.

"Wasn't it a few days ago, a guy sneaked into the Lord's study and event took his shirt?"

"Ho, is he that.."

"There, that brown haired guy, just stand there and don't move!"

Ah, I can't hear you. I can't hear anything.

I started fast, almost as if I were running. The soles of my feet felt so cold and numb, but I couldn't help it, there were only socks in the laundry room and no shoes.

'I feel so uncomfortable, I'll wash my hands and feet as soon as I get there.'

This time, after washing my feet, I'll turn the bowl over instead of leaving the dirty water inside, or else they won't change it to new water.

I left the banquet hall, climbed a floor, and fled frantically to the left corridor, it's been a long time since I threw away the broom I held.

'I should've worked out.'

I overestimated the physical strength of an office worker. But at least, I wasn't as weak as before since I rode a wheel desperately to become human.

Thump.

"… Ah!"

I bumped into someone as soon as I turned around the corner of the hallway. You're lucky I'm letting you off the hook today.

"Sorry-"

Obviously I was walking quite quickly but this person didn't even move a bit when we collided, yet I bounced back like a ball.

"Are you okay?"

His voice, low and grave, a voice I'm quite familiar with.

… That's right, it's a voice I hear everyday.

'I'm doomed.'

[ Kyle Jane Minehardt. The Great Duke of Blake. ]

I know. I know. You don't have to tell me.

I turned around and looked at him.

It hasn't even been seven minutes yet and it was weird to end the skill right in front of him. You said I'd be lucky enough to become human? Are you sure it's luck or bad luck?!

[ (◐▽◐);;; ]

'Fuck it.'

I started running away from Kyle and he started chasing me.

​His heavy boots banged on the floor and sounded loudly as he approached me. It was like a horror movie. I kept running like before, yet he was just walking. The distance between us gradually got less and less.

"Hey."

I don't know what to do. I'm never running away from him again. When I looked back secretly, his shadow was hanging around my feet.

'….. Crazy'

He's not the Duke of the North for no reason.

Now I really started to give my all into running. The ankle-long skirt started to get in the way, so I held them up with my hands to move my legs easily.

Ah, shit, I don't even have shoes. What kind of situation is this!

"Stop."

'I don't think I will.'

I gasped and tried to breathe in as much air as possible and squeezed out the last drop of my strength to ran further away. When Kyle saw I didn't listen to his orders, he also started following me quickly.

Why are his steps so big? If you're tall, you do everything bigger is that it? How can you make me feel this miserable?

Step. Step. Step.

The sound of bare feet running like crazy and the sound of boots irregularly stepping on the floor. I felt all the emotions I was bottling rise up as I continued to run on the cold floor.

Hey! Stop following me! It's time to give up.

[ "Summon" will end in 1 minute. ]

I shouldn't disappear suddenly today, and it should bring me back to the hamster house once the time is up…

he's talking about the hamster form

Before I knew it, Kyle was right behind me, at this rate, he'll catch up even before a minute passes.

I ran all the way here with the thought of being able to escape, but now it seems like I can't help it. But it seems like I have no choice but to wait for the skill to end and recall back to the hamster house.

Running straight down the corridor, I turned towards the stairs and went down the steps.

"Uh…"

​My body leaned forward greatly as I was about to fall when a large hard pulled my arm and causing me to sway back into the ground.

I turned around and saw the owner of the hand, I looked at Kyle with my eyes wide open. My heart was already falling down the stairs, yet my body was held in place with his hand.

"Who are you?"

I can't answer if you ask like that.

[ "Summon" will end in 10 seconds. ]

'It's almost time anyways.'

​You're right system, there's no such thing as bad luck.

I laughed and held onto Kyle's arm but still not straightening my tilted body. I wasn't intent on making a good impression. So, I spoke in a sarcastic tone.

Who am I? Me?

"I'm your companion-"

note that companion used here can mean a lot of things, can be friend, associate, partner or even lover, Soohyun was going to say "I'm your companionship hamster" but it got cut off XD

​Just then the 10 seconds was up and white light came out of my body. Kyle frowned at the blinding light that flashed before his eyes.

And the me that was covered in that light, became a hamster.

… Who was back in the hamster house.

―…….

I turned my head around and looked at the familiar sawdust and the transparent glass and the duke's study.

Hey, if you're gonna take me back! Take me back after I finished my words! How can you end it before I could say I was a companionship pet. A pet!

​I jumped in anger and threw myself on the floor. Great, now not only am I a clothes thief, I'm now a pervert who dresses as a woman and confessed to the Grand Duke.

― Squeak! [ Ahhh! ]

I think it's better to keep living as a hamster. Right? Right. Should I just live like this? That thought easily vanished as I saw the bowl full of mealworms.

Kyle's POV

The flash slowly died down and Kyle opened his eyes. His view was still blurred, perhaps because it was directly hit by the light earlier, but fortunately there was no difficulty in identifying the object in his hands.

The problem was, there was only clothes and the man who had just been in his hands was gone.

A unique face, and thin brown hair that have never appeared in this land. And such light weight, that he was able to hold the man with one hand.

All that disappeared in an instant and all that was left was the maid uniform that he was wearing.

"… Is he a magician?"

But when he disappeared, he didn't seem to chant any incantations. Rather, the last words he said before he disappeared was that he was my 'companion'.

Above all, I definitely saw him for the first time today, yet I felt a strange sense of familiarity. Even though no one I know has no hobby of dressing as a woman.

Kyle raised his eyebrows and picked up the clothes properly. Even when he said he was my companion, why did I just stay still and keep holding his arm.

"I'll find you…"

Even if what you said was just nonsense, I want to find you again.

T/N: this part of the novel is illustrated and made into a promo which you can find in the masterpage for this novel. tysm for everyone who's reading this! and thank you for all the likes, follow and ko-fis <3

novel ⠀✿⠀ next

[agent-calivide]

So- normally this blog is exclusively for IEYTD content- but I think I'm gonna shift to just be my interests, because there is one thing that I'm absolutely feral about and desperately need to scream into the void over.

Discussion surrounding the 2004 film Barbie Princess and the Pauper makes me irrationally angry.

Barbie’s Princess and the Pauper is a surprisingly decent film for being made purely to shill doll, with music that's absolutely gorgeous and a story that's a bit less dark than the original novel it's parodying.

A brief summary for those who don’t know- though if my YouTube recommended’s anything to go by Barbie is taking over the collective hivemind of nostalgia at the moment- Barbie Princess and the Pauper is the story of two young women, Anneliese and Erica, living two completely separate lives, one being a princess and one being a pauper. The twist, however, is that they were completely identical, save for their hair and a shockingly relevant birthmark for only being mentioned twice.

Erica is a poor seamstress who’s worked like a dog by her wicked boss, Madame Carp, trying to pay off her parent’s debts so she can pursue life as a singer. Truly, the best rep for anyone who’s suffered through retail with a shitty boss. Annelise meanwhile, is a princess who spends her days being lavishly spoiled as a princess typically would, but she doesn’t want to be spoiled. On the contrary, she would rather spend her day studying than getting her feet massaged and faffing about. At least- that’s what the song “I am a girl like you” and most of the fandom would have you believe.

In the song “I am a girl like you", we start with Annelise and Erica meeting, Annelise saying that she’s not looking forward to marrying this king and Erica responding with “At least you’re not an indentured servant”. Annelise asks for elaboration, and the song starts. Erica talks about how her mornings start with paying her boss money for a hot breakfast, then having to get up, walk a mile through cold, wet roads just to get the eggs for breakfast and then come back when all she wants to do is sleep in. Once again, relatable. She then looks at Annelise and asks her how her morning starts. Annelise pauses, and is visibly bashful, clearly hesitant to share, but Erica asks her to go on. Then, Annelise tells Erica that if she wants eggs she rings a bell and her maid runs in with breakfast and cookies, and while she eats she gets a foot rub and has live music being played for her, but she doesn’t want to be spoiled and doted on, she wants to be in the library!

If this was the beginning and ending of Annelise’s characterization? I’d get it. If Erica thought Annelise was spoiled, I’d get it. But she doesn’t. On the contrary, Erica hears this rich girl complaining about how she doesn’t like her life but is aware of how good she has it, and chooses to reach out. To say “hey, I can relate to that." “There’s somewhere else we’d rather be, somewhere that’s our, somewhere that dreams come true” If anything, this is a testament to Erica’s empathy, her kindness, and her ability to put herself in someone else’s shoes even when they objectively have it better. Throughout this song Erica will talk about work and Annelise will talk about the lighthearted fun parts of being a princess, but will casually mention how she’s in a position that she doesn’t want. Erica has to walk through the mud every morning for breakfast, Annelise gets it served literally on a silver platter, Erica has to make dresses, Annelise gets to dance around in frilly dresses. But Annelise also mentions that she’d rather be in the library and get to marry who she chooses, not be betrothed for the sake of her kingdom, more on that in a minute.

And time and time again, I see people talk about how Annelise is tone deaf, how she’s complaining about what is, objectively, a better situation. But honestly, I find this stance to be major character assassination, and is one that I’m seeing more and more frequently in regards to Annelise and most other “rich” characters quite frankly. Now, normally I don’t mind opinions like “this character is spoiled and should have more development than just crappy parents” or “it’s bad that they rushed this antagonistic character’s ark so they can have them for the series finale” I think that argument works just fine on the spoiled rich girl archetype, like Pacifica Northwest and Sasha Waybright, but I see a lot of people slapping that sticker onto any character that grew up wealthy regardless if they were an antagonist or not.

I get not liking a character if they’re antagonistic, or relating better to a character who had to work for everything they had. Most of us didn’t grow up as princesses in fancy castles and have been stuck with horrible bosses. I understand why people relate to Erica more, especially as someone who worked at a fabric shop with a crappy manager. But on more than one occasion I’ve seen people take the stance that Annelise’s part in the song “just like you” is insensitive and Erica should’ve shouted at Annelise, reminded her of her privilege, “laid the verbal smackdown on her and show her how hard it was being a peasant” before quickly following it up with a “I was just kidding!” when anyone calls out that Annelise isn’t a one dimensional privileged white girl. And if that was the only context we got of Annelise, I’d understand where it came from.

But if we look at Annelise throughout the course of the whole movie, that’s not true at all, quite the opposite. Our first scene we get of Annelise is her, getting fitted for a wedding gown to marry a man she doesn’t want to be with while a servant is fretting over her schedule for the day. That doesn’t sound like the typical Disney princess who gets to spend her days doing whatever she wants post-coronation. This is an actual princess, with real responsibilities. She has to give speeches, attend meetings, speak with upper class societies, and all she wants, the first thing she says in the introduction song “Free”, is “all my life I’ve always wanted to have one day just for me, nothing to do and for once nowhere I need to be”.

While she is bemoaning to herself, she’s not exactly fighting her scheduler on this either. She doesn’t complain, she doesn’t fight back, no quips or whining or witty banter, she simply accepts that she has to do what is told and dreams of a world where she doesn’t have to do all that. And that’s the big point that I see a lot of people ignoring. She is absolutely busting her ass every day, in and out, doing as told and not getting a second to breathe.

Let’s look at the one day we see that is truly just Annelise in her environment. She is getting a fitting for a wedding dress to marry some king while the royal scheduler tells her she has to give a speech at the Historical Society, then has to rush over to a Horticultural Society Tea, then has Math lessons, Geography lessons, and presumably much more after if we’re basing it off the massive to-do list of parchment we see. As someone who survived the public education system, the thought of giving a speech, going to a high pressure lunch that’s basically a work meeting, then having to do a full day of school after that makes me want to simply wither away and cry. She’s not sitting around, looking pretty and riding horses all day. She has responsibilities, duties, commitments to her mother and her kingdom.

We then cut to Erica, who shares much of the same sentiment. “All my life I’ve always wanted to have one day for myself, not waking up with a pile of work on every shelf” before singing about all the work she has to do as a low-class seamstress. This is what we’d expect from the pauper side of things. Erica works hard to earn a living at a small seamstress shop and wishes she could be doing something more with her life. This is when Madame Carp walks in and we see a glint of Erica’s personality. She’s spunky, she talks back, she calls Madame Carp’s dress shop a debtor’s prison to her face and argues about her parent’s debts. While she is committed to paying back her parent’s debts, she’s not taking it lying down, and that is a fundamental difference between Annelise and Erica.

While Erica will see a problem and call out that it really sucks, Annelise will look at a problem and simply accept that she has to fix it with little more than a comment to herself. Both of these girls are dreaming about freedom, but Erica is fighting for her freedom while to Annelise, it’s little more than a fantasy.

And that includes the freedom to marry whom she chooses. And this is when we see just how far Annelise will go to please her mother, as she looks out and sees the love of her life, her tutor, Julian. Julian is implied to be a good friend who’s been her teacher for a long while, and he feeds her passions. He teaches her, he encourages her to learn, he is one of the few people in her life who feels joy in Annelise’s happiness. Because, truly, when we see the way she interacts with the other servants and maids, she doesn’t have many friends. She doesn’t have anyone to talk to about her grievances, her lack of freedom, any of it. All she has is Julian, and she likely will lose him in the marriage to King Dominick. He's already calling her "your highness" like an authority figure rather and Annelise, his friend, and she hasn't even met the king yet.

She can’t even have her fantasy to marry Julian, as it’s quickly interrupted by her mother cutting her off and saying “I’m so sorry my darling, but as you know, it is vital you marry king Dominick. It is the only way to take care of our people”. And Annelise just accepts this. She just goes “yeah, I know, I have to do this for the kingdom” and pushes her fantasies away. And the very next line is Annelise talking about how she knows she’s lucky, she knows she’s privileged to have all of this nice stuff, this nice life, but is quickly realizing that every present comes with strings. While she may get to have a lavish life, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

We then see Erica, who’s talking about how while she doesn’t have nice things, she has spirit, determination, and she will achieve her dreams no matter what. This song truly establishes just how different the girls are, specifically in regards to their challenges and the obstacles they encounter. Erica, though currently trapped by her parents' debts at Madam Carp’s, has a fire, a will, a determination. She, though in debt as a pauper, isn’t willing to give up on her goal and aspirations of being a professional singer.

Annelise meanwhile, could have resources. She could reach out and get help, or run away with Julian, or do something to get out of her situation, but she refuses to. She can’t get past this mental barrier of duty and responsibility, and even while downright miserable, she won’t complain and won’t voice her needs. But the kicker is truly in the bridge of Free. Erica says “Soon I will forever be free” while Annelise says “Now I fear I’ll never be free” Erica is damn near counting the days, she’s looking at freedom as an inevitability, something that she will be getting soon. Annelise knows and accepts that freedom simply isn’t in the cards for her. In the end, both girls dream of leaving their situations, but they both decide to stay in their respective positions for the good of those around them. They both are committed to their duties, but Erica’s duty will hopefully finish in the near future, while Annelise’s duty is her entire life.

Later in the film, Erica takes Annelise’s place at the castle as Annelise has been kidnapped by Priminger and Julian needs someone to pretend to be the princess so the king doesn’t leave. In “To be a princess” he proceeds to educate Erica on a lot of aspects of being a princess. This pertains but is not limited to: be charming but detached and yet amused, do keep a grip and never crack, always look your best, never get to rest, never show dismay, be there when people call, and never show a thing you feel inside. With lessons like that, it’s no wonder that Annelise feels an absolute commitment to being a princess and never has a day to herself. Everything and everyone around her, including her best friend, says that she’s not allowed to feel, to breathe, to relax. She always has to be alert, aware, she has to have a thought and a response for every single possible comment and retort. And when Erica’s taught all this, it’s painted as overwhelming to learn, but imagine that being every day of your life for every week of every month of every year. That sounds absolutely crushing. Erica at least gets to let off some steam. She snaps at Madame Carp, she jokes with Bertie, she sneaks out to town square and sings. She has outlets away from work that Annelise simply does not have.

Okay, so Annelise is completely committed to her job as a princess, big whoop. She still is filthy stinking rich and royals were married to people they didn’t like all the time, she still is incredibly privileged. Maybe so, however, there’s more to this marriage than just some sort of uniting of kingdoms or prior arrangement. The reason that she’s getting married to Dominick is the kingdom has fallen bankrupt. Why has it gone bankrupt? Has the queen spent an egregious amount of money on castles? Was the king a warmonger who put all their funds into their armies? Does princess Annelise have a penchant for expensive travel and one of a kind crowns?

No.

The kingdom is bankrupt because the queen’s advisor has mined their mines dry of gold in hopes of taking over the kingdom. With no gold coming in, there was nothing to exchange, and the queen had to fix the problem before it started to hurt her people more than it already has. Her solution? The only one. Marry Annelise off to the nearest wealthy suitor and hope that it injects money into their economy.

The royals of this kingdom did nothing wrong, other than letting an evil man have so much access to power, which I don’t think any of us have the right to judge. If anything, the only one who’s privileged and trying to take advantage of it is the royal advisor Preminger. He talks about how he’s scraped by for years to climb the ranks and deserves to be a king, but in that same vein he doesn’t care about the kingdom, the people who are affected by his decisions. He’s so hellbent on becoming king, he doesn’t think about the fact that for all intents and purposes, he’s made it. He’s wealthy, absurdly so unlike Erica, but he’s also not a royal and thus has no duties to do any work he doesn’t feel like it, able to disappear for weeks on end and not have anyone on his back unlike Annelise. He has everything the girls want, but it’s not enough for him. He wants more.

Annelise meanwhile, is very aware of her privilege as a princess and tries to relate to those around her, even if she’s a bit unsuccessful at it. Before Annelise meets King Dominick, Julian decides that, as her friend, he thinks she needs some air. To get out of this stuffy castle and go see the kingdom as a normal girl before she loses it all. So, he gets her a cloak and takes her down to the nearby village, and here we can really see that she’s aware of her privileges when she’s outside of the castle.

As she and Julien walk around the town she asks him which house is his and he says “more of a room really, we couldn’t afford a house.” and immediately Annelise feels guilty, backtracking and starting to apologize for assuming he had a house. She doesn’t look at him in confusion or make fun of him for not having a house to himself, she instantly realizes that she was “in the wrong” to assume and tries to apologize for being presumptuous or assuming he was wealthier than he was. But Julien doesn’t laugh at her, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t tell her to “check her privilege”. He simply gives her a small smile and says “I know”. He assures her that, as his friend, she didn’t cause offense, he’s aware that she simply didn’t know he was in that bad of a financial situation growing up. He simply laughs it off then carries on with the conversation.

And this entire next section is Julien just being the absolute best. He engages with her interests, he gets Annelise her favorite flower, he calls the flower by its (fake) scientific name as he hands it off to her and he knows that it’s her favorite and that she'd appreciate him talking about science with her. He’s simply engaging with her as a mutual, a friend, and shows interest in her- well- interests. She gets to happily indulge in fantasy for a moment, but it’s quickly ripped away as she looks around the market and notices that the kingdom’s bankruptcy is already setting in. Shops are getting boarded up, families are being forced to leave, and she’s reminded that she has to get married to King Dominick for their sake. And she is visibly saddened by this. Not that she has to marry Dominick, but that her people are suffering over something that she and her mother couldn’t have possibly prevented.

Her train of thought gets interrupted by Erica singing in town square, Erica having snuck out from work to sing in the town square for coin, and she is doing a damn good job. We see she earns a decent amount of money for just singing on the road. People gather around Erica and listen to her song, she gives a sense of hope, she is pursuing her own freedom and people are enjoying it. Erica once again gets a reminder that her dream of freedom is not only soon, but achievable. It’s in reach, it’s not a completely absurd notion like Annelise's freedom. This is quickly interrupted by Madame Carp stepping in and yelling at Erica for leaving work, stealing her hard earned money and telling her to get back to work- which on one hand, bitch. On the other, Erica leaving work in the middle of the day to sing in town square is… a choice.

But, regardless, Erica’s left with nothing and is alone on the street, and who steps in to put coins in her cup after Madame Carp’s left? Annelise! She comes over, gives Erica money, and the two talk for a bit. Erica finds out Annelise is the princess and asks why she’s outside the castle, and Annelise says “I’m savoring my first and last taste of freedom before getting married next week… to a total stranger.”

Note that she didn’t say “I’m getting a breather” or “I'm taking a break”. She said “I’m getting my first and last taste of freedom before getting married NEXT. WEEK. She has never, ever, ever gotten a day off, taken a break, gotten to truly rest and get a breather. Us viewers? We get weekends, holidays, a day off on occasion, but Annelise doesn’t. She doesn’t get a moment’s rest because her life is her job. She’s never even been outside the castle walls until this day! Her whole life has been work and has been dedicated to her kingdom, to her mother’s expectations. While yes she is definitely more privileged than Erica, it’s not fun and games. If anything, it’s a 24/7, 365 job, every day of the year. And then this happens. “At least you’re not an indentured servant”

This. This one line. Drives. Me. Insane. And I think this line primes people to take the stance that Annelise is simply spoiled. Just because your arm is broken, doesn’t mean my sprained ankle doesn’t hurt.

This is when “Girl like you” starts, and this is also what most people use as reference to say Annelise is spoiled and tone deaf. Because here’s the thing, Annelise never says she has it bad, she never claims that her life sucks. And when Erica tells her her morning routine, Annelise is visibly apprehensive to share her morning routine, because she is aware that it’s rather tone deaf to say that her life sucks because she’s marrying some guy she doesn’t know after hearing how Erica’s morning starts every. Single. Day. She clearly knows how absurd it is to complain, most likely because she’s friends with Julian, who seems to have also been a pauper before getting hired to tutor Annelise. But Erica presses so she folds and shares her morning routine and actively chooses to complain about something little, almost diminishing her misery in a way. Like “Oh, haha, yeah my morning’s pretty good, but I just want to do what I want to do for once rather than follow my mother’s schedule- but it’s fine! I’m fine!” And that is why it’s so important for Erica to reach out first and say “I’m just like you, you’re just like me”

Because it’s not just about reading science books. It’s Annelise wanting to rest, to pursue her interests, not the interests of her mother or her kingdom. Erica sees right through Annalise’s act and finds solidarity in it. She opens up about how miserable it is working at Madame Carp’s and Annalise, excited that she can actually carry this conversation, happily talks about how she loves Madame Carp’s dresses.

This is the other point I see a lot of people reference, as Erica talks about how abusive Madame Carp is and Annelise cuts in to say she loves the dresses that wicked woman sells. This, honestly, is just a mood to me. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve been excited to carry on a conversation, only to immediately put my foot in my mouth as I realize I misread the tone. But once again, rather than Erica getting snobby, going “Did you not hear me? I just called it a penitentiary.” She simply smiles at the naïve princess and tells her she made the dress the princess was wearing.

Annelise proceeds to compliment her work, praise it for its detailing, and the two continue to talk, Erica talking bout how she has little issue with making dresses while Annelise has fun wearing them, and the two actually talk about her getting to “imagine life without the strife of an unfamiliar groom”.

Erica recognizes that Annelise’s situation, though much more comfortable than hers, absolutely sucks. That all of those privileges come at a cost and honestly questions if they’re worth it. And then Annelise proceeds to say “but I’d never let my mother know, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her!”

Once again, Annelise is not only diminishing her needs and putting her happiness aside for her mother’s happiness, but she shows that all of her issues are mental blocks. Social pressures that have been put on her from her life being raised as a princess. She’s not singing on a corner for pennies, but she also isn’t allowed to pursue her own happiness. She’s a tool, not a person.

And after these two talk and bond and get to know each other, what happens? Annelise uses her privilege to help Erica. She tells Erica “hey, I love your singing, I want you to perform at the castle, I’ll send someone to bring you up to the castle and perform”

This offer would be life changing for Erica. Having Erica come up to the castle, perform, and probably get paid quite a handsome sum for it? To a seamstress and street singer like Erica, that could literally get her out of debt and onto stage that much sooner. Annelise, rather than going “oh, she’s poor, I don’t want to be seen with her” like a stereotypical rich girl archetype says “Come, sing for us, you’re talented and I want to share your gift with others”. And Erica is rightfully ecstatic at that offer, and is over the moon when Annelise says she’ll send someone to get her.

Later, due to plot purposes, Annelise and Erica get mixed up, Anneilse stuck in the streets and Erica up in the castle. Annelise, in a moment of desperation, goes to Madame Carp’s dress emporium for shelter. The problem? Madame Carp thinks Annelise is Erica, and locks her in the back of the shop with the other seamstress, Bertie. While Bertie does think it’s Erica at first, Annelise tells Bertie the whole story (presumably) and proceeds to do exactly as instructed. She doesn’t throw a fit or refuse to help, she sits down, grabs a needle, and gets to work. Sloppy work, but work nonetheless. Even when Bertie tells Annelise that she doesn’t have to work on the dresses, she insists on helping. She doesn’t once say “I’m a princess, I shouldn’t be doing this” she simply accepts that this is her work now and adds it onto her plate. Even when she’s not in the castle, she thinks it’s her job to take on work that she’s assigned, and while it’s painted as a moment of empathy and kindness, Annelise is shown to put her desires as the very last thing to prioritize.

Eventually she’s released from Madam Carp’s by Preminger and he immediately locks her in a mine shaft and tries to murder her and Julian. Yes, he’s gone full blown Disney villain and locks the two away in a mineshaft then causes a cave in. Annelise and Julian are locked in a shaft in a caved in mine. Can I say this one more time: Annelise and Julian are buried alive in a m i n e. Most people in this situation would be panicking, crying, generally reacting distressed, we can see Julian sure as hell is, as he grabs a pick and immediately tries to dig himself and Annelise out. What is Annelise doing during all of this? Staying calm, comforting Julian, and finding her kingdom’s solution to bankruptcy.

Say what you will about how “it’s just a movie” but I know that were I trapped in a caved in mine, my mind would not be on how to fix a problem that looked like it wasn’t gonna be my issue very, very soon. But not only does Annelise use the rock as a touching analogy to make Julian feel better about himself, she keeps the crystals in mind and when they escape the mine collapse- due to cat shenaniganry- and informs her mother of them to solve the kingdom’s gold issues.

Here, Annelise once again is solving a problem that she didn’t even cause to get her happily ever after. She is truly doing all of the work on this school project, and people are digging at how she was raised in a fancy castle rather than acknowledging that Annelise did a lot of hard work. One video I saw was someone talking about how if they were Erika they would’ve stayed in Annelise’s position to “earn that bag” and make some actual changes to improve the kingdom, but Annelise does make changes to help the kingdom!

She finds a new export, saves her kingdom’s market from completely crashing, helps revitalize the economy, and because of all of that people can move back home and re-open their shops! We don’t know much about how this kingdom is run, but we do know that the royalty feel a duty to help their people, to do what is best for the masses regardless of how much they don’t want to do it. This isn’t like the modern day one percent where people tear down historical sites to make room for their mega yachts. The reason Annelise and the Queen are rich is they are the government. They are a monarchy. We don’t see any massive balls or galas like we do in Island Princess or Cinderella, they’re not just throwing money around for the amusement of it.

They’re bankrupt because their mines ran dry, and they managed to save their kingdom by finding a new export. “Why don’t they use their own money to help people if they’re so fabulously wealthy?” While that idea could be a good bandaid, eventually that money would also run out and then not only would the kingdom be bankrupt, but there’d be no incentive for any nearby kingdoms to marry Annelise because she’d be a poor princess to a broke kingdom that would offer effectively no benefits to any allyship. The best, and most to the point plan that the queen comes up with is to marry her daughter off so her kingdom would get an injection of money as soon as possible, because they effectively had no other solutions. They didn’t know about the crystal mines, and they didn’t know Preminger was fabulously wealthy. The only solution was to make themselves look good, like a viable, healthy(ish) kingdom and hope that Dominick would accept the proposal and save their kingdom.

And that leads me to Dominick. Dominick, unlike Annelise, doesn’t use his privilege to help anyone other than himself and Erica. And even then, that privilege mostly amounts to him getting to do what he wants. While Annelise simply accepts that she has to marry this king, Dominick goes out of his way to disguise himself as a page boy so he could get to know Annelise before agreeing to anything. Dominick preemptively gives himself an out and chooses to test Annelise, while Annelise has to take the hand she’s given and not complain. In all of this, Annelise isn’t the one with a choice, ever. Her mother chooses to marry her off, her mother chooses king Dominick, Dominick chooses to disguise himself, and then Preminger chooses to kidnap her so she can’t marry Dominick. She has no agency in her life.

The only reason Dominick reveals himself to Erica (who is pretending to be Annelise at the moment so the marriage to save the kingdom doesn’t get called off) is because he thinks Annelise ran away because she didn’t want to marry a stranger. But he still is the one with the agency, and he only reveals his true self when he thinks that Annelise acted on her own behalf.

So Annelies isn’t allowed to have her own agency, but is spoiled because she’s rich, meanwhile Dominick is a king who practices his own agency regularly throughout the movie and he is rarely if ever criticized for it. He gets to meet Erica, fall in love with her, he gets to choose her, and when Erica is revealed to be a pauper and thrown in the dungeon he gets to use a suit of armor to sneak in and get her out of the prison safely. While I don’t think he got permission to break her out, he still was allowed to use his resources to go back to Annelise’s castle and get a suit of armor to sneak into the dungeon and break Erica out.

No one else in this film would’ve had access to resources like that other than maybe Annelise, and yet I don’t see anyone saying that Erica should check King Dominick’s privilege and lecture him on how he was lucky that he was allowed to get have the money to be a king and access to a suit of armor to sneak into the dungeons and save her from probably a death sentence. In this situation, Dominick is purely using his privileges for himself. Yes, he saves Erica, but at this point he’s also in love with her, and he’s saving her not just because she’s a good person, but because he’s fallen in love with her and doesn’t want to lose her.

When she’s accused of killing Annelise, he is distraught. He doesn’t believe it, he can’t fathom that this sweet young lady that he’s spent the week with would do something so horrid. That is why he saves her. Not because of some sense of justice, it’s because he’s smitten with her. Yes, he uses his privilege to help someone in a worse position than him, but according to people who are criticizing Annelise, that’s not enough. Especially when it’s a decision made out of self interest.

At the end of the film, Annelise and Dominick both help Erica with her situation. The royal family, having found out that Madame Carp’s business is corrupt at best, stops purchasing from her and she goes out of business. I can already hear people saying “The family shouldn’t have been buying dresses from Madame Carp in the first place! She’s vindictive and cruel to her workers!” and to that I raise you: How many beauty influencers and brands these days do something sketchy, and it’s later revealed that they were a horrible person or a bad corporation?

My first thought, as someone who wears alternative fashion, is DollsKill. I can admit that I’ve purchased things off of their website before I found out how unethical they are. Should I have done more research? Yes. And I don’t shop with them any more because of it. But if I, and many other people, were able to make that mistake in the year of 2023 with access to infinite information on the internet, then it’s easy to see how someone in the 1700’s could’ve made the same folly.

Especially since Madame Carp doesn’t exactly go around bragging that she abuses her seamstresses. We know that Annelise never met Madame Carp before the film, as Madame Carp claims she’s the princess’s “close personal friend” while actively calling Annelise "Erica" and refusing to believe it’s actually the princess in her boutique. Realistically, Annelise and the queen likely don’t even go shopping, they probably have a servant go into the market, buy a few gowns for upcoming events, and only know the gowns by their brands.

I do wonder what happened to Bertie after all of this, but she seems pretty happy that Madame Carp has to leave, so perhaps she has a backup plan or some sort of safety net. Maybe she was also in debt to Madame Carp and was just looking forward to paying off her debts before starting her own dress emporium, we don’t really know. Either way, the dress shop closing gives Erica the freedom to pursue her music career that she was being held back from and she does so. But that still leaves our boy Dominick. He talks to Erica, tries to convince her to stay with him, but she tells him that her dream is to travel and sing. He does eventually acquiesce and gives her an engagement ring, telling her that it was for her anyways, and that it wasn’t a promise nor pressure, simply a gift. In the end, after performing for a long while, Erica decides that she wants to be with Dominick and travels to his kingdom to marry him.

I think that Annelise and Dominick are both good people for being Monarchs that put the interest of those around them before themselves. But for some reason, Annelise is held to a much higher standard than Dominick, even when she makes very human mistakes. They both are raised as royalty, King Dominick likely even more so as he’s king of a wealthy kingdom, but he is never put under the same scrutiny as Annelise. Sure, he never claims to relate to Julian, but Annelise never claimed to relate to Erica until she suggested it.

And Annelise’s privileges aren’t always a good thing. I feel like people neglect the whole section of the story where she was kidnapped and held prisoner because of her mother’s advisor. Not figuratively, literally. Taken from her home and locked in a random cabin because Preminger wanted to be king and figured that kidnapping her was the wisest choice rather than just advising the queen to not marry her off. Annelise is actively put in danger and harm’s way because of her status.

Honestly, Annelise really gets the shaft, full pun intended, in the second half of the film, a lot of time being spent on Erica and King Dominick’s relationship. Despite being The Princess and the Pauper, Annelise’s story is really the B plot to Erica’s love story. This makes sense, after all, she spends a lot of time just kidnapped and locked in various rooms, but in a weird way this just shows yet again that she has no autonomy even in her own story. And yet, she’s the one who’s scorned for being spoiled.

“Well, she is spoiled. She had a roof over her head and warm food and we see how Erika is baffled at the spoils when she’s a princess” But I'm gonna say something that's likely gonna get the pitchforks out: Money doesn't buy happiness. Before anyone hits me with a “I’d rather cry in a bugatti than a gutter”, let me explain.

The phrase “money can’t buy happiness” has two very different interpretations, and I find that both sides refuse to listen to the other even though both have valid arguments. There’s the stance that it can buy happiness, as money provides all sorts of things. On the surface, it’s shallow things, jewelry, gaming consoles, toys, fashion, knick knacks and trinkets that provide short term serotonin by buying something that you really want. But dig a bit deeper, and it gives more than that. Money is stability, shelter, food, water. It’s hard to be happy if you can’t have those things. To further elaborate, if you’re in a bad enough position that you can’t afford to heat your home, or buy a meal, or get clean drinking water, being able to afford that, either by your own means or by having someone else get it for you, is something that can’t be put into a monetary value- even if it literally is given a price. Getting to have access to water, shelter, knowing that you’ll have food in the morning, that’s something that you likely won’t understand the value of if you’ve always had it. Money may not buy literal happiness, but it provides security, and that security can lead to happiness.

Then there’s the argument that it can’t buy happiness, and people who have this opinion usually aren’t wondering where their next meal will be coming from or if they can pay rent this month. This stance is usually painted as privileged and spoiled because “well, you can say that because you’ve never had to worry about paying to survive”, but in my experience it’s quite the contrary. Most people I’ve met who say “money can’t buy happiness” usually include a caveat that if someone is in a position where they can’t afford food or shelter then of course money buys happiness. Stability is the foundation of comfort and comfort leads to happiness. No one is saying that someone’s ridiculous for being happy they can afford to live. And if you have seen that stance, then I'm sorry humans just suck.

Rather, “money can’t buy happiness” means that material objects cannot replace emotional intimacy or support. Surface level items have short-term pleasure that cannot be sustainable as the happiness lasts less and less with each material object. And this feeling of dissatisfaction only increases the more things you get. This is especially true when it comes to gifts. While gift giving is a valid love language, the whole point of it is giving or receiving items that have sentimental value more than monetary value. A pebble that’s their favorite color means way more than a PS5 when they exclusively use Nintendo products.

But when you don’t have a support system, healthy relationships, and the people you do have around you try to replace emotional intimacy with shallow gifts that don’t amount to anything, you find yourself downright miserable. Most people that I’ve met that have the stance that money can’t buy happiness tend to reach that conclusion after a guardian figure causes intense emotional distress or neglect then tries to purchase love with a shallow but expensive gift. It’s not that money can’t provide you with things that make you happy, it’s that money can’t provide emotional intimacy or a genuine support system.

If anything, Princess and the Pauper is the perfect allegory for this phrase, as Erica, though poor and struggling to get by, has emotional support in Bertie, her singing, her dreams. But, she doesn’t have access to security, stability, physical comforts, and is blocked from pursuing her goals because of external factors. Annelise meanwhile, is in a position of comfort and stability, but doesn’t have any emotional support nor outlets, her only friend being her teacher and her mother having a strict regime for her to follow regardless of her desires while being surrounded by luxurious gifts from other royalty that are ultimately empty gestures.

All of this to say, while Annelise is a princess who lives with the privileges of being a rich, upper class girl with access to many things that Erica could only dream of, her life isn’t one of luxury and spoils. She doesn’t get to indulge in her pleasures and can only appreciate things on a surface level because that is all she has time for. I don’t think most of the people who criticize Annelise could actually handle her schedule every day of every month of every year. She’s not some Disney princess who’s only job is to be pretty and interesting for the male love interest, she has duty. Responsibility. A full time job that dictates her sleep schedule.

She’s not unaware of her privileges and if anything is always using them to help everyone else, and at the end of the film she still doesn’t get that freedom that she’s searching for. She invites a pauper to sing at the castle, she tries to find solutions to the kingdom’s bankruptcy for her people, she goes out of her way to help when she can, and she’s not completely insensitive to the struggles of her friends. Even when she’s supposed to be taking a break, or is in a dire situation, she’s still constantly thinking of how to help others first.

Yes, she gets to marry Julian, but she’s still a princess and still likely follows her royal schedule to a T. While Erica got to learn what it’s like to be a princess, got to pursue her music, and got to marry King Dominick, becoming a princess herself, Annelise’s conclusion is ultimately that she managed to solve the kingdom’s bankruptcy so she could marry whom she chooses and then proceeds to fall back into the same routine of fixing everything for everyone else. She only gets freedom in one aspect, and we never see her actually get a day to herself, a day to relax. The only “relaxation” we see happening is with Erica while she spends time with Dominick, and that week likely was going to be Annelise’s only break before the marriage. So even after saving the day, Annelise still doesn’t get what she wants, and yet supposedly she’s spoiled rotten.

Truly, she does do what she says in the first song Free. “I’ll remain forever royal… Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret.” Erica never actually repays her parent’s debts, Madame Carp goes out of business and Erica gets let off the hook probably because she has two very powerful royals on her side. And this once again is Annelise using her privileges to help those who don't have the same as her by choosing to not support a business that is bad for its workers.

Erica gets released from her servitude early and then gets to chase after her dreams, but Annelise only gets to marry Julian after putting in the work to solve the bankruptcy so she doesn’t have to marry some other rich king that isn’t the one who fell for her best friend.

[allaboutcinderella]

I’m here to talk about “Bad Cinderella” or as it was known on the West End originally, “Cinderella!” By Andrew Lloyd Webber:

This show got so much hate once it came to America, but I’m here to talk about why I love this show so much. 💕

To be clear, I love the West End version. The show originated in the UK and starred the extremely talented Carrie Hope Fletcher as the title role.

The story begins in the town of Belleville, a town so pretty and perfect it almost makes you queasy. The citizens of this town are known for being the most beautiful people of any kingdom and they dislike anyone who dares to be different.

Cue Cinderella! A rebellious young woman who is the opposite of every citizen of Belleville and doesn’t care who knows it. She dresses in black and defaces public property, she’s a “gutter rose” and proud of it. The biggest thing that makes Cinderella a public enemy here is that she knows how fake everyone in Belleville truly is, and they don’t like someone pointing out their flaws. The women get work done on themselves on the daily, everyone is cheating on their significant others etc…

So on the day the town is due to receive the award for the Best Kingdom for the 50th year in a row, Cinderella decides to have fun and deface a statue that has been built to honor the deceased Prince Charming. (He is MIA after going to fight a dragon, so his mother The Queen has made this tribute to him).

She spray paints it, dresses it up and due to this, the town does not receive the award. The towns people hate this and hunt down Cinderella to tie her up for the wolves.

Her childhood friend, Prince Sebastian, the younger brother of the missing Prince Charming, sets her free and rags on her for destroying the celebration. He then praises her actions seeing as he also hates the town and how fake everyone is. These two are the only ones in the town who seem to be their real selves and haven’t bought into the whole shallow fashionable scene.

Cinderella of course lives as a maid for her wicked stepmother and vain stepsisters. All three are gorgeous and fabulous in looks but mean as the classic story goes. The stepfamily is very obsessed with status and appearances so when Cinderella ruins the town’s reputation, they fear they’ll be dragged down with her seeing as she resides with them. The stepmother threatens Cinderella that she’ll be thrown out if she misbehaves any more. Cinderella agrees to this.

Prince Sebastian has trouble in his end as well for even being associated with Cinderella. The Queen is not subtle with her displeasure on the fact that Sebastian is to inherit to throne and is the future of their kingdom. Seeing as he is viewed as such a loser in a kingdom that is all based on being pretty and perfect. His mother continuously reminds him of how amazing his brother was and how Sebastian will never measure up. The Queen then instructs the knights to help Sebastian better himself to prep him for the day he will become King. To help speed his progress along (in her eyes) the Queen decides to throw a ball to find “the perfect Queen for a perfect King.” Sebastian is terrified of this seeing as he has feeling for Cinderella. The Queen refuses to let him move on these feelings and assure him there is a much better woman waiting for him.

Cinderella runs into Sebastian later in the market and it’s clear Sebastian has started to become a different person. He’s attempting to flirt with women in the village as they drool over him now that he’s to be the new King and is on the lookout for his Queen. This gives Cinderella the ick, but she still smiles when Sebastian asks if she’ll be at the ball. The stepmother overhears this and reminds Cinderella that she’ll only embarrass herself if she attends the ball and that she will never be in Sebastian’s league now that he has gorgeous women falling all over him. This breaks Cinderella’s heart and she runs off crying.

The day of the ball arrives and Cinderella, while helping her stepsisters get ready is again reminded that she would never be someone the Prince would be with seeing how “ugly” she is. (She is actually extremely pretty but people hate on anyone who is different right?) To this Cinderella says, “I’ll show you.”

She seeks the help of the town’s all around beauty guru, plastic surgeon and makeover master, The Godmother. The Godmother’s shop is filled with gowns and sparkly things, including a pair of crystal shoes that catch Cinderella’s eye. The Godmother is intrigued by Cinderella and how different she is. “I’ve never seen you before…” she says.

Cinderella tells her how she wishes she was the same as everyone else but better. She asks for the Godmother to make her pretty and look like a Queen. To be so beautiful it makes people question their looks and envy her. The Godmother agrees to do this free of charge for her, but not out of kindness. She tells Cinderella, “we don’t deal in money here… we deal in dreams. To make yours come true, I need to know you are serious. Because what I do is serious.” She asks for the silver butterfly locket Cinderella is wearing as her payment. Cinderella is reluctant to give it up seeing as it is the only thing of her mother’s that she has, but regardless of her feelings, she gives it to the Godmother. This proves to the Godmother that Cinderella is serious about giving up her true self to become “beautiful.”

The Godmother proceeds to warn Cinderella that beauty is pain and that the makeover process will not be kind. Cinderella agrees to any pain she may endure. Lucky for her, the Godmother tells her she doesn’t have the time to do any permanent treatment on her (aka surgery) but instead gives her a blonde wig to cover her dark hair, lighter makeup and a gorgeous silver gown. To top it off, she gives her the crystal shoes. The shoes are tight as is the dress, which leads the Godmother to remind Cinderella she agreed to the pain these things will cause. She then tells Cinderella to be in bed by midnight “on ice” to heal her wounds from the borrowed garments. Any longer and she’ll be in torment. Cinderella seems to be so enamored with how good she looks, she almost doesn’t hear the warning.

Cinderella makes her grand entrance at the ball and dazzles the crowd. The only one not taken by her appearance is Sebastian. He doesn’t recognize her and sees her only as another typical fake girl trying to get his crown. She tries to admit her feelings for him now that she feels confident enough to do so, but this backfires terribly for her. Sebastian scoffs at her for this assures her he would never marry some “drunk” woman who thinks she’s hot stuff. Understandably flabbergasted, Cinderella gives him space and in doing so, leaves the floor open for more chaos to ensue. Just before the clock strikes twelve, her stepsister Adele, lunges for Sebastian and kisses him. The clock begins to chime and the Queen excitedly proclaims the Prince has found his wife to be! Amongst the cheering, Sebastian tries to protest and a scorned Cinderella, rips at her dress and tears off the blonde wig revealing her real hair. Sebastian recognizes her as she runs from the ball.

Heartbroken, Cinderella sings about how she was a fool to try and be something she isn’t and will never be. She realizes she would have been better on her own rather than trying to win someone who would never love her. Sebastian catches up to her and tries to explain that he had nothing to do with her stepsister kissing him, to which Cinderella chucks one of the silver shoes at him while shouting she’s had enough of his nonsense. (He was a major ass to her at the ball so I understand her anger). She tells him she’s leaving town and to be happy with his new wife.

Sebastian sings about how he blew his chances with the only girl he’s ever loved and the only person who loved him for who he is, not his title. He exclaims to his mother and the entire court how he will be the King they all wanted. A selfish, hateful, miserable tyrant! Sebastian says he will marry out of honor for his country but not for love. He vows to never be happy as long as he is forced to be this fake King.

On the day of the wedding, Cinderella is packing her things in preparation to leave the kingdom, but not before blackmailing her stepmother. “If you want me gone so badly, pay me to leave.” She tells the stepmother that she could easily stay in town and make their lives miserable, unless she’s paid a good sum. Her stepmother is honestly impressed with her haggling and agrees.

Once she thinks everyone has left for the wedding, Cinderella finds her one crystal shoe in her bag and reflects on how she was so dumb in trying to have a happy ending when “girls like her don’t end up with a Prince.” While wallowing in self pitty, her stepsister Marie (the one not getting married) stumbles in and tells Cinderella to stop feeling sorry for herself. She tells her how she is also miserable living in this family and how much she hates her mother. Marie proposes they team up to destroy the wedding. “Go to the church and tell him you love him,” she says. Marie finally tells Cinderella that she is responsible for her own happy ending and she is capable of making it happen. Stunned by this, Cinderella is left with the decision to crash the wedding or just leave. She chooses to run to the church to crash the wedding. 💒🏃🏻‍♀️💨

At the wedding, Sebastian’s vows are interrupted. However, it is not by Cinderella, but instead his missing brother Prince Charming! The entire town is taken aback by his reappearance that they forget the wedding is even happening. Prince Charming announces he is back to proclaim his rightful place as King, marrying the MAN of his dreams (yep Prince Charming is gay 🏳️‍🌈✨) and relieving Sebastian of the responsibility. The wedding continues not for Sebastian, but for Prince Charming and his new love. The bells chime and everyone cheers, “long live the Prince!” Sadly, Cinderella hears this in the distance and thinks she is too late. She leaves.

At the reception, Sebastian sees a very intoxicated Marie. She laughs about how he blew his chance with Cinderella and now she’s gone. He is confused and asks what she means by “gone.” Giggling, she tells him Cinderella left town and is probably on a boat by now going who knows where. Sebastian races out of the castle all the way to Cinderella’s house. On the way, he runs into the Godmother who is wearing a familiar necklace around her neck. “That belongs to Cinderella!” he tells her. “Oh…” she says. “You must be the boy.” She tells him it’s a pitty Cinderella gave up so much to be beautiful only to be shunned by him. She leaves him with the necklace so he can be reminded of what he’s lost. Sebastian runs to the house and calls for Cinderella. He hears no answer. In the kitchen he sees the one silver shoe glistening on the table and realizes, “She’s really gone.” Just then, Cinderella walks in and explains she only came back for the shoe. It’s crystal so she had planned to sell it on her trip. Sebastian apologizes profusely to her and admits he was an idiot. Numb to his apology, Cinderella says it was just never meant to be and it’s not his fault. He then talks about how he should have never tried to be someone he wasn’t to impress people. To this, she also admits fault seeing as she did the same thing to impress him. Sebastian tells her she never had to change, because she was always perfect to him. ❤️

He gives her the locket back and Cinderella is brought to tears. She kisses Sebastian and two agree to run away together to live happily in their freedom.

✨The end! 👠✨

So yes I think the story is fun and unique. The production is quirky and silly but also very beautiful and heartwarming. The talent in the show is unmeasurable! Everyone gave their all in this production and it shows.

The American cast was just as committed but sadly due to the changes in the script and costumes, it just wasn’t the same.

I truly love this show. I think if people go into it knowing the plot more in depth, they’ll appreciate it more. ❤️ Thanks for reading!

[imaginesmai]

Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson (1)

First part is here! I have almost finished the story, so expect one part per day BECAUSE I NEED TO SHARE IT.

Other parts: Once Upon A Fairy Tale Masterlist

Plot: just like any other summer, you have to leave your country. Just like any other summer, Ubbe has to open his to your annoying presence.

Warnings: none, maybe mentions of sex and nakedness.

-

“I think I might be sick”

“You aren’t”

“Maybe I’ve got the chicken pox. Have you heard about it? At least half of – “

“You haven’t”

“Storms seasons have barely finished. Would it be safe for the last remain of our dynasty to take that risk?”

“It is”

“Father, I don’t think – “

“We have the same argument every year, darling” your father sighed, finally looking up from the mountain of papers on his desk. “You’ve already faked the chicken pox twice, you got food poisoning on purpose last year and the storm season finished two moons ago. So, unless the kingdom is about to crumble in the next hours, we’re leaving”

“It might” you muttered, looking angrily at the hem of your dress. “It might”

You knew it was pointless to argue with him, but each time, you tried. The chicken pox wasn’t actually an original idea, but Ubbe’s, who tried a year before you. And no one had any proof of the princess sneaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night to drink expired milk. You made sure of that.

None of them had worked. For the past sixteen years, princess Y/N Ealhmunding have spent the summer months in the lovely company of Ubbe Ragnarson and his brothers. It didn’t matter in which castle they decided to try – you hadn’t enjoyed a summer since you both were kids

The first year you actually wanted to try and make a new friend, because you rarely played with children your age. But Ubbe decided you making him look like a fool in front of his father was unforgivable, and after dinner he stained your dress with horse poop. Which got your in problems with your father and maid.

After multiple pranks, he went back to his castle and you thought it was over. Only for next year to go on a trip to his castle, in Mercia. You didn’t like Ubbe nor his brothers, and they didn’t like you. That summer, you went back home with a broken wrist and Ubbe had his nose broken for the first time.

It did not get better. If anything, both of you got smarter and more creative.

“Y/N” Ecbert called, dragging his daughter out of your torturous daydream. “Darling, look at me. You cannot fight me forever”

You didn’t look at him, and after a few moments, the sound of a chair scrapping the carpet filled the room. As he came closer, the anger faded away.

As long as you could remember, it had always been your father and you. Your mother died when you were a child, in some type of retaliation from another kingdom. There was a dark past to that land that not many people talked about, but that you knew. Your mother was assassinated and you were saved by accident. A servant who was in the castle managed to run away with a baby while the enemy took the castle and slaughtered everyone they found in their way.

And by the time they killed the queen and realized there was supposed to be a baby with your, princess Y/N was long gone.

Since then, it had been your father and you against the world. He let his daughter train with a wood sword while he practiced, and draw with ink on old papers while he attended to councils. Everyone in the castle knew and adored the young princess, with your bouncy locks and rosy cheeks. And still, they were happy knowing it wouldn’t be like that forever.

“He’s a good man. He’s responsible, caring, and loves his family” he said for what felt like a thousand time. “And you’ve known him since you were a child. He’s no stranger. One day – “

“I’ll have to marry a person I don’t love, not even like, and become what it is expected for me to be. Which is a quiet wife, ready to carry his children and look pretty while doing nothing” you cut him off, feeling more sad than angry. “I don’t want that, father. I don’t like him. We’ve tried getting along and we don’t. So maybe it’s time to move on”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it” Ecbert put a comforting hand on your shoulder and gave you a small smile. “He needs a wife. You need a husband. It could be worse”

“Sure, he could always break my leg after throwing me from the top of a ladder, almost drown me or make me drink coffee with salt. Oh, but he already did that.”

“Children do that, right? Do I have to remind you when you locked him in the barn and he wet himself?”

You thought about that summer and had to stop a smile. After another argument because something you couldn’t remember anymore, Ubbe had broken one of your dolls. One of your favorite dolls. And that night, when he came back from riding with his brothers, you decided to pay him back by locking him in the barn. Only that you forgot it was supposed to be for just a few hours and ended up falling asleep. The next morning, the ostler found him curled in his own pee after crying himself exhausted.

You weren’t proud of that moment, but it wasn’t by far the worst thing either of you had done. Cutting hair, giving rashes or breaking bones were only a small part of the long list of pranks you had performed over the years.

“It was a pretty good one”

“Yeah. For a child, Y/N” he snorted, and you finally met his kind eyes. “I’m getting old, and you – “

“Don’t say it” the princess whined, not liking that conversation.

“I have to” his eyes lost a bit of light and you were highly aware of the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the whiteness of his hair and beard. “I don’t have any other children. Your mother gave me one and I couldn’t ask for anyone better. I couldn’t protect your like I should have, my darling. So I have to protect you, for when I’m gone. Other kingdoms have already started poking at the borders. Unless I assure the kingdom and your safety soon, they’ll start moving”

It was a reality everyone in the kingdom were well aware of. Great king Ecbert was no longer the man who conquered the kingdom of Wessex and brought the best out of it. Who built farms and houses for everyone and made its name known across kingdoms and countries. Now, he was a man who had a noticeable limp, who took medicine before going to sleep and forgot things every now and then.

And according to laws he couldn’t change, a princess like you couldn’t rule by your own. Not unless you were married to a man powerful enough to rule both his and your kingdom, because you were a woman, and women were supposed to just look pretty and carry children.

“Besides” he added, getting up with a soft creak from his left knee. “You didn’t see him last year. Maybe he has changed”

“For worse, probably”

Last year, Mercia entered in war with Northumbria. When the boats of Wessex appeared in the Ragnarsons’ castle, they found it almost empty. Aslaug had seen all of her sons leave to fight, dressed in shiny armors. Ragnar Lothbrok led an army against the enemies’ forces, and you had been there when he came back. Not as a victorious king, but as a tired man who had seen too many wars.

Even though Mercia won, Ubbe and Sigurd stayed in the border to maintain the peace, and you spent the summer with the servants and Aslaug. While she approved the accord between her husband and Ecbert, she didn’t particularly like her soon to be daughter – or anyone that wasn’t her, for that matter. Which turned that last summer into the most boring of your life.

You hoped that summer would be different.

 -

 Ubbe watched the boats come closer to land, the port coming alive as the first rays of sun touched the horizon. It was soon, but not soon enough for the prince to miss the arrival of the guests. If anyone could call them that anymore, as they came every year. It had been a while since he visited Wessex. As the heir and commander of the great army, he couldn’t leave for the summer no more, so they had to come to him.

Which, if it was his choice, wouldn’t happen.

Ubbe Ragnarson had a wide range of scars on his body, all of them worthily obtained in battle. Only that he was a skilled warrior that rarely let a sword near him, and that the biggest battle he had faced so far was against a girl half his size.

“You should head to the port” Hvitserk said behind him, leaning against a tree. There was a naked woman between his legs, whose name they couldn’t remember. “Mother will be furious if she doesn’t find you there”

“She can think whatever she wants” he snapped. “They know just fine their way into the castle. And I’ll see her. Eventually”

“You should have seen her last year. She has tits”

Scoffing, he decided to ignore his brother. It was easy to enjoy life when the crown didn’t rest on him. When the biggest responsibility he had was not to let anyone know if he had a bastard, or at least don’t acknowledge them in public. In the last two years, Ubbe had gone from spoiled prince to commander, heir and almost king.

With a father that was spiraling away, a mother that couldn’t be farther from him, and an enemy that was ready to attack, he wouldn’t think about Y/N’s tits.

What he had thought about, though, was about you. He had always been opposed to the marriage between the two kingdoms, since the moment the young and bratty princess humiliated him in front of his father. Ubbe knew you shared his feelings, that you didn’t want to marry him and would rather throw yourself from that boat.

But he also knew Y/N were in a dangerous age, where other kingdoms showed interest in your hand and the power it held. He knew that you needed the marriage as much as he needed, a strategic union between two kingdoms before one of them fell.

No matter how many times he repeated that, he couldn’t bring himself to ride back to the port and greet the incomers. Pride was a prize he wouldn’t lose on this battle.

“You should bring her back” Ubbe told his brother, guiding his horse back to the road. “Her family might get worried”

“Worried about what? She’s with a prince. she couldn’t be safer” he chuckled, closing his eyes. “I intend to extend the night a few hours more. As soon as you leave”

“If I’m not wrong, this is my hideout. Yours was close to the cliff”

“What’s yours is mine, Ubbe. What’s yours is mine”

Ubbe spurred his horse and left his brother behind, knowing he wouldn’t like what was about to happen. It was the only place from where someone could see the port without being seen, and he had thought it would be empty. He didn’t think about his brother and his night adventures, which could happen anywhere.

The road back to the castle wasn’t long, and for Ubbe, it would have been shorter. He knew those lands as the back of his hand, was a fast rider and knew a bunch of shortcuts. But instead of taking them, he chose the long way.

Bordering cliffs, he let his horse choose the pace, stopping to drink water and sniff a few flowers. He let the wind blow his braid, until his cheeks were red and his hands cold. Since he could remember, riding horses and getting was has been one of his passions. Even more when he discovered it was one of the few things he could beat you to.

He would never admit it, but racing you through the forest and feeling the adrenaline of almost loosing was one of the very few moments he looked forward for. That, or losing knowing he did his best and wasn’t expected to do more.

Being the heir of Ragnarson wasn’t easy, and if he could, he would choose the life of any of his brothers. He knew Hvitserk envied him for the power and position he held above others, yet that came with a price. A price that, day by day, he was starting to understand.

By the time he reached the castle, the sun was high and the cold was giving space to the heats of the summer. During the first month, there wasn’t a big difference in Mercia, as there was snow in the mountains and ice in the forest. The same slow changes that every year started with the arrival of his future wife and the king of Wessex.

“She’s mad”

Ubbe had heard his brother Sigurd entering the barn, so he wasn’t surprised when he appeared behind him.

“You should have seen her face. It was red and she was doing that thing with her mouth when someone asks her to change her plans” Sigurd explained, staring as Ubbe tied up his horse. “Father wasn’t there either. It was a bit sad, actually. Only mother and me. But they didn’t say anything about it, so I guess they’re used by now”

“Where’s father?” for the last year, Ragnar had disappeared a few times, only to come back a week after thinner and dirtier, with no explanation. “Is he with Yidu?”

“Probably. He was complaining last night. You know how he gets” he shrugged. “You should go and say hi. Not because mother says so, just… it was sad. Like they aren’t welcome anymore”

He wanted to say that it was because they weren’t, but he bit his tongue just in time. Of all the brothers, you had grown closer to Sigurd. It wasn’t a friendship, nor a relationship. Yet whenever you could, you stuck to his side and in the past summers he seemed to tolerate your presence.

For his brother, he could do so. He could even pretend it was for his father, who wasn’t at his best moment. Either way, he left his horse to rest and made the way to his chambers, hoping to change into something decent and have a short bath that made him presentable. Not that it mattered when you had seen him covered in mud and forced him to come out of the lake wearing one of your dresses.

He tried to list reasons why he should actually try to accord the marriage proposal that summer, why he should make an effort to stop seeing the child who would put ants on his shoes and start seeing a woman he could grow fond of with the years. He managed to come up with two before reaching his room and opening the door.

When he looked up, he was met with a very naked body that belonged to his future wife. And he instantly added Hvitserk’s reason to the list.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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@66vikings​​

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Sixteen

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Fifteen | Next Chapter: Seventeen

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

Familiar laughter behind her cools all the scathing words on her tongue, and she turns to find a highly amused Grimmjow leaning against the taffrail. “Careful there,” he starts lazily, directing his words at Barnes. “Ya might not realize it, but she can kick your ass. And she might even do it if ya make her mad enough.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the other man calls back. “Carter’s still nursing a broken nose because of her.” He looks at Grimmjow, then back at Olivia. “Like you said, we’ll be pulling into port at Vora soon. Hope you’re ready to see the home you claim to love so much again.”

A/N: Chapter contains some sexual content.

Read on AO3

The remaining days on the Sea Queen pass as the previous ones have - with the vessel moving smoothly through the water, the Hellcat not far behind. 

More often than not, Daisy runs off with Kenny in the evenings under the guise of reading with him. Olivia suspects it’s partly because her lady’s maid wants to give her the time and privacy to spend with Grimmjow, but also partly because Daisy genuinely enjoys the young man’s company.

“You don’t look nearly as miserable as I expected you to,” Jarron Barnes remarks when Olivia joins him on the upper deck one morning. “I wonder what accounts for that?” 

She knows he’s trying to goad her into snapping back at him. Instead of rising to the bait, she ignores it completely. “We’re a day out from port at Vora,” she starts. “And I think it’s about time you tell me what your plan is for when we get there.” 

“Why?” Barnes looks sharply at her. “So you can figure out a way to foil that plan?”

“No,” she tells him truthfully. “Look… you’re smart, and I’d love to see you use that intelligence for more than just starting a pointless war you can’t win.” 

“You think it’s pointless?”

“I think it’s pointless if the only reason you go to war is because you don’t get your way,” she declares. “Doing that doesn’t make you any different from all the other assholes who have done the same thing before you. I think if what you’re after is something that’s really worth fighting for - which, in this case, should be Vora’s ability to stand on its own two feet - then the smarter thing to do would be to figure out how to get it without war.” 

To her surprise, he actually seems to consider her words. “Alright then,” he says finally. “What would you do if you were me?”

“Take my case to the King of Clario, like I told you before,” she reiterates. “But first, I would produce viable solutions to all the problems presented. If you want Vora to be able to govern itself without outside help, you need to come up with all the ways to make that happen… and you need to prove to Clario that it’s in their best interest to make it happen.”

Barnes leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “And how would you suggest I do that?” 

“Find someone who’s capable of ruling the country,” Olivia answers bluntly. “And if you insist on doing it yourself, get a good advisor… or, even better, a team of advisors. People who are versed in the complexities of government, but also diplomatic enough to be useful in negotiations. People who will tell you the truth, and not just what you want to hear. Best of all, they need to be people who are not only willing, but also able to help you turn Vora into an independent nation with a solid government of its own and a system in place for regulating its natural resources.”

He mulls over her words for a while. “And you think the King of Clario would actually go for that?” He asks finally.

“I think it would be a more palatable solution than just threatening him with a war he knows he can win,” she replies. “It makes you look more like a capable adult than a petulant child with a grudge.”

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” He grumbles. “You could be less blunt.”

“What exactly would I gain by being less honest?”

“I was gonna say people would like you more,” he laughs, “but based on the way you’ve got those two men wrapped around your little finger, and the way your lady’s maid practically worships you… I think people like you plenty the way you are.”

She scoffs. “Mind your own damn business.” 

“I have been,” Barnes retorts. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve said nothing to you about the ruckus your loud-ass pirate makes whenever he visits your cabin at night. And I won’t open my mouth about it to the prince when I see him either,” he adds, casting her a meaningful look. 

“Is that supposed to feel like a threat?” 

He shrugs. “It isn’t, honestly. You told me to mind my business, and I’m telling you I am.” 

Familiar laughter behind her cools all the scathing words on her tongue, and she turns to find a highly amused Grimmjow leaning against the taffrail. “Careful there,” he starts lazily, directing his words at Barnes. “Ya might not realize it, but she can kick your ass. And she might even do it if ya make her mad enough.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the other man calls back. “Carter’s still nursing a broken nose because of her.” He looks at Grimmjow, then back at Olivia. “Like you said, we’ll be pulling into port at Vora soon. Hope you’re ready to see the home you claim to love so much again.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks off. 

“What crawled up his ass?” Grimmjow asks, watching him go. 

Olivia shrugs. “I just told him what he needed to hear,” she says quietly. “I don’t think he liked my honesty very much.” 

“Hm,” Grimmjow hums thoughtfully. After a moment, he moves closer to her. “Well? How’s it feel, knowin’ you’ll be home soon?” 

“I don’t really know,” is her candid response. “I think that I spent so many years putting the idea of coming back to Vora out of my head that it almost doesn’t feel real. And I guess…” She trails off, chewing her lower lip anxiously. “I guess I’m a little nervous about it.”

“Why?”

“Twenty years seems like a long time, but it really isn’t in some ways,” she explains. “What if there are other people who feel the same way about my family that Jarron Barnes does? What if there are people who think we’re traitors and want nothing to do with any of us? How am I supposed to help those people if they feel the way he does?” 

“Wouldn’t that be more of a reason for ya to help’ em?” Grimmjow asks reasonably. “If what they think about ya is bad, prove to ‘em that it ain’t true.” 

He makes a valid point, she knows, but the nervous fluttering in her chest won’t subside. 

“Listen, Sae,” he says, his voice taking on a warm, soft tone that makes her chest flutter in a different way. “You ain’t never been the type to be scared of anything - no man, no place, no task. I’ve watched you best a lotta things just by rollin’ up your sleeves and gettin’ to it.” 

“But I’ve never done anything like this before,” she protests. “This is… it’s all new to me. I’m not sure what I’m doing.” 

“Yeah, but you got the know-how in your head,” Grimmjow points out. “Remember? All them hours of burying your head in books and bein’ bored to tears learnin’ about the life of diplomats and how politics works?” He flashes her a grin. “Now’s your time to shine, Princess.” 

Despite the worries still swimming around in her head, she laughs. “I keep telling you, I’m not a princess.” 

“Maybe not,” he shrugs, “but that don’t mean you can’t act like one sometimes.”

She contemplates his words - not just those, but all the ones he’s said to her. “Thank you,” she says after a moment, her voice quiet. “I think I needed to hear that.” 

“Anytime, anywhere,” he answers good-naturedly, that grin still curling up the corners of his mouth. After a moment, he goes serious. “I came here to tell ya I won’t get in the way when we get to Vora.” 

Curiously, she looks up at him. “What do you mean, ‘get in the way’?”

“You got a job to do,” he says, dropping her a wink. “The less distraction you have, the better. So if ya want me to go, I’ll go. But if ya don’t mind me stickin’ around, I promise I won’t keep ya from doin’ what ya came here to.” 

Once again, Olivia finds herself unexpectedly touched by something he’s said. “You really are making a habit of this,” she laughs after a moment. “Being sweet and all.”

“Tch,” he scoffs. “Tell anybody and I’ll call ya the filthiest liar that ever lived.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiles back at him. 

--

Later, she tosses his words back at him. “I-I thought… you said,” she huffs, trying to catch her breath, “you wouldn’t… d-distract me.”

He laughs, though it comes out a bit strained. “We ain’t there yet,” he says, punctuating that last word with one long, slow roll of his hips. It presses him into her more deeply. “‘Sides,” he continues, dropping his head to nip at the tender skin right above her collarbone, “it’s our last night on this ship. Feel like that’s somethin’ worth celebratin’... don’t you?”

Olivia doesn’t answer him right away; her entire focus is solely on the onslaught of physical sensations he’s giving her. Her body feels heavy and sluggish, nearly spent from their first round. And while Grimmjow seems to be suffering only slightly from the energy lag she’s feeling in full, she’s grateful that their lovemaking this round has been lazy and slow. “Celebrate? Yes, I think you’re right.” She reaches out, cupping his face in her hands and bringing his mouth to hers for a languid, sloppy kiss. 

“Sweet as honey,” he whispers into her lips once they’ve parted. “Ya laugh at me when I say this, but I ain’t ever gonna get my fill of ya.”

She pulls him closer. 

Under his ministrations, she comes twice more before he finally lets himself spill inside of her. He stays just the way he is for a long while after, until Olivia can feel him softening inside of her. When he becomes soft enough to slip out, her body mourns the loss of him. 

He rolls to one side, reaching for her and pulling her into the tight circle of his embrace. They stay that way for a while, their breathing synchronized. Olivia is warm and sated and sleepy, and she’s started to doze off when Grimmjow speaks again. 

“You make me wanna be an honest man, Sae.” 

Groggily, she chuckles. “Why?”

“Just like you to ask the question nobody else would,” he laughs with her. “Thought ya might ask when I’m gonna do it - make an honest man of myself.” 

“Grimm, I didn’t fall in love with you because you were an honest man,” she says softly. “And doing… whatever you think makes you an honest man, wouldn’t change how I feel about you.” She pauses. “So I want to know why. What is it about me that makes you want to be an honest man?”

“You’re fixin’ to do somethin’ great,” he says solemnly. “Somethin’ important, that’s gonna change peoples’ lives.” He clicks his tongue in a quiet scoff. “Me? I ain’t the kinda man who belongs with a woman like you. I’d only drag ya down.”

“Oh?” She turns her head to face him, curiosity in her eyes. “And what kind of man do you think I’d need… to do these alleged ‘great things’ you speak of?”

He’s tempted to look away, but her brown eyes hold his blue ones in place. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Olivia considers those two words for a moment. “I think I know what kind of man you think I want - or need,” she starts slowly. “And while I can understand why you might think so, I’m tempted to tell you in a not-so-nice way why you’d be wrong about that.” 

Despite the weight of the conversation they’re having, he laughs. “Just another thing I love about ya,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to her temple. “That bastard out there might not like it, but ya always tell it how it is.” 

“I’m not a diplomat,” Olivia sighs. “I just happened to be born into a diplomatic family. I never wanted a life of politics and arranged marriages and never-ending duties. I just wanted to be able to do work that was good, spend time with the people I love, and never be too far away from the sand and the sea.”

“Sounds to me like ya might like life at sea,” he chuckles.

He expects her to laugh with him. She doesn’t - her face is solemn, deep in thought. “Maybe you’re right,” she says finally, a wistful note in her tone. She shifts, burrowing deeper into his arms. “I’m trying my best to think of a way to help Vora, because it’s my home and I love it. But this isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted my first time back after twenty years to go. And it feels a little bit unfair that I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.”

Grimmjow makes a sympathetic sound. “How can I help?”

His words make something warm and sweet bloom in her chest. “You’re already helping,” she smiles, reaching up to brush an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. “But I don’t ever want to hear any nonsense about you not being the kind of man I belong with, or the kind of man I need,” she goes on. She’s still smiling, but there is a weight to her words that lets him know she means what she’s saying. “Okay?”

“Yes, m’lady,” he answers, reaching between them to make the sign of a cross over his heart. 

“Hm,” Olivia says thoughtfully. “I usually don’t like titles, but something about the way you say that…” 

--

Pulling into port at Vora is perhaps the most surreal experience Olivia has ever had. 

Everything is both familiar and dramatically different all at once. She remembers the sounds and smells and sights of the island she once called home, but there are little variations of the places she used to know so well. The faces at the portside markets are not the exact same ones she remembers, although she thinks she might recognize some of the features of those vendors that have taken over for the generation before them. 

“So this is Vora,” Daisy breathes beside her. “This is where you were born?” 

Olivia nods. “This is… home.” 

Her lady’s maid looks closely at her. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” she remarks. “You have this odd combination of happiness and sadness in your expression.”

“Nostalgia,” Olivia laughs quietly. “That’s called nostalgia.” She turns her head to watch as the crew of the Hellcat disembark. She spots Silvio among them, his face twisted in a characteristic scowl. When he gets close enough for her to speak without shouting, she greets him. “How was the voyage?”

“Long,” he answers simply. His eyes stray from her to take in their surroundings. “Where’s that son of a bitch Barnes?”

“Still onboard the Sea Queen,” she tells him.

Silvio turns from her abruptly, making his way towards the vessel in question. 

“Wait,” Olivia calls. “Where are you going?” 

“Where the hell do you think I’m going?” He calls the question over his shoulder, without stopping. 

His rhetorical question stirs panic in her gut, and she hurries after him. “Wait,” she calls again, when she’s caught up to him a few strides later. She puts a hand on his arm, and this time he does stop. “Maybe we should talk about this.” 

“Don’t tell me you want me to have mercy on the asshole who forcefully abducted you?” He raises his eyebrows at her, his tone challenging. 

“That’s… not what I’m saying,” she starts slowly. She knows that his temper is running hot, and her words can either put out the flames of his anger or pour more fuel onto them. She chooses carefully. “I think that maybe you should hear him out.” 

Silvio stares at her incredulously. “Are you an idiot? This man is ready to start a war if he can’t get what he wants.”

“While I don’t agree with his methods,” Olivia says firmly, “I don’t think what he wants is a bad thing.” 

“Explain.” 

“He wants Vora to have an independent government,” she asserts. “With the ability to control their own resources, trade, and taxes.”

“And how exactly does he propose to make that happen?”

“A lot has changed in twenty years. You said it yourself: back then, Clario needed resources Vora was in possession of, but instead of finding a way to make it a partnership between two countries, your father chose to flex his muscles and forcibly take them. If Vora is now able to manage those resources and is still willing to share with Clario, war doesn’t need to happen.” 

“What makes you think that’ll all play out the way you think it will?” Silvio asks. “The minute Clario lets Vora govern themselves, Vora will snatch all those resources back and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“I don’t think so,” she counters, gently but firmly. “I think we can convince him to come up with a solution that will satisfy both countries… and one that doesn’t result in Vora challenging Clario to a war they can’t win.”

Silvio looks her up and down. “You really believe that,” he says incredulously after a moment.

“I do,” she nods. “I’ve spent the last twenty-one days stuck on a boat with this man. He’s an asshole and he’s going about this the wrong way, but I… don’t disagree with his ideals. And I’d like to find a way for him to make what he wants to see happen peacefully.”

He stares at her. “You really are an idiot.” His words are harsh, but his tone is fond. It makes a little bloom of guilt sprout in Olivia’s chest, and she pushes it down. “Alright then,” he goes on. “What do you suggest?”

“Diplomacy,” she laughs. “Not ass-kicking.” 

Previous Chapter: Fifteen | Next Chapter: Seventeen

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

[zarsghost]

Jackpot

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Fem!Reader Pt.2 Warnings:brief graphic detail about migraine, Colonel is an asshole

Days had passed after that phone call with your mother. She had tried to call you multiple times after you had hung up on her before resorting to texting and even emails. “She really can’t take a hint, can she?” You thought to yourself as you read through all the things she had sent you. One of the emails she had sent looked to be some basic information about the mysterious man your father had found for you. It striked you as odd when your mother had mentioned that your father had been the one to find this man, especially on short notice. Your father had always been someone that was hard to please growing up and he had rarely taken any interest in you when you were younger. You had always chalked it up to him being in the military but as you got older, it became more noticeable that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t seem to like your ex when you had first introduced him and had always found something about him that he disapproved of, so why had he gone out of his way to find someone for you now? 

The constant vibration of the phone ring had started to piss you off before you actually answered.

“What can you possibly want now Mom? I thought me ignoring you for the past couple of days would have gotten the message through.” You grumbled through the phone.

“You better watch who you’re talking to with that tone young lady.” A voice deeper than your mother’s responded.

A chill shot down your spine as you instantly recognized the voice. He doesn’t call you. Ever. 

“Oh..Hi Dad. I didn’t know that it was you.”

“For your sake, I’m going to let that slide. Whatever your mother did is none of my business but I do believe that this wedding is since it’s coming out of my pocket.”

You held your tongue and kept quiet.

“Now, I believe however that your mother forwarded you some basic information about your groom-to-be. I need you to go over it before the wedding. I won’t have you embarrassing me. I invited some of my superiors to attend so keep your act together. Understand?”

“I understand sir.”

“Good. The wedding will take place at the same time and same place as originally set up since there was no way in hell that I was going to pay the cancellation fee. Answer your mother when she calls from now on, I don’t want to hear anymore of her complaining.”

“Yes s-”

The line went dead just as you were answering. Your father didn’t want to have to talk to you longer than he had to. Fresh tears formed in your eyes as there was no way that you were getting out of this. You were going to have to marry a man that you’ve never met.

Your mother was in front of you toying with random pieces of hair to see which minute change actually made a difference in your appearance. Your maid of honor was behind you trying to pull the corset of your dress as tight as possible like you already weren’t struggling to breathe. You had to give her and the rest of your bridal party a run down of what was going on since the news had been so sudden. They all agreed to pretend that everything was fine just as you were. The makeup artist already had to touch up your eyes several times since you found tears leaking down your cheeks without you knowing. A migraine was threatening to push your eyes out of their sockets from the pressure alone. The constant noise of people talking either at you or around you was starting to make your vision blurry as the room seemed to close in around you. The stress of getting everything together was becoming astronomically overwhelming. 

Like a miracle by the angels above that pitied you, everything finally went quiet. Everything also went black.

–

All four of the boys were standing on the opposite side of the church in the room where the groom got ready. Gaz stood in front of the floor length mirror as he straightened his bowtie as Price stood behind him with his arms crossed as usual.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The captain questioned.

“For the last time Cap, I’m okay. It’s not like I’ll get another chance at this organically. Know what I mean?” Gaz chuckled as he turned around.

Price sighed and rocked on his feet. Gaz had chosen him to be his best man even though the captain had repeatedly declared that he was too old to be his best man. Gaz tuned him out every time he did though. Obviously Soap was also one of his groomsmen since it would be hard to tell the man no when he was already trying to get his kilt delivered in time.

“If ye think fer a second that A’m no wearin a kilt at yer wedding, than ye’re an idiot!” Soap boasted loudly over lunch after Price told them that Kyle had agreed to marry the Colonel’s daughter.

Gaz had asked Ghost if he also wanted to be one of his groomsmen. Simon had chuckled under his breath through his mask as he raised a single eyebrow. “You really wan’ me standin up there with all them civies starin back at me? Even with my formal mask, everyone’ll be shiftin in their seats. Plus ‘hose to say that I won’ burn as soon as I step foot onto holy ground.” Both men chuckled as Simon patted Gaz’s shoulder. “I’m all for supportin you Gaz but I’m no’ the kind of man to stand in front of an alter. I’ll be there though.”

Ghost had moved one of the plush chairs into a corner of the room to sit in as he watched Price nervously fret over his sergeant, sporting a black medical mask.

“Something not sittin well?” He asked from the darkened corner that Simon had placed himself in.

“Not exactly..,” Price ran a hand down his chin in thought. “Just seems a bit odd about the Colonel’s request. I know fathers can be protective but I get the feeling that this aint it.”

Gaz hummed in thought, playing with his suit cuffs.

Another deep sigh came from the Captain as he was about to speak before there was a knock on the door. Soap went to open the door as a man in a suit stood on the other side. 

“Can a’ help you?”

“Colonel Thomas, pleasure to meet you..?” The Colonel raised an eyebrow at Soap, who shot a glance over at Price.

“Captain Price sir,” Price called from behind as he came to stand in front of Soap who went to stand beside Gaz. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure indeed Captain, although I would’ve wished on better circumstances.”

Price subtly shot a confused look at Simon who was currently assessing the man in the doorway.

“I wanted to formally introduce myself before the ceremonies began and to also inform you that we will begin a bit behind schedule. It seems my daughter fainted in her room.”

“Jesus, is she okay?” Gaz asked, making himself present in the conversation. That was his future wife he was talking about.

The Colonel shrugged, “My wife is tending to the situation as we speak.”

The silence that followed was tense and suffocating. The lack of concern from the Colonel about the state that his daughter is in, his only child, was blaring every alarm. This only confirmed more about Price’s suspicion that there was something else at stake than just his daughter. The Colonel was not one to be messed with and they feared that they might’ve just walked into something that they didn’t want to be a part of.

“Well uh, thank you for letting us know Colonel. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help.”

“I will keep that in mind, Captain. See you soon.” And with that, the Colonel gave a quick nod before turning away from the door.

Price closed the door after him. “I don’t like this. We’re pulling you out Gaz.”

“What?!”

Thank you for reading! I know this took me forever and I apologize. I hope to get another part up soon since this one felt short to me.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Tags: @minishat

[alexa-santi-author]

@mermaidsirennikita's posts earlier about outdated (and often offensive) themes and plot points in romance novels that sometimes require cultural context to really understand made me think of the book that was my ur-book, the one that really kicked off my love of historical romance. Almost no one has heard of it, because the author has wisely allowed it to go out of print. I'm going to share what it is, what the context is that it was written in, and why it was best to let it go out of print.

The book is Bitterleaf, and it was published under the name of Lisa Gregory in 1983. Lisa Gregory was the original pseudonym of a historical romance author still popular and publishing today: Candace Camp.

I'm going to be up front with everyone and put the rest of this essay under the fold so you can stop reading if you want: this book takes place on a South Carolina plantation before the American Revolution, and the storyline involves slavery. The heroine owns slaves.

If you want to nope out now, please feel free. I'm going to go into some of the cultural context about why this book was written with this plot in 1983, but you don't have to keep reading.

One thing to understand about the early 1980s is that Gone With The Wind -- both the book and the movie -- was still hugely influential in terms of historical romance. Many, many historical romances were written about antebellum plantations in the American South, and pretty much all of them hand-waved slavery away.

Except for Bitterleaf.

What's pretty wild for a historical romance novel published in 1983 is that slavery is central to the storyline of this book, and the hero, Jeremy Devlin, is the one who mostly carries that storyline. The reason it takes place prior to the American Revolution is that Jeremy arrives in South Carolina as an indentured servant. He has been kidnapped from his homeland, thrown onto a ship, and dragged in front of a crowd to be sold at auction. The "meet cute" is when the heroine Meredith's stepfather buys Jeremy, along with several Black captives.

Much of the plot seems to be modeled on the movie The Long, Hot Summer. You have the father figure who decides his daughter needs a Real Man to marry her instead of the milquetoast who refuses to propose and the irresponsible rake who decides to take the old man up on his bargain but ends up falling in love.

But slavery and discussions of slavery continue to play a huge role in the story. Jeremy is freed once he marries Meredith, but after his own experiences, he's uncomfortable owning other people. We're also introduced to the story's B or secondary couple, who are Meredith's lady's maid Betsy and a recently enslaved man, Neb. To have two enslaved people as the secondary couple of a mainstream romance written by a white author is pretty ballsy in itself for 1983, but add in Jeremy's decision to free everyone on the plantation (which requires Meredith to spend days writing up manumission papers for them) and you have a book that, however clumsily, actually does attempt to grapple with American slavery and give us lead characters who don't just go along with what most books normalized at the time.

Is is perfect, especially by modern standards? Hell, no. It's pretty cringey, and that's even before you get to the forced kisses and other standard historical romance tropes of the time. Camp's writing is much better now than it was 40 years ago.

But I have never run across another historical romance published in that time period of the early 1980s that took place in the American South before 1865 and even attempted to deal with the moral implications of the lead characters literally owning other human beings.

The book is very much a product of its time, in that it's making an implicit argument against other books on the market with a similar setting, but if you read it as a standalone today without any cultural or historical context, it's just a weird book that has slave owners as the central romantic couple for no apparent reason and what the hell did I just read?

As I said, the book was republished at least once under Candace Camp's name (I have copies of both the original and the reissue on my keeper shelf), but she seems to have let it fall back out of print. She has released two of her other Lisa Gregory books as ebooks (one of which has a free Black couple as the secondary romance), but not Bitterleaf.

And that's probably a wise decision. As we get further away from the cultural context in which she published it, the book becomes more and more offensive instead of being seen as the corrective it was written to be.

Why do I love this book? Because it's one of the first books I read that helped me understand you don't have to knuckle under to what's most popular in the genre. You don't have to accept that the model for your subgenre (in this case, Gone With The Wind) is above critique and you can only imitate it without questioning it.

It's also a harbinger of why American historical romance had a huge dip in the 1990s -- white authors and publishers realized they would need to grapple with slavery and the effects of it on our society as a whole, and they didn't want to do that. After that, we pretty much only got Western historical romances until Gilded Age romance that took place safely after the Civil War finally came along.

So there it is. The book that changed my life and made me a historical romance fan for life is one that most people have never heard of and likely will never read because of the culturally offensive content. For me, it will always hold a place in my heart for what it tried to do even if, with the passage of time, what it tried to do is no longer enough.

[welp-back-on-my-bs]

Ex's and Oh's (because I had to title it that)

Gilbert's POV

Tw: Talks of abuse, Implications of rape, pregnancy, miscarrage, murder, and torture

I held out a necklace before some filth. I had some VERY important questions for it.

"General. Do you recognize this pendant?"

The thing looked horrified. Probably wondering how I found it. It was just simply went to the jewelery shop he sold it to and I bought it back. So sad for such a beautiful item...

"I-i don't-"

"I hate lies. So. Next time. Tell. The. Truth."

The creature coward before me, pathetic really "ye-yes- i-it was something of my wifes- p-poor thing ran off a bit ago- so I sold it- "

What a pathetic liar.

"Poor thing indeed. Now. Did you know it originally belong to me?"

"I knew no such thing sir- if I did I would have never-"

"Don't lie. You and I both know that you knew who the G on it was. You stole it, and then sold it."

"...yes..."

I let out a sigh and bashed my cane into the creatures foot. It let out a horrid scream I couldn't help but delight in.

"Now, I'm wondering... what about your wife? Why did she run?"

"S-she was afraid for our child y-you see. She wanted a better life for it-"

A child. He got. Them. Pregnant. I could barely hold back the urge to strangle the beast for what he did to my butterfly.

"And so, you let them both run off and die. How pathetic of a husband were you?"

"I am not pathetic! She was a bitch who wouldn't do her wisely duties! She was sassy and talked back! A bitch to be around! Annoying! And just a nuisance! I made sure she would be able to handle court. I made sure she would be nice and obident!"

I proceeded to break the things arm. Honestly should've never been given a wife in the first place. I'll have to find ways around those creatures.

"W-why! I did everything right!"

"Well, if you did everything right." I hummed and held the locket up "She would be here. With your bouncing little tot. And yet-" I finally just snapped his neck "she is not."

Silvios POV

"Huh?- Morgan what-" They looked up at me and hugged me tightly, shakeing and sobbing. A familiar sent... blood.

"... what did Eyepatch do."

Morgan just sobbed into me as I held them close. Fine... I'll find awnsers later.

That was a few hours ago. I managed to lull Morgan into sleep. Now was the time to go and talk to him about what happend.

I had a maid watch over them as they rested, being my opposite, they could sleep around women.

I guess I'm an exception to that now...

I finally made it to the door of the room where I requested to meet the bastard himself. I naturally kicked down the door, and walked in.

"My, do you have a grudge against doors or something? I'd be cu-"

"Shaddap."

"Still skipping the pleasantries. Fine, you're worried about Morgan then?"

How the fuck did he know that?-

"What makes ya guess such a thing?"

"You cling to them like a lost puppy, or a gaurd dog. Take your pick"

I growled and glared at the fucker

"I wonder why. It's not like your shithole hasn't made them fear the stupidest of things."

"My, and being with you hasn't made them have to fear for their life aswell?"

"You made them cry. The fuck did you do."

Eyepatch froze. He wasn't so cocky in that moment.

"... I did...?"

"Yeah. And i saw your 'gifts' to them. If you do it again, I'll punch ya for each one I see."

He chuckled weakly, something was off. Clearly.

"Why the hell aren't ya talking?"

"Hm...?"

"You love the sound of your own voice. So why the hell aren't ya talking?"

"I... how do you comfort someone- who probably hates you. I'm sure you've done it alot with that brother of yours?"

This fucker...

But... its genuine. Something is telling me that it is.

"Honestly- Morgan's a differnt case from most. They got Bismuth, Adder, and Pelchorism."

"That actually explains alot" the man chuckled to himself, relaxing a bit. Fucker.

"So, with that in mind. Ask them before you make contact with their body."

Eyepatch seemed to be paying attention to this. It was weird, but sweet in a way

"Some days change and are differnt, so it's allways safe to ask, with words, or a gesture. They tend to take apologies well. Just don't cross that boundary again. Don't yell at em too- that makes shit worse 9/10 times for them"

"And that tenth of the time?"

"They'll bite back until they're outta wind. Then it probably will still end up badly."

Gilbert nodded attentively. I couldn't help but sigh

"Just- treat them like a person, prove that you will be there for them, and things will be fine. Ask questions if you have something to ask, and they'll do the same of you. Maybe-"

"Alright then, thank you Silvio"

This feels weird and like I signed someone's death warrant-

"Don't ever make that same fuck up and things should be good"