#i'm going to have to think of a name for this shawl - other than the pattern name - which iirc is the palette shawl

[highwaydiamonds]

Current state of the shawl! I know the photo is at a bit of an odd angle, but the shawl is knit on the bias, and will essentially form a long parallelogram. You can see, somewhat anyhow, the open areas that the yarn-overs create in the pattern. I'm pretty happy with the colors so far and the way things are working up. It looks stripier here than I feel like it does in person (other than that transition from the green mini-skein into the knitpicks muse speckled yarn). I'm close ( knock on wood - i swear i am never so superstitious as hen I'm knitting and scared of errors or crises) to finishing this skein of Muse, and will be going on to the first skein of Wildflower Yarn's Unicorn Poop (:DDDDD - the name gets me very time, smile inducing)

I feel like I am the slowest knitter ever, and I am going to be making this thing til idk armageddon, the universe dies its cold death, or I can find a pair of shoes that makes my feet look cute (the first two are more likely - TRUST.) . However, the fabric is soft and so *bouncy*; it is eminently squishable! This color palette too just is a joy to look at. It's a lucky charms marshmallow of a thing, a my little pony pastel princess of a shawl. So, if i can manage to finish it before the end of forever (without any disasters- told you, superstitious when knitting... (¬_¬)' ) I think I just might love curling up in this thing.

[azrielwingspan]

SOON (THEO NOTT X READER)

Summary : Theodore Nott was just another Slytherin asshole to most of Hogwarts. But to you, he was something much much more.

Themes : Mild kissing and swearing.

A/N : This is my first Theo fic AHHH. Just thought I would give it a shot. Let me know how it is!

P.S.- This is strictly a one shot. There will be no part 2.

"He is quite charming isn't he?" Ginny commented sneaking a glance at Theodore Nott. Seated at the Slytherin table between his usual rowdy gang of friends, he smirked at something Lorenzo had said.

"I think the word you're looking for is enigmatic, Gin. For all we know, he could be Voldemort in disguise." you stated flatly, stabbing a piece of potato on your plate. Earning a smack on the arm for using You-know-who's name so boldly, you ignored Ginny's attempts at convincing you to attend the party being thrown tonight.

"Help me understand why you're so bloody against the idea?! Is it because you have to bring a date?" she raised her eyebrows in question.

"That may be a part of the reason." you refused to meet her owl like stare, instead choosing to focus on the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of you.

"Why would that be an issue ? I can name five people off the top of my head who would say yes instantly." she prodded further, thankfully choosing to redirect her gaze towards the mail she'd received. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, you snuck a glance at Theodore again. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled upto his elbow and you greedily took in the sight of his veiny forearms.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny broke you out of the reverie, your eyes immediately flitting towards the shawl Pansy was wearing.

"Pansy's new shawl. I can't recall which store I've seen it in but it looks very familiar." The lie rolled out smoothly, misleading Ginny. The pang of guilt ,that never lessened in impact, hit you yet again.

"Oh. Yeah, it does look quite familiar now that you mention it." She went off on a tangent about clothes and you let out a relieved sigh.

Ginny couldn't know. Not for now atleast.

The morning went on, your focus elsewhere during most of the classes. Ginny hadn't brought up the party again but you knew it was unavoidable. You were definitely acting quite strange. Not being the one to turn down an invite, your sudden refusal to attend this massive party did come as a surprise to your friends.

You had your reasons. Utterly selfish reasons.

However as the evening rolled by, Ginny had cornered you into agreeing. On bringing up the issue of the date, she'd simply shrugged and said "I took care of it."

That did not sound very reassuring.

It was worse than you had expected.

"CORMAC MC FUCKIN LAGGEN ?!?" you hissed at Ginny , your back to the boy in question.

Ginny looked away sheepishly and said "He told Hermione who told me that he had a thing for you. So I thought you guys could talk? I mean you don't have to really. Just drop him off in a corner."

"Drop him---" pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you whipped around to face Laggen and gave him a saccharine smile.

"Nice to meet you Laggen but I'm not interested."

He looked astounded, trying to wrap his head around the rejection. After a few seconds, he managed to sputter out "We haven't talked yet. How can you--"

"Yes. Yes I can. You have my permission to tell everyone I'm your date but please don't approach me again. Bye." you sauntered off into the party, Ginny keeping up behind you.

"Where's Harry anyways?" you asked, straining your neck to see past the crowd.

"Running late. Neville set his pants on fire so Ron and Harry are helping him out."

Shaking your head in amusement, you let your eyes run around the room searching for him.

There.

Theo sat on the couch near the fireplace, one arm thrown around the back , a glass of amber liquid in the other. The smoke from Mattheo's cigarette made his figure hazy.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink." Ginny said her voice floating by. You nodded distractedly , your attention held captive by Theo.

As if sending your presence behind him , he turned his head around and met your eyes. Slight confusion marred his face making his eyebrows furrow. He hadn’t expected you to be here.

Signalling to you with a quick nod of his head, he excused himself from his group of friends and made his way to his dorms. You stayed down for a couple more minutes , getting yourself a drink to throw off suspicion.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d come tonight. Ginny change your mind?” Pansy popped out of the blue , startling you.

“Uh.. Pansy, hey. Yeah you know how Gin is.” Pansy was a bit of a talker. Aware that this conversation could go on forever , you tried to come up with an excuse. “Hey listen, I’ve got to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll find you again alright?”

Not waiting for a response , you made your way in the direction of the bathrooms and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction once you made sure Pansy had redirected her attention. Sneaking up the stairway to the boys dorm, you took a moment for yourself outside Theo’s dorm room, straightening out your clothes.

“Took you long enough.” His voice drawled as you entered his room, the familiar surroundings providing a sense of comfort.

“Pansy almost started a conversation.” You said laughing lightly at his wide eyed expression.

“Didn’t take you long then.” He corrected his previous statement , prowling towards you.

“No. I guess it didn’t.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you into a searing kiss that had you holding onto his shirt for balance. The words 'I missed you' played at the tip of your tongue struggling to be let out.

He nipped at your lower lip , a breathy sigh leaving you as you tangled your hands in his hair.

"Cormac Mc fuckin Laggen? Seriously?" Theo muttered , lowering his head to place soft kisses across your jaw. Leaning your head back to give him more access, you let out a soft laugh. "That's exactly what I said. Ginny is the real culprit."

A strangled moan left your lips as he sucked at your neck, immediately soothing it with a sloppy kiss. "T-Theo..you idiot. That's gonna leave a mark." He just hummed in response seemingly lost in the pleasure. Tugging his head back, you made him meet your gaze head on.

"If we stay up here for any longer, they'll suspect." A shiver passed through you as his hands trailed lower and cupped you arse, pulling your hips to his. "Let them." he said dropping his head to capture your lips once more.

"THEO, YOU IN THERE ??" Blaise Zabini's voice boomed through the door making you jump. A string of Italian curses left Theo's mouth as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah give me a minute!"

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to your face placing you at eye level. "It'll all be over soon alright? We won't have to hide anymore. We can be free." The promise in his eyes lit a spark of hope within you, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Soon." you whispered , your eyes fluttering shut as you placed a kiss on his Dark Mark.

[daryldove]

Trick or Treat

daryl x fem!reader

age gap, commonwealth era

The Halloween fair is a success. After weeks of tireless planning, you could finally enjoy the festivities yourself. You dressed up as a devil, horns and all with a tight fitting, red satin dress. A black shawl drapes over your shoulders to ward off the incoming chill.

You're crouching to help someone pick up their coins when you hear Judith call your name from behind, followed by RJ and Daryl. A smile forms on your lips at the sight of her, only growing when you spot the archer. You were positively whipped for him.

You dust yourself off, standing to greet them. “Hey guys. Are you a witch, Jude? Very cute.” 

“I'm supposed to be scary, not cute!” You giggle at Judith's whining before turning your attention to Daryl. He looks tired lately, but still as handsome as always. You notice him in your peripheral glance at your cleavage before looking away. His cheeks have a slight red tint once you face him.

“You look good.”

He scoffs, face betraying his obvious self conciousness, “I'm not even wearing a costume.” He's so sweet, you wanna squeeze him. The contrast between his rough appearance and unexpected shyness was something you've always adored. “You always do.” He avoids looking at you altogether as you specify. 

Your attention turns back to the kids. “Have you guys had a candied apple yet?” That's all you had to say to get them to run off, leaving you and Daryl alone. Getting a private spot altogether is gonna be much harder, though. You ask him to walk with you, and he obliges, ignorant to your plotting. “I haven't seen you around much recently. You been busy?” 

He grunts in response. “Haven't seen ya around much either.” So he was watching you too—the thought made your chest tighten.

“More planning goes into these events than you'd think. Gonna be pretty free after, though.” You bite back a smirk at how he looks at you, as if he's searching your expression for a deeper meaning. An invitation.

You see the moment he finally comprehends you actually mean it, but he just shrugs, looking a little lost. He’s afraid, you realise. Maybe even a little insecure. Any urge to tease or subtly flirt flees from your body. 

“What's wrong?” You turn to him, eye softening at his hesitance.

“How old exactly are ya?” He chews his bottom lip like he's nervous to hear the answer. Oh, so that's it. He's hesitant about the age gap, or maybe uncomfortable with how others would view it. Truthfully, you didn't exactly know how old you were, you stopped counting since the apocalypse, and you know he probably did too. There was a big difference between you though, that was obvious. You weren't naive or stupid, you knew how it would look to others. 

“The age difference doesn't bother me.” Clearly, that's the wrong thing to say because he just replies with an exasperated huff. But he doesn't let go when you intertwine your hands with his, or move away when you lean closer. His eyes reflect a deeper story—he doesn't want to care either.  “Ya really don't mind?���

“No. Actually I…” you can't believe you're about to admit this out loud, “I think it's pretty hot. And I don't care what people say, either, as long as we're happy.” Daryl's expression is unreadable, and you worry for a moment that you were too honest.

But his hand squeezes yours, and a reluctant chuckle leaves him. “Hot, huh?” You playfully shove him with your shoulder. As embarrassing as that was to admit, you didn't regret it. Despite how he probably won't ever let you live it down.

[nkjemisin]

Hello NK Jemisin! I'm a huge fan of yours, and I wanted to thank you for writing all of the books you've written, and doing all that you do. You're really awesome and you are doing important work! :) I had a long question, if you have time to answer! What's your commentary on creating fantasy cultures, using real ones as inspiration? You've done this before in your stories, and I wanted to know if you had any guidance on doing it well. I'm writing my first novel right now (fantasy!) and am dealing with a surprising amount of guilt regarding using real cultures as a basis for my fake ones. On one hand, I want to create a really unique fantasy world, not the bog-standard European stuff. It's not only more interesting to me, but I also admittedly want to use my story to help introduce people to concepts that might be helpful in the real world, help readers understand what these real people go through and perhaps inspire change. On the OTHER hand, I don't know if it's 'my place' to do so (I'm Black btw, but I'm not just writing about Black-coded fantasy characters). And I'm worried about representing people in a harmful way, even if it's by accident. I'm even hung up about names! Should I use names from real languages related to the cultures I'm inspired by, or should I just make them up to emphasize that, while yes these people are clearly inspired by real cultures, they are ultimately *their own* thing. I'm really conflicted on this and am hoping you can offer some feedback and/or commentary. Sorry for the long ask. Either way, have a great day and I look forward to whatever work you do next!

If I can rephrase what you're saying here, it sounds like you're concerned about cultural appropriation -- specifically, which cultures you get to "borrow from" and "remix," how much remixing you can do before you've done damage, how to depict people from cultural backgrounds other than your own, etc.

If that's what you're asking, then there are whole schools of thought on how to "appropriate appropriately." A lot of thinking on this has evolved in the past few years, for good and for ill; Own Voices, for example. (The short version: the Own Voices hashtag movement started as a grassroots attempt to get marginalized voices telling the stories of their own cultures, because there's been a nasty trend of only white/Western/Anglophone/etc. authors publishing books about those cultures. The problem? Some publishers and readers started acting as if marginalized writers weren't allowed to do anything but stories in their own cultures -- a restriction, instead of an inclusion/correction. Worse, publishers, etc started using it as a marketing shorthand, in ways that were just... not good. They made it weird, basically.) But I'm still fond of the approach that's in Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. It's centered on ethnicity/race, but a lot of its approach can be extrapolated to culture. There's too much good stuff in this book to summarize it easily, but you should read it instead of a summary anyway -- it's short.

I don't see the point of guilt, when it comes to something like this. Guilt is what you feel when you've done something wrong, and admiring another culture enough to want to tell a story featuring it isn't wrong. However, there are things you need to do -- research, conversations, considerations of power dynamics -- to reduce the harm you might end up doing by telling that story as an outsider. And note that no matter what you do, though, you might still end up doing harm. (Even people writing about their own culture can end up doing that.) If you fuck up, apologize, figure out what went wrong, and try to do better next time. That's really all you can do.

And then write whatever the hell you want. There's a persistent pressure on Black writers to only cover certain subjects, certain settings; nah. We get to have range, too. You've just got to put in the work to do it well.

Good luck.

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three (you’re here!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse (also on the way and also a modern royalty au cuz I got the urge to write one so bad lmao)

This AU was line-jumped on Ko-Fi, which means y'all got it sooner!

If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

I hope y'all enjoy this part! It was a lotta fun to write, actually, since I got to talk about folklore I'm more familiar with lol

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve huffs as he kicks a pebble down the street. It bounces a few times before settling on the sidewalk, doing nothing interesting enough to alleviate his boredom. He turns around, squinting against the sun shining in his eyes, and looks at his parents. His mother is speaking quietly to a woman with a shawl around her shoulders, both of them bent over some book that definitely should have been crumbling by now. His father idly taps at bricks on the building next to them, looking relaxed but alert.

Steve glances at the building his parents are avoiding, the one the woman with the shawl walked out of. It’s a pale, faded yellow, the kind that tells him the building is old, old enough to have seen wars and generations pass it by. Shingles line a low roof, but something that’s either incredibly durable wood or stone so old it’s turned brown makes up the vaguely mountain-shaped top that reaches to the sky. Steve studies the building, his eyes wandering until he sees the door cracked open on the side. 

He takes a slow step towards it, checks that neither of his parents noticed, and takes another. This continues until he’s in the shadow of the building, his fingers brushing against the wood. It’s cool against his skin, and the door isn’t nearly as heavy as it looks. He pushes lightly against it, an eager feeling building in the pit of his stomach as he slips inside.

A dimly lit hall made of stone sprawls out in front of him, and Steve hums softly as he passes by the paintings and scraps of scroll that are framed along the wall. He recognizes Hebrew on all the scrolls, but he doesn’t linger long enough to read any of it. Instead, he continues to walk, glancing through an opening that leads into a sanctuary. The opening is to the left of the bema, and he’s momentarily caught by the ark that contains the Torah. He can’t even see the holy scrolls, but something in his spine jerks and he’s overwhelmed by the urge to open the doors so he can gaze upon them. 

He’s already going to get in trouble for slipping inside, though. Maybe he shouldn’t make it worse. Steve grasps this thought tightly, holding it in his mind until he’s able to tear his gaze away and continue walking down the hall. Other than that opening, there’s only one door left at the very end. It, too, is made of wood and opens far easier than Steve expected.

Shafts of sunlight stream in through narrow windows, illuminating dust that floats in the still air of an undisturbed staircase. Steve looks down at the first steps, crouches, and drags his finger carefully over the stone. A layer of dust comes off, and Steve comes to the conclusion that nobody has been up these stairs in a long, long time. 

With a grin, Steve begins to climb. 

The stairs wind up and up, far higher than Steve thinks should be possible given the height of the building itself, but what does he know? He just focuses on climbing, on reaching the top as he passes narrow window after narrow window, breathing in stale air that stirs in his lungs and builds. Strangely enough, he’s not breathless from the climbing, but from something else entirely. He isn’t able to name that feeling until he finally (finally) reaches the top of the stairs. 

As he stands on the top step and looks over the loft spread out before him, he realizes it was anticipation. Like the stairs, this attic-loft is covered in dust, untouched by people for a very long time. A large window is opposite the stairs, allowing sunlight to stream into the area. The space holds a desk, a bed, more books than Steve has ever seen before, and a statue.

Steve stares at the statue, licks his lips nervously, and steps into the room. He doesn’t spare the books or anything else a second glance, instead making a beeline for the statue. It’s huge, towering over the twelve-years-old Steve even though it’s sitting. Its legs are crossed, and its hands are held palm-up just above its navel. The statue is round and smooth, not a straight edge in sight. It doesn’t have a neck, and its head is like a little bump on its shoulders, just big enough to hold triangle-shaped divots for eyes. Carefully placed next to the statue is a small clay jar and a paintbrush.

Without thinking, Steve picks up the jar and looks inside. Golden-hued paint shimmers inside, and Steve wonders how it hasn’t caked over or disintegrated after all this time. He tilts the clay pot a few times, watching the paint slide against the edges, and then looks up at the statue again. At second glance, he sees that the statue’s head is big enough for more than just its eyes. He could probably write on it, too. 

With that thought, Steve grabs the paintbrush and very carefully pokes his foot against the statue’s leg. It seems strong enough, so he climbs up, following the statue’s calf to its knee. From there, he carefully holds the paintbrush with his teeth so he can steady himself on the statue’s arm. Once he has, Steve pulls himself up onto the statue’s hands, finding himself at the perfect height to reach its forehead.

Steve holds the paintbrush and dips it into the jar. The brush comes out covered in the gold paint, and Steve pauses, looking at the statue’s forehead.

He remembers a story his mother once told him about this very city, this very building. It involved a statue like this one, a golem, that was brought to life to protect his mom’s ancestors. Steve hums softly and carefully paints aleph, mem, tav on the statue’s forehead. His mom will find it funny when he brings her up here to show her the “golem” he found. 

As he finishes off the tav, giving it a pretty little flourish just for the fun of it, the ground beneath him jerks. No, not the ground. The hands he’s standing on. Steve yelps, losing his balance and about to fall only to be cradled and carefully set on the ground.

Steve blinks, looking up at the golem to see it leaning down and staring at him expectantly. “Uh. Hi,” he says, breathless as he receives a small nod and wave in return. “Holy shit.”

Before he can say more, he hears a familiar voice in the distance shouting, “Steve! Where are you?”

Keeping his eyes on the golem, Steve sets the jar and paint down, scooting back along the floor until he reaches the top of the stairs. “I’m up here!” he shouts, hearing a muffled curse and the slam of a door far below. He sighs and stands, slowly approaching the golem.

“You’re really real,” he mumbles, stopping in front of the golem as he hears someone running up the steps.

He turns just in time to see his father reach the attic, guns at the ready, and panting from adrenaline and the climb. “What the fuck is that?!” he shouts, aiming the guns at the golem without thinking. 

“Don’t shoot it!” Steve yells, barely getting the words out before he’s scooped into the golem’s arms and completely covered by its hands. The world goes dark, and he’s pressed close enough to the golem’s chest that all he can smell is pomegranate and the old ink and paper of Talmud studies. 

“It’s holding you captive, and you’re telling me not to shoot it?!” his father asks. 

“It’s protecting him!” his mother shouts, her voice shrill and panicked enough about his father shooting a golem to make Steve almost laugh.

Steve wiggles around, tapping the golem’s chest. “Those are my parents,” he says, “Please let me down.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, the golem does, carefully and slowly placing Steve on his feet once more. Its hands stay on either side of him, looking ready to pull him back into its protective embrace. His father looks harried, but his mother looks awed as she steps forward. The golem allows her to approach, and she carefully runs her fingers over the golem’s arms. “This is amazing, Steve,” she says softly.

“Can we please step away from the dangerous statue now?” his father asks, taking a step forward only to stop when the golem suddenly stands and towers over him. “Uh, what’s it doing?”

“You’re not Jewish, Rick,” Steve’s mother says, looking over her shoulder. “The golem is a protective figure in Jewish folklore, among other things. It’s most famous stories are about keeping Jewish towns safe from pogroms. It’s wary of you.”

“I’m your husband!” Steve’s father protests, angrily shoving his guns back into their holsters, “And Steve’s father! We should be on the same team!”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, walking over to his father and taking his hand. “I just have to introduce you.” With that, Steve leads his father over to the golem, placing his father’s hand on its arm, and saying, “This is someone you should protect, too.”

----------

After explaining everything, with plenty of interruptions from the kids after they came running back into the living room to escape Uncle Jonathan’s gin, Steve’s parents demanded to see the lab where it all started. 

And now they’re here, standing in one of the lower levels, surrounded by dead vines that still haunt Steve’s nightmares on particularly bad nights. If he’s lucky, he won’t have one of those while his parents are home, but Steve has never really called himself lucky in situations that don’t involve life or death. 

The wall that once held a gate to the Upside Down is nothing more than charred cement, reduced to a jagged line of something Steve really hopes is soot and not, like, disintegrated demogorgon. He carefully makes his way through the vines, avoiding them when he can and holding his breath whenever he has to step on one. 

“Did you know this was a lab?” Rick asks, his voice echoing in the hall ahead of them. 

“Of course, not,” Evelyn replies, and Steve can picture the glare she’s aiming at him. “I wouldn’t have let our son live here if I’d known.”

“Well,” Eddie says, “I, for one, and very relieved Stevie lived here considering several of us would be dead without him.”

“Me, too,” Dustin says.

“Me three,” El says.

“I think Steve and I would’ve found each other even if he wasn’t in Hawkins,” Robin says, nudging Steve’s ribs with her elbow as she grins. “Platonic soulmates can’t he kept apart.”

Steve snorts and stops when he reaches the wall. He looks around and notices the corpse of a demodog a few feet away. Or, well, he thinks it’s a demodog corpse. “Stay here,” he says, tightening his grip on his bat as he takes a step closer to it.

“Hold it right there, young man,” his mother says, her tone bringing him to an immediate halt. “Your father will go towards the monster, and you will stay a safe distance away.”

“Gee, thanks for asking,” Rick mutters, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way over to the demodog corpse. He studies it for a second before just kicking the thing with his foot. Steve nearly jumps in to yank his father back, but stays frozen in place by Robin’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

His father kicks the corpse again, and Eddie suddenly asks, “Why do I feel like this is disrespectful?”

“Because it used to be alive,” El offers.

“It’s definitely not anymore,” Rick says, crouching down and using the barrel of his gun to push back one of the petals on its head. “Shit, what’s it need so many teeth for?”

“The better to eat you with,” Steve says, earning a snort from Robin and Eddie.

“And there were how many of these?” Evelyn asks.

“Dozens. Like, multiple packs, and they were all connected by this hive mind kinda thing,” Dustin explains, walking over to the corpse with no fear. “I mean, they weren’t all bad. Dart was okay.”

“He ate your cat,” Steve says.

“Yeah, and then he didn’t eat us in the tunnel.”

“I can’t believe you were facing these things and didn’t use your guns to spare some girl’s feelings,” Rick says, looking at Steve over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just use the golem,” his mother says, frowning as she turns to Steve. “I mean, you know where it is, dear. You know how to bring it to life.”

“A golem? Like…from Lord of the Rings?” Dustin asks.

“You had a golem? Why didn’t you tell me you had a golem?” Eddie asks.

“How did we not think of the golem? Holy shit, we’re dumb,” Robin says, smacking her forehead with her palm.

“I couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t hurt one of my friends,” Steve says, ignoring Dustin for now. “It would only protect me and Robin. If something happened to one of us, it would abandon the kids without question. What’s the point then?”

“Hello! Confused people over here!” Dustin shouts, getting their attention. “What golem?”

“You know,” Robin says, “like…of Prague.”

“No, still lost,” Dustin says.

Steve sighs, about to explain it when Eddie beats him to it. “The golem is from Jewish folklore,” he says, tilting his head as he looks at Steve, “It was created and brought to life by a rabbi in Prague to protect his congregation from pogroms and acts of antisemitism. There are debates on why he had to disintegrate the golem, though. Some stories say it started killing innocent people, others say it fell in love, and others say the congregation were using it to do chores instead of letting it focus on protecting them.”

“Yes, exactly,” Evelyn says, smiling at Eddie and nodding with approval, “The golem doesn’t speak much, but it can answer basic questions. According to it, Rabbi Loew removed its aleph because it requested to go to sleep.”

“Oh, so it just wanted a nap,” El says, nodding as though this makes perfect sense to her.

“You said you had the golem,” Eddie says. “Where?”

“At the house,” Steve replies, watching as his father stands from the corpse and drags Dustin away from it. “I keep it in the locked room downstairs.”

“You said that was your parents’ room,” Dustin says.

“No, you assumed it was, and I never corrected you.”

“Can I see it?” Eddie asks.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie’s gaze. After a few seconds, he nods once and looks at his parents. “Did you see what you wanted?” he asks, “Can we head back?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, frowning as he nudges a vine with his foot. “I’ll come back later with Ardeth. See if he knows anything that might help.”

“What do we need help with?” Dustin asks. “The portal is closed for good. We closed it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with making sure,” Evelyn tells him, smiling reassuringly before turning back the way they came. “Now that Rick and I are here, we’ll do everything we can to make sure those gates never open again.”

“And if they do,” Rick says, bringing up the rear as the kids follow Evelyn, “we’ll take care of it. You kids don’t need to put yourselves in danger anymore.”

Something in Steve settles at hearing this, his next exhale taking all the stress that had made its home between his shoulders with it. For the first time in a long time, he thinks about something normal. He glances at Eddie and Robin and thinks about going to see a movie with them, drinking at the lake, and just being stupid teens that don’t have to worry about interdimensional monsters.

------

Tag List (there should be room still! So, if you’d like a tag, let me know!)

@trueghostqueen, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @mogami13, @blcksh33p1987, @beawritingbooks, @remus-is-trans, @your-confused-friend, @estrellami-1, @nburkhardt, @vacantwatchers, @yeahhhh-suga, @phantomcat94

@blackpanzy, @ape31, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @plantzzsandpencilzzs, @flustratedcas, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @just-a-tiny-void, @disrespectedgoatman, @fallingleavesinthewind, @nymime, @nectandra, @moomkin77, @nadenia, @resident-disappointment, @copper-arrows, @romanticdestruction, @rowanshadow26

@nadenia, @northernlight-witch, @steddie-as-they-go,

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Okay so it's not fair if you get to perfectly capture Bale's Batman as well as every other character you write for 😅 you're too damn talented!

So, without further ado I'm going to become that person:

Dannnnyyyyyyyy gimme more Bruce Wayne

Sequel to The Other Half | Masterlist

Warnings: I'm in love with him. There, that's the warning.

When you go to bed that night, you drop off fairly quickly. You’re $500 richer, and replying the easy smiles and laughs and conversation that you’d shared with him. He’d been far nicer, and far more down to earth than you could’ve ever imagined.

The next day, your manager is a little…Grumbley. She’s sort of irritated that you spent so much time with Wayne, though she doesn’t say as much. You can tell by the way she mumbles to herself, straightens a display, glances at you, and then goes back to mumbling and straightening displays again. The day passes without incident (though a few of your coworkers come up to ask what he was like. You tell them the truth: Incredibly dreamy up close, and nicer than you expected.) As you clock out for the day and wave goodnight to the security guard, you hear someone say your name. 

You turn, and catch sight of a well-dressed older gentleman that looks familiar. You think it may be the man that Bruce showed you a picture of at the diner yesterday, but you’re not entirely sure. 

“...Yes?” You ask, taking a couple of steps closer to him, “Can I help you?” 

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I'm Mr. Wayne's butler.” 

Your brows raise a touch. “Oh! Was there something wrong with what he purchased yesterday?” 

“Not that I’m aware of. He asked me to give you this.” Alfred holds an envelope out to you. You take it carefully, unable to help the way your confusion slows you. You eye your name written on the front, then turn the envelope over in your hands. You open it, drawing out an invitation for that evening. Your eyes skim the details—the time, the place. You recognize the name of the place—Chef du Roi. It’s an upscale restaurant in one of the highest skyscrapers in Gotham. You scoff out a stunned little laugh. 

“If you do plan on accepting Mr. Wayne’s invitation,” Alfred tacked on, “I will be happy to drive you to your apartment, and then to the venue.” 

“Uh…” You hesitate, glancing between the invitation and Alfred a couple of times. “That is…Really kind of you, Mr. Pennyworth, but I don’t wanna waste your time.”

“No time would be wasted,” He reassures with a smile. “And Mr. Wayne has told me that I will owe you quite the thank you, come Christmas morning.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head in slight surprise. You'd be a fool to say no. Besides, you enjoyed your time in Mr. Wayne's company yesterday. Why not see if you enjoy it today.

“Uh…Okay. Yeah.” 

“The car is waiting outside,” Alfred gestures. You nod a little, muttering your thanks as he holds the door open for you. 

--  

You’re panicking all the way back to your apartment. You insist that Alfred come up and have a cup of something warm while you’re getting dressed. Your roommate, Michelle, makes a pot of tea while you frantically search your closet for something suitable for dinner at a rooftop restaurant with a billionaire. 

You shower as quickly as you can, do your hair and makeup faster than you ever have in your life. You call Michelle in to zip your dress up, fanning under your arms to stop from sweating with panic. 

“You better use extra perfume,” Michelle warns, “You’re gonna sweat right through this thing—Hang on, I have a shawl that’s gonna cover your upper arms. Maybe by the time you get the entrees, you’ll have stopped up a little bit.” 

“Ugh, thank you,” You mutter, fanning at your heating face, “Oh my god, I’m gonna sweat off my makeup.” 

“Calm down!”

“You calm down!” 

--  

“I see you got my invitation.” 

“I did,” You nod. Bruce gives Alfred a nod over your shoulder, and you turn to look at him as well. Alfred smiles warmly, offering you a quick wink before turning away. You smile, turning to face Bruce again. 

“C’mon,” He nods you closer, resting his hand on your lower back as you fall into step with him. You expect the restaurant to be bustling, but you find it…Completely silent and completely empty. 

“Oh, wow,” You mumble. “Maybe this place isn’t as hard to get into as I thought.” 

Bruce laughs, pulling your chair out for you. 

“Thank you,” You mutter, glancing up at him. 

“Of course.” He rounds to his side of the table, sitting down. “Do you prefer red, white, or rosé?” 

“Rosé.” 

“I can work with that.” 

You smile, looking down at the menu. You skim the names of the dishes, fighting the urge to look at the prices. 

“Um…I hope this isn’t rude, but, uh…” You look at Bruce from beneath your lashes. “What am I doing here?”

“Well it looks like you’re looking at a menu, but looks can be deceiving.” 

You tip your head to the side, arching your brows. Bruce’s smile widens before he tacks on, “We ate at a diner yesterday, instead of some five-star something something. So, now you can see how the other half eats.” 

You huff a laugh, shaking your head.

“Incredibly generous of you, Mr. Wayne. But you could’ve sent me take out from somewhere upscale.” 

“Maybe I wanted to see you again.” 

“Just maybe? Renting out an entire restaurant seems like a lot for a maybe.”

“Alright,” Bruce’s smile softens as he leans in a little. “I really wanted to see you again.” 

“Because I don’t treat you like you’re Bruce Wayne?” 

“Because I want to get to know you better…And because you don’t treat me like I’m Bruce Wayne.” 

You laugh softly, leaning back in your seat a little. You can’t take the way he’s leaning in; his look is too warm, too sweet. Even though he spent most of the day yesterday showing you that he’s not some simple-minded billionaire, not the man that you've seen in the papers or on tv, it still feels so foreign and surprising. It shouldn’t—you don’t really know the man sitting across from you. You’ve spent a total of two and a half hours with him. 

“So,” You look over the menu, “Have you got any recommendations for this five-star something something?” 

“Not a one. I’ve never been here before.” 

Your brows shoot up. 

“You rented out a restaurant that you’ve never been to before?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“What if we hate it?” 

“Then Alfred will drive us to the nearest fast food place and we’ll get a cheeseburger.” 

“You wouldn’t do that.” 

Bruce reaches out, resting a hand on your menu and tipping it down to get your attention.

“Watch me.”

You bite your lip to tamp your smile down, but you can’t help your grin. 

“Bullshit.” 

--

“I can’t believe you.” 

“Sure you can—Are there fries in there? I thought I got fries,” Bruce frowns, tipping the greasy paper bag toward himself. You giggle, watching him rifle through it before he lets out out a triumphant grunt. You watch as he draws out a handful, cramming them into his mouth. 

“Slow down! If you keep this up,  you’re gonna choke.” 

Bruce waves you off, taking up his milkshake to wash the fries down. You lean back against the park bench, glancing back over Gotham Harbor. The sun is just beginning to set, casting a golden glow across the water. 

“Still can’t believe you rented that place out and then took me to BK’s.” “Now you know not to challenge me.” 

“I learned the tasty way.”

“‘Sides, the staff at du Roi got paid, and got the night off this way. It’s a win-win,” He offers. Your gaze flickers to his lips as he raises his thumb, sucking away a few grains of salt. Your face goes warm at the sight, and you hurriedly avert your gaze again. 

“Bless Alfred for braving the drive-thru,” You add. 

“He’s gone through far worse for me.” 

“Oh?” “Mm.”

You wait for Bruce to go on. Instead, he fishes into the paperbag for another handful of fries. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks once he’s swallowed. 

“Sure.” 

“You said your family moved because Metropolis was more affordable?” “Mhm.” 

“Do you think they would’ve stayed if they could’ve afforded to?” 

You consider for a moment. The question turns your stomach. It’s one that you’ve been grappling with yourself. 

“Mm…” You look down at the burger in your hands, picking at a stray piece of lettuce.

“I don’t know,” You finally admit, shaking your head a little. “Maybe? It kinda reached a point where they were between moving to Metropolis and moving to the Narrows. I mean, the crime’s been off the charts—and even with the Batman doing everything he does, you know, my mom’s been…Panic-y. She didn’t feel safe here. Not that Metropolis has been a bed of roses, you know, I mean, they’ve got—that Mannheim situation over there, same way we had Falcone. It was kind of just a…Lesser of two evils.” 

Glancing over at Bruce again, you find him staring speculatively at his burger. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to ask about his family—about what he remembers of his parents, but—

“Has Alfred gotten any hints about what he’s getting for Christmas this year?” You ask. 

“Not a one,” Bruce answers without missing a beat. His gaze flickers to you again, a small smile curling his lips. 

“Good,” You chuckle. “I’m glad I didn’t ruin any surprises when he turned up at the store.” 

“Oh no? Didn’t ask how the gloves fit?” 

“I’m not gonna lie, I was this close.” 

“No—”

“You showed me his picture yesterday, I recognized him! And as soon as he said it name was Alfred, it just clicked. But—I just asked if there was anything wrong with what you’d bought yesterday. Didn’t even say that it was for him.” 

“Very subtle.” 

“Thank you.” 

You reach into the bag, drawing out a few fries, and grinning and giggling as Bruce reaches out. He bats at your wrist, grumbling, “You’ve had yours already!” 

“C’mon, you’re a billionaire. You can spare a couple fries.” 

“Mm, I suppose.” 

“You big baby.” 

-- 

The ride back to your apartment feels sort of embarrassing. You don’t exactly live in the nicest neighborhood—you can’t imagine someone like Bruce Wayne has been anywhere near it. 

Alfred opens the car door for you, smiling and nodding as you get out. 

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” 

“Please, call me Alfred.” 

“Well, Alfred. Thank you.” 

“It’s been an honor, miss. And thank you again for the tea.” 

“Any time.” 

You round the car, smiling and taking hold of Bruce’s proffered hand. 

“I’ll be a moment,” Bruce tells Alfred. Then he turns, letting you lead the way to your front door. 

“I had a nice time,” You offer softly. 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm. I still can’t believe you rented out Chef du Roi and then took me to fucking Burger King.” 

“I’m just glad you could have it your way.” 

You splutter a laugh, turning away from Bruce and shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“...Could I see you again?” 

The question is a surprising one, and it makes you turn to look at Bruce again. He’s watching you patiently; the way he sweeps his thumb tenderly across the back of your hand tells you that he doesn’t know what you’re going to say. You’re not entirely sure yourself. You think for a moment before offering:

“I’ve never been to Taco Bell.” 

Bruce’s lips split into a wide, beautiful smile. 

“I think we can work with that,” He chuckles.

“Oh yeah?” 

“I’ll reserve a table and everything.” 

“I don’t think you can reserve a table there.” 

“How would you know? You’ve never been.” 

“And you have?” 

“You’d be surprised by where I’ve eaten.” 

“You’ve already surprised me twice in a row. I think to really shock me, you’d have to take me dumpster diving—”

“We could do that, you know.” 

“Oh, the Gazette would have a field day—Prince of Gotham Dumpster Diving—and Hanging Out at Local Landfill.” 

“Ouch,” Bruce laughs, lowering his arms to curl around your waist. The move catapults your heart into your throat. “C’mon, you’re better than that.” 

“You just say that ‘cause you’ve seen me all dressed up.” 

“I’ve seen you at work, too.” 

“I’m much more presentable at work than I am in my downtime.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

“I’d like to see that,” Bruce insists, raising his hand to cup your cheek.

“Well, I’m sure we could arrange—” 

Before you can finish teasing him, Bruce is leaning in, pressing his lips warmly to yours. It’s far more gentle than you expect—but then again, nothing that Bruce has done has been what you expect. You let your eyes slip closed, leaning into him. Your lips pull with a small smile as Bruce pulls you just a little bit closer, his hand curling around to rest on your nape. You raise your hands, gently curling in the fabric of his coat lapels. You think he’ll draw away, but Bruce catches you off-guard again, instead gently nipping your lip, then sucking it between his lips. You tenderly nudge your nose against as the kiss cools. Bruce rests his forehead gently against yours. 

You swipe your tongue across your lips, smiling as you feel Bruce’s fingers flex in your coat. 

“So,” He murmurs, “Taco Bell? Tomorrow?” 

You giggle, nodding. 

“It’s a date, Mr Wayne.” 

Part Three

[pathetic-gamer]

Hi! I loved your fashion in fodlan post, it's so detailed that I was super into it. I hope I'm not bothering you but how do you know so much about those type of clothes?? did you read it in a book or you just researched it little by little?? Also if it's not too much to ask, do you know what the type of collar Mercedes wears in the time-skip outfit's called?? I'm trying to do more research but it's hard with english not being my main language haha Thank you so much! <3

Thank you so much!!! The history and production of textiles is a niche interest of mine, so clothes and fashion fall under that general area by necessity, so I've accumulated a fair body of knowledge over the years! (I wouldnt characterize it as broad, but it's there.) I wish I could point you to some specific books, but there aren't many in particular that I can vouch for. The one I can recommend is a companion book to a museum exhibit called Painted Cloth: Fashion and Ritual in Colonial Latin America.

(Also, in another life (aka college) I was a budding historian, so I do really enjoy researching obscure historical topics, which helps when I'm trying to find out things I don't know lol)

For those interested, Part 1 of the series Anon is talking about can be found here

Now for the question of Mercedes, which is a GREAT question:

It's hard to find a direct answer because honestly, I think it's meant for Vibes. Since character design in video games, especially fantasy, is about vibes more than anything else, the historical influences are going to be very broad and are meant to give you a general idea of the character's whole deal. (There is always the possibility that I'm missing a really obvious real thing, so anyone is welcome to share corrections!!)

In her case, it pulls from a number of sources to give the impression of religious habits, but like. fun and funky. You will note that Mercedes's outfit, like most characters, is based on one of her canon classes, in this case the priest.

The religious vibes of the base uniform come from the combo of the hat/veil and collar, which are vaguely reminiscent of some of these:

The circular collar in the illustrations above is called a guimpe. There have been a number of different garments through the ages that fulfill a similar purpose (filling in a low neckline or covering the neck and shoulders), like pelerines, chemisettes, and partlets.

Pelerines are a type of shawl. Chemisettes would have been worn under the dress, and partlets, whether over or under, would likely be secured around the underarm, as seen here:

The other inspiration seems to be puritan collars, which are very basic and come from, as you may have gathered already, puritans.

So anyway, I suspect the reason that its been hard to find a clear name for it is because there isnt one! It's an amalgamation of these various things. But that's just a guess!

[shujohajohaminnie]

Hi so for the smut prompts could you do 8 with lee know please and thank you btw I love your work

Hi of course I could do that, and I'm happy you're enjoying my writing it means a lot

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count:2054

Summary: How will this year's Christmas party turn out after you leave your husband wanting more than just a kiss?

Afab!reader, Profanity, pet names, Raw Sex (Wrap it before you tap it), Public sex (Kinda?!!), I think that’s it, let me know if I miss anything. 

This wasn’t the time or place, and you would’ve thought your husband would understand that. He didn’t. He warned you that you would pay for not allowing a quick fuck before you left your home. But you were already half an hour late to this party, so as much as you wanted to, you just couldn’t. Your husband wasn’t much of a beggar, you spoiled him whatever he needed you gave to him, Minho did the same thing, whatever you wanted you were gifted. He’d give you the world if you’d ask for it. You should have known not to kiss him before you could make it out of the penthouse. “Come on Jagiya” he begged lifting your dress slowly. He had to attend this year's Christmas party at work, and like all the other parties he requested you to be there. To not only make him feel less lonely but also to show off his gorgeous wife. Not only were you well known as the CEO’s wife but you were also known for always being dressed to impress. Every single time you showed up at the office to have lunch with him, spend time with him, or just distract him in general, you did it in style. This time was no different. You decided to dress festive this year around going with a short dark red velvet dress that sported a high slit on your right thing. Paired with a white faux fur shawl, with plans on wearing white silk gloves, dangly diamond earrings, a gift from none other but your amazing husband.

*Before the party*

He noticed the high slit on the dress, taking into account the lack of fabric you were wearing underneath. “My love?” “Hmm?” you hummed putting on your earrings as you walked into the closet looking for your gloves. “Are you wearing underwear” You shook your head walking past him and into the bathroom looking for your lipstick. “Why not” “I can’t wear any with this dress… not with the slit being this high” He closed his eyes taking a deep breath, you would be the death of him. He knew not to tell you to change. “You can’t see anything” You defended walking back into your shared room. You were right you really couldn’t see anything, you made sure of it. 

“You look so good” He whispered peppering your neck with kisses as he continued to raise your dress higher and higher. “Yes I do baby… but what about you” “What about me?” “This isn’t work hon this is a Christmas party… Your Christmas party” “No this is my Christmas party that you forced me to throw… so technically this is your party” “Even more reason to dress festive at least put on a red tie” “I don’t have a red tie” “Don’t you lie to me… what happened to the red tie I gifted you on our last anniversary” “...” “Please change” “I will not be changing but it’s cute that you tried” “Minho” “Weren’t you the one saying that were late” “Oh now you care” You rolled your eyes following him to the front door. He grabbed your coat helping you put it on, took your hand, and led you into the elevator. He stood behind you groping your body over the dress. You smacked his hand, pointing to the camera that was in the elevator. “You think being filmed will stop me, I’ll buy the building just to get that tape for you… add it to the collection” You shook your head stepping away from his hold as the elevator reached the lobby. “We can’t we’re late” You smirked grabbing his hand and leading him out. 

The party this year wasn’t as much of a drag as last year's. This year’s actually looked like an actual holiday party, with of course your help. You were running the night before making sure the venue Minho rented out for tonight would be perfect, exactly like the vision in your head. It looked like a winter wonderland. “Oh My God” You giggled as you walked into the doors, the snow machine set up by the entrance covering the both of you in glittery faux snow. He smiled down at you his hold on your waist tightening as you walked up the steps to where the actual party was being held at. “This looks amazing Jagiya” he whispered kissing your neck. His employees all turned to look at the both of you immediately in a trance as the long-awaited beautiful couple finally showed up. 

“Let's go” Minho groaned tugging your hand. Different year but the same attitude towards work parties. Always wanting to leave after being there for only twenty minutes. “Min” You laughed putting your hand on his face, your thumb stroking his cheek. “We haven’t been here long enough to leave” “But there's nothing to do” “How about you talk to your employees” “They’re all scared of me” “Yeah, because you won’t have an outside of-work conversation with them, and you don’t smile… let them see that pretty smile”. He forcefully smiled, of course, being a sarcastic smile instead of his usual charming smile. “If you don’t talk to them Lee Minho I will not give you your present tonight” “And tell them what?” “Ask them about their plans this Christmas and New Year’s, bond with them… that's what these parties are for anyways”. He groaned letting go of your hand taking his drink and walking towards the group of people that called him boss. 

Whatever you wanted you were gifted.

He came back with a smile, leaving a crowd of people laughing at what you could only assume was one of his famous stories. “Do you feel better” “Much” he smirked taking your hand and leading you away from the main hall. Towards a door that separated you from the rest. He led you inside, In the middle of the room was a desk the rest of the room was filled with extra decorations for your party. This must’ve been the owner of the venue’s office. He closed the door behind him, leading you to the desk. He took a seat in the leather chair, you stood in front of him, in between the desk and him. “Sit” “Where?” You looked around the wasn’t another chair in sight so where the hell could you possibly sit? “Here” he patted onto the wood of the desk. You smiled following his directions crossing your legs in front of him. “I want my present now pretty” “Min… not here” You giggled resting your hands on his shoulders as he scooted in closer to you. “Yes baby… here” “Min…” “Open your legs for me baby” he whispered placing his cold hands on your knees. Slowly forcing them apart. “I wanna see you” He pouted looking at you. How could you deny him? 

Whatever he needed you gave to him. 

He smiled at the sight in front of him, your bare pussy already glistening with your wetness. “What got you like this baby” he whispered spreading your labia to reveal your needy clit. “You baby only you” And it was the truth not only could Minho get you wet in seconds at the sight of him in a suit but also at the sight of him enjoying himself around the people around him. It sounded weird, but you really loved seeing him happy. Really happy. He lowered his head inches away from where you wanted him. “Please Min… I need you” “Where do you need me Jagiya… here” He kissed the inside of your thighs, slowly sucking the skin. “Or here” he teased moving on to the other thigh” “H-Here”  You moaned pushing his head against your pussy. He didn’t waste time at all, doing figure eights on your sensitive bud while his index finger circled teasingly around your hole. 

You quickly took off your shawl and gloves pulling down your dress to reveal the lack of bra as well. “My dirty dirty girl… you wanted me to do this to you didn’t you” He moaned against your pussy pushing his fingers in and out of you and a steady pace. You nodded throwing your head back as you let out the most pornographic moan the closer and closer he brought you to your orgasm. You didn’t worry about people hearing the two of you, not with how loud the music was playing, but so what if they did? You two wouldn’t be the first one caught fucking at the Christmas parties. “M-min I’m c-close” “Cum for me baby, cum on my face” How could you not listen to his instructions when he talked to you like that. He sounded so dirty, so sexy. You came on his face and fingers, and he didn’t waste one drop of it. Licking you completely clean. 

He smirked coming up to kiss you on the lips, his hand pushing you deeper and deeper into the kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. “You taste so good baby” he spoke lowly in between the kiss. Undoing his belt and pants simultaneously. He didn’t warn you, before sticking his tip in between your lips and into your hole completely filling you. You dug your nails into his shoulder, even with his shirt still on you knew he still would have dents. He hissed at the sting it felt so good yet so painful. But he couldn’t complain not when he was doing the same to your hips. “Fuck” he sighed at the feeling of your tightness around his pulsating cock. No matter the amount of times you fuck in a year, month, day, or hour he could never get tired of the way you felt around him. The feeling of him filling you up every single time. It was like every time was the first. “You ready baby” He whispered against the skin of your neck. You nodded slighting tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. “Fuck me Min” That's all he needed to hear before beginning to slide in and out of you. You may have never asked for the world but he always gifted you heaven when you made love. 

You gripped his back pulling him closer as he continued to thrust in and out of you. Obeying your every command of ‘harder’ and ‘faster’. Both the feeling of him going in and out of you at a fast rate paired with the dirty profanities he muttered, moaned, and groaned into your ear drawing you closer and closer to your peak. “FUCK MIN” You screamed squeezing around him. You didn’t have to say it he knew you well enough to know ‘that’ meant you were ready. He bit his lip, getting closer and closer, his legs growing weak and his thrust turned sloppy. “C-cum” he barely whispered but you heard him, even with the loud music outside that door you heard him. You came around him, Minho filling you up with his cum. 

“Boss… we wanna know if you and the misses wanna make a” The door opened to reveal one of his newfound friends. “Toast” “Shit” His employee closed the door quickly, his head resting against it. “Sorry… I should’ve knocked” “It’s fine Felix we’ll be there in a second” Minho muttered pulling out and picking up his pants tucking in his shirt and putting on his suit jacket once again. He grabbed a hand full of tissues quickly cleaning you up. You both knew with the lack of underwear to hold in his cum, it will no doubtly be leaking down your thighs. But you couldn’t do anything anymore, not with a crowd of people waiting for both of you to make a toast. 

“Merry Christmas Mr. Lee” You whispered taking his hand in your smiling as you both came out of the office. “Merry Christmas Mrs. Lee” He pecked your lips leading you back to the main hall. 

[rush-the-stars]

any spare thoughts abt yan kaeya 👀👀👀

yan kaeya....yan kaeya is sooooo....

cw: reader is drunk/helpless, obsession, mention of stalking, mention of harm to others, mention of masturbation, a sudden pov switch lol

***

the wine is tart and heady, crushed berries, plush in your mouth. makes your head spin. makes warmth blossom swift inside you, up against your cheeks, in your chest, pooling in the core of you.

the moon hangs heavy and round, sweetened gold, in the sky above your heads. the fire snaps and bursts into the night, people singing and dancing and drinking around it, just outside the city walls. the forest sings sweetly, a balmy, autumn night, the faint taste of late summer just on the back of your tongue.

you've traded your usual attire for a looser dress, rosy, just shy of a chemise. shawls and silks adorn your hips, drape around your shoulders. a bodice of white and gold and berry red hugs your waist and in the fire, flashes like the pretty fins of a fish, a little jewel in the night. you've lost your shoes long ago, dancing freely in the brush with friend and stranger and potential lover.

the night feels young and sweet. you laugh as you're spun around and around and around. the world blends and bleeds in night-color, deep tones, flashes of flame, and icy jewels.

kaeya watches coolly as you dazzle.

he's watched the whole night, unknown to you while you dance and drink and sing out into the sky.

(watched for longer than tonight, kept close eyes on you for some time now–couldn't help it, can't stand it, sick with it–)

and his patience wanes as he watches another man grab for your waist, twirl you into another dance. he commits the face to memory. if the man disappears tomorrow, whose to say? who would know?

(if you disappeared tomorrow, whose to say? who would know? he'd take care of you, he swears.)

you don't know it, but he's growing restless, watching, unable to look away. and he's a moment away from doing something he shouldn't when you all but twirl your way into his trap.

you stumble a little, head swimming with wine, gasping as he steadies you.

"well, look what we have here..." he croons.

"captain!" you squeak, righting yourself and oh, that embarrassed, surprised look on your face makes him grin. canines flash.

"you seem to be having a good time." he comments and when you try to step away, he doesn't quite let you. won't let you go now, not that he finally has you.

but you're so malleable like this, you melt easy into where he wants you. something tremendous and horrible flashes inside kaeya, runs it's teeth along the tender parts of him, as if the beast of his desire is asking to be let out, out, out–

"i am," you say earnestly, and then, sweet as you are, you ask, "are you?"

"yes, even more so now," he hums, twirling a strand of hair around his gloved finger.

"kaeya," you admonish and the way you say his name has that beast inside him purring, growling in satisfaction, "'lways the sweettalker–"

you slur the words together, gazing up at him with wide, beautiful eyes that catch the light of flame. you flutter your lashes like ashes upon your cheeks.

he thinks about taking your jaw in his hand. he thinks about taking you away from everyone here, everyone too interested in you for your own good. burning it all down simply because they looked at you, touched you, tried to have you the way he should have you. he thinks about how you'd melt caged beneath his arms. how your throat would look with something pretty to decorate it or his hand around it.

"dance with me," he says, taking your hands, guiding you back towards the fire.

"'m not sure if i–" you shake your head a little, trying to keep up with him, "kaeya, i'm feeling dizzy."

"one dance." he says, getting his hand around the curve of your waist to pull you right up against him, "and then i'll escort you home, like the chivalrous knight i am."

he smiles when he says it, sharp, like a fox.

you go easy enough, sweet rabbit you are, into his arms, let him guide you into a sultry dance to the strings and drums playing. hands all over your waist, your sides, skimming fingers along the underside of your arm to get back to your hands.

you shy away at first and he can't help it, can't help but dig into you a little;

"aw, have i made you nervous?" he asks when he's got his hips flush up against yours. and perhaps you can feel him, perhaps–

"you're so–" you gasp, "you're not as chival-chivalrous as you claim."

he laughs, low and hot in you ear.

but you warm to him and maybe it's the wine, maybe it's just because this is where you belong; in his arms, with him.

your torso turns like waves beneath his hands, up against his own body, and he can feel you move and twist in his arms. he turns you, lets you spin, lets you nimbly dance away, only for him to chase after you. you loosen up, listen to his commands;

"wrap your arms around me."

"that's it, sweet thing."

"now turn for me."

hands on your thighs, he lifts you, spins as the people around you cheer. as you toss your head back and giggle brightly, as a laugh of his own spills out.

and he has everyone fooled, he thinks, that he just wants to dance with you. that he is their good captain, just here for a night of revelry and not for you, you, you–

one dance turns into two, turns into his hands all over you, mouth hovering over yours. turns into kaeya pouring wine into your parted lips, letting it run rivulets down your gasping throat, your heaving chest, into your bodice.

he thinks of licking it clean, following the trail down, down, down–

one dance turns into him coveting you.

it turns into him guiding you away from the revelry finally, hand at the small of your back.

"you'll take me 'ome, kaeya?" you slur, clinging desperately, stumbling enough that he finally decides to lift you clear off the ground. you yelp in surprise, but your arms come around his neck and you tuck your face into his chest.

"of course," he purrs, even as he walks, you cradled in his arms, towards his own home, and not your own. helpless thing you are, even when you fuss a little, when you realize, dazedly, that this isn't your home, but his.

and if you wake up in his bed, covered in fur blankets, perhaps in his clothes, don't think too hard about it–kaeya's a knight, right? too good? he only took care of you. you're unharmed, clean, and warm beneath his covers, so he must've only helped you to bed.

(he was good, he vows to himself; he didn't touch you, just himself, to the sight of you beneath fur and his clothes, sleeping soundly.)

if a man from the night before has gone missing, you shouldn't think all that hard about him, either. can hardly remember, anyways, can you?

all you can remember is kaeya, is that it? and the water he coaxes into your lips the following morning? how fun he was to dance with the night before?

and the look in his eyes, maybe, when he finally caught hold of you and simply wouldn't let go.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 23: The Testing

Welcome back to my reread! The way to see spoilers for the whole series, yes that's right not just this book but everything all the way to the end, will come but once. Be steadfast. Or just click wildly, whatever you like. But if you like not being spoiled, don't click below and just keep doomscrolling through tumblr with no hope of escape.

This chapter has the Flame icon because it concerns one of the initiation rites of the White Tower.

Centered under the dome was a thing made of three rounded, silver arches, each just tall enough to walk under, sitting on a thick silver ring with their ends touching each other. Arches and ring were all of one piece.

So what the heck is this thing, one wonders. I've seen people suggest it's a holodeck with the safeties off, though that seems frivolous even by AoL standards since it seems to be connected to genuine mirror worlds. It may be some device meant for observing and experiencing such worlds that has become damaged in some way, causing memory loss. Maybe one of the forgotten Darkfriends of old built it as a bizarre punishment system.

All four Aes Sedai wore their shawls, as Sheriam did; blue-fringed for Sheriam, red for the swarthy woman by the table, green, white, and gray for the three around the arches.

We (a word which here means "the wiki") don't know who most of these ladies are, but apparently the "swarthy woman" is Silviana. Not too sure how we know this exactly (the Companion?) but hey! Hi Silviana! You're delightful.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and when it wills. Patience is a virtue that must be learned, but we must all be ready for the change of an instant.”

Nynaeve was patient really, by waiting at all, and she's more than ready for change. The Tower's usual deliberate refusal to communicate is silly under these circumstances. They could have given her something to do.

Nynaeve shook her head. It sounded either like too much to swear or too little, and she said so.

She's exactly right. The First Oath is too little and easily sidestepped, the others give up far too much utility and helped hinder the institution.

Light, child, I am trying to teach you what any other woman standing where you are would have learned over the course of years.

Honestly Sheriam is pretty good as an undercover Black, giving a huge infodump that's legit and not misleading. And I suppose it's pretty appropriate we transition from Moiraine acknowledging the Black to a big spiel by one.

Once you begin, you must continue to the end. Refuse to go on, and no matter your potential, you will be very kindly put out of the Tower with enough silver to support you for a year, and you will never be allowed back.

Oh look it's another policy that only guarantees the Tower doesn't get the numbers it needs.

Some women have entered, and never come out.

And don't forget that this is a price of the ter'angreal they chose to use. They aren't selecting for great women this way, just the stubborn ones who get lucky.

You may turn back now, right now, and I will put your name in the novice book, and you will have only one mark against you.

Literally the only sensible winnowing process they have! If after three chances a woman still doesn't think she's ready, then unless it's the Tower's teachings itself that failed her (and we don't see evidence that such happens often), it's a good sign that she's not ever going to be ready.

I must make Moiraine pay for what she has done to us. I must.

I'm still sad she never quite gets to act on this. It's such a great motivation.

Nynaeve’s cheeks colored at forgetting already what Sheriam had told her on the way down from her room. Hastily she removed her clothes, her shoes and stockings.

Note that she's not at all ashamed to be naked in front of strangers.

And note that this is the first of many "all ladies must be naked" sequences. Yes there's some historical accuracy here, but you'll note that the Black Tower never picks up such a tradition even under Taim's messed up supervision.

Taking a deep breath, she went on straight, through more passages that all looked exactly alike.

It is the nature of video games, even magic post-apocalyptic ones, that sooner or later someone will reinvent Colossal Cave Adventure.

Dimly, she remembered playing mazes on paper as a child; there had been a trick to finding your way out, but she could not bring it to mind.

There are many tricks to exhausting mazes, though not every trick works for every maze. The simplest and most well known is to pick a wall and follow it. In a maze where both entry and exit are upon the outer perimeter, this is guaranteed to work eventually. On the other hand, if you start in the middle like Nynaeve (or if you want to reach the center from the outside), this might not work. The walls may not all be connected, so you loop around to where you started without ever reaching your destination.

She started to take the left fork . . . and spun around at another glimpse of movement. There was nothing there, but this time she was sure. There had been someone behind her. Was someone.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how pathetic is it that dream Aginor manages to be a more compelling threat than he was in book 1 or books 6 through 9?

“You are a pretty one, girl. I will enjoy you.” Suddenly Nynaeve remembered she wore not a stitch.

While obviously the main threat here is the implication of rape, let's step past that and get into the metaphorical. Nudity isn't the normal state of affairs in the arch worlds, only this one. This is Nynaeve beyond the Two Rivers, in a place where the authority she covers herself with is entirely absent. Aginor isn't just the Forsaken, he's also to a degree everyone she's had to deal with since she's left home - even the Aes Sedai who gleefully relish recruiting such a powerhouse.

“You dare? You dare!” He quivered, and spittle leaked down his chin.

This is honestly a pretty good prep for how scary we should actually think the Forsaken are: not at all.

“You cannot! It cannot be!”

Another reason I think Aginor is as much a stand-in for the Aes Sedai as he is for his allies in this sequence is that protests that Nynaeve can't have done awesome stuff and pointless hostility define their reactions to her.

And she could feel Aginor doing . . . something, as well. Dimly she felt it, and far distant, as if it were something she could never truly know, but around her she saw the effects and knew them for what they were.

Early installment weirdness? Or perhaps one of the tells that this isn't real; the arch isn't really drawing on saidin (or perhaps draws to a lesser extent on both), so Nynaeve has a dim awareness of it now that she's connected.

She looked back at Aginor, just in time to see him crawl out of sight over the mounded stone and disappear. She hissed in frustration.

Finally, and rather disappointingly in contradiction to what I've been saying, the last reason to view Aginor as a stand-in for the Aes Sedai is that to succeed in what she has to do, Nynaeve needs to give up her feud with Moiraine and not worry about what she's up to out of sight.

“You are washed clean of what sin you may have done,” the Aes Sedai intoned, “and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul.”

See what I mean? No reason to include this if not to say that the Moiraine feud is being wiped clean.

“That isn’t supposed to be possible. You should not even remember being able to channel.”

"Not possible! You dare channel in our sacred space?"

It's really rather a blatant parallel now that I'm seeing it.

She kept her memories, and she channeled the One Power when she was threatened. And she came out with her abilities burned to nothing, unable to channel, unable even to sense the True Source. The second to go in was also warded, and she, too, was destroyed in the same way.

To me it sounds like it's the wards plus channeling that cause problems, not the channeling itself. That's one hell of a vicious anti-cheating mechanism though.

There was more than an air of neglect about it, whitewash faded, a shutter hanging loose, the rotted end of a rafter showing at a gap in the roof tiles.

A final final reason (for real this time?) to consider Aginor a stand-in for the Aes Sedai as much as himself is that otherwise the past/present system doesn't line up. The Forsaken are real, present threats and the Two Rivers isn't exactly, but if Aginor is as much about Nynaeve's fear of the Power (oh shit it's that too) and the Aes Sedai then it makes sense that that's a trial she's already put behind her just by being in the Tower. Abandoning her notions of herself as a Two Rivers woman though, that's a harder struggle. It's not Bran neglecting his inn, it's Nynaeve neglecting the whole of her home.

“If Malena knows you’re here, there will be trouble. I just know Cenn went scurrying off to find her. He’s the Mayor, now.”

Malena's name of course comes from the Latin "malus", meaning "bad" or "evil".

She beat Alsbet all around the Green with a stick, and none of us who saw had the nerve to try to stop it.

Nice try, silver arches! There's no possible Mirror World where the Two Rivers folk would watch the blacksmith's wife get beat up and not immediately tear the aggressor to shreds.

She said that was why they died; the Light abandoned them. She talks about sin all the time.

Sin doesn't really get brought up a whole bunch in this universe. Like obviously becoming a Darkfriend is sinning and the Whitecloaks claim all sorts of stuff is tantamount to being a Darkfriend, but it's not as if more mundane behavior gets this description usually. Yet in this chapter the Aes Sedai mention it without and Malena worries about it within. Is she yet another reflection of Nynaeve's fear of the Aes Sedai? Destroying families, marking men with the Dragon... It's not too far off from how Nynaeve sees Moiraine, is it?

If she can’t make you afraid of her, she makes you think you need her for the children.

Is this how Nynaeve internally views her discussion with Moiraine after Shadar Logoth? Moiraine couldn't make Nynaeve be afraid of her but she could make her worry about Egwene and the boys even though she was the reason Nynaeve worried about them at all.

The way back—No! These are my people!

Not anymore. :(

“We have to run. We have to hide. Nynaeve, come on. Cenn will have told her who you are. She hates anyone even to speak of you.”

Does Nynaeve think Moiraine doesn't much like Lan speaking of her, I wonder.

“You are washed clean of false pride. You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul.”

Nynaeve's not a Wisdom anymore. It wasn't her real path.

The third is the worst. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. What could be worse than what I just did?

Having to walk away from the happy ending already won for you.

The city had a thousand gardens, but she preferred this wild garden on the hilltop.

Because a garden growing by itself in what was so recently the Blight feels more wonderous than those maintained by human hands?

“Go back? Where? To Emond’s Field? If you wish it. I’ll send letters to Morgase, and command an escort.”

Morgase of course won't be queen at this point. I wonder what reason besides dramatic necessity causes the arches to get a few things wrong.

To her horror, she found herself remembering him as her husband, remembering laughter and tears, bitter arguments and sweet making up. They were dim memories, but she could feel them growing stronger, warmer.

Did some fools in the AoL think that the Dark One's reach was limited purely to their timeline? Did they build this device in the hopes of finding a place beyond his touch, that would let them forget the horrors of the Shadow and recall all the sweet memories in its place instead?

I could stay here. With Lan. Nothing has changed. Her thoughts turned. Nothing has changed. Egwene is alone in the White Tower. Rand will channel the Power and go mad. And what of Mat and Perrin? Can they take back any shred of their lives? And Moiraine, who tore all our lives apart, still walks free.

It says a great deal about Nynaeve's character that the thing that gets her out of this gilded cage is her love for the others.

And also, I do so love ironic echoes, even if they're only separated by a single sentence.

She tried to picture the arch in her mind, to shape it and form it to the last detail, curve of gleaming metal filled with a glow like snowy fire. It seemed to waver there, in front of her, first there between her and the trees, then not, then there.

Perhaps this is just an ordinary entertainment device. Perhaps you forget for the immersive experience and then the arch is meant to be a primer to remind you of what you're supposed to call back to you. It seems unlikely that only Nynaeve would have this capability, after all. Presumably others should have been able to call the archway back, if only they'd known how.

Child, almost every woman who does this says much the same thing. It is no small thing to be made to face your fears.

It's no wonder so many women go Black, with trauma being such a central part of their identities as sisters. And the arches were only found after the Trolloc Wars, when the corruption began in earnest...

A gift from Ishamael?

“There shouldn’t be any scarring. And how did you only get two, and both placed so precisely? If you tangled yourself in a blackthorn bush, you should be covered with scratches and thorns.”

If scarring yourself permanently is part of the exit conditions, I could definitely see this being something Ishamael specifically devised. Not from scratch of course, he's not an engineer, but a relic he deliberately tampered with, setting admin access at a high price. There is always a price.

The Amyrlin’s eyes seemed to hold a dark glow. Nynaeve’s shiver had nothing to do with being naked and wet.

Yeah, this really only cements the Aginor thing. Too late now to escape, Nynaeve! You've committed.

Next time: A whole bunch of characters from book 1 come back. Some of them plan on being important this book, and others are only flirting with importance for the next three or twelve.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

How do you think the circus troop would react to their s/o knitting them something?

aaaaa I'm a crocheter who's been making hats for my one coworker and her kids, my boss, and my boss' friend (coworker's had some bad luck lately so I thought I'd start making some cute stuff for her and her babies to cheer them up, my boss is going thru chemo, and her friend has hair loss from various issues so she loves wearing hats)

so I would TOTALLY make something for all these babes too <3 <3 <3

It’s… a shawl? Ah, Lord, they didn’t ‘afta do that f’r ‘er! It’s too much. Really, she can scarcely imagine the amount of work that goes into making an article of clothing. Into making anything from scratch, out of just fabric and time. She might be a little oblivious to the fact that they made it, at first; thinking perhaps that they bought it for her. Once it clicks that they made it, with their own two hands, just for her? She rarely takes the damn thing off. It makes her feel like she’s worth all the effort they put into it. Like (Name) wants to invest time into her and her happiness. She might wear it so much she wears it out, but, surely they’ll make her another after she does.

Aww, wot’s this, now… a little sheath f’r ‘is knives?! Noooo, that’s so precious! Oi, c’mere, in f’r a ‘ug, ‘e loves it. Just looking at that makes his head spin. He does a bit of woodworking with his knives, whittling and that, so he knows the amount of effort that goes along with creating something. He can’t wrap his mind around how long this took them to make, between figuring the actual pattern of it and then the actual manual work. It’s something he’s going to treasure until it wears out (and probably even after that), a material thing which makes him feel… worthy. His sweetheart made it for him. That makes it the most important thing in the world.

Eh? Somethin’ f’r them? Like a gift, ‘ey? … Wait, they made this?? (Name) is tellin’ ‘er they took some fabric, ‘n’ some needles, ‘n’ made a li’l ‘air decoration? Honestly, Freckles adores this thing. Not only does it look just perfect as to their sense of style, their S/O has somehow made it suitably unisex so that she can wear it whether she’s having a feminine or a neutral day. She thanks them about a million times, attaches it to her head immediately, and then runs around showing it off to everyone who will tolerate her. “Look at this, my love made it f’r me, ain’t that somethin’?!” She almost can’t believe someone wanted to do something like that for her. Now that they have, though, she isn’t going to let it go to waste!

Ah? Wot’s that? A gift f’r ‘im? Aww, sweet’eart, they didn’t need tae do that! … Huh, it’s a scarf, though. Because they noticed he has one he likes wearing, but it’s beginning to get a little threadbare. And of course, there’s really no spare money to replace something that isn’t necessarily essential. He laughs, as their solution was apparently to buy a cheap bit of yarn and knit him one themself! He finds that incredibly adorable, and… it’s so selfless, is the way he looks at it. Something of his needed replacing; rather than work themself ragged to raise money to buy a replacement, they simply got the materials and made one. He gives them a kiss and thanks them… before proceeding to put it on, and give them his old scarf, saying that if they think they can make something useful with the fabric, it’s theirs. He’s thoroughly grateful and in awe of their kind heart.

Hm? They actually made somethin’ f’r ‘im? ‘E would guess somethin’ smaller, since even somethin’ small f’r ‘im would be awful big. He would be expecting a small knitted piece of jewelry, like a knitted ring or something simple. The surprise when his S/O presents him with a pair of new arm warmers is visible on his face. His assumption is that they spent months making those things, which… on the one hand, he’s touched that they went to all that trouble. On the other hand, he almost feels like they wasted time. They could have been doing something else instead, right? He doesn’t say that, not outright. And he wears those things, proudly. His old ones are gone, because these ones are much more precious.

Oi, wot’d they do, then, buy ‘im a ‘at? Waste’a money, ‘e’s already got one. It might be small, sure, but it fits the costume. He’s borderline dismissive, telling them they might as well give it to someone else or try to get their money back. He doesn’t replace things till they’re falling apart, so he doesn’t need it. Then, as soon as he realizes this isn’t something they bought, it’s something they made him, out of love, he’s stunned. He doesn’t get it. Why throw away all that time and work on a gift for someone like him? Suddenly he snatches it back, snapping that he might as well wear it so they didn’t completely waste all their time making it. Although he treats it as some big favor, his S/O can just ask Wendy — he loves that ‘stupid thing’.

(… Is that an entire blanket?) It, ah. It appears to be, Keats. (Will we get to snuggle up in it?!) Well, Donne, (Name) said it was a gift, so… he supposes he can do whatever he’d like with it? Despite the fact that he appears awfully relaxed about it, on the inside he’s breaking down sobbing. No one has ever given him something like this that they bought, let alone something like this that they’ve made. It’s such a big thing, so much work for them to have made. And it’s really just because they love him and wanted to do it for him? It might sound pathetic, but he cries into the blanket later, wrapped up in it, feeling every single bit of their love for him that they poured into it. If they’d so like, he would beg them to cuddle up inside it with him. That’s why they made it so big, right? So that it could fit two? Plus some snakes??

Tch, did they really buy ‘er a silly pair’a cloth shoes? Like ballet flats? She didn’t really need a new pair, ‘er old ones only ‘ave a couple ‘oles. Peter coulda sewn ‘em up again. She realizes quickly than her brother would that her S/O made these, not bought them, and then her reaction does a complete flip. She takes the shoes in her hands carefully, looking them over as if she’s just been given some kind of precious jewels. It’s a soft question, of wondering if they actually went to all this trouble for her. Regardless of the shape her old shoes were in, even if they were perfect, she’d be grateful that (Name) wanted to make something like this for her. Even though she does keep her old ones just in case, there’s no denying that she starts to wear the ones they made her as her everyday shoes.

[inthishousewestanspiderpunk]

Hey all! Long see, no time! I know this has been a Spiderpunk blog lately, but I'm still very much into Encanto and when I saw an OC appreciation month event run by @encanto-extended-edition, I figured why not? Now, I was going to go with another OC of mine called Nadja and whilst she will still pop up, the focus is going to mainly be on Ariadne and her daughter, Luz. I hope you enjoy this and also give the other blogs taking part in this a look! They're a great bunch of people and deserve all the love!

TTFN, ta ta for now!

Charlotte :) x

Name - Ariadne "Ari" Cabrera

Height - 5"2

Looks reference - Adassa

Colours - teal (dress) , gold (make up and bandana) , magenta (shawl)

Age - 28

Drawing done by @prophetic-hijinks

Born in the impoverished area of Cartegena to a poor, but loving and resourceful single mother, Ariadne "Ari" Cabrera is the mother of Luz, best friend of Noelle and later on, becomes Bruno's wife. She has two younger brothers, Fernando and Ricardo, and being the oldest child and no father figure in the house, she was unoffically made the second parent. As a result, she had to grow up more quickly than others her age and would confide in her stuffed toy pig, Chicharrón.

She's similar to Mrs Squibbles in Monsters University in that she's motherly and caring, but loves her "weird" music, mainly pop punk and Camilo is surprised she knows a lot of the same bands he enjoys. Having two younger brothers as well as her ex partner being into similar, she's more than familiar with it.

Ariadne is small, but very strong and stocky. She's actually one of the strongest ones without a gift and bonds with Luisa on weightlifting and proper technique, as well as their shared love of Greek mythology.

She's always been very headstrong and from a young age, she has been able to stand up for others, but not always herself. However, it wasn't until Luz was born that she started to talk back, her reasoning being how would Luz have the courage to stand up to herself and say no if she sees her mama can't do it for herself? And she doesn't want her daughter growing up thinking that her place is in the home and that she has to obey men and authority.

[h0neylevi]

Hi Sage, how are you? For the ask games, hope it's alright, I'm a bit nosy 👉👈 Fanfic asks: 8. What project(s) are you currently working on? 14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick? Get to know asks: 4. What is your favorite book? 77. Do you have any pets? What are their names?

Flo you can ask me about literally anything forever 🫶🏻 I’m doing well though! How are you?

8. So I’m currently putting all of my creative energy into two things. One is a non-fic work, but the other is House of Cards. It’s my fantasy Levi x reader story :)

Just for fun, here’s an unedited snippet from the next chapter, where reader is trying to practice her manipulation of nature-based magic by controlling a colony of ants:

You take a breath and try to concentrate on the group. In past exercises, Petra had suggested that you try grounding yourself by focusing on things around you—the feeling of the breeze on your skin and the sound of birds in the trees. All nature, all with their own energies that can be harnessed. You try and focus on the warmth of the sun draping over your shoulders like a comforting shawl. You can do this. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen much progress since the first day. It would take some time, Petra had said. Ants continue to travel up and down the hill. A shadow looms over your shoulder, briefly blocking out the sun. “What are you doing?” Without looking up, you say, “Shh. I’m concentrating.” You watch as the ants at the bottom begin to slow down, turning, as if lost or confused, in the opposite direction. “I don’t think that constipated look on your face is helping,” Levi says. “You’re overthinking it.” You look up, causing the ants to scatter. “Well, it was beginning to work until you interrupted me.”

14. I wish I had more variety under my belt by now, but I don’t so I’m gonna go with House of Cards for this one too. It’s the one that I’ve put the most thought into and is currently the one that’s the most fleshed out.

4. I don’t know if I really have a favorite book right now. I recently finished the priory of the orange tree, and that was really good even if it did leave me with questions. I’m currently reading book two of the shades of magic series by v. e. schwab, and it seems pretty interesting so far. other than those, I’ve abandoned the last two books I’ve started, so if you have any recs, let me know!

77. I do have pets! I have two dogs and a cat. I feel like their names are kind of unique though, so I’d rather not give them out 😅 it flares my anxiety about being anonymous here, if that makes sense

[stargirlstudio]

Citrine and Sapphire [Part 2]

☆ Aemond Targaryen x Princess of Leng!Reader

☆ Physical attributes canon to Lengii people, she/her pronouns, no y/n, you only go by a royal title (Princess)

☆ 1st/3rd POV, graphic language use (c*ck, c*nt, wh*re), misogyny, HOTD attitudes towards women

☆ WC: 6.1k

☆ Summary: A chance to further the Princess's education goes awry, but Prince Aemond offers something in place of that. A simple game turns into reality as the new players in the political game reveals their intentions.

☆ Guide:

[ ] - Lengii language

{ } - YiTish language

⇦ Part 1

Princess's POV

A few months ago, the Leng performers and the servants had been dismissed at my mother's request. They were only permitted to accompany me and entertain the Westerosi; now that the celebrations were over, they were to leave. Princess Rhaenys, who had attended me, also went. I still remember how she held me as if she were my own mother. 

Right after the servants had been dismissed, I was requested to have clothing made for me by the seamstresses, fitting me in floor-length gowns. Today, over twenty dresses have been delivered. The handmaidens had already placed my old home clothes in a chest. I remembered watching them fold my dresses neatly as the seamstresses had me stand on a ledge. Every poke and prod accompanied by my whole life going away in a dark hide latched trunk. I had worn those dresses when I left, when I walked through the markets of YiTi, when we made a trade deal with the Jogos Nhai, when I spent time in Qarth, and at every stop on my year-long journey. I tried my best to chase after them and get one piece of importance, but when they grabbed my hand to hold me back, I would not see those pieces for a long time. 

I brushed my hands against the embroidered red fabric. It felt rough to the skin and was hard to move in. At least the outside was soft, the crushed velvet was fun to play with, and the cream accent was beautiful. There had been word swirling amongst the nobility; they thought my clothing was a little…revealing. The neckline of my dress was much higher than I was used to, and my shoulders were no longer bare. I miss the loose shawls and tightly draped fabric. My ankle-length skirts allowed my mobility. Queen Alicent had some concerns…wanting to protect my dignity, which is why the seamstresses were employed. This was never a problem at Driftmark.

The woman braiding my hair asked, "Princess? Am I pulling too hard?" I shook my head, softly saying "no" - if I spoke any louder, I was afraid I would start quivering. I hadn't noticed the tears streaming down my face until a droplet ran down my hand.

"I'm not used to my hair being pulled on, that's all," I lied. "Do I look fine?" 

The servant beamed, "Like a proper lady now," The servant, I think is named Marynn, could be no older than 10 and 8. Only a few years older than me. She picked up the gold hairpin from the table. "Would you like this in your hair?" I nodded. It was a gift from Baela. When I first came to Westeros, I stayed at Driftmark for a while until Princess Rhaenys felt I would be more suited with other princes and princesses. "King Viserys and his family can offer you much more," She said one day. "They have been wanting to meet you for some time, but I'm afraid I cannot take care of you," At that time, I had no regrets about coming to Westeros, and I understood. By the time I came to Driftmark, Lord Corlys, the man my mother and even my late grandmother trusted in his care, was battling at the Step Stones. Now that I'm here in King's Landing, it feels dangerous. Everything has changed. Xhoha had taken a liking to the Small Council, and King Viserys offered to have him sit in on some of their affairs. 

A knock on the door caused the servant to poke my head with the pin. I swatted her hand away and stood abruptly, causing the wooden chair to fall. "I'm sorry!" I said. "Are you fine?" I asked her. She nodded, visibly shaking, clutching the fabric on her smock. 

"Princess, it's time to go to your lessons with the Septa," Ser Criston called. "Princess-"

"I will be out soon!" I said, annoyed. "You are dismissed," I told her. She bowed and made her way out of the door. She squeaked upon seeing Ser Criston, and I followed behind her. We watched her as she scurried down the hall. 

He eyed me, "Is everything alright, Princess?" He paused. "Trouble in the quarters?" 

I rolled my eyes, "Just…my hair was not done," I lied. Ser Criston Cole chuckled before we continued our walk. My quarters were in an open part of the castle, with large windows open before I woke. Sunlight beaming in and light breezes; despite this, the stone of the railing felt cold. Not a moment longer, I saw Xhoha and an unfamiliar man conversing, another Lord. Ser Criston bowed. 

"Ah, you must be Lady Leng. I have been meaning to meet you," The nobleman said. He had dark blonde hair cutting right below his ears, and his armor shined. He raised an eyebrow at my dress. "My nephew danced with you at your welcoming festival," I remembered him. I felt so clumsy, and my hands must have been shaking. "I was quite jealous," Xhoha gave me a deadly stare. "I understand Jaehaerys and Jaehaera's name day celebration is soon. Will you be in attendance?"

I looked to Xhoha for an answer, his face relaxing, "Yes, Lord Tyland, she will be in attendance. Will Tylen attend as well?" The man nodded. 

"That boy is always off doing something," Lord Tyland's eyes shifted to my dress again, his eyes averting to my mouth. "Lady Leng, I must say you look lovely in those colors," He said, exasperated. "I must be off," Lord Tyland bowed; Xhoha and Ser Criston did as well. My advisor nudged me, and I turned too late for him to see. I felt a pit in my stomach as I watched him leave. 

"{How do you mean?}" I asked. Xhoha lifted my arm in the air. The stray thread and his nail pinching through the sleeve. His eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth hung open, showing his stained teeth. He was always scary when mad.

"{When a Lord is talking to you, you must address him by that title. You must learn the names of the Lords and Ladies and their houses. You bow to them, treat them with respect, and bow when they leave. Do you understand?}" In the past months, Xhoha had been insistent I learn the ways of Westerosi. He had been the one to adopt their clothing before me. He even trimmed his dark hair and kept his long mustache at a short, respectable length. He went from Pentoshi linens to damask shirts. Gone are the days when the marks of his culture shined on him. "{Show some respect for your- I mean Lord Tyland}," 

"{I am just making sure you do not make a fool of yourself,}" He said as he loosened his grip. My arm sank back to my side as we continued to the Septa. Xhoha had always been a man who strayed from no orders, but I cannot remember if costuming as a Westerosi was one of them. Xhoha, while aloof and stern, never the one to crack a joke unless someone tried, was a respectable man. He may have adopted the Westerosi man's attitude as well. They do not treat their women kindly here. 

"{Have you asked King Viserys for permission for me to learn with his son's Maester?"} I asked. "{I fear that my education is being hindered}," 

"A woman does not learn with the Maester!" He abruptly switched to Common Tongue. "The noble women learn with the Septa. Septa Jayne does not need to be here anymore, but you shall be grateful. It is just as important as whatever the Maesters are teaching the boys," He paused. "I teach you just fine when we are alone {I will not have you around Prince Aemond}," 

"If it is just as important, why am I not allowed?" I asked him. {And why not? He is kind to his sister}," Xhoha grabbed me by the shoulders, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. He gritted his teeth as his eyes bore into mine. I had never seen him this way before. 

"Because you are a woman! An unwed woman!" He yelled. The guards posted around the hall, far and few, said nothing as he continued his onslaught and humiliation. "In Westeros, it is different here, Princess!" He yelled before demeaning to a whisper. "You should be lucky you are not Queen Alicent's lady-in-waiting. Look at Princess Helaena. Do you want that to be your fate?" 

"Do not mock the cards she has been dealt," I said. "{Yes, I am unwed, but why does that mean anything? Can I not have a friend? You were fine when Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela were my friends}," He gripped my wrist, his nail piercing into my skin. 

"{They were girls! I know what the men of Westeros are like. The princes especially}," He sneered. "They fuck common whores, beat their women, and spit in the faces of those beneath them. The King may have the power - by the gods, even the older Lords are much safer. Still, it is the Princes who have the vigor to fuck anyone at their will," Abruptly letting go when he saw Prince Aemond in the distance, "We will continue this later," I looked at the harsh crescents in my skin. He had never done that before. 

My thumb rubbed at my skin. Prince Aemond, who was coming the opposite way, had his ever-present unwavering stare. We both bowed, and so did he. 

"Hello, Princess," He said before glinting his eyes at my advisor. "And…you," 

"Xhoha Bahyrr," He quickened. "I'm taking Lady Leng to Septa Jayne," Aemond's eyebrow twitched slightly while Xhoha's hands wavered. I have a feeling that the Prince finds him…annoying. Which makes me laugh.  

"I'm well aware. Where else would she be at this hour?" He said sarcastically. "And I believe her title is Princess, is it not?" Aemond asked. "I am confused as to why people have been calling you Lady Leng?"

"Lady and Princess are not the same?" I asked. Xhoha laughed while Aemond stared at him. 

"It seems you have been led astray," He glared at Xhoha. I could feign his slight smile, indeed feeling proud of himself after that comment. "What do they call you in Leng?" Aemond continues, his eyes softening and his arms crossed.

I pause, "Léi dai Leng or Léi Leng, that would be the translation. It means the Divine Princess," I say. He seemed content. 

"If I call you Léi Leng, would that be proper?" I nodded. "I seem to be upholding you both. I'll be going in the same direction; perhaps we can walk together," He said. Prince Aemond slowed, matching me as we walked side by side, with Xhoha trailing behind. I glanced over, his lips slightly pursed with his hands behind his back. In these past months, I had small conversations with the young Prince. His brother was always drunk or stumbling while his sister was preoccupied with the children. I see Queen Alicent the most. And King Viserys the least. Aemond turned his head, noting Xhoha was out of earshot, making small talk with a guard. "Are you alright?" 

"I am fine," I say, hiding my wrist in my sleeves. Aemond let out a minor "hm," and my body went hot with embarrassment, hoping he had not heard that conversation. 

"No one shall do that to you again," He said. "Especially a man with no title," Aemond turned his head to look at me. "Why was he yelling at you?" 

I turned back, ensuring he could not hear me — just to find out he was gone. Indeed talking with another lord. "He…well, there had been numerous occasions where I asked to perhaps learn under your Maester. I miss my lessons on history and politics," I said. "It was required for girls and boys of the crown to learn the same subjects. I had simply wanted to learn how…everything is done here," Aemond listened intently, with his hands still behind his back. "He has changed," I said solemnly. 

"I was unaware of your wants. I believe Xhoha has not talked to my father at all. I will arrange for you to join me," He said indignantly. "…during lessons," 

My eyes widened. "Oh no, I could not ask you for such a favor," I said. 

"I'll make sure of it," He continued as we walked. Aemond held up a hand to shield himself from the sunlight. "What is your favorite subject?" 

"History and Literature," I said. "I have become fond of poetry," I pause, gauging his reaction. "My father said that it is attractive to be well educated. He said it would help bring in more suitors, but that reasoning seemed to only work on my older brother Xian," 

"He is right," Aemond said. "I share your love of history as well," He pointed. "I am interested In philosophy," He raised. "How many siblings do you have?" 

I clasped my fingers, "I have three others. I am the youngest. My eldest brother Hanh, the second eldest Xian, my twin, and then I," I said softly. "I cannot share my sister's name because she is the crown princess," 

Aemond continued asking me more questions, conversing with me all the way to the courtyard.

—

Aemond's POV

Aemond hid behind one of the walls at the end of the hallway, listening in on a conversation with a woman and the Princess's advisor's conversation. He peaked around, just as the man gripped the lady's arm, his breath rugged and his eyes piercing into hers. Aemond immediately moved out of the way, stalking the man, but when he seemed to calm down, Aemond kept his composure. The man bowed first while the woman turned around to bow second. It was the Princess of Leng. The one-eyed Prince looked at her from head to toe. No longer is she wearing the form-hugging fabrics of pink and purple. Her sets of bangles are still present, her hair in a Crownlands-style braided bun. Her dress is a formidable rouge color. The scent of her perfumes still remains strong. An amber fragrance with a lingering sweetness of vanilla and an induction of jasmine.

"Hello, Princess," He said, his eyes lingering on the Princess. "And you…?"

"Xhoha Bahyrr," The man with the mustache said. After some grating conversations, Aemond joined the pair as they walked to the courtyard. Aemond, after losing an eye, had been attuned to noises at an amplified volume. A flicker of a fire, nobles chewing on dry goose meat, and the advisor's incessant hacking were louder. The smell of his tobacco was sour and unpleasant. How the Princess could handle her advisor was something he could not fathom. 

A few times, Aemond eavesdropped on their lessons when they were in the gardens or at a table in the courtyard. From the moment the Prince laid eyes on the Pentoshi man, he could see that he was power-hungry…and…stupid. Indeed a man of such low status could not correctly teach the Princess what she wants to know. And the conversation he had just overheard was no different. A girl clearly exhausted by her own education, even she could tell he was lacking. And while Aemond had taken to watching the Princess from afar, he had little chance to interact with her. Again, her advisor, whose name he had already forgotten, seemed to conveniently whisk her away. 

Now that they are alone, with the advisor walking away with another lord, Aemond could be cordial and kind to the guest. Perhaps it was his mother who had suggested he talk to her. "The Princess told me she has not talked to you. She wishes to," Alicent said a few days ago. "Please welcome her; she knows nothing of us," Alicent said. "Poor thing,"

"She has wished to talk to me!" An unexplainable excitement. Now that the moment has arrived, Aemond finds himself talking about the mundane. Schooling. Education. Family. Poetry. She spoke of the poets from Qarth and their legendary love tales, rivaling the storytellers of Westeros. How her fathers gave her poetry books, her one regret was not bringing them along. Aemond admired how she talked of her family so freely. Such admiration in her eyes for her own kin, he had wished he felt the same. The young Prince would watch as not one nor two but three servants rushed past him in the halls, carrying boxes of treasures and piles of letters. It took more than a raven for whatever Léi Leng received. Aemond couldn't even get a loving glance from his father. 

"I only wish to be immortalized," She said as they both entered the courtyard. The sun shone on her, illuminating her skin and bringing him back to their conversations of poets. "Not in some book about a war," She paused. "Or violence," 

"It is the ones after us that tell tales," Aemond remarked. Septa Jayne stood in shock at the sight before her. She bowed to the both of them and then circled around the Princess. While a frail woman, her stare was like a hawk's. She began to smile, impressed by the Léi's new clothes. Aemond noticed even more details, now that he stood behind her. The hairpin, a standard style in Driftmark — is a gift. The absence of flowers in her hair. The Princess had taken a few steps, and there was the jingle of tiny bells on her anklets, muffled by the heavy dress. Septa Jayne glanced at the young Prince. 

"Prince Aemond, the Princess looks beautiful does she not?" Septa Jayne asked. Aemond had remembered what the advisor said, about men in Westeros. Thoughts pushed against each other in his head, not wanting to raise offense to the Princess. She has always looked beautiful. Well-groomed, clean, and proper. Aemond had no feelings for her, but telling a woman she looked pretty was not a crime. Though the Princess may have some strong feelings about the men here, he would not want the Princess to think that is true for him. He would be more than some lustful man. Much more than the insolentness of his brother. "I am only asking if she is a sight, Prince Aemond. Though I take your silence as a…no?" The old woman pressed again.

"She looks," Aemond pauses, catching her scent once she turns around. "She looks…fine," Septa Jayne blinked numerous times before letting out a soft chuckle. She held onto the Princess's arm, telling her they'd walk. The Princess is to paint in the gardens. They said their goodbyes, and before they took more steps, "Léi Leng!" Aemond started. "I'll see you tomorrow with Maester Dallin," And with that, Aemond walked in the opposite direction he came. His journey to his sister's quarters would have been short had he not walked the Princess to the courtyard, but I'm sure his little niece and nephew can mind the wait. 

Aemond sat cross-legged; Jaehaera bounced on his knee, tugging the length of his hair while Jaehaerys napped on his chest. He could feel small strands of drool on the side his nephew was on. Helaena embroidered caterpillars on the round piece of fabric, occasionally looking up to see her brother cooing at her daughter. 

"I think we need to call a maid to take them off your shoulders," Helaena teased. Aemond said nothing, shushing his little niece, quieting her constant babbling. He looked up at his sister; her eyes sunken in, and her pallor was gray, no doubt tired from either the children or their brother Aegon. He remembers the harsh words from the Princess' advisor just an hour ago, a cruel fate that he will never understand.

"That is not necessary," He said before little Jaehaera smacked them. "Has mother been taking care of the festivities?" The twin's name day is on the next moon, and Queen Alicent had taken to prepare for their celebration, a most appropriate hunting party in the Kingswoods. Aemond had never quite understood the need for celebration that involved hunting, for the celebration of a toddler's birth no less, but it is always just a gathering for the lords and ladies. 

He had remembered his own hunting party for his 7th name day. It was awful. An acute food poisoning, how could he get sick from a freshly hunted deer? 

"She has," Helaena said. "The eagle will be your guide," She whispered just before a guard announced Alicent's presence. Their mother walked in, stressed once again. In moments like these, the Prince wonders if Léi Leng's mother is always running around. Or…would it be her father's? 

Alicent smiled, picking up Jaehaera and bouncing her up and down. Helaena quickly put down her materials, hovering over the child while their mother insisted on holding them. "Everything is final," Alicent said. "The festivities will be underway…though in your father's condition, it may be hard for him to actually do any hunting," 

"Mother, may I talk to you?" Aemond asks. "To put in a word," She nods. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are given to the maids. Once they step out, Aemond has difficulty looking at his mother. He can tell when Alicent only focuses on his eye patch, the shakiness of her hand that only quelled as years went on. So Aemond turns his head. "I have…made conversation with Léi Leng," 

"Lay what?" Alicent said. 

"Léi Leng. That is what her people call her. It means Divine Princess of Leng," His mother was shocked, knowing of her son's quest for knowledge. "I am glad you spoke to her. How did this come about?" Aemond was silent. 

"I caught them. Léi Leng and her advisor are on their way to Septa Jayne. He had some other pressing duties, so I took her to the courtyard," Alicent stood still. "She said she wants to learn under Maester Dallin. To join me during my lessons,"

"Aemond, I do not think that-"

"She has been begging her advisor for months. I've heard them together. That Pentoshi man's teachings are all wrong," He explains. 

Alicent sighed. "Women learn with the Septa," Her brows furrowed. "I cannot imagine what word would swirl if they learn that she is being taught under the Maester," She pauses. "I have heard whispers from the handmaidens of her cries for home. There's scratch-"Alicent closes her eyes before opening them again. "Never mind about that. I just want her to partake in practices that can calm her. She has had a long journey, a lonely feeling that I…see myself in. I'm sorry I cannot," 

"I understand, mother. Could it be at least one lesson a week? That is a compromise. The pride of one's home should never dull and a guest in our home should bring no embarrassment," Aemond said. "She told me she learns the same subjects I do; her knowledge could be beneficial. I believe that a young princess who traded 10 of her horses for protection, traveling the Dothraki Sea is no single feat," He treads carefully. "At least let her prove herself," 

Alicent sighed. "I will talk to your father. He will decide. I am glad you spoke to her, Aemond. Though, it seems like it is more than I expected," The young Prince noticed a gleam in her eyes.

—

Princess's POV

Weeks later, I stood at the end of the table, Prince Aemond to my left. Some of the small council members had joined. Xhoha to my right and Maester Dallin at the other end. The King's seat stands empty. A map of an unknown land mass lay on a table, with battalions and banners. I watched Xhoha lick his teeth, getting the last chewing tobacco while Aemond sat still; he seemed familiar with this map. Lord Tyland was the last to join, his eyes met mine, and he displayed a smile.

Maester Dallin, with his bald head and garb, planted his hands on the table. "This is a map modeled after a mixture of lands in the known world. To prove that you can learn the same lessons Prince Aemond learns, I want you to display your knowledge," Maester Dallin started. "Tell me again, how did your ancestor, Khiara, the Great overthrow the YiTish conquerors?" 

"She gathered the common people, seven out of 10 of the Lengii clans at the time, YiTish people who were tired of the Emperor's rule, and hired mercenaries. It was an overthrow that took years. She had spies who reported to her. One spy, disguised as a concubine, lured him to a field under the pretenses of… lovemaking," The men gawked. I stopped before continuing. "Khiara threw him a sword. She said that a man only endowed with his…." Aemond smiled. "You know," Maester Dallin agreed. The men in the room seemed to laugh. "She threw him the sword, and they battled in the field. She won," 

"Thank you for the history lesson," Maester Dallin began. "Let us begin," He took out a stick and pointed to the land mass. "Choose a country,"

I looked carefully at the map of six countries, all with their positives and negatives. The Emerald country, with a large land mass and many armies, was hated by its people. A cluster of countries in Onyx with harsh terrain and few allies, but offers the most natural protection. The Diamonds are small but hold the most ports and are wealthy by their small princes. A Sapphire country that is in between the others, utterly landlocked with one large lake and flatlands. Rubies boasting the largest population and honorable men. The final is the Citrines, furthest from the others but offers an incredible coastline with some port entries. "I choose the Citrine," 

Murmurs filled the table; I looked at Aemond, his face still as stone. Lord Tyland smiled. "Interesting choice," Otto Hightower muttered; the Lord Hand held the same stare as his grandson.

"Let us begin. This game is called King of Kings. It is a strategic game of answers used by the Maesters to educate the young lords," The Maester began. "I will represent all five while you represent your country. On your side, you have the same set of dice, the same as I. The four-sided dice represent what you will be advancing for, and the eight-sided dice represent how far you advance. I will ask you questions and based on your numbers and strategy, I will see how knowledgeable you are; King or is it Queen?"

"May I be called Empress instead?" I asked. Laughter erupted again. "If I win, surely you'll rename the game to Empress of Kings," I lowered my voice, "Not sure how a tabletop game is useful," Xhoha raised his eyebrow, glaring in my direction.

Within the hour, my troops had a surprise takeover by the Diamonds. The Onyx had their own fighting which I was not inclined to join, leaving my defenses to Emeralds. The Ruby, allied with the Emeralds, was my first ally, but if I submit to the Ruby, I will advance to the Emeralds. I would have lost. The Sapphire favored the Emeralds while I was left alone and defenseless. I had managed to grab the principal port from the Diamonds, but I only had gold and no army. A fleet, but not a strong one. 

"You could surrender," Maester Dallin suggests. The men at the table gave knowing stares. As if to rub in my face. "Or keep going," I rolled my dice and landed a two - political relations. "What do you propose, Empress of Citrine," 

"I also rolled one on the other dice, according to the rules that would pertain to a marriage proposal," Aemond sat up. 

The Maester laughed, "A marriage alliance in these trying times. It is most unfortunate, only a political act out of desperation," He continues after the laughter dies down. "Which country would you like to propose that to?"

I look at the map, betrayal, and bloodshed…I am surrounded by beasts. "I offer a marriage alliance to the King of Sapphire," I declare. "In exchange, he will have an equal share of my resources, my riches, my ships, and whatever he may claim. However, he must grant me and my people protection," I watched the Maester roll his dice. 

"Should have picked Rubies," Lord Tyland muttered.

"The King of Sapphires accepts your proposal," Maester Dallin rolls again. "But unfortunately, the Diamonds are enacting war over your ports. You can roll again and pursue allyship with anyone else. The Emeralds may be a formidable choice," 

I shook my head, "No. The other conflicts are fighting each other. This is not my battle anymore. I choose to abstain," 

Maester Dallin cleared his throat, "If the other kingdoms take your territory. What will you do?"

Prince Aemond rests his elbows on the table, "If history decides to repeat itself and if Léi Leng goes with Leng history, she will kill them all," Aemond looks to me. "Or am I wrong?"

An uncomfortable silence befalls the room, "I would," The tabletop game or strategic questioning ended with me having to stand down, the King of Sapphire in ruins, and the Onyxs and Emeralds at a standstill. An unhonorable war with unfortunate consequences. While I made the decisions based on what I knew and what actions my dynasty pursued…I still lost. 

Maester Dallin waddled over next to me, "Let this be a reminder of what you can do if tragedy were to ever befall your sister," One by one, the Lords and the members of the Council made their exit. Aemond stands beside me, with his hands behind his back, looking at the map. He bends down to place a small dragon figurine in the Sapphire territory. 

"When I first played this game, I was the King of Sapphires," Aemond remarked. "Rarely anyone chooses the Citrines; they would rather parallel their own Houses and choose vast lands or high populations," Aemond picked up the Citrine fleet and armies, standing them upright, doing the same for the Sapphires. 

I laughed, "It seems you are my Lord Husband in this game, then Aemond," He cleared his throat. "Thank you for arranging this,"

"I'll teach you myself," Aemond said after he fixed the Citrine and Sapphire thrones to sit next to one another. "I am finished with my duties after your evening lessons with the Septa. I spend my time studying or practicing with my blade," 

"I could not thank you enough for your extended gratitude," I told him. "But I lost the game,"

"A simple tabletop game of chance does not reflect your knowledge," He commended. "It was disrespectful of them to make a mockery by doing so," I had not thought of this as a mockery, but as I remembered their faces, clearly this time, it seemed that their snickers were directed towards me. "I will walk you back to your apartments," 

When I walked into my personal quarters, Xhoha sat at the table with the food on his plate. With a letter in hand, he scarfed down the meat pie, picked out the carrots, and chugged more ale. Upon my entrance, he stood quickly, stuffing the letter in his shirt and his tobacco to clatter on the floor. He bowed his head, bringing both hands to his forehead and out, the traditional Lengii greeting towards a royal. Then crouching down, using one finger to scoop in its contents. "I would have escorted you back, Princess, but I had-"

"{Speak YiTish to me when we are alone},"

He glared, "{My apologies. I would have, I would have escorted you out, but the Lord Hand had some pressing matters that needed to be discussed,}."

I said nothing as I sat down, one of the handmaidens coming over to cut the food for me. Another handmaiden handed me a pile of letters from home. I was eager to open them, the first one with the colored ribbon of my Pa's clan, purple. 

My little star, 

How are you? You have been away for almost two years, and I still wait for you to come to the water gardens. The little frogs you cared for have grown twice as big since you left. I hope the King and his family are kind, please come home when you find trouble. 

Pa Kiet

“{Your brother Xian ran off with a stableboy},” Xhoha said plainly. "{Your sister is courting with a YiTish prince since your father needs someone in his stead}," 

"{When did this happen?}" I ask as I shuffle through the letters. Xhoha waved his hand to dismiss the maidens. 

Xhoha stuffed his mouth again, "{A week ago}," He gulped. "{That's why your pile of letters is light}," has been getting lighter. My fathers and brothers were the only family members consistent with writing. My few friends were from home as well, but rarely my mother and never my sister. Most I receive these days are new jewels and dresses I am prohibited from wearing. "{Xian said he was tired of his duties and wished to live a free life. He took a boat with him too. Sailing their way to who knows where}," He forks the pie crust. "{They are witnessing some troubling times. It is best if you keep to yourself, they will send more letters soon enough},"

“{I will pray for his safety},” I said. I look to Xhoha, who I am still mad at. Part of me wishes to blame him for my humiliation, but I am clouded with the thoughts of my second eldest brother. The only blood child of my Baba and the bravest out of all of us. I knew his antics would get him into trouble; I just did not think I would not be there to witness it. 

Xhoha carefully set his fork down, "{You know, Princess, a marriage can be an effortful duty. Riches and protection, it can further your safety. If you choose to stay in Westeros after your 17th birthday, it would be wise to be betrothed to someone. Many powerful Lords have expressed their interest in your hand},"

"{I'm a second-born daughter, I have nothing}," I told him. 

"{Your country's resources - spices, striped horses, gold, jewels, by the gods – you were gifted the Manticore Islands. You have much more power than you know, Princess; in all my years, I just do not understand why you would not use that to your advantage}," He spits. "{Sure you have your ailments}-"

"{Oh, my screaming at night? Begging to go home? Scratching myself until I bleed? If I am not given my nightly milk, I scream at a reflection that is not mine? The guilt that eats me alive knowing that my cousin is gone}," My voice shook. "{They said that when her blood dripped on my face, I stood amongst her pool of blood, and my eyes only saw happiness. I have committed a grave crime against my family, and I don't even remember it}," I stood abruptly. "{Tell the Lords this is who I am. Now Leave!}"

Xhoha wiped his mouth, throwing the rag onto the table. 

–

A maiden walked from the end of the corridor. He was quick to catch them before they entered the Princess's apartments. "You are responsible for packing the Princess's attire, correct? For the…twins name day celebration," The maiden nodded. "Do be sure to also tell the other maidens, but be sure to pack only her red dresses. On such a momentous occasion, she should only wear the best without outshining the twins. I will have her out for you all to do your duties without intervention,"

"Yes, thank you, Bahyrr," The maiden said. "I will inform them soon as I'm able,"

"Thank you," Xhoha said. "Do not tell the Princess; I would hate for this surprise to be ruined,"

Xhoha had a lightness to his step and as he made his way to his apartment, he pulled out the letter from the Empress. 

To Xhoha Bahyrr, 

Xhoha Bahyrr, as the royal advisor of the Princess, the Empress of Leng, offers you the full power of the Princess's decisions on foreign soil. If she marries a Lord, you will be granted the Manticore Islands for your efforts. If she marries a Prince or the Empress cannot bear a daughter, those rewards will concede, and her claim to succession to the throne is still in favor. 

Bless be granted under the helm of the Old Ones.

– Empress Nita, daughter of the Late Empress Citra, Emperor Consort Kiet, and Emperor Consort Heng

A/N: If you enjoy this series, you can comment and ask to be added to the tag list! Reblogs and comments are most welcome!

[setaripendragon]

Cress - Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Okay, so I wrote this a while ago in a flurry of inspiration, got stuck, and... then didn't do anything with it. But I'm actually really proud of it, so I'm going to throw up what I've got, because I feel like I've fallen into the habit of not posting stuff, and that's just sad. This was inspired by a fic I read over on Ao3, The Telling of Fortunes, which... absolutely did not go in the direction I was expecting (still an excellent fic), and inspired me to take the premise and run off in the direction I thought it would go. Calliope gifts Dream another child, and this changes things.

It has been nearly seventy years since Dream was imprisoned, and over fifty since anything last changed. He has become used to the monotony of his imprisonment, even as the very nature of his existence makes ignoring the passage of time impossible. So mired in his unchanging circumstances is he that he doesn’t notice, at first, when something does change.

“Oneiros,” three voices call, in unsettling harmony, “harken to us.”

Dream raises his head sharply, and if he could breathe in this prison, his breath would have caught. The Fates stand arrayed about his prison. The Mother stands before him, between him and his guards, who are muttering amongst themselves. He cannot see the other two without turning his head, each of them equidistant from the other. In any other circumstance, being so surrounded would be unsettling, but as it is, he feels only relief at their presence.

That is not to say he expects a rescue. The Fates do not interfere so. And yet, here are ones he would not call enemy, and if Alex Burgess tries to shoot them… Well. He will not find what is left behind so easy to sweep away as he did Jessamy’s corpse.

He returns his attention to the Mother and inclines his head the barest inch. He will not give his captors any more than he must, but the Fates demand respect, even now. Even here. The Mother bows her head in return, which is a shock. Her eyes close, and for a moment, Dream could almost say she looked grieved.

“We are come on behest of another,” the Crone says, and Dream turns his head towards her to show he is listen.

“Calliope,” the Maiden adds, and this time, Dream turns more fully, to stare directly at her, eyes widening. He opens his mouth, but stops before he can shape the name. He will not give his captors that. Not for any boon or blessing in existence. The Maiden smiles in knowing gratitude, but Dream does not think he is imagining the way it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

“Why?” he asks. Mouths, for there is no air inside his glass prison. At least, none that he can make use of, bound in his vessel as he is. His guards have moved from their post, are circling the moat that keeps mortal magics from interfering with the arcane sigils, excited by his movements as they cannot see the cause.

“A gift,” the Crone tells him.

“A burden,” the Maiden counters.

“A duty,” the Mother corrects them both. And that is the word he is more familiar with, one he feels down to his bones and beyond, into the dreamstuff that he makes and is made of, so it is to her he turns for an answer. And it is from her that he receives one.

The Mother flips back her shawl, and reveals that the Fates did not come alone. In her arms there is a babe, swaddled in cream silk, and as it is exposed to the air without the shelter of the Mother’s mantle, it yawns and begins to squirm.

Dream’s mouth drops open. Not to form words, for he has none. He does not understand. This can only be Calliope’s child, and yet, the Maiden called it a gift. Calliope has gifted him a child before, but has since sworn never again, so this cannot be as it appears to be. He tears his eyes away from the infant to meet the Mother’s gaze. “Why?” he asks again.

“Because she bid it,” the Mother tells him, simple and unconditional.

“Calliope cannot care for the babe as she is now,” the Crone states, unsympathetic.

“We cannot change her fate, but the child’s is within our power to alter,” the Maiden adds with just a hint of playful mischief.

As if Dream isn’t deeply alarmed by the notion of a Calliope subject to a fate that even the triple goddess will not interfere with. “What fate?” he asks. Mouths. The Maiden smiles at him, knowing and amused.

“She called for you, when we bid her name it,” she tells him, like she is imparting a scandalous secret.

“We bid her choose another,” the Crone snaps, fierce and angry, but when Dream turns to stare at her, he sees the pain beneath. “She refused.”

“There was no other she would trust,” the Mother mourns.

“We warned her; the fate that awaited in your arms would not be kind,” the Crone adds bitterly, eyes roving pointedly over the cage in which Dream is trapped. His eyes are drawn to the babe again, now mewling for attention and being fussed over by the Mother. Truly, if the child was given into his keeping at this moment, it would surely perish. That, indeed, would be the kinder fate. For if it is not mortal enough to suffocate, it will live as he does; without. Only it will not be aware enough to know that it can, and so it will struggle, and struggle endlessly, for a breath that will not come.

“She said that even the fate that awaits the child of Calliope and Oneiros would be a better one than awaited the child of Calliope and a mortal,” the Maiden says, wistful with sorrow. The words stab clear through Dream’s heart, and he raises a hand to his chest to press against the ache. There’s a clamouring somewhere beyond the sphere, beyond the Fate’s presence, but Dream ignores it, closing his eyes against it.

“She knew not of what she spoke,” the Crone complains.

“She knew enough, sister-self” the Mother chides. Dream feels a chill. What could possibly hold such power over Calliope to threaten her child that she believes giving it unto Dream would be the better fate? “Well, o Lord of Dreams?” the Mother prompts, and Dream opens his eyes to meet her gaze as she lifts it from the babe in her arms to raise her eyebrows at him. “Will you take her?”

Dream thinks furiously, frantically. He cannot say yes, and condemn an innocent child – Calliope’s child – to this cage with him, and yet, he cannot say no, and return her to a fate that even the Mother deems may be worse.

“We need an answer, o Lord of Dreams,” the Maiden demands. Dream drops his eyes, unable to settle his thoughts, but knowing he cannot take either of the paths laid before him.

“O Lord of Dreams,” the Crone echoes mockingly, sourly. “The choice is yours.”

Dream’s eyes snap up. “Mine,” he echoes silently, deliberately, holding the Crone’s gaze. Just the hint of a smile begins to lift one corner of his mouth.

Nose almost pressed to the glass, Alex Burgess rears backwards. “What?” he demands. “What was that? Did you hear-?” he asks of his lover. Paul shakes his head, eyes beginning to widen, a look of horror beginning to dawn.

“Alex… what if he can’t speak?” he asks slowly, and then reaches out to his lover with sharp, jerky movements, shaking the other man. “Dear God, there’s no air in there. We have to- we have to do something-” Alex shakes his head, and the two continue to babble desperately at each other.

Dream ignores it all.

“You would take her, then?” the Maiden asks, intensely.

Dream tips his head, not a yes, but not a no. “My choice,” he mouths.

There is a long silence. At least, silence among the Fates and Dream, for beyond them there is a cacophony of mortal chaos, but it does not touch them. “Yes,” the Crone says finally, intense and waiting.

“I accept this burden,” Dream mouths. The Mother closes her eyes on a shaky sigh, the Maiden makes a small sound that could be sorrow or relief, and the Crone snarls wordlessly. The Mother begins to step forwards, and Dream holds up a hand to stop her. She halts. So do the mortals. “I did not say I would take it,” he reminds her. Her eyes widen.

“What is he saying?!” Alex Burgess demands in a panic. “What is he looking at?!”

“Calliope already refused all others,” the Maiden says, stepping around the cage to come to her sister-self’s side. “Apollo, Zeus, all the gods, all the pantheons.”

“Not a god,” Morpheus agrees. The child is part mortal, after all, if not quite half any more; not with Dream’s claim upon her.

“One of the Endless, then?” the Crone challenges, also closing the distance so that the three are arrayed as one. “I did not think you trusted your children unto Death’s embrace.”

Dream flinches. But then, cruelty is the province of the Crone, so he takes the blow with as much grace as he can muster in his present situation, and lets the barb slide. “No,” he agrees. Not a one of his siblings is fit to raise a child, not even Death, though if he had to pick one of them, she would be his first choice.

“Then to one of your subjects?” the Maiden wonders.

“A child cannot live on dreams alone, sister-self,” the Crone snaps.

“No,” Dream agrees.

“Then where?” the Mother asks patiently.

“Where else is left?” Dream challenges.

There is another moment of silence. Not of incomprehension, but of disbelief. True, if this were even a single century ago, Dream would not have indulged even the fantasy of such an idea for more than the heartbeat it would take to dismiss it. But he has no good choices left, and this, at least, will spare the child the burden of his failure.

Hopefully.

“A mortal?” the Crone demands, incredulous.

“What do you even know of the mortal realm?” the Maiden asks, half-laughing.

“Will you bid us leave her with mortal authorities? Abandon her on the steps of a temple? Return her to her blood?” the Mother challenges him right back, gentle but cutting.

“No,” Dream denies. “There is but one mortal I know beyond the Dreaming.” He will not say the name, not while his captors watch, desperately trying to read his lips, to get his attention, to demand his subservience. They will not have any of it; not one thing of his will they pry from him.

“Robert Gadling,” the Maiden concludes, and Dream inclines his head.

“You think he will help you? After how you treated him at your last meeting?” the Crone prods, scornful.

There is truth to her words. Dream knows it. He was cruel without cause, and Hob would have every right to refuse to aid him now. But for all his flaws, Hob is not a cruel man, and Dream does not think he would leave a child to suffer for Dream’s mistakes. Besides, it is the only avenue he can see that has even the slightest chance of ending without bringing ruin to an innocent life.

“I can but hope.”

[adelemadouce]

Against all Odds

When I got home that Saturday morning, the day was not going to be as pleasant as I had hoped - my bleeding had started! Although I was not overjoyed about it, I would have been really happy to spare the Emperor this news and to hope for a child of our love. Well, I said to myself: be patient!

Duchâtel had found it out in a way I could not explain and asked if I would accompany him to the Hôtel Thellusson that evening. My bleeding was never particularly heavy, it only lasted two or three days and was painless. So I said yes to Duchâtel. As his wife, I couldn't always be unkind, and I also wanted to use the opportunity to test the elegance of my new evening-gown. I didn't want to take a bath, though. I still had the Emperor's touches and kisses and the trace of his tongue on my skin, and I wanted to preserve these traces of love for as long as possible. After lunch, Camille announced a visitor...Moira!

I ran down the stairs and in the entrance hall we both happily fell into each other's arms. So long since we've seen each other! I took Moira into my bedroom were we could talk undisturbed. Moira was elegantly dressed - a simple teacher could certainly not afford such an elegant blue velvet promenade dress! A yellow cashmere shawl and a bonnet with deep blue Chinese pheasant feathers! She looked like a countess and it was seen that she was supported by a wealthy man. I whistled a little. "You seem to be doing very well, you look gorgeous!" Moira took off her bonnet and shook her red curls. "Thank you,...yes, I'm fine. But I hear you're also...extraordinarily fine!" She looked at me seriously and I noticed a certain hysteria in her eyes. "How...did you hear something?" I asked confused. Moira took my hand. She hesitated for a moment and then she said: "I know, Adèle!... I know everything!" I swallowed and my smile froze. "What do you know?" Moira's gaze wandered over to the portrait of General Bonaparte, she pointed to him with her chin, her voice was rang and relentless. "I know everything about you and the Emperor!" It was a good thing that I was sitting down because my legs were shaking violently. Moira continued in a low but accusatory voice. "Joseph told me that his brother, Emperor Napoléon, had fallen in love with a beautiful young lady, that this lady is married with a much older man and already had two sons, and that she's at court as lady-in-waiting! The young lady is famous for her extravagant fashion, she is one of the most beautiful women in Paris and the Emperor is crazy in love with her! The name of this lady is unknown, but when I add it all up, the only name that comes to mind is yours. Is that you, Adèle?" I pulled my hand back.

"Yes, it is true!" I said tonelessly. "We are lovers...the Emperor and I!" Moira stood up. "Adèle...have you lost your mind? He will break your heart! He will hurt you so much! What awaits you is a sea of tears! You must come to your senses!" I put my hands in my lap. "Why would I do that? I love him! I love him more than my children's lives...he's the reason I'm alive!" Moira raised her index finger warningly. "No! You can't say things like that, Adèle!" Then Moira's moral demeanor collapsed like a house of cards. She threw her arms around my shoulders as if trying to protect me. "You poor child! How can you be held responsible for this? You are too young! Your love for him has clouded your mind, you don't know what it all means..." I freed myself from her arms and said loudly and clearly: "I love him and I want him, just like he wants me! I'm happy for the first time in my life and I'm not going to let anyone take that away from me! Moira...you're in the same situation as me...you should understand me!" Moira nodded. "I do! And that's why I want to warn you...The Bonapartes are ruthless! They only think of themselves...they cheat! He will cheat on you, Adèle! The Bonapartes know no loyalty...they lie and cheat!" These words sounded like the lines of a bad play. But they explained one thing above all - that Moira was unhappy. She was still not pregnant by Joseph, and yes, it was true that he had other lovers besides her. All of Paris knew it. "I'm not that naive, Moira, don't think that of me! The Emperor can't marry me and I'm probably not his last love affair, but what matters to me is the here and now! I'm experiencing the happiest time of my life...with him! I want to enjoy every minute, every second of it...for as long as it lasts. Life is too short to think only about tomorrow! All I wish is to make him happy, and that my love is unique for him!"

I was able to calm Moira down. I explained to her that I would keep my love affair secretly, and that as long as no one knew about it, no one could harm me. It was also a silent request for her to keep quiet. She finally smiled and we were able to enjoy being together. "I'll ask Camille to bring us pastries and champaigne, and then I'll tell you all the details of how the Emperor spoils me in his bed." Moira laughed and blushed. "You definitely don't!" Of course I had no intention of doing anything like that. But I had a particular question on the subject in mind that I really wanted to address. After Moira had had a few glasses I told her that we ladies-in-waiting naturally also talked about men and their secret desires. But hardly anyone knew what was actually meant by the male fantasy. "Do you know what's behind it?" I asked Moira teasingly. "You only have to read the ancient Romans," she said wisely,"...men either want several girls in bed...or a young man...or they just want to enter through the back door!" My eyes widened and I burst out laughing. "...through the back door?" I knew what that meant, but it seemed too absurd to me. Moira drank her champaigne with pleasure. "That's what all men want...a true phenomenon!" Of course, I did not mention that I had learned about the Emperor's fantasies from Joséphine, but thanks to the ancient Romans, I now knew a little more. I asked Moira to stay overnight. The reception at the Hôtel Thellusson wouldn't last long for me, I would be returning home early and Moira and I could still chat. My new evening dress shone in innocent white. The small wreath of Brussels lace framed my deep cleavage like angel hair. However, my thimbles stood so stiffly upright that they caused a gap between the satin silk and my skin, allowing the close observer to see my breasts. "It's daring," said Moira, "...but gorgeous!" With my high white gloves I wore a white swan's down palatine, a lace fan and a small tiara and matching earrings. No necklace! Camille bent down and gave me the little train of the dress. I took a few steps and turned around. Moira then said: "You are not the most beautiful woman of Paris...but you are close to becoming so, Adèle!"

I did not know exactly who was giving the reception and for what reason. Duchâtel said something about overseas trading companies, shipping lines, professors from the Sorbonne and financiers from the Faubourg. I was listening with only one ear. We drove in the equipage, which I thought was excessive at first, but when we arrived at the Hôtel Thellusson, I had to concede that Duchâtel had made the right choice. We stopped in front of the large imposing city Palais, that had been illuminated for the guests. Carriages with large coats of arms stopped in front of us! I suddenly had the fear of meeting someone from the imperial family. However, my fear was unfounded; it was an unofficial celebration, it was just about seeing and being seen by society. There was champaigne and an orchestra was playing, that was all I needed! Duchâtel and I greeted some people I didn't even know. I smiled and bowed my head slightly on my husband's arm. My tight dress attracted attention and I enjoyed the admiring glances. From young men, from old men, from all men! Then a young officer rushed towards me, I knew him, it was General de Berckheim! "Madame Duchâtel...my saving angel! Finally!" A tall blond hussar officer bowed to me. I looked at him, questioningly. Above my head General de Berckheim asked my husband:"...allow me, Monsieur, to take Madame to the dance floor?! She will be in safe hands with me for the entire evening...if Madame so wishes?"

Yes, I wish so! I looked at Duchâtel and without waiting for his consent, gave him my swan's down palatine, my fan and my ridicule. I put my hand in General de Berckheim's, he bowed over it and kissed it gallantly. I left my husband standing and went to the dance floor.

His name was Sigismond...and he danced like a god! "Madame, do you know there's a secret club in Paris?" I half turned in front of him in the Contré figure. "A secret club, General?" He nodded and took my hand. As he pulled me towards him at the next figure, he said: "...yes, it is the club of *Those unhappily in love with Madame Duchâtel*!" Sigismond smiled charmingly, but I almost stopped in shock. "The club currently consists of three members, Eugène de Beauharnais, General Rapp, and myself, Madame! After this evening the club will probably grow...even more members bemoaning their misfortune of being in love with you, Madame!" I looked up at him and then had to laugh. "Oh, what a prankster you are, General!" I think I blushed, but it was very flattering, I seemed like a desirable woman! In fact, other gentlemen asked me to dance, but I stayed with Sigismond. We were just twirling around in a wonderful waltz when suddenly someone called: "The Emperor!" The orchestra immediately began to play "Vous me quittez pour marcher a là gloire". It was the Emperor's favorite song and every orchestra in Paris knew it. General de Berckheim stopped, kissed my hand, said: "Pardon, Madame...the Emperor!" And he disappeared. A huge commotion ensued, all the gentlemen crowded in front of the large double doors, everyone wanted to see him and be seen. When the Emperor appeared, the crowd shouted "Vive l'Empereur" and everyone applauded. Except for us ladies, because we sank into a deep curtsy.

We only got up when the music started playing a dance song again, but dancing was no longer an option as we didn't have the necessary dance partners. "That's how men are," said an elderly lady, "...as soon as a leader of them appears, we are forgotten!"

The Emperor was surrounded by men and was barely visible. I sat down on the nearest bench and drank a glass of champaigne. Inside I felt triumphant. Why had he come? It didn’t take long and I suddenly spotted Duroc behind me. I acted surprised. "Your Excellency!" He carried his bicorne hat under his arm. "Madame, it would be nice if you would accompany me. The Emperor wishes to speak to you." I put down my glass. "Here? Impossible! You must be mistaken, Your Excellency!" Duroc offered me his arm. "Not here, of course! Accompany me to his carriage, Madame!" I obediently took Duroc's arm, realizing that we were being watched. Duchâtel, who was still holding my accessories saw that the Grand Marshal seemed to be abducting me. And I think Duchâtel didn't know know at that moment whether he should be proud or horrified by what he saw. I smiled silently.

Five minutes later I was sitting in the Emperor's carriage. I leaned back on the soft ermine fur and waited. Duroc disappeared back into the Hôtel Thellusson. The carriage was heated and I was in danger of falling asleep after a short while. Too much champaigne! Then the door opened and my prince appeared! "Well, Madame...I must have disturbed you during your rendezvous with General de Berckheim?" The Emperor's voice sounded deadly serious. I sat up and checked the position of my tiara. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty! The General was just kind enough to ask me to dance..." His eyes shone in the semi-darkness of the carriage. He threw his hat onto the cushion next to me. Sweet dance music drifted into the carriage from the Palais. The violins sang... "You weren't expecting me. Did I frighten you?" I looked at him bravely. "Sire, you have frightened us all!" The Emperor clucked his tongue. "No.No.No...I didn't frighten everyone! It seemed to me that most of the guests were happy to see me! Of course, not the lovers, whose flirting I disturbed..." I thought I hadn't heard correctly. "Lovers?...what lovers?" The Emperor looked at me expectantly for a while. "Didn't General de Berckheim tell you about his...club?" I dug my hands into the ermine. "So you know about it, Sire? I didn't know until this evening!" My voice was small, shaky. I looked at him, I couldn't believe that he doubted me. And a few seconds later I realized that he didn't. He grinned and grabbed my hand. "I know everything about you, Adèle!" He pulled me onto his knees. "So! You know everything, Sire?" I answered indignantly. "...even that I've been waiting for ten minutes for my Emperor to kiss me?" He pulled me to his chest and before I could protest further, he kissed me. "How beautiful you are, Adèle...I must forbid you from being so beautiful!" I whispered in his ear that I was indisposed (he was not disappointed!). "And then you go to a ball? Other women lie down and take their time..." I layed my head on his cheek. "I would have loved to, but I have obligations as a wife!" He held me tight. "I know. You're a good little wife!" We both smiled. "I just came here to see you, chérie. I told you... I couldn't help it...I had to see you!" He pushed the satin silk covering my cleavage aside. "I need this sight...look...your nipples...two strawberries in whipped cream...so damn delicious!" He kissed my bare breast and made me laugh. We make out wildly for a quarter of an hour, the violins still sounded so sweet from the Palais. I didn't want to stop. He didn't either. "We're going crazy," he said quietly. Then he kissed me even more wildly. That's what you call lovemania. LOVEMANIA!!!

I pushed him away and jumped out of the carriage. I heard the Emperor call my name: "Adèle!" It sounded so longing...

I jumped into Duchâtel's equipage and drove home. At home I found Moira in the drawing room. "How do you look, Adèle?" I collapsed onto the sofa. "The Emperor came to the Hôtel Thellusson...just to see me! I got into his carriage later. We kissed!" Moira sat down next to me. "Kissed? You look like he'd raped you! Where is your cape, your purse, your fan?" I pulled the tiara out of my tangled hair. "Duchâtel has everything. Moira,...Duchâtel saw me leave the ball with the Grand Marshal!" Moira stroked my forehead tenderly. "Then you must think of a good excuse for tomorrow morning. I've been thinking, Adèle. Also prepare yourself for what will happen if Empress Joséphine finds out. She will find out, believe me! Be prepared, Adèle!"

Of course the Emperor did not go crazy and neither did I! The next morning, as I was leaving for my Sunday ride, Duchâtel called me from the dining room. "Adèle, are you going riding? Tell me where you and the Grand Marshal disappeared to yesterday...Did you speak to the Emperor? There were rumors of that at the Hôtel Thellusson..." He was sitting at his petit dejeuner and still had his nightcap on. Tanguy was sitting next to him with his Aja. "I spoke to the Emperor...but only briefly!" I kissed Tanguy on his cheek and smiled at my son. He admired me in my fur toque and my vanilla-colored velvet riding dress. "It was about the Empress...you know I'm very close to her!" Duchâtel was satisfied with this and did not ask any further questions. I turned around and left. In the entrance hall my gaze fell on the mirror. I heard the Emperor's voice "I forbid you to be so beautiful!" I smiled at myself. With the toque I looked like a Russian princess. Moira had already left, I was sorry that she couldn't see me like this.

The weather was great. Sunshine, hoarfrost and bitter cold. Adrian had put a lambskin on Poupette's back as a saddle blanket and had put on the violet-colored bridle with gold fittings. My Poupette also looked somehow Russian with it. I caressed my horse, let Adrian help me into the sidesaddle, and immediately galloped off along the wide avenues of the Bois de Boulogne. There were a few riders on the road, including young dandies in elegant gigs. I wanted to go to Monsieur Borowski's kiosque to enjoy a hot almond liqueur. Monsieur Borowski's kiosque was a popular destination, but was busier in summer than in winter, because it was a garden restaurant. In winter, however, it was a popular destination to enjoy various delicacies. But I was not allowed to enjoy the almond liqueur... At a crossroad I saw a group of uniformed horsemen some distance away. They were not ordinary soldiers, I saw bicornes decorated with white feathers, hussar tchakos, and an officer with a top hat, decorated with coloured plumes, it was Marshal Murat! I already suspected something, I gave my Poupette a light spur and urged her on. I quickly galloped away in the opposite direction. But I couldn't escape! And out of nowhere, suddenly, in the middle of my path, the Grand Marshal stood in front of me with his Westphalian horse. I reined in my horse and made Poupette stop. "I know, Adèle, that you are now wondering what this is all about. But just do as I do...I don't ask questions. I follow the Emperor's wishes and I'm never wrong with that!" Duroc guided his horse next to Poupette and asked me to follow him. I didn't know what to say and remained silent. We rode through a bare deciduous forest of tall oaks and beeches. At the edge of a pine forest I saw the Emperor on his Spanish white horse. But without his entourage, he was all alone! When he saw me he turned his horse in my direction. I immediately noticed how wonderful he looked. He was wearing a silver-gray velvet coat trimmed with Canadian wolf. He also wore his famous bicorn hat. He was smiling. Everytime I see him, I feel how much I love him. I can't describe it in words, even if I were a poet, I couldn't...

Duroc get off his horse, came to me and helped me dismount. He led me over the damp leaves of the forest soil to the Emperor. "Sire, I'm bringing you Madame Duchâtel!" I dropped into a graceful curtsy. Napoléon leaned his stallion towards me and before I knew it, Duroc had lifted me up, the Emperor grabbed me and placed me on his saddle in front of him. He picked up the reins, turned his horse and trotted with me into the spruce forest. Here the air was even colder, the forest soil was soft and muffled the hoofbeats of the horse, which the Emperor now made walk more slowly. I looked at him, his face was pale, his eyes steely and alert, he was freshly shaven and smelled faintly of his beloved Eau de Cologne. He said nothing. I touched his cheek lightly with my lips, I could feel the magic of the moment. We rode deeper into the forest, it was so quiet, so ice cold, so mystical. It was as it had been for thousands of years in this forest. And we were just observers in this silence. Deeply moved, I leaned against him, his arms tightened around me, we both felt our connection with the beauty of nature, any spoken word would have been superfluous. It was one of the most beautiful, magical moments we experienced together. And I firmly believe that it was our love that gave us this moment. The Emperor finally touched my chin and lifted it up to kiss me. "Thank you, Adèle!" He said tenderly. "...and I thank You, Sire!" We rode slowly back through the enchanted forest. Before the Emperor let me slide from his horse down into Duroc's arms, he whispered to me: "Tomorrow morning, at nine!" I nodded vigorously. And then he galloped away.

Duroc and I stayed behind. "Why are you crying, Adèle?" I clenched my hands into little fists and pounded on Duroc's chest. "...because I love him so much!"

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