#imagining this with the court of shadows is excellent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ewanmitchelll · 5 months ago

Text

Imagine you were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen until circumstances impeded the match to concretize. Now, years later… will you and him be persuaded this is the right timing to amend things?

Warnings: drama, light smut. Long post.

***

• I

As the second child and oldest daughter of Lord Gwayne Hightower, you are privileged to be sent to your aunt’s household and there be raised as her royal ward.

Your Hightower charms do manage to captivate Queen Alicent at the time of your arrival—as well as King Viserys, by then very alive and in good health, who treats you as his own daughter. In the meantime you are settling at court, you ought to share the same apartments with your royal cousin, Princess Helaena, the first of your regal relatives to make your acquaintance.

“Greetings, Y/N. In green and black wheels, our fortune will gravely depend on it, I’m afraid. But you are a welcome addition to our misadjusted family.”

At first you do not understand the meaning of her words, however, your kindness speaks louder than reason so you flash her a smile—rather than pushing her away as so many have done before, which surprises the princess.

“Noble families are often troubled homes to be raised within, cousin. Every privilege comes with a price and aren’t we all willing to pay for it? Either way, thank you for receiving me. I hope you can find in me a friend to rely on.”

Initial distrusts put aside, Helaena nods her head. The idea of having a friend melts away her defenses and makes her smile to you.

“Do you like embroidery?”

“I fear I do not excel at it, but it is a pastime of mine”, you smile warmly.

“Very well. Come and follow my lead, I’d like your help to proceed with my work on it.”

“Gladly”.

And a bond is now forged.

Aemond watches as you walk almost arm in arm with Princess Helaena. You are dressing a green gown with long sleeves and your red hair falls loose behind your back. Some of the curls does in fact remind him of his mother.

But in secrecy the teenaged boy thinks you are prettier than the Queen.

“You should speak to her”, he struggles to hold back a sigh at the voice of Aegon. “Aren’t you doing your duty and welcoming her properly, brother? My, where are your manners?”

In order to avoid Aegon’s annoyance further, Aemond does in fact go after you. Like a shadow, he moves silently. Once spotting you at the gardens, he awaits for the best moment to get to you. With Helaena out of the sight, Aemond takes his chance.

“If the rumors are true, we are marrying when we reach age”, you turn around only to spot this long silver haired male who is likely the same age as you, counting three and ten summers.

You curtsy out of respect. Aemond nods his head in turn.

“Well, I wasn’t told of marriage prospects yet, but I would be lucky if this proves to be true”.

“Lucky? I lack my brother’s charms”, the boy chuckles in abhorrence. “Surely you must have met him.”

“I believe we have been introduced, yes. But I do not think he has any charms, if anything he’s an annoying prince”, you are pleased to find the Targaryen male chuckling. “And whom might you be, suitor of mine?”

Aemond does not admit at first, but you do strike him a positive impression, reminding him of the damsels he used to read about in chivalric novels.

“Lord Aemond Targaryen, Madame”, and here he does a proper bow.

“Cousin Aemond”, the way you break formalities so easily leaves him disconcerted. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, one hopes.”

“Naturally so. Would you care to spend the rest of the day with Helaena and I?”

Aemond’s reason urges him to leave you, but his tongue decides otherwise.

“I believe I am free off my duties, so why not?”

Later that evening, one could not stay too far from the other. Aemond soon comes to find out how much you and him have in common. To his surprise you are very educated.

“I prefer the philosophers of the East”, you tell him. “They are deeper in thoughts and observations about life. The ancient ones, in the days of Old Valyria, left some good works.”

“How’d you reach out to it?”, asks the prince, impressed.

“Well, living nearby Old Town has some advantages”, you laugh quietly. “Daeron has helped me with it.”

Something about his younger brother doesn’t sit well with Aemond. A sensation close to jealousy comes uninvited. But the prince disguises it well, though.

“How’s he by the way? I barely remember him now. We’ve been apart for many years.”

“He’s doing great and he misses his siblings too”, you tell him. “It is very lonely the journey to become a maester. And yet… if I can say anything about your younger brother is that he possesses a very sensitive soul.”

“Hum. Probably he’d be a better companion than Aegon”, he chuckles low.

This twilight you two are pacing around the castle. For a pair of youth, it is striking to see both of you discussing philosophers, historians and all that is in between. Then as day turns into night and dinner is prepared, you are forced to part ways.

“Are you not coming to join us for dinner?”, you ask him expectedly.

Aemond isn’t sure how to react about the suddenly expectation he spots in your y/c eyes. He is left again disconcerted. A feeling he doesn’t appreciate at the same time he is found eager to please you.

Why? A voice asks him. But he refuses to find the answer.

“I will… just change my robes.”

Your lips spread in a large smile and it is a sight that warms his heart.

“Good. I’d like to see you there, my lord.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Hesitantly, one says farewell to the other in a very typical young manner—even though you and him shall meet within five and ten minutes.

You are very pleased to be told you are betrothed to Aemond. The sight of your delight, that you make no effort in disguise, is a good omen to all, and even the wayward prince is not immune to it.

“How can you be this content in becoming my wife?”, he asks you when you are found walking towards the yard where the prince is to be trained under the guidance of Ser Criston Cole. “I have no dragon to call mine own.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”, and you list his virtues and why each one earned you fondness. “A dragon doesn’t make you any less, my dear Aemond.”

But he cannot find a way to answer you properly for Ser Criston has summoned him to practice. It does little good to his pride when perceiving your presence. Your beaming presence. You are there to support him in ways few of his family ever did.

He casts you a long gaze and you hold it, pleased with the subtle certainty that he feels what you feel too.

Nevertheless, it’s you who eventually feels like an outcast for not being one who claims a dragon. In this comes your dear Helaena, who says:

“High you may fly, but not to skies you will find your might.”

You cast her a long glance. For a while you don’t speak a word but then curiosity gets the best of you.

“What is the price?”

Helaena ponders whether she can trusts you with her dreams. Eventually though, she realizes you are far more trustworthy with them than most of her relatives ever cared to comprehend such.

“A price of blood, I fear.”

You nod. Casting a glance to the clouds that begin to wipe out the blue that painted bright skies, you speak:

“What’s there to come, cousin? What have the Gods spoken?”

Putting aside her embroidery, Helaena slides to your side. Then she gently takes your hand and holds it quickly, showing in her way her fondness to you.

“If you are inclined to follow your heart, patience you must nurture for a hard path lies forward to us all.”

You have nothing else to say, baffled by these prophetic words. Nonetheless, if Helaena is resigned to whatever destiny she sees, you opt to trust in her and take the heels of such advice. After all, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Do you dance, cousin?”, this day you and him are set at Dragonstones to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen, who died in childbirth.

Aemond took you for a walk around the sands, misliking the whole ceremony. Now, as wind blows a cold breeze, he notices your red curls are made a mess, a victim of weather; a view of wilderness he most appreciates.

“Not if I can help”, says he with a serene countenance.

“Not even if one’s partner is… tolerable?”

“You trick me to your will, cousin”, and here he takes hold of your hand. And makes you twirl. “Are you pleased to remove my pride?”

“You cannot fault me for your own doings, Aemond”, and you wink at him before getting to start a race.

The prince rolls his eyes, but maybe acknowledges some truth in your word. As he starts to get after you, though, Aemond spots a large creature not too far from where both of you are.

For a moment he stops what he’s doing. For a moment, only a flying living old dragon could take his eyes off you.

Vhagar calls him, he knows.

But when you turn your head with your inviting smile, Aemond patiently leaves a new idea for later. Perhaps nothing is too dull in Dragonstone, after all.

An event that might drag both of you to a tragedy droll is set to happen, and who could foretell the consequences of an inconsequent choice?

***

• II

Old stones in old piles come to your eyes as the first rays in the morning come through the window glass and wake you up. You stare at that familiar wall, a witness of time, once the keeper of your safety… and now turned into golden cages.

You turn at your side of bed. It is a large, wooden made, very cozy indeed. But the warmth of your line blankets annoys you and you toss them aside. Impatience rises in your chest and before you know, your eyes are tearing up again.

I should have gotten used to it by now.

But can one easily accept the task of moving forward after getting to feel loved in the way professed by bards? You could still remember his laughters, his secret smile… the long days spent at library, sharing a lecture or when you opted to discuss about eastern old philosophy right at the dinner table, earning a quizzical glance of your royal aunt and an amused one of your regal uncle.

You miss his scent. You miss how unexpectedly he could be when pursuing your fingers and intertwining with his.

Years have gone by. You are not that mischievous, lively child anymore. You are now a damsel, whose prospective future is put on hold.

“Oh Aemond”, you move barefoot towards the window and opens it, suffocating, eager for some fresh air. As you do, you come across the sight of green hills and small villages not too far from the castle you spent your early childhood. No sign of clouds, nor even of… dragons.

One more day. Even now, your unending hopes are crushed. Again.

“You cannot forget your promise”, you whisper angrily in gritted teeth as if he’s somewhere unseen. “You told me you’d have my heart until you died, that you’d make me your wife. But you are very much alive! Oh, can the Gods be this cruel?”

When you close your eyes, you can still remember the last day you met. He had lost his eye and the two of you escaped to the sands where stars were the only witnesses of such daring move.

“Will you still be my wife after all of this happened?”

“I will”, you assured him firmly, your warm hand holding tightly his cold one. “How dare you consider I would ever leave you?”

Aemond chuckled. The sound of it was miserable to you. Could he be blamed for it, though? You comprehended him more than he’d know.

“I must say I have grown suspicious. Besides, an one eyed prince is not a charming prospective as a husband.”

“I object”, and here you force him to look at you, holding his chin gently with your right hand. “I will never forgive myself for not being there when those foolish, stupid kids did that to you. I would gladly take my heart out as proof of my unending loyalty to you.”

Aemond blushed. A weak, crimson shade of pink painted his pale cheeks. You didn’t know his thoughts, how could you? But they were about you and you alone.

“I could never doubt you, my lady Y/Nickname. Apologies if I misled you to believe so. I just… felt so unworthy of your affection.” Before he could hold his tongue, words were spitted out. “Do you love me?”

You too blushed underneath moonlight. You were frightened, but more so that he’d not correspond you. Even so, despite the uncertainty you felt, you risked speaking the truth.

“I do. I… love you, Aemond.”

Aemond blushed deeper, looking away for a moment. Then he turned at you, open mouthed, ready to give you his heart too… when a scowl was heard:

“Well well, it appears we found two besotted younglings prompted to do something only two besotted imprudent younglings intend to do.”

Uncle Daemon’s remark was enough to make one part of the other. Despite the mockery in his tone, used to impede either of you to notice he was in fact with Rhaenyra throughout the day, his words left its mark.

Ever since that day, though, you haven’t seen Aemond again.

Aemond stares at the moon, dancing alone in her majesty nightly reign. No stars are seen, no clouds are there to omit her from the mundane sight.

A cold breeze blows his silver locks, messing with his hair. The prince pays no mind to it. Today it is not about the looks nor about the power he is hungry to possess.

Having dismounted Vhagar, and already aware that many troubles lay ahead of him as soon as he walks through that door, Aemond’s thoughts that evening go towards you.

“I wish I told her I loved her”, he confided his whore. “Every night I dream of her face, her y/c eyes and red locks staring at me. Her sweet demeanor haunts me. Like a prey that has outwitted the hunter.”

“Is it how you perceive the object of your true affections, my prince? A prey that has not fallen the web of your traps?”

He remembers looking at the older woman quite offended.

“I said no such a thing. She is… unreachable now. Literally so, even in my dreams. Y/N is the embodiment of purity, whose virtues are endless. No words can do justice to the goodness she possesses.” He paused, melancholic somewhat. “It is just, methinks, that she’s out of my grasp now.”

“Have you considered writing for her?”, the maternal tone he never heard in his own mother seemed to smooth his broken heart at that moment, only to cover the pain these words gave him. “She never knew you loved her too. You have a dragon, Aemond. What’s there to stop you from purchasing her?”

“Duties.” Aemond’s embargoed voice broke out of his masked pride. “Duties are the death of love.”

Whatever happened in the past should remain so. As Aemond crosses the grand door and takes the stairs to get to the Council meeting, though, he cannot conceive that he failed you. For he never wrote to you again—despite all of these promises…

“There is my brother! Loyal like a hound”, Aegon’s voice is enough to make Aemond sweep away the agony he’s been through the day. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aemond opts not to answer. He takes his seat and leaves the talking for the council. The Dowager Queen gives him a look, an inquiry one, but the prince avoids it.

“Well”, Otto finally begins the Council. “Apparently, Rhaenyra has not been sufficiently encouraged to make peace, so war it is.”

Aemond doesn’t like to remember that he’s partially the reason why conflict has turned inevitable. He’s still daunted by that monstrous image of Vhagar devouring the Velaryon boy.

He didn’t mean it. But what are intentions when it comes to war?

Perhaps it’s for the best that you’ve been taken away from me, Y/N.

Aemond never asked why you disappeared, but there was no need to. The Queen’s brother thought wise that you continued your education in Oldtown—perhaps more moved by Otto Hightower’s counsel, who was genuinely worried over you concerning the bluntness in Rhaenyra’s children—especially after what had happened to Aemond.

He reasonably accepted it, but he also resented it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t accept your absence. It makes no sense to him why you were withdrawn… and after what he’s done, anger and guilt consume him still.

Despite the angst in his thoughts, this is no time to self scourge. Aemond promptly participates in the council of war, listening to all and making acceptable suggestions here and there.

��Diplomacy failed”, says the prince before the king. “To war we must wage.”

The first steps to conquer allies and strength old alliances are thus shaped. Later, without Aemond’s acknowledgment, the idea to fortify Houses Targaryen & Hightower through marriage is returned.

“Perhaps we should have Daeron to bring Lady Y/N”, Otto contemplates.

“Is she going to be safe here?”, says Alicent, genuinely concerned. “If she comes over and falls in the enemies’s hands, Gwayne is not going to forgive me for this.”

“Gwayne knows what’s best for our family’s interest. Y/N is too precious to fall simply into Rhaenyra’s side. I’ll make sure of that.”

As the wheel turns, destiny is designed.

***

• III

Aemond is vibrating this day. He’s managed to collect great victories in the battles ahead all thanks to the strategies he traces with Aegon. Due to Rhaenyra’s incapacity of playing the game of thrones, both brothers seem to finally see eye to eye.

“It is for the best that we work together on this”, Aegon tells Aemond one of these days. “No one wants a safer realm than I do. I know you may judge me unfit for the throne I never wanted, but Aemond… we are family. May our differences be set aside for the sake of our cause.”

War is not a merely word drawn out of bards pens to mark the deeds of men and save for posterity their names. This is not about glory, but a conflict built over anguished, vicious souls, plagued by ambitious.

War is not fought alone, this Aemond knew it well. Aegon has his reasons to fear his younger brother, but he cannot be alone in such a time. They are already doomed for fighting a kin.

“Your cause is mine, Your Grace”, says Aemond, leaving his ambitions aside for the sake of the misadjusted family he’s born into. “To suggest otherwise is a treacherous, incommendable thought.”

“Good”, Aegon cannot conceal his relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

How odd it is to find peace in times of war.

Yet can it be called peace when Aemond is far from it? Plagued by old demons, he is in constant struggle to firm his steps. He cannot trust in anyone of his family, despite affirming his loyalty to Aegon.

But what else is there to be done? He has a role to play and this is no time to getaway of it.

Whilst the Seven Kingdoms bleed and burn, you remain safe at Old Town. Occupying yourself with books, embroidery and music have proved to be good to for your mind.

Indeed, Old Town is safe for you in many ways. You could still manage to take philosophy to your bed late night, you could still read how many books you want. You upheld many privileges being the son of Ser Gwayne.

You could dance merrily with Lord Daeron, but he reminded you often of Lord Aemond. And by the end of every night, you are forced to tell that he never loved you for he never bothered to write you.

We are at war, you tell yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best.

So you accept this is your fate. Maybe to remain unmarried, which is good—your library is still the safe haven you can go to, for you charmed the maesters there and no one can forbid you to touch untouchable books.

But is knowledge a good medication for a broken heart? You are yet to know.

“Daughter of mine”, your father’s voice startle you; for he is not expected. “I knew I’d find you reading at the gardens again. At times I think you have too much of the Tyrells in you”, says Ser Gwayne, alluding to his wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell, your mother.

You greet him like the devoted daughter that you are.

“What is there for me to do? Men sharp their blades and I sharp my brain.”

Ser Gwayne is proud for the intelligence you have developed. Had you been a son, he’d not been concerned over the matters of his succession.

“If only your brothers had the same concern. But your grandsire knows your worth is too high to be wasted around here.”

Your heart races, your mind accelerates, but your face remains unreadable.

“What is it you mean, dear papa?”

“What I mean is that you are going back to King’s Landing. Your mother protested against it, for you are our only daughter and these are perilous times to be sent to the capital”, by the way he sighs, you know Ser Gwayne agrees with his wife. “However, your grandsire has better plans for his favourite granddaughter. He wants to marry you off to Lord Aemond Targaryen. I don’t think the old man will rest until he tangles both houses into one same blood.”

He chuckles and you force yourself to join him in laughters. However, deep inside you feel weak, unwell even. How can this be? To marry him… the object of your childish desires, the man whom you opened your heart to…and yet never received any token in return.

“Is this certain? What’s with the rush?”, you hope you are disguising well your own atonement.

“It is, it’s been agreed at last. The late king lamented profoundly when you left the court, but in all honesty… I think you deserved better than a prince like Aemond”, and here your father pauses. “You must be aware of who he’s become. The war has started because of him.”

It is as if he’s expecting you to dissuade him of the idea, perhaps he wishes you to. You look away, finding an excuse to gaze at the flowers that colour the gardens.

True, you are more than aware of what he’s become. Some courtiers mock him, calling him a monstrous green in allusion of the Queen’s party against Rhaenyra’s, which is black. You have the sad news confirmed, albeit reluctantly, from Daeron’s mouth.

But this is not who he is, surely. He is proud, arrogant even, shielded in himself. Traits that you’ve become familiar with in girlhood. Traits that have not been righteous directed, turning him porcelain skin to iron.

Your reason conceives he’s not suited for the sensible woman you’ve grown to. Daeron would be a better fit and perhaps your father hopes you to admit that.

To Ser Gawayne’a sore disappointment, you’ve made up your mind. Your affection has deeper roots than he’d know, and it is firmly planted in you that all else cannot find place in your heart.

“I am not here to change anyone, my father. I take him as who he is.”

“Very well”, the lord sighs. “You’ll be sent with Lord Daeron, your cousin. He’ll fly with you to the capital in Tessarion.”

“I am not afraid of dragons, father.” You smile and lean to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“If you are happy, then I am bound by honour to concede it to you, my daughter.”

The bells of liberty finally begin to ring.

***

• IV

Aemond has recently returned after smashing Rhaenys and Meleys. Victory is at last on his side and the prospectives are better. He’s been having an eye at Harrenhal though and he’s about to set his way there when he’s been summoned by his mother.

How strange. We’ve been barely speaking to. What, in Gods name, does she want?

What happens next is certainly getting out of his senses.

“Son”, she welcomes you with Helaena by his side. His sister is smiling in her own way,

Either something good is about to happen or I am about to fall on a trap. It is unusual to find contentment in Hel’s face.

“Mother”, he nods his head, keeping his guard high. “You summoned me.”

“I did. You may think I have forgotten that my son is to be wedded, but I have not.”

Aemond is discomforted. A dangerous topic that he learned to despise ever since you departed. But he keeps his expression neutral.

“I have no inclination to be married whatsoever.”

“I believe you may change your mind”, to his surprise it is Helaena who speaks. “We are bringing her back, Aemond.”

A shiver crosses his spine.

No. This cannot be.

“Her?”, he plays cynical.

“Yes. Lady Y/N is coming with your brother. It’s time for you to settle down, my dear child.”

Aemond feels a fuel of anger and resentment. Mostly because years separated you two, but the powerlessness of taking you back, to let you go.

Despite the confusion, nothing betrays his composed mask.

“I wasn’t consulted about this.”

“No one is hardly consulted where marriages are concerned”, Alicent laughs away. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

Aemond doesn’t answer.

“Well, she’s coming soon. You better not disappoint.”

But he’s been anxious. Restless. No news of war can take his mind off you. He could have written about you, but his insecurities took the best of him.

When you departed, there was no warning. Neither was consulted about the matter, apparently. And yet…

A sound of dragon breaks the silence of the night. Aemond knows this is Daeron’s. And you are coming too. The prince leaves the yard and moves to the dragon’s pit.

He realizes a little too late that the whole family is there to welcome you. The prince opts to stay in the shadows, watching from a safe distance.

His good eye is mesmerized by how handsome you’ve grown into. Your hair is as red as he remembers; your curls, just as wild, a victim of wind. But you have curves now; your breasts are full and large, your hips giving a positive indicator of your fertility.

Your face… is just as divine as it was in his boyhood days. Your traces softened, and your lips still easily spread in a gentle smile.

You haven’t changed a thing, dear Y/N.

Aemond, troubled by the reminiscences of what has never been dissipated as he had hoped, quickly leaves. But for how long will he be able to avoid you?

You conceal the disappointment for not seeing him there to welcome you. But what could you expect when you two parted without saying goodbye?

“He’s coming soon”, Helaena tells you assuringly. “No need to worry, my cousin.”

“Oh, I am not worried. Not at all”, you smile as convincingly as possible.

But it’s difficult to keep your composure when he’s not present to attend the feast given on your behalf. The sound of music does not entertain your ears—it is as if Old Town’s tune was merrier. Or perhaps it all feels cold because he’s not there.

However, a distraction comes in the person of Daeron, to whom you’ve grown close in the days spent back home.

“Shall we dance, cousin? What a waste of beauty to stay here, away of the light.”

You chuckle lightly as you cede him your hand.

“Why, your flatter me with your poetic soul, Daeron. Let us dance then like the last time.”

In this moment, you don’t see him coming discreetly to take his place by his side. You miss his stare, his longing gaze following your steps. And yet… when you do meet his eyes, you take every control you have to act in a nonchalant manner.

Oh Aemond. How come years have gone by and you affect me so?

He’s now a handsome lad. Handsomer indeed than you’ve pictured him. Taller and serious, using an eyepatch to uncover the eye that was taken from him in that unfair circumstance you remember.

It feels impossible to reach out for you. Oh, Aemond. Please do not lock me outside.

Music ends after what it seems an eternity. There is no need to Daeron lead you back to your seat for this is a task Aemond takes himself.

“Lady Y/N Hightower”, the prince greets you formally and it hurts you to detect cold in his voice. You swallow back the tears and you remember to curtsy.

“My lord Prince”.

Aemond offers you his hand and he can tell that he affected you, perhaps not in the same way he wanted, for you hesitate before taking it. Cold and warm mix, like last time.

“May I lead you out of this spectacle?”

“If the king permits…”

“I do not think he cares.”

Silence hangs. You nod your head, afraid of bursting into tears right before the crowd. Perhaps your father has been right in protecting you. Who is this man you are now betrothed to?

For a while, undetected, the pair leaves the salon. It’s late by now and by this hour wine has had its effects. Somewhere close to yard is where Aemond stops walking. When you turn at him, he’s no longer cold.

“You left me, Y/N.”

Oh. Here it is. The subtle accusation. But it’s better than nothing, you tell yourself.

“I wasn’t told I would depart to Old Town, Aemond. I did not give my consent to it, but we both know how little power, if we have any at all, do we possess to command our destiny.”

Aemond avoids your gaze for a moment and you recollect his fragilities. You dare to shorten the distance and hold his hand. To your surprise, he does not shy away as your fingers lace.

“Do you honestly believe I left you because I wanted to? After all I told you?”

“What else could I have thought, Y/N?”

“You could have asked. You could have said anything.” And there they are: the puddle of water. “You never wrote me in these years!”

Aemond closes his eye, breathing heavily. Despite you trying to let go of his hand, he keeps holding yours firmly. Only then, you see pain in his eye when he opens it again.

“I was miserable when you left me alone in this world.”

“As if!”, you hiss. “You never cared for me!”

You turn away from him, instantly regretting for this decision to come up and try again. You’d think he’d leave you, but Aemond is no quitter.

“I love you, Y/N”, he pulls you against him one more time, this time closer than before. “I was stolen the chance to tell you that I love you! I fucking loved you! I could not find a replacement for the nest you made in my heart, nor could fix the hole you left in me!”

“Then why”, you sob, “didn’t you write?”

“Because”, he pauses, and here he lifts your chin after wiping away your tears, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of never being sufficiently enough for you. Hence why I figured that a better match was found to you. I thought…”, the prince chokes for a moment, struggling to hold back his own tears. “I thought you’d not love me anymore after I lost my eye.”

You cup his cheeks and make sure this time he looks at you.

“How dare you to nurture this thought? I have loved you since the first day I put my feet on this soil. I have known not other sentiment but the deepest shades of affection from the day you comforted me. I… I would never take anyone but Aemond Targaryen as my husband.”

A small smile tugs at his lips.

“I am unlovable, dear Y/N. Haven’t you heard what I’ve done?”

“No one is unlovable. I am not here to fix your wrongs, Aemond. I am here to help you make your rights.”

“You’re not leaving now.”

This is not a question. You smile.

“No. I am staying.”

Saying so, he leans forward and locks his lips with yours. You breathe in, dive into it.

He’s finally yours and you are finally his.

***

• V

You’d not think, nor Aemond, that the Gods amused themselves by testing the veracity of what one felt for the other. That the love surpassed years and obstacles is, some would say, an indication of divine favor.

But this is not what troubles your or his mind. When his lips are against yours, when his hands are locked with yours, when your legs are wrapped around his waist, when he is pleasing you… oh these past ghosts are long exorcized.

“I adore you”, he whispers against your ear, kissing your neck as he caresses your left breast. “Fuck, I am yours, eternally yours, Y/N.”

You moan loudly, singing out his name. Your hand is now against his hair, using the other to crave your nails into his skin, getting a groan out of his lips.

“My husband”, you bite his bottom lip. “I love you. Oh Gods! I cannot believe this is not a dream.”

“Not at all”, he smiles at you. “It’s you and me throughout time, dove.”

“No more whoring I pray”, you tease him, aware of his encounters with the woman of the brothel.

“I thought you knew that already. Never more.”

And saying so he dives into your neck, there staying until his eager mouth slips to your chest.

The synchronicity is so good that doesn’t take much time before you and him reach climax together.

“Mm, stay here”, you lock him with your legs. “Do not remove it out of me.”

Aemond laughs quietly as you smile, gently touching his face and his sapphire eye.

“Naughty uh?”

“We must compensate for the time wasted”, you tease him.

As he lies his head next to your shoulder, thus cuddling against you, you take the time to hold him tight, unwilling to break the spell. However, Aemond knows the inevitable must be said.

“We must discuss something, beloved. I am expected to take Harrenhal.”

Although you know this could not be postponed, you avoid his gaze and keep quiet for the moment. But Aemond knows you, and he sees the struggle in keeping yourself composed, the anxiety coming to your countenance.

He lifts his face and caresses your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you I’ll love you until the day I die and I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but you understand you’ll face experienced warriors in there…”, and despite the efforts, fear comes to the speech.

“It may take a while, but I’ll beat those fools. I must do it for my brother’s sake.”

“Very well”, you know there is nothing you can do before his stubbornness… and his loyalty to the green cause.

“Y/N…”, he looks anxious now and you are surprised to find it in his features. “I cannot wage wars knowing you didn’t give me your blessing.”

You break to a soft smile, turning to his side and stroking his long face and hair.

“I consent, my husband. But do not dare to leave me alone in this world.”

“Never.”

To assure you he means it, he kisses you passionately. Not too soon after that, you and him burn the bed with the awake of long repressed desires one feels for the other.

***

• Epilogue

With the green victory uncontested, peace remains at long last. Despite the bad fame, Harrenhal is your new home and you are its new lady.

Whatever opposition you might find when your husband came to pick you up with Vhagar, none was left to resist the new residents.

Throughout the long reign of Aegon II the Wise and Good Queen Helaena, you provided Aemond a bunch of children to turn this gloomy castle into a merry and lousy household. These are:

1. Aerys and Rhaella, a pair of twins, who would keep the Targaryen tradition.

2. Rhaegar, raised in Oldtown—would marry a cousin Tyrell.

3. Visenya, many years later married to Maegor, third son of King Aegon & Queen Helaena.

4. Daena, would be married to Lord Brynden Tully of the Riverlands.

5. Baelor, would be raised as a squire at the capital and turned out to marry another child of Aegon & Helaena, a daughter they had named Alyssa. A coincidence of the fate? Who knew?

6. Maekar, later sent to become a Maester at the Citadel.

7. Aegon, later made lord of Summerhall. He’d take as wife his younger sister.

8. Alysanne, probably your favourite daughter—she’d grow to marry the brother she loved best, the lively and chivalric prince Aegon.

An ending very fitting for a love that was tested by time and won it over without much need of persuasion.

46 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 9 months ago

Note

Somewhere SJM claimed that Lucien and Dorian would be friends if they knew each other and that’s always kept me hopeful. Dorian is one of the most interesting characters in TOG for me and he is also surprisingly slow to find love, even though he’s a rake and he enjoys the company of women. His experience with Sorscha is the same as Lucien and Jesminda (losing their loved one and witnessing their brutal deaths at the hands of their fathers). Both characters are fair and good despite everything else going on around them, they enjoy reading and knowledge, they are ready to sacrifice themselves, they are both excellent candidates to lead due to their innate sense of goodness and fairness. And even their cheeky personality is similar in many ways. Dorian’s access to his own powers was manifesting slowly in TOG and it kept trickling in with each book and I feel like we’re going down that path with Lucien too. We learned in ACOWAR that he sees magical work with his golden eye, we learned that he can track this magic very well. We also learned about his spell cleaving abilities that even he seemingly didn’t know (or hid from others) and we know from his time in autumn that his brothers felt threatened by the power they could sense in him from the beginning. I think Lucien might go through a similar arc to Dorian as he comes into his full powers and that really makes me think about how he actually might become high king. I love Rhys but Rhys is first and foremost for his own people and he is so attached to just the Night Court that I don’t think he would do well with representing everyone. Lucien is essentially homeless in Prythian, he belongs to so many courts and has connection to so many that I can see him do well with such a big title.

Add Elain to this mix. Her powers could be very useful for someone in her position if she ends up high queen with Lucien. They are basically an unstoppable safety net for each court. Elain might see visions of conflict and trouble coming their way, she could aid in decisions about anything, especially if she masters her powers and could look into the future for various outcomes. Her love of nature and travel would definitely come in handy. She would want to protect those courts. Not to mention her love for social events and her ability to charm people. Could you imagine her helping smooth things over between high lords just with her wit and charms? I know a lot of people think she’s going to become a spy but for me she is always more of a politician/courtier and her qualities would shine in such a situation.

I agree and it gives me hope too. Not only did she say Dorian and Lucien would be good friends but Lucien would be someone she could see herself co-writing a book with because of his cleverness. Dorian would be someone she could see herself going to the opera with, who wouldn't mind if she took a long time to get ready (and we know Lucien takes care in how he dresses). Dorian was a human with unknown powers and he ended up having unlimited raw magic that could be shaped in whatever way he wanted. She's also set up Lucien to be someone with unknown powers, a future HL as Dorian was King. I do think there are differences between Lucien and Dorian but those seemed to come into focus after he finally was rid of his valg collar. I think a little bit of that darkness seeped into him and he became well matched for Manon whereas Lucien and Elain both individually and as a pairing embody light. My vision of Elain matches yours as well, where Elain will make a difference, not sneaking around in the shadows spying in the quiet but out in the open, influencing others with her loving, kind and wise personality.

#elucien

31 notes · View notes

delfiore · 2 years ago

Text

—THE GHOST YOU LEFT BEHIND.

pairing: zoya nazyalensky x fem!heartrender!reader

synopsis: a painful past between you and zoya comes to light when you are sent on an intel mission on behalf of the king.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: men being gross, a mild spoiler for the SoC book (?) idk i found the info on the wiki

a/n: hahAA 4k. shadow and bone has consumed my life and so has sujaya dasgupta ok thank you goodnight.

You looked down at the map strewn in front of you, a small smile creeping its way onto your lips. You didn’t look up, but you could imagine the fury on Zoya’s face.

“If I may, moi tsar—“

“I have made my decision, General,” Nikolai interjected, ��you are my best fighter, and well, Y/N can be quite persuasive. I trust that you two would make an excellent team.”

For the glory of Ravka.

Finally, your eyes found her across the table. Her jaw was tight and her eyes hard as she looked back at you. “We depart at dawn,” she said, regal and in the manner of a good soldier, and left the room.

“Something humorous, sister?”

You shook your head, but the grin remained. “Now I think you’re just doing it for the hell of it.”

“I need all the information I can gather about jurda parem,” your half-brother reasoned, “and my advisor and general to not be at each other’s throats every time they enter the same room.”

“And your solution is to send them away alone with each other?” You scoffed.

“Precisely.” Nikolai nodded, with the same shit-eating grin. “I expect you back in a fortnight’s time with useful intel.”

By the time the sun was above you the next day, you and Zoya had been on horseback for hours outside Os Alta. Unsurprisingly, in complete silence.

You breathed in deeply. “Well, isn’t this lovely?”

“No.”

“A thrilling adventure back to my motherland,” you continued much to Zoya’s dismay, “almost like that time when we went to seek out the Crows. Just thinking about those Shu dumplings at the market makes my mouth water.”

Her silence was poisonous, and you felt the poison seep into your bones. The horses huffed as they trotted leisurely side-by-side on the dirt path.

“You know, we are going to be together for the next fortnight. Are you really going to do this without saying a word?”

“I am,” she said adamantly, “unless you’d like a punch to the jaw for breakfast, I suggest you shut it.”

“Speaking of breakfast, I am famished.” You looked down at your stomach delicately. “Perhaps we should stop. There should be a tavern in a couple of miles.”

To your surprise, Zoya let you stop at the tavern for some food, but not before she gave you a look that made you reconsider everything you’ve ever said around her. You were in the middle of devouring bacon and eggs, when you heard a scoff coming from her on the opposite end of the table.

“You eat like an animal,” she said, grimacing.

“Sorry that my table etiquette isn’t to your liking. I’ve learned to appreciate food having lived at sea where sustenance is never certain.”

“Why’d you pick it then? You were royalty.”

You huffed. “Not exactly. My status at court depended entirely on how my father, the King, felt about his illegitimate child that day. And that, in it itself, was fragile. But you knew that.”

Zoya shifted uncomfortably. You knew you had touched on a sore subject, but it was the most you had exchanged with her since returning home with Nikolai. All the spats and arguments left you little room to fill her in on all your adventures as you’d hoped. You wrote countless letters addresses to her, but you never received a response, so you’d only assumed that your words on paper had been reduced to ash by now.

“I’ll have you know I got the money for it. You just got to tell me where.”

“I’ll sell it to ya when I make sure I’ve got more coming in from Koba. The Crown’s maximizing security at the borders so it might take a while.”

“Are you listening?” You looked up at her, whispering quietly, so as not to alarm the men at the next table.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Thought the Fold being gone would make it easier, instead it’s just another useless king waving his magic wand around like a little prick.”

“Name the man. I’ll have my men do business with him.”

There was a stiff silence. Her hand fiddled with the napkin anxiously as she waited for the response.

A heavy fist slammed down on the table next to your plate, and the rugged men had surrounded your table.

“Got a couple of eavesdroppers, haven’t we?” One of the sneered.

“Oy, give us a bit of fun and maybe we’ll let you off,” another put his foot on the chair in which Zoya sat, and stroked her face greedily. “I’ll take this one.”

You could see the desperation in her eyes, begging you not to fight back. So, you held your tongue. You knew you couldn’t reveal the status of your being here. It was the reason why you and her dressed in plain clothes, and not your kefta.

“We’re just passersby, boys. Not looking for any trouble,” Zoya said sweetly, but you could tell that she was fuming too.

“C’mon, sweetling. No harm in a little fun, eh?”

You hated the way that prick was hovering over Zoya, it made you see red. In a quick motion, you whipped your head back against one of them, effectively breaking his nose with a loud crunch. With the other that stood beside you gawking, you pulled on his heart, until you could feel it squeezing in your hand, and he fell to the flooring, arresting.

The tavern once animated quickly fell silent, and the only sound left was the brawl that you found yourself in. Needless to say, a bunch of otkazat’sya were no match for two Grisha. But it was only you using your powers. Zoya had knocked down two of the men with her bare hands.

You found the informant amidst the brawl, now battered with blood on his face, and held him by the collar. “Tell me who the seller is and where I can find him.”

When the man refused to answer, you gritted your teeth, and pulled the air from his lungs.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you!” He gasped. “Yuri Enkhbaatar, in Koba. Please, let me go.”

You nodded, satisfied, and punched him in the face, rendering him unconscious.

“Grisha scum!” One of them shouted as they all ran out of the tavern with their tails between their legs.

You took a moment to catch your breath. When you looked down at your hands, they were shaking and your right was bloody at the knuckles. The silver ring on your middle finger, fortunately, was still intact.

“It’s fine,” you said to Zoya, seeing her look at your wound with apprehension.

The sound of the horses neighing alarmed you. "No," you whispered and set off to chase the men, only to see them galloping away with one of your horses. You quickly ran after them, but they had rounded the corner and descended the hill, away from your immediate eyesight.

You let out an angry yell, just as Zoya caught up to you.

"Well done," she said sarcastically, a grin on her face.

"Save it," you grumbled under your breath, and keep walking in the direction you were supposed to go.

You heard Zoya's horse trot behind you, and you turned around in an attempt to counter whatever teasing comment she was going to throw at you. "Hop on," she said.

It took you a second to realize what she meant, frankly because you didn't think she'd be that hospitable. It might have been a different story if it was her horse that had been taken. You never liked being around an angry Zoya; a simmering Zoya was enough of a headache.

"You do realize that this means I'm going to be very close to you for the rest of our journey?"

"I'd rather that than have to wait for you every few paces," Zoya said, extending a hand to you. "Go on, we don't have all day. And if you keep babbling, you will walk.”

You took a deep breath before pulling yourself upwards; now you were very close to her. You thought the years of being apart would extinguish that bubbling feeling you get whenever you were around her, but here you were, trying your best to keep calm, as your legs wrapped around her. Thank the Saints she wasn’t a Heartrender.

“I’d say this is quite nice—“

“No.”

You sighed. It was going to be a very long ride to Koba.

On the fifth night, you arrived at the city. The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains, and the city lights could be seen from miles away.

“We should probably find our accommodation before doing anything,” Zoya said, “we might be here for a bit.”

You found a cheap inn in a small alley near the market. If you weren’t on a mission for the king, you’d almost see it as a much-needed vacation. You knew Zoya was exhausted by the way her eyes were barely open she waited for the innkeeper to assign you your room. She grabbed the keys as soon as it left the woman’s hand and went upstairs.

“All the Saints above in good Heaven,” you heard her exclaim as you peered inside.

“What?” You said. There was one single bed in the middle of an otherwise quite spacious room.

“It’s alright. You catch some sleep.” You said, sensing her annoyance. “I’ll go into the night market—“

She didn’t let you finish your sentence before throwing her day-bag somewhere on the floor and collapsing onto the bed, her limbs sprawled out across the entire width.

“—For a bit,” you said quietly, and closed the door behind you in the hallway, a small grin on your face at the unusual display of fatigue.

When you returned about an hour later, she was already in a deep sleep, but still in her riding clothes. Careful so as not to wake her, you pulled the cover from underneath her, earning an annoyed murmur from the girl, and throwing it over her body.

The commotion from the market had faded out the moment you stepped into your shared room. The quietness, not silence, that enshrouded the room, became loud. Your mind became loud as you thought about the past. Your past with Zoya.

You began to hear her voice, her young laughter as she chased you down the hall at the Little Palace, effectively putting many servants in charge of your wellbeing in distress. You despised your so-called family, the only one you liked was Nikolai, but things got better because you had your best friend, Zoya, the new Squaller that came from Novokribirsk.

You found her crying alone one day in a hidden part of the courtyard, when she was supposed to be training with Botkin. She had come only a few days before, and she was missing home.

“I’ll be your friend,” you remember saying to her, “that way you’re not alone anymore.” The pair of you were nine.

You sat by the side of the bed, resting your head against it, watching her sleep. She had every right to hate you, you knew that, but it hurt a lot. It hurt because you had promised yourselves to each other in the form of two silver rings. You didn’t understand the magnitude of that promise then, but you did now; Zoya Nazyalensky was your first love.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, but you knew she couldn’t hear. Quickly, you placed your hands above your chest to slow your racing heart, and keep the tears at bay. Once calmed, you settled back against the side of the bed, listening to the other steady heartbeat in the room as you succumbed to sleep.

Ten years old. You pushed down on the door handle quietly, being careful not to wake the other girls in the room. It was way past your bedtime, and you knew you would have to sneak back into your own room before the sun rises. In the dark, you made your way to where you knew was Zoya’s bunk. She was fast asleep, facing away from you.

“Zoyaaaa,” you shook her softly. The raven-haired girl turned around, and rubbed her eyes.

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered.

Wordlessly, she moved over, albeit barely as her bed was tiny, and you happily got under the cover with when as she pulled you closer.

“What are you ever going to do without me?” Zoya whispered back.

In the pale moonlight, your best friend looked like the entire universe. “I’d just never sleep.”

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up!”

You jolted awake, feeling the weight of reality crash down against your heavy eyelids.

Zoya was hovering above you, furrowing her eyebrows at the snorting noise you made when you woke up.

“Look,” she said, pointing out the window.

You rubbed your eyes and squinted subconsciously at the bright light that penetrated the room. Deep into the alley, a space opened up to what appeared to be a tea shop, and there sat two of the men you encountered at the tavern in Ravka.

“Shit,” you grumbled.

Next to them was another man, the front half of his head was shaved, the back of it skirted down his back in a long braid. He had Shu features, Enkhbaatar.

“There’s our man,” Zoya said.

You lunged towards the door when she pulled in your sleeve. “What are you going to do?”

“Stopping those bastards from importing the drug into our country.”

“By doing what? Asking them nicely?” Zoya hissed. “Y/N, we’ve already directed enough attention to ourselves the other day. We’re not in Ravka anymore, we don’t have the same kind of protection here. If they find out what we are—“

“They kill us, I know.”

She nodded firmly. “So, I have a plan.”

Zoya was good at many things, a good Squaller, a loyal soldier, a resolute decision-maker. It led you to believe that her plan might just work, it checked out in your head. You got the name, Bo Yul-Bayur. But then, you found yourself chasing after Yuri Enkhbaatar down many winding alleys, until you stopped at what seemed to be a brothel and his goons looked like they were about to swallow you alive. Turns out the men that you had beaten up at the tavern alarmed him of two Grisha nobles looking for jurda parem.

“Kill them!” He shouted to them in Shu.

“We just want to talk, Yuri!” You held your hands up in defense.

“I don’t talk to Ravkans, most of all Grisha!”

“But you’re not human, are you? You’re Grisha too.” You laughed, albeit carefully. “You’re a Fabrikator, an Alkemi.”

The look on his face shifted, as he scanned his men.

“Let us go, and you will have protection in Ravka from the King himself until we arrest Bo and bring him to justice,” Zoya prodded.

“I don’t need protection from your boy king,” Yuri growled. “Tell me, will your Saints be there to watch over you in the afterlife?”

The men charged, and all you knew was to defend Zoya from their blades. But there were too many of them. You were getting overwhelmed by the others as you try to subdue one. Men piled on top of one other trying to fight you, and there was a moment when you thought you wouldn’t get out.

It would be poetic, you thought, dying with your best friend, and your first love. Word would reach your brother of your failure, and he would do with it as he willed, but you would be here with Zoya, and you would be alone together.

Through the chaos, you spotted Yuri fleeing the scene. He really meant to kill you. You looked over to Zoya, seeing her struggling to fight three men at once. One of them, in her blind spot, with a gleaming sword in hand sliced her arm and she reacted with a painful yelp.

“Zoya!” You yelled. The added strength of seeing her in pain allowed you to stop two of the men’s hearts at once, something you’ve never done before, as they instantly dropped like flies to your feet.

You sensed an opening in the disorientation, and quickly grabbed Zoya to make a run for it. You hid in another small alley under ropes of aired out laundry for added concealment, as you attempted to catch your breath.

Zoya’s sleeve, once royal blue, was now stained with a dark red where the open wound was. It looked deep, and she was trying her best not to let the blood mark your whereabouts on the ground. She clutched it poorly in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but her face turned pale as she looked closer to fainting.

Quickly, you tore a piece at the end of your garment off to wrap it around her arm. “Keep pressure,” you said, but she turned away and refused to meet your eyes.

“I don’t need your pity, Y/L/N.”

“Pity?” You scoffed incredulously. “Zoya, you’re bleeding out!”

“Don’t pretend like you care about me now!” You knew it was her pride talking. Years of being the perfect soldier—alone—has hardened her, and having her plans fail so spectacularly. “I’ve survived worse. I took a bullet to the leg, an arrow to the shoulder. This is nothing.”

“Zoya, please let me just—“

“And you weren’t there!” You saw your own reflection in her glossy eyes, like a crosshair, like a wanted poster. You saw yourself in her disappointment.

“I left because—“ your voice was breaking, “I left because I couldn’t stand it anymore. My . . . family, never saw me as anything more than a bastard child! I felt like I didn’t have a family. I was on my own.”

Zoya laughed bitterly, sniffling her tears. From the wall she was slumping against, she took a step towards you, her eyes burned with contempt. “I was your family, Y/N, and you left without even saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes were wet. You balled your fists, your right hand fiddling with your ring. “I loved you.”

“There was a time where I would have said it back to you,” she said, her voice wavering, “but that time is long gone.”

With that, she left, no doubt to find her way back to the inn, but you didn’t bother trying to show your face for at least until that evening.

Nikolai heartily welcomed your return. He had worried for your safety when word got back about the tussle at the tavern.

"Well done, Y/N. I never doubted your abilities."

"Truly, it was Zoya that came up with the plan to catch Yul-Bayur," your voice trailed off, and you shrugged.

Sensing your discomfort, your brother came to your side by the table. "You talked, then?"

"If by 'talk' you mean we screamed in each other's faces, then yes," you sighed, your last verbal interaction fresh on your mind. “The only times I regret leaving with you are when I think about her.”

Your brother understood not to make his thoughts known, but to be your comfort when he pulled you into his chest.

The way Zoya handles her emotional baggage was never something she was proud of. Her confrontation with you in Shu Han had dug up a lot of things she wished she had forgotten about. She had promised herself to never let anyone in as much as she did you, and it scared her how easily still you got under her skin, even now.

So she figured the best way to deal with you was to pretend you never existed at all. The only times she would see you were at dinner and training anyway, but she never bat you an eye. She wanted you to know what it felt like to be left behind.

“Lady Y/N asked about you,” Genya told her, “asked how your arm is doing.”

“‘S fine.” Zoya answered courtly.

In the little time Genya Safin had the privilege of knowing Zoya, she knew the girl could be difficult to talk to. However, it never deterred her from trying.

“Why do you deprive yourself so? You know you still care about her.”

“It’s none of your business, Safin.”

“It is. It’s everyone’s business, Zoya, when you both have been lathering those longing, melancholic looks at each other all over our faces! You don’t think the other notices when you look at each other, but Saints it is so blatant that it makes me nauseous.”

Zoya didn’t reply, but opted to observe some younger Grisha mucking about during their breaks from training.

“And what about those letters? Why’d you keep them then? For decoration?”

“I—I don’t know.” She must have read every single one of your letters at least ten times, each time hanging onto every word. She would find herself smiling as some of the stories you tell her, but quickly catch herself slipping. There would be three to four letters every few months, then the numbers dwindled until she had to get used to not receiving any at all. Five months later, you returned.

“General,” a guard made himself known to the women. “His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber.”

To her utmost dismay, you were there too, along with Tolya and Tamar. She let herself settle by the table, ignoring the burning gaze you were directing at her.

“You called for me, moi tsar?”

“Yes, I was hoping to get your input on how we shall proceed with Yuri Enkhbaatar, and subsequently Bo Yul-Bayar.” The King leaned on the edge of the table. “You were face-to-face with Enkhbaatar, what do you think?”

She let herself glance over at you for a split second, seeing you already looking at back at her with a crestfallen look. Straightening back up at the King, she answered, “We may need some time before we are able to get to Yul-Bayar. With him hiding out in Kerch, the only thing we may do is issue a bounty for him. Might I suggest our . . . friends in Ketterdam?”

By the time the meeting was over, Zoya used her best effort to leave the room as quick as possible, but, as if you had known she was going to, you caught her in the hallway.

“Zoya,” you said. There was a hesitant pause. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she spoke calmly, almost too much so. You winced at her aloofness.

“Please, I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I thought about you every day when I was gone. You must believe me.” You clung onto her sleeve with a desperate look. Zoya almost faltered at the glossiness that been to form in your eyes, you looked so defeated.

“I still think about you,” you confessed quietly, “you are all I think about.”

Your confession hung in the air like a puff of smoke, one that she wished she could condensed into a ball and throw away. There were other things that should be said after, but if she said them, her beating heart was going to jump out of her mouth into her hands for you see. There was a time when she wouldn’t have been afraid to let you see. Parts of her wanted to return to it.

“Th-That’s it,” you mumbled quietly, but something shifted in your eyes. You avoided her eyes and visibly deflated.

Zoya watched you floated down the hallway like a ghost, regretting choosing silence.

That night you couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed, you let your last conversation with Zoya played out in your head. You didn’t know what she was thinking, you used to be able to read her like a book. There were very little expressions on her face to indicate any emotion, and yet her heart was pounding in your ears like a scared prey.

One can wear as many faces as one needs, but the heart will always want what it wants.

You kicked off your covers, and quietly opened the main doors to your room. There was not a single sound in the hallway, the Castle had gone to sleep long before that. You had learned where everything was now located in your absence, and you stopped in front of a room right by the stairs leading down to the main atrium.

She opened the door, and didn’t bother to hiding the surprise on her face. “Y/N,” she called your name.

You gulped, and let yourself run your eyes across her features. Her face was bare, free of cosmetics, her hair was dark as the night and cascaded freely down her shoulders.

“I can’t sleep,” you said, smiling sadly.

There it was. You saw the walls cracking, and finally tumbling down. Her lips quivered as she stifled a small sob. She had been pretending so hard, and it all cane tumbling down.

Wordlessly, she pulled you into her room, her hands finding their ways to the nape of your neck. You let her cry against your forehead, as your fingers found the wound on her arm that has now closed.

“I’m so tired of pretending.” Zoya said.

“Then stop,” you shook your head lightly. “I’m never leaving again.”

You let her push you back towards her bed where you sat by the edge, as she slowly guided you onto your back, raven curtains divided her face from everything else. You let your hands roam free, all night, for a thousand nights.

#zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky imagine #zoya nazyalensky shadow and bone #shadow and bone #zoya x reader #genya safin #nikolai lantsov

241 notes · View notes

searchingforserendipity25 · 1 year ago

Text

In Wholesome Majesty | ao3. The Silmarillion. Maglor & Elros.

He was easy to find, the fisherman.

One only had to follow the song snatched by the wind; and if one was king of the island, nothing was beyond finding. Tar-Minyatur had once been a fosterling in capitivity, well before he was a king - he would have found him even if the island were not his to know.

The fisherman singing to the sea went silent, considering the head peering over the edge of the cliff, and said, “I beg pardon -”

“Beg nothing of me tonight, and certainly not pardon! I do not have the legal infrastructure to get started on that,” Tar-Minyatur warned, and heafted himself over the edge, legs dangling for a moment before finding purchase.

It took care and caution, living upon newly-made Númenor, where all things were immaculate and recent, still to be worn. The lichen that grew, the mussels that clung, were the first to grow and the pioneers of life’s grasp on the island. Men fell - tripped against the sharp edges of the stones, gashed their limbs, broke their heads.

Tar-Minyatur’s stride, slow and ponderous upon the mosaics of his halls, had nothing of dignity upon the cliff - scrambling over basalt stones was not an impressive thing, by any means. His fingers were dark with pale stone dust and scraped when at last he stood, his shadow against the sun very long and still.

Maglor looked up at him from the brim of his straw hat, with eyes very bright even under the shadow of the king against the sun.

With genuine curiosity, he asked, “Have you the personal wherewithal, good lord?”

If Tar-Minyatur was breathless and flushed, it was not more than any Men his age would have been; he reminded himself of it, but his irritation was not much assauged. “I would not recommend the attempt. Presently, I am all out of mercy.”

“Heavens, that is surely dire in a despot-king,” Maglor said mildly. “Ought I be very much afeared?”

Those words the king’s eldest cousin among Men had stood in open court and asked, tossing them as a spit or a dare - Ought we be muchly afeared of Tar-Minyatur, this despot strange and alien to our ways, covetous of power over land and mind -

He had not held any doubt, but his resolution strengthened all the more, hearing it.

“I see not why; you are excellently well-informed,” Tar-Minyatur said, and his voice and countenance were the sound and look of power as Men knew it, clear and stern and formidable.

Care and caution, by the sea and in the halls of carved basalt. One would think the leader of Númenor, powerful and half-elven and strange, would have faced greater opposition, or at the very least a half-hearted assassination attempt or five. Certainly Tar-Minyatur, in olden days, standing sea-wards upon the sundering ruin of Beleriand, had not imagined it to be a safe task, no easy duty the one he took upon himself.

“I,” Maglor said. “Have no notion of what you speak of, sire. Indeed, I have been sitting by this habour fishing bass and netting crabs since the start of the century. Ask the Lady Uinen; she has been by, and you know I can hardly do anything beyond her custody.”

“Yes, thank thee, what a fine notion,” Tar-Minyatur said, the edge of distemper pressing against his words, hard enough to cut. “I am going to call my magistrates, my bannermen and lords and priests, and tell them the sudden disappearance of my enemies as they strolled by the water can be proved by the testimonial of the Lady of the Waves and the oldest living elvish criminal - I am sure that shall go excellently among the superstitious and the resentful.”

Maglor bowed his head with due gravity. “Alas, lord, ‘tis kind of you to give thanks; you know I serve you most gladly.”

“Do you,” Tar-Minyatur asked, very evenly, not asking. He had always felt foresight more strongly in the flesh than his brother; very few things surprised him. “And have you any shame, to go with the glad service you presume to offer?”

“I do have a wealth of it,” Maglor agreed somberly. “All the wealth I have; so it seems something unwise, to spend it on so little a thing.”

“They shall call for justice, you know; liege-lord that I am, I call for justice.”

The look that gained him was mild, and unrepentant, and rather pointed - had the king learned that imperious tone from the penitent himself? Tar-Minyatur could not be certain, always, what he had learned in the traditional sense, and in which order in time. The flesh was hasty, even as the spirit wandered. It had made him a great warrior from a young age, and an infuriating student to all those that had held the task.

Maglor, mostly. Which did not make matters of authority as they stood between them particularly easy.

“Call justice against the rain, that fell and made the stone walkways a danger to walk to a lord of Men hungry for the raising of fleets and glory in war? I would like to watch that petition be presented against Manwe. If you wish to punish me, to be sure, that is fully just, on any number of accounts; but I say that I must ask - have you considered that you give me too much credit altogether? Men do trip and fall, on occasion.” Lightly, Maglor considered, “And the Half-Elven, even; anyone might, keeping such company among the lords of your council.”

“No one is throwing anyone off while I rule,” Tar-Minyatur decreed. “And, frankly, your expectation that all my enemies are about to compel me to fall from far heights and not merely from rank is alarming. What a notion you have of duty - have you not murdered enough of my kin?”

“I should dearly like not to murder anyone’s kin, but conspirators have the unfortunate tendency of always being related to someone!”

Tar-Minyatur waved an impatient hand.

“Of course there was a conspiracy! - built on fear and superstition as much as foul greed, and the fear not likely to diminish now. There are many among the lords of Men who rule wisely, and heed not the words of some fool! Yet where a conscience might prevail, still superstition may remain. The leaders of the nations of Men would not be outrageous in supposing in their heart the misfortune of my enemies as another proof that I am -”

What was Tar-Minyatur? He had made the Choice of the Edain, but there remained in him much that was elvish, and of a provenance greater and stranger still.

“You are loved by the divine,” Maglor said, not ungently. “The island that is yours, and given to all, must stand as greatest proof above any petty winter tale.”

“I am out of patience with meddling creatures, divine or monstrous,” the king said.

Resplandescent in his fine silver sea silk, his robes of purpura and grey, embroidered linens folded in thin, precise layers - still he crossed his arms and felt himself all the ages he had ever been, child, men, elder.

For a moment he knew himself as he would be in the last days of his reign, when old among Men he certainly would be - but never old enough to argue with this foe. His bracelets and carconets were of heavily carved gold, as the Second-born cherished, satisfying heavy around wrist and neck; too heavy they seemed to him now, whose pruning knuckles ached in the evening from the weight of his rings of office, authority, allegiance.

Then he was as he was again: the hair upon his head dark and curling still, the brown of his cheek unlined. He had suspected, but not known, how near to not being older than this he had been.

He knew Maglor had seen the glimpse of it; for he turned his eyes away, and down at the rocks by the surf.

Tar-Minyatur stared, and sighted, took his samite robes in his hands and sat down on the stone ledge.

He had never liked to see the Kinslayers weeping; from a young time, he had learned to pretend not to see Maglor’s trembling mouth. What good was sorrow, if it be evil sorrow?

But Maglor never scorned Elros’ changeling grasp on himself, the possibilities of himself; and only pressed heavy weights and precise tasks to anchor him by. Wood and whitling, axe and tinder, copper wire, weaving, food to cook and tents to raise. Elrond had accused him, once, laughingly, of raising a mortal kingdom only half out of habit; what could be a heavier burden to bear, and more beloved?

“Next time,” Elros said wearily. “Come to me firstly. No,” he said firmly, when Maglor made ready to speak, “The honesty of denial is important, but I would rather it did not come to that! I knew well the matter was not well, but that does not follow I cannot attend to it nonetheless - thou presumest much, and ‘tis unwelcome, even upon such terms of service.”

Maglor pressed the back of his gloved his to his cheeks, one and then the other, but smiling a little. “Is that the chief of the complaints?”

"Very hardly!” But he could hardly chide Lady Uinen for an excess of care or attention, regardless of how convoluted his court would be in the moons to come.

Already in his quarters the pages were putting away the rich damask and the silk, and sinking his tunics of plainly woven cotton in vats of dark dye. There would be mourning for his cousin, whispers as the fire grew upon the pyre with only tinder to feed it; and though none that lived in Númenor were so foolish as to curse the Sea, all were wise enough to fear it.

Still the legend of Tar-Minyatur would grow, and his work to deserve the trust of his kindred grow further in difficulty - the work of the living as he had chosen it, which would have no end but for the final one.

“‘Tis hard work, being a benevolent tyrant,” Maglor said sympathetically. "All those quibbling factions and dreadful meetings."

“O, do not dare laugh at me -”

Maglor did not laugh, as such. Elros almost smiled himself; he had learned he had a need to laugh at for no one would, and Elrond was too far, and the world would believe too much in his own importance, but that had been before Maglor first stepped foot upon Númenor, and brought the old habit of long and courteous conversation, and terrible sincerity behind the courtesy.

Elrond it had been who had convinced Maglor to follow him to Númenor upon the same vessel, before Maglor made his way down the Hither Shores and crossed the border to Eriador and went to present himself to Círdan of the Falas.

Maglor, Elrond had said, was not in any state to go about paying weregild to anyone - surely he ought to wait some years at least, ‘till his hands healed, and he was better fit for service? - and if he really insisted, it could be argued he certainly had a duty to dispatch to the princes of Sirion, in whatever proved to be their tasks.

Tar-Minyatur had been dearly glad to see both his brother and his companion - even if, and perhaps all the more because Maglor had been allowed to come because the island was as inescapable a prison was could be outside Mandos. He could not say it was not in the interests of Númenor to have him wandering the harsh beaches. Maglor took the watching post over the island very seriously, as a sentence and a duty; Númenor being, in his understanding, and the wording of the Gift, quite nicely encompassed in the person of her king, and the kind well beloved by him.

But Elrond had sailed back to Gil-Galad’s court a score years now; and while Maglor was certainly made for a fine shore-call to sailors lost in the mists, his performance as a complacent penitent was not perfectly convincing.

“I do not treat it lightly,” Maglor said, in perfect sincerity. “But I should be honoured to lighten the burden a little, as much as I am permitted. I slew Ulfang for Maedhros, aye, and his sons, who were little older than you are today; but most of all for Caranthir, who was ruined in heart and thinking by the treachery. ‘Tis not a good duty to bear, dearest; and this Mannish notion of the ruler playing the executioner is frankly not very holy -”

“I shall take your expert counsel, as regards the slaying of kin and punishment of traitors,” said Elros coldly; though he himself had beheaded criminals before, and slept much the worse for it

“Pray do!“ Tenderly, Maglor said, “You know it is no hardship to do so for you, O Lord-King.”

That was not a lie. Elros and Elrond had always known, when Maglor lied to them.

The air was clearer on the island than on any other place across the Eastern sea. Elros had grown to youth and manhood among low mists and heavy clouds of noxious smoke; his lungs burned, worked with an effort to be greedy of the clean sea spray.

The embroidery upon his collar itched under his chin; the brocade mantle kept him over-warn most days well before noon, but evening was falling, and the cool wind was sweet upon his cheeks.

He looked upon the desolate sea, and that took effort too. He had never been fond of heights. It would not have been a happy death, the one his usurping cousins would have given him.

There was a tradition among the nation of Tuor’s people, that a traitor be dealt with by his lord’s own sword; but a lord turned autocrat be thrown from the high ledges of a city’s fortifications, and the bones left for the crows to fight over. So that even the great should always know - the ones that raised them high in trust and fealty could ever bring them from such rank.

But the power Tar-Miyatur held in truth - greater than love, loyalty, trust and honour - lived inside him, and if he walked the island with empty hands it was not for fear that his feet should ever fail him upon it.

He could well understand why one would resent it. Elros held love, loyalty, trust and honour in greater value than any treasure; he did resent himself, at times.

Then he said, slowly, for it was not often that he could speak his thinking without caution, and it was not a thing easily done by a king, “There must be reconciliation, between the many branches of the tree of Númenor, if it is to bear fruit; and not so much of this over-cautious pruning. I do not for anything wish to be a tyrant – to rule by might, or fear; yet I am not so eager for a dagger in the back as thou mayst think!”

“And I do not wish it either!” Maglor’s eyes, overbright with old Light and very weary, looked at the king with the truth of his heart plain to see. Tar-Miyatuar, who had been Elros only, once, begrudged a little how his own mouth betrayed him, and the warmth at his breast. “My good prince. I am sorry for denying thy claim to justice - the culprit shall not face it now. But I have sworn to keep to thy dominion, and serve weregild as weregild demands - and if this small gift I can give unto thee, that thine hand may stay from thy sword one day more, that is not something to grieve.”

I would not have thine hands bloody for me, Elros said in his heart, but his mouth did not lie. It was not their habit to lie to each other.

There were times when Tar-Minyatur wasted a moment imagining the youth spent in loveless terror most of his councillors presumed from what little he said of it. It had been terrible, often enough; that was no deceit.

All the same. That great wizened monarch of Men he was thought to be, whose heart was as the heart of a lodestone tuned towards justice, and impossible to bend, sounded like a grim prig - but he would certainly never have to deal with this .

And there were times, as well, when Tar-Minyatur thought of Númenor, harsh and sparing and lonesome, and suspected he had put too much of himself in it; or taken too much of it into himself. A thousand Men served him gladly, and loved him, and would die and kill, aye, for the promise that was his existence, as long as he kept to the promise, and made duty out of all of himself.

It was a rare thing, and very dear, to be loved and cherished higher than his tasks. His sword would go unsullied with kinsman’s blood this night; he would live, and be less a stranger to himself than he might have been. Maglor had given him very little, when it came to the wider consideration, and taken much; but this was a gift he could not resent.

“Also,” Maglor added thoughtfully, “if thou didst perish, I am half-certain all the great sea-birds of the island would turn and peck out my warm liver, and thy lady mother in her far tower would be in full justice to order it so.”

“I do not think the Sea should like it. Lady Uinen would make a fuss; she likes his dominion to be her own, and thy singing too well,” said Elros, a little wryly.

(They had spoken of it, and agreed that the cast Jewel taken by the waves did not necessarily count as troth-dowry, by the terms of the Maiar. The differentiations in terms of transitive property were fascinating, but he did not need foresight to known the resulting discussion when Maglor took notice of the matter would surely be a headache he would be glad not to be part of from beyond the circles of the world.)

“Well, she loathes me, but I do flatter her terribly, and I intend to redeem myself as suits her wrath, and the future plenty of my fishing,” Maglor said, half-whispering and sly. “Do not tell her I said so!”

At once the chiding waves battering the cliffside sprayed high, and stole the fishing rod, the hat, speckled the creasing of the king’s cheeks, the hems of the king’s mantle. They leaned back, startled; and laughing, leaned on each other.

Elros lived in that instant wholly; he remembered it as a child and forgot it as an old man, and the island stole the sound and kept it with her as well for all her long days.

#my fics #silm fic #maglor #elros #an old fic from the drafts folder surfaces #lotr #tolkien #tolkien fanfiction

33 notes · View notes

dutifullynuttywitch · 1 year ago

Text

Autumn Nightbloom

My MC for Blades of Light and Shadow/Blades 2

Autumn's portrait by the incredibly talented @lilyoffandoms 💛💛💛

Autumn is an elf raised by humans in the small town of Riverbend, along with her adopted brother Kade.

Initially, she knows nothing about her culture and heritage. She feels like a bit of an outsider in the small Riverbend community and would love to understand better who she is and where she's from. Tyril is the first of her kind she’s ever met. With his help and guidance, she gradually learns more about her cultural roots, though she comes to find elven society too rigid and insular. She is very much a “human” in her worldview and belief system.

After meeting the goblins in Blades 2 and learning more about her family’s sacrifice to protect them during the Elven war against the Shadow Court, she chooses to honor them and adopts the Nightbloom name.

Physical appearance: She is an elf, fair-skinned, blond hair, and light purple eyes.

Personality: Autumn is very curious, with a thirst for knowledge and an adventurer at heart. Growing up, she always dreamed of traveling the realms, meeting interesting people and going on quests, just like the heroes Kade would tell her about in his stories. She is a very caring and loyal friend – not afraid to jump into danger to protect the ones she loves. She is charismatic and uses her seduction skills to get out of many sticky situations – to her friends’ amusement and Mal's occasional exasperation. She is witty and banters with friends and enemies alike. While she is quick to trust, she is slow to forgive – and forget – betrayals, particularly when they affect her friends and loved ones. (Autumn is still working through her anger at Aerin and Valax’s betrayals, though she allies with them for the greater good.) Always very independent, Autumn had never dreamed of getting married or starting a family. Meeting Mal and choosing to run the orphanage with him was an unexpected blessing. Now she couldn't imagine her life without him or the children.

Hobbies: Autumn grew up reading about famous adventurers of the realm and fantasy novels. She still enjoys a good book whenever she can indulge in free time. She enjoys a night out at the pub, drinking and dancing the night away with her friends. Autumn is musically inclined, she learned to play the transverse flute and piccolo growing up. She now plays mostly to entertain her friends and the children at Mal's orphanage. (It's also a much safer alternative to Mal's singing!!) She is a horrible cook but compensates with excellent foraging skills.

Fighting skills: Autumn is skilled with the bow and sword and will practise both for hours to hone her skills. She'll often run through her Kai'tar movements early in the morning as a form of meditation. As an elf Autumn is magically inclined. She practices her skills regularly in the hopes of becoming a powerful battlemage. She also spends much time with Nia learning the secrets of healing magic.

Languages: In addition to the common language of Morella, Autumn learnt the elven language with the help of Tyril in order to read the old manuscripts and understand her house's history and that of Undermount. She is now learning Spanish to better understand Mal and Wren's cultural roots.

Love interests: Autumn was attracted to Mal from the moment she met him not that she'll ever admit that to him. She felt drawn in by his charm and flirty banter, and a little star-struck initially that he was an established adventurer, living the life she had always dreamed of for herself. Her feelings for him deepened as Mal gradually opened up to her, showing vulnerability and more of his authentic self hidden beneath all his charm and cockiness. They also share many of the same opinions regarding the authoritarian nature of the political and religious systems within Morella, and disgust at the elite’s abuse of the common folk. Autumn chose to create a life with Mal at the end of Blades 1, and to help him run the orphanage after Blades 2. She accompanies him on his heists, partly to keep him out of trouble, but also because she needs a bit of danger and adventure to feel truly alive. Also, she'll never waste an opportunity to stick it to the rich & powerful, and redistribute wealth along with the love of her life!

She was also drawn to Tyril when they first met, though that connection quickly blossomed into one of friendship and respect. She was initially intrigued by his stoic and reserved nature, impressed by his remarkable fighting skills and deep sense of honor. And his devotion to his lost friend Kaya. Autumn was also curious to learn more about elven culture and felt a sort of kinship from the moment they allied. She panicked when he was injured in the undermount catacombs, and realized her concern for him ran deep.

#blades of light and shadow #playchoices #blades of light and shadow 2 #my mc #bolas #choices #mal volari #mal volari x mc #tyril starfury #meet my mc

31 notes · View notes

joocin-thebox · 10 months ago

Text

oh man this cat.... this cat!!!

my crossover lore you ask?? how is knh palace in warrior cats?? WELL

our girl maomao, beloved, still does her posions and medicines! cant deprive her of her quirk! iirc there is a limited bit of medicine in wc and they have their shortages, but lets just say the knh location is abundant with herbs for an apothecary's usage!

and yes, she calls herself an apothecary bc her papa heard it when he used to be a loner and he just calls himself that now (so does everyone else, but healer / doctor are the main terms)

beloved maomao cant truthfully expierment with snakes and the likes the way she does in knh, but she finds her work arounds. for that reason she is an excellent hunter, being delightfully exceptional at hunting snakes and extracting their venom (how? who cares) to make unordinary cures and remedies :0 she keeps dead snakes and bugs around for harvesting when she needs them, and eats whatever is left over/expired (whether this is realistic doesnt matter at all)

She has like a million scars under her pelt bc she aggravates a lot of cats and loses plenty of fights, but they never hurt her too badly. simple scuffles and cuffs on the ear can get our meow meow to back off and watch her mouth (most of the time) the scars on her foreleg though are from her experiments :) ointments and such and whenever white/green/yellowcough breaks out, she's at the ready with tried and true methods, or something outrageous that only brave souls would try

(she willingly gets sick to test these remedies, but has since been banned from coming into contact with diseased cats alongside dead ones) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

now where does knh wc take place??? somewhere! that's for sure! no replacing any canon territories, there is no riverclan, there is no queen of england!

instead of a clan (bc it means something else in knh) the colony is called a palace, and it is like 4 times as large as a single wc clan would be! (imagine the lake / forest territories but they all belong to the emperor)

most terminology, laws, and roles are basically the same, still have our emperor, his younger brother, the consorts and the likes im thinking splitting the locations within the palace by direction like in canon, so one clan would equal one court, but all 4 clans are the palace and the area is usually referred to as such. there arent as many disputes bc the whole thing belongs to the emperor as for the rear palace? canonically it exists beside the actual palace, so idk! we'll figure that out later (or never)

starclan exists but its not a monolithic colony, so there are quite a bit nonbelievers but no one is splitting hairs over the fact

i think the only things that would have to change is some story elements and locations obv. like verdigris is a twolegplace colony that resides in the town near the palace, with the madam (grans) being only one of many leader types within it

verdigris is overrun with cats. there are people but not many, and the cats live in abandoned houses, sewers, old buildings, farms, etc!

maomao was born in verdigris, but as we know, her father isn't from there. Lakan is from the palace, specifically the eastern court! maomao has never been and as far as she knows, she has no father. Grans told her the cat that helped birth her disappeared and probably got eaten by dogs :) maomao has no reason or drive to question this information, but she is well aware of the shadow that seems to follow her whenever she's on the outskirts of verdigris...

her kidnapping?? uhhhhhh who knows! LOL! working in the rear palace? same as usual! i see no reason to change the poison taster factor when... like lets be so real... there is poison in warrior cats :) if shadowsight can live, maomao can live! but the types of poisons would have to shrink or expand dramatically bc they are cats

[sidebar: i had wanted to make a knh au where literally everything, and i mean everything, is the same, except the people are cats :) why didnt i? well... maybe im silly... and it's too easy...]

☆*: .｡. back to our program ᓚᘏᗢ .｡.:*☆

I will not be changing anything but the basic points of the story and it might as well end around e12 for this au

for my sanity <3

ill mostly be focusing on character designs, general locations, and arcs that are easy to translate IF i ever care enough to crossover anything other than the fengming arc :D

all fun and games (and finally peace of mind since ive been in art guilt paralysis for half a year)

biggest challenge??? cat jinshi... he's supposed to be puppy... and lakan is also supposed to be foxpuppy but i can translate fox into cat... AND LIHAKU IS PUPPY ARRRGHHH ill figure it out!!

#wip #i caved!!!#but i got some work done #maomao saving me #can you tell i might be autism?#fox are dog bc they are fluffye

3 notes · View notes

graysonfamfan2021 · 1 year ago

Text

13 books 📚 to get me better

1.unseelie , it’s part of a duology and I loved 🥰 that it was written by an autistic author ✍️ ivelisse housman and featured an enemies to lovers between raze and unseelie and found family and an autistic Fae protagonist as I’m autistic and it’s a fantastic book 📖.

2. the secret 🤫 of service of tea and treason by India 🇮🇳 holton , a autistic author ✍️ and it is part of a trilogy about autistic witches , spies 🕵️‍♀️ and witches in a magical 🧙‍♀️ Victorian world 🌎 and has an enemies to lovers romance 🥰 between Alice and Daniel and it’s an phenomenal book 📖.

3. a duel with the vampire 🧛‍♀️ lord by Elise kova and it is amazing 🤩 book 📖 with the found family trope and an enemies to lovers romance 🥰 between Floriane and Ruvan and it’s an amazing 🤩 book 📖 and a retelling of snow ❄️ white.

4. a taste 👅 of poison ☠️ by tessonja odette is an excellent book 📖 and a wonderful book 📖 featuring Fae in a beautiful 🤩 magical 🧙‍♀️ Victorian inspired world 🌎.

5. court of dragons 🐉 by frost Kay and it’s an epic fantasy romance 🥰 and it’s part of a trilogy and has dragons 🐉, romance 🥰 and elves 🧝‍♀️ and badass ladies .

6. Midnight 🕛 in everwood by m.a kuzniar and it is a wonderful retelling of the nutcracker and has an rivals to lovers story, and LBTQ representation as well as many other representations and relationships as well .

7. A throne of shadows by tessonja odette and it’s part of a trilogy and has unicorns 🦄 and magic and Fae and second chance and enemies to lovers romances respectively between the two different characters, Cora and teryn and larylis and mareleau.

8. These vengeful souls by Kelly Zekas and Tarum shanker and has an LBTQ relationship with the main relationship being enemies to lovers and has villains 🦹‍♀️ and heroes 🦸‍♀️ living in Victorian times and I’m a history buff 💪 and it’s x men meets the Victorian era. It also reminds me of the heroine complex series by Sarah Kuhn and the renegades trilogy by marissa Meyer as well as my favorite 🤩 shows titans and doom patrol and x men evolution.

9. Ana Maria and the fox 🦊 by Liana de la Rosa is a historical romance 🥰 set in the Victorian era in England and has a slow burn 🔥 romance 🥰 between a Mexican heiress Ana Maria who is the sunshine ☀️ to the grumpy African politician, Gideon fox as well and a marriage of convenience and Ana Maria and Gideon’s relationship is amazing 🤩 and I love ❤️ how he knows to speak 🗣️ Spanish and can talk to her and her family in their native language and I’m so excited 😆 to read the next book 📖 in the luna sisters trilogy next year as well as India 🇮🇳 holton and Elise kova and tessonja odettes books 📚 too etc.

10. the moonfire bride 👰‍♀️ by Sylvia Mercedes has Fae , slow burn 🔥romance and combines beauty and the beast with the Greek myth of Eros and psyche and it’s so good 😊 and the protagonist is a seamstress and she can weave dresses 👗 out of moonlight and other things in the Fae world 🌎.

11. Bellegarde by Jamie lilac it’s a retelling of the movie 🍿 she’s all that in 18th century France 🇫🇷 and has two slowburn romances between evie and beau and evie’s best friend Josephine and beau’s cousin , Mia Bellegarde and I love 💕 these two couples and the book 📖 is very well written and phenomenal and it’s awesome 😎.

12. Daughter of the pirate 🏴‍☠️ king 🤴 by Tricia levenseller has an abundance of magic 🪄, sirens 🚨, pirates 🏴‍☠️ and a heart ❤️ pounding enemies to lovers romance 🥰 between riden and alosa and it’s a stellar book 📖 .

13. Queen bee by Amalie Howard is a retelling of the count of monte Cristo by Alexander dumas and takes place in the regency era and has an array of different romances from enemies to lovers and slow burn 🔥 and friends to lovers and LBTQ relationships and representation from the many biracial characters in the book 📖 and it’s a fantastic book 📖

I’m tagging my besties @selinascatnip and @escapism-through-imagination and @not-so-mundane-after-all and @itsjustafia and @majima4587 and @ambelle and @amberpride and @ships-bynoa and @blackloislane and @amberpride and @lady-stirling and @meerakory and @meetmeunderthestarrynight

#13 books 📚

14 notes · View notes

gallantsports-blog · 9 months ago

Text

Maximizing Performance: The Importance of Fencing and Lighting in Sports Facilities

In the realm of sports, where every inch matters and every second counts, the stage upon which the game unfolds plays a crucial role in determining the outcome. While the prowess of athletes certainly steals the spotlight, the supporting cast of infrastructure, particularly fencing and lighting, quietly but significantly impacts performance. At Gallant Sports, we understand this intricate dance between athleticism and ambiance, which is why we're here to shed some light on the importance of fencing and lighting in sports facilities.

Picture this: a football match under the dazzling floodlights of a state-of-the-art stadium, the players weaving through opponents with precision, the crowd roaring in excitement. Now, imagine the same game under inadequate lighting—shadows obscuring the ball's trajectory, players struggling to see their teammates, and fans straining to catch the action. The difference is stark, isn't it? That's the magic of proper lighting.

Lighting isn't merely about illuminating the field; it's about creating an atmosphere conducive to peak performance. Whether it's a fast-paced game of soccer or an intense match of tennis, optimal lighting ensures visibility remains consistent across the entire playing surface, minimizing the risk of injuries and enhancing the overall experience for both players and spectators.

But lighting alone doesn't complete the puzzle. Enter fencing—the unsung hero of sports facilities. Fencing serves as the invisible barrier that not only delineates the playing area but also ensures safety and security. From keeping stray balls from disrupting adjacent games to preventing unauthorized access, fencing adds a layer of functionality that is often taken for granted.

Moreover, fencing isn't just about functionality; it's also an opportunity for creativity and branding. Imagine a basketball court surrounded by sleek, branded fencing, or a soccer field adorned with vibrant colors that reflect the team's spirit. Fencing isn't just a boundary; it's a canvas waiting to be transformed into a masterpiece.

At Gallant sports Company, we understand the intricate interplay between fencing, lighting, and athletic performance. Our expertise lies not only in designing and constructing premier sports arenas but also in ensuring that every element, from the fencing material to the positioning of lights, is meticulously curated to maximize performance.

From pvc vinyl for basketball cost to Artificial Football Turf , we offer a comprehensive range of products and services designed to elevate your sporting experience. Whether you're a school looking to revamp your sports facilities or a professional team aiming to create a home ground that strikes fear into the hearts of opponents, Gallant Sports is your partner in success.

So, the next time you step onto the field or settle into the stands, take a moment to appreciate the seamless blend of fencing and lighting that sets the stage for athletic excellence. And remember, behind every remarkable sporting moment, there's a team of visionaries at Gallant Sports, dedicated to transforming the sporting landscape one facility at a time.

For Information: Artificial Grass Cost With Installation and Stadium Seatings & Bleachers

0 notes

bearbluebooks · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 3 - Empty

Gwyn struggles with the new life she has been thrown into. She escaped the place of her worst nightmare, but she cannot escape the nightmare inside her head. She always carries it around . In her mind, body and soul. All matters she feels disconnected from. It became her way of coping. By disconnecting from the events, she had to disconnect from her body, they were intertwined.

Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Trigger warning: mental health

This is how I imagined the library:

These are the little helpers, Howlers, I love them so much.

Azriel POV

What a fucking mess. He volunteered for the clean-up crew that dispatched to Sangravah late last night. He started to regret his decision, if not for that nagging feeling that he missed something. That he could have done something to save that female. To reach the other female sooner.

Clean-up wasn’t something he usually did, he preferred the other stages of battle.

Helmerra identified four. The first was his specialty and favorite. It was what he excelled at: intelligence. Most people lacked the patience or stomach for it. Cassian hated waiting for things to unfold, he preferred the bruteness and instantaneousness of battle. They called him Lord of Bloodshed for a reason.

The third and fourth phases, occupation and pacification, were something Helmerra didn’t partake in. They would transfer all these stages to their respective courts.

Only in exceptional cases would they differ from this course of action. Cases such as Sangravah.

That is why Azriel was now sifting through books in the library, trying to notice anything out of the ordinary. Something that would explain that feeling he couldn’t shake. Anything they could use against the Sun Sages- he overheard what the assholes called themselves in battle briefs.

The victims of the slaughter were given the traditional funeral for this region by the priestesses yesterday. They put the bodies on wooden boats, which they set alight with fire to cleanse the bodies for the afterlife.

He hadn’t been there to witness it, his shadows informed him when he entered the vicinity.

Shadowsinger, you must examine the cave, it is located on the bottom of the mountainside. A strange creature has been visiting the area for days. We have never seen such a beast.

Azriel was intrigued. His shadows were rarely not well-informed on something.

Although they started visiting Azriel when he was a child, they were as ancient as the sun. Their knowledge encompassed time and space, which made the occurrence extremely rare.

For short distances he preferred his wings, rather than his shadows. True to form, they healed quit nicely. Even if they hadn’t, Azriel enjoyed the pain. It was a reminder of what he usually inflicted on others, it reminded him of his mortality. Instead of the inhuman murder machine the higher ups wanted him to be.

Torture was an important part of his usefulness to the Shadow Legionnaire. His friends were only slightly aware of what he spent all those late night hours doing. He was prohibited from involving anybody in his secret comings and goings, with punishment of death. Not his own, but of the people he involved. Therefore, he relied heavily on his shadows. Only they knew who he truly was.

He reached the cave in no time. It was hidden behind two willow trees.

Good thing he had his shadows, otherwise, he never would have been able to find this place. He flared his blue siphons twice, illumining the large cave, scanning for the beast.

All he could find were strange shells.

They were different than the ones he used to find with his mum. These ones had a strange blue line around the outer edges of the shell. He had never seen anything like it.

He put one in his shadows for safe-keeping.

“Where is the beast?”

After it put the shells on the rocks, it swam back into the ocean. It looked sad Shadowsinger.

He didn’t know his shadows to be sentimental. They must have a soft spot for mysteries. Emotional bastards.

----------------------------------------

Gwyn POV

Gwyn woke up from a strange noise. A loud gong echoed through the small room, she counted six.

Clotho explained the routine yesterday. The day starts at six a.m. with morning prayers. Then breakfast in the small dining room, solely reserved for priestesses.

Breakfast was chicken soup with some bread. It looked delicious. But Gwyn was sick to her stomach.

It was as if her emotions took up all the space in her stomach. Even the thought of eating one spoon of soup made her want to vomit.

And so she did. Vomit in the toilet. Until there was nothing left. Then the dry heaving started. Gwyn wished she could dispel the emotions she felt along with everything else that just came out of her body.

Maybe there was magic for that too.

Gwyn cleaned her face and took a long look in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the person looking back at her. It was as if she was looking at someone else. Her eyes had dark rings running underneath, the freckles were even more noticeable because of how pale she was. There were bruises running just beneath her shirt. And she didn’t think she had ever been this thin.

The eyes that stared back at her scared her the most. They looked lifeless.

She splashed some water on her face. Hoping the coldness would bring her soul back to her body.

She had a meeting with Professor Spell-Cleaver today. She wanted to look at least a little bit presentable.

After that she had potions class and self-defense.

Clotho made sure she had everything she needed to partake in the curriculum: a black notebook, a quill, textbooks with strange names, such as ‘Foreign Social Skills’ and ‘Magic Infusion’ that Elain kindly brought yesterday, and a beautiful dark brown crossbody messenger bag.

She noticed the school uniform yesterday. It was very different than the blue robes she would usually wear in Sangravah.

The red and green checkered skirt reached just above her knee. There was a white blouse with a tie in the same fabric as the skirt. On top of the pile lay four pairs of black over the knee socks. There was also a black jacket that resembled a cape. It had four pretty silver buttons. Gwyn put it all on. The temperature made the jacket mandatory.

She quickly put her waist long copper-brown hair in a braid and rushed across the schoolgrounds to find Professor Spell-Cleavers’ office.

It was located at the top of the Northern tower. Gwyn had to get used to the amount of light the office reflected. It was as if the sun directed all its rays of sunshine directly into the white-walled office.

The office was decorated like a small library. Books surrounded the whole office. Thousands of books were spread across book shelves, the floor, and his desk. It was like a labyrinth of dreams.

“Enjoying the mess?” A deep voice asked from behind a pile of books asked. “My colleagues keep pushing me to create some order in the chaos. I believe they are the madmen for not appreciating the power of pandemonium.” He looked at her, from top to bottom. As if he could look straight into her soul. Could he?

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Professor Spell-Cleaver.” Gwyn quickly said. “Please call me Helion! Professor Spell-Cleaver is my father.” He loudly chuckled at his own joke.

“Don’t worry, I like a challenge. And I heard you form quite the mystery. You’re the talk of Helmerra.” Gwyn only now noticed the spark in his eyes. She didn’t know whether to be scared, or grateful for his appraisal.

“Let’s start with the elementals. Focus all your energy on this candle, imagine it in your mind. Where is it located? How tall is it? Feel the energy of the candle. As if you’re the master deciding its fate.” His eyebrows rose in quiet curiosity. Waiting for something to happen.

Gwyn always scored at the top of her class, she was sure she could excel in this too. So she followed his instructions to the letter. She saw the white wax candle in her mind, it was standing on the desk, at the top left corner. On top of a stack of books.

“Elemental magic is tied to emotion. So think of something that moves you.”

Suddenly all the events from the last couple of days rushed into her mind. The chaos. The destruction. Catrin’s body lying on the ground.

She could see a flame in her mind. It consumed the candle. Evaporating everything in its wake.

She even smelled smoke now.

Suddenly the world came back. “GWYN. GWYN. Come back Gwyn.”

She opened her eyes, and noticed the desk was on fire. THE DESK WAS ON FIRE.

Did she do this? “Professor Helion. Cauldron. I am so sorry. I have no idea what happened.”

With a brush of his hand, a gust of wind extinguished the fire.

Gwyn felt horrible. What was that? Yesterday she didn’t even know magic existed and now she set the nice professors’ desk on fire.

“Gwyn. Don’t worry. It is my mistake for doing this in my very flammable office. Potions class is about to start. Let’s call it a day and meet again tomorrow. Maybe near a river?” he offered with a smile on his face.

Gwyn appreciated the humor.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur.

She thinks she saw Elain in potions class.

Her thoughts were so loud, they overtook all other senses.

At a certain point it became so much, she couldn’t block it out anymore.

Her body retaliated. Her hands began to tingle. Her head became light. Her breathing turned shallow.

Oh no. She was having a panic attack in the middle of potions class.

She used to have them every month when she bled. The pain that accompanied them caused her to have panic attacks. Luckily her mum taught her how to handle them. By focusing on her breathing. To breath in for four seconds, hold, and then out for six seconds.

After a while feeling would come back to her hands, and oxygen to her lungs. She was very happy that it also worked this time. Hopefully nobody noticed.

After class, she quickly went to the library to have lunch in the stimulus free library, rather than the overwhelming dining hall.

She even found a romance book. The one her mum never allowed her to read. The famous Sellyn Drake novel ‘Binding to my enemies: Spy Edition’.

She was happy she made it to self-defense class. Where she saw him. The most beautiful male in the world. Azriel.

----------------------------------------

Azriel POV

Self defense was his favorite class. He hardly had to prepare and he was still in the top of his class. He could teach this class, easily.

The person who actually taught the class was an Illyrian war-lord, Devlon.

He hated his guts.

Illyrian society was extremely patriarchal. Females were not accepted in the war camps, and rarely received formal training. Helmerra strived for equality between societies, and genders.

Devlon refused to accept this. He often reminded his students he made the rules, and whoever had a problem with that could leave his class.

He was forced to train all genders, yet, he still found ways to limit females’ training.

Azriel usually started class by observing in the corner. Catching up with his brothers.

Today he planned to spar with Cassian on the mat. He wanted to improve his hand-to-hand combat skills, maybe throw in a sword to make it interesting.

Just as he removed his shirt, he saw her.

Red hair. Teal eyes. Freckles. Her ears were pointed. She was tall, taller than average faes. He didn’t notice that before.

She moved gracefully across the field, to the spot he often occupied himself. It provided an excellent vantage point to observe, yet, obscured enough not to be spotted if you didn’t know where to look.

He didn’t know if he should approach her.

He remembered her, but he didn’t know if she saw him in all the chaos.

Was it better to ignore her and give her the possibility of denial? Or to offer friendship? He was about to approach her, when his questioning was abruptly halted.

“Okay deadbeats. Let’s start this shit-show.” Devlon shouted from the stupid stage he erected for himself.

He separated the mass of 50 or so people into two groups. The advanced group and the beginner group. The only females in the advanced group were Nesta, Morrigan and Emerie.

Shocker. Nesta got a lot of extra training from Cassian, Morrigan was the only Royal society female, and Emerie was an exceptionally talented warrior.

Azriel’s blood was boiling. But he decided to pick his battles. He didn’t want to make this class any more difficult than it already was for Gwyn.

He saw her walking hesitantly towards Elain. When did those two become friends?

Then he realized, she was the girl she was talking about showing around yesterday.

As soon as instructions ended. Azriel resumed his original plan and kicked Cassian’s ass in the ring. Sweat dripped down his freshly earned bruises.

His gaze kept on going to Gwyn. His shadows seemed to share his pre-occupation.

It was as if they danced around her, as if they tried to get her attention. Talk to her.

“Knock it off.”

Shadowsinger. She is so beautiful. We just want to talk.

“Leave her alone. She has been through enough already. Let’s not add ‘stalked by shadows’ to that list.” Reluctantly the shadows collected behind his wings again.

They never actively looked for Elain, if anything they shied away from her. How interesting.

Class ended slower than usual.

He quickly left in search for Gwyn. Elain was softly yelling behind him if he had dinner plans. But his mind was made up.

He decided to introduce himself. And then she could choose to ignore him.

He couldn’t find her though.

“Where is she?”

She left for the library Shadowsinger. You were not quick enough. Bad Shadowsinger.

Little assholes.

----------------------------------------

Gwyn POV

That was brutal. She was happy Elain was there to ease the chaos of the class. But she still left as soon as it ended.

Her afternoon library shift was about to start and she did not want to be late.

She was happy to have a daily structure provided by Clotho. It helped ease some of the worries and anxiety she felt. She could now busy herself with tasks to not have to listen to her thoughts.

Clotho came by today after classes, to ask how her day was until now. She explained the work of the reflectionist, that it was someone who would help her reflect on everything that transpired in Sangravah. She also urged her to start as soon as possible.

Gwyn could only nod, she wasn’t ready to tackle everything. Even though both the amount and intensity of her thoughts were too much if left alone for too long. She wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

She could really use some help with going to sleep though.

Every night all she could do was stare at the ceiling. She would try and distract her brain with memories of Blue: when he waited for her to watch the sunrise together. How they would go for swims sometimes at night. How they would see the stars reflected in the sea, and how sometimes she believed she could touch them. That she knew how it felt to hold the night in the palm of her hand.

She would pray her eyes would become so heavy with sleep her thoughts didn’t have time to take over her mind.

Sometimes one thought would take root. And everything would flood back.

How her mum died. How her sister was killed right in front of her. How she was the one that survived, and more importantly, why was she alive and Catrin not. She did not deserve this life.

Catrin was always more vibrant and vivacious. Gwyn could not even get out of bed this morning. She could no longer distinguish light from night. It was all a blur.

Gwyn didn’t even know who she was without Catrin.

Comparison was as natural to her as breathing. Being born with someone going through the exact same stages as you was oftentimes a blessing. She was never alone, and she had a friend for life from birth.

But is also offered everybody the chance to have an opinion about them. Even though they were non identical twins, people would always make it a game to differentiate them. Always comparing one to the other.

Who was she without her? She never had to wonder that question. Until now.

Then the thoughts continued. How that man touched her and made her body feel so different. As if it didn’t belong to her anymore.

How her home was no longer a home. How she was thrust into this place that was so aggressively different than how she grew up.

All these images would play on repeat. Until nightmares plagued her subconsciousness too.

The library offered her a little solace.

Clotho warned her about the little creatures that helped around the library. Their were called ‘howlers’, because they would scream really loudly when disturbed. You could recognize them by their stately posture, they were small but exuded authority. Their skin had the color of a muddy swamp. Two hands with four fingers each framed their oval body which was held up by two feet and short legs. They had the appearance of a bat, with eyes like a bug. They wore little grey scarves because they were always cold.

Gwyn made a mental note to try and never bother them. Even though they sounded incredbly adorable.

The main hall had the same ancient look as the rest of Helmerra. There were two vertical rows of twenty desks, ten on each side. Two colossal chandeliers divided the space. The ceiling was of marble, each plaque depicted a historical battle.

There was a painting of the Cauldron in the center of the space. The outside of the space was lined by floor to ceiling book cases. All filled with tomes that looked to be as old as time itself.

At the back of the main hall was a door that led to the offices of the priestesses. Each priestess had their own office.

Gwyn was still an acolyte, so she was tasked by Merril.

A young, beautiful, and very talented priestess. She had hair the color of fresh snow which was made even more striking by her light brown skin. She could be very demanding, as reflected by the judging dark blue eyes.

Every day, Merril would provide a list of books for Gwyn to find in the massive library. On top of that, she was expected to correctly shelve the books she and other priestesses no longer have use for.

Gwyn enjoyed her work. She could work in solitude. Most of the time she had the library to herself, as most priestesses worked in their own offices. This meant that when the work became too monotonous, she could distract herself with singing.

She always loved to sing. It was like she could exhale emotions from her body. As if the vibrations of her song carried her worries along. Exhaling anxiety. Inhaling joy.

“Next time she should not ask questions she does not want answers to. Giving me detention. Who does she think she is.”

Gwyn heard the demanding voice coming from the back of the library. “Who are you talking to” Gwyn replied.

A dauntingly beautiful female with golden-brown hair quickly turned around, revealing sharp blue-grey eyes. She smoothed out her dress, and took up an impeccable posture.

“Who were you singing too?”

Point made.

“What are you doing here” Gwyn dared to ask. She thought only priestesses were allowed access to this library.

“I got detention. They ran out of ways to punish me so they send me here.”

“You can shelve these books then.”

The female looked Gwyn up and down, with strong distaste in her eyes. “I only answer to Clotho. You’re just an acolyte.”

Gwyn was amused. She liked this female. “What’s your name?”

“Nesta. Nesta Acheron.”

“Okay Nesta. You are here to work. Not only for Clotho.”

“And what is your name?” Nesta asked, with her arms crossed in front of her, eyebrows slightly elevated.

“Gwyneth Berdara, but most people call me Gwyn.” She replied with a smile.

“Are you shelving those or should I take them?”

“Back off I’ll do them”, Nesta replied reluctantly. Then something seemed to change in her eyes. “I’ll do it right now.”

All of the priestesses were placed in this library because of their past. It was meant to offer safety from the outside world, a safe haven of sorts. She knew that by staying here, a message was conveyed that would be known school-wide. She was just naïve enough to believe people would still treat her normally.

The candid exchange made her forget her worries for the first time since she got here. Now they crashed into her with full force.

“Don't pity me. Just treat me like every other person” Gwyn snapped.

“Most people don't like when I do.” Nesta responded a little bit subdued.

Gwyn always preferred honesty over fakeness, at least then she knew where she stood, especially after everything that happened to her. “Let's find out” she said with challenge in her eyes.

“What are you still doing here.”

Oh, Gwyn thought. That is more like it.

“Wow you weren't kidding." She said whilst starting to walk back to resume her work at the back of the library. You really weren't.”

“WAIT” Nesta yelled.

“This is still a library, you need to be quiet.” Gwyn whispered back, slowly retracing her steps to face Nesta.

“You should join our secret self-defense training. Devlon is an absolute prick and doesn’t train the females as well as the males. So we took it upon ourselves to correct his ego driven arrogance.

Every night after dinner, my boyfriend and his brothers offer training to every female that wishes to fill in the gaps left by Devlons incompetence.

I’ll bring you a piece of paper with all the information tomorrow.”

“Thank you for inviting me, but I’m not interested.” She liked the safety of this space. And classes were tough enough already. Being in such close proximity to other males was something she didn’t know she would ever be ready for.

“Whatever, I’ll still bring it to you.” And with that she left.

“Where are you going, you just got here.” And suddenly Gwyn knew why Nesta was sent here in the first place.

----------------------------------------

Azriel POV

Shadowsinger you need to give the shells to the girl.

“I’m already giving her food. She looked way too thin today. It’s becoming suspicious if I give her the sells too.”

It is already becoming shady, Shadowsinger. She believes the high priestess gave her the book. But more things will arouse suspicion. Still give her the shells though. Tell her it came from the shadows.

Azriel had checked the room before Gwyn occupied it. Just to make sure there weren’t any surprises. She already experienced more than a female her age should. The room was empty. He wondered why they didn’t provide anything to make it look less like a fucking prison.

So he made it his personal mission to do exactly that.

“Just drop the shells in her room. But don’t do anything unusual and for Cauldron’s sake, do NOT leave a note.”

----------------------------------------

Gwyn POV

After the evening service Gwyn reluctantly went to her room. Mentally preparing herself for another rough evening.

Until she saw something white from the corner of her eye.

No. It couldn’t be. Was that a shell? A shell with blue lines? Tears began to roll down her face. Blue knew she named it after her favorite color. So it made sure every shell had something blue on it, even though they were extremely difficult to find. Maybe not as difficult for a sea dragon though.

She picked it up and placed it under her pillow. Hoping it would help her dream of Blue.

And she vowed to make her way back to Blue as soon as she could figure out how to. She would bring as many fish as she could carry.

As she began her nightly ritual of staring at the ceiling a thought popped in her mind: how did Clotho know about the shells, and how did she get them to Gwyn?

She would ask her about it tomorrow. Then she could immediately ask her about the reflectionist.

To bring fish to Blue, she would first have to be able to return to the place of her worst nightmare. Talking about it to someone was a good first step.

One she would take tomorrow.

#gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar alternate universe #acotar #fanfic #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic

0 notes

imthefemalemonster · 2 years ago

Text

⸻ Ablaze

Chapter 1 (/2): First one

Aegond - Aemond Targaryen x Aegon Targaryen (A/B/O Smut)

⸻ Summary: Defying everyone's expectations of him presenting as a Beta, Aegon ends up presenting as an Omega and is married to his younger brother, Aemond, an Alpha.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Smut, Alpha Aemond, Omega Aegon, First time, Kisses, Fingering, Anal Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Orgasm

⸻ Read on Ao3

Notes: First time writing A/B/O dynamics, sorry for any mistake in the trope, allowed myself to change a few things - I like it better this way. Requested by anon on tumblr, hope you enjoy it. ♡

Aegon in a dress inspired by this amazing artwork.

Tumblr for requests/ideas: @imthefemalemonster

⸻ Words: 2878

After claiming Vhagar, none at the court doubted that the King’s second son, Aemond, would present as an alpha. Tall and thin figure, cold and threatening, excellent with the sword, well-versed in both philosophy and history. Having presented as alpha very early in his life, much to everyone's surprise Aemond had yet to find a mate. The Prince seemed to have very little interest in others.

Unlike his younger brother, there were less expectations on Aegon’s shoulders. From his personality to his way of living, everyone had assumed he was a beta. Aegon wasn’t a people person, roaming the city, running away from his duties and responsibility. Often he was chased after by his younger, dutiful brother, back to the Red Keep. So it wasn't a surprise, but a total shock when he presented, way later than his brother, as an omega.

At first it didn’t change much in the family dynamic. Newly presented, Aegon had yet to experience the first effects of being an omega. While Aemond had learned over the years to control himself during ruts. They lasted around two or three days, sometimes shorter depending on the time of the year. Usually, they would appear once every month. Only a few weeks after presenting as omega, Aegon experienced his first heat. Lasting a few days longer than ruts for Alpha, around four or five days, he had been an absolute mess. His mother at his side, he had mostly spent the four days locked up in his room, drinking, sleeping the best he could, restraining any thoughts, any motions that could relieve him, scared to lose control more than he already had. The first experience had been destructive and frustrating for the man not used to refrain from his needs.

A few days after it ended, the King had taken the decision to marry his two sons. Not worried in the slightest for Aegon, despite the very evident despair shown by the Prince. Aemond had already grown up shadowing his brother, protecting him, picking him up in the dirtiest streets imaginable. It wouldn’t change much to their relationship, and having a husband acting as a bodyguard to Aegon would be more than necessary. Both of them were made aware about it and none of the men had contested the decision.

During ruts, Aemond would usually spend the day away from everyone, at the training grounds, flying with Vhagar, or in his room, reading. As the ruts were short, he had learnt over the years to manage and handle his own needs. He was not much interested in any sexual intercourse, if he craved it too mich, which could happen sometimes, he would rather relieve himself alone through masturbation and a very developped imagination rather than with someone else. But it had been some months now that his mind would wander away from his usual routine during ruts, more than once he had thought of someone in particular. It had surprised him, because it wasn’t often he would think about Aegon, especially not when jerking off to sleep. The only moment Aemond would worry about his brother was when he was asked to go after him and make sure he had not died in a ditch. When it happened the first time, he brushed aside the thought, but as time went on it had worsened, even more after Aegon presented as an omega.

The news of the wedding hadn’t much affected Aemond. He had little contact with his older brother despite his intrusive thoughts during the last ruts. However, he could feel something had changed after Aegon presented. He felt more… obsessed. He could feel something burning inside him, sometimes both from uncontrollable wrath and excessive annoyance. But it wasn’t Aegon, it was the people around him, people that touched him, talked to him. Anywhere he was that Aemond couldn’t see him, it would make him erratic. His brother would be in his mind at all hours of the day, he wished he could tie them together, having him at his side all the time. He had not expected to be overprotective, especially when being exposed to Aegon’s perpetual sneering face, the one that annoyed him so much in the past. Running after him was never in Aemond’s favorite activities, yet now anytime his older brother wasn’t in his line of sight he would worry, and terribly crave his presence.

The wedding was prepared in a haste. A few festivities, fewer guests. The priority was to have the men mated before one, or the both of them, went mad. Their mother hadn’t been blind to the obvious signal of distress both from Aegon in the presence of other alphas, and from Aemond, who looked ready to tear anyone's throat anytime they approached the first born. The wedding had been planned a few days before the supposed heat and rut period, but fate decided differently and it started on the very same day as the marriage.

The whole day had been unbearable for both Princes. Everything went as planned, preparation, ceremony, almost no words exchanged but what needed to be said. Weather was clement, yet both the men could have melted their respective clothes from the heat of their skins only. If Aemond could contain himself, Aegon wasn’t as good as his brother at this exercise. Sweating, not paying attention to anything that was happening, tripping on his own clothes, mind filled with intrusive thoughts, arousal and pain. Everything he wanted now was to curl up against Aemond, rip his clothes apart, the heat becoming unbearable, whining loudly only wishing he could be taken and bred here and now. He would often look up to his younger brother for any signal, but the only thing he could see clearly were his clenched fists and jaw, the one that would make people avoid him, fearing for their lives. Right now Aemond could have dug his nails in anyone's chest, rip their heart out and watch them bleed to death. All the attention was on them, and especially on Aegon, and it made him absolutely lose it. The only thing he wanted know was take him away, scratch every inches of his blazing skin with his nails, fuck him and eat him whole, mark him forever. Worried at the visible distress expressed by the alpha and omega, Alicent had motionned to her sons to take their leave for the night, terrified that this would end up in a blood bath. Aemond hadn’t hesitated a second, excusing himself and thanking the guests, he guided Aegon away from the crowd.

Closing the door behind them, Aemond led a disoriented, out-of-breath Aegon to their bed. Sprinting through the corridors like teens on a run away, they had exchanged no words, very aware of each other’s needs. Standing close to the bed, body shivering and hands shaking, Aegon watched as Aemond pulled the sheets and cushion off the bed and threw them on the floor in the middle of the room. Desperate and slightly annoyed, Aegon was not in the mood of watching his brother rearrange their room to his taste. Letting a needy whine when Aemond got closer to him, he was rapidly silenced when his brother grabbed him by the waist and laid him down on the sheets and cushion on the floor. Not moving, he waited as Aemond placed himself above him, hands steadying himself around Aegon’s face.

Without warning, having waited long enough, Aemond closed the distance between them with a kiss. It was hungry, wet and noisy. Sucking his brother's lower lip in his mouth, Aemond groaned as he forced his tongue against his shivering brother’s mouth. Melting his in embrace and heat, Aegon didn’t resist, slightly parting his lips apart as Aemond entered. Mixing saliva, smell, tasting every corner of him, moaning in his mouth. Attacking his mouth for several seconds, struggling to let go of the body under him, Aemond broke the kiss, leaving Aegon whining.

“Comfortable enough?”, he breathed, faces and lips close enough they could breathe each other’s air, getting drunk from it.

Aegon nodded, confused. He could feel the hard floor against his back, having only his dress and the messy sheets to separate them, but it wasn’t bothering him, too focused on Aemond’s heat and smell. He felt his brother’s rough hands on his waist as he lifted him up, he was not sitting on his little brother’s thighs, both their crotch hard and desperately grinding one another.

“Good.”, grunted Aemond, “Don’t want you to have a grip on anything else but me.”

The pace was erratic, irregular, animal. Legs spread around Aemond’s waist, holding himself on his shoulders, Aegon was rubbing himself the best he could on his brother's hard center. His dress was obstructing his motions leaving him frustrated. A complete sweating mess against the one-eyed man’s broad body, needily sobbing, incoherently moaning Aemond’s name.

“A-Aemond!”

The younger brother had pulled Aegon's hair back, ravaging his neck with kisses, licking the soft and hot skin. Leaving marks with bites was part of the mating process, making sure anyone knew who an omega belonged to. Aemond thought it was utterly boring to have his brother mark on the neck, he didn’t really care if anyone could see it. Anyone knew he was his and his only, threatening them with a dagger or cutting their eyes out would be enough if they ever tried to defy him. His mark would be different, more intimate. Coming back to his senses, intoxicated in Aegon’s smell, Aemond had noticed that his brother was calling his name. Raising an eyebrow he grabbed Aegon’s chin, lowering it. Eyes half closed, still rubbing his groin needily against him, his brother was too dizzy, a moaning mess, to even notice that Aemond was waiting for something.

“What is it, love?”

Aegon stuttered, heat and smell

“Th-the c-clothes”, he cried out, sweating, salivating.

Aemond smirked. Too impatient, needy to devour his brother whole, he had not taken time to undress them - despite their clothes melting on their burning skins. Eager, Aegon had reached for Aemond’s top, undoing it, freeing the man’s body from the leather. The one-eyed man mimicked his movements as he took Aegon's dress off. Hastily rolling the fabric over his shoulders and arms, down to his waist, pulling on the small clothes, revealing his brother's needy and neglected cock.

Struggling with Aemond’s pants, his older brother whined, desperately craving the hard length he could feel under the clothes. Aemond let out a laugh as he pushed his brother back against the sheets, towering him, hips still grinding on each other. Desperately raising his waist for any contact, Aegon let out a gasp when Aemond burning digits grabbed his brother's shaft, stroking it roughly. Sliding his other hand in his own pants, Aemond freed himself, pushing the clothes away. Jerking the both of them in erratic and harsh motions, groaning in his brother’s ear as Aegon was thrusting into his palm, his own hands around Aemond’s shoulders. It looked perfect, exactly like he had wished during his previous ruts. Thighs resting against each other, steadying himself on his knees, head buried his Aegon’s neck, Aemond was fucking himself and his brother in his hands, the friction from their hard cock leaving him breathless.

“A-ah fuck!”, sobbed Aegon.

“It’s very hard…”, rasped Aemond, biting the soft, white pearl skin, “To not bend you over, fuck you deep, breed you on the floor.”

“W-what makes you think”, moaned Aegon between two strokes, “t-that it’s not what I want.”, he stopped, digging his fingernails, feeling Aemond leather pants trusting harder in his sensitive skin, “what I n-need.”

Aemond smirked.

“You only have to ask.”, he growled.

Too fuzzy from Aemond’s pressure on his member, Aegon struggled to form coherent sentences, only pleas and cries coming out of his mouth as he fucked himself in Aemond’s palm.

“Beg.”

“P-please…”

“You know I’ll do it anyway. Just want to hear how desperate you are for it. Makes me feral.”

“Please A-aemond!”, yelled the older brother, “Please fuck me! Just fuck me.”, voice shattering, hips motions erratic, “D-deep. Want that big alpha cock tearing m-me in half”, he breathed, “Want y-your semen. Breed me please.”

“Aye, love. I can give you that.”, grunted Aemond.

Letting go of their cocks, getting a loud frustrated sigh from Aegon, the younger brother gripped his waist, flipping his frail body over.

“On your knees”, he ordered, and the first born obeyed immediately, raising his ass in the air, “Hands up, don’t move, don’t touch yourself.”, cooed Aemond, “You’ll come from your Alpha’s huge cock only.”

Aegon moaned at the dirty words, eager for what was to come. Raising two fingers to his mouth, Aemond worked them wet as his other thumb was circling his brother's pink sensitive hole. Aegon shivered at the touch, pushing himself on the digit. Leaning in, Aemond accompanied one finger inside Aegon with his tongue. Pushing in, the older brother let out a little sob as he Aemond entered, forcing it inside without pausing. Working him open with only one finger first, alongside his tongue wetting the first born entrance, loud moans escaping his mouth. Scissoring inside with renewed vigor, Aemond was grunting, his brother tight around him, hitting spots deep inside that made Aegon scream. Slowing down, the one-eyed man painfully took his fingers out, leaving Aegon empty and needy, pushing his hips in the air looking for any contact.

“So, so tight”, husked Aemond, “So, so ready for me.”

Aegon smiled against the cushions, drunk into the praises and arousal. Feeling his brother's length against his hot and sensitive hole, he happily moaned when Aemond pushed in slowly. Inch by inch, thumbs softly caressing his older brother's hips, the one-eyed man sunk himself into his brother. Once fully in, he stopped a second, breathing, savoring the delectable sensation of filling up his brother. Moving backward slowly, Aemond pushed in again at half length in an obscene noise of skins slamming into each other. Aegon let out a surprised loud moan, having his alpha buried deep inside him, chasing both their pleasure as Aemond had started to settle at a slow but delightful pace. Leaning in closer to his brother, belly against his back, Aemond suckled, bited his skin. Resting on his reddened cheek, letting himself loudly moan swear words mixed with his brother's name, Aegon welcomed his burning lips on his. Heavy kisses, loud noises from lips and hips collapsing and pounding in an obscene rhythm.

Aemond pushed his brother’s body on the floor, standing above him, cock still burried deep inside as he was fucking himself deep, hitting that spot that would make Aegon cry out the most insane things. Legs spread, ass pounding against Aemond hips, the first born could feel his neglected and hardened cock against the floor, jerking himself off from the friction and pressure of both his body and the sheets.

“Such a good little omega”, breathed Aemond against his brother’s lips, their breaths mixing with their smell and arousal, “You’re being bred so good. I’m gonna spill so deep in that belly.”, Aemond grabbed his brother’s chin, biting his lower lips, still roughly rutting against him, “You’ll be carrying my child in no time.”

Moans muffled by his brother’s mouth on his, Aegon was close. Cock throbbing against the floor, trapped against his blazing skin and the cold floor. Shivers, feeling like shockwaves, course through his body. He could feel Aemond’s thrust losing their regular pace as he was grunting like a beast in his ear, chasing his own release. Cock pulsing inside him, hitting this right spot every time his brother slammed back into him, time slowed until Aegon sensed his body tense, jerk. It was only after a few more thrusts that he came, spilling on himself, the sheets, shivering from the overstimulation as Aemond was still relentlessly fucking into him.

Satisfied he could make his older brother come untouched, Aemond smirked, biting the earlobe as he pushed himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder, the heat and smell of both their bodies mixing. Fire pooling in his lower abdomen, a new and very delightful sensation, Aemond groaned loudly as he came inside his brother, pushing hard for a few more thrusts, making sure not to lose any drops of semen, burying it deep into Aegon. Collapsing on his older brother's body, Aemond stayed inside him, the both of them catching their breath, recovering from the intensity of the intercourse.

Curled up under him, Aemond observed as Aegon breath had become more regular, looking more like discreet snores. Pushing the hair away from his back, kissing softly the sensitive skin, his teeth reached for the Prince’s neck, at the back just under his hair. Suckling on the white pearl skin, he dug his teeth in, biting until it bled lightly. Aegon jumped at the sensation, shivering under Aemond’s hot lips on his oversensitive body. It wasn’t hurting, it was rather very hot, comforting, soft. Licking the few drops of blood that had escaped, Aemond leaned in closer to Aegon, still buried inside him.

“Nobody needs to see my mark”, purred Aemond, gently kissing his husband’s ear, “Only me when I take you from behind.”

#aegond #aemond x aegon #smut #fics #**mine

72 notes · View notes

recklessfiction · 4 years ago

Text

You've never seen a royal court, not outside of classical art but that certainly does no justice to what you witness as you step through the immense doors of the palace foyer.

Oh, what the Syndicate wouldn't give to see this.

Lords and ladies, insofar as you could describe them, with their vibrant robes and ornamented faces, dot the grand hall. They sit closely together filling the room with booming laughter and a constant buzz of poorly hushed gossip. Along the walls, couriers stand in waiting, decanters filled with gold and black liquids and meats sculpted into spirals balance on trays and you wonder if perhaps those are natural shapes.

It is the centre of the room which draws your eye, though. An immense throne, round and polished white like a hollowed out pearl. You squint, looking closer before recoiling. Sculpted into it, shaping the rounded edges are a mass of stone figures, each reaching desperately around the edge of the curved throne for the figure sitting within. Its a wanton, cloying thing and you try to imagine what kind of person would willingly seat themselves within it.

You don't have to wonder long as eyes meet you from across the room. Eyes that would feel more at home on a goat. You reach behind you and pull the hood of your jacket up over your face.

"Child," a voice calls out and there is a sudden silence.

You feel your heart sink into your stomach at the sound of it. Its like nothing you've ever heard before, a multitude of voices as one, some deep and guttural and others lilting and sweet. It echoes in your ears.

"Child," it repeats, "Where have you been? And what, pray, have you brought me?"

On either side of you, the Lordling and the Knight bow low and from behind you, you hear as the rest of the retinue follows suit. Unsure, frightened, overwhelmed, you jerk into a short bow yourself, if only to look away from that face.

"Mother," the Lordling begins, "I had told you of the one who saved me from the acolytes of Proportion. Well, I have found them!"

All eyes in the hall are suddenly on you, curious and heated. The irritated grunt of the Knight brings you some comfort but you keep your hood lowered, unwilling to look out over the court, and no doubt, over what must be the Matriarch.

"Have you indeed?" she asks and you hear a creaking sound followed by a rush of whispers, "A most powerful priest, no doubt?"

"W-well," the Lordling's voice is hesitant, but again, that layered voice speaks.

"Come forward, solemn one, and we shall see whose hand you serve under."

More creaking and the whispers grow louder. None too gently, you are pushed forward and your feet begin to move beneath you. You glance up from beneath your hood and your breath stops.

The...thing, the Matriarch is uncoiling herself from within the chair, unfurling like a flower, only as she unfolds, you suddenly see just how immense she is. There is no shape to her, only a mass of vibrant feathers and opalescent hair that touches the floor. She...shouldn't be able to fit in that chair, she shouldn't be able to and she's still coming out. You feel sick.

Finally, your feet bring you to her and there is a sudden, explosive scent of incense which threatens to knock you wholly on your ass. You blink and look up, up, up, into a small, serene face set like a mask into the mass of hair, feathers, and jewellery.

"Such a strange thing," she hums, and her, hair and feathers twist and coil, reaching out towards you, tipping your hood back, "Now, who has claim over you?"

Your breath is coming in short, sharp bursts now but in the shadow of this incomprehensible Queen, you cannot find it in yourself to move. The tendril inches closer before just brushing your forehead.

And the world collapses around you.

You hear laughter, shrill and manic. You hear screaming, horrified, desperate, and growing ever closer. Where you are now is dark but there are flashes; faces appearing so close to your own that you fall back, but still they come.

You see them now, some enormous, necks curling and coiling down to stare. Others are your size, and your eyes catch on one with twelve pristine porcelain faces and a crown for each. Some sing gently in your ears, a song that, while you don't understand it, brings a blush to your cheeks while some carry weapons which they use to hack at the flesh of the others.

Blood splatters across your face as they cut their way towards you, but it doesn't seem to truly do any harm, since it seems you are being closed in from all sides. The singing, the laughter, the screaming begins to crescendo and you feel hands on you, pulling, tugging, ripping you closer.

Priest, they chant, Priest, Priest, Servant, Summoner. Tie yourself. Tie yourself, Tie yourself to me. To me, to me, to me!

You scream.

And find yourself back in the hall.

The world is silent save for the sound of you heaving on the polished floor. Your arms are shaking and you still feel the hot blood on your face. You let yourself curl up, your forehead resting against the cool tile. From above you, you hear the familiar creaking of the Matriarch as she moves back to her terrible throne.

"You are untethered," she says, "And yet much desired, it would seem. How strange, and yet how excellent you must be, for our gods to offer themselves to you."

You feel hands on your shoulders and you are pulled to your feet. The Lordling is at your side, eyes wide and expression mildly horrified.

"You are welcome, of course," the Matriarch continues, "in this place. It is we who are most blessed by your arrival."

You can't speak. You don't even try. You can only lean on the Lordling as they bow, leading you quickly out of the hall. You feel watched, and indeed, all eyes follow you as you go, some terrified, others glinting with hunger. But no, you feel something else. Eyes like a weight on your shoulders, in your mind.

The gods have seen you now. And they continue watching.

First | Previous | Next

#humans are weird #space australia #humans are space orcs #aliens #humans are space oddities #my writing #horror #that was fun to write

891 notes · View notes

chemicalpink · 4 years ago

Text

대취타 (DAECHWITA) | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | FINAL

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut, angsty

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of historical public execution, oral sex (male receiving), lowkey breath play, unprotected sex

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE. I hope you enjoy, I had a hard time trying to make this not seem lame so here it is! please let me know what you think!

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

You almost sat up with a start. Suddenly the world was bright and hazy. Yoongi had opened his eyes and they were digging like daggers into yours, an unusual look on him. You looked at the emperor apologetically before turning your gaze to the end of the room where there was a pile of books, silently detangling yourself from him.

The silence was deafening.

Then again, who in their right mind proposed marriage while having their cock buried deep inside some assassin turned royal slave. All the same, Min Yoongi wasn’t exactly known for having a right mind. But it wasn’t just the fact that he had proposed seemingly out of the blue, more than it was everything that came with it. The words seemed to tangle themselves inside your brain as you hear him say them over and over again. That he couldn’t think of himself marrying some woman that was inferior to him in mind and spirit. That he had wanted to marry to someone he loved. To think that Min Yoongi had proposed you marriage not in the heat of the moment but fully conscious of his actions would not only mean that he was in it for the great sexual escaped you two regularly went on, but because due to some fucked up mindset the royal had, he believed he could love you.

Yoongi reached for your hand in an attempt to get your attention, face soft with post orgasmic bliss as he repeated the ill fated words “Marry me, Y/N”

You snapped out of his hold. “Yoongi I don’t think you understand the situation”

“What is it then, please do enlighten me, Y/N cause from what I understand is me asking for your hand in marriage, twice now” he blinks a few times, looking at you expectantly, crossing his arms like a petulant child

“FUCKING READ THE ROOM MIN YOONGI ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND”

“Well I’m not, but you seem to be”

“I’m a fucking assassin, my hands? they will forever be tainted red” you look down at your hands and the blond man comes near to hold both of them inside his

“Y/N I couldn’t care less about that, it’s not like I’m a saint either”

“You just don’t understand”

“Then help me out” somehow his ever consistent and aloof tone gave you more chills thana you could’ve imagined if he were to raise his voice at you “Y/N I’m serious with my proposal, the sex is amazing, but you’ve proven to be an excellent addition not only to my court, but to my life”

You are shaking, voice trembling and just above a mere whisper “I was the one that killed your mother on that freezing December night”

He freezes in place.

He seemed oddly composed for someone who had just been told the responsible of his mother's death was none other than the woman he thought he wanted to marry

You remember how a few years ago, he had gone on a killing rampage, exposing heads outside his palace as if they were homemade decorations, swearing to find the person responsible for his mother’s death and get revenge. It had been months of bloodbath. Some had considered the emperor’s son to have gone completely out of his mind.

You storm off. Not before accepting the responsibility of your actions, perhaps Yoongi had also been a good addition to your life “I’m fine with you deciding to execute me for my crimes, I understand whatever sentence is best fitted for me, your majesty” for the first time since you had arrived at the palace, you don’t dare to look him in the ye, opting to follow court protocol and bow deeply before taking your leave, attempting to detangle yourself from your messed up robes and even more messed up string of thoughts.

The following days to that conversation were a blur and for the most part, uneventful, the emperor had opted not to gravitate your way unless strictly necessary, oddly enough, the air wasn’t awkward at all, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you in the first place. Yoongi had retreated to being an aloof ruler, along with regular trips to meet his once very occupied and spoiled rotten concubines, all the while you were kept apart from. Sometimes, you would receive jobs outside the palace and were expected to fulfill them according to instructions. More times than not, you were left wondering if you would make it back to the palace or if it was one hell of an excuse to execute you.

Hearing approaching footsteps, you couldn’t help but hide the best that you could behind one of the hostel’s walls. Hooded and well muffled with the cape, as you did your best to camouflage yourself into the shadows and become a mere wisp of darkness. A maid from the hostel trudged to the open window and closed it, grumbling. Lightning illuminated the landing. You took a deep breath and reviewed the plans that you had so painstakingly memorized throughout the three days you had been guarding that building on the outskirts of the kingdom. Five doors on each side. The target’s bedroom was behind the third one on the left.

Stealthy as a specter, you walked down the landing. You pushed the target's bedroom door, which opened with an almost imperceptible squeak; waiting for another thunder to rumble to close it carefully. A second flash of lightning illuminated the two figures sleeping on the canopy bed. Young Hee must not have been over thirty-five. His son, small and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

“I’m not murdering a poor kid’s mother”

“So you’ve gone soft”

“No I haven’t gone soft” “What could a poor merchant woman have done to you for her to deserve such an end to her life”

He sits down on his throne “You didn’t even hesitate when killing my mother, though”

“Yoongi I-” he turns his head to you, a sharp gaze following your every move, as if he was a predator waiting for the precise moment his prey took a wrong turn to jump on them. You turn your gaze to the floor immediately “Your Majesty”

“Listen Y/N- I’m a very busy man, so I’ll make it easier for you” he stood up from where he was sitting, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, you could hear him move around the room until you were able to see him stop right in front of you, a hand you were so familiar with once caresses your cheek as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him face to face “It’s either her life, or your life. Easy choice, Y/N”

You can feel your heart wanting to burst out of your ribcage at that exact moment, finally understanding the importance behind such a horrifying task, the mirroring in the situation. And the choice was as simple as it could get. “Kill me instead”

You could see the rage inside his eyes, even as he stood still for a few second, steady as ever, unfaltering as he called over one of the palace’s servants to get him the royal seal, the infamous red ink that decorated the skin of those in line to be executed by the royal himself, an utmost sign of rage, of personally wronging the monarch. A sense of longing crossed his gaze for half a second as he locked eyes with you before he took your wrist in his hand and stamped the cold ink on it; you couldn’t keep your body from reacting to the action, whether it was having him touching you again, the almost imperceptible stuttering of his movements when he did so, or the knowledge that you’d have to face an execution, making you shake lightly as adrenaline filled your veins.

Preparations were something the emperor certainly didn’t scattered in, back when he became known as the cold hearted borderline psychopath he had a vaste fame of, ikt was mostly do to the whole antiques that surrounded his personal executions, the way that they seemed to mimic a kingdom’s festivity was almost breathtaking, were it not for the fact that the main entertainment of the day would be having you publicly executed. You had been waiting for that night for a whole week. Sitting in the wooden corridor nestled to one side of the golden dome of Min Yoongi’s personal library, remembering how the last time you had been there, things were so different from how they were now, where the emperor had asked you to marry you in the worst way possible and you had confessed the greatest murder of the dynasty; you let yourself be carried away by the music that rose through the amphitheater. With your legs dangling under the railing, you leaned forward and rested your cheek on your crossed arms. One could almost swear the palace was preparing for a wedding, if the way you were constantly dressed up and down during the week, the way the palace’s servants were constantly bustling around the building to ensure the greatest quality for the evening, the greatest night for the kingdom. The execution of the Empress’ murderer.

“You seem oddly calm for someone who's about to be executed” Jungkook mentions as he approaches where you were currently hanging out, a few minutes to spare before a small group of designated maids were to call you to get you ready for the night.

You look up at him tiredly, without separating your head from where it was laying, catching him taking a seat by your side in the most infantile way you had ever seen the royal guard do, shrugging to no one in particular, you add “You know, accountability and stuff”

“Oh and she grew a moral compass during her time here” if he was expecting a bickering comeback, the way you used to do back when he was designated to look after you, he was certainly not getting anything other than be met by an extended silence that seemed to rise the tension and seriousness of the whole interaction between the two “Why are you letting this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about” this time, you do turn to face him, confused as to where he was expecting the conversation to go.

“You didn’t kill his mother”

“I did”

He huffed out air, sounding a bit exasperated at your response; you could have even sworn you saw him roll his eyes faintly “No you didn’t, you were a mere 15 year old” there was a bit of laughter behind his sentence before he regained his composure and went back to his former self from a few minutes ago, looking at your face quizzically as if there was something hidden in there that held the answer to his question “So why are you doing this”

You try and miserably fail to convey a nonchalant look on your face as memories of your time with the emperor fill your mind, not just the carnal ones, but those where you would watch him work for his place in the royal hierarchy, the soft sides around the rough edges that were publicly hidden on purpose, turning away from the guard you say softly “Yoongi’s a great man”

“Okay sure, he could do with a more...tame temperament, but what does that have anything to do with you chopping your own head off”

You try your best to ignore the way your heart seems to physically ache at the thought behind the answer; you almost don’t get enough strength from within to mutter “I’m hoping to get him some closure, be an even better ruler”

“That’s- definitely not how it’s supposed to work Y/N” Jungkook says incredulously

“I was technically part of the killing so, it’s all the same”

He huffs before going to stand up, dusting off his uniform and already facing away from you, before you can hear him call for you one last time “Yoongi’s in his room, you know, he was looking for you a few hours ago, in case that information helps in any way”

So perhaps you were naive for thinking that he would answer his door, he would have no reason to do so, especially given the circumstances, if it were you, opening the door to the person that had confessed of murdering your mother, and having them come up at your room, you wouldn’t even need to think it once to decide not to further interact with them, but Jungkook had said Yoongi had been looking for you before, so the chance of him wanting to see you alive one last time were there. Unless you were reading it all wrong. You turned your back on the huge wooden door you had come to know as the emperor’s bedroom a few months back, resigned, when you heard the creaking of a door opening and a calm steady voice.

“So you’re going to just knock on my door and run away the same way you entered my life and are now leaving it forever?” his frozen tone still having an effect on your body as you turned to face him properly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity “Came to discuss a bargain for your life?”

“Not at all” you lock eyes with him when approaching him, until you were practically inside the room, his judgemental gaze still on you “I wanted to say my goodbyes properly, your majesty”

“Then don’t waste my time and come in already, Y/N”

The royal wasted no time in cornering you against the door, face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin, the tip of his nose nuzzling the side of your face and you knew him enough to know he had his eyes closed to keep his composure as he talked “I’m going to miss you like a fucking mad man”

It felt like falling back into routine, the way he kissed you, down to your neck up to your collarbone, pushing past the robes that covered your skin, in preparation for the ritual, his hands roaming freely in a familiar way, grabbing all the right places as he draws little sounds from your throat, all while he worked the both of you to where his bed was placed, although he was giving your body and pleasure a decent amount of attention, you couldn’t brush off the fact that he irradiated an angry aura, words left unspoken as he got his anger out by pleasuring both of you. Maybe himself more than you, as he removes himself from caressing your body as he usually did and positioned himself above you, his member laying flat on your already expecting tongue,as soon as you realised what his intentions were when he started undressing himself, his hips thrusting a few times in an experimental manner, soon enough finding a pace at the same time as you bobbed your head up to capture as much of his length as you could inside your mouth, your hands captured under Yoongi’s weight, unable to help you work him further, the way you’d done before.

You feel him start to thrust further into your throat at one particular kitten lick of yours to the tip of his cock, your head starting to hang from the edge of the mattress you two were on as he picked up the pace, his cock filling you up all the way until it hit the back of your throat a few times, you trying to whine around him, only further encouraging him to take a handful of your hair and push you further against him, your gag reflex taking the best of you as he held you there, nose close to his navel, deep grunts ripped from his lips, the air leaving your lungs and becoming slightly light headed after a few seconds of you tapping his thigh in a motion to let him know to let you breathe, at which Yoongi locked eyes with you, a mix of anger and longing in his yes as he thrusts a few more times as saliva started dripping from your mouth, tears decorating your pink stained cheeks before he removed himself from you, giving you a few seconds to gain air before he repositioned both of you. A deafening silence taking over both of you, as you were still catching your breath and he positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip, wet with your saliva, playing with your folds for a few seconds, as you take a sharp intake of air when he enters you and immediately sets a slow deep pace. You can feel his member filling you up perfectly, mind racing with flashbacks to all those other nights before where the emperor and you shared endless nights all over the palace.

The knowledge that this would be the last time creeping up in the back of your mind. You feel an unfamiliar wetness hit your neck where Yoongi was kissing your skin, rolling down as you identified it as tears, as he was still passionately thrusting into you.

“I don’t want to lose you” his voice barely above a whisper, trying to conceal the way his chest was tightened with sadness

“You have to let me go, Yoongi” one of your hands comes up to caress his locks as he pushes up to stare at your face, anger long gone and replaced with utter sadness before one last thrust has him filling you up with his seed, warmth enveloping you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his cock leaves your cunt, a briskly wind coming from the window causing your body to shiver for a second at the loss of body heat on top of you.

“I guess this was it then” his cold and unnerved facade was on again, making the cold shivers in your body that much worse as you watched him adjust his clothes and walk out of the room, leaving you to dress yourself and ultimately face your fated destiny at the end of the day.

The palace’s front plaza is filled to the brim with spectators as the news got out that the Emperor was finally getting revenge for his mother’s killing, people from the kingdom and even some people from neighbouring ones all lined up in the outer sides of the fire marks that decorated the space to illuminate the middle path where you were placed in the end of it to walk your way up, two unknown guards on each side of you as each grabbed your elbows to push you forward, the rope certainly leaving marks on your skin as it was wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You could only catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s blond hair, wrapped in his infamous black and golden hanbok, drums roaring in unison, people screaming as you watched him take the sword from the swordsman that had prepared the ritual beforehand, as someone wrapped a cloth around your eyes and you were promptly pushed forward, legs buckling every few seconds as you came to realise what you were about to face, it hadn’t been clear before, mere seconds away, finally falling to your knees, head bowed down in resignation as you could barely hear the sharp sword cutting the air around you, gasps from the crowd filling the air along with the constant sound of the drums around you. You could only hope your death would bring much needed peace to the monarch and his kingdom. Your heart seemed to want to burst out of your chest, if anything, Yoongi was known for being an espectacular swordsman, which hopefully made the whole execution that much easier. You could hear cheers and a metal cutting the air before your body fell limp to the ground.

But your consciousness never left, the drums couldn’t be heard anymore, cheers were replaced with confusion as a pair of hands helped you up to your knees, fumbling with the cloth around your eyes to come face to face with Min Yoongi kneeling before you, a subtle smile on his face as one of his hands caressed your cheek before helping you up beside him.

“I’m sure you all must be confused right now” he announced to his subjects “This woman right here, has got more courage in her than anyone that has ever worked for me, any of us, for that matter. Which is why I’m asking once again, publicly, for the first time, for her hand in marriage” he turned to face you, as you were still dazed by the whole ordeal, his hand in yours being the only thing holding you down “Marry me, Y/N”

#kwritersworldnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtanuniversity #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios

259 notes · View notes

ahatintimepieces · 3 years ago

Text

Fabric Hearts

Remember the first part of that build-a-bear au I wrote for @smieska-draws? It’s back! But now the au name makes sense! Imagine!

Luka, known as the Snatcher to most of the mall locals, runs the Kraft-a-Kid while his daughter, Hattie, runs around with her friends. There’s definitely nothing suspicious about Luka. The rumors that he snatches the souls of children and stuffs them into the dolls are completely unfounded. Probably. Most likely. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s fine.

This is, of course, another au that Smieska and I both developed and like to swap ideas for SO send her your love and adulation because I couldn’t have written this without her ;o; <333 Here’s the link to the piece she did for first part if you haven’t seen it yet (which u should because it’s fabulous and incredible). Without further ado, here it is!

Words: 4,131

The door squeaked open as Luka recorded the number of tiny, elastic collars with bright bells in the back.

“Dimitri can’t make it today,” he warned without looking up from his clipboard. His golden gaze flickered up towards the boxes filled with cotton stuffing and he quickly counted them as footsteps approached. “If you get a sudden influx of customers, come grab me.”

“It’s me, Dad,” Hattie’s voice came from right beside him.

“Did I stutter?” He glanced down without missing a beat. She gave him a deadpan stare as he grinned. His sharp canines glinted in the unnaturally bright florescent lights. “Come on, kiddo. How about you help me with my business endeavors instead of frittering away your summer romping around the mall?”

She readjusted the brim of the top hat she made from her millinery lessons at the fabric store. Why his child fixated on hat-making out of everything she could have taken an interest in was beyond him but even he had to admit her royal purple top hat was well crafted.

“I’m going with Belle and the others to get lunch at the food court,” she said, ignoring his jesting. “Can I have money?”

“You know if you had a job you wouldn’t need to be asking me,” he lamented dramatically before wedging the clipboard between his arm and side. He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks.

“I’m not even twelve.” She blinked up at him with large blue eyes. “There are child labor laws.”

“Excellent.” He nodded, opening his wallet. “Don’t let anyone in the mall convince you otherwise. But,” he slipped out a bill and gave her a pointed look, “if you accept this, you have to do me a favor.”

“I already cleaned the bathrooms last weekend,” she whined.

His grin widened.

“Tough luck, kiddo.” He twisted the bill in the air, watching her nose scrunch as she seriously weighed her options. After a second of letting her think that she was going to have to do her least favorite chore, he extended the bill towards her. “Just bring me back a coffee and I’ll consider us even.”

Relief instantly flooded her features as she took the bill.

“I can do that! Your usual?” She headed towards the door.

“That’ll work,” he said, tucking away his wallet and grabbing the clipboard again.

“Thanks, Dad!” she chirped before moving to open the door.

Just as she reached for it, the door swung open, and she stumbled back. Luka immediately dropped the clipboard and slipped behind her with the speed of shadows dodging the light. She smacked into his legs, and he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as Alex walked in with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry, kid! I didn’t see you there.” Alex winced, looking from Hattie to Luka’s hard glare.

“I’m fine!” Hattie promised, giving a bright smile until she placed her hand over Luka’s fingers. She jolted and twisted around. “Dad, are you okay? You’re really warm.”

“It is hot in here.” Alex tugged at their collar, wincing.

“The thermostat dial was probably nudged,” Luka dismissed, pulling away and stooping to grab the clipboard. “I’ll take a look.”

“Should I get you water?” Hattie asked.

“I have water. Now go have fun.” He shooed her towards the door. “The sooner you leave the sooner you can run my errand.”

Hattie hesitated but when he returned to his task of recording inventory, he heard her retreating footsteps.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered as they crossed over to the table for the employees. They dropped their backpack before grabbing the light purple apron with their nametag.

“Let’s just be careful with how forcefully we open doors, hm? I don’t want to deal with any workplace liability cases. They’re a pain.” Luka shot the teen a toothy grin. Glancing back down to the clipboard, he added in a more monotone cadence, “Anyway, Dimitri can’t come today, so once Ember leaves, it’ll just be you and me for the rest of the day. If it gets too crowded on the floor and I’m not around, come find me.”

“Right.” They nodded firmly. While wiping back their bangs and smearing the beads of sweat on their brow, they hurried out. Once the door closed behind them and Luka was alone, he let out a sigh.

The flame that had flared when Hattie nearly got hit crackled noisily in his otherwise empty chest. Luka placed one of his pale hands over the flame and counted out the seconds between metered inhales and exhales. The snap and pop of embers faded and when he glanced towards the thermostat, the temperature in the room lowered back to a comfortable range.

Not that he was bothered by the heat, but he didn’t need his employees passing out.

Ember’s shift ended as he got to counting the unstuffed plush shells. As she hung her apron over the hook, she informed him that two separate groups had just entered the store. Luka nodded, finishing his current count before getting ready to help Alex on the floor.

He brushed back his long, spiky hair into a ponytail. Stray strands the color of soot fluttered against his cheek, and he tucked them behind his ear.

They reflected a warm violet when they caught the light.

With his hair as contained as he could manage, he grabbed his own amethyst apron with the Kraft-a-Kid’s signature logo; a stylized baby goat and parent goat waving a friendly greeting. After draping it over his black suit and making sure it didn’t displace his dark purple tie, he tied the apron with nimble fingers, clawed at the tips. He double-checked that the pocket had extra thread and a compact sewing kit before he clipped on his name tag and headed out into the workshop.

Alex snapped their head up from one of the stuffing stations, looking relieved when they spotted Luka rounding the counter. Alex returned their full attention to the small girl and her mother while Luka smiled at the two teens with a younger child hovering by the bins of unstuffed shells by the entrance.

While he didn’t know them personally, he recognized Brooke and her younger sister Hali, who worked (or in Hali’s case just hovered around in the back when not at daycare) at their uncle’s travel agency, and then Makoto, who worked at the jewelry store. Judging from their uniforms, the teens were probably using their breaks to accompany Hali. Since he often heard good things about their work ethic and Hali’s sweet nature from Mari, he assumed he had an easy session ahead. He waved them over.

Brooke and Makoto shared a nervous look while Hali bounded over with a bright smile.

“Why, hello there!” Luka pasted on his most vibrant customer service smile as he lowered onto the seat by the stuffing station. Cotton and soft fibers filled the glass tank decorated to look like hearty trees and branches climbed around the edges. The machine itself matched the lilac walls and brown and bronze gears that decorated them. The bins and shelves that held the merchandise throughout the store were all structured to look like spools of golden thread.

Holding an unstuffed goat with dark brown fuzz and silver horns, Hali shyly smiled up at Luka as Brooke and Makoto slowly joined.

“I see you’ve picked your new friend!” Luka held out his hands and Hali gingerly lowered the flat goat into his palms. “Before we bring them to life, how stuffed do you want them to be?”

“Um?” Hali tilted her head with a blank expression.

“Do you want them to be firm or squishy?” Luka clarified, fitting the goat around the nozzle and getting his foot ready over the pedal.

“Fiwm, pwease!” Hali declared in a cutesy voice.

“Excellent choice!” Luka set to work, pumping the pedal as he filled out the head of the goat plush. The machine roared to life, blowing air and fluff with the force of a vacuum. Though, his ears perked when he caught Brooke and Makoto in an intense discussion as they remained a couple steps back. What he couldn’t hear over the machine, he pieced together easily enough.

He knew the rumors and could guess what was on their mind when they mentioned the Snatcher and stolen souls.

Luka smirked as he pulled his foot from the pedal and the machine hushed.

“Now it’s time for my favorite part.” He beamed, pulling off the firmly stuffed goat and then reaching for a bucket full of small felt hearts. “The soul ceremony! Go ahead and pick the heart that most resonates with you.”

“If it’s just a heart, why is it called a soul ceremony?” Brooke asked, her voice quivering as she pressed closer to Makoto.

Hali, meanwhile, was completely enraptured with picking out the right fabric heart.

“Hearts, souls, same thing, really,” Luka soothed with a toothy grin, giving the teens a considering look.

Makoto’s gaze flickered down to his fangs. She lifted her chin, trying to project an air of confidence. But her furrowed brows wavered.

“Souws awe heawts?” Hali gasped, looking up with awe.

“Absolutely!” Luka kept his voice cheerful, gesturing to the bucket. “It’s what gives your new friend life! I imagine without one, they would feel pretty empty and hollow.” Keeping his chin tilted down, he lifted his eyes towards the teens and lowered his voice just a touch. “Wouldn’t you feel pretty soulless without a heart?”

The two stiffened.

“Pwobabwy!” Hali chirped, completely unaware of their increasing unease. She dug around the hearts and pursed her lips. “How do woo know which heawt is the best?”

“That’s up to you!” Luka bounced effortlessly back into an upbeat cadence. He pinched a heart with a checkerboard pattern in red and white. “The nice thing about these hearts is that they’re blank slates. They’ll be filled with whatever you put into them. But don’t put in too much!” he added with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want your new friend to be more you than you!”

Brooke squeaked in fright and his grin stretched.

“I wiwl take this one, then!” Hali held up a solid red heart.

“Great! Hold on to it, now.” Luka placed the tub back down. “First, why don’t you rub the heart on your hair so your little buddy will always have soft fur!”

Hali beamed at that and rubbed the fabric heart on her hair. When she pulled it back down, some of the blond strands followed the heart while the strands too far away stuck up from the lingering static.

“Well done! Now, rub it against your funny bone so your friend has a sense of humor.” Luka tapped his elbow when Hali crinkled her nose for a moment. Her eyes lit up in understanding and once the heart was granted good humor, Luka added, “and why don’t you strike a superhero pose, so that your pal will hold courage.”

Hali giggled as she placed her hands on her hips and preened.

“Fantastic. Lastly, I want you to rub the heart between your palms!” Luka motioned for her to mimic him as he demonstrated. “Now, when it’s nice and warm, give it a clap to start its heartbeat!”

The clap resounded through the workshop and the teens jolted behind her.

“That should do it,” Luka praised, holding out his palm. Hali handed the heart over, and he slipped it into the goat, tucking it snuggly away in the cotton and fluff.

He then set to filling out the rest of the plush. Once it was stiff and sturdy, he handed it to her, asking if she was content with it. When he received an enthusiastic nod, he took it back and sealed the hole. He snipped the extra thread with the scissors in his apron and then passed the goat back to Hali.

“Here’s your new friend! Be sure to visit our shop in the back! We have plenty of accessories and outfits for the newest member of your family,” Luka recited the same sales pitch as always. “Once you’re ready, head over to an open kiosk so you can fill out the adoption papers. If you need any help, Alex or I will be overjoyed to assist.”

“Thank woo!” Hali hurried over to the accessories, hugging the goat to her chest.

Luka clasped his hands and turned to the teens. When his gaze flickered to the floppy hooded doll in Makoto’s arms, her embrace tightened.

“Ready?” He motioned for her to hand it over so that he could stuff it.

She looked to Brooke, who shrugged with uncertainty. Makoto stepped forward.

Keeping his tone light, he went through the same script as always. He asked if she wanted the doll to be firm or squishy and, in an effort to loosen her up a bit, offered to add any fun sound boxes or scents to the plush. She remained on edge until he asked about the nametag on her uniform as the machine roared to life again. She explained how her boss liked to give everyone themed nicknames and she was saddled with “Makoneko.” When he asked if she appreciated the nickname, she pointedly rolled her eyes as he removed his foot from the machine pedal again. Her shoulders relaxed when he chuckled.

“Your turn to pick a heart,” Luka twittered in an overly cheerful voice as he held out the bucket.

“Do I have to do the ceremony?” Makoto hesitated, plucking the first heart she saw. Rather than scared, her bored expression mirrored that of many teens who wanted to skip the step.

Perfect.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He shrugged casually. “What is a heart without a heartbeat? A soul without a person behind the personality?”

“What?” She faltered, shoulders slowly stiffening again as Brooke’s eyes widened.

“I only mean it’ll be a sorry existence for this little friend.” Luka waved the stubby hands of the purple plush toy. “And you get out what you put in.” Her brows dipped in slight confusion, and he smirked. “You have to at least start its heartbeat. You don’t want to bring a ghost home, do you?”

“Just do the ceremony!” Brooke hissed through clenched teeth.

“F-fine,” Makoto said, slowly lifting the heart to her long black locks. “So, hair for soft fur?”

“Does it look like this one has fur?” Luka gestured to the doll with the yellow spiral in its hood. He scoffed, turning up his nose. “Of course not! No. First, why don’t you rub the heart against your belly so that it’s full of laughter.”

“I thought that was the elbow.” Makoto crinkled her nose. Though she rubbed the heart against her stomach, eager to get it over with.

“There is a difference between telling good jokes and laughing at them, kiddo,” Luka offered with a smirk. “Now, how about you jump up and down a few times? I’m sure your friend would love to share some of your energy.”

“What does that mean?” She jolted.

“Just that exercise keeps the heart healthy,” Luka said placidly.

Her eyes narrowed but she eventually gave a sluggish skip.

“Then, rub it against your ear, so it will always listen.” He smiled brightly, being sure to bare his teeth. Once she complied, he clasped his hands together. “I’m sure you know what to do now! Warm it between your palms and then clap to start the heartbeat!”

She let out the breath that she had been holding, relieved it was finally over. She gave a small clap before passing the heart back. He slipped it into the doll.

“Any names in mind for your friend?” Luka prompted as his foot tapped the pedal.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled curtly, purposefully trying to let the whirling air in the stuffing machine drown out her answer.

“How’s this feel?” he asked a few seconds later when the machine hushed again. He pulled the doll from the nozzle and passed it back to her.

“Good.” She returned it after assessing the squishiness.

“If you haven’t got any names, I always thought these particular dolls looked like minions,” he prattled, closing the seam. When she didn’t respond, he continued lightly, “so Minion might be a good name.” He glanced up to meet her gaze and lowered his tone. “You did make sure it’ll listen. It’ll be an obedient little kiddo.”

Her breath hitched.

“Obedient to who?” she challenged, maintaining a fragile glare.

“All done!” Luka snapped upright after snipping the excess thread, pretending he hadn’t heard her question. “Welcome your friend into the world!”

Makoto accepted the doll, her gaze flickering between it and Luka with uncertainty.

“Same as always,” he droned in his peppy, customer service voice. “Browse to your contentment. My daughter recommends the plush purple cherries. You want to keep your buddy happy and fed! Make sure to finalize the adoption and meet Alex or I by the counter.” He glanced over to find the other young girl with her mother already at the cash register. “Looks like it’ll be Alex!”

Makoto nodded numbly as Brooke stepped forward and looped her arm through hers, rescuing Makoto by tugging her away.

“One more thing,” Luka began, keeping his eyes on his clean-up routine. The teens’ footsteps paused as they hovered. Though his smile laced his voice, his enunciation was sharp. “I’m sure the Snatcher doesn’t have to tell you but be sure to treat your new friend as you would yourself. You put your soul into bringing them to life, after all.”

The teens gasped.

“Have a good day, kids.” Laughter laced his voice.

They rushed away as he chuckled.

While he finished cleaning up, Hattie returned with her friends. As soon as she spotted him behind the stuffing machine, she rushed across the tiles decorated to look vaguely like a forest path.

“Here’s your coffee,” she chirped, holding up the cup.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asked, pushing to his feet and picking stray fluff from his apron. Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he accepted the drink. He held it towards his lips, pausing to quirk a brow at young Muriel and Timmy as they passed the stuffing machines to check out all the colorful outfits. Belle, meanwhile, joined Hattie with her azure bow bouncing in her dark coils.

“We’re going to head to the bookstore.” Hattie shrugged. “Tim’s friend is hosting a card game tournament.”

“Remember to be back by six,” he instructed. “Don’t go snacking after four or you’ll spoil your dinner.”

“I know, Dad,” she huffed dramatically.

“Also, Mom says hi, Mr. Kingsley,” Belle pipped in.

“Tell Mari I return the sentiment. Now get your friends to stop loitering.” He turned back towards Hattie and rose his voice so Timmy and Mu could hear. “They scare away customers.”

“Says the Snatcher,” Timmy whispered to Mu.

Luka covered his smirk with the coffee cup. His gaze shifted over Hattie and Belle and he watched as Makoto and Brooke fled the store at a brisk pace. Hali struggled to keep up, but she managed to meet his eyes and offered a cheerful wave.

“Fine,” Hattie sighed. “Come on, guys!”

“I need to stop by Mom’s before we head to the bookstore,” Belle mentioned as she and Hattie turned to leave. “I left my cards with my backpack.”

As the girls left, Luka turned to head back towards the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. He immediately winced.

“Ugh, tepid,” he grumbled as Timmy and Mu ran past, hurrying out to follow Hattie and Belle.

After making sure the kids all had their backs turned and Alex was busy with something on the counter, Luka summoned a gentle ember to his hand. While the flame harmlessly licked the cup, the coffee warmed inside until steam wafted from the hole in the lid. He took a tentative sip and swallowed the scalding liquid.

The flames in his chest crackled and popped, and the knots in his shoulders eased.

He snuffed out the ember in his hand as he lowered the cup. Mist trailed from the lid as the coffee maintained its heat.

“I think you scarred those two for life,” Alex muttered as Luka returned to the counter.

“Which two?” he asked, mind still on Hattie and her friends.

“Brooke and Makoto.” Alex glanced up, shaking their head with a scolding expression.

“I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Luka said calmly. He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee during his momentary break. “If those hooligans are letting their imaginations run wild, it’s not on my conscience.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex gave him an unimpressed look. “Also, I think we’re running low on the beach ball accessories.”

“I noticed,” Luka muttered, swirling his cup pensively. “Those aren’t particularly popular, and we are getting near the end of the season…”

While they discussed whether they needed to send out an order or if they would make it until the fall selection came out, Hattie rolled on the balls of her feet as she, Timmy, and Mu waited for Belle to return from her mom’s flower shop just across from Kraft-a-Kid. Hattie idly watched all the mallgoers, thoughts blank, but Timmy and Mu had their eyes locked on Kraft-a-Kid, thoughts whirling noisier than the stuffing machines.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Belle announced as she bounced out with her deck of cards.

“Hattie.” Timmy whirled around. “Your dad’s magic!”

“Timmy, he doesn’t steal souls, we’ve been over this,” Hattie whined, crossing her arms.

“If he doesn’t steal souls, then what’s with his coffee?” Mu snapped, nodding her head towards the display window where Luka could be seen leaning against the counter inside the workshop.

Hattie squinted, trying to figure out what was out of place with the steaming coffee cup. After a moment, she turned to Belle, who shrugged.

“It’s hot!” Mu gestured wildly, causing her blond mustache to bob with her movement. “Look at that steam!”

Hattie blinked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Belle supplied dryly. “Because Hattie ordered it hot.”

“But he said it was tepid!” Timmy argued. “We heard him!”

“He probably thinks it is,” Hattie said, knitting her brows together. “He likes his coffee hot enough to burn his tastebuds.”

“You aren’t getting it!” Mu huffed. “It wasn’t steaming when he said it was cold!”

“Okay, but even if he somehow heated it up, that didn’t have anything to do with stealing souls,” Belle appeased.

“That’s what we mean!” Timmy urged. “If he can use one type of magic, he can use others!”

“I regret the day I told you about those rumors,” Hattie grumbled.

It didn’t matter as much when strangers said it, but instead of laughing with Hattie when she told them that people thought her dad was some kind of heartless, soul-snatching monster, Mu and Timmy had latched onto the conspiracy and ever since refused to let go. She couldn’t talk about new product plushies or designs around them anymore because they would just start a debate about which shell would best hold the souls of children.

“Look can we just get going?” She started walking in the direction of the bookstore and Belle matched her pace. Mu hurried to catch up as Timmy trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye on Kraft-a-Kid.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything weird?” Mu insisted. “Heard any screams of children he caught? Seen any dolls move in the corner of your eye?”

“You know he laughs like a cartoon villain?” Timmy added.

“The store is literally called Kraft-a-Kid!” Mu continued. “Open your eyes, Hattie!”

“Kid is just another word for baby goat!” Belle argued. “It’s cute!”

“We aren’t talking about this anymore!” Hattie snapped, tugging down on the brim of her hat. She turned away from them and focused on Belle. “So, what deck are you using? The one with fairy types? Or your cat themed one?”

“Both!” She grinned mischievously as she happily helped to redirect the conversation. “I combined them because I wanted to use all my favorites. How about you?”

“Going with the forest deck.” Hattie glanced up, where her deck was safely tucked away in the hidden compartment she stitched into the top hat.

Timmy and Mu huffed, letting their argument go as they pipped in with talking about their own decks. But it was only a matter of time before they started back on their theories about her dad’s supposed magic. Trying not to deflate too much, she kept her eyes forward. She swallowed her frustration and focused on the upcoming tournament.

Besides, even if her dad did have magic and only used it for heating up coffee, it hardly seemed something a heartless monster would do.

Right?

#a hat in time #ahit snatcher #ahit prince #ahit hat kid #ahit dadtcher #my writing #build-a-bear au #'im gonna take a break'#*proceeds to post exactly one day after the old posting schedule #im still writing lol just gonna be all over the place for a bit #ALSO FINALLY WROTE THIS #ITS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR FOREVER #ITS JUST REALLY FUNNY TO ME TO IMAGINE SNATCHER RUNNING A BUILD A BEAR PLEEEEEEASE #i have one more short thing for this that addresses the heart-shaped hole in the room and then u might find me #ricocheting around other aus like a pinball #anyway that's all for now #thank you so much for reading as always!!!!!#catch ya later!

64 notes · View notes

love-archon · 3 years ago

Text

A Poem For You

Fleeting romances in the court of the Raiden Shogun, whose reign stands eternally still...

Spring - 春

"In Naniwa Bay, now the flowers are blossoming. After lying dormant all winter, now the spring has come..."

-Wani of Baekje

• The old tales warn of kitsune: yokai that take on forms of handsome men and beautiful women to play tricks on the unsuspecting humans. When they are careless, however, their disguises slip, and one can see a tail or two poking out from under their robes.

• Or, in the case of your soldiers' archery instructor, Gorou, a pair of large, fluffy ears emerging from his hair.

• There are whispers of a general in the rebel army far in the mountains, who has the features of a fox spirit and the slyness to match. Thankfully, the army lacks valuable intel to proceed, and cannot move forward without the use of spies.

• You blink and, in a shimmer like dust on sun-baked earth, the ears are gone. The gentle afternoon breeze rustles the leaves, and he nocks his arrow and lets it fly.

• Perhaps you were simply imagining things?

• Gorou, who guides his trainees with a strong, reliable hand, steady as stone,

• Gorou, who splits arrows in half as they fly, vowing to protect you always,

• Gorou, who smiles fondly at you as you walk through the gardens of your estate, holding your parasol to veil you from the sun, would never betray you or the great shogun. Would he?

• One warm spring night, where the dew still drips from the sakura flowers, he sits with you on the rooftops. His round lazuli eyes meet yours, and he tells you, truthfully, that he'll be leaving soon. Won't you join him?

• Your heart stirs to agree, but you respond that you cannot abandon your duties to your family, or to the shogun. He looks disappointed, but gets up from his seat, telling you that he accepts your decision. “If you ever change your mind,” he begins, but stops when the look in your eyes makes it clear you can’t.

• But you didn't know that "soon" meant now.

• Papers stolen from your family's most secret rooms are rolled up in his hands. His plain clothes melt away to reveal the uniform of the rebel army. The foxlike ears you thought were a dream now rest on his head, clear as day.

• Most striking of all, however, are the nine tails shimmering behind him- the mark of a fox spirit that’s accumulated centuries of magic.

• Your eyes can’t quite catch the way he leaves, and you’re not sure exactly when you became alone in the night with the flowers.

• Or if you’d imagined the saddened way he said goodbye.

Summer - 夏

"The spring has passed, and the summer comes again;

For the white robes are spread to dry on the Mount of Kaguyama."

-Empress Jitoh

• You do not know who keeps sending these letters, despite your best efforts. Only that they must be a refined noble of high status and excellent taste.

• Each cut of paper, beautifully bound, is dyed the right color to match the season. They are appropriately adorned with fresh sprigs of plants from the sender's garden, or tied with a luxurious ribbon of patterned silk. Lavish scents drift off the pages in a perfume that's sweet and light.

• Oh, and the words.

• The appearance of these gifts pale in comparison to the contents. The mysterious admirer has learned the alphabet borrowed from Liyue, and the complex brush strokes are applied with just the right deftness that each kanji character shines.

• Your beauty is eternal, they proclaim, like unmelting snow on summer mountains, and strikes the heart like a bolt of lightning. In your luminous eyes, the ideal of your god has been met- a thousand times over...

• As dizzyingly romantic as it is, one thing gives you pause, as you lift your own brush to write your reply.

• "Your god," it says. Not mine.

• Who would know the secret etiquette of the court so intimately, to the point that other suitors' letters paled in comparison... and not worship the immaculate Raiden Shogun, much less take an interest in you?

• Then you are sent in your clan head's place to deal with the troublesome Fatui that have slipped past your nation's defenses, and you find your answer then. Their leader wears the traditional attire of a traveling nobleman, and wields his weapon with aristocratic grace.

• His underlings fall rather quickly under your hand, but he himself is annoyingly persistent. He darts out of the way of your attacks, but it takes all your power to stop his from striking true.

• You do not get his name, only his face- fair and clean and luminous, with delicate features twisted in cruel amusement.

• It’s a shame that you must marr it with your blade, but what can be done?

• Then, he glides past you, close enough to whisper in your ear, and completes the poem no one has seen but you.

Autumn - 秋

"Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of;

The waters of Tatsuta are dyed in crimson red."

-Lord Ariwara-no-Narihira

• It is time for the great procession- an event of fanfare and decadence, where you and your family must travel from your ancestral home to the domain of the immortal shogun to display your wealth.

• Despite the excitement surrounding the occasion, you know quite well it is nothing more than a way to maintain control over the lords of Inazuma.

• But no expense must be spared if it means preserving your reputation. If it means that no other family dares question your wealth. Not in travel, not in housing arrangements, not in entertainment, not in the hired guards to protect you on your long and arduous journey.

• And so, after you pay the Kaedehara clan the exorbitant sum they demand, they give you twenty able-bodied samurai under their command... including Kazuha, their youngest son.

• The servant girls- and some of the boys- traveling with you blush when he passes, observing his lithe form and gentle eyes and striking, pale blond hair. One streak of red is visible there, calling to mind a sole maple leaf in autumn.

• Kazuha does not join in the other samurai's revelry. While they cheerfully indulge in the food and drink provided to them on the journey, and boast of their prowess when the time comes to fight bandits hiding on the path, he remains silent and alone, his eyes only on his collection of handwritten poems.

• (And, when you aren’t looking, they shyly flit to you before looking away.)

• In the end, however, Kazuha is the only one who actually bests a bandit in combat.

• Late at night, when the others are sleeping off the wine, large shadows flit past the trees. The bandit clans in the area thrive during this time, like hunters when beasts migrate in droves. They're confident that this traveling party will be easy prey.

• But one thief approaches too rashly, too quickly, and one crimson eye opens to meet him.

• Kazuha drifts from one opponent to another like a leaf falling from its branch, carried by strong winds. And yet, none of them can touch him. One after another, each man collapses with a sharp cry, only their silhouettes visible in the darkness.

• In the morning, the traveling party awakens to see fifty-some criminals tied up and piled up in a heap, and bursts into laughter. As the other samurai are still hung over, it’s clear who was responsible for this.

• Yes, Kaedehara-kun is a wonderful samurai. Skillful, composed, brave. And an excellent companion to have by one’s side, if one is lucky enough to have met him.

• It was quite the shock to learn that he would later flee the islands, sailing onward to the Land of Contracts aboard the ship of a pirate lord.

• But if anyone had the strength of mind to defy the gods- wouldn’t it be him?

Winter - 冬

"In winter, the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost..."

-Sei Shonagon

• Lady Ayaka is one of your closest friends, with your families being in a partnership for centuries. You have fond memories of playing together in the snow, with cranes flying overhead in the white sky.

• You know her secrets, and she knows yours. Nothing is kept between you- this is how you survive in a court of treachery and lies.

• So when she passes by in a sunlit hallway, you hear a whisper that shocks you to the core. Smooth silver hair floats past your sight, quiet as snow, and just as fleeting. But you must collect yourself quickly, for spies may lurk behind any silken screen.

• You will be betrothed to Kamisato Ayato, your dear friend's older brother, in ten day's time.

• As close as you are to Ayaka, Ayato has always been a shadow flitting in the corner of your sight, being too busy with his duties to see you. So his visage- to you- is as featureless as a field of snow.

• After all the romance novels you've read, it's difficult to accept marrying a man you've never spoken with, but... what can be done? You can only hope that Lord Ayato is kind and treats you well.

• But... what if he isn’t?

• Lady Ayaka would never speak ill of her brother. In fact, no noblewoman would even consider such a notion, even if it were true. Good appearances, on every level, are more important to nobles than gold.

• But all the same, you’ve seen the ladies of the court who are trapped in loveless homes like birds in cages. How their smiles are painted on, how their laughs ring hollow and empty, how they glance longingly to the world outside, beyond the lavish court that hides them here.

• Your gaze drifts towards the harbor, where the water shimmers with light. You could run away, too. To the eastern mountains, where your former archery teacher hides with his fellow rebels- although to do that would invoke the shogun's wrath. Or, riskier still, follow Kazuha's path to the harbor, and chase him on to Liyue...

• “Young Lord Kamisato is waiting for you,” a servant says, breaking you from your thoughts, and bowing hastily before you can meet her eyes. The servant across from her does the same as the paper doors slide open, and they do not rise as you walk through.

• This room is airy and spacious, of course. Wind from opened windows seems to sigh as it passes over you and beyond, and you can smell flowers from the garden carried in from the breeze. How strange... even a garden that you played in countless times seems completely new and unfamiliar.

• Gracefully, soundlessly, Ayato emerges from behind his ornate screen. Power and elegance flows from his every movement. And at last, you dare to look at what you have never seen before.

• You look at his face, finally revealed before you, like translucent ice giving way to the land beneath the white...

• And gasp.

_______

Author's Notes

Wani of Baekje: Each opening quote is a poem by a famous Japanese author, but Wani was a scholar visiting from Ancient Korea!

Great procession: Known in Japan as sankin kotai. Powerful lords were forced to spend massive amounts of money to travel from their homes to the shogun's castle and back; in this way, the shogun was able to keep them on an efficiently tight leash.

#genshin impact x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #scaramouche x reader #gorou x reader #inazuma

113 notes · View notes