#lace coverlet

[tenth-sentence]

They are already piled high with planks of wood, but Albert and I stack our four-poster with the blue silk canopy up on top, together with the mattresses and a couple of lace coverlets.

"All Quiet on the Western Front" - Erich Maria Remarque

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 15

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was in Eira's bed. Between a quilted coverlet, white and florals, making a pattern that formed stars, and embroidered pillow shams, edged with lace. He felt out of place, surrounded by the soft beauty of her work, even when she had curled herself together in his arms, short nails gently scratching his scalp.

He was exhausted; physically, mentally, emotionally…he was utterly depleted, and it was only being in her soft bed, with her soft body pressed against his that made him able to relax at all.

He was laying on his back, with Eira curled up against his side, her head against his chest and her fingers in his hair, and he’d never felt more content.

His chest was rising and falling evenly, his breathing steadier and calmer than it’d been in a while. His eyes were closed, the tiredness and exhaustion making it almost hard to even keep them open.

Azriel shifted the wing she was half lying on, wrapping it around her, and Eira laughed softly but didn't even try to shift away.

Her soft chuckle was a soothing sound, like a balm to his soul. Her body tensed slightly against him with her laugh, but she didn’t move, her body practically melting against his when his wing cocooned her along with his arms.

It felt peaceful…calm, and it soothed the ache within him in a way nothing else could. Her body was a warm, comforting weight against his, her hair against his chin and chest, and the feeling of her fingers gently playing with his hair almost like a lullaby.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” she whispered, her voice soft and quiet. He could feel her breath against his chest, and it was the only thing to tell him she’d spoken, her words so gentle they were almost lost in the stillness.

“This is nice…” he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy and almost a croon, as he held her a bit tighter to him, his wing shifting around her, to hold her even closer.

There was a shifting, a moving of position, and then the next thing he felt was a kiss on his chest and the feel of her body pressed even closer to his.

“Rest then,” she whispered, and her voice was so soft, so soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She started humming softly, singing just like she did for Nyx. And Azriel did fall asleep, just for a little while.

He woke up when razor-sharp claws scrambled up his leg and he watched with amusement how Snow made herself at home on his stomach, happily laying there, making Eira laugh silently, her giggles shaking him. He reached out to touch the tiny kitten with a broad, scarred finger and she purred softly as he petted her. 

“As long as she gets attention, she is happy,” Eira recounted with a snort, pressing a kiss against his cheek and he chuckled, the sound raw in his throat. 

A knock at the door, made him freeze. It's just the High Lady, the shadows assured him, just as the door was pushed open.

"Eira?"

The bed creaked slightly, as Eira pushed herself up off of his chest. He had to fight not to pull her back, his arms still tight around her, and against his will, he loosened his hold on her, though not by much.

"It's just Feyre," Eira soothed, her voice so soft, and quiet, as she looked back down at him.

"Sorry to barge in like this," Feyre said, her voice quiet though he could still hear it. "Are you two...alright?"

He sat up, carefully not to hit Eira with his wing accidentally. "We are fine," Eira promised, her voice warm, slipping her hand into his. "Everything is alright."

There was a slight pause, and he could practically see the assessing gaze Feyre was no doubt giving him at that moment.

"You sure? " Feyre asked, and he heard the disbelief in her words. "Because you look...rough."

“We had a talk," Eira said, her voice even. "Did you already write to him?"

He couldn't help the growl that burst out of his throat at that. Eira didn't even flinch. He heard Feyre suck in a breath, clearly startled by his reaction, even as he felt Eira's fingers grip his a bit tighter as if to remind him.

"No," Feyre said, her voice still laced with possibly a hint of…worry? "Rhys and Mor are still talking about what the best way to go about it is. They have a draft now, if you want to read it...Are you two hungry? You haven't really eaten."

He was hungry. But there was only one thing he currently wanted to eat and that was sitting next to him. 

You should eat, the shadows pressed.

Eira was still looking at him, and the look on her face was so soft and tender and worried it made it so hard to deny her. "...We'll eat," Azriel agreed finally, and he saw her shoulders droop infinitesimally as if she'd been holding tension there.

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Eira said calmly.

"Don't take too long," Feyre warned, her voice dry. "Rhys is going to start prowling if you two don't show soon. "

Azriel barely stifled a snort at Feyre's words, even as he heard Eira let out a soft giggle.

"We'll be down soon,” Eira reassured Feyre. "We'll be down soon."

She waited until Feyre had left before she leaned to press a kiss against his lips. "Come on. We'll have to tell our family, don't we?" And that easy acceptance...like she didn't even need to think twice about it...not hesitating for even a moment to tell their family about their engagement, even when there wasn't a ring to show for it...

It made his heart twist in his chest, a painful yet overwhelming sort of feeling.

He couldn't help but pull her closer against him, leaning in to wrap his arms around her body, as he hid his face in the crook of her neck, his nose buried against her hair. "I don't deserve you," he whispered against her skin.

"You do. And I'll tell you that every day for the rest of our lives," Eira disagreed.

He let out a shaky exhale, his breath shuddering against her neck. The feeling of such certainty in her voice…he couldn’t help the way he shook against her, his limbs almost trembling against her as he held her.

"Let's go downstairs," Eira said, offering her hand to him.

He took her hand without protest, the idea of food a bit more palatable when it included her, with him.

His fingers clenched around her own, clutching her hand as if he was scared that if he let go she might disappear.

He heard her soft exhale at his grip, but she didn’t say a word about his hold as she tugged him off the bed after her. Her hair was mussed, her clothes rumpled from where she’d laid against him on the bed, but she simply shook out her skirt and that was it. She tugged him across the room towards the door and pulled him gently after her.

He let her pull him along, the touch of her hand the only grounding thing as his nerves twisted and his worry over what their family’s reaction might be. Would they be happy? Or would they be confused, horrified, angry?

"Nice of you to come back," Cassian drawled from where he was sitting, Nesta draped over his lap, whose grey eyes were immediately mustering Eira before they stared at him.

"We needed a nap," Eira said simply, her voice as soft and gentle as ever, as she tugged him across the room towards an empty chair, and the table full of food

"A nap?" Cassian repeated incredulously.

"A nap and a talk," Eira said with a shrug. "Tell Kleon that sadly he was too late in his offer for my hand, as I am already taken," she told Rhys, her shoulders squared, her chin stuck out.

There were several stunned looks around the room, as Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Mor and Rhys all stared at her.

The silence was near deafening. And then Rhys let out a bark of startled laughter.

"You’re engaged then," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

She shrugged, still standing by his side, her hand still firmly gripping his. “We are.” The certainty, the conviction in her voice made something in his chest ache.

The others were still staring, their mouths opening and closing as if trying to find the words. It was Cassian who spoke first, his voice incredulous as he looked at them both.

“You’re…engaged?” he repeated, and his words were a bit slow as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Wait, when?"

“Tonight,” Eira said simply, and her voice was unwavering, her spine straight and her chin held high, as if in a challenge ."We got engaged tonight.”

There was another moment of silence, where the room was so still it was as if no one breathed.

And then Rhys let out another bark of laughter. “Well congratulations then,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “You’ve got a hell of a mate there, Az.”

And somehow that loosened every bit of tension. There was a chorus of congratulations, as Feyre led the charge and suddenly he was swamped with hands and arms and backs slapped and hair ruffled and laughter.

And through it all, Eira stayed beside him, her hand still holding firmly to his.

"Do not mess this up," Nesta hissed at him, even as she hugged him. He heard the threat in her words, as her nails dug into his skin with her hug. And he knew without a doubt she’d make good on that threat if he did mess it up.

But instead of being fearful, in that moment…all he could be was grateful.

For this...for the family surrounding them...his mate, still holding his hand...he was just...grateful.

"No ring yet?" Mor asked. "Az, you know better than that!" she complained good-naturedly. 

He knew. He knew. He did want to get Eira a ring, a visible claim, something that everybody could see. 

"It’s being made," he rasped, and his voice was a near whisper, his guilt so overwhelming at that moment that his stomach churned.

It's not, the shadows sniped. You haven't even decided what you want!

Shut up, he hissed back, his mind filled with a mix of irritation, guilt, and agony over the fact that he hadn’t even startedlooking for her ring when it was his duty as her mate to provide her with one. But she was still holding his hand, her grip firm, as if sensing his turmoil, as if reassuring him that his lack of a ring didn’t matter to her one bit. 

"I do like pearls," Eira told him with a grin. He could only look down at her as he heard the words, a new longing filling him.

“Pearls?” he repeated hoarsely. He’d been fully prepared to start looking for rings embedded with diamonds, with rubies, emeralds, sapphires…

But pearls…he could just imagine her, with pearls against her skin, her creamy pale skin framed by the white of pearls…

"And nothing big, please," Eira continued. That had his thoughts halting, and a frown pulling at his brows.

“...nothing big?” he repeated slowly, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Was she saying she wanted a smaller ring? The idea of giving her a small ring felt wrong to him. When he thought of a ring for her, he couldn’t picture anything other than a large stone, a ring encrusted with gems and gold so that everyone would look at her and know she was his.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. After all, he knew Eira and the last thing she’d ever care about would be having anything impractical that she needed to constantly take off. The more delicate, the more subtle, the more unassuming a ring he got her, the better she’d like it…

But the thought of giving her a small ring felt like he was settling. Like he was disrespecting her. She was his mate, the woman he’d spend his entire life with…she should have a ring that was just as beautiful, as elegant as she was...

"Aaaaaand we lost him," Cassian quipped.

Cassian’s words broke him out of his thoughts, and Azriel scowled at his brother, only to realize…how true Cassian’s words were. He’d been so deep in thought, in contemplating the details of the ring he would get her, that he had ignored the entire conversation around him. And they were all staring at him.

The weight of their gazes had his neck heat, as he realized what he’d done.

But Eira was still holding his hand, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of his palm as if to reassure him, to calm him and soothe his guilt over not having a ring for her yet.

"I was just saying that unless you want to get married tonight, signing a betrothal contract would wrap you both in enough paperwork that it makes it very clear to Kleon that Eira is utterly uninterested," Rhys said drily. "We'll simply send the Winter Court a copy."

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Yes,” he said, his words eager, his grip on Eira’s hand unconsciously tightening as he spoke. “We should…we should do that.”

"If you think you can pay 2 cows for my sister and be done, you are sadly mistaken," Nesta said drily, making Rhys laugh.

"He doesn't even own a single cow," Rhys said with a laugh. That startled a laugh out of Azriel, and he saw Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Feyre all struggle to hold back a grin. Feyre seemed to barely succeed in suppressing the sound, her lips quivering.

But Eira’s hand tightened in his, her eyes narrowing, but there was a hint of an amused gleam visible in them. “I am not a prize cow in need of bartering.”

Azriel had to bite his tongue to suppress a grin, the idea of his mate as a “prize cow” was both ridiculously charming and utterly absurd. “No, you’re not,” he agreed firmly, his voice rough. “You’re mine.”

"Besides, you can put whatever you want in these betrothal contracts," Mor said drily. "And it's not like they weren't oftentimes just made between families with no exact person even in mind, or that you can't put in them whatever you want. You want to put in there that Azriel forfeits his entire fortune if he does anything Eira doesn't like? You can."

"We are not doing that," Eira said sharply.

But Mor only gave her a sly smile, the gleam in her eyes sparkling. “You never know, Eira…he might just be tempted to do something stupid someday….”

"The shadows are on my side. I don't need his fortune," she gave back drily.

That startled a choked laugh out of Azriel, as he looked down at her.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” he said dryly. “Should I worry that you’d only be happy with me for my shadows and not for me ?”

Eira gave him a smile that was nearly wicked. 

“Maybe I would,” she said teasingly, and Azriel could see the gleam in her eyes, even as her fingers clenched against his side as if to hold him firmly to her. “Maybe I’ll only keep you until I can get the shadows to switch sides and become mine instead.”

His jaw almost dropped at her words, the audacity of her teasing, the hint of playfulness in her words, and he heard Cassian bark a laugh while Feyre gave a stifled giggle that sounded almost like a snort.

But he couldn’t even try to come up with a response, his mouth opening and then closing again as he tried to think of something to say…

"What do we need to do?" Eira asked Rhys. "We sign a piece of paper with our intent to marry, and that's it?"

Rhys leaned back against the back of his chair, an amused look on his face. “That’s it. It’s simple honestly. It's a blood-bound contract though."

"I don't need to drink his blood, right?" Eira asked, suddenly sounding worried.

Azriel had the sudden urge to laugh at her question, the fear in her voice at the prospect of having to drink his blood.

"No," he said, struggling to hold back a smile. "No blood drinking."

"You'll only need to prick your finger," Rhys promised with a laugh That managed to get a breath of relief out of her, and Azriel couldn’t help the urge to smile.

She was still worried, even with the simple task of a blood-bound contract. A contract that would tie them together, that would make sure that any other suitors, Kleon knew that she was spoken for, his. Her agreement to sign a contract to marry him…

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Just…everything, swirling together in a roiling mass in his chest.

"Paper and ink, Rhys," Azriel said, his words a near croak, strangled out past his tight throat.

Rhys’s gaze snapped to him, his eyes scanning over his face, then his lips curled into a small smile, as he nodded and stood.

"Paper and ink," Rhys repeated, his smile still firmly in place. "Coming right up."

It was the work of minutes to work out the wording, keeping it simple. 

Azriel’s hands shook slightly as he signed the contract, the words blurry in front of his eyes, his mind whirling at the reality of what he was doing.

His hand trembled as it went to his thigh to the sheath of Truthteller, and he pulled it out. He nicked the top of his thumb on the blade, letting the blood well in the cut

He let the red drop fall, watching it splatter on the paper, a thick, red smear that turned into a stain, dark and blotchy.

He’d just signed a contract, a blood-bound contract, pledging himself, promising himself to her, binding his life to hers…

He offered the pen to Eira, and his vision was tunnelled, as if the only thing his mind was capable of seeing was her slender hand, her fingers wrapping around the black ink pen as if to take hold of their future with her grip.

He held out Truthteller for her second, hilt first.  She reached out, her hand reaching for the blade, and a flicker of panic rose in him as he looked down at her, her small, beautiful, delicate hand reaching for something that could hurt her.

“Careful,” he managed to say, the word almost hoarse as he spoke, his voice rough. “You have to be careful, it’s sharp…”

She held the blade gingerly, the knife looking large and ominous in her small hands.

He watched as she studied it, a moment of hesitation clear as she stared at the blade, before pressing the tip against the pad of her index finger.

She winced, but only slightly, as she pricked her finger, a bright drop of crimson welling and then falling next to her own signature. The words around them were little more than a buzz in his ears, the only thing he could focus on was the fact that she’d done it, her signature and blood staining the paper...binding her to him.

Nesta signed next to her.

He watched as Rhys took the parchment, rolling it tight and sealing it with a wave of his own power.

"Done," Rhys said, his simple word shattering the silence that had descended around them.

Azriel had the sudden thought that he could hear his heartbeat, how it was thumping in his chest, louder than a drum in his ears. A pounding beat that echoed in his head, pounding along with three simple, perfect words in his mind.

His mate.

"That's it?" Eira made sure.

“That’s it,” Rhys said with a smile, that small, amused quirk to his lips firmly in place. “You’re officially betrothed now.”

Azriel couldn’t help the way his own lips curled up upon hearing those words, his thoughts replaying them over and over in his head.

Betrothed. Officially betrothed.

The words were like the sweetest honey to his ears.

Eira turned to glance up at him, those lovely blue eyes, flecked with silver looking up at him, her gaze curious, contemplative…and happy.

And looking at her, at the smile on her face, the happy gleam in her eyes, he realized that he’d never be able to get enough of that look, of the look of pure joy and hope on her face.

***

She was engaged.

The thought left her both giddy and scared, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her chest.

Azriel…she was engaged to Azriel.

It was almost too much to comprehend, to even wrap her head around. 

The male she had never thought she would be able to have…the one she had fallen in love with the very first time she had seen him…

The man who made her smile and laugh, who made her feel all warm on the inside. The man who looked at her as if seeing her was more beautiful than anything in the entire world…

She was engaged, to the male who made her heart race in her chest, the male who with one look could leave her breathless and dizzy, the male who somehow looked at her like she was the most important thing in the entire world, like he’d do anything for her.

She was quite sure that she was never going to get over that.

The way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world, the way his shadows reached out to her, the way they twined around her as if to shield her…

There was a certain amount of possessiveness in the way he held her, the way he touched her, as if he didn’t want her to ever be out of his reach.

And at the same time, there was a hint of reverence in his touch, in the way that he held her, as if he was afraid he would somehow break her if he didn’t hold her gently and tenderly...

Gods, she was getting worse than her sister’s romance novels wasn't she?

Eira didn’t know whether to laugh or not…she was being absolutely ridiculous, wasn’t she?

But gods, the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her, his eyes full of such wonder every time his gaze found her…

Her good mood was even in spite of the weather, gloomy and cold as she pulled on a set of clothes and readied herself for the day.

The skies were overcast, the threat of rain in the air. The clouds were dark and heavy, hanging over the city heavy and grey, but even that could not dampen her spirits.

"You are in an awful chipper mood," Rhys said drily as she came down for breakfast. Feyre was yet nowhere to be seen but Nyx grinned at her as she dropped a noisy kiss to her nephew’s black hair.

“Maybe I am,” she said in a singsong voice, not even bothering to deny it as she reached for the platter of food. “What do you suppose could have me so happy?

Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, an eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

“Oh you know,” he said, his tone as dry as a summer desert. “I can’t imagine what could possibly have you in such a wonderfully happy mood…”

She hid a smile behind a bite of toast, even as Nyx babbled up at her, his small hands reaching up towards her, his small arms held up.

She reached out, picking him up and settled him on her lap, ruffling his hair and earning a bright, joyful laugh from the toddler.

Her nephew seemed happy enough to stay in her lap, his little hands reaching up to pat at her face as if fascinated by the sight of her.

She laughed softly, swatting his little fingers away before he accidentally stuck them in her eye, her gaze flickering back up to Rhysand.

He was watching the interaction between her and Nyx, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them, a smirk on his lips.

“He'll miss you, you know,” he casually commented, and she felt her spine stiffen in an instant at the words, her chest clenching slightly, her heart skipping a beat at the words. "Whenever Azriel and you do find a house to make your own."

Rhys' words startled her, the prospect of leaving Nyx behind making her heart pang in her chest, a twinge of sorrow sparking in her chest. "I'll still visit," she protested,  as she looked down at the toddler in her lap, the child happily patting his little hands against her face. Of course, she would visit. He was her nephew. 

Rhys' expression was almost rueful. "That won't change the fact that he'll miss you," he pointed out, just as Nyx gave a particularly gleeful laugh, his little hand accidentally smacking her cheek in his excitement.

She gave a small wince as the toddler's hand smacked against her cheek, a soft thud that stung just a little.

"He's young, he'll forget about me eventually," she said stoutly, even as the thought made her heart clench slightly.

"About his Auntie Ra Ra? I highly doubt that," Feyre said as she came into the dining Room. "But then, maybe you'll give him a cousin or two to play with."

The sound of Feyres's voice had her glancing up, and she gave her sister a smile, though her words made her cheeks flush as her heart stuttered in her chest.

"One step at a time," she said with a laugh, but the thought of children was already in her head.

Azriel's children, her own children…

She felt her head spinning, the prospect both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Children...children with Azriel, with the male she cared so, so much for…

It was something she'd once thought would never happen, a family of her own.

The thought of it, of marrying Azriel, of having children with him…it filled her with wonder.

And even the nervous thrum of energy it sent through her didn’t diminish her mood.

She was just about to reach for a slice of bread, when she heard the entrance door open. She looked at Rhys questionable, who gave her a smile. "Azriel. It seems like my spymaster was thrown out of bed by his shadows at an ungodly hour."

Her heart skipped a beat at the words, her stomach flipping, and a sense of anticipation running down her spine.

And then she felt his presence like a brush of a cool draft, the feeling of his shadows winding through the room, almost like a greeting just for her.

They immediately twined around her wrists and hands, hissing wordlessly... like Snow sometimes purred just because.

A soft laugh escaped her at the feeling of the shadows, at the familiar way they reached out to her, winding around her wrists and hands, almost as if greeting her.

She reached out to brush a finger along one of the shadows, feeling a strange sense of joy at the way the shadow leaned into her touch, wrapping around her finger, almost as if nuzzling her skin.

Their Master was not far behind. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, in the doorway, his usual leathers covering him, his hair mused slightly from sleep, a hint of a smile on his face as he looked at her.

He almost took her breath away just from the simple sight of him, his dark clothes hugging his frame, his hair slightly mussed as if he had woken up late, his eyes still a little cloudy from sleep.

And that hint of a smile on his lips, just for her, a soft smile that managed to send her heart fluttering in her chest.

"Good Morning," he greeted. "I thought I...may get to kidnap you after breakfast?"

Her heart just soared even more at the words, a small laugh escaping her, her mood soaring at the prospect of spending time with him.

“You’re not too tired?” she asked, and his smile grew, a hint of mischief in his gaze as he looked at her. "I heard the shadows threw you out of bed at an ungodly hour," she quipped.

Azriel just shook his head, a small smile playing around his lips. "They had an errand for me to run," he answered.

“Important, I presume,” Rhys commented, his tone slightly dry.

“Of course,” Azriel replied, his gaze flickering across the room to her, the smile on his face growing into something a lot closer to a cocky smirk. “Of the most importance.”

"Where are we going?" Eira asked as she stood, finishing her Marmelade Toast with two more bites.

"Not that far," Azriel answered. "But put on a coat please, it's getting colder."

She didn't even get to respond before the shadows had already managed to get her coat from her room, making her sigh as they wrapped her up in it.

She was helpless to resist as the shadows worked her arms into her coat, a huff of laughter leaving her lips at their eagerness.

She managed to roll her eyes as her arms went through the sleeves of the coat, the shadows wrapping her up in her coat with almost gentle delicacy, almost as if they feared they might somehow break her.

A gentle tug on the hem of her coat had her turning back to face Azriel, who had an almost fond look on his face as he looked at the shadows.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nodding towards the black shadows, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his gaze.

"I'm fine," she replied, though she felt the flush in her cheeks increase slightly as she cast a look down at the shadows, feeling that odd sense of both affection and annoyance. "Your shadows are just...overly eager," she quipped.

"I can't really fault them," Azriel responded as she took his arm that he offered, waving to Feyre and Rhys as he led her out of the room. "How do you feel about flying?"

"The one time Cassian took me, I vomited all over him," she said drily.

Azriel gave a low, dark scoff, a hint of annoyance in his gaze at that. "Of course Cassian would make you vomit," he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he said his friend's name.

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Azriel continued, glancing down at her through half-lidded eyes. "I won't be diving and swooping the way that idiot would do."

"That's a little reassuring," she said drily, even as her stomach fluttered.

It was reassuring, definitely better than the thought of vomiting all over him, but it didn't stop her heart from thudding slightly as he led her towards the door. 

They were going to be flying.

Her stomach did a little somersault as the thought raced through her mind, even as he led her out the door, her breath caught in her chest as the wind tugged at her clothes.

She was going to be flying with Azriel, in his arms, with those wings of his.

"You still trust me, right?" The sound of his voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him, her heart fluttering slightly as she saw the certainty in his gaze, the look in his eyes that made her forget how to breathe for a moment or two.

"Of course," she said, the words breathless, her heart skipping a beat in her chest.

She trusted him more than anything else in the world, more than everything. And while she didn't trust flying...she trusted him.

He seemed reassured by her words, a hint of relief flickering in his gaze for a moment, his lips twitching slightly into a small smile. And then he moved, one arm sweeping under their knees and picking her up into his arms, holding her against him in a tight, secure embrace.

"Just hold on to me." It was all the warning she was going to get.

There was hardly any time to respond, for him to even give her warning, and then her feet were leaving the ground, leaving the safety of the ground as he wrapped her tight in his arms.

And then they were in the air, the ground suddenly falling away beneath her.

She instinctively tightened her grip on him, her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, holding on to him for dear life as she felt the wind against her body.

She shut her eyes tight, burying her head against his shoulder, feeling the sensation of falling and a small, terrified gasp escaped her, her grip on him so tight she was probably cutting off his circulation.

"Relax, sweetheart," his voice was a low rumble against her ear. "Just relax. I've got you, you're safe...nothing's going to happen, just relax..."

She could hear the reassurance in his words, in his voice, and she tried to relax, tried to listen to him and the steady, reassuring tone of his voice, to the steady, calm beat of his heart, even as her own heart was pounding.

"You're fine," he repeated, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath a soft shiver against her skin. "You're fine, I won't let anything happen...just trust me, sweetheart."

She dared to peek over his shoulder...seeing the rushing water of the Sidra beneath them. They were crossing over from the River House towards the House of Wind.

The view was slightly dizzying, and she shut her eyes again with a small whimper, her head resting against his shoulder, her face buried in his leathers, as she tightened her arms around his neck.

"Almost there," he comforted her, the words a low rumble against her ear. "You're doing great, just hold onto me, love..."

And then she could feel the descent, tightly controlled, slower than she was sure he had ever done it before, only for her benefit...and she concentrated not on the ground that was coming closer but on these massive, majestic wings that stretched from his back.

She concentrated on the sight, on the dark, membranous wings that stretched from his back, on how majestic he looked, with the sun shining on his wings, and then her own feet were once again touching solid ground, and she realised she had barely dared to even breathe the entire flight.

She stood in his arms for a moment or two, her limbs still trembling from the nerves, her lungs gasping for the air they'd been denying themselves for God knows how long.

"See? Completely and perfectly safe," he said, his voice quiet. "No vomiting, no dropping you. Completely safe."

She let out a shaky exhale at his words, forcing herself to relax as she took a deep breath, her heart still pounding against her chest, her body still trembling. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she managed to say, a hint of breathlessness in her voice.

"Maybe you just need a lot more practice," he quipped, and she could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, the hint of satisfaction, that he was able to make jokes again. “A lot more flights with me. Maybe hundreds…”

She managed a small laugh at his words, feeling her heart give a little bit of a flutter at that, and she could picture it, hundreds of flights, all in his arms, just like this, and it flushed her face with colour.

"Maybe we should take it one flight at a time," she said, still laughing slightly.  "I think all the flights are just going to leave me as a trembling, terrified mess if I keep vomiting or panicking every time I get in the air, and I highly doubt you want that."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, as he finally let her down and only then she took in her surroundings. They were on the other side of the Sidra and she could still see the River House in the distance...

"Where are we?" she managed to gasp out, still trying to catch her own breath, her heart still racing furiously, her legs feeling a little wobbly from the flight.

Home, the shadows said brightly. We are home!

She looked down at the shadows who were writhing around her legs, a small smile playing around her lips as she watched them.

"Home," she repeated, feeling a sense of wonder and excitement coursing through her heart as she looked up at the house in front of her, taking in the sight of it, and feeling the beginnings of possibility.

Eira stared at the grey stone house, overgrown with ivy...with a blue door and matching blue shutters on its windows. It wasn't massive. Not huge. But big...big enough to house a family. Two stories and an attic, tucked along a side arm of the River. It looked...magical.

Slightly depilated, like it hadn't had somebody to take care of it...but…She stared at the house, taking it in with wide eyes, a thousand different thoughts and emotions rushing through her mind.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

It was perfect and every little detail of it filled her with a sort of longing, a longing to make it theirs.

"Do you..." she spoke, her voice low, as she continued to stare at the house in front of her. "Does it have a backyard ?"

Azriel let out a low laugh, clearly amused by her question. "Of course it does," he answered a hint of laughter in his voice. "Do you really think the shadows would have picked a house that doesn't have space for your vegetable garden?"

She felt her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment to have her desire for a garden so utterly transparent, but she didn't shy away from it, just huffed a small breath of laughter under her breath, even as her heart did a funny little leap in her chest.

Let us show you! the shadows said excitedly, twirling around her wrist again and tugging her towards the house. There was no chance to resist even if she had wanted to, the shadows pulling her along towards the house, and she followed, a hint of excitement and anticipation rushing through her.

She cast a glance back at Azriel over her shoulder, but he only followed behind, a soft smile on his face.

The shadows were already opening the front door, letting her inside, and she stepped into the front hallway feeling her breath catch in her chest.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

And it could be theirs.

She walked around, taking in the small hallway, the wooden floors, the high ceilings, looking into the living room, the kitchen, feeling a sense of possibility filling her as she looked around. And the shadows were already showing her around, racing ahead of her as she looked, almost seeming to vibrate with excitement as they pointed things out to her.

There was a sitting room, a formal dining room, a study, a large kitchen, a cosy nook set into the side of the house, and a small bathroom all on the first floor.

The shadows tugged her up the stairs. Towards the master bedroom, overlooking the stream. And then they tugged her into a room overlooking the garden.

The shadows were vibrating with such excitement now that she could barely keep up with them, but they tugged her forward, showing her the room.

For the babies, they whispered.

"For the...babies?" She repeated, feeling her heart leap into her chest, as she looked around.

It was perfect. For a child. For a few children. Plenty of space, and a full wall of windows that looked into the garden, and her heart was racing.

Yes! The shadows were practically cheering. For the babies!

She turned and met Azriel's eyes from the doorway, He was leaning up against the doorjamb, watching her, a slight smile on his face as she looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, a gleam in his eye as he looked at her.

She couldn't do anything but look at him, her heart hammering in her chest, her face flushed with excitement.

"You like it?" he asked, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice, and she could tell he was already pretty sure of the answer, having seen the shadows showing her around and having watched her reaction the whole time.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “But I need to see the garden.”

This time it was Azriel who let out a low laugh, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pushed away from the wall and crossed to where she stood.

“Of course you do,” he said, and there was an odd...tenderness in his voice, a fondness in the gleam in his eye. “Let’s go see the garden then.”

She didn’t even have a moment to hesitate, before he reached forward and took her hand. The contact felt like sparks in her skin, her breath catching in her chest as he intertwined his fingers with hers, and tugged her forward, leading her from the room and back down the stairs.

She was aware of the way her heart was racing as if trying to break free from her chest as they walked, and she could practically feel every point of contact between them. His hand in hers, every brush of his skin against her fingers, every place they were touching... Her skin tingled and danced, her breath caught in her chest, and she could have sworn she was shaking.

And then he tugged her from the back porch, tugging her out into the garden, and her attention was fully captured as she looked around her, at the space around her-

It was perfect. A space of green, of flowers... A riotous assortment of blooms, vegetables, a place to sit, a place to play...

And there was…as she turned back towards the house, and saw the blue door…suddenly she remembered. Remembered Elain’s vision. Remembered the fleck of blue in the background…remembered…this was their home. This was the place for their children, where they would grow and learn.

She looked at the house, at the back porch and the windows, the flowers and vegetables around her, and she felt her eyes growing watery, a sense of longing in her heart, a sense of home, the picture so perfect in her mind. And in her mind’s eye, she saw it - children running through the garden, playing in the grass, their laughter filling the air…

She imagined it. The children’s laughter, the sound of life. She could picture it, children racing around the garden, playing in the grass, children with light hair and dark eyes, and her heart ached, her throat closing up with an almost painful longing.

She wanted it. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life…

Eira turned towards Azriel, who was still watching her, a soft, tender expression on his face. He already had known what she was doing, that she was picturing what the garden would look like with their children, what the house would look like full of life, and she could see the longing in his own eyes, the same emotion that burned in her chest.

“Let me at least do this one thing right,” he requested softly, as he stepped close to her, as he grasped her hand and sunk down on one knee. “Eira Marie Archeron, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

She stared at him, her heart stopping in her chest. He was kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped around hers, hazel eyes gazing up at her, a hopeful, hopeful gleam in his eyes, as he waited for her to answer.

She wanted to say so many things, wanted to tell him so many things, but the only thing that would come out of her mouth was a soft “Yes”…

He let out a shaky, almost desperate exhale, almost as if he had been holding his breath the whole time, waiting to hear her response, before his fingers tightened around hers, a fierce, hopeful gleam in his eyes, and it felt like her heart was burning in her ribcage.

She wasn’t even sure from where the ring that he slipped on her finger suddenly appeared. Silver. One pearl, flanked by diamonds. Small enough that it wouldn’t get in her way. But so utterly beautiful that she could only stare.

“The shadows had it all narrowed down,” Azriel said quietly. “They threw me out of bed this morning to drag me all around Velaris to show me the rings they had picked out. I chose this one…I thought it was the most…you.” She stared at the ring in wonder, taking in the simple beauty of the silvery metal and the diamonds and pearls. She would have been happy with any ring, any piece of jewellery that he gave her, but this...it was so her, she couldn’t help but smile, her heart filled with something sweet and warm and fluttery at the sight of it, at the thought of the shadows guiding him.

She could picture it, the shadows, tugging him all over the city, the shops lining the Sidra, guiding him to the perfect ring, and she loved the thought of it, of how the shadows wanted to help Azriel pick this perfect ring, that they wanted to help make this moment perfect for both of them.

“We would be lost without you,” Eira told them and they preened in response

They swirled around her happily, almost fluttering with pride, their dark matter moving like ripples in a pond as they basked in the praise, and she couldn’t help but smile at them, letting out a soft laugh as she watched them dance around her.

[littlest-w01f]

Loving

Rhysand x Evelyn (See Evelyn here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Lord of Night

Summary: Evelyn's learnt there is more to the High Lord of Night than she knew.

Cw: Fluff, cuddles, horny, pregnancy

Rhysand was the male her father had wanted her to marry. Rhysand was a cruel High Lord. Rhysand was the most horrible male. That's what Evelyn knew all her life.

Evelyn sighed, turning in her bed, well, Rhysand's bed she had slept in, her eyes opening to the sight of Rhysand asleep. Blood red roses grew on their headboard, flowers she'd created out of nothing in her peaceful sleep.

But, Rhysand was her mate. Rhysand was one of the most kindest High Lords. Rhysand was one of the gentlest males she had ever met. Rhysand was caring. Rhysand was loving.

She watched his features, and he didn't look a bit like the cruel image of him everyone else would see.

The High Lord's broad chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his lean muscles relaxed through the exposed torso. A hint of stubble dusted his strong jawline, adding to the allure of his masculine beauty. Even in sleep, there was an undeniable aura of power about him, yet it seemed tempered by an underlying gentleness that Evelyn had come to appreciate during their time together.

Evelyn gazed at Rhysand's peaceful face, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the ornate windows of their opulent bedchamber. His chiselled jawline was relaxed, his full lips parted slightly as he breathed deeply in slumber. A lock of onxy blue-black hair fell across his forehead, adding to his rugged yet endearing appearance, being mated had done him so well if Evelyn were to boast about herself.

As she studied Rhysand, Evelyn felt a pang of guilt for having believed the vile rumours about him for so long. Her father's words echoed in her mind, that Rhysand was cruel just like his father, and heartless, and that she deserved a male like him for being a bad daughter. But now, seeing the tender lines around Rhysand's closed eyes, the way his fingers curled gently beneath the coverlet, reaching for her even in sleep, she realized how wrong those assumptions were.

Evelyn reached out tentatively, her fingertips hovering just above Rhysand's cheek before lightly brushing against the warm skin. He stirred softly at her touch, eyelids fluttering open to reveal those striking violet irises that seemed to pierce straight into her soul. For a moment they simply gazed at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing between them in the charged silence.

Rhysand lifted a hand to cover hers, pressing it more firmly against his face as he turned to place a gentle kiss upon her palm. "Good morning, elskan," he murmured, voice low and gravelly from sleep. The endearment sent a shiver down Evelyn's spine, the intimacy of it both thrilling and terrifying.

The High Lord's gaze held a warmth that contradicted everything Evelyn had been led to believe about him. There was no cruelty, no heartlessness, only genuine affection for her reflected back in those mesmerizing violet depths.

"You're awake early today," Rhysand noted, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with a contentment that mirrored hers. He shifted slightly, pulling her closer until their bodies touched intimately along the length of their joined forms. "Did something disturb your rest?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

"Oh just this baby that keeps kicking," Evelyn mentioned nonchalently.

Evelyn's casual remark made Rhysand smile, a slow curve of his sensual lips that held no small amount of pride. He placed a large, warm hand over the swell of her belly, feeling the tiny flutters of movement within. "Ah, so our little one is eager to greet the day," he observed, stroking gently over the taut skin. "No doubt she takes after her mother, always ready for adventure."

Evelyn hadn't been pregnant long, nearly three weeks and the babe seemed to have figured out she could move and hadn't stopped for even a second.

Evelyn remembered the first time she slept in the same space as him, she'd truly rather be anywhere but there back then. And now, nothing could be close enough.

Elation swirled within Evelyn as memories flooded her mind, the initial night they shared a bed, when she had been terrified by Rhysand's proximity, convinced that his cruelty would manifest itself physically. Now, the very thought of being apart from him filled her with a profound sense of loss.

Rhysand's gaze softened, violet eyes shimmering with affection as he brought her hand to his lips once more, kissing each knuckle reverently.

His thumb traced idle patterns over the delicate knuckles of her hand, the other giving soothing stroks her slightly swollen belly, an innocent act filled with deep affection and unspoken promises. "You have nothing to fear from me. You've never had."

Evelyn began to speak but she couldn't find the right words, so she simply nestled into his warmth.

"You're never allowed to doubt who I am again," he declared sternly, though there was unmistakable warmth behind his words. "I know I may not have been easy to understand… but remember always…" He leaned closer until his breath whispered against her earlobe "… I am yours."

His whispered declaration hung heavy in the air between them, thick with promise and raw emotion. Rhysand's eyes held an intensity that seemed to burn right through to her very core, making her feel both seen and cherished.

Slowly, deliberately, one strong arm slid around her waist pulling her flush against him while the other tangled itself within her loose curls. His head dipped lower until their noses brushed and his mouth hovered mere inches away from hers.

"And I am hungry," Evelyn whispered cheekily, giving him a gentle peck.

Rhysand chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that vibrated through Evelyn's entire body. "Hungry, darling?" He sat up, pulling Evelyn with him so that she straddled his lap, facing him. "Well, I suppose it's the perfect opportunity for breakfast."

His hands slid under her loose nightgown, palms grazing the smooth expanse of her thighs before finding purchase on her hips. With a firm grip, he guided her down onto his hardness, letting out a low groan at the sensation of her wet heat surrounding him.

"I'll feed you, my greedy little flower," Rhysand promised huskily, his lips seeking hers in a searing kiss that left no doubt about his intentions. "And afterwards, perhaps you can return the favor…"

With a possessive claim, Rhysand's lips crashed against hers in a fiery display of dominance and desire. His tongue swept past her lips, demanding entrance and tasting every inch of her mouth with hungry need. His free hand roamed up along the curve of her back, gripping tightly at the fabric of her nightgown as if trying to pull her even closer than physically possible.

Evelyn gasped into the kiss, feeling overwhelmed by both the strength of Rhysand's arousal and the tenderness that radiated off him in waves. She returned his passionate embrace eagerly, wrapping herself around him like ivy clinging to a tree trunk - secure and unwavering despite any attempts at separation.

Their bodies melded together seamlessly, every contour fitting perfectly against another creating an intoxicating blend of pleasure and comfort unlike anything either had experienced before.

Evelyn then pulled away, "Alright, food first. Sex later, ok?"

A mischievous glint lit up Rhysand's violet eyes as he heard Evelyn's conditions, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gave her a playful wink before easing her off of himself completely.

"Your wish is my command," he murmured, releasing her only momentarily before standing gracefully from their entwined state. He offered his hand towards the large dining table, where with a wave of his hand, breakfast awaited.

As they moved towards the decadence laid out before them, Rhysand stole glances at Evelyn’s form, her curves outlined by the thin fabric of her nightgown, the way her tender breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, her body was changing little by little every day, and he loved each development, the flare of her hips leading down to the roundness of her pregnant belly which bore silent testament to their love.

Before Evelyn could take her seat, Rhysand pulled her on his lap, "Stay right here, my flower," he purred in her ear, kissing around it, a hand over her stomach "Let me feed my darlings. What would you like? Something sweet? Spicy? Sour?"

"The skewers… Sweet." Evelyn smiled softly, pointing to the fruit skewers, mixed with all kinds of fruits.

With a pleased hum, Rhysand obliged, selecting two skewers of fresh fruits from the spread and handing one to Evelyn. Their fingers brushed against each other in the exchange, sending sparks of electricity coursing through their connected bodies.

"Eat up, my love," he urged softly, guiding the fruit to her lips with his own. As she accepted the morsel, he watched her intently, his violet eyes sparkling with admiration and lustful promise.

Feeling bold, Rhysand dipped his head lower, nipping gently at the exposed column of her throat before trailing kisses upwards towards her jawline. "You taste sweeter than any fruit I've ever known," he growled against her skin, his voice thickened by desire.

Rhysand was many things, but the one certain thing was that the Lord of Night was hers. Their gazes locked, violet meeting hers in a piercing stare that spoke volumes without needing words.

Evelyn's hair tumbled wildly around her face, framing her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Rhysand's chiselled features were etched with desire, his lips parted and eyes glazed with lust. The room around them faded into insignificance. They only had eyes for each other.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

[ankhmutes]

Sinful Sunday

I guess this could be any Pedro Pascal character, I kept it generic enough that it could be pre-outbreak Joel, Javi, Frankie, or any modern character of Pedro's.

I’m trying something new. I can’t decide which pedro pascal character to use, so… I do have to thank @chaotic-mystery for inspiration, I saw a fic earlier by one of her mutuals Gracie and kind of ran with it.....

Sorry, no minors under the cut.

Warnings: semi-public sexual indecent act in a church (ish?) swearing, graphic mentions of sex I'm trying! I'm new at this warning thing...

It had been a long time since he had set foot into the building, but he had decided to try, just to make a good impression. He had gone for years wen he was younger, naturally, but he fell out of habit when he left home. 

Now… 

He was sitting in the fourth row, not quite front, but not too far into the center that he would stand out if he tried to leave. He kept shifting in his seat as he tried to get comfortable in the hard pews. The flimsy excuse they had for cushioning wasn’t cutting it, not after the long-ass night he had spent in your bed, and it was worth it. He had exhausted himself pleasuring you, spent hours eating you out and wringing orgasm after orgasm out of your destroyed pussy before slamming his hard hot dick into it making you cry his name over and over as he pulled several orgasms you didn’t know you had left in you. 

His back was aching, and he smirked to himself as he remembered that move he had done, that had you gasping loud enough to scare the dog. He still managed to impress even himself, in his middle age, that he could make a young thing like you lust after him like he was something like that Daryl Dixon fellow from the Walking Dead show. 

He felt a faint buzzing in his shirt pocket, he shifted as he grabbed his phone, feeling around for his non-existent reading glasses that he had left behind in his truck. He squinted, seeing your name flash on the screen- 

My girlfriend💕

When had you changed it? It used to be your name, but you had gotten ahold of his phone and put in something with hearts on it and crap that he couldn’t figure out how to fix. He brushed his thumb up, opening the screen and he frowned. You were sending him fruit? Peaches? 

🍑

Then it hit him. He remembered you trying to teach him about emojis. Peaches- they meant something but what? He racked his brain, trying to remember when the phone buzzed again, and his memory was suddenly and very thoroughly refreshed. 

Ass. 

More accurately, your ass framed by a gorgeous crotchless pair of panties, an butt plug in it,

Stretching myself nice and wide open for you

The one you had shown him last night, teasing him as you straddled him on the couch.

The phone vibrated again, and he could feel his dick hardening instantly, almost as if an Pavlovian response, anticipating more of your teasing. 

“Are you okay? Is it an emergency?” your brother asked, leaning into his shoulder as he scrambled to slide the phone into a pocket. 

“No- just a… busy day, lots of questions, because I’m gone.” he said, adding on some other excuse, his brother would buy it. He knew his brother would believe anything if it tied into work. It always worked, no one understood completely about work, but it was always a good excuse. 

A moment later he reached for his phone, adjusting himself discreetly and fixing his belt. His thumb flicked again, and there you were. 

Spread eagle on the coverlet, a delicate scrap of lace masquerading as a nightie- or was it shirt? He didn’t care, he was too focused on the nipples that lay underneath, adorned with – was it his tie? So that’s where his tie went, he thought to himself as his mouth went dry. 

All Tied Up ...

Six buzzes later, he was painfully hard and trying not to jump out of his seat every time he felt a buzz. 

It had gone from nudes, to close ups, to tiny, short videos. 

Now it was video, with audio. He had mistakenly opened one, and your quiet moaning and whimpering his name as he listened to you come, your wet pussy audibly being toyed with had filled his ears. He had scrambled for his bluetooth thing, jamming it into his ear. He was glad that he had learned enough about bluetooth to know it was streaming directly in his ear, and he listened to every bit of that video - twice- while the phone laid in his breast pocket, right next to his beating heart. 

“hot, mi hijo?” his mother asked, leaning forward as she looked at him with concern,  patting his knee and starting to fuss over him slightly. “You’re so flushed, are you all right?”

“Y– yeah, Imma go pee, cool off for a sec.” he said with a nod as he fidgeted slightly, making sure his rock-hard dick was hidden behind a bible he had grabbed to walk down the aisle quickly, nodding his apologies as he left into the foyer, his eyes checking for the closest bathroom. He suddenly turned, choosing to ditch the bible and sliding outside into the parking lot, sprinting for his truck. Leaping into the truck and slamming the door quietly, he let out a long sigh. 

Undoing his belt, his hands slid down as he tugged the zipper open. 

A knock on the door made him scream. 

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Miss me?”

"Motherfucker...”

You slid into his truck, scooting forward and shutting the door. You immediately slide down to the floor, your mouth moving up to cover his cock and take him in your mouth before he could even say your name. 

His dick burned in your mouth, you could feel it pulsing with each beat of his heart. He was so rock hard, the cum starting to ooze out of the slit. Your tongue slid around it, tasting it delicately as your hand fondled his balls, and he let out a long sigh, a hand sliding down to brush your long hair out of your face, helping you set your rhythm. 

You could feel him hold back, you knew all he wanted to do was ram your mouth down on his dick, and make you take all of him down your throat. 

He was going to hell. 

It didn’t take long, his other hand finding its way to your wet pussy, fingers sliding in and out of your slit around your thong under the flimsy excuse of a sundress you had been wearing. His rhythm sped up to match your own ministrations, the both of you working in tandem to bring yourselves to orgasm almost at the same moment. 

“Fuck! Oh jesus. Fuck, what…” he gasped out, half afraid he was going to hell for coming in a church parking lot, the hot come shooting down your throat, you gulping down every drop as if your life depended on it. You had been thirsty for him all morning, and his come was like nectar of the gods, the heat warming your belly.  Your orgasm hit you right after, his hands moving just right, hitting the right spot to make you see stars, your walls squeezing his fingers so tightly, he wasn’t sure he could feel his fingers. 

“Oh god. We’re going to hell.” he said after a beat, half-laughing as he leaned back, catching his breath as you moved up from the bucket seat in the truck. “Baby, how did you find me?”

“Your phone.” you said with a laugh as you licked his come off your lips. You could see he would be hard again, just from the heated gaze you felt from his eyes on your lips. 

The loud chattering and bells brought the both of you back to reality. 

“Shitshitshitshit…” he muttered to himself as he tucked himself back in his jeans, did up his belt and shirt and became presentable again. He looked up, only to find you had disappeared. You were like a fucking ghost, but he didn’t care. He knew just where to find you later. 

His phone buzzed one last time as he was walking back to the church to help his mother set up for the seniors potluck. You had no panties on, your pussy dripping wet. He gulped, sliding a hand in his pocket and finding your panties, soaked with your juices from your orgasm he had given you earlier. He blushed, digging his hand deep in his pocket, making sure it wouldn't accidentally come out.

He knew just where to find you, and that fucking potluck couldn’t end soon enough so he could get back to business. Or rather, back to the business he would much rather attend to, rather than socialize with his mother and her friends at a church potluck, but he did have the pictures and videos to keep him company…

Until he nearly choked on his own drool, when you sent that video of you in his shirt using a toy to pleasure yourself, coming so hard you squirted all over his bed. 

“Ma. Go. Now.” 

[professorpski]

Threads of Power: Lace from the Textilemuseum St. Gallen

This well-illustrated book edited by Emma Cormack and Michele Majer accompanied an exhibition at Bard Graduate Center gallery and was named best art book of 2022 by the New York Times. It is a serious study in multiple chapters by various authors covering the rise of lace as an industry in early modern Europe, going through the centuries and the different traditions and countries, up to the modern era. If you are interested in the development of lace, you will find it fascinating. It is being sold at a substantial discount online when I last checked.

Here you see a woodcut from 1556 that offers up a pattern for lace; then a needle-lace and bobbin-lace collar which may be date from 1600 and or 1880, which is the most intriguing dating; a portrait from the chapter on how lace showed up--stiff and regal--in Spanish portraits in the 16th and 17th; lastly bobbin-lace coverlet from Brussels which has palm trees as well as the more common flora.

The exhibition can still accessed online here and it offers many images as well as some video of lace-making: https://exhibitions.bgc.bard.edu/threadsofpower/

[rebrandedbard]

For the reverse trope: too hot to cuddle, pairing of choice!

-solcorvidae

You FOOL! You've activated my trap card by invoking the fire-related adjective 'hot!' I summon Rience/Jaskier angst in ATTACK MODE!

WC: 495

A Burning Embrace

Jaskier lies awake in Rience's embrace, afraid to move, and contemplates his situation on a winter's night.

-

Small shadows drifted softly across the floor, speckling a beam of moonlight from the window. The air was colder that night and clouds drifted through the sky, now and then covering this small comfort. Jaskier had been watching the moonlight for hours, even as the snow began, hoping the clouds would move on once more and return the little patch of cold white.

The room was dark at long last, free of its oppressive candles. The scorched logs lay limp in the grate, the fire finally dead in the night. He'd flinched at every pop and stray spark which floated upward on the warm draft. He would rather shiver in the dark. Were he able, he would throw himself out over the windowsill into the frigid night.

But he could not. Arms engulfed him, caging him in place. Rience lay at his side, asleep. His embrace was stifling, skin burning where it touched. It was only his memory, Jaskier knew, but it was a torture of its own kind. And it was true, no matter what his mind exaggerated, them mad mage ran hot.

He supposed that was the fire in him, sleeping beneath his skin like embers beneath the bark of a log. Jaskier could feel it. A hand on a porcelain cup of fresh tea; no matter how sweet it was, with one shift it would spill over and burned all it touched.

This sick approximation of affection kept him captive. A doting obsession. Rience knew it was a ridiculous farce, but it was his own. It was revenge and indulgence, and perhaps jealousy, Jaskier thought. The lingering glaces at the mirror, the way Rience stroked Jaskier's face—even the way in which he spoke of the beauty he admired in Jaskier was laced with a kind of envy.

As one might keep a precious bauble was to make its beauty one's own.

So he was kept. He was posed and ordered, dressed up and down, taken out and admired at Rience's whim. He delighted in his power, and his cruelty blazed like the sun. But when the sun fell to give way to the moon, he quieted and left Jaskier to his own devices. Except for the darkest of nights.

Tonight was dark enough, and Rience came quietly to Jaskier. He did not speak to order him, nor did he take from him anything more than his space upon the bed. He merely lifted the coverlet and inserted himself behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest. There he clung, to be vanished by morning and forgotten.

If there had been no fire in him, Jaskier might have embraced him. In a pub, without agenda, such a face would have made him stop. He was weak enough to admit it. But there was no choice in this. There was nothing gentle in it. Rience was a wildfire, destroying everything in his path, mindless in his consumption.

Such a fire burned too hot to embrace.

[stray-kaz]

The Flower and The Serpent : a Walt De Ville x reader FF : nine

The morning of your wedding day dawned misty and cool, the sky an otherworldly grey drifted over by pearly clouds. When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of a dress bag hanging from the top of your bed. You threw back the covers and crawled over the bed to get to it, pulling it carefully down and laying it across your lap.

With careful fingers, you unzipped it slowly, revealing inch after inch of white lace and tulle. The bodice was silver and inlaid with tiny fresh water pearls. You were certain your eyes were as big as saucers as you stared, running your fingertips gingerly over the beautiful pattern.

You knew that this was your last morning to be human, and by tonight, you would be the same as Walt. The thought still sent shock waves through you, but they were followed by a thrill of excitement with the knowledge that you would also be one with him.

A knock sounded and the door opened to admit a flurry of makeup artists and hair stylists.

“Already?” you asked, surprised. “What about breakfast?”

One of them smiled slightly and tossed you a brown paper bag. You peered into it to find an apple and cinnamon muffin waiting for you.

“The master thought you would say something to that effect.”

“The master” you murmured to yourself. “Does that mean I will become the ‘mistress’?”

The woman shrugged.

“If you go through with it” she answered bluntly.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Oh, I’ll go through with it” you retorted. “This is what my life has led to. I’d rather die than not marry Walt.”

Silence flooded the room for a few moments before the bustle continued and you were pushed down into the chair in front of the mirror, the fingers of one hand picking away at the muffin while the other was being tended to.

In his own bedroom, Walt stood at the windows staring out across the grounds wreathed in mist. It was perfect weather for a wedding to a monster, he figured. He had his back to the room, and had tuned out the various men and women as they came and went, delivering his freshly pressed suit and the glistening red boutonnière. His newly polished shoes waited at the foot of his bed, still unmade.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

The familiar sultry tone broke him out of his reverie, and he turned slowly to lazily glide his gaze over Viktoria as she stood in the centre of his bedroom, drawn up to her full height. He arched his eyebrows.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked quietly.

“She is just a girl. She does not truly understand what it is like to be one of us. She does not know how to...please you.”

Walt made a derisive sound.

“Does not understand?” he said. “She understands better than you or Lucy ever did. She has known about me since she was a young child. She has had me in her life since she was thirteen years old. As for pleasing me. She knows more about that than you ever will.”

Viktoria’s eyes darkened and the gaze she met his with was hostile.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded harshly.

Walt shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“She loves me” he said simply. “She is capable of it. And she is unafraid of me.”

“How do you know?”

“There is no smell of fear on her. And she has seen me feed. She is not scared.”

Viktoria rolled her eyes in frustration and turned away towards the door, then turned back briefly, just one step towards him.

“Do you love her?” she asked quietly, morbidly curious in spite of herself.

A smile flickered slowly across his face as he nodded.

“Yes. I do.”

Viktoria shook her head slowly and walked out, closing the door a little too firmly behind her. Walt walked to the bed and looked down at the small white box on the coverlet, lid off to reveal its contents: a plain black half mask, designed to fit snugly over the right side of his face while leaving the left in view. He found himself wondering if you liked your mask, too.

It took a surprisingly long time to finish your makeup and hair, not to mention stepping into the dress and having it settled over your chest, the fabric heavy on your skin. And then the woman who had made the wedding dress came forward with another piece to add. Your eyes widened as she held out a gold handheld mask, flecks of gold paint glinting in the late afternoon light through your windows.

“Wow” you breathed, wrapping your fingers around the dainty rod attachment. “This is stunning.”

“As are you” the designer murmured, bowing her head slightly. “The master won’t know what hit him, mistress.”

Your gaze flashed to hers immediately upon hearing that word leave her lips. You nodded slightly.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Mrs. Swift will be by to get you shortly. The ceremony isn’t too far away.”

You nodded again and went back to stand in front of the mirror, still surprised by the reflection you saw. You, but perfect at the edges. A flawless version.

Half an hour went by and Mrs. Swift knocked on your door just as the texture of the light outside began to change. She couldn’t help smiling when she saw you in the magnificent dress, so you gave a short twirl, the skirt billowing around your ankles.

“Lovely” the older woman told you, her eyes warm. “I take it you’re ready then, my dear?”

“I was born ready.”

The little chapel hidden inside the manor was tucked full of people, mostly men, as Walt waited up by the altar, half mask attached securely. The organ struck up a sonorous melody as the doors at the end opened and his bride appeared in the gap remaining. Head to toe white and silver, no veil, but instead a delicate gold mask, held in place by one delicate red nailed hand.

If he was a mortal man, his knees would have weakened, but as he was not, his blood simply quickened and he felt the day change slowly into night and with it come the promise of teeth and blood.

And more.

You felt Walt’s eyes on you as you made your slow progression down the aisle on your father’s arm. When you reached the lord of the manor, your father handed you over to him with a kiss on your cheek. Walt took your hand and brought it up to his mouth to kiss the knuckles, his eyes gone dark silver.

“You are gorgeous” he whispered against your hand.

You flushed and reached up to touch the masked side of his face, the hard material cool on your skin.

“So are you” you murmured back.

“Shall we begin?”

You both turned to face the minister.

“Yes, please” Walt said emphatically.

You bit back a smile, your teeth white against red lipstick.

“Now I understand these two wish to complete the ceremony of change in private, so this will be simply a wedding, nothing more. Let us begin.”

You barely heard the rest of the words the elderly man spoke, so intent on Walt’s face and the feel of his hand in yours, his eyes threatening to burn holes through your mask.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do” you said softly, and Walt’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

“And do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

Walt tossed your mask away into the shadows of the chapel and swept you into his arms, his mouth slanting cool and insistent over yours. Your breath caught and you clung to the front of his jacket, your hands trapped between your bodies.

“I love you” he mumbled against your lips, in plain English this time.

At long last.

The ground fell away from under your feet and you clasped your hands behind Walt’s neck as he carried you swiftly out of the chapel, leaving everybody behind for the safety and privacy of his own bedroom.

Let the real night begin.

Tagging: @hellomadamebutterfly​ @sky0401​ @noirrose21-blog​

[apothekosm]

[from externalconceit]

The envelope appears with a little 'poof!', filling the air with the scent of cider and cinnamon. ... And something beyond mortal comprehension that's kind of like the best cheese in the universe aged in the brine of fairy tears. Inside:

This house is a crypt. Reverently silent, each set of four walls echoing nothingness & stillness against one another, drowning out the sound of entropy with its absent wailing. Lined with portraits, well-wishes, epitaphs, all curated & cast in Her light.

In memoriam. A remembrance of She who lay beneath six layers of blanket, duvet, fur, quilt, throw and coverlet. Hands folded past her lips. A halo of green, like that within the rabbit's pestle, framing her still face and splashing out beyond her in curls & spirals.

A still from a storybook. The princess waits just there, each diminished breath through the well of her lungs doing just enough to keep her clear of Lady Death's welcoming grasp, yet failing to call her home to the material, to the light, and the life she'd been forced into carved out for herself.

Lost in the long dreaming, awaiting... Awaiting what?

True Love's Kiss? Impossible. Love was her prerogative, each kiss she bestowed carried 'Truth' to it, and lingered evermore on her lips, yet still she slept.

The violent removal of stimuli from her person? Clever, but fruitless. Her rest is no internal malady, nor malediction. She would never eat an apple before bedtime. Waste that delicious, natural sugar rush on her dreams? Fuck off.

No. Whatever affliction carried her behind & beyond this world, it seemed there was no cure for it. Whatever she was awaiting, it seemed, had yet to come. She would rest there, evermore, entombed in her affluence, a lesson for cultures to come on the dangers of toxic affluence.

❝ ᵖᵃʳ….ᵗʸ ❞

A rumbling in paradise. Brown cupid bows part on an exhale, the sound flowing past them dying them a brilliant shade of verdant green. Nostrils flare as autumnal spice & eldritch perfume seep toward them, calling lightning like a flood to race through her veins, past her bones, along her neurons into the very core of her being.

The house groans. Despite millennia* of disuse, the manse is suddenly called to task, straining against its rust, as within its highest hold a heart begins to beat. A facsimile of a heart. An impossibly dark thing, forged to deny light an escape, and hot-welded into the chest of a girl cursed to carry her mother's face. It roars awake, yawning open like a maw, before curling inward and pounding, drumming, hammering against the cage of her ribs.

It BEATS. And no sooner than it does-

📲: 🥰🥰Wouldn't miss it for the WORLD, Twin!! 📲: Tell Ichabod he better lace them trainers UP, girl, I'm coming for him 🗡️🤣

This house is a crypt. And like most, only via External force can it be opened up again.

[thoughts-with-hailey]

My Life in Prythian - Chapter Eight

Mor's Betrayal

Summary: after a night at Rita's I wake up in an unexpected place and have to face the unexpected consequences

Content Warning: violence, sexually explicit, s/a, alcohol use

My head hurt. 

Groaning I rolled over only to smack my already aching head onto something. 

A cry escaped my lips as I sat up, my head both swimming and throbbing at the same time. I pressed my hand to it, hoping that would stop the ache while I took in my surroundings. 

I wasn’t in my room, that was for sure. The ornate furniture and tall ceilings told me that.

And I also wasn’t in the room I had been staying in since arriving in Prythian. 

That room was all soft creams and delicate blues, much unlike the deep crimson and rich gold I was surrounded by. It looked vaguely familiar and I was sure I would know where I was if my brain hadn’t been soaking in a puddle of alcohol for who knew how long the night before. 

“What the fuck, Hailey?” a familiar voice grumbled next to me, the blankets rustling as they moved. 

I looked down to watch a slim arm snake out of the crimson coverlet, a fine boned hand with red tipped nails pressing against a head of golden hair. A moment later Mor’s beautiful face emerged from the pile of pillows it had been buried in, brows drawn together and lipstick smeared over her perfect mouth. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

“Why are you awake?” she continued, rubbing her forehead where mine had smacked into her. “I was sure you were going to sleep into the afternoon.”

Ignoring her I desperately tried to recall how I had ended up in her bed. 

In my youthful indiscretions I had woken up hungover a time or two, sadly recalling the things I had done under the influence of a pitcher of Blue Hawiian, however I had never blacked out. In all my years, in all the tequila I had consumed, I had never once blacked out from drinking. Apparently fae wine gave me that ability, though. 

“How did I get here?” I asked, sorting through the vague memories from the night before, trying to figure out what the last thing I remembered was. 

Pulling the silken sheets off my body I looked down to see that the tiny dress she had stuffed me into, like a little vienna sausage into a can, was gone. Underneath it had been a lace bralette and matching panties which also seemed to be missing. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Pulling the sheet back over my naked body I tried to recall something, anything, from the night before and all my brain wanted to supply was my argument with Azriel followed by lots and lots of alcohol. How had I ended up in Mor’s bed and more importantly why the fuck was I naked?

Mor let out a long sigh and sat up next to me. “You don’t remember?”

“No, Mor,” I bit out, unable to control my irritation at her condescending tone. “I don’t remember how we got home. All I remember is that I went back inside after arguing with Azriel and told you that I wanted to get shit faced drunk. You said you would look out for me, you told Azriel you would look out for me, so how do you explain why I am naked in your bed right now?”

“Hey,” she said softly, her delicate hand caressing my shoulder as a sultry smile played over her lipstick smeared lips. “It’s fine, we had a good time. Why don’t we get some breakfast and-”

I jerked away from her, recoiling from the touch I wasn’t sure was familiar or not as my mind raced with possibilities. Pushing out of the bed I looked around for my dress, or really any article of clothing, and my eyes landed on a giant black t shirt. Scooping it off the floor I tugged it over my head, glad to have something covering me, while trying to steady my breath and my heart beat. “Mor, what the fuck happened last night? Why am I in your room?”

She waved me off as if this was not something important, yawning largely as she stumbled out of bed fully naked. I averted my eyes towards the ceiling, not wanting to see her naked albeit beautiful body until I had answers. Her long fingers snagged a robe from the foot of her bed and she tugged it on while she talked absently. “When you came back inside after the whole Azriel thing you were fuming mad, so I gave you a few more glasses of wine to calm you down. Nesta and Cassian left to check on Azriel, because apparently whatever you said to him really fucked him up. Good job on that, by the way. I’ve never seen anyone get under his skin like you do. Anyways, you, Helion, and I-”

“We what, Mor?” I practically shouted. 

There was no fucking way this was happening. 

“Gods, Hailey, calm down. It’s too early for the yelling. We danced a little more but you could barely walk and I wasn’t exactly sober either, so I had to call Rhys to get us home.”

“Why the fuck am I in your room, then?”

She rolled her eyes at me and it took everything in me not to contemplate murder. “Because there was no way I was getting you all the way to your room. It’s up an entire floor and you could barely walk. Plus, you’re so cuddly when you’re drunk. It was kind of cute, actually.”

“That’s all that happened?” I seethed, trying to control my anger and disgust over what I was hearing. 

She rolled her eyes again, grabbing a pair of fluffy slippers from her armoir. “Well, that and a few mutual orgasms between us.”

I breathed in. 

And forced my breath out. 

Then another deep breath in. 

And another out. 

And then I exploded. 

Anger and rage tumbled out of my mouth easily, years of pent up anger lingering under the surface and ready to take aim at the first chance on whatever unsuspecting subject triggered it. Mor stared wide eyed as everything came pouring out of me. 

“That’s really fucked up, Mor! You yourself just fucking said I was so drunk that I couldn’t walk, yet you decided hmm, instead of getting her some water to drink and tucking her into bed, let me be a fucking predator and get a few orgasms out of this? Weren’t you supposed to be watching over me? Azriel was put in charge of my safety, and when he passed that off to you last night so he could have a minute of peace I am so certain he did not mean get me drunk on fae wine and take advantage of me! He might be an asshole towards me but I doubt he would have looked at me, barely able to walk, and thought ‘yeah, I’m going to fuck her’. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? That’s assault, Morrigan. You do understand that, don’t you? That if I was drunk, so drunk I couldn’t walk and so drunk I can’t even remember what we did, that I was too drunk to consent to you touching me?”

“You touched me back,” she shrugged, as if this wasn’t a big deal. 

“Oh fuck off with that nonsense!” I shouted, the anger rising to startling levels as those words hit me. “I don’t care if I touched you back. I. Was. Drunk. On magic fucking wine, mind you, so probably more drunk than I had any right to be! You weren’t even drinking!”

“I had a glass of wine.”

“One glass?”

She shrugged again and headed towards the door. “Listen when you calm down and stop being so dramatic about this we can talk. In the meantime, I need breakfast. Why don’t you go back to your room and take a bath? And by the way, can you not mention this to anyone? Feyre is still the only one that knows I’m…well. Plus, if you don’t even really know what happened, there isn’t anything to tell, is there?”

Without another word she slid from the room, leaving me alone and reeling as I tried to process what happened. 

This truly wasn’t happening, was it? Mor, Truthful Mor, had done this? Slowly I made my way back to my room, trying to remember and also not entirely sure that I wanted to. Mor was hot, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted to do anything with her. It especially didn’t mean that I wanted to sleep with her, and it sure as fuck did not mean that I was cool with her taking advantage of me when I was black out drunk. And the whole ‘don’t tell anyone, they don’t know I’m gay’? Truly, this shit was insane and so was she. 

Once back in my room I threw off the shirt and climbed into a steaming bubble bath that was waiting for me, courtesy of the house. My limbs, which were a bit sore from whatever dancing I had done the night before, relaxed slightly in the hot water and I leaned my head on the rim of the tub, allowing myself to close my eyes. 

Mor had really done that.

Was Prythian not a place that being drunk meant not being able to fully consent? From all I knew, they understood that concept. And yet Mor was acting like her doing this was no big deal. As I lay there I recalled how often she had been the one shoving drinks into my hand, urging me to drink more, laughing when I asked for water. Had…had she done this on purpose?

‘If you don’t even really know what happened, there isn’t anything to tell’. Had she planned on getting me drunk so she could take advantage of me? I was certain that she had been happy to take us to Rita’s because she knew Azriel would be there and knew there was some tension between us. Did that factor into her plans somehow? Maybe she knew we would argue and then Nesta and Cassian would leave to check on him, leaving me at her mercy. They all trusted her with me, trusted her to take care of me, and she…she…

Fuck this shit. 

I might not know what happened but I know something happened. And I wasn’t going to stay quiet about it. 

After my bath the house provided me with another set of comfortable clothes, a pair of black leggings and a black sweater. Then I decided to enact my plan. 

Grabbing my phone I set up what I needed and went in search of Mor. 

She was still in the dining room surrounded by breakfast foods strewn across the table looking pleased with herself as she piled her plate high with eggs and meat. Thankfully no one else was in there, like I had planned, so I slid in the chair opposite her and put my phone face down on the table. 

“I want to talk to you,” I said clearly, my tone neutral as I grabbed a slice of toast. WIth all the commotion in the morning I hadn’t had a lot of time to consider how gross my stomach felt after all I drank the night before and now that I could smell food I knew I needed to soak up whatever was left inside me. Toast should do. 

She rolled her eyes at me and said, “I think we’ve talked enough.”

“Mor, what happened last night? Please. The truth.”

She let out a long sigh as she dramatically set down her fork as if me asking her to explain this was such a burden. I grit my teeth together as I waited, willing her to answer. Finally she said, “When we got home you were really drunk, so I tried to help you up the stairs but you kept tripping. My room was closer, so I took you there.”

“And then?”

“And then we laid down. You curled up into me because you were cold, and then we started kissing. One thing led to another, and we were both mutually satisfied.”

“But I was drunk.”

“So?”

“You don’t see how that’s wrong? That I was very, very drunk, that you were the one others left in charge of me, and then you took advantage of me?”

“You’re being dramatic again. It was taking advantage if we both had fun.”

I blinked, trying to control myself and the rising anger inside me again. If I wanted this to work I did need to stay calm. “Did you do this all on purpose?”

“What?” she snapped, her tone sharp as her eyes locked on me. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you get me drunk on purpose so you could take advantage of me and then I wouldn’t remember the next day so I couldn’t tell anyone?” I asked plainly. 

Her following silence was answer enough. She only stared at me, her eyes filled with irritation and indignation, though I knew that was all an act. I met that gaze with an unwavering one of my own, daring her to deny it, but she never did. Instead she rose to her feet with her plate in hand and said, “I’m not dealing with you’re immature human issues. It was one night of fun, that’s it. See you around.”

And with that she left the room, and I flipped my phone over to press stop on the recording. 

Thankfully the ipad the house had sent Feyre home with last time had the ability to message, so I quickly sent her a request to come over. 

Mor was not going to get away with this. 

[theargopriestess]

I Can’t Stop Wanting You- Part 3

(A/N: Warning! ⛔️ - this is quite graphic and NOT intended for anyone under 18 years!)

Carly’s lying on her on front, she’s fast asleep, the white coverlet and sheets pooled near her waist. Freddie braces his weight on his arms, his fingers run gently up and down the length of her spine, tracing small circles into the small of the back under the coverlet. He brushes her hair gently from her face and out from her neck, leaning down to brush his lips over her cheek, the hinge of her jaw and then lower, nuzzling sweetly into the crook of her neck, nipping softly at the warm and flowery scented flesh. As ever, she smells like daisies and other wild flowers. He kisses her flesh again and she lets out a small noise, a cross between a giggle and a gasp.

He pulls away enough to see her eyes open, she starts shift, moving into her side, he settles his hand gently at the small of her back. She she smiles lightly at him, holding her head up with her hand. He kisses her and she leans in to him. He feels her hand against his ribs.

“Hey”, she smiles sweetly as she pulls away, laying back against the pillows. He shifts his onto his side, holding his weight up with his arm. “Hey”. He leans over her and kisses her cheek. She lifts a hand, rubbing gently at her eye. “What time is it?”, she asks through a yawn. He glances at the alarm clock stood on her nightstand. “A little after midnight”.

“At night?”

“Last time I checked”, he chuckles. He looks down at her, wondering in all his goddamn lucky stars how he got so lucky! Her skin glows a soft gold in the lamplight. He starts tracing his fingertips over her collarbone moving slow down towards her chest, she raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you after?”, he grins leaning in to kiss her and her hand curls around the back of his neck, “who says I’m after anything?”. She rolls up onto her side and he moves his hand underneath her arm to her back, tracing his fingers down the length of her spine. His fingers drift over her ass and her breath hitches, she suddenly lets out a sharp gasp, tail ended with a moan when he suddenly grips her thigh and hikes it up and over his hip.

“Fuck!” she mutters, pulling away and he starts grazing his lips down the side of neck, biting gently at the flesh over her pulse point. His hand migrates back up the underside of her thigh, grazing her skin teasingly, before settling on the small of her back, arm tightening around her and holding her close against him.

He kisses her again using other the push his weight up and roll her gently over to her back, bracing his weight on his forearm while his other hand travels up to her waist, and then to her chest. He picks up her hand and laces his fingers through hers, pressing down onto the mattress. She covers his hand with her own, lifting her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in.

They both gasp simultaneously. He smirks against her lips when she starts to move her hand with his own over her breast in rhythm with each rock of their hips.

God only knows how much he wants her.

Being with her, with Carly, is like a dream. It’s easier too, they know each other so well.

It, at the very least means they didn’t have to go on the awkward few first dates where they had get to know each other and decide whether it they actually had a spark, Freddie knows that he and Carly already have the answer to that one.

But it does mean that they need to get to know each other in a different way. He knows her well, knows her heart, her likes and dislike, her interests and all the things that anger or irritate her. He knows her fears. Just as well she knows him on each equal count.

It was a slow and careful process, getting to know her on the physical side. But he loved every second of it, learning how to touch her in away that puts her into overdrive and that draws certain noises out of her that makes his heart summersault amongst other things. He’s sure it’s the same for her.

Learning how to be with her like that, learning how to play an instrument. Curiosity of finding out of what happens when you place your fingers in a certain place, what note or chord will be made, something melodic and beautiful.

Not that he sees her, Carly, his Carly, (and although he is not remotely religious, by God above is it euphoric and the best feeling to be able to say that she is his, just as much as he is hers), as an object or something to posses.

He’s fallen hard and fast, and by God does he want her.

Waking up with her weight on his chest is possibly the best moment of his life, especially for a man who has been married twice over in the past. This, this, is surely heaven.

The sheets are pooled around their hips, she’s curled on her side, body pressed to his, half resting on his chest one hand resting in the dip of her waist, the other is gripping hers where it lays over his heart. He turns his head to hers, nuzzling his nose into her hair and pressing his lips to her forehead. Their legs are tangled together and he has no desire of moving from her bed today any time soon. He just wants to savour this. Being with her like this. If this, if she went away, or was taken from him, he’s not sure his heart could take it. He’s almost certainly that it would shatter into a million pieces.

He holds her tighter, as if she is suddenly about to disappear, arm still strong around her. She stirs in his hold, tilting her head up to his. “Morning”, she smiles sleepily at him. He returns her smile. “Good morning sweetheart”. He watches in delight as she blushes at the endearment.

God, I’ve got it bad for her! He thinks, and for good measure he leans in to kiss her, letting go of her hand to cup her cheek. He feels her hand slid up his chest to his neck in a returning gesture, enjoying the alluring feeling of her fingers caressing the skin there.

She surprises him when she suddenly straddles his hips. He’s aware he must look a bit like a goldfish, eyes wide, mouth ajar. She leans over to kiss him, one hand braced on his chest, the other still against his neck. He pushes up on his hands to sit up properly, holding onto her hips as she kisses him. She begins to rock her hips gently, forehead leaning against his and bottom lip caught between her teeth. He starts to match her tempo, but it’s awkward and she suddenly pushes him onto his back again.

He holds onto her hips, sliding them down to her thighs as she starts readjusting her position over him.

She looks into his eyes, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh God!”

“Fuck!”

They both exclaim at the same time. She leans over him again, lips brushing over his neck to his jaw, then his lips and he threads his fingers into her hair, already slightly wild from sex and sleep. Her movements start to become erratic and desperate and she’s letting out soft moans against his ear. He groans.

He flips them suddenly, pulling her thigh over his hip and reaching between them. Reaching for that place that makes her wild.

She tips back her head and lets out a gasp, and he kisses her this time, swallowing her sounds of ecstasy. He follows moments later, dropping down beside her, hiding his face in her neck to muffle his groans.

For a while longer, the both lay there trying to get their breath back. Then he sighs contentedly as her arm curls over his back, he settles his hand gently over her waist.

He feels her hand on his back. Fingers tracing soft circles between his shoulder blades.

“I love you”, she speaks into the quiet. He kisses her neck. “I love you too”.

Love her he always has, want her, he always will.

[agentrouka-blog]

GRRM writes the best parodies.

Daario rolled toward her, his eyes open. “Daenerys.” He smiled a lazy smile. That was another of his talents; he woke all at once, like a cat. “Is it dawn?” 

“Not yet. We have a while still.” 

“Liar. I can see your eyes. Could I do that if it were the black of night?” Daario kicked loose of the coverlets and sat up. “The half-light. Day will be here soon.” 

“I do not want this night to end.” (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

* 

Juliet. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

*

When GRRM has you acting out an iconic love scene from world literature except the surrounding context undercuts it in every way because you’re not a romantic heroine, only a tragic villain who thinks she is one.

[cruelprincae]

What's the worst punishment you've ever received from Balekin?

Flashes of a golden bridle, a dark room and a whip with an iron end cloud his vision and make his stomach churn. It was the day the eldest of his brothers brought him to Hollow Hall; the same day his father, High King Eldred, sentenced Asha to be taken away to the Tower of Forgetting and himself banished from the Palace grounds for a crime he did not commit, when he was little over nine years of age. Balekin had made it abundantly clear that should he not accept his punishment, then he was to leave Hollow Hall and his mercy, to instead roam the Lower Courts of Insmire which held dreadful, monstrous fates for inconsequential Princes ― and because the monster he knew was far better than a monster he did not, he had taken off his shirt, sank to his knees and accepted each ghastly strike from the mortal woman's hand until his back bled and his vision swarm far too greatly to hold onto consciousness. It was humiliating ― then again such was the purpose of his punishment ― but it hadn't ended then. When he came to, he was laying on his chest upon a grand oak-made bed with carved legs to resemble animals and covered with fur coverlets ― the softest and simultaneously warmest bed he had ever laid on his entire life ( and perhaps, the only bed he had ever been on, considering he had spent the first nine years of his life either curled up underneath banquet tables of the revels held in the Palace of Elfhame or the beddings of hay in the royal stables ). Margaret was by his side, tending to his back with a particularly foul-smelling concoction that made his wounds itch and tingle, and Balekin was standing tall beside her, looking down at him through furrowed brows as though supervising a particularly difficult and costly strategy plan. A shine caught his eye, and Cardan's gaze shifted to the hardwood and similarly carved nightstand by his bed, upon which laid a golden device, laced on one with one dark, iridescent hair that he guessed belonged to Balekin; It looked like a bridle one would use on a steed or a toad, but it was significantly smaller and strangely fit, as though it was designed for a person to wear. Once Balekin announced that it was enchanted for the wearer to obey the commands of the person whose hair belonged to, that ought to wear it a time until he grows obedient as a Prince should be without the use of it and when Margaret ceased her tending to instead attempt to put it on him, Cardan had thrashed, and clawed, and bit his refusal but wounded as he was, the device was inevitably worn. He did, however, manage to deliver a particularly nasty bite on Balekin's wrist, regardless of whether the thorns adorning his hand hurt his mouth and tongue, but that only resulted in the eldest Greenbriar rage and the decision that since the youngest Prince liked to act like an animal then he would be treated as one and was hence sentenced to spend the night in one of Hollow Hall's basement cells where the grounds are cold, the rooms are dark and the bars are made of iron as punishment to whoever is deserving enough to be put inside. As far as punishments go, that did not differentiate much from the remainder of them throughout the following decade, but unlike the rest, Cardan did cry that night. It was an act that betrayed weakness and it disgusted him. His emotions were a swirling tornado of disgust and hate; hate for himself, for the stupid mortals, for his father, Dain, all his siblings who refused to take him in and the one who did ― hate who burned so bright it almost numbed the cold bitting on his skin. That night, he decided that he would school himself to hide the unwanted emotions, that he would learn to pretend, that he would learn to please his brother and fit into a skin that was not his to wear to begin with. Not a heart of stone, but a heart of fire, strong enough to burn down Elfhame and everyone in it.

Blinking his way back to reality, to safety, and away from the distant memory, Cardan's dark gaze squints dangerously, his sharp features hard and unreadable. ❛ Mind your Mab-forsaken business. ❜ He merely spits before turning on his heel and walking away.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys VII (Chapter 43)

Daario lay upon his stomach, the light linen coverlets tangled about his long legs, his face half-buried in the pillows.

Dany ran her hand down his back, tracing the line of his spine. His skin was smooth beneath her touch, almost hairless. His skin is silk and satin. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers. She loved to run her fingers through his hair, to knead the ache from his calves after a long day in the saddle, to cup his cock and feel it harden against her palm.

It's time for Daenerys Targaryen's second great romance.

Apparently she'll have many in this series, while the actual romantic heroine will have none.

+.+.+

If she had been some ordinary woman, she would gladly have spent her whole life touching Daario, tracing his scars and making him tell her how he'd come by every one. I would give up my crown if he asked it of me, Dany thought … but he had not asked it, and never would. Daario might whisper words of love when the two of them were as one, but she knew it was the dragon queen he loved. If I gave up my crown, he would not want me. Besides, kings who lost their crowns oft lost their heads as well, and she could see no reason why it would be any different for a queen.

Maybe you shouldn't have a crown then.

I'll give her credit for that honest moment of reflection.

+.+.+

If I could, I would. Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain. Even so, of late he grew too bold. On the day that he returned from his latest sortie, he had tossed the head of a Yunkish lord at her feet and kissed her in the hall for all the world to see, until Barristan Selmy pulled the two of them apart. Ser Grandfather had been so wroth that Dany feared blood might be shed. "We cannot wed, my love. You know why."

Ser Grandfather ... ouch. Daario influence has started.

+.+.+

"You are beautiful," she blurted as she watched him don his riding boots and lace them up. Some days he let her do that for him, but not today, it seemed. That's done with too.

Once again I'm torn.

"Let his mother and his sisters examine one another and share the special cake. I shall not be eating it. Nor shall I wash the noble Hizdahr's noble feet."

"Magnificence, you do not understand," protested Reznak. "The washing of the feet is hallowed by tradition. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

I have no issue with Daenerys refusing this tradition. My problem is she is more than willing to lace Daario's boots for him.

+.+.+

"Where are you going?"

"Out into your city," he said, "to drink a keg or two and pick a quarrel. It has been too long since I've killed a man. Might be I should seek out your betrothed."

Do we believe him?

+.+.+

"As my queen commands. Will you hold court today?"

"No. On the morrow I will be a woman wed, and Hizdahr will be king. Let him hold court. These are his people."

[...]

"Only a little, bright heart. Will you come hold court?"

"After my wedding, perhaps. After the peace."

Uh oh, is Daenerys already bored with her job?

His people. Hizdahr's people.

"Enough." Dany slapped the table. "No one will be left to die. You are all my people." Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. "I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait." - Daenerys III, ADWD

+.+.+

"This after that you speak of never comes. You should hold court. My new men do not believe that you are real. The ones who came over from the Windblown. Bred and born in Westeros, most of them, full of tales about Targaryens. They want to see one with their own eyes. The Frog has a gift for you."

[...]

"Oh, a clever frog. 'Give the gift to me.' " She threw the other pillow at him. "Would I have ever seen it?"

Daario stroked his gilded mustachio. "Would I steal from my sweet queen? If it were a gift worthy of you, I would have put it into your soft hands myself."

"As a token of your love?"

"As to that I will not say, but I told him that he could give it to you. You would not make a liar of Daario Naharis?" 

I'm sorry, am I understanding this exchange correctly? Did he just avoid saying he loves her? Lol

"You have not said you love me."

"I will, if it would please Your Radiance." - Daenerys IV, ADWD

+.+.+

Dany sat amongst the rumpled bedclothes with her arms about her knees, so forlorn that she did not hear when Missandei came creeping in with bread and milk and figs. 

Not only does Missandei keep interrupting Daenerys when she's contemplating betrayal, she also has a habit of sneaking up on Daenerys (and Barristan!) undetected.

"My queen?" said a soft voice in the darkness.

Dany flinched. "Who is there?"

"Only Missandei." The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

x

Ser Barristan turned. "Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?" - The Queensguard, ADWD

What's going on here?

Arya. Arya Stark is what's going on here.

+.+.+

The prospect of wrestling with Meereen once more left her feeling weary. Sleep came hard, even when Daario came back, so drunk that he could hardly stand. Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice. 

I prefer the Tyrion interpretation.

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

But Euron works too. I'm not greedy.

+.+.+

She sat up with her hair disheveled and the bedclothes atangle. Her captain slept beside her, yet she was alone. 

Oh my goodness, soulmates not foils.

Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone. - Jon V, ASOS

We can't compete with two people feeling alone.

+.+.+

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. "Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!"

Dany sighed. "Summon the first petitioner."

It had been so long since she last held court that the crush of cases was almost overwhelming. The back of the hall was a solid press of people, and scuffles broke out over precedence. 

And why were you not holding court? Is it because you suck as a queen and the author practically spells that out for the reader?

+.+.+

Her last meeting with the Green Grace had not gone well. "What would you have of me?"

"I would speak to you about the presumption of a certain sellsword captain."

She dares say that in open court? Dany felt a blaze of anger. She has courage, I grant that, but if she thinks I am about to suffer another scolding, she could not be more wrong. "The treachery of Brown Ben Plumm has shocked us all," she said, "but your warning comes too late. And now I know you will want to return to your temple to pray for peace."

The Green Grace bowed. "I shall pray for you as well."

Another slap, thought Dany, color rising to her face.

Boy, that is unlike the Daenerys of the six previous chapters.

Too much Daario in the diet.

+.+.+

The rest was a tedium the queen knew well. She sat upon her cushions, listening, one foot jiggling with impatience. Jhiqui brought a platter of figs and ham at midday. There seemed to be no end to the petitioners. For every two she sent off smiling, one left red-eyed or muttering.

Let's play a game. Which one would make the best monarch?

Daenerys. ↑

Robert.

Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people … there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. - Eddard I, AGOT

Cersei.

"May I have the honor of accompanying Your Grace to court?"

"If you can bear the tedium," said Cersei. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

Bran.

"As you will, my prince," said Ser Rodrik. "You did well." Bran flushed with pleasure. Being a lord was not so tedious as he had feared - Bran II, ACOK

You said Bran, didn't you? Wrong.

It was a trick question, the answer is Sansa.

He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. - Eddard XI, AGOT

x

"I'm sure I don't know why Arya does anything." Sansa hated stables, smelly places full of manure and flies. Even when she went riding, she liked the boy to saddle the horse and bring it to her in the yard. "Do you want to hear about the court or not?" - Sansa III, AGOT

+.+.+

It was close to sunset before Daario Naharis appeared with his new Stormcrows, the Westerosi who had come over to him from the Windblown. Dany found herself glancing at them as yet another petitioner droned on and on. These are my people. I am their rightful queen. 

George is relentless when trying to get a point across.

+.+.+

It was close to sunset before Daario Naharis appeared with his new Stormcrows, the Westerosi who had come over to him from the Windblown. Dany found herself glancing at them as yet another petitioner droned on and on. These are my people. I am their rightful queen. 

The Westerosi. Her people.

On the morrow I will be a woman wed, and Hizdahr will be king. Let him hold court. These are his people.

You have to be the biggest mark in the world to fall for this girl.

+.+.+

When Daario brought them forward, she saw that one of them was a woman, big and blond and all in mail. "Pretty Meris," her captain named her, though pretty was the last thing Dany would have called her. She was six feet tall and earless, with a slit nose, deep scars in both cheeks, and the coldest eyes the queen had ever seen. As for the rest …

Have we figured out why there's a Brienne?

+.+.+

Gerrold was a lean, tall youth with sun streaks in his hair and laughing blue-green eyes. That smile has won many a maiden's heart, I'll wager. His cloak was made of soft brown wool lined with sandsilk, a goodly garment.

Frog, the squire, was the youngest of the three, and the least impressive, a solemn, stocky lad, brown of hair and eye. His face was squarish, with a high forehead, heavy jaw, and broad nose. The stubble on his cheeks and chin made him look like a boy trying to grow his first beard. Dany had no inkling why anyone would call him Frog. Perhaps he can jump farther than the others.

Off to a great start.

+.+.+

"If it please Your Grace, may I first present my gift?"

"If you wish," Daenerys said, curious, but as Frog started forward Daario Naharis stepped in front of him and held out a gloved hand. "Give this gift to me."

Stone-faced, the stocky lad bent, unlaced his boot, and drew a yellowed parchment from a hidden flap within.

"This is your gift? A scrap of writing?" Daario snatched the parchment out of the Dornishman's hands and unrolled it, squinting at the seals and signatures. "Very pretty, all the gold and ribbons, but I do not read your Westerosi scratchings."

"Bring it to the queen," Ser Barristan commanded. "Now."

Dany could feel the anger in the hall. "I am only a young girl, and young girls must have their gifts," she said lightly. "Daario, please, you must not tease me. Give it here."

This is outrageous, and she let it happen.

+.+.+

"Prince Doran." He sank back onto one knee. "Your Grace, I have the honor to be Quentyn Martell, a prince of Dorne and your most leal subject."

Dany laughed.

The Dornish prince flushed red, whilst her own court and counselors gave her puzzled looks. "Radiance?" said Skahaz Shavepate, in the Ghiscari tongue. "Why do you laugh?"

"They call him frog," she said, "and we have just learned why. In the Seven Kingdoms there are children's tales of frogs who turn into enchanted princes when kissed by their true love." Smiling at the Dornish knights, she switched back to the Common Tongue. "Tell me, Prince Quentyn, are you enchanted?"

Laughing, then speaking in a language he can't understand. How rude.

"I do not speak your tongue," Quentyn answered. Though he could read and write High Valyrian, he had little practice speaking it. - The Merchant's Man, ADWD

+.+.+

"Tell me, Prince Quentyn, are you enchanted?"

"No, Your Grace."

"I feared as much." Neither enchanted nor enchanting, alas. A pity he's the prince, and not the one with the wide shoulders and the sandy hair. 

Get those spears ready, Doran. She's coming home.

+.+.+

"My father hoped that you might find me acceptable."

Daario Naharis gave a scornful laugh. "I say you are a pup. The queen needs a man beside her, not a mewling boy. You are no fit husband for a woman such as her. When you lick your lips, do you still taste your mother's milk?"

Ser Gerris Drinkwater darkened at his words. "Mind your tongue, sellsword. You are speaking to a prince of Dorne."

"And to his wet nurse, I am thinking." Daario brushed his thumbs across his sword hilts and smiled dangerously.

I'm supposed to believe this child (derogatory) is a good queen when she lets a sellsword speak to a prince of Dorne like this? A potential ally.

Quentyn may be dead, but the remaining Dornishmen will remember what happened here.

The Tattered Prince turned back to Quentyn. "Could that be true? Surely not. What of your marriage pact?"

"She laughed at him," said Pretty Meris.

Daenerys never laughed. - The Spurned Suitor, ADWD

+.+.+

Skahaz scowled, as only he could scowl. "This boy might serve for Dorne, but Meereen needs a king of Ghiscari blood."

But not Hizdahr zo Loraq, amirite Skahaz?

+.+.+

The queen rose. "Then we are done for now."

Daario and Ser Barristan followed her up the steps to her apartments. "This changes everything," the old knight said.

"This changes nothing," Dany said, as Irri removed her crown. "What good are three men?"

There's Barristan Selmy pushing her to make a bad decision. What else is new?

My unpopular opinion is that she made the right choice choosing Meereen over Quentyn.

Of course she'll abandon Meereen anyway, so I can't give her too much credit.

+.+.+

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? 

I'm laughing.

"Shade-of-the-evening, the wine of the warlocks. I came upon a cask of it when I captured a certain galleas out of Qarth, along with some cloves and nutmeg, forty bolts of green silk, and four warlocks who told a curious tale. One presumed to threaten me, so I killed him and fed him to the other three. - The Reaver, AFFC

If he gives her Pyat Pree I will die.

+.+.+

Something tickled at her memory. "Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?"

"A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear."

The sun's son. A shiver went through her. "Shadows and whispers." What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun's son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? "Beware the perfumed seneschal." That she remembered. "Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day."

The second Daenerys makes this connection you know the sun's son can't be Quentyn Martell. This girl only misses.

+.+.+

That night Daario had her every way a man can have a woman, and she gave herself to him willingly. The last time, as the sun was coming up, she used her mouth to make him hard again, as Doreah had taught her long ago, then rode him so wildly that his wound began to bleed again, and for one sweet heartbeat she could not tell whether he was inside of her, or her inside of him.

+.+.+

But when the sun rose upon her wedding day so did Daario Naharis, donning his clothes and buckling on his sword belt with its gleaming golden wantons. "Where are you going?" Dany asked him. "I forbid you to make a sortie today."

"My queen is cruel," her captain said. "If I cannot slay your foes, how shall I amuse myself whilst you are being wed?"

Do we believe him?

+.+.+

When he was gone, Missandei brought the queen a simple meal of goat cheese and olives, with raisins for a sweet. "Your Grace needs more than wine to break her fast. You are such a tiny thing, and you will surely need your strength today."

That made Daenerys laugh, coming from a girl so small. She relied so much on the little scribe that she oft forgot that Missandei had only turned eleven. 

The girl that keeps sneaking up on Daenerys is 11 years old.

:)

+.+.+

Afterward, as Jhiqui was patting Daenerys dry, Irri approached with her tokar. Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. "Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself."

[...]

"The day is too hot to be shut up in a palanquin," said Dany. "Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers."

"Your Grace," said Missandei, "this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar."

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face.

The mother of dragons rejects your baby pearls. She prefers the winged horse.

"All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk."

"The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear."

"Why would I want a hundred children?" - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

Missandei reemerged from inside the pyramid. "Reznak and Skahaz beg the honor of escorting Your Grace to the Temple of the Graces. Reznak has ordered your palanquin made ready."

Meereenese seldom rode within their city walls. They preferred palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs, borne upon the shoulders of their slaves. "Horses befoul the streets," one man of Zakh had told her, "slaves do not." Dany had freed the slaves, yet palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs still choked the streets as before, and none of them floated magically through the air.

[...]

Dany made a face. "As you say. Not the palanquin, though. I would suffocate behind those drapes. Have them ready a sedan chair." If she must wear her floppy ears, let all the rabbits see her.

It's not terribly important, but remember this.

(Sounds like she still has slaves!)

+.+.+

The seneschal wore a tokar of maroon samite with golden fringes. "Hizdahr zo Loraq is most fortunate in you … and you in him, if I may be so bold as to say. This match will save our city, you will see."

"So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit." Does it matter that Hizdahr's kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?

+.+.+

"The crowds will be thick as flies today." The Shavepate was clad in a pleated black skirt and a muscled breastplate, with a brazen helm shaped like a serpent's head beneath one arm.

"Should I be afraid of flies? Your Brazen Beasts will keep me safe from any harm."

A serpent's head? Subtle!

Once she says that, I'm thinking those Brazen Beasts will not be keeping her safe. See The Meereenese Blot for more details.

+.+.+

The three Dornishmen were with him, talking, but they broke off when the queen appeared. Their prince went to one knee. "Your Grace, I must entreat you. My father's strength is failing, but his devotion to your cause is as strong as ever. If my manner or my person have displeased you, that is my sorrow, but—"

"If you would please me, ser, be happy for me," Daenerys said. "This is my wedding day. They will be dancing in the Yellow City, I do not doubt." 

It's amazing how quickly this marriage pact is dismissed. It barely occupies the chapter or her thoughts. It's practically a footnote.

Meanwhile Doran has his whole life and kingdom riding on it.

+.+.+

The old knight inclined his head. "The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty." He was handsome in his gold-and-silver armor, his white cloak streaming from his shoulders, but he sounded like a man in pain, as if every word were a stone he had to pass. "As a girl, though … she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favor at a tourney and named her queen of love and beauty. A brief thing."

"What happened to this knight?"

"He put away his lance the day your lady mother wed your father. Afterward he became most pious, and was heard to say that only the Maiden could replace Queen Rhaella in his heart. His passion was impossible, of course. A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of royal blood."

Ser Bonifer Hasty.

Ser Bonifer himself had been a promising knight in his youth, but something had happened to him, a defeat or a disgrace or a near brush with death, and afterward he had decided that jousting was an empty vanity and put away his lance for good and all. - Jaime III, AFFC

Who knows, maybe Daenerys will meet him one day.

+.+.+

"And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?"

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. "Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …"

"I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest."

She won't even say the word bad. Lol

+.+.+

"As you command." The white knight chose his words with care. "Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord's right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding." His face reddened. "I have said too much, Your Grace. I—"

Bootlicking Barry is having a difficult time defaming the great Aerys Targaryen.

There's the passage that broke the brains of half the fandom.

It has been reliably reported, however, that King Aerys took unwonted liberties with Lady Joanna's person during her bedding ceremony, to Tywin's displeasure. Not long thereafter, Queen Rhaella dismissed Joanna Lannister from her service. No reason for this was ever given, but Lady Joanna departed at once for Casterly Rock and seldom visited King's Landing thereafter. - The World of Ice and Fire

Kind of hard for Aerys to be Tyrion's father when Joanna Lannister was never in King's Landing, no?

Anyway, did you enjoy this story of a jealous Mad King trying to interfere with a loving marriage between two cousins? We'll have to wait and see if we get another daddy-daughter parallel.

(I could be talking about two different couples! Isn't it fun!?)

+.+.+

Another procession had come up beside her own, and Hizdahr zo Loraq was smiling at her from his own sedan chair.

How did he know to travel on a sedan chair? She was supposed to ride in a palanquin.

+.+.+

My king. Dany wondered where Daario Naharis was, what he was doing. If this were a story, he would gallop up just as we reached the temple, to challenge Hizdahr for my hand.

Side by side the queen's procession and Hizdahr zo Loraq's made their slow way across Meereen, until finally the Temple of the Graces loomed up before them, its golden domes flashing in the sun. How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly. Even if her captain was mad enough to attempt it, the Brazen Beasts would cut him down before he got within a hundred yards of her.

My eyes couldn't roll further back.

She actually framed Rhaegar carrying off Lyanna at swordpoint and raping her as love. She's been told the same story as everyone else.

+.+.+

Galazza Galare awaited them outside the temple doors, surrounded by her sisters in white and pink and red, blue and gold and purple. There are fewer than there were. Dany looked for Ezzara and did not see her. Has the bloody flux taken even her? 

Daenerys is always wrong, so I don't know what to make of this. People seem to believe Ezzara is a Pahl?

"You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive." - Daenerys I, ADWD

Maybe, but I don't know where they're getting that from.

+.+.+

He has gentle hands, she mused, as warm fragrant oils ran between her toes. If he has a gentle heart as well, I may grow fond of him in time.

When her feet were clean, Hizdahr dried them with a soft towel, laced her sandals on again, and helped her stand. Hand in hand, they followed the Green Grace inside the temple, where the air was thick with incense and the gods of Ghis stood cloaked in shadows in their alcoves.

Four hours later, they emerged again as man and wife, bound together wrist and ankle with chains of yellow gold.

Sorry Hizadahr, the breaker of chains (or her dragons) will not be subdued.

Four hour wedding not long after a speedy northern wedding. Is there a message here?

Final thoughts:

It was mentioned on Reddit this chapter had to be rewritten five times. Can anyone verify George said that?

This doesn't feel like a hard chapter to write.

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[that-one-weird-fangirl2020]

peace | S. Sallow | Chapter 5

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, MINORS DNI, ORAL (MALE AND FEMALE RECIEVING), FINGERING, P IN V, UNGERAGE SEX, UNPROTECTED SEX, CURSING.

A/N: I'm not the best at writing smut, but here it is. Enjoy.

18+ Content Ahead!!

She moaned softly as Sebastian kissed her. The way his lips slotted perfectly against hers, like two puzzle pieces coming together. He had her pushed against the bedpost as they hungrily devoured each other. Teeth clashed against teeth, lips bitten and pulled. Ariadne pulled back to look into Sebastian's eyes. They were blown and dilated, desire swimming in them. She watched as Sebastian dropped his house robe on the floor and loosen his school tie until it joined the robe.

Ariadne pulled him back to her, kissing him with such passion and force that the bedpost shook. Sebastian tasted like spiced apple cider and cinnamon, something she desperately craved. His large hands found their way to her waist, pulling her flush against him while hers found their way into his dark tresses. Sebastian groaned as she tugged, knowing it drove him crazy.

The first time they slept together, both were a little tipsy on the fire whiskey that Ariadne's Aunt Marjorie had stashed in the kitchen for when she visited. Given it was both their first times, it wasn't at all ideal. Ariadne didn't regret it though, she hoped the same for Sebastian. But as time grew over the summer and spending time twisted in each other's bedsheets, they figured out how the other liked it and how to make it last longer.

Sebastian's grip shifted to Ariadne's thighs, hoisting one of them around his torso. He started to trail hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck. He nipped at the place where her neck and shoulder met, sucking the spot moments later- leaving his mark on her, a golden tattoo. A shiver went down Ariande's spine as a soft moan left her lips. She gripped Sebastian's shirt in her fists and his free hand dipped beneath her skirt and into her bloomers, his fingers sliding along her folds.

"You're already wet for me, Ari? We've barely scratched the surface," He chuckled, pulling his hand out and examining his fingers as they glistened with her arousal.

Ariadne watched as Sebastian licked his fingers clean as he stared into her eyes. All she wanted to do at that moment was rip off Sebastian's clothes and have him take her then and there, but she knew better than to hasten the moment.

She pushed him away slightly, taking her school tie and slipping it off. Sebastian watched her as she slowly removed the white blouse, skirt, and stockings. Underneath was a lilac-colored bodice and matching lace bloomers. Sebastian openly moaned aloud as he removed his shirt and trousers.

"You and that damned color," He muttered as he picked Ariadne up and placed her on the bed, dragging her to the edge.

He got on his knees and slowly started trailing kisses up her leg, leaving lovebites in his wake. He squeezed the soft flesh of her thighs. Sebastian's brown eyes met her green ones as he pressed a kiss to her clothed core.

"Don't tease me, Sallow!" Ariadne whined, squirming against him.

"Why would I do that?" Sebastian smiled as he slid her bloomers down her legs and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder.

Her aching core was revealed to him, and Ariadne sucked in a breath as she watched Sebastian lick a long and slow stripe up her cunt. She gripped the lilac coverlet, biting down on her bottom lip. She was putty in his hands.

"You taste so fucking delicious, Ari," Sebastian said, his tongue circling her clit.

"Oh shit, Bash-" Ariadne moaned falling back onto the bed as one hand tugged him by the hair even closer to her heat.

He groaned gently as he suckled her, inserting his index finger in her entrance, slowly moving it in and out. Ariadne bucked her hips at the sensation as Sebastian's tongue moved expertly between her folds. It was almost too much.

"Tell me how this feels," The brunette boy said, inserting another finger.

"It feels amazing..." Ariadne breathed out.

He started to pump faster, hitting Ariadne's sweet spot. Loud moans left her mouth as she fisted the coverlet. A knot formed in her stomach as Sebastian continued to devour her pussy. Licking, sucking, and curling his fingers inside her at just the right angle.

"Oh, fuck, Sebastian... I'm gonna cum," The young witch mewled as her legs began to shake.

As if on cue, Sebastian started suckling Ariadne's clitoris even harder. He moaned as she gave his hair a harsh tug. Her whole body tensed as Ariadne's orgasm hit her. She cried out Sebastian's name as he continued to finger fuck her, letting Ariadne ride out her orgasm. He pulled away from her core, chin glistening with her cum. Sebastian let out a low chuckle, swiping his thumb across his chin and lower lip before licking it clean.

Ariadne got off the bed on shaking legs, she reached behind herself, undoing the bodice, and letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts fell in perfect teardrops, fully on display for Sebastian to look at. He reached forward to squeeze them, but Ariadne smacked his hand out of the way.

"No, you don't get to touch them until I'm done with you," She said, pushing Sebastian down on the bed and removing his briefs.

His cock sprang free, slapping loudly against his stomach. His tip was already leaking pre-cum. Ariadne shot him a look as she kneeled in front of him.

"Well, someone's excited," She said, grabbing ahold of the base, and pumping Sebastian a few times.

She swiped her thumb over his tip, smearing his pre-cum around. She watched through her lashes as Sebastian bit his bottom lip. Damn, it was the sexiest thing to watch. A deep blush spread across his face, down his neck and chest making his freckles more prominent. Ariadne squeezed his length and watched as his eyes rolled into the back of his head as a loud groan escaped his mouth.

"I've barely even touched you, Bash," She teased, "and you're already coming undone for me."

Ariadne pressed a gentle kiss to his pinkish tip slowly going down to the base, then licking a long stripe on the underside of his cock to the tip again. She took him in her mouth and slowly started to bob her head up and down his shaft. Ariadne hollowed out her cheeks and flattened her tongue as Sebastian became a whimpering mess above her. His fingers went for her hair, undoing the messy bun Ariadne had put it in and letting it cascade down her shoulders and back. He fisted it and Ariadne moaned slightly as he tugged on it.

She looked back up again, met with the mess who was breathing heavily as she started to deep throat him.

"Oh, in Salazar's name," Sebastian moaned out, "you look so fucking pretty sucking my cock."

As Ariadne continued to suck him off, she reached his balls and started to slowly massage them. Sebastian just came completely undone.

"Ari, I'm go-" He couldn't even finish his sentence before Ariadne felt his seed hit the back of her throat.

She took it all and swallowed. She pulled herself off of his cock. She wiped her mouth of the bitter taste. She looked at Sebastian. Still breathing heavily, a fucked-out look on his face. He gestured for her to come over to him, and she did. Sebastian pulled her into his lap, his hands supporting Ariadne's arse.

"Tell me what you want, Darling," He said, his half-lidded eyes gazing into hers.

"I want you," Ariadne answered, wrapping her arms around Sebastian's necked and tangling her fingers in his hair.

He closed the gap between them, molding their lips together in a deep kiss. Ariadne returned the gesture, feeling Sebastian's hands move from her arse to her breasts, squeezing lightly. He rolled her erect nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. Pleasure coursed through Ariadne's veins at the sensation, she moaned lightly into Sebastian's mouth as their tongues danced around each other. Ariadne pulled away and trailed lovebites along Sebastian's neck and collarbone.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Silverthorne," He murmured.

"I have a few guesses," She replied, feeling his cock brush against her entrance.

Sebastian sealed their lips again and he laid Ariadne down against the pillows. His forearms place on either side of her head, supporting himself on them as he got between her legs.

"Are you ...ready for it?" Sebastian breathed out.

Ariadne brushed his hair away from his forehead, nodding her head yes. He slowly pushed inside her. Ariadne held onto Sebastian's biceps as he filled her up. Now, Sebastian wasn't huge, nor was he small. He was averaged sized with a lot of girth. Both parties moaned as they finally joined together. Ariadne didn't need time to adjust to Sebastian's size, seeing how she was already used to his thick length.

He started a slow rhythm of thrusts, pulling in and out just to lubricate his cock. He gave Ariadne a smirk, taking one of her legs and throwing it over his shoulder. Sebastian rammed into her, the new position allowing him to go even deeper. The young witch moaned loudly at this, her nails leaving red scratch marks as they dug into his back.

"Right there.... keep.... hitting.... that spot," Ariadne said barely able to form the sentence.

Sebastian only groaned in response as his head fell into the crook of her neck. He bit down and sucked the place where his head fell. The sound of skin slapping against skin rang loudly throughout the room as Sebastian thrusted relentlessly into Ariadne. Strings of curses left both their mouths. Sebastian grabbed onto the headboard as he moved.

"Fuck," He grunted, his eyes screwing shut.

In a burst of pure adrenaline, pleasure, and strength, Ariadne had flipped both her and Sebastian over. She straddled his waist as she began to ride him in a fast pace. She leaned back, gripping Sebastian's powerful thighs to hold herself up. Her chest heavy with every breath, her head fell back as her eyes closed at the amount of pleasure coursing through her body. She could feel the lavender haze creeping up on her. All she wanted to do at that moment was stay like that, with him, in this way.

Ariadne felt that familiar knot form in her stomach, Sebastian seemed to sense this and he sat up, again flipping their positions. He kissed her passionately as she came like a tidal wave on a beach. While coming down from her high, Sebastian was chasing his. She felt him pull out and roll to the side, spilling his seed on the mattress.

"That's going to be fun to clean," Ariadne chuckled as she collapsed on the pillows.

"Nothing a little charm can't fix," Sebastian added, pulling the coverlet over the both of them.

Ariadne scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest. She used her index finger to trace constellations on Sebastian's chest. Her mind was still reeling from what just occurred. Part of her wanted this with him, another part was scared that she's hurt him.

After all, she was the one who cast the cruciatus cure on him. She was the one who cast the imperious curse on his best friend. Even if he wasn't there, Ariadne was the one who cast the killing curse on Viktor Rookwood for the curse he brought upon Anne. And the scary thing is... she loved it

All of it.

And she hated herself for it.

And yet, he stayed.

Fuck it, She thought, looking at Sebastian as he stared at the canopy top of the bed, a hand tucked under his head.

"I love you, Bash," She said.

She watched his eyes widen for a split second before he sat up and looked at her. Ariadne sat up as well, bringing the coverlet up to her chest. Her eyes anxiously searched his.

"What?" He asked, disbelief in his tone.

"I love you, Sebastian Sallow," She repeated, "I have since you covered for me in the library, so Scribner wouldn't throw the both of us in detention."

Sebastian looked awestruck before he let out a chuckle, running a hand through his messing brown tresses, "You see, I've loved you since you first introduced yourself in the Slytherin common room at the beginning of fifth year."

This time, it was Ariadne's turn to be awestruck, "Really?"

Sebastian chuckled again, "Yes. How could I not? You're gorgeous, smart, determined- a bit suicidal, I shan't lie- but it all made me fall even harder for you."

He took her hand in his, his eyes full of nothing but affection and genuine happiness, "I love you, Ariadne Jenessa Silverthorne. To the moon and Saturn."

"Bash," The witch muttered before pulling Sebastian into a kiss.

This kiss was different. Soft and tender, full of real feeling. She felt Sebastian reciprocate the kiss, cupping her face with his hand. Ariadne pulled away.

"Does that mean we're courting now?" She asked.

"Only if you want too," Sebastian answered.

"I do," Ariadne smiled.

[comfort-questing]

10. difficulty breathing

the next time she woke, the world was all shadow and glimmer, the windowpane spattered with raindrops glinting bright in the lamplight. it was the weight in her lungs that woke her, a damp flutter of effort accompanying each breath, redoubling the pain in her ravaged throat and ribs. she swam between waking and sleeping for long moments, blinking the world into focus, but then a moment of choking brought her into abrupt panicked alertness as she coughed again.

Evric was there, easing her upright on the pillows, his dark eyes as wide and desolate as the rain-washed windows.

"shh, shh. just rest, don't try to talk."

"wasn't," she rasped, disproving herself in the act. it was cold, outside the coverlet, and even beneath it the long vicious shivers ran through her bones. her skin prickled with chill beneath her shirt. "where's - everyone?"

"downstairs. don't worry, Ky's bringing me supper."

she blinked again, trying to hold her dizzy gaze on Evric's face as he bent over her, shivering in his arms. he'd forgotten to let go, maybe.

"do you think you could drink some tea? you've been asleep for a while."

the hot, honey-laced stuff was warm enough to still her trembling for a moment, soothing the ache in her throat as it went down. she drew in another breath, slowly so as not to begin another coughing fit. "how long - asleep?"

"since noon. that's when Ben and Ky came back from up city, remember?"

she didn't. only hazy dim notions of voices and footsteps, and the deepening struggle for air against the drowning tide in her chest. she didn't say that, though, and Evric didn't ask again. his hand slid through the tangled strands of her hair, gently working past the knots, the sting on her sensitive scalp almost a relief as a distraction.

"you shouldn't have gone out to investigate that report with us yesterday if you were sick. not in the rain like that. you know we would have let you stay in if we'd known."

she did know. that was the worst of it, that they would have let her off without a second thought. they were good and gentle and soft here, not like the desperate watchwardens she'd grown up among in the borderlands. but to ask, that would have been the greater shame. to hear all the voices inside her accusing her of slacking, of weakness...

another round of coughing wracked her, bending her forward over Evric's ready arm, pain exploding along every overstrained muscle between her ribs.

"we have you off patrols for the next two weeks, according to captain, which is pretty standard for serious illness. so don't even think of trying to work through pneumonia or whatever you've done to yourself."

his words were sharp but the tone was gentle, and she didn't know if the tears ebbing from her closed eyes were from fever or pain or shameful regret.

"all you need to think about now is getting better. all right?"

she wanted to protest, but the wet rattle of her next inhale stopped her, setting her wheezing helplessly.

"no, she's awake now." Evric's voice, louder now, directed as if to someone else further away. "and her breathing's getting rougher, too."

new hands - now blessedly chilly against her burning skin, now painfully cold as the next wave of shivering caught her - cupped her cheek, soft hair brushing against her chin as someone pressed an ear to her chest.

she sobbed at the indignity of it all, at the weakness that kept her eyes closed and her head bowed, that tied her to this bed when she ought to be outside with the others. a rainy night would bring the fey up from the corners, and they'd need all the help they could get...

but there was no condemnation in the voices that now whispered soothingly to her, or the hands that held her steady as she doubled over coughing again, and maybe, maybe, she was tired enough now that she would have to give in and believe them at last.