#like! oh lord! words! history! and later after in the dark...

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (IV): Say Don’t Go.

Imagine you are a peasant who rescues Aemond after he fought his uncle Daemon Targaryen—but in this universe he didn’t die drowned, but suffered a wound that you, with your simple knowledge of medicine, actually manage to heal you. What shall happen then?

Warnings: fluff, violence, drama, angst.

***

• A Dance With Dragons

In between fire and ashes, blood has never been thicker. The one-eyed prince, on behalf of his infamous brother, is ready to take leave. Unbeknownst to him, as he mounts Vhagar, destiny sets a worse fate than the assumption of victory for all parties.

Here he goes, a path of blood behind this man—who tasted frustration and rejection all his life, lusting for what was never his by any right, tied in a very suffocating loyalty to his family.

Here he goes, moved by agony and pain, he who is hated by his enemies and despised by those who support the charismatic Aegon.

Here he goes… mounted in an ancient beast, prompted to finally write his name in the pages of history. Aemond, the kinslayer, the embodiment of fire and blood, flies in roaring skies.

And not too long after he meets his mirror, the one he wanted to be in life—a better version, certainly—, the kin who inspired him despicable sentiments—if perhaps in another occasion he would be this man’s favourite nephew.

This is not the moment for words to be spoken out. Warriors like them feel no need to exchange offenses. War is coming in thunderous storms. Higher than men, above divine heavens, uncommon relatives fight one another.

“DRACARYS, VHAGAR!”

His scream dies unheard, as the wind blows away the anger in his throat. Believing to possess such an ancient dragon, warlord like him, he doesn’t foresee that years and size are not by his side.

Daemon Targaryen and his Caraxes are faster and better equipped for this battle. Experience is also an advantaged tool played by the aforementioned prince towards his rascal nephew.

The skies shake and many are misled to think this is a thunder. But this is hardly a thunderstorm. Later the chroniclers would report it as a dance of the dragons, where this deadly combat between two great warlords and their gigantic beasts collided in such a way that as frightening as it was to watch, it seemed so as the involved were…dancing.

But Vhagar’s flesh and blood provide difficulty to Caraxes. Bites here and there, sounds that roared through the air, producing sparks of electrons and fire all the whilst their riders try to dismount the other.

The heights pose an inevitably invitation for prompt death. It’s only a matter of time until one of them falls, if not both of them do.

Skies grow darker and rain eventually drops. Caraxes, fighting better under this environment, twists the scene to his favor, surprising Vhagar. What happpens next is too fast to describe. Later, peasants would recall how a great beast like Vhagar fell upon the sea… without Lord Aemond on her back.

A question would haunt Aegon’s twilight reign: where has Lord Aemond Targaryen gone to?

To worse Aegon III’s rise to the throne, a shadow is casted. No body was found. Therefore… should it be presumed the rogue prince died? If so, not in his former mistress’s arms.

Where is Aemond Targaryen? What happened to the one-eyed lord, famed for his kinslayer epithet?

• Blue skies, fields painted green•

I’ve known it from the very start. We’re a shot in the darkest dark. Oh, no. I’m unarmed…

By the time you rescue him, you think he’s been dead and gone. But for a long while you, a simple curious being who, however, learned to study thanks to your older brother’s connection with literate beings, suspected not all was like appearances led to.

You managed to carry this strange man, aware he was in his worst conditions, to your household. It’s a very simple, typical peasant house. And this was a man you’ve never seen in these surroundings… especially because of his fancy robes, a positive indicator of his nobility.

Unaware of the details of this civil war, you took care of him. Ignoring his handsomeness, you dedicated day and night until he eventually opens his eyes.

And when he does… it’s a scandal. Most of all because he is still hurting in his chest and to breathe requires some energy. Then comes the revolt upon seeing he’s nowhere he’s familiar with.

Before he starts to rage out his frustration, the prince is prevented from doing so at the sight of you. A peasant, certainly a damsel despite being closer to him in age, shows up.

“L-L-Lord, please”, you know you’ve been bold in keeping him with you, in weaving illusions to escape your life, all of which makes you blush and sink into his feet. “I only tried to help you.”

Something about your smooth voice eases him. When looking better at you, Aemond’s chest hurts for being reminded of his sweet sister Helaena. He knows he could never do any harm to you.

“Rise, creature who saved my life”, and when you do, the silver haired man looks enchanted at your y/c soft skin, the mystery behind your y/c eyes… “I demand to know your name.”

“Y/N Y/LN, lord”, you whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

But it’s for no effort you do so as he looks for yours, holding your chin as he lifts it up. You see danger right before you, posing threat as he stands in front of you. Nevertheless, he is so alluring that to resist is just… pointless.

“Don’t call me lord. I’m Aemond”, he softens to you, his hand slipping to your throat gently before letting go of you, leaving behind a sensation of void and cold where there had been warmth. “It appears that if I fell here, my uncle took the best of me.”

You nod your head partly.

“You need to be careful, lo… Aemond. Your wounds are still fresh”, you bring him to outside for the very first time since you rescued him.

The prince, shirtless and dressing an old pair of pants, follows you, reluctant somewhat as what to find. He is, however, surprised when seeing there is nothing but a careful mix of colors. Deep blue that paints these cloudless skies and a shade of green that colors the hills and the grasses nearby.

The air is clean and the prince finds peace. However, when spotting, from that distance, the sea, this peace is replaced by angst.

“Vhagar”, he remembers painfully. “Where is she?”

When seeing a puzzled look on your face, Aemond has to remember himself you are a peasant, who probably judged dragons as mythical creatures. But he underestimates you.

“Ser, I may be poor and obscure, but I am not illiterate”, you speak impatiently. “I know who Vhagar is. I must say, though, that you were already dismounted by the time I found you. If you fell from such a height, this only means you are lucky that you are still alive.”

Aemond’s good eye transmits such a depth of sadness that you feel remorse for speaking like that to him. The prince doesn’t notice it, though, so he decides to walk outdoors and there sit amidst the high grass as a way to cope with his loss.

At first, all you do is watch him. This tall, paled prince with long silver hair, involved in a bandage around his waist with a skin painted in deep scars, is now the embodiment of melancholy.

Your reason tells you to leave him there, the moon is too high to grasp it, but your feet don’t obey your sense. It doesn’t take too long before you sit next to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss”, you break the silence hesitantly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He doesn’t respond you ar first, and you wonder whether he heard you or are ignoring you. But he turns his face at you eventually, still plagued by that shade of sadness few can be gladly dissociated from.

“You’ve done all you could, mistress Y/N. Thank you. You shall be rewarded.”

“My reward is your well being, lor… Aemond”, you offer him an understanding small smile.

These words prove to be the balsam he needs.

“I appreciate it, truly. In due time…” Aemond sighs, not willing to admit how lost he feels. “Do you have any news of what’s going on?”

By the looks of your face, the prince understands that what might come from you are not what he wants to hear. Even so, he must hear it. In this silent communication, though, there is little need to further comprehension.

Therefore you tell him about Lord Daemon’s victory. A short victory, however, as the common folk said that due to the gravity of his wounds eventually culminated in the said prince’s death.

What happened next was confused. You didn’t understand politics very well and you were too busy minding your own business to do so. Nevertheless, it’s common knowledge that the Seven Kingdoms have a new king.

“A new king?”, Aemond exclaims frustrated. “But Jaehaerys is just a boy!”

The embarrassment in your face only worsens his disappointment.

What, in seven hells, has happened in this short time I was unconscious?

“This is not his name, Ser. Our king is Aegon, Third of His Name.”

Aemond pales and for a moment you step back, fearful of his fury. But all the silver prince does is clench his jaw and turn his back on you for a moment. And you let him be all the time he needs.

***

• Healing…

I'm standin' on a tightrope alone. I hold my breath a little bit longer. Halfway out the door, but it won't close. I'm holdin' out hope for you…

A strange process it is to watch events unfold from the support ground. Witnessing from darkness the arrival of the Starks and then all the gathering leading to Aegon III’s ascension next to Rhaenyra, who, apparently, had transmitted her claim to the Iron Throne to her eldest son and heir, was too much for him to bear… especially now aware of the passing of every one he’d known and fought for.

But in due time, his silence and mourning become too much a burden for him to carry alone.

“I’m surprised you are still out here”, you tell him in one of these evenings you come home and find the prince there.

“Where else I’d go?”, Aemond shrugs his shoulders.

His eyes are glued in you, finding new expressions in your introspective features. You are different, a thought occurs him. What had happened outside to bring you more serious today? A question he does not dare to pose.

“To your mistress, perhaps”, a response that, albeit reluctant, transmits some grumpiness on your part.

For the first time in many moons, Aemond Targaryen smiles.

“Mistress?”, he repeats and you miss the amusement out of his voice.

“Mistress Rivers. Perhaps this is a name very familiar to you”, you don’t know why rolling the name of his former paramour sounds poisonous to your ears, inspiring a hearty agony and an inner despair.

As Aemond studies you, every piece comes to make sense when glued together. At first he says nothing, finding adorable how a creature so introspective like you, kept innocent and wild at the same time from mundane’s ill intentions, discovers new sentiments, obscured as jealousy and attachment might sound.

He could take the opportunity to write a new story, but even now… Aemond struggles to disassociate from the past.

“She was once attributed to many meanings, some of which had linkings to my personal affections”, Aemond admits, taking the opportunity to sip his ale. “But once we parted ways, I do not believe we are meant to mend it back.”

You cast him a long distrustful look, opting for the silence, even though there is so much being said in your body language. Aemond rises up and moves to where you stand, gently but firmly taking grip of your arm.

“Y/N, look at me”, he demands you gently. “Why have you brought her name out of the blue?”

You hesitate and Aemond can only be led to think there’s some bad news ahead. You take some breath and then look at him, as if struggling for courage.

“I cannot keep you here any longer, lord. I’ve been selfish, I see that now. But looking after my lord has given me purpose. All of this to say that people have been looking for you.”

“Looking for me”, he repeats. “Do not believe in what people say, my darling. My enemies are in power, the best we can do is hide for the moment. This means I must shave my head to keep the identity in secrecy.”

He surprises you, and even himself, with this new sense of resignation. But this is a wise move, considering no one had found his body, therefore the mystery must remain for his sake.

Nonetheless, he likes this life with you. Aemond smiles before holding you against him.

“I got used to you, dear one. Looks like I’m staying longer this time.”

That being said, he admires how wide you smile. No one had ever made him feel this sentiment before. He realizes now that what you two have is too sacred to let it be profaned.

• Pain & Blood

Why'd you have to lead me on? Why'd you have to twist the knife? Walk away and leave me bleedin', bleedin'? Why'd you whisper in the dark? Just to leave me in the night? Now your silence has me screamin', screamin'…

When he kisses you under moonlight in between the shadowy green fields, your mind goes blank and your heart races loud. When his tongue moves the way to your neck, your legs automatically spread to welcome his strong body; his arms now moving upper your back, caressing you slowly, aching in slow burn as you call out his name in sweet whispers.

“Mine lady”, his lips pursuit yours once more.

It’s past twilight. Silenced by the night, nature welcomes you in this wilderness out of the fancy troubles and the troublesome webs woven by the Black party.

You provide him home and security, the sweet taste of genuine love he’s been looking for. With him, likewise.

It’s free, intense and healing.

“We should better head inside”, he grumbles under his breath, struggling not to give free path for his desires.

You giggle softly, giving him a long look. As you straighten yourself, you hear him say:

“My lady, you bring the best of a beast like me.”

You spin around him, looking like a fairy with your simple white gown and y/c hair loose in your back.

“Is this you accusing me of witchcraft, lord? For I shall not tolerate such an accusation”, you put your hands around his neck.

“Nay. You are too pure for it”, and Aemond knows this must not be the result of bewitching, since the purity of your care and love inspires the same of a man like him.

Beneath the mask of a bad prince, there lies a wounded man who’s known neglect all his life. The concept of love Alys brought to him was more lustful, fleshy attachment than sentimental one.

But when the shadow of those three words comes behind your eyes, mirroring his own, Aemond fears to hear them. Kissing your lips once more, he prays to forget what he saw… for a recent, deep wound has come to open in surface.

As you lead him into your household again, precisely to what you call being your quarters—the result of the inheritance of your father—you give in your heart at every touch, every embrace this man provides you.

When you begin to picture the two of you actually living this life together, when you start to think possible that you could marry and be content in being a simple peasant… every dream dies when a knock on the door is heard urgently.

“Who on earth…”, you sigh impatiently, making him chuckle.

Aemond snakes his arms behind your waist, resting his chin over your shoulder.

“We should better see who’d be this unwanted visitor”, he laughs quietly, admiring the blush painting your cheeks.

As you reluctantly part of his arms, you move to open the door. Aemond leans against the wall, partly hidden under the shadows, waiting to see who’s the one behind the bloody door.

But when you open and see a dark-haired lady with a skin smooth as milk, your heart stops.

“Oh. So here’s the witch who captured my Aemond”, she speaks in a soft accusing voice, though in the lady’s eyes there is nothing but arrogance.

Aemond reluctantly comes to the scene.

“Alys?”

“My prince”, her voice and smile are as sweet as poison, inspiring in you nothing but disgust. “Your son and I have been waiting for you, believing to be dead and gone. But you have been kept a prisoner by this…”, and here comes the despise poorly masked.”…woman.”

You turn your head quickly to stare at Aemond. He sees pain in your y/c eyes, and the sound of heartbreaking reaches his ears when you say:

“You have a child with her, Aemond?”

“It’s Lord Aemond to you”, she corrects you, but is promptly ignored by all parts.

“She was… pregnant when I went to war”, Aemond admits, embarrassed. “I… Considering the recent events, I thought them to be gone like the rest of my family.”

“No. Your son waits for you. I’ve been looking for you”, insists Alys, much to your consternation. “Let me break this spell she’s casted on you, my prince. You shall be free and live with us as it’s your right.”

Part of you waits for his denial, hopes for it even. Despite the evident struggle in having yourself composed before such accusations, you expect he’d take your side.

You hope…

And I'm yours, but you're not mine. Oh no, oh no, you're not there. I'm standin' on the sidewalk alone. I wait for you to drive by. I'm tryna see the cards that you won't show. I'm about to fold unless you…

But Aemond knows not where his strength lies. This cannot be judged simply following his heart desires. When remembering everything his mother sacrificed for… and then he has a child.

A child of his own that should be on the throne. The mere idea awakes the flames of old vengeance.

Much to her annoyance, on the other hand, Alys watches as the events unfold in an impasse. She presses again the matter of their child, aware this is how she’ll take him away from your claws—or so she judges.

“Aemond?”, your voice comes out suffocated.

He sees those words in your eyes, but they fade out of his grasp like a star losing the shine, swallowed in a black hole.

Night comes and steals your bright, much to his atonement. Aemond wishes he could say something more, but no speech is enough to bring you back to life.

Your innocence is now agony and all he can say is:

“I must go. For my child.”

“I understand”, you speak cooly, surprising him for your reasonable behavior. “I pray you forgive me for any mistakes. I am but a peasant who knows nothing of life.”

That being said you curtsy and leave the way open. You watch as Alys smirks deviously at you, like a winner who takes it all. Aemond hesitates, but you don’t look at him.

Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) make me want you (make me want you)? Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) give me nothin' back? Why'd you have to (why'd you have to) make me love you (make me love you)? I said, "I love you" (I said, "I love you"). You say nothin' back.

And there your heart lies in open bleeding…

***

You occupy yourself delivering the rest of planting to the lord you owe fealty after spending months in working with the land. It’s easier to forget about the past when one occupies one’s mind with daily tasks.

This doesn’t mean the nights are easier, though. You are haunted by his face, by scenes where he laughs joyfully with Lady Rivers. She tells you that, as a lowborn woman, you could never be with a highborn man as Lord Aemond.

A truth sharp as knife that wakes you up in the breaking dawn, bleeding you again and again… It hurts and though you swallow salt in your mouth, no other sign is there that you have been in suffering.

In the meantime you carry on with your life, or try to, Aemond is rediscovering his life amongst nobility. The boy his former mistress claimed to be his son is not, by all means, a Targaryen. He could tell she painted his hair and by calculating his age, he was far more likely being a Strong boy than else his. Specially because by the time he took Alys Rivers as his mistress, she was already a Strong’s concubine.

With this disappointment ahead and collecting the testimonies of her witchcraft, Aemond is no fool to realize he’s been stuck in a trap and that he could be sent to the new government’s hand anytime.

I shall not have a death by treason.

The only reasonable solution is escaping. He is no coward, in fact the prince was once too prideful to embrace defeat. However, Aemond’s mind recollects your innocence, your simple ways of living and how you taught him so many good things.

The teachings that promised to make him a rightful man despite his wrongs. Is he too late to be redeemed, though?

Why'd you whisper in the dark just to leave me in the night? Now your silence has me screamin', screamin'…

I should have not let you go, Y/N.

In silence, like always, the prince leaves all that has profaned his soul to search after the only sacred path someone put him in.

And this someone is you.

• ‘I would stay forever if you say don’t go…’

You have cleaned your body in the river and now choose to sit right there over a towel, partly fearful of being seen in your nude state, partly pleased to be able to feel some degree of liberty.

Sun is ready to set and it’s last rays are set on your y/c skin, drying the last drops of the cold water you dived in. As you stand, you are ready to dress yourself when a noise scares you.

Quickly you put your white gown with black strips, unable to tie your long y/c hair when you spot him.

Head shaved still, pained eyes, dressed not like a nobleman but like a random, common peasant lad. So would he look like had he not been blessed with such deep purple eyes that are staring into your y/c ones.

“A-Aemond”, you gasp. Your body begins to tremble and you wish you could run away, but you are frozen.

“Y/Nickname”, he comes after you, hesitantly at first, confidently then. “Apologies are not enough for what I did to you, to us. I humble before my lady and come to ask you not to go.”

He is on his knees before you. He, the prideful prince.

“You are the one who left”, your voice betrays you.

“I had to”, Aemond dares to raise his chin as his hands grip tight your thighs. “I had to. I was misled to think the boy she had was my child.”

“And if he was”, you mutter, the echo of pain rolling out through your words, much like a sharpened blade. “Would you be embarrassed of my station to keep me in ignorance?”

“Fuck, Y/N, no!” He realizes no words are enough to make up for his poor doings. Nevertheless, he tries. Aemond is no quitter. “I am not embarrassed of my lady. I learned to love you out of my heart and soul, despising mundane affairs in order to pursuit the divine one. I was raised from the seven hells to taste the sweet flavor of your divine lips. I want you. Only you can redeem me.”

It’s the way his fingers dig into the cloth of the skirt of your gown that makes you feel fragile. The way he breaks before you, how his words are whispered in despair. Remorse is sincere, pain is evident in the two of you.

Why delaying it?

But then you hear a sound so strange to you. To both of you. When your hearts cry out, you slip, losing your strength.

“You are my weakness”, he says, exposing himself to you.

No sapphire. No embellishment. No pride. The prince the way he is, with his scars. And you expose yours.

Darkness rises by the time you are engulfed in his embrace.

“I’m sorry”, Aemond whispers, fearful of losing you. “I won’t leave you ever again. This I vow over my dead family.”

You are still sobbing when he vows this to you. And when his lips are colliding against yours, every angst dies at long last. And what is cold now is warm, and suddenly the weight of the clothes begins to be unbearable.

With only the moon as witness, vows are exchanged, consumed in one kind of fire that burns each part, prompted to spread in a strange kind of fever so unknown to you.

As tongue dances, bodies intertwine and pain is at long last overcome. The consequence of this redemption is to fruit nine moons later.

In the end, in between wars and peacemakings, two different lives found in each other what they needed. The destiny of Aemond Targaryen became a great “what if” in the history, a name so powerful to haunt crowned men but humbled before the kindest lady of the Seven Kingdoms.

Turned into a love song many years later, bards would give Aemond another name, calling you Jenny of the Oldstones.

Perhaps a truth hints behind it, is it not? But only your descendants would know it and smile often at such beautiful song.

[something-tofightfor]

Aphelion - 10

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

*Please be sure to consider all chapter warnings before reading! Warnings will be updated for each chapter in individual posts as well as on the Masterlist.

Warnings: language, weapons, mentions of unethical medical practices, vampirism, the Lannisters are assholes. 

Word Count: 14,962

Summary: Tyrion Lannister is offering help, but why?  If he can, in fact give you and your friends a much needed advantage, are you going to be able to make the most of it? 

The more you see of Oberyn and his family in action, the more you believe that the answer is yes. 

A/N: Sorry about the delay, friends! A literal year later, and we’re back with a supersized chapter both in terms of word count and content. 

@the-blind-assassin-12​ and I apologize for the delay with this chapter, but we’re back on track now - and already working on the next part. Thank you for sticking around and for reading and sending in asks and comments about this group; we both love them very, very much. 

Also, if you have questions about details or plot points or the way that Westerosi history/world fits into the “real” world- please ask! We don’t want to confuse anyone.

Catch up with the Aphelion masterlist here!

(banner by @valkblue )

“Tyrion Lannister, at your service.” 

Mouth agape in shock, you hurried to shut it as the man before you rose from his low bow. Seven hells and holy shit. That’s…  Wide-eyed and stunned despite what Oberyn had told you about the Lannisters and their ability to cheat mortality, you stared at the man whose portrait you walked past every morning on your way into the office at Golden Lion.��

But that was painted hundreds of years ago. He looks… You blinked, an unnatural chill moving down your spine at your next thought. No. He doesn’t just look the same. 

The roguish curls. The color of his eyes. The scar that sliced diagonally across his face. It was as though the man had hopped down from the ornate frame that hung outside the ninth floor conference room and was now standing in front of you.

He is the same. The exact same. 

Before you could ask anyone to explain how it was possible though, Tyrion was speaking again. “Prince Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand, Toban Dayne.” He nodded in greeting at each of them. “It is a pleasure to see you all again. You look well. I can’t believe it’s been an age.” He used one hand to gesture towards the woman standing next to him as he went on. “And of course now I’ve met Tyene. But -” He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as they flicked from where Oberyn’s hand was linked with yours and up to your face before giving you a polite smile. “I’ve not yet had the privilege of making your acquaintance.”

That’s for sure. “I’m… My name is -” You cleared your throat and introduced yourself to the man. “I’m just -”

“She is with me, Lord Tyrion.” Oberyn’s grip tightened as he squeezed your hand, his tone not quite threatening but definitely serious. When you glanced up at him you saw the same was true about the look in his eyes, their dark depths glinting like the edge of a sharpened blade. Oh.  “And she is under my protection.” 

“Oberyn.” Ellaria’s voice came from just behind where the two of you were standing, one hand rising to his shoulder in a move of gentle de-escalation. Tilting his chin down just enough, you saw him watch as her fingers dug into his bicep with light pressure.  “Do not forget that Tyene asked him to come here. He is a guest.” Her grip loosened and she leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “There is no need for aggression, my love.”  When she dropped her hand to her side and stepped away, Oberyn shifted his eyes back to the smaller man.

“I can assure you that you will not need to protect her - or anyone else here - from me.” He brought both hands to his chest and then opened his palms to the ceiling with a shrug. “We all want the same thing, after all.” As he’d done with everyone else, Tyrion nodded in your direction then. “It is very nice to meet you.” 

“Same to you,” you managed, still slightly awed and confused by his existence. Because it doesn’t… You cut your own thoughts short with the interjection of another one. 

You were only standing where you were because an undead golem creature controlled by one of ancient Westeros’ most powerful families - who were being preserved through some form of blood magic - attacked you in an alleyway before you were rescued by a man dressed in an Oberyn Martell costume that turned out not to be a costume at all, nor was the man just a man but the Prince of Dorne himself and one of the Others, whom you had until that point considered merely part of the pantheon of folklore and children’s stories you’d grown up hearing. 

None of it made any sense. But it’s what’s happening anyway.

“Well, now that we all know one another,” Tyene chimed in, excitement in her voice. “Let’s get to the fun part.” 

“Ah, yes.” Tyrion clapped his palms together, a grin curving up the edges of his mouth. “The fun part.” 

What the hell does that mean? 

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. A few minutes later you were seated at the dining room table next to Oberyn, Toban and Ellaria sitting across from you and Tyrion at the head. This is insane. You were reminded briefly of the silly hypothetical questions that you and Nora would sometimes ask each other for shits and giggles. Those questions included things like, “If you could have dinner with any five people living or not, who would it be and why?” She would never fucking believe this, even if I could tell her. 

What started as a silly thought smacked you in the face as you realized that you might never get to tell your friend about any of it - and that she might never get to meet Oberyn. Another layer of realization peeled away and you tried not to think about the very real possibility that you might never even see her again. 

No. Your eyes closed, the lids creasing from how tightly you squeezed them shut. No.You opened your eyes again, making a decision. I will see you again, Nora, and we’ll go get burgers from that place by your office, and - 

Your plans for a reunion were interrupted by the sound of Oberyn’s voice, just above a whisper, speaking your name. Hmm? Blinking, you turned to find him watching you, a look of cautious concern on his face. Oh, shit, I need to - “Are you alright?” Beneath the table your hand was still held securely in his, his thumb sweeping lightly over your knuckles. “You seem…” His eyes narrowed as he searched for the right word, but you didn’t give him the chance to find it. 

I need to focus on what’s happening here. Now. Wrinkling your nose, you gave a small shake of your head and shifted your joined hands from your lap to his, resting them on his thigh. “I’m fine, Oberyn. Just -” You tilted your head inconspicuously towards Tyrion, the blond man engaged in amicable small-talk with Toban. “It’s a lot to take in.” 

That wasn’t a lie. Sitting down with Tyrion Lannister and hatching a plan to dispatch the rest of his family was a lot to take in. It wasn’t the entire truth, either, but you knew that it wasn’t the time to discuss the things that had just crept into your thoughts. Later. We can talk about that later. 

His lips parted, the tip of his tongue slipping out to dampen them. Before he could say anything else though, Tyene breezed into the room carrying a plastic tray of sliced fruit, half of the torn price sticker still stuck to the edge. What is she… Oh. Your eyes widened in recognition of the ancient Westerosi custom. Despite the things currently weighing on your mind, you let out a small huff of laughter. I mean, yeah. I guess that counts. 

“Okay.” Setting it down next to Ellaria, she pushed it with just enough force so that it slid the length of the table to stop in front of Tyrion. “We served you food and gave you shelter.” She pointed to the ceiling and swirled her finger around as the man she was speaking to reached for a bright yellow slice of mango, an amused quirk to his lips. “And we’re not the fucking Freys, so -” 

Nearly choking on the mouthful of fruit he’d bitten into in an attempt to mask a snort, Tyrion managed to swallow. A small smirk drew its way up the side of his face as he spoke, keeping his eyes on Tyene. “While I do appreciate the gesture - and the refreshments - I already trust everyone present with my life.” One eyebrow jumped as he cocked his head to the side and blindly plucked a grape from the platter, popping it into his mouth. “And that is more than I can say about…well, anyone else that I know.” 

Tyene shot back a smirk of her own, pulling out the chair next to Ellaria and dropping into it in one fluid motion. “Still,” she revealed a small cluster of grapes she must have taken from the tray before sending it in the opposite direction. Lifting it to her mouth, she stopped short of taking a bite to finish speaking. “Can’t hurt. Traditions and shit, right?” At that, she closed her teeth around one plump purple grape and plucked it from the stem. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

“Perhaps what you could say better, Lord Tyrion-” Oberyn reached forward and grabbed a handful of berries from the tray, popping one in his mouth as he continued. “Is exactly what it is that you are here to discuss.”  

“Yes,” Ellaria agreed. “We are all very eager to hear what you have to say.” She raised one eyebrow and turned in Tyene’s direction. “And why Tyene asked you to come here to say it.”

You knew that Ellaria trusted Tyene completely, so she wasn’t openly questioning her judgment in bringing the man - a Lannister, and by all rights and titles a sworn enemy of the Others - into their safehouse. She’s just not sure how much trust to put in him. Glancing sideways at Oberyn, you saw the same seemed to be true for him. Even though he admitted that Tyrion wasn’t like the rest of them… he’s… 

You watched him pop another berry between his teeth, his eyes never leaving the guest of the evening. He’s hesitant to call him an ally. Considering everything he’d gone through at the hands of Tyrion’s family, though, you couldn’t blame him. Beneath the table, where your hand was still clasped in his, you stroked your thumb over his skin. 

Tyrion chuckled. “Direct and to the point as ever, I see.” He sighed. “Alright, then, no need to draw it out.” Sitting up straighter, he cleared his throat and began. “As you know, there are, and always have been, several people who would love nothing more than to see my dear siblings and our illustrious father relieved of their heads.” He drew one finger in a line across his throat, an exaggerated grimace pulling his mouth down and to the side as he sucked air through his teeth. Clicking his tongue, he cocked his head to one side before swinging it back and forth in a small shake.  “And I’m sure that all of them are well within their rights to want them dead.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Tyene’s small nod, one of her eyebrows raised in an amused arch as she smirked at Tyrion. She had one knee bent and propped against the armrest of her chair, that foot perched in her lap. She seems to agree with him. From what you knew about Cersei, Jaime and Tywin - the originals, anyway - you didn’t doubt it to be true. Especially if they’re just as awful now as they were back then. 

You had studied the Great Wars of Westeros as part of your job. And you knew that no matter how well hidden the true perpetrators and instigators had been, many of the major shifts in power had all boiled down to Lannister machinations. Betrayals, assassinations, bribes and broken promises were par for the course when it came to that family’s lineage. 

When it was all said and done, the number of lives destroyed or cut short by the cruelty and greed of one house numbered in the millions. And if they’re still at it… There was no telling how many more people - humans and Others alike - had suffered or died because of them. It made your stomach twist to consider. They have to be stopped. 

You shifted your eyes from Tyene to Ellaria, trying to gauge what she was thinking now that Tyrion had started to reveal his motives. Though she was sitting back in her chair with her elbows and forearms crossed and resting flat against the table in a relaxed position, the expression she wore was anything but neutral. She looks… Her dark eyes were narrowed in a glare - not at the man who was speaking, but at the words he was saying, and her upper lip twitched into something close to a snarl. The woman looked as frightening as you first feared her to be. Like she’s ready to kill someone. 

But then, almost before that thought finished crossing your mind, Toban’s hand slid down from the back of the chair she sat in to land on her shoulder, the contact wordlessly soothing her. His large palm skated down to her bicep, and if you weren’t looking, you would have missed the small sigh that she released, her eyes closing for half a second. When they opened again they were still sharply focused on Tyrion, but there wasn’t as much unbridled hatred burning in them. 

Oh, that’s interesting. You wondered if Toban had some kind of gift or if his ability to so easily calm Ellaria had to do with the strength of the bond between them. Making a mental note to add that to the growing list of new things that you’d need to ask Oberyn the next time the two of you were alone together, you turned in his direction at the sound of his voice. 

“Yes,” he responded, laying his left arm on the table and leaning slightly over it, his right hand still wrapped around yours under the wooden ledge. His brow was slightly wrinkled in thought, chin inclined so that he could look at a downward angle through the fringe of his dark lashes at Tyrion. Is this what he looked like back then, when he had to represent the Martells in a royal capacity?

There was none of Tyene’s smug confidence, Toban’s ease or Ellaria’s blind rage in Oberyn’s expression, and you realized that was because he was very seriously weighing everything that the man seated across from him was saying. He trusts him. At least enough to hear him out. 

“Yet they are still alive.” The hand on the table curled into a fist and he knocked his knuckles once against the sleek surface. “Still drawing breath, still able to return, and still in control of their fucking Mountain.” He shook his head. “H-” 

“They are indeed.” Tyrion’s tone was blunt and hard. “But that is only because no one has ever had more cause to want them dead, nor more of a chance at making that happen than the people sitting in this room. Myself included.” He released a breath before scrubbing a hand over his hair. “And I know how to kill them. For good.”  

Silence fell over the room then as everyone considered Tyrion’s words. They were true, and you knew it. Your eyes moved slowly around the space, landing briefly on each person at the table. 

Ellaria had made enemies of the Lannisters thousands of years ago when she first denied them the gift of eternal life, and had been fighting them off ever since. For the first time since she came through the door of the other apartment, you noticed something that looked like exhaustion flicker across her features. You tried and failed to quantify the toll it would take on someone - immortal or not - to endure centuries of contention, of always waiting for and trying to anticipate Tywin or Cersei’s next move. What Tyrion was suggesting would finally free her of that. 

Your eyes traveled to Toban next. He had been thrust into the feud from the start, simply because Ellaria had chosen him over a Lannister to be her first. From the moment his second life began, he’d been at risk of attack, constantly looking over his shoulder and Ellaria’s. Maybe that’s why he seems so calm about it all now. Because it’s all he knows. That thought saddened you. But if Tyrion’s plan was successful, Toban might finally get the chance to know peace. 

Blinking, your gaze shifted to Tyene. Though she was actually hundreds of years old, her young features were forever frozen in time. For once, she had discarded the tough persona and you saw something in her eyes that looked like innocence. She, like Toban, had inherited this blood feud from Ellaria. But by the time she became an Other, Oberyn had also been steeped in it for centuries, so unlike Toban, Tyene had had to watch both of them suffer along with being hurt by it herself. In a way, her very creation was a product of it. She deserved a chance to get out from under that cloud, and Tyrion was presenting the best chance she’d been given yet. 

Unshed tears laced with anger and ache and even hope stung the corners of your eyes as they finally landed on Oberyn. For him the feud had begun while he was still human. He’s known the hurt in both lives. It began before he’d even had an opportunity to mourn the loss of his sister, his niece, and his nephew. 

Though he’d told you a little about what things were like for him once he was changed, and you knew that he’d enjoyed plenty in his second life, you also knew that every joy he experienced was limited, dulled even if only slightly by the fact that until this feud was done, he would never truly be able to have what he desired most. 

You swallowed and drew in a breath that shook on the way out. If Tyrion was right and the Lannisters could be killed once and for all, then he might finally not have have his revenge, not only get justice for Elia and her children - but at the same time, create the opportunity to live the rest of his life more fully than he’d ever allowed himself to before. 

And that’s what I want for him, too. It’s what I want for all of them. 

When the silence was finally broken, you were surprised to hear Toban speak up first. “Powerful talk, Lord Tyrion.” His voice had a quality that made it sound as though he was always smiling, even when he wasn’t. “But if you know how to kill them, then why haven’t you done so?” Lifting one hand, he gestured towards Oberyn but kept his focus on the man he was speaking to. “Why did you wait until they almost killed one of us?” 

There was something almost protective in the way that Toban asked that question, like an older brother looking out for his younger sibling. Though you’d been somewhat unsure of what to make of him at first, it was clear that he cared about Oberyn, and not only because of how important he was to Ellaria.  And that makes Oberyn’s reaction so much more interesting.

“It isn’t talk,” Tyrion countered. “But it is powerful.” He interlaced his fingers, placing his joined hands on the tabletop. “Unlike my father who has always measured power in coin, or my sister who counts it in cruelty, or even my brother with all of his ridiculous bravado, I have always known that true power lies elsewhere entirely.” 

“Is that so?” Oberyn posed the question with a contemplative tilt of his head. Tyrion raised a brow and lowered his chin. “And where is it that you have found power, then?” 

Leaning forward, the other man grinned. “In knowing things, Prince Oberyn. And in knowing the right people.” He brought his fingertips to his chest. “I know things.” Tyrion circled his hands outward to the group gathered around the table, making sure to make brief eye contact with everyone - including you. “And you are the right people to share those things with.” 

“Now is not the time to play coy with us, Lannister.” Ellaria’s tone was serious, but not harsh. “If you have something to say, speak.” 

Tyene clicked her tongue and reached to snatch another piece of pineapple from the tray. “She’s right, Tyrion. Enough with the opening statements, this isn’t an HBO courtroom drama.” Despite the tension that hummed around the table, you had to hold back a snort of laughter. She took a bite of the fruit she held, chewing through her next words before popping the rest of the bright yellow chunk into her mouth. “Tell them what you told me.” Shooting her eyes over to meet first with Ellaria’s, and then with Oberyn’s, she swallowed the bite she took. “Trust me, it’s worth it.” 

“It is.” Tyrion insisted, nodding in Tyene’s direction. “But I do understand the urgency,” he added, giving Ellaria a smile that did nothing to change the expression she wore. I get it though. You stared at the blond man. I want to know what the hell he’s got, too. Because if it’s not… Pressing your lips together, you took a deep breath in through your nose. If whatever he’s about to say doesn’t give them an edge then it’s a waste of time, and time is something we don’t have. 

Without letting another second tick by, Tyrion cleared his throat and finally played his card. “You know very well by now that my family has devised a way to cheat death. When you denied their various attempts to get you to change them, make them immortal like you, Cersei and my father took it upon themselves to find the next best thing.” He cringed, top lip pulling up slightly before he continued. “They turned to a man named Qyburn, a reject from the Citadel who was stripped of his Maester chain for conducting…  immoral experiments on living subjects.” 

Your stomach turned at the thought of what those experiments might entail if they were deemed immoral even by ancient standards. Images of dank dungeons, bodies and parts of bodies on stone slabs, iron tongs, rusted forceps, and substances in vials and bottles filled your mind, along with the pain-filled moans and shrieks of those being poked and prodded and tortured - and you forced them away. I don’t want to know. 

Sparing you any details that weren’t directly related to stopping his family from continuing their reign of terror, Tyrion went on. “Primitive and uncivilized as they were, Qyburn’s methods did yield results, though. He is the one responsible for resurrecting Gregor Clegane from almost certain death during a battle. When that was a success, Cersei immediately tasked him with modifying the process used with the Mountain so that the rest of us could join him in his ability to reawaken.”

“So it’s some kind of dark magic?” Toban asked. “Reanimation?” 

You recalled the monster in the alleyway, a shiver passing down your spine as his blood red eyes blinked back at you in your memory. You tried not to think of how many times that thing had been killed and brought back. Or how many people he’s killed. For the hundredth time since the night of the Golden Lion Halloween party, your thoughts turned to how close you’d come to having your skull caved in by the brute’s giant fists. Without realizing it, you were holding your breath, your grip on Oberyn’s hand tightening until your skin strained at your knuckles. 

He realized it right away though, immediately turning to bring his lips close to your ear, whispering into it. “He won’t touch you again.” You felt the tip of his nose brush the shell of your ear before he left a quick kiss there. “I will keep you safe.” 

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, nodding. I know you will, Oberyn. 

“Indeed.” Tyrion’s answer to Toban’s question made your eyes snap back open. “Blood magic, to be exact, Ser Dayne.” What? “You could say that it was… inspired by the supernatural properties that your blood carries, actually. Qyburn was able to isolate and synthesize the aspect of the Others’ blood that allows for reparative regeneration. In the case of Gregor, he used it to restore the body. The Mountain can take enough damage to kill a man, even one of his size. But given enough time and rest, he will always come back … and be just as he was before.”

“And what about the rest of them?” The softness he’d just offered you was gone from his voice as Oberyn addressed what Tyrion had revealed. “In the case of Cersei? Of Tywin?” He pursed his lips into a casual frown that deepened the divot between his brows. “You?” 

Flinching, the man swallowed. He knows they’re not going to like whatever he’s about to say. “For the rest of us, he… ah…” Tyrion’s palms came together and his scarred brow furrowed. “He applied the synthetic to the genetic makeup of our blood, to keep it from degrading over time so that it can be… um -” His nose wrinkled, as though his explanation disturbed him as much as it did you. “Given as an infusion at the time of rebirth. It ensures that we will always come back exactly the same physically as well as retain all of our personality traits and memories each time.” 

“Disgusting.” Suddenly, Ellaria was on her feet, palms slamming the table as she snarled. “They’ve desecrated the power of our blood. They -” Her eyes widened, going coal black with realization, lining up events from long ago with the information that had just been shared. “They killed two of our kind. Two of my Children.” Pain flickered across her face then, her voice breaking slightly with hatred and anguish. “For this. To study their blood. Our blood. My blood.” She hissed, sucking in a breath. “They will pay.” 

Toban rose silently, both of his hands wrapping around her wrists to lift them gently away from the table, which you noticed was dented from the force of her blow. He used that grip to pull her closer, easing her into his arms so that her shoulder was nestled against the center of his chest. Sliding his palm up her bicep, he pressed his forehead to her temple and whispered something that you knew Oberyn and Tyene had heard but that was a mystery to you. Not that it’s any of my business. Whatever he had said and the way that he held her seemed to have the effect he hoped for, Ellaria nodding at his words and letting him guide her back into her chair. 

“How?” Toban’s naturally deep voice dropped like a rock with the single word. “How do we stop them? How do we kill them?” 

“It’s actually quite simple.” Tyrion cocked his head to one side and then the other. “Relatively speaking, of course.” He sighed. “If you destroy the vials of original Lannister blood that Qyburn enhanced, you take away their ability to return.” Pausing, he locked eyes with Oberyn. “You make them mortal. And mortals are very easy to kill.” 

Your heart thumped against your ribcage as though it was trying to punctuate Tyrion’s point. We are, though. No super strength or speed, no healing abilities…no second chances. That thought forced another to click. Wait. “But won’t that make you mortal, too?” Every eye in the room snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice. Narrowing your eyes, you shook your head. “Wouldn’t destroying the vials mean that you couldn’t come back either?” How can we be sure we can trust him? Why would he put himself at risk for this? What if it’s a- 

“You’re wondering if I am leading you - or rather, your friends here - into a trap.” It wasn’t a question, it was a keen observation on his part. “Wondering why I would cut off my nose to spite my face, so to speak?” You swallowed, nodding. Yeah. Exactly. You were surprised when Tyrion’s jovial features turned slightly sad, the man releasing a breath. “My family has never been kind to me.” He grimaced, a rut forming between his eyebrows.. “Mostly my father and Cersei but… But Jaime, too. They’ve always been cruel, always made sure that I knew that I was only alive because they needed someone to delegate the lowest duties to. They’ve always found ways to make my many lifetimes feel like a journey through all seven hells. They…” His eyes closed and he gave a small shake of his head before opening them again. When he did, their crystal clear depths were trained on you. “I would rather die one final death than continue to be brought back just so my sister has a spider to pull legs from.” 

“I - “ You shook your head and swallowed. Shit, I wasn’t expecting that. “Tyrion, I’m sorry, I didn’t -” 

When he spoke your name, the sadness was gone from his voice. “If anyone here should be apologizing for anything, it certainly isn’t you.” He sighed. “It’s me. For everything that my family has done to all of you.” With a nod and a scrunch of his nose, he swallowed. “Which is also part of why I am here. It’s not just about how they’ve hurt me or the people I’ve cared for over the centuries.” A darkness clouded his eyes as he stared down at the tabletop. “It’s about all the lives they’ve ruined for their own gain. They -” Curling his fingers into a fist, his nostrils flared as he lifted his chin. “They need to be stopped and I simply cannot do it by myself..” 

“Well,” Oberyn tilted his head to the side and leaned forward in his seat. “You have our attention, Lord Tyrion, and-” He paused, shooting a glance over to Ellaria and registering the small nod she gave. “And, for now at least, you have our trust. Tell us what to do. We are listening.” 

The man blinked twice, a somewhat amused grin on his face. “Two thousand years ago, no one in Westeros would believe that I, Tyrion, scourge of House Lannister, would one day serve as Champion for the renowned warrior Oberyn Martell, but here we are.” 

You could practically feel Oberyn’s eyes roll, and despite the seriousness of the situation, had to bite back another laugh.“We will see about that. Talk.” 

And then, without further delay, Tyrion did.

Holy shit. 

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, hands gripping the counter’s edge and your weight leaned over them. The water still ran from the tap into the basin of the sink and you let it, despite having finished splashing your face and the back of your neck minutes earlier. The possible reality of what Tyrion had spent the last forty five minutes positing sent a spike of hope and adrenaline through you, and you tightened your fingers on the ledge, eyes widening.

Holy shit, this could really… You watched the pink tip of your tongue flick out between your lips to wet them, and then blew out a breath. No. This is going to work. 

Through the door you could hear the rest of the group talking, a boisterous laugh that sounded like Tyene’s breaking through the jumble of voices. It seemed like everyone else had also recognized the very real chance that they had to end the feud once and for all, a light hum of positivity almost palpable in the apartment since their unlikely ally revealed his plan. And as much as you knew that you shouldn’t get your hopes up too high, it was hard not to. 

Because it’s perfect. Tywin and Cersei… they’ll never see it coming. 

Tyrion had explained exactly how to catch them by surprise, and you had to admit it was good. As he had said in regards to the types of responsibilities that his father saw fit to delegate to him while his siblings were handed lofty positions within the Golden Lion corporation, this time around he had been tasked with overseeing the retrofitting and maintenance of the sewage, plumbing and electrical systems in all of the company’s properties. The literal shit end of the stick, he had joked. 

But while it had certainly been meant to slight him, Tyrion had taken the job seriously. 

It was boring work, far below his intelligence and capabilities. But he looked at it as he did all things - an opportunity to gain more knowledge than he had previously. He started by acquiring the blueprints of every building - offices, residential, recreational, commercial - that the company owned, familiarizing himself with the systems that were already in place, and reaching out to private contractors that would be able to give him suggestions and estimates on the work that needed to be done. 

For years he picked his way through each project, two more springing up whenever he completed one. Most of what he came across was to be expected when dealing with old buildings. Pipes that needed to be replaced, circuits and fixtures that needed rewiring to comply with modern energy and safety standards. But when one of the blueprints revealed the existence of a hidden vault in the sub-basement level of one of their California research facilities, he knew that he had stumbled on something that his father had no idea he had handed him - the location of the blood vials that allowed their lineage to repeat itself. 

Until then, Tyrion had always been kept in the dark about the whereabouts of the original Lannister DNA. Whether it was because they didn’t trust him to know that information or simply didn’t want him to have it so that they could keep the upper hand, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter once he had that blueprint in front of him, because that was the moment when he realized that the shit end of the stick had for once turned into solid gold. 

Knowing where the vials were kept, though the most important piece of the puzzle, didn’t solve it completely, however. The vault was guarded at all times by Gold Cloak security, and Tyrion was well aware that his strengths did not include fighting. So for a few months he sat on the information, continuing to oversee sewage and electrical projects in other buildings while he thought about how to proceed. 

“But then you turned up looking for Gregor at that costume party, Prince Oberyn,” Tyrion had stated, “and it dawned on me. As bright and as big as the Dornish sun, it dawned on me that you and your companions were exactly who I needed to help me put an end to this.” 

Aside from the fact that you and Oberyn had nearly died following your encounter with the Mountain, it was almost as though the stars were aligning. 

With the Lannisters unsure of where Oberyn was or what state he was in, it was the right time to strike. They likely knew that Ellaria would be with him if he was still alive, because they were aware of the bond between Others and their Children. But they had no idea that Tyene and Toban were also there - nor did they think you were still alive. Because most would have killed me to survive.

“And that gives us an advantage, my friends, because it allows us to be in two places at once.” 

He proposed a two-prong attack then. Since Oberyn and Ellaria had already planned to attend Joffery’s engagement party as a way to show Tywin and Cersei that he had survived the Mountain’s attack, Tyrion suggested that they attend his nephew’s actual wedding, too, citing the fact that all of the Lannisters and Gregor Clegane would be there in one place. At the same time as they were arriving at the wedding venue, you, Tyene and Toban would be entering the underground facility to dispatch the guards and destroy the vials before rejoining Oberyn, Ellaria and Tyrion for your victorious escape - and anything that came with it. 

You knew that Oberyn hated the idea of you being there at all, especially if he couldn’t protect you himself. But you also knew that he understood that it was the best option. He wouldn’t want to leave you alone in the apartment, and he wouldn’t want to send either Tyene or Toban out alone, either. The three of you staying together for that phase of the attack was the best way to keep everyone safe. 

And then it will be over.

Your heart thumped with the nervous, cautious hope of that thought. With one last check in the mirror, you finally turned the tap off and dried your face and hands. Tyrion was getting ready to leave as you stepped out into the hallway, the man telling you once again what a pleasure it was to meet you before wishing you a good night. You said the same back to him, still somewhat stunned that you’d met him in the first place, and then quietly made your way into the living room as everyone else said their goodbyes and finalized the next steps of their plan. 

Stretching your arms above your head to release a small pop from between your shoulder blades, you walked to the window and looked out over the city. Below you and all around you, thousands of people carried on with their lives entirely oblivious to the existence of the Others, and to users of blood magic like the Lannisters. It was absolutely wild to think that just a handful of days ago, you were one of them - and that without the chance encounter at the bar, you would have stayed one of them. 

There’s no going back now. 

You’d had that thought multiple times as your involvement with Oberyn grew deeper. But even as you peered out through the glass at the life you’d never fully be able to return to, another thought backed up the first one - stamped just as firmly in your mind. 

I wouldn’t want to even if I could. 

A pair of quiet footsteps entered the room, and without having to turn you knew who they belonged to. 

You did anyway, though, tearing your eyes away from the window to take him in. When you did, you couldn’t help sucking in a gasp at the sight. He was standing in the center of the room, holding his spear and looking at you, and no matter how stunning the view you’d just abandoned was, what you saw in front of you was far more breathtaking. 

Oh, wow. Look at him.

“Hi.” Clearing your throat, you moved away from the window and towards where he stood. “Did I hear Tyrion leave?”  

Oberyn took a breath, his whole chest rising before he let it back out with a nod. “You did.” 

You hummed, gesturing to the weapon in his hand. “Looks like you’re not wasting any time getting into things.” 

“Ellaria was right when she said that I need to practice with my spear.” His eyes wandered up the shaft of the weapon he held. They lingered fondly on the golden snake coiled around the base of the crooked blade before dropping back to you. “And I will admit that I’ve missed it.”

You nodded. She did say that. Oberyn’s free hand reached for yours and you gave it to him. “I’m sure it’ll be like riding a bike for you.” His thick fingers wrapped around your hand and he tugged you a step closer. 

“Will you come up to the roof with me? There will be more space up there for me to familiarize myself with the movements again, and -” the sound of voices from the foyer carried down the hall, Oberyn’s gaze flicking over his shoulder momentarily. “And at this time of night it will be quiet. So we can talk more. About -” 

“Yes.” The word was out of your mouth in nothing flat. Is he kidding? Of course I want to see that. Your excitement must have been written on your face, because you watched as his expression turned to one of amusement. There’s no hiding it, not from him. You gave him a sheepish shrug. “This apartment is nice, Oberyn. But if you think I would rather stay down here knowing what you’re doing up there?” You scoffed and shook your head. “Absolutely not.” No way I’m missing that, especially if he wants me to be there. “Besides.” You stepped closer and pulled your hand free from his hold so that you could place your palm against his chest. “We definitely have more to talk about.”

“We do.” He leaned in, tongue swiping over his lips as he brought his hand up to your cheek. You felt your heart skip off rhythm and caught the glint in his eyes as he noticed, too. His hum lulled your eyes shut, but before he could close the distance and kiss you, someone else entered the room with a snort. 

“You two do know that there are bedrooms with doors in this apartment, don’t you?” 

Swallowing, you froze and opened your eyes as Tyene breezed into the living room, your face warming rapidly even though you knew she was just fucking with you. Immediately confirming that to be true, she smirked and tossed you a wink as she crossed the room to sink into one of the plush armchairs, a glossy magazine in hand. 

Oberyn straightened up but didn’t move away from you, instead drawing you closer to his side even as he turned to face the other woman. “We are aware.” He cocked his head to the side, lowering the spear and using it to indicate the magazine Tyene held. “Surely there is more stimulating reading material available here than -” The pages crinkled as Tyene shifted her grip on it to give him the finger, her eyes rolling playfully as she did. Oberyn grinned then, bringing the weapon back to its original position. “I’m actually glad that you walked in when you did, Tyene. I was going to come find you if you hadn’t.” 

“Oh?” She opened the magazine and scanned the first few pages, deciding which article to read. Four hundred years old and she’s still a typical teenager when it comes to him. 

“I was going to ask if you were up for a few rounds of sparring.” That got her attention far more than whatever she’d chosen to read - you could tell from the way that her shoulders lifted, chest expanding with an unnecessary intake of breath. You knew Oberyn saw it, too, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards before he spoke again. “It has been a long time since we have trained together.” 

You blinked, your own excitement to see him in action growing at the thought of getting to watch the two of them practicing their combat skills with each other. Oh, this is going to be something. 

“Sure.” Without lifting her eyes from the magazine that she was reading, Tyene tilted her head as she spoke. “But I’ll give you some time to warm up first, Oberyn.” She flipped the page, lifting a brow in an attempt to feign mild interest at whatever headline was scrawled atop the new one. A slight smirk that she couldn’t contain curved her lips as she turned another page. “Let you shake out the rust before I -”

The rich, full sound of his warm laughter pulled your focus back to his face. Small creases formed around his eyes, stretching out like sun rays as his smile pushed his cheeks higher.  “Easy, little snake.” He warned her with the arch of an eyebrow. “Never forget who taught you how to strike.” 

“I could never.” Tyene grinned, adjusting her position to settle more deeply into the armchair. Crossing her legs, she cocked her head to the side. “But you shouldn’t forget that part of what you taught me was that there is always more to learn.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Like you said, it’s been a long time since we’ve trained together. I might have picked up a thing or two since then.” 

Oberyn chuckled, his shoulders lifting slightly. The gleam in his dark eyes was playful and teasing, but in it you also saw pride and affection for Tyene, the expression tugging at your heart. They mean so much to each other.  “Good.” He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”  

“See you in an hour, then.” With that, Tyene went back to skimming the magazine that was resting in her lap, and Oberyn let go of your waist, his hand once again wrapping around yours. 

He led you into the hall, the long space empty and silent. But I just heard  them talking. Where’s - Before you could finish your thought though, Toban stepped out from the bedroom closest to the front door, a relaxed smile on his face that seemed to round the edges of his square jaw. 

“Did I hear you and Tyene discussing a sparring session, Oberyn?” He crossed his arms casually over his chest, his emerald eyes moving with interest from Oberyn’s spear to your face. You felt his gaze linger on the mark on your throat, his chin angled slightly so that he could see it more clearly. It didn’t make you uncomfortable exactly, but you wondered why he was so fixated on it. He saw it as soon as he met me. Noticed it right away. You blinked. And as far as I know it hasn’t changed, so…  why does he keep - He brought his eyes back up to look directly at the man beside you as he continued. “And if so, would you mind if I joined you?” 

Oberyn’s grip on your hand tightened, and you knew that the other man noticed even though he didn’t react. “You did hear that.” His tone wasn’t quite clipped, but it lacked the jovial quality that you heard when he spoke to Tyene or Ellaria. I really need to know more about them. “And if you would like to join us, Toban, then I will certainly not stop you.” Toban’s smile widened as Oberyn’s eyebrows came together in question. “Where is Ellaria?”

Dropping his arms, Toban used one hand to indicate the front door. “She decided to follow Tyrion home, to make sure that the rest of the Lannisters did not have him followed here.” Smart. “She said she would be taking a longer route back in case anyone happened to be watching.” He lowered his hand to his side and tilted his head as he shrugged. “But with the Mountain still healing from his encounter with you, I doubt they would risk sending anyone else.” 

Oberyn let out a huff. “Let’s hope you are right.” He tapped the end of the spear shaft on the tiled floor. “But either way it’s best to be prepared.” Not waiting for a response, he took a step towards the door. “I am -” His eyes flicked to you and warmed significantly compared to the way he looked at Toban. “We,” he corrected himself, giving your hand another squeeze and a gentle pull, “are heading to the roof now, but Tyene is planning on coming up in about an hour. If you would like to join us then, you are welcome to, of course.” 

“Alright. See you in an hour, then.” Toban gave the two of you a single nod, watching as you stepped out the front door. 

You heard the lock click into place behind you, and then you and Oberyn were alone in the building’s hallway, heading for the elevators. Stepping into the car beside him, you watched as he pressed the button for the roof. But as the doors closed, meeting in the middle to form a solid, reflective surface, your eyes caught on the tip of Oberyn’s spear, and something occurred to you that hadn’t before. 

“Wait, are -” When you looked up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you with curiosity. I can’t believe I’m just realizing this, but… “Oberyn, are you going to use real weapons to spar with Tyene and Toban?” 

Oberyn grinned. “We are. Tyene fights with a pair of daggers, and Toban favors a longsword.” 

Your eyes widened. The same as the Mountain. “But…” Shaking your head, you furrowed your brow in confusion. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if you actually cut each other? I mean, I know you all can heal pretty damn fast, but doesn’t it take a lot out of you to do that? Wouldn’t… you’d all have to drink after that, to replenish. And -”  

Letting out a chuckle, Oberyn leaned over and laid a kiss to your temple. What’s so funny? “It won’t be a problem.” You felt his lips linger, curving into a smile before he pulled away to look at you again. “You are very considerate, but you don’t need to worry.” He dropped your hand then, plunging his own into his pocket to pull out a small brown glass bottle. “Poison is not the only thing that I tip my blades with, contrary to my reputation.” Giving the bottle a shake, he offered it to you. 

You turned it over in your hand, a viscous liquid sloshing inside of it. He wouldn’t have handed it to me if it was something dangerous. “What is this?” 

“That,” Oberyn stated, a hint of pride in his tone, “is my own creation.  I learned to make it in my time at the Citadel. It creates a protective barrier between a weapon and the skin, so that we can train freely without worrying about the consequences. With this on my blade, I won’t do more damage than a butter knife would.” That’s so smart. He shrugged. “And for us? Cuts that shallow will close almost immediately.” 

The light above the door flashed to let you know that you’d made it to the top, the car coming to a stop beneath your feet. You handed the bottle back to Oberyn and followed him out into the small enclosed space that led out onto the rooftop. 

“Does it only work for you? What would happen if a -” You stopped yourself from saying the word human. It made the difference between the two of you seem far larger than it felt, and you didn’t want to draw attention to that fact - especially after Tyrion’s comment on how fragile mortals were. “What would happen if I got cut?” 

“That will not happen.” His response was immediate, a slight edge to his tone, but then he sighed and answered your question more accurately. “But if it did, you would feel it. It probably would not go deep enough to require stitches, but it would bleed.”

Even discussing the unlikely possibility of you being hurt seemed to cause him distress, so you steered the conversation in a different direction. “Well then I’ll be sure to watch from a distance.” You winked at him as he stepped ahead of you to open the glass door that led out into the patio area. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in action.” 

The night air carried a breeze that tousled his hair, the moonlight catching the silvery strands hidden in his dark curls. He flashed a grin, one that he knew damn well would make you suck in a breath. “Then I will try not to disappoint.” 

You scoffed through a smile then, shaking your head as you walked over to the railing. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes over the top of your smile-raised cheeks. “Not possible, Oberyn.” 

You let out a breath as you returned your gaze to the city lights and the moonlit sky, but you turned back to face him when he spoke your name. “I need to move some of these tables and chairs out of the way. If I am going to spar with Tyene and with -” you noticed the tick of his jaw as it tightened. “With Toban, I need more space.” He took a step closer to you, reaching for your right hand. “Will you hold this for me while I do that?” 

Hold wha- oh. Before the question was even half formed in your thoughts, he was lifting your hand up to curl around the shaft of his spear. Holy shit, I’m holding… he’s letting me… You sucked in a breath as you felt how smooth the wood was beneath your palm, Oberyn’s hand sliding yours into place and then curling your fingers into a secure grip. Making sure that the blunt end was still flush with the ground, he completely covered your hand with his own, bringing the other to your waist. 

“Tyene was not joking when she mentioned how sharp I kept this blade,” he said, eyes flicking from where they were locked with yours up to the tip of the spear. You followed his gaze as moonlight struck the edge of it, the steel glinting lethally against the darkness. “Hold it just like that.” Dropping both arms back to his sides, he took a step back and tilted his chin downwards before lifting it slowly in appraisal. Your breath caught as you watched something just as deadly as the blade flash mischievously in his eyes. “That looks good in your hands.” 

His comment, combined with the way he was looking at you - head cocked at an angle, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam of his lips - made your heart skip again. The lift of one cheek higher into his eye as his grin grew told you that he was aware of the change, too. Of course he is. 

You let out a breath and licked at your lips, head shaking side to side as Oberyn turned to start moving chairs out of his way. “Maybe.” He looked over at you again, arching one eyebrow as he lifted a side table and stacked it on top of another one. “But it’s much more useful in yours.” I’d cut my own damn head off if I tried to do anything more than hold this. 

“I’m after a few lessons you would be able to make use of it.” You watched him stack another set of tables. “Perhaps one day soon I will get the chance to teach you a few things.” Oh. That would be… Your heart pounded at the thought of Oberyn standing directly behind you, placing your hands on the shaft, directing the motion of your hips as he showed you how to step and thrust for the best angle of attack. Fuck. “For now though, I’m -” He walked over to the sectional patio couch and bent down to place his hands on the cushions. Shooting you a wink over his shoulder, he continued. “I am very happy to look.” 

You shook your head, breath coming through your nose in an amused exhale. That makes two of us. Keeping your eyes on his back, you watched as he pushed the furniture towards the railing, taut muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incorrigible flirt, Prince Oberyn?” 

Straightening up, he laughed, the sound rich and warm. A few days ago I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that sound again. “I may have heard that before.” He shrugged, lips dipping into a false frown before lifting again. “One or two… thousand times.” 

Your free hand came to your hip as you watched him measure out the space he’d just cleared in footsteps. “I bet that’s an understatement.” 

Seemingly satisfied with the area, Oberyn held up one finger and turned with a sweeping step, closing the distance until he stood directly in front of you. “Perhaps. But it is a good thing that I am so incorrigible.” His left hand rose to curl around the spear, just below where you held it so that your pinky was stacked atop his pointer finger. With a grin, he looped his right arm through the angle of your bent elbow and wound it around your back. “Otherwise -” Palm splaying along your spine, he used it and your shared grip on the spear to pull you closer. “We may have never met.” 

Without hesitation, you leaned in to kiss him. The hand on your hip came up to rest against his cheek as his plush lips parted to accept yours. Despite the fact that you had been the one to initiate it, you sucked in a breath as he kissed you back, still not fully used to the rush that came with it. I’m not sure I ever will be. Trusting that he had a firm enough grip on the weapon, you let it go and brought your right hand up to the other side of his face and around to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

The second you tightened your grip on his curls, a husky groan slipped through his kiss. You smiled against his lips at the knowledge that you pulled that sound from him so easily. “I’m glad we did, Oberyn.” 

He rested his forehead against yours as he swept his thumb along your spine. “So am I.” 

As much as you would have loved to stand there in his hold all night, you knew that under the current circumstances - the impending confrontation with the Lannisters and Gregor and all the preparation that would have to go into taking them down - you couldn’t. 

You had gone up to the roof so that Oberyn could train, but also so that the two of you would have the chance to talk about things in private. And there are things I need to ask him before Tyene and Toban get here, so… You sighed and pulled away, letting one hand fall back to your side, the other reaching for the spear again. 

He seemed to come to the same conclusion. “I guess I should get started, hmm?” 

You nodded, eyebrows coming together as you swallowed. “Can I ask something? Before…” He tilted his head in question as you trailed off. “Before Toban comes up, I -” His expression flickered slightly at the mention of the other man. Yeah, that’s what I need to know about. You sighed. “Oberyn, I can tell there’s tension between the two of you, and I’m sure there’s a reason for that. And if you want to tell me about it later? I’ll gladly listen.” He nodded once. “But for now, before I spend any time with him, is there anything I need to know? Anything you don’t want me to say? Or…”

Your words trailed off as Oberyn’s hands came up to rest on your biceps, palms rubbing up and down gently. “You do not need to hold anything back from Toban Dayne.” He rolled his eyes before letting go of your arms and reaching forward to finally relieve you of the spear. “I know he will not hold anything back from you.” 

Is that… a good thing? You heard the clank of wood against concrete as he set the weapon down, leaning it against the arm of the couch. “I know you must trust him or else he wouldn’t be here.” Your shoulders rose in a small shrug. “I just figured… if there were any… uncomfortable topics to avoid, I should know about them.” 

“I appreciate you asking, but there are no secrets, and I would  never presume to tell you what you can or cannot say to anyone.” He brought both hands back to your body then, one resting at your waist. The other he raised to your throat, fingertips just grazing the mark and causing the skin to tingle. “All I ask is that you give me a chance to explain anything he tells you.” Oberyn let out a sigh. “I do trust Toban. He and I have not always seen eye to eye on things, but ultimately we are on the same side.” 

That was good enough for you. For now, anyway. “Alright.” Nodding, you licked your lips and let them curve into a smile as his hand came to rest on the side of your neck. “In that case?” You tilted your head towards his spear. “I think it’s time for you to show me what you can do with that.” 

He said your name then, eyes flashing as he winked at you. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You focused on the movement of Oberyn’s hands - on the way his grip changed as his wrists twisted intentionally over one another to create the twirling motion. There was a quiet thunk every time the ring on his thumb made contact with the wood, his fingers curling around it with the same dexterity that a musician would use to coax a melody from an instrument. He hasn’t even held it in thousands of years but… A shaft of silver moonlight sifted through the clouds and caught the beveled edge of the crooked blade to make it glint against the night. But it’s like he never put it down. It’s natural.   

As that thought crossed your mind though, you felt a tight pang of sadness in your chest. No. The clouds covered over the moon again as he went through another pass of the form he was practicing. Drawing one leg up onto your seat, you frowned, lips pulling down and to the side. 

It would feel even more natural for him if he were doing this in the daylight. He had first learned to fight on the sands of Dorne, with the bright, unfettered sun warm on his skin as he repeated the techniques enough times to commit them to muscle memory. This - an LA rooftop in the middle of the night - couldn’t have been more different from that. 

You sighed, your eyes flicking down to the opened buttons of his white Henley, where the absence of his gold pendant was noticeable. The cool autumn breeze brought a chill into the air that make you shiver, and you shrugged more deeply into the sweater that you wore. You tried to remind yourself that it was only temporary - that he would be able to walk in the sunlight again soon, the intricately cast medallion once again hanging from his neck. He’ll need it back for the engagement party, so…  just a few more days.  

Blinking, you switched your attention to his forearms, watching them flex as he directed the spearhead to control the balance of the weapon. His feet slid almost silently over the concrete as he moved backwards three paces before turning with a wide but calculated sidestep so that he faced you directly. Without missing a beat, he raised one eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, grin climbing up that cheek. 

“So what do you think?” Breaking from the repetitive movements, he quickly changed his grip so that both hands were wrapped around the middle of the spear’s handle, and then lunged, thrusting the point of it only a few inches from where you sat. “Do I stand another chance against the Mountain?” 

As much as you hated the thought of him going toe to toe with that monster again, you had to admit that the fact that Oberyn would have his spear - and his armor - this time around made you far less worried. You let your lips curve into a small smile, and were rewarded as the one on his face reached his eyes, their depths shining. 

“I think that if you had this spear with you at that costume party, Oberyn?” You stood then, one hand coming up to gently push the end of the weapon aside so you could safely close the distance between the two of you. Shaking your head, you dropped your arm back to your side as he pulled back and set the flat end of the spear against the ground. “Things would have gone very differently for all of us.” 

He hummed, his free hand reaching for your hip as his eyes locked with yours. “I am inclined to agree with you.” 

Another breeze swept through the space between your bodies to play with the tassel hanging from the spear and ruffle the fringe of hair that fell over his forehead. It’s chilly tonight. You took a breath in through your nose, the crisp autumn air filling your lungs as you placed both of your hands on his chest. But he’s not cold. 

You smiled at that thought and stepped even closer, flattening your forearms against him to soak up the warmth coming through his shirt. The fingertips of your left hand slipped up and over his collar to glide over his skin. He’s not cold at all.

When he spoke again you felt his words vibrating against your palms where you touched him. “Fighting with a weapon like this one gives me better control of the distance between myself and my opponent. It lets me keep them at a greater length than a sword or a dagger would allow.” That makes sense. 

You saw the flash of his grin and the mischievous twinkle in his eye that told you something was coming, but you were still unprepared for how swiftly he moved. Gasping, you felt him release your hip and swing the spear around behind you, using the same hand that he’d just had resting near your waist to instead grip the shaft of the weapon. With the pole pressed to your back, he used it to pull you flush against him, his arms caging you between his torso and the polished wooden handle. “Or…” He flicked his eyes down to your chest, watching the dramatic rise and fall before tilting his head to speak directly into your ear. “I can keep them close.” 

Your heart skipped as his teeth raked your skin, and though it didn’t seem possible, you melted into him even more. He’s never going to play fair with me, is he? You wound your arms up and around his neck and as he tilted his head back to look at you once more, you realized something and it made you grin. That means I don’t have to, either. 

“Oh, is that what I am, Oberyn?” You raised one eyebrow, right hand sliding into his hair to make a loose grip. “An opponent?” Tightening your fist so that your knuckles dug lightly at his scalp, you pulled a groan from him that made you both grin. “Someone you need to fight?” Oberyn stared at you for a few moments before responding with a slow shake of his head. 

“No.” He took a step backwards, eyes falling to your lips as his own curved into a grin, and despite the fact that he had somehow put more warmth in the word than you would have thought possible, you shivered. The handle of the spear pressed gently into your back, Oberyn using it to corral you even closer. Another step brought his calves in contact with the cushion of the L shaped patio lounge, and you sucked in a breath as he rolled the length of smooth wood down into the dip where your spine met your pelvis. “I can think of many things that I would rather do with you than fight.” He lowered himself into a seated position, urging you to follow. “Much better reasons to keep you close.” 

“Good.” Your knees sunk into the cushion on either side of his lap, but you didn’t settle your weight on his thighs. “Because I wouldn’t last a single second against you.”

He chuckled, the low rumble from his chest accompanying a wolfish grin. “Do not sell yourself short.” His rings clanged against the wooden spear as he tightened his grip on it to force your weight down on top of him, a startled gasp slipping from your lips as you felt him solidly beneath you. Though he wasn’t hard it didn’t take much to imagine what it would feel like when he was. Fuck. You nearly moaned, heat flooding your entire body as he lifted his hips with you still straddled over them. “I think you will last more than a few seconds when we -” 

The sound of a throat clearing cut the rest of his words short, and you froze as Tyene’s voice hit your ear. 

“When I said you should warm up with your spear, Oberyn -” You slowly turned your head to watch her saunter over, your heart thudding wildly in your ears at the slight embarrassment of being caught. Her left eyebrow rose as she used one finger to indicate the two of you and the position that you were in before crossing her arms over her chest and sticking one hip out. “This is not what I meant.” 

Shit. I… she’s right, I should… he needs to be taking this seriously and - You tried to lift yourself from Oberyn’s lap, but though he’d set his weapon aside at Tyene’s arrival, his hands kept you firmly in place, both of them flattened against the small of your back. 

“You have your methods for preparing for a fight, little snake.” Oberyn flexed his fingers so they dug lightly into you, and then he let his palms slip around to the tops of your thighs with a shrug. “And I have mine.” 

Mine. 

You took a breath, letting the word wash over you, warmth dropping into your belly as it did. You would gladly be his pre-fight preparation. You would gladly be his anything, if given the chance.

I am yours, Oberyn. 

Leaving his hands where they lay, and continuing his conversation, Oberyn glanced over Tyene’s shoulder. “Where is Toban? He said he wanted to-“ 

“Ellaria’s back.” Oh, good. Though you weren’t truly worried about Ellaria running into anything she couldn’t handle, you were relieved to know she’d made it back safely - and without being followed. “He was just talking to her, and then he said he’ll be right up.” 

“We’ll have to get started without him, then.” He gently tapped your leg and you shifted off of his lap and onto the cushion of the lounge furniture. Pulling the bottle he’d shown you earlier out of his pocket, he handed it to Tyene. “Get yourself prepared, and then show me what you’ve learned since our last dance.” 

She took the bottle with a flourish, unscrewing the cap and pulling one of two daggers from her belt. “Gladly.” 

You watched the two of them in wide-eyed wonder as they twirled and lunged, dodged and clashed their weapons together under the moonlight. 

A few times they had nicked one another, and you witnessed the substance that Oberyn had crafted work in real time as long cuts that should have gone much deeper appeared and vanished over their forearms and sides. The blades left a few slashes in their clothing - Tyene had a tear across the front of her shirt and Oberyn’s left sleeve was shredded - but no actual harm remained on their bodies. That’s incredible. 

The door to the patio opened behind you, but you kept your eyes on the scene in front of you until the other man was standing right next to where you sat. Though Oberyn had told you about his weapon of choice, it still came as somewhat of a shock to see the sword that he carried. Going through customs at the airport must be interesting for them. 

“Looks like you’ve got front row seats.” Toban spoke your name, nodding towards where Oberyn and Tyene were circling each other a few feet away. I sure do. He blinked away from the fight and glanced down at you, sharp eyes focused on your face. “Mind if I sit?”

Crossing your left leg over the right, you gestured to the cushions beside you. “Of course not, Toban, there’s plenty of room.” 

He let out a sigh as he lowered himself onto the couch, a relaxed look of contentment settling over his features. “Thank you.” Returning his attention to the action, he tilted his head closer to yours. “Did I miss anything exciting?” 

You mean aside from two expertly skilled immortal warriors engaged in a fight? “Um…” You cleared your throat. “They uh, they just got started a few minutes ago, so-” 

Before you could finish your response the clang of metal on stone rang out through the air, one of Tyene’s daggers clattering to the ground. “I’ve taken one of your fangs, little snake,” Oberyn chided while deftly twirling the spear back to ready position. “Plan your next strike carefully.” 

Tyene huffed, tossing her remaining dagger from her left hand to her right. “What makes you think I haven’t planned it already?” 

The soft scrape of their bootsoles on the pavers signaled the end of their banter as they began circling each other again. Toban chuckled under his breath. “Guess I got here just in time for the good part, hmm?” 

Oberyn used the blunt end of the spear to knock the weapon Tyene dropped further from her reach, and you exhaled through your nose in a huff of laughter. “Guess you did.” You glanced over at the man next to you as he stretched out his long legs, casually stacking his ankles and folding his arms over his chest. “Is Ellaria coming up, too?” 

Still watching the dueling pair in front of you, Toban clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No. She said she has other preparations that need to be handled before the engagement party.” That makes sense. I’m sure there’s…  He shifted his focus to you, eyes lingering on the mark on your throat before coming up to shoot a wink at you. “That means she’s online, shopping for something to wear to this party.”

You weren’t expecting that, and the image of Ellaria Sand stretched out in bed or sprawled on the couch in the apartment downstairs while she scrolled fashion sites on her phone made you laugh. Good for her. Before you could comment, though, Toban was speaking again. 

“Do you know what it means?” He tilted his head to the side, focus slipping down to your throat, and you knew he was talking about your mark. “Did he…” A crease formed between his brows, and even in the dark you could see something close to concern flicker in Toban’s eyes. “What did Oberyn tell you about that mark he gave you?” 

Your heart pounded against your ribs as your fingers came up to absently brush the spot just under your jawline. I guess this is what he meant about Toban not holding back. Glancing across the patio, you saw - and felt - as Oberyn’s eyes darted to where you were sitting. There was no doubt that Oberyn could hear every word of your conversation, even over the sound of his blade clashing with Tyene’s. And about there not being any secrets. 

“He…” Fingers curling towards your palm, you dropped your hand away from your jawline and nodded. “Yes.” You cleared your throat, watching as Oberyn spun away, lifting the spear over his head to block Tyene’s attack. “He told me that it means that I’m under his protection. That none of… of your kind will hurt me in any way because of it.” 

Your attention shifted back to the man beside you as he spoke. “That is true.” Lifting one eyebrow, his mouth quirked to the side in a smirk. “I do not know every Other who walks the Earth, but I do know that not a single one of them would dare cross the Red Viper.” 

As if on cue, Toban’s words were punctuated by the shing of steel on stone as Oberyn sent Tyene’s second dagger flying from her hand. It was the third round in a row that he’d bested her, and the quickest. And this is just practice against someone he knows and trusts. “But I -“ Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips. “I know it means more to him than that.” 

Using the blade end of his spear, Oberyn scooped one of Tyene’s fallen weapons up, flipping it in one fluid motion to catch it by the hilt. “One more?” He asked as she retrieved the other one. “Or have you shown me all your new tricks yet?” 

Tyene’s response came in the form of the finger and a slew of what you assumed were swears in Valyrian. Laughing as she shook her head, she snatched the blade back from him. But as she turned to take the ready position, you caught the way Oberyn looked over at you - his eyes focused on yours, lips pressed together, a small shadow darkening his brow as his forehead wrinkled slightly. Without the moonlight shining on his hair, you might have missed the small nod of his head, encouraging you to keep going. 

“Do you?” Toban’s voice pulled your attention back to him.

Blinking, you licked your lips. “Yes, I do. He told me -” You sucked in a breath as the weight of what you were about to say dropped into your chest with the same heft that it did when Oberyn explained things to you. “He told me it’s been 400 years since he’s done this. And he told me why, too.” 

Toban hummed. “So you understand how important you are to him then? What it means that he has broken 400 years of denying himself that bond? For you?” 

It means it’s going to devastate him when I die. You swallowed, trying to rid the bitter taste of that thought from your tongue. But it also means… “It means that he wants me in his life. For however long is possible. And I -” You kept your eyes on Oberyn, on the fluidity of his motion, the shine of his smile. “I want that, too.” 

“However long is possible?” Toban shifted in his seat so that he could look at you more fully, and though you wanted to continue to watch the sparring session, you sensed that the conversation you were having was heading for deeper waters. You turned three quarters of the way towards the man beside you as he went on. “You know by now that eternity is possible.” I do, but - “What would you say to eternity?” 

Your mouth went dry then, heart thudding hard against your ribs. I would say yes. I… there would be things I needed to take care of first, but I would say yes. It still scared you a little to know that that was how you felt about someone you had only known for such a short period of time. But it did nothing to change the facts. 

That wasn’t what you said, though. Instead, you shook your head. “It doesn’t matter, Toban, because he also told me that he can’t make that offer, and I understand why.” But you know that’s not what my first thought was, don’t you.

The emerald green eyes trained on you narrowed slightly. “Oberyn told you about the last person he gave his mark to.” That was a statement, and one that you had already confirmed, so you knew that there was something else coming. “But has he told you about Cameron?” 

Who? You knew that your expression answered for you, but you gave him one anyway with a slow shake of your head. “No.” 

“I see.” Toban nodded. “Well, let me fill you in. Cameron was someone that Oberyn had started to become close to. This was -” He tilted his head in thought for a few seconds. “Maybe a century ago? They traveled together, trained together. For a time they were inseparable. I think in some ways they were in love.” You listened closely. “But Oberyn remained resolute in his decision not to strengthen that bond by using his mark or by offering to change his companion until he was free of his quest for revenge and justice.” 

Without realizing it, you had lifted your fingers to brush at the space under your jaw. Your pulse thumped against the tips of them, as though reminding you that while Oberyn had broken half of his rules for you, you remained human, just like Cameron. And I’ll stay that way, because …

“At that time, like other times throughout our lives, we had made enemies of some different groups within the Others.” Toban explained. “One group from Braavos, in particular. I knew that they would stop at nothing to find ways to hurt us. They had already tried to kill one of Ellaria’s Children, and it was only a matter of time before they sought a way to deliver a blow to Oberyn, too. Cameron would have been the easiest target for them, and he had been left unprotected.” 

You gasped quietly. Oh, Oberyn.  “Did they… did they get to him?” 

Toban sighed then, a look crossing his face that you couldn’t quite place. It was somewhere between sorrow and sympathy, a touch of regret reaching his eyes and setting his handsome features into a frown. “They did not. Because I stepped in first.” 

In the distance, you heard Tyene swear as Oberyn’s spear slipped at her thigh, and when you looked over you saw that he was watching you and Toban while he waited for her to reset. But he wanted me to talk to Toban, so… You returned your attention to the other man. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean I gave Cameron my mark of protection to keep him safe from our enemies. For Oberyn. I acted so he would not have to suffer that loss, too.” 

That shocked you. It was a selfless thing, a generous gift. But you knew that the story did not have a happy ending. Not for Oberyn, at least. “That’s…” You shook your head. “Did it work?” 

Toban raised his eyebrows and nodded. “It did. It kept Cameron safe. Kept him alive.” He sighed again, the action making his broad shoulders sag. “But it also changed Cameron’s feelings toward Oberyn. It hurt him to know that despite their connection, he wouldn’t offer the same thing that I had given him. Soon, Cameron spent less and less time with Oberyn, and more time with me. Until one day he…” Toban brought a hand to his head and smoothed it back over his hair. “He asked me to change him.” Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. “And I said yes.” 

“Oh.” Your voice was small but you knew he heard you. You knew Oberyn heard you, too. So that’s why… that’s part of why their relationship is so… 

You heard Toban speak your name then, and you blinked, focusing on him once more. “I am glad it will not be the same with you.” He cautiously raised his hand towards your neck, and you let him graze his fingers over your mark without knowing what to expect. It didn’t feel the same as it did when you or Oberyn touched it, and the contact didn’t linger, Toban withdrawing his hand and settling it back in his lap to clasp around the hilt of his sword. “I’m glad that he found you.” 

“I -” What? 

“Toban!” Tyene’s exasperated voice interrupted your response as she called to him from across the roof. “I’m tapping out. Softened him up for you though, so -” At that, Oberyn gave her a small shove, the woman stumbling but catching herself with quick footwork. 

“One second,” Toban responded, a grin curving his lips. He turned back to you. “It was a pleasure talking with you. I look forward to getting to know you more after all of this is over.” With that, he rose and made his way over to trade places with Tyene, who approached you just as Oberyn handed the bottle off to Toban so that he could coat his sword in the protective solution. 

You knew you must have had a wild look in your eyes from the way she studied you, but you couldn’t help it after everything Toban had just revealed. And as much as you wanted to stay and watch the two men train, you were relieved when Tyene cocked her head to the side and asked if you wanted to go back inside. 

“It’s cold out here,” she offered as an out, even though she knew the temperature had nothing to do with the things you were trying to process. “I’m gonna go take a hot shower in that big ass bathroom downstairs. There’s another one in the bedroom you’re staying in, too, if you wanted to -” 

Not even letting her get to the end of her suggestion, you stood. “Yeah.” You nodded. “That sounds really good, actually. Let me just -” You pointed towards where Oberyn and Toban were getting ready to square up. “I’ll let Oberyn know, and -” 

“Alright. I’ll wait for you.” She placed her hand on your shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before  heading off in the direction of the small glass lobby that housed the elevator. 

Telling her you’d be right behind her, you pressed your lips together and made your way over to where Oberyn stood. As soon as he saw you in motion, he set down his spear and strode to meet you halfway. His large, warm hands came to rest at your waist the moment you were within his reach. “Are you alright?”

For a few seconds all you could do was stare up into the brown - almost obsidian - eyes that scanned your face. Eventually you nodded, one hand coming up to brush his windswept and tousled hair back into place. He sighed at your touch, leaning into it. “I am, Oberyn. That was just…” You shivered then, as much from the weight of your thoughts as from the night chill. Too much for anyone, and …  

He gave you a small smile that wasn’t quite sad, but didn’t light his face the way it usually did. “I know. This is a lot to take in. I promise I will explain everything to you tonight when we’re done here.” He flexed his fingers where he held you. “Go ahead inside and get warm and comfortable. We won’t be much longer.” 

Throat tight with a mix of emotions, all you could manage was a nod and a quiet “okay.” He leaned down to brush his lips against yours, and then he released you, turning back to where Toban stood waiting. 

Holy shit. 

On slightly shaky legs, you went to meet up with Tyene, the two of you taking the elevator down in near silence, until the light above the door indicated that you were almost back to your floor. 

“Hey. I'm glad you know, now,” she said, bumping you gently with her elbow. “How much you mean to him, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.” 

When you reached the apartment, Tyene turned to give you a brief hug before disappearing into one of the bedrooms. After standing in the hall for a few seconds to collect yourself, you did the same, suddenly desperate to be under the warm flow of water so that you could peel apart your thoughts and examine them in peace. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the shower, but when you got out you felt as though you’d absorbed what Toban had told you as best as you could. Under the circumstances, anyway.

Changing into a pair of olive green sweats and a tan long sleeve shirt, you opened the slider door to the balcony off your bedroom and stepped back into the night. You were only alone out there for a few minutes, though. After the time you had taken to yourself you were happy to be back in his company - alone. 

“Outside again, hmm?” You heard the sound of the glass door rolling along its track as he pulled it shut after stepping out into the small space. “You’re not too cold?” 

Lips curving upwards, you continued to gaze out at the city below. “I like the view.” You shrugged and let out a sigh before pushing off the railing to turn to face him. “And I know you’ll keep me w -” 

A pair of arms wrapped around you from behind then, stopping your motion and keeping you facing forward. “My view is much better.” Though he spoke directly into your ear, you could feel his beard as it rasped over the skin of your neck, just below the line of your jaw. Sucking in a breath, you melted against his chest as you let it back out, his body heat seeping into your skin. “And I will keep you warm.” His hold on you tightened as he dragged his mouth over the invisible mark. “Very warm.” 

You shuddered at the sensation, eyelids falling closed and his name coming out in a gasp. That feels incredible. Reaching back with one hand to rake your fingers through his hair, you hummed as he left a slow, lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw before straightening up again. 

“I will need to go back inside before the sun comes up.” You felt his fingertips running up the length of your right forearm before sliding slowly back down. “But we can stay out here for as long as you want until then.” At Oberyn’s words, Toban’s mention of an eternity played back in your mind. 

“Okay,” you murmured, letting the hand that was in his hair come back around to the front of your body to rest over his arms where he held you. An eternity of this would be amazing, but for now … I’ll take tonight.

“And,” he tightened his hold then. “I would like to tell you about Cameron. Ask me anything you want to know.” 

“Everything,” you responded, leaning your head back against his chest. “I want to know everything, Oberyn.” 

Tag list reblogs coming soon! 

[hereidinathoreauwrites]

What is the best Magic School Bus episode and why you’re wrong it’s In the Haunted House

In honor of the 30th anniversary of the MSB premiere (god that makes me feel old), have a hastily assembled post about why this is the best episode of this completely unhinged and delightful show for kids from the 90s.

The plot of this episode revolves around Carlos trying to make his invented instrument sound like not crap and Ms. Frizzle barely knowing what's going on but rolling with it anyway.

This episode begins, begins with a rendition of the William Tell Overture. No explanation, in fact we find out several minutes later that DA is passing this off as "Concerto for Invented Instrument", an original piece she composed so Carlos could show off said invented instrument.

They're really just gonna drop the idea that an 8-year old composed a piece like this and she's not being scouted as the next Mozart? Were we really that bored in the 90s?

Because PBS shows get a budget of like 5 and need that royalty-free music! But is it just a recording of any old orchestra playing this song? No. It's a recording using specifically the instruments the kids are shown to be playing.

As Carlos laments that his instrument sounds "ploopy" (a word they repeat all episode that means nothing but somehow fits the sound perfectly), the woman herself makes an ENTRANCE. This is by no means Ms. Frizzle's most eccentric entrance but it is the one that serves the most. She's a one-woman band, effortlessly showing off footwork skills and musical knowledge with her array of instruments.

Then she just shoves the whole contraption in a desk drawer like a Time Lord and continues with no explanation.

After some exposition (yada, yada, concert coming up, instrument needs to be fixed) they all rush off to the Sound Museum. On the way, Carlos keeps trying to fix his instrument and laments that he needs more time. (side note, the sound mixing on this instrument is incredible; I wish there was a way to put in a sound clip because every time unique and every time is utter perfection).

So what's a boy inventor to do? Have his trusty teacher crash the bus of course! For no apparent reason, Ms. Frizzle has the bus go nuts with speed and sound until it overheats and they get stuck.

(look at this bus winking like it's in on the ruse!). So now they're without a bus for the rest of the episode.

Carlos is thrilled (more time to fix his instrument!) and DA is horrified.

(Another side note, DA is giving peak sass this episode. On the one hand it's very funny. On the other, you can tell it's because this concert matters to her.)

So they decide their best course of action is to just push the bus through the dark.

Pretty soon they arrive at this place.

Just a goddamned castle. Where lightning strikes on a clear night. Ya know, just for the aesthetic.

This episode is all spooky vibes without explicitly being a Halloween episode. And despite the creepy stuff it manages to be hilarious at the same time.

The house is indeed EARy and unsettling with things like hidden doors, paintings who's eyes move and books that make noise, even one that inexplicably screams. Not to mention the strange ghostly sound they keep hearing. And Ms. Frizzle is very chill about all of this. She even tells them the history of the house, which contains a ghost story.

She's just messing with them now, right? You don't tell freaked out 8 years olds a ghost story about the creepy house they're stranded in. But that is how Ms. Frizzle do.

And when it becomes clear that the place is empty, she just claims squatters rights and says they're staying the night.

(Permission slips? Really?)

And she's barely said that when they find a conveniently arranged dormitory laid out just for them. But in typical kids during a sleepover behavior, the kids wander off following that mysterious sound and discover even more crazy rooms in this house.

Oh and Ms. Frizzle casually mountain climbing in said room. Who makes a ski lift appear out of nowhere to get the kids out of the room.

It's only here, three-quarters of the way in that someone on the writing staff realized this was all plot with no lesson. And then they scramble to teach something about vibrations and sound. Using giant instruments and goggles that let you see sound (I was so mad when I found out those weren't real).

After a quick realization on how vibration creates sound, Carlos rushes off to fix his instrument, only to find it missing!

And then they fall down a closet into the dungeon basement. And it's there that we finally meet the rogue soundster - the great granddaughter of the original owner of the house! Voiced by Carol Channing?! The Broadway legend?? Her eccentric voice matched this one-off character perfectly.

Turns out she stole Carlos' instrument; why it's never quite explained but she helps him to fix it just in time for the concert. Which goes off without a hitch.

Carlos donates his instrument to the museum and the episode ends with Ms. Frizzle and Cornelia jamming on their respective instruments and instantly creating a classic.

Where did this sound museum come from? How did the original Cornelia disappear? How did Ms. Frizzle know Cornelia II? Why do the books make sound? Why was Ms. Frizzle mountain climbing? Why did Ms. Frizzle tear down a wall at one point and no one cared? Why did an old lady who is definitely a ghost or an immortal steal an instrument just to hold onto it until the owner found her? Where did Ms. Frizzle get her instrument from, she left it in the bigger-on-the-inside desk drawer at school!?

Shut up and enjoy your 90s cartoon about how sound works.

I'm pretty sure this episode gave life to all the Carlos x DA shippers too. And not without cause.

(Keesha ships it.)

So yeah, all plot, all vibes with the barest hint of a lesson, never-ending sass and absolutely no explanation for anything?

Best episode.

[cdyssey]

Advocate

Prompt (@kalikoke​):

CW: Alcohol Mentions

AO3 Link

As they’re walking out to their cars, Barbara insists on going out to dinner that night to celebrate the reigning Read-a-Thon champ.

Her treat.

“Oh, so you’re takin’ me out on a date, huh?” Melissa grins widely, full of piss-and-vinegar. She loves to flirt with Barbara Howard—married woman, woman of God—thinks it’s fun to see her nearly bend over backwards trying not to accidentally flirt back. Meanwhile, the second-grade teacher has long made her peace with the fact that after nearly thirty years of friendship, the two of them talk like old lesbians who probably own a cat named Fred Astaire.

It’s just one of the occupational hazards of being work wives.

Somewhere along the way, they started to sound like actual wives too.

She likes that.

A lot.

Much more than she reasonably should.

They stop in front of Barbara’s car, a gray sedan that is meticulously washed every weekend. The windshield is completely white with recent sleet, and both of their breaths gather in pockets next to their faces.

“As a matter of fact,” Barbara only harrumphs, at once pompous and playful, a teasing glint in her eyes, “I am. Wear something befitting your winner status.”

“I got a new thong from Victoria's Secret the other day?” She immediately suggests, arching a positively lecherous brow. “Red. Matches my hair ‘n everything.”

Melissa tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything to her when Barbara visibly swallows at these words, when her dark pupils dilate, when the heavy binder in her arms abruptly slips from her grasp and onto her knee, causing her to cluck at Melissa like a mother hen.

“Lord Almighty! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” The other woman moans, rubbing her leg as Melissa bends down to retrieve the binder, snickering silently.

“Yeah, and everyone else too,” she replies in her most suggestive voice.

“Melissa!”

But the second-grade teacher just laughs and laughs—and she carefully ignores the way Barbara’s cheeks have flushed—and she laughs.

This is all she ever feels comfortable asking for, these infinitesimal moments with Barbara Howard, snatched from the relentless march of time. She cups the nanoseconds in her palms just to hold them, if even for a little bit—which is precisely how long that a moment lasts anyway.

There and then gone, lived and then a fragmentary relic of the past with all the rest.

But, Jesus, how they kiss her fingertips so gently—these moments, these relics, these precious nanoseconds—dusting them, like falling snow.

—

A few hours later, they’re sitting across from each other at a booth in Mamma Mia’s, a relatively new and upscale pizzeria that used to be a laundromat a couple of years ago until the feds finally figured out it was another front for the Philly Mob. (None of Melissa’s idiot cousins were involved this time, thank God. Even they weren’t stupid enough to launder money in a goddamn laundromat.)

All of the washers and dryers and probable bloodstains were removed a few years back, and a yuppie couple has since gutted the rather sizable space, remodeled it, and turned it into the talk of the town. Barbara, completely unaware of its history, has been begging to try it out for lunch sometime. 

She’s heard that their salads are excellent.

And Melissa, entirely aware of its history, has always entertained the proposition with a secretive chuckle at the thought of her very proper friend unwittingly stepping foot into a building where at least two men have definitely died.

Yeah, sure, Barb. Let’s go.

Which is how they end up here for dinner, blissfully sipping on their Merlots as they wait for their waitress to come back and take their order. Melissa is indeed wearing something befitting her victory over Janine—a short, green dress with sleeves that billows out around her wrists—but she thinks Barbara has her beat, so elegant in a teal blouse and black vest. Her fitted slacks—also black—accentuate the shapely curves of her hips.

Melissa appreciates the way her friend looks.

(Again, much more than she decently should.)

“You know,” Barbara begins without looking up. She’s been busy scanning the menu for the past few minutes, her readers delicately perched on the bridge of her nose. Melissa’s own menu is still on the table, unfolded and untouched. “I didn’t get to have one blessed slice of pizza today. My kindergarteners were simply voracious.”

“Mine too,” Melissa chortles, recalling how she’d had to tell at least five kids not to chew so fast. They were gonna get indigestion! “And I gave my leftovers to little Benji.”

Sweet kid, Benji Andrews—the youngest in a family of seven.

There sometimes isn’t enough food to go around at his place, so she and Barbara—(who’d had Benji in her class two years ago, and they'd both had several of Benji's siblings)—worked out an agreement with the lunch ladies to make sure that he gets sent home with extra meals a few times a week. 

“Ah, that’s my Melissa,” Barbara murmurs fondly, her gaze flicking upwards from the glossy foldout.

“Yeah, well, you would have done the same, ya schmaltzy gagootz,” she readily deflects—never one to accept unadulterated praise without a fight—but even still, she can’t help but smile at the quiet intimacy of being called Barbara's own.

Damn her and God bless her, she always knows how to tease the softness right out of Melissa.

“Oh!” The older teacher suddenly gasps, glasses slipping a little down her nose. “Shame on me—I almost forgot. Melissa, would you like me to call out some menu items for you? There’s a spinach-ricotta calzone that might have your name on it.”

And Barbara glances at her perfectly unopened menu then, apology flashing in her eyes, but Melissa only shakes her head. She’d taken one look at the front of the pamphlet, seen its kookily stylized typeface, and quickly placed it down before any of the letters started doin’ any funny business.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says firmly. “I looked at their menu online before we got here, and I'm fine if you just wanna share a pizza."

“Are you sure?” Barbara frets, conscientious about her reading struggles—always—from the very moment she found out about them some two decades ago when she was the first person to ever realize that Melissa only rarely peruses menus at restaurants.

And that’s only if the font is just right or if there are helpful pictures or if there’s not too damn much happening on the page at one time.

Before the Internet really took off, and Melissa didn’t have a reliable way of checking a menu before she went to a restaurant she was unfamiliar with, she’d just ask the waiter for the specials and choose one that sounded the most appetizing to her—far too humiliated to spend the necessary time trying to decipher a block of text that almost looked comprehensible to her. She didn’t have the luxury to chisel the individual words out, unit by unit, as she did at home with her books. The someone sitting across from her was unfailingly impatient. Her siblings. Some of her antsier friends. Her own ma. 

Joe.

He got so freaking annoyed when she took forever to order, even though he knew she had a hard time with menus.

He just swore up and down that she needed better glasses.

But Barbara, from the very moment she found out, approached the matter far differently than her ex-husband, which is to say with the same determination and kindness that governs most of her actions. She suggested that she could read some parts of the menu aloud for Melissa—so as to provide her with options—and for years upon years, she’s done so every time they’ve tried a new restaurant together.

Melissa hated that at first.

Hated that her weakness had been seen and so thoroughly identified by another.

Hated that someone would ever have the guts to call her out on it.

Hated that all of her dozens of coping techniques were stunningly powerless against a goddamn laminated piece of paper.

Hated that it was so obvious if anyone cared to notice.

Which the kindergarten teacher absolutely did.

But then again, Barbara notices a lot of things about Melissa, even the all-too-vulnerable details that she refuses to articulate aloud.

She notices baseball bats firmly taped under desks and irrational fears having to do with ever facing away from a door. She notices new scrapes on her knuckles from bar fights and dark shadows turning circles beneath her eyes after restless nights. She notices when Melissa is having trouble with dinner menus and eighty-paged curriculum updates and legalese from divorce papers that get served to her two days before her fifty-fifth birthday.

And yes, she once hated all of that—Barbara's keen eyes and Barbara's annoying inability not to intervene.

Barbara's hero complex.

And Barbara's pity.

Melissa hated the pity most of all.

But time and trust and her repeated exposure to her friend's particular way of being in the world have ultimately softened her initial understanding of this point, have made her come to terms with the fact that Barbara Howard doesn’t exactly pity her when she reads menus aloud to her, when she sends her emails in big, uncrowded fonts, when she helps her mark up stupid administrative packets with their stupid, tiny text.

She accommodates her.

And this is to say that she loves her.

“I’m positive,” she nods vigorously, well-aware that it takes a lot of verbal and physical gesturing for her friend to ever drop something. She doesn't necessarily want to talk about her insecurities right now—has had to think about them a lot these past few days with Maya, dredging up so many memories—but she damn well won't be responsible for Barbara feeling bad about herself because of them too. “I’m covered tonight.”

As to be expected, though, Barbara, still holding on to her guilt with a frown, sighs deeply.

“You shouldn’t have to be, though,” she insists, vaguely waving her menu around. “It’s absolutely absurd that no one considers how hellacious this font can be on the eyes.”

“Hah!” Melissa snorts, propping her chin up on her fist. “I know you’re angry when you start pullin’ polysyllabic words outta your ass.”

“I’m not angry,” Barbara sniffs (clearly angry). “I’m just disappointed in the lack of accessibility.”

“You should write an op-ed for the Times.”

“Melissa,” she pouts, now finally placing the menu down, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m being utterly serious.”

And Melissa readily softens, knows that every word is true. Barbara cares so much about making sure that the world is a just place—for her students, for her family, for Melissa herself.

There’s a wheelchair accessible ramp at Willard R. Abbott Elementary School not because some egghead at City Hall gave a rat’s ass.

But because Barbara Howard is a goddamn amazing teacher who fought for it.

There's a reason why she's the best of them all.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles sadly, impulsively reaching over and offering her upturned palm, an olive branch. But she waits, with remarkable patience, for the inevitable moment when Barbara unbends her arms and takes it, interlinking their fingers together over the checkered tablecloth. She squeezes once and desperately wishes that they could stay like this forever, suspended in time, connected by touch, but the elegant ring on Barbara’s fourth finger shimmers in the light from the tabletop candle.

And so she lets go in the end.

She always does.

(Relics and nanoseconds.)

“I gotta say, I'm... disappointed too,” she goes on with a heavy sigh, pulling her now free hand through her hair. “Had a talk with one of my kiddos today whose parents won’t let her get tested for dyslexia."

“Oh, Melissa,” Barbara murmurs, understanding dawning in her eyes, gentle and profound care. Her best friend knows the very specific way that this situation hits close to home.

It’d been a matter of time for Melissa’s ma. 

Or, well, for the lack of it more accurately.

She had five children all under the age of ten to take care of, and she didn’t have the energy to wonder why her eldest daughter sucked at reading beyond thinking that she just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

How hard, after all, could it be to read Dr. Seuss?

“I taught her one of my tricks—y’know, highlighting the first parts of words,” she adds quickly, as though to blow past the sentimentality of everything, of it all, “but it made me sad for my kid t’think that she doesn’t have an advocate…”

Maya's parents had been afraid—afraid for their child to get a label, afraid for her to be different, afraid for her to be perceived as less than.

She'd kinda wanted to key their car after that disastrous conference, but she also gets it—she really fucking does.

“She has you,” Barbara immediately says, adamant, adoring and so perfectly convinced. “You were her advocate today. You were there for that baby girl in a way that she will never forget.”

Melissa blinks rapidly, unable to stop a lump from rising to her throat as she suddenly recalls Mrs. Myrick, the teacher who had given her that book about a sad child who was also different all those many years ago. 

She’d sat with Melissa in the hallway and taught her how to steady a highlighter against a page without messing things up.

But even if you do mess up, Melissa, the teacher had murmured, brushing a stray curl behind the then six-year old’s ear, that’s perfectly okay too.

You’re enough, Melissa, she finished, soft and so kind. You're always enough.

“I’m so proud of you,” Barbara intones in the exact same cadence some fifty-odd years later, eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the restaurant, radiant with quiet affection.

Melissa falteringly opens her mouth to say something then, to tell Barbara thank you.

For reading menus aloud to me.

For making sure the school has a wheelchair ramp.

For not pitying me.

For loving me.

For always being in my corner.

For never once betting against me.

Other people have me?

Well, I have you.

You’re my advocate.

And I love you.

But their waitress comes up to them then, a slight, young thing who might be Kit or Kat according to the slightly distorted name tag pinned on her chest, and she’s asking if they know what they’d like to eat. So she closes her mouth again, the words dying away on her tongue.

“A pizza then?” Barbara asks, a smile rising to her plump lips. “To celebrate the fact that you’ve taken the prize home once again, Ms. Schemmenti?”

“Oh, hon,” she smirks, easily shifting back into utter asshole mode. “How can you say that when I haven’t even introduced you to my folks yet?”

“Girlfriend!” Comes another scandalized groan, Barbara pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now is not the time!”

And Melissa laughs with all her belly as Barbara hastily explains to the waitress that they're not dating, they're just very good friends—(which somehow sounds even gayer)—and Melissa is merely being facetious. And she doesn't do anything to refute her, just savors the moment, reveling in the blush that has delicately darkened the skin around Barbara's nose.

[eolewyn1010]

Farewell, Darkover - part 1

So. Once upon a long past time, I was a kid of 10 years who was given a book that said on its cover it was rated "13+". Well, I was a wannabe-precocious kid who mistook reading complex Fantasy for having a personality, so I read the damn thing. It was one of the Darkover books Marion Zimmer Bradley had written. It was several years after MZB's death (not that I was aware of that; at that age, I didn't think much of the authors of books that I read), but several years before everyone learned what, by now, everyone knows about MZB and her husband. Back then, there was no way for me to know that this particular series and 'verse had been created by a pedophile rapist and abuse apologist.

The book caught my attention, and I went and asked for more. The friend who gave me the first soon borrowed me the entire series, one by one, and the same way others got engulfed by Hogwarts or Middle Earth when they were young, I got engulfed by Darkover. It was Fantasy, it was Sci-Fi; I loved it. And while I enjoyed them immensely, I didn't have much more critical reading comprehension than your average pre-teen, or else some alarm bells might have gone off earlier. Back then, they didn't. I didn't analyse what I read; I built myself into that world, made myself a home there. It was a world of magic, powerful women, difficult relationships, its very own kind of technology and society, a play on speculative history - it was my very first great love among books, just a little more obscure than the usual picks of most of my generation because the friend who introduced me to them was a generation older and as such had books from the 1970s just lying around. And by now, I've reached the point where I taste bile whenever I see MZB's name. Oh well, it is a farewell comparable to what many young trans people had with the Harry Potter books. And rejecting books that had such an impact on me hurts, which I'm sure is an experience a lot of kids had with some revered media at some point.

From 10 to maybe 13 or 14, I read everything Darkover had to offer. I spent hours upon hours talking about them with my friend, I drew my favorite characters, I drafted up fanfiction long before I knew the word "fanfiction". There were parts of the books, parts of the worldbuilding that, even then, were a little dark for my age. Discussions of sexuality, incest, abuse in families and relationships, systemic oppression... I wasn't ignorant of these themes, but I also can't say that I fully comprehended how Darkover presented them. If I had, I might have noped out way back when. I knew the books discussed pedophilia, incest, rape and controlling, abusive, authoritarian relationships in the framing of its fantasy society - but I would have claimed with all the same certainty that these things were being condemned in the books. In hindsight, and with a look at a critical review of MZB's way more famous bestseller, The Mists of Avalon, I can't help but think that a lot of Darkover was actually, much like MoA, some form of apologia.

After MZB's kids told the public in 2014 what the hell had been going on in their home, I feel like her books very quickly made their way into obscurity - which is right and well; the generations who grow up without them will probably be happier and healthier for it. But I haven't seen a lot of later reflection by those who have read MZB, and who were influenced by her writings. I suspect it's because I'm born too late to be in contact with the people who did; that isn't actually my generation, as the books reached me by way of someone in whose time they "belonged". Despite MZB being occasionally called a "female Tolkien", her books weren't the evergreen The Lord of the Rings is. They were very much 60s' and 70s' books. But there's also a darker side to this: A few people whose opinions I've read who insist, even now, that even The Mists of Avalon, the darkest and most vile of hers in terms of apologia and disgusting content, is and always has been a feminist masterpiece. Which it is not. It's not worthy of reverence, it's not worthy of praise or of being defended. Because it cannot be separated from MZB's crimes. The concept of Death of the Author fails where the author made her books all about her personal views - and those views are a nightmare.

MoA will be part of what I want to talk about here, but my primary experience was with Darkover, the oldest books of which predated Avalon by about 20 years. I genuinely think MZB got a lot worse and a lot more blunt about her bullshit in later years, and perhaps that's part of why I didn't get it. Perhaps Darkover was too subtle for dumbass lil' me. This is the first part of what'll be a sort of serial essay in which I look into my personal history with MZB's books, and how I came to terms with recognizing, rejecting and condemning wholeheartedly what had once been my fantasy refuge. It's also a bit about taking a stance - by now, I should be enough of an adult to say out loud that MZB was a piece of human garbage who should never have been celebrated as a feminist heroine writer (no, not even "for her time") and whose ideas should hold no place in highly praised literature. And that includes literature I used to love.

[keingleichgewicht]

bits from the most recent etymonline column which may haunt me

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei VI (Chapter 28)

The Winds of Winter is delayed because he convinced himself every chapter needs to be the size of a short novel.

"There are other men as well, I hear. Knights and courtiers. Admirers. Tell me true, my lady. Do you think Margaery is still a maiden?"

"She says she is, Your Grace."

"So she does. What do you say?"

Taena's black eyes sparkled with mischief. "When she wed Lord Renly at Highgarden, I helped disrobe him for the bedding. His lordship was a well-made man, and lusty. I saw the proof when we tumbled him into the wedding bed where his bride awaited him as naked as her name day, blushing prettily beneath the coverlets. Ser Loras had carried her up the steps himself. Margaery may say that the marriage was never consummated, that Lord Renly had drunk too much wine at the wedding feast, but I promise you, the bit between his legs was anything but weary when last I saw it."

"Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?" Cersei asked. "Did she bleed?"

"No sheet was shown, Your Grace."

I'm guessing Loras being present helped with that.

I still don't understand what the long-term plan was with these three. Was there seriously no consummation? Did they never intend to have sex? She was on board with her husband being gay and in love with her brother? What about an heir?

I have so many questions.

+.+.+

A pity. Still, the absence of a bloody sheet meant little, by itself. Common peasant girls bled like pigs upon their wedding nights, she had heard, but that was less true of highborn maids like Margaery Tyrell. A lord's daughter was more like to give her maidenhead to a horse than a husband, it was said, and Margaery had been riding since she was old enough to walk.

I'm sharing because it made me laugh out loud.

+.+.+

"I understand the little queen has many admirers amongst our household knights. The Redwyne twins, Ser Tallad . . . who else, pray tell?"

Lady Merryweather gave a shrug. "Ser Lambert, the fool who hides a good eye behind a patch. Bayard Norcross. Courtenay Greenhill. The brothers Woodwright, sometimes Portifer and often Lucantine. Oh, and Grand Maester Pycelle is a frequent visitor."

"Pycelle? Truly?" Had that doddering old worm forsaken the lion for the rose? If so, he will regret it. "Who else?"

"The Summer Islander in his feathered cloak. How could I have forgotten him, with his skin as black as ink? Others come to pay court to her cousins. Elinor is promised to the Ambrose boy, but loves to flirt, and Megga has a new suitor every fortnight. Once she kissed a potboy in the kitchen. I have heard talk of her marrying Lady Bulwer's brother, but if Megga were to choose for herself, she would sooner have Mark Mullendore, I am certain."

Highlighting for later.

Pycelle frequently visits Margaery, but it's those flirty cousins and their suitors we should be paying attention to.

+.+.+

When Taena frowned, a tiny crease appeared between her dark eyes. "Every morn and every night he [Loras] visits, unless duty interferes. Her brother is devoted to her, they share everything with . . . oh . . ." For a moment, the Myrish woman looked almost shocked. Then a smile spread across her face. "I have had a most wicked thought, Your Grace."

"Best keep it to yourself. The hill is thick with sparrows, and we all know how sparrows abhor wickedness."

I can only assume her idea is spreading fake news about Loras and Margaery. That's a bold suggestion from someone playing both sides.

+.+.+

"So I suspect. As a rule the Most Devout elevate one of their own, but there have been exceptions." Grand Maester Pycelle had informed her of the history, at tedious length.

Always pay attention to history, Cersei.

+.+.+

"During the reign of King Baelor the Blessed a simple stonemason was chosen as High Septon. He worked stone so beautifully that Baelor decided he was the Smith reborn in mortal flesh. The man could neither read nor write, nor recall the words of the simplest of prayers." Some still claimed that Baelor's Hand had the man poisoned to spare the realm embarrassment.

King Baelor the Blessed sounds like a looney tune. How predictable.

Is that last part about poison relevant?

+.+.+

"After that one died, an eight-year-old boy was elevated, once more at King Baelor's urging. The boy worked miracles, His Grace declared, though even his little healing hands could not save Baelor during his final fast."

Please!!

+.+.+

Lady Merryweather gave a laugh. "Eight years old? Perhaps my son could be High Septon. He is almost seven."

"Does he pray a lot?" the queen asked.

"He prefers to play with swords."

"A real boy, then. Can he name all seven gods?"

"I think so."

"I shall have to take him under consideration." Cersei did not doubt that there were any number of boys who would do more honor to the crystal crown than the wretch on whom the Most Devout had chosen to bestow it.

Yes! A number of boys! Who cares if he doesn't know how to read or use utensils? Not me.

+.+.+

This is what comes of letting fools and cowards rule themselves. Next time, I will choose their master for them. And the next time might not be long in coming, if the new High Septon continued to annoy her. Baelor's Hand had little to teach Cersei Lannister where such matters were concerned.

I believe her.

+.+.+

"You should bring this son of yours to court," Cersei told Lady Merryweather. "Six is not too young. Tommen needs other boys about him. Why not your son?" Joffrey had never had a close friend of his own age, that she recalled. The poor boy was always alone. I had Jaime when I was a child . . . and Melara, until she fell into the well. 

Unreliable narrator Cersei Lannister.

Cause, you know.

+.+.+

"Your Grace is kind, but Russell has never known any home but Longtable. I fear he would be lost in this great city."

"Bring my son to court to befriend the king? Nah, we're good, thanks."

Hun, this is not your friend.

+.+.+

We had to have those ships. She could not rely upon the Arbor for her navy; the Redwynes were too close to the Tyrells. She needed her own strength at sea.

The dromonds rising on the river would give her that. Her flagship would dip twice as many oars as King Robert's Hammer. Aurane had asked her leave to name her Lord Tywin, which Cersei had been pleased to grant. She looked forward to hearing men speak of her father as a "she."

rofl.

+.+.+

Another of the ships would be named Sweet Cersei, and would bear a gilded figurehead carved in her likeness, clad in mail and lion helm, with spear in hand. Brave Joffrey, Lady Joanna, and Lioness would follow her to sea, along with Queen Margaery, Golden Rose, Lord Renly, Lady Olenna, and Princess Myrcella. The queen had made the mistake of telling Tommen he might name the last five. He had actually chosen Moon Boy for one. 

Really?

Samwell, please make sure the Renly chapters are accurate.

+.+.+

She wore a white gown slashed with cloth-of-gold, lacy but demure. It had been several years since the last time she had donned it, and the queen found it uncomfortably tight about the middle.

It's unnecessary that I keep highlighting this, yet here I am doing it again.

+.+.+

The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. All the women wore their best, and half the men had children on their shoulders. When she had emerged from inside the sept, hand in hand with the young king, the crowd sent up a roar so loud it could be heard in Lannisport. "They like you well, my lady," Robert whispered in her ear. "See, every face is smiling." For that one short moment she had been happy in her marriage . . . until she chanced to glance at Jaime. No, she remembered thinking, not every face, my lord.

Doomed before they even made it out of the sept.

+.+.+

No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. If they were truly sparrows, a shout would send them flying. A hundred gold cloaks with staves and swords and maces could clear this rabble quick enough. That was what Lord Tywin would have done. He would have ridden over them instead of walking through.

What else would he do, Cersei?

Lord Tywin would not have bothered with a search. He would have burned that town and every living creature in it. Men and boys, babes at the breast, noble knights and holy septons, pigs and whores, rats and rebels, he would have burned them all. - The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

+.+.+

"We ask no vengeance for our dead," said the one-legged man, "only protection for the living. For the septs and holy places."

"The Iron Throne must defend the Faith," growled a hulking lout with a seven-pointed star painted on his brow. "A king who does not protect his people is no king at all."

This always feels like a Jon shoutout.

+.+.+

But as she made her way through the press to the steps of the sept, a gaggle of armed men stepped out to block the doors. They wore mail and boiled leather, with here and there a bit of dinted plate. Some had spears and some had longswords. More favored axes, and had sewn red stars upon their bleached white surcoats. Two had the insolence to cross their spears and bar her way.

"Is this how you receive your queen?" she demanded of them.

Blocking the Queen Regent from entering. That's pretty outrageous.

Red flag, Cersei. Red flag.

+.+.+

"You are welcome here, but your men must leave their swordbelts. No weapons are allowed within, by command of the High Septon."

"Knights of the Kingsguard do not set aside their swords, not even in the presence of the king."

"In the king's house, the king's word must rule," replied the aged knight, "but this is the house of the gods."

They don't answer to kings, they answer to their gods.

Cersei? 🚩🚩🚩

+.+.+

"I do not see my friend Septon Torbert."

"Septon Torbert has been confined to a penitent's cell on bread and water. It is sinful for any man to be so plump when half the realm is starving."

The flag, Cersei. It's red.

+.+.+

"We have no crown, Your Grace."

Her frown deepened. "My lord father gave your predecessor a crown of rare beauty, wrought in crystal and spun gold."

"And for that gift we honor him in our prayers," the High Septon said, "but the poor need food in their bellies more than we need gold and crystal on our head. That crown has been sold. So have the others in our vaults, and all our rings, and our robes of cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver. Wool will keep a man as warm. That is why the Seven gave us sheep."

Haaaaahaha, fuck you Tywin.

+.+.+

He is utterly mad. The Most Devout must have been mad as well, to elevate this creature . . . mad, or terrified of the beggars at their doors. Qyburn's whisperers claimed that Septon Luceon had been nine votes from elevation when those doors had given way, and the sparrows came pouring into the Great Sept with their leader on their shoulders and their axes in their hands.

Cersei, I'm begging you.

+.+.+

Incense sweetened the air, and beside the seven altars candles shone like stars. A thousand twinkled for the Mother and near as many for the Maid, but you could count the Stranger's candles on two hands and still have fingers left.

Since we're in a sept, I'll pray this isn't the Arya foreshadowing I think it is.

+.+.+

At the Mother's altar, a septon was leading a hundred sparrows in prayer, their voices as distant as waves upon the shore. The High Septon led Cersei to where the Crone raised her lantern. When he knelt before the altar, she had no choice but to kneel beside him. 

Hahaha, he took her to the Crone instead of the Mother.

+.+.+

"Night soil can be washed away more easily than blood, Your Grace. If the plaza was befouled, it was befouled by the execution that was done here."

He dares throw Ned Stark in my face? "We all regret that. Joffrey was young, and not as wise as he might have been. Lord Stark should have been beheaded elsewhere, out of respect for Blessed Baelor . . . but the man was a traitor, let us not forget."

"King Baelor forgave those who conspired against him."

CERSEI. PLEASE.

+.+.+

"War is a dreadful thing. These atrocities are the work of the northmen, and of Lord Stannis and his demon-worshipers."

"Some of my sparrows speak of bands of lions who despoiled them . . . and of the Hound, who was your own sworn man. At Saltpans he slew an aged septon and despoiled a girl of twelve, an innocent child promised to the Faith. He wore his armor as he raped her and her tender flesh was torn and crushed by his iron mail. When he was done he gave her to his men, who cut off her nose and nipples."

(I apologize for making you read that.)

CERSEI. LISTEN.

+.+.+

"As you say. Yet it must be asked—where were the king's knights when these things were being done? Did not Jaehaerys the Conciliator once swear upon the Iron Throne itself that the crown would always protect and defend the Faith?"

Cersei had no idea what Jaehaerys the Conciliator might have sworn. "He did," she agreed

Having no idea is kicking her ass right now.

When Ser Joffrey and Lady Lucinda urged him to undo his uncle Maegor's decrees and reinstate the Swords and Stars, Jaehaerys refused firmly. "The Faith has no need of swords," he declared. "They have my protection. The protection of the Iron Throne." He did, however, rescind the bounties that Maegor had promised for the heads of Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows. "I shall not wage war against my own people," he said, "but neither shall I tolerate treason and rebellion." - Fire & Blood

He swore the crown would always protect and defend the faith so they would remain disarmed.

+.+.+

It is traditional for every new High Septon to give the king his blessing . . . and yet you have refused to bless King Tommen."

"Your Grace is mistaken. We have not refused."

"You have not come."

"The hour is not yet ripe."

Are you a priest or a greengrocer? "And what might I do to make it . . . riper?" If he dares mention gold, I will deal with this one as I did the last and find a pious eight-year-old to wear the crystal crown.

pleasepleaseplease.

+.+.+

"The realm is full of kings. For the Faith to exalt one above the rest we must be certain. Three hundred years ago, when Aegon the Dragon landed beneath this very hill, the High Septon locked himself within the Starry Sept of Oldtown and prayed for seven days and seven nights, taking no nourishment but bread and water. When he emerged he announced that the Faith would not oppose Aegon and his sisters, for the Crone had lifted up her lamp to show him what lay ahead. If Oldtown took up arms against the Dragon, Oldtown would burn, and the Hightower and the Citadel and the Starry Sept would be cast down and destroyed. Lord Hightower was a godly man. When he heard the prophecy, he kept his strength at home and opened the city gates to Aegon when he came. And His High Holiness anointed the Conqueror with the seven oils. I must do as he did, three hundred years ago. I must pray, and fast."

Is this. . . something?

+.+.+

Cersei itched to slap his solemn, pious face. I could help you fast, she thought. I could shut you up in some tower and see that no one brings you food until the gods have spoken.

You first!

+.+.+

"Give Tommen your blessing, and he shall put an end to these outrages."

"And how shall he do that, Your Grace? Will he send a knight to walk the roads with every begging brother? Will he give us men to guard our septas against the wolves and lions?"

I will pretend you did not mention lions.

Why are you pretending? He mentioned lions! HE MENTIONED LIONS.

+.+.+

"The realm is at war. His Grace has need of every man." Cersei did not intend to squander Tommen's strength playing wet nurse to sparrows, or guarding the wrinkled cunts of a thousand sour septas. Half of them are probably praying for a good raping. 

Oof.

+.+.+

"Your sparrows have clubs and axes. Let them defend themselves."

"King Maegor's laws prohibit that, as Your Grace must know. It was by his decree that the Faith laid down its swords."

It's a trap! IT'S A TRAP.

He wants you to think this is your idea! IT'S NOT YOUR IDEA.

+.+.+

"Tommen is king now, not Maegor." What did she care what Maegor the Cruel had decreed three hundred years ago? Instead of taking the swords out of the hands of the faithful, he should have used them for his own ends. She pointed to where the Warrior stood above his altar of red marble. "What is that he holds?"

"A sword."

"Has he forgotten how to use it?"

"Maegor's laws—"

"—could be undone." She let that hang there, waiting for the High Sparrow to rise to the bait.

He did not disappoint her. "The Faith Militant reborn . . . that would be the answer to three hundred years of prayer, Your Grace. The Warrior would lift his shining sword again and cleanse this sinful realm of all its evil. If His Grace were to allow me to restore the ancient blessed orders of the Sword and Star, every godly man in the Seven Kingdoms would know him to be our true and rightful lord."

You're not casting the bait! YOU'RE NOT CASTING THE BAIT.

What did she care what Maegor the Cruel had decreed three hundred years ago?

omg.

+.+.+

That was sweet to hear, but Cersei took care not to seem too eager. "Your High Holiness spoke of forgiveness earlier. In these troubled times, King Tommen would be most grateful if you could see your way to forgiving the crown's debt. It seems to me we owe the Faith some nine hundred thousand dragons."

He's not forgiving anything! He already knows you never intend to pay! HE ALREADY KNOWS.

+.+.+

The High Septon pondered that a moment. "As you wish. This debt shall be forgiven, and King Tommen will have his blessing. The Warrior's Sons shall escort me to him, shining in the glory of their Faith, whilst my sparrows go forth to defend the meek and humble of the land, reborn as Poor Fellows as of old."

oh no.

+.+.+

The High Septon made a steeple of his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. "Let the wicked tremble!"

Do you hear that, Lord Stannis? Cersei could not help but smile. Even her lord father could have done no better. At a stroke, she had rid King's Landing of the plague of sparrows, secured Tommen's blessing, and lessened the crown's debt by close to a million dragons. Her heart was soaring as she allowed the High Septon to escort her back to the Hall of Lamps.

But he never said anything about Stannis! THERE WAS NO MENTION OF STANNIS.

Tommen won't even get his blessing! THERE WILL BE NO BLESSING.

+.+.+

"The Warrior's Sons were an order of knights who gave up their lands and gold and swore their swords to His High Holiness. The Poor Fellows . . . they were humbler, though far more numerous. Begging brothers of a sort, though they carried axes instead of bowls. They wandered the roads, escorting travelers from sept to sept and town to town. Their badge was the seven-pointed star, red on white, so the smallfolk named them Stars. The Warrior's Sons wore rainbow cloaks and inlaid silver armor over hair shirts, and bore star-shaped crystals in the pommels of their longswords. They were the Swords. Holy men, ascetics, fanatics, sorcerers, dragonslayers, demonhunters . . . there were many tales about them. But all agree that they were implacable in their hatred for all enemies of the Holy Faith."

Holy shit, Lancel is going to kill Drogon.

No but really, is this important? I've spent all my research time looking for red flag gifs.

+.+.+

"We have been picking autumn flowers in the kingswood," she told them.

I know where you were, the queen thought. Her informers were very good about keeping her apprised of Margaery's movements. Such a restless girl, our little queen. She seldom let more than three days pass without going off for a ride. 

[...]

Wherever she went, the smallfolk fawned on her, and Lady Margaery did all she could to fan their ardor. She was forever giving alms to beggars, buying hot pies off bakers' carts, and reining up to speak to common tradesmen.

Had it been up to her, she would have had Tommen doing all these things as well. 

[...]

But the king was deaf to sense, thanks to his little queen. "If we mingle with the commons, they will love us better."

I can't believe this kid is smarter than the whole god damn family.

+.+.+

Every day in every way she tries to steal him from me. Joffrey would have seen through her schemer's smile and let her know her place, but Tommen was more gullible. She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. 

A broken clock, yada yada yada.

+.+.+

It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen's crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses.

What are you talking about? The Tyrells pushed hardest for Sansa and Tyrion to be executed.

So close, yet so far.

+.+.+

In the early years of their marriage, Robert was forever imploring her to hunt with him, but Cersei had always begged off. His hunting trips allowed her time with Jaime. 

Nice try author, but you're not going to convince me Robert was a decent husband.

+.+.+

Margaery smiled at Ser Loras; a sweet sisterly smile, full of fondness. "Your Grace is kind to fear for me, but my brother keeps me well protected."

Go and hunt, Cersei had urged Robert, half a hundred times. My brother keeps me well protected. She recalled what Taena had told her earlier, and a laugh came bursting from her lips.

"Your Grace laughs so prettily." Lady Margaery gave her a quizzical smile. "Might we share the jest?"

"You will," the queen said. "I promise you, you will."

Doesn't she abandon the Loras x Margaery fake news plans? Similar to the Jon Snow thing, it feels like this fizzled out.

Final thoughts:

Maybe arming extremists won't be a disaster? I can't wait to find out.

Hey, did you know, like, 28% of the fandom believes the High Sparrow is Howland Reed?

Is that the least surprising thing you've ever heard?

-> return to menu <-

[valasania-the-pale]

I'd like to ask you the same question back - do you have a headcanon about one of your favorite characters in Tolkien's works that you'd like to share? :) -middle-earth-mythopoeia

Oh thank you! I seldom get asks myself, not much of a poster, more a commenter. I'm happy to do so here though.

I think one of the things that makes the character of Galadriel so tragic to me is how often news of her must have crossed the sea to reach her family in Aman - perhaps she was less of a presence in the War of the Jewels (or perhaps Pengolodh, in penning the tale, knew little of her role, or perhaps she featured far more in the War of Wrath which we haven't got), but certainly by the time of the Second Age she must have gained much acclaim and respect by the remaining Eldar in Middle Earth, whether or not you take the reading that she and Celeborn settled around Lake Helevorn, or whether they founded the dominion of Hollin which later passed to Celebrimbor.

Regardless of the reading, if we come to the Lord of the Rings and the likes of Aragorn and Gandalf harshly rebuke any who name her a witch, and are so convinced that the only evil that might enter her domain would be carried by the suspicious, carries weight. Whatever you might say about Galadriel, she has a reputation, and reputations travel.

So, picture this: on the lips of the newly reborn, emerging from Mandos, word of ambitious Artanis, who left to sate her own self-aggrandizing desires; Artanis, bloody-handed, who slew Feanorians at Alqualonde (and most likely, in my opinion, Doriath); Artanis, who chose to live amidst the Iathrim at the feet of a foreign queen, who married a strange, Sindar prince when she would have no other; Artanis... what rumors must fly, that she be queen of her own realm? That she became a bastion of elvenkind? That she become one of the Wise, accounted among the wisest amidst the like of the Istari, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor (who alone seemed to be free of his family's taint)? That she rebuked Annatar when he came claiming to be an emissary of the Valar (and I imagine she might have denied him guest-rights regardless of the truth of that)? That she fled kingdom after kingdom as they fell to ruin, always resurrecting a glory of elder days? That after millennia, she had a daughter of silver hair, and then grandchildren.

I could go on, I love this character, but I ask you, picture this also: Earwen and Arafinwe have not seen their daughter in Ages. They hear these stories from the lips of the dead and faded and the fleeting. These scraps and pieces of history are the only insight they have on their only daughter, who seemed to scorn them, who dismissed absolution, who they might never see again. What must they think of her? Is she a stranger to them? Or do they see their daughter in these tales, the same spirit, tempered through time and hard learning?

This is the side of Artanis/Galadriel that I adore thinking about - she is such a force among the Eldar that in Middle Earth she is a beacon of memory, so obviously Of the First Age it is nearly blinding to the Secondborn. But she has family, and those stories will of necessity be warped and twisted by bias and simple failure in memory. What must they think of her? Such love they must bear her, to cling to these stories and treasure them like stars in the sky amidst a dark, dark void. Do they laugh when they hear of how she rebuked a foolish lordling? Do they weep when they consider she must have mourned their deaths? Do they miss her advice, and wish they'd heard her counsel with more open ears?

It's the disconnect, the distance; all elves face the abyss of distance between Aman and Endor, but with Galadriel, she feels like the anchorpoint for an ancient, bright generation long gone.

[acourtofsnakes]

Let Me Show You - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader (smut)

Gif by @buckysbarnes

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for a few months now, and the man has given you everything - literally. One night, Bucky encourages you to let go of your anxiety and let him show you just how sinful that mouth of his can truly be.

Warnings: 18+!!! Brief mention of drinking, Swearing, smut!!: Oral - f receiving, fingering, praise kink, arm kink, (Bucky kink?), unprotected PinV sex, fluff, encouragement

Word Count: 4k+ - I got carried away. 

A/N: Aaahhhh, my first ever request from @kaylee-krystal  I hope I did your idea justice and this is what you were hoping for. I added my own ideas for backstory and such, so I hope it’s okay 🙊thank you again, so, so much for requesting!!! I have reread this a couple times, but I’ve no doubt missed something somewhere, so apologies in advance. 

Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood

James Buchanan Barnes. 

Now there was a topic you could talk about day and night. 

And probably even in your sleep. 

You’d been dating for a few months now, and everyday was better than the last, even it did sound cliché. 

You’d met in a local Brooklyn bar, having frequented it now and then with your friends for relaxed nights out or after work drinks. 

The first time you’d seen the soldier, he’d been sitting at the bar alone, brooding over a beer. 

It had taken you a few moments, but you’d suddenly realised who it was. 

Bucky Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier, Avenger and now often seen with Sam Wilson. 

THE Bucky Barnes was sitting in your local. 

And instantly he had taken your breath away. 

A set of cheekbones that could cut glass with a jawline to match. Plush lips that looked irresistibly soft - and sinful. 

A tangle of dark hair that was begging to have a pair of hands run through to mess it up. 

You could see the broad line of his shoulders from where you were situated in the booth, and you went home that night imagining everything else about him. 

The next time you saw him, it was about a week later. You were waiting for your friend to arrive and had gone up the bar to get drinks ordered. 

And there he was, just like the last time. 

Only now, you saw that he had a pair of gorgeous eyes, a blue like the Arctic Ocean and just as deep. 

And they were settled on your face with a cheeky little smile, which only grew when you looked at him. 

Moments later, you were seated next to him, lost in conversation about whether the Hobbit was better than Lord of the Rings. 

After laughing at one of his jokes, he’d asked you out on a date, instantly enamoured with the way your eyes lit up like the Brooklyn Bridge and you radiated goodness. 

And the rest was history. 

One date fell into two, and then three, and then just like that... you were dating. 

Boyfriend and girlfriend. 

Picnics in Prospect Park and afternoons at the Smithsonian. 

Nights watching all the movies and tv shows he still needed to catch up on and mornings where you joined him on a run. 

It was beautiful. Sure, you had a few tense moments where you might disagree, or he might have a bad day where memories crept up and he lashed out, but you never backed down. Never ran from him or looked the other way. And he did the same for you. Holding you when you needed him to but firmly expressing himself if you ever went too far. 

It was healthy, enriching and you had both grown so much in just a few months. 

Especially in the intimacy department. 

You weren’t lacking knowledge or experience, not by any means but it was just... some things you were a little uncomfortable with. 

It wasn’t that you had bad memories of the past or had been hurt, it was more a personal thing. 

And you had explained some of these hang-ups to Bucky, who’d taken them all in his stride and been amazing about it. 

When you were in these moments, he would ask if you wanted to try something and if you said no, he respected it and moved on. And if you said yes... well. Then you got a lesson in just how good he could make you feel. 

Bucky had learnt your body in no time at all and... He was mindblowingly good. He knew exactly how to make you cry out his name like a plea, a prayer and a sin all in one. 

It had gotten to the point where you’d drift off in the day, your mind taking you back to the way his lips mouthed over your skin, the way his fingers arched and curled inside your walls just right to reach that spot that hard you arching from the bed all the whole those baby blues were locked onto yours, watching you fall apart with an adoring fire blazing in the blue depths. 

The man only had to give you that killer smile and you’d be instantly soaked. 

He was going to be the death of you one day. 

~~

“Bucky!”

The sound of his name bounced around the walls of your bedroom, high and keening as the fingers of his vibranium hand stroked your inner walls with a relentless rhythm and pleasure. 

“C’mon baby, that’s it..” he mumbled the sweet nothings against your chest, his mouth pressing kisses across your hot skin, over your collarbones and breasts. 

His hair tickled your neck as your tipped your head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth  parted in pleasure. 

He was working you to your second orgasm of the night already. 

The man had practically pounced on you when you walked through the door of your shared apartment and you were only too willing to drop everything - underwear included - and lose a few hours. 

Your hips jerked against his hand, bucking in time with his fingers. The heel of his hand was pressed to your clit, applying delicious pressure with each pass of your hips as you chased down your release, feeling it coil tighter and tighter in the base of your spine. 

You slid a hand up into his hair, knotting your fingers in the silky chocolate locks “Fuck-“ 

God, you were so close, so, so close-

Bucky already knew, and he scissored his fingers inside you, sucking at your nipple and triggering your orgasm, gently pushing you over that edge. 

Pleasure tore through your body, making your blood sing and his name bounce through the room again. Every single orgasm he gave you made your body catch fire, and you felt it from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Through the haze, you heard his lust roughened voice, cooing those praises that only succeeded in making you come harder, “Good girl. Look at you... you look like a goddess. A fucking goddess that deserves to be worshiped every single day.” His hot breath fanned over your skin, “Make me want to do this all the time, give you everything, baby.” 

He kept moving his fingers inside you, the noise filthy and almost forbidden as your slick coated his vibranium fingers. He moved and moved until you pushed lightly at his hand, the sensation almost too much. 

Bucky met your eyes when they opened, and he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking at them and he moaned low at your taste, a wicked grin spreading around them when you groaned. “I’ll never get tired of this.” 

Of your taste. 

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, feeling your body hum still as you beheld the sight of your boyfriend sucking your juices off his fingers, all dark eyes and ruffled hair. “You will be the death of me one day, you know that right?” 

His chuckle was husky and he kissed your neck gently, “Oh, I know. But you will too, so the feeling is definitely mutual, doll.” 

His lips brushed over your belly button and a ripple of apprehension tickled down your spine and you struggled a little to focus on his words. “Every day since, you just blow me away. Everything you do. The way you’re so determined, the drive you have.” His kissed above your hip bone, tracing his tongue over the skin and he drew a little heart with his saliva, “You make me want to be a better person. You make me feel brave enough to make amends, to let go of my past and accept it.” His words were so heartfelt, so meaningful that they threatened to bring tears to your eyes. 

But then his lips brushed lower, and you knew where this was going. 

He had tried before, a couple of times now in the last few months and each time you’d stopped him. 

And each time, he did so without hesitation and just moved on. 

Your eyes snapped open, spine locking up, “Bucky.” 

Instantly, he stopped. His head lifted as he heard the hesitancy in your voice, the apprehension, “What is it, baby? Are you okay?” His lust-blown eyes were wide, a frown between them as he looked over your face for the cause of you stopping him. He realised what he did and his face softened, “Shit, baby... I’m so sorry.” He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. 

Your heart was pounding through your chest and you were convinced he could hear it. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you... I just... um..” 

Oh, you wished the ground would swallow you up. 

Bucky’s warm, broad hand rubbed soothingly over your thigh and he felt the tremble in your body, “Hey... relax. It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me... .”  

You swallowed, shame tinting your cheeks and you stared at the ceiling light, too afraid to look at him. But he had shared so much with you... and you wanted to share this with him, “No one... no one has ever...” a cringe took over your features, “Gone down on me before.” 

Silence. 

Oh, god. 

Your voice came out quiet, hesitant, “Bucky...?” Gathering your courage, you peered down at him. 

He was staring at you, that frown still between his eyes as he looked over your face. He had his suspicions as to why you didn’t like it, but he was never sure. “Is it because... Have people refused to? Because if they have, they were not worth your time. You are beautiful, completely and utterly beautiful and deserve to have someone worship you like that.” there was a tone to his voice, like he would go and tear into anyone who refused to give you such pleasure. 

Oh. 

Shaking your head quickly, you sat up on your elbows, “No! No, it’s not that. They’ve asked to it’s just... me.” 

It was true. 

You had partners who asked to go down on you all the time but... something in you just couldn’t. You weren’t sure entirely why. 

Whether it was the idea that someone would be so close... there. 

What if you weren’t... pretty enough?

What if you didn’t taste good?

What if.... you did something wrong?

It had always been a bit of a hang-up, and even when your friends described how unbelievable good it felt... you just couldn’t do it. 

Bucky’s eyes danced between your own, as if he could read all of this in your expression. He let go of your thigh, crawling up your body and he slide a hand around your jaw, his fingers resting behind your ear, “Baby... you have nothing to worry about. You are absolutely gorgeous, so, so beautiful. Every single thing you do, it blows my mind.” He stroke his thumb over your cheek, “You can walk to me in sweatpants and my hoodie and I’m struck dumb.” 

You laughed a little despite yourself and he copied you, eyes lighting up when you did, “Having someone go down on you... it’s like the ultimate act of worshiping. You are in control. You tell me when to stop, pull me closer or push me away... On my knees for you, tasting you and taking you to that edge.” He cocked his head, “It’ll feel a little odd at first but when you’re used to it... Oh, doll, it’ll feel so good.” 

His words filtered around you, moving through you. 

You knew he was good at his craft, at reading your body. And you also knew he would never make you feel uncomfortable and he would always stop if you asked him to. 

And god, there was a part of you that so desperately wanted to feel it, to feel someone’s tongue between your folds, moving inside you, between your thighs...

An image came to you, his dark locks nestled between your thighs, rumbling moans vibrating against you as you arched above him...

“Okay.”

He blinked, perhaps not having expected you to accept so quickly., “Are you sure? If you’re not-“

You swallows, lifting your hand to his on your cheek, “I... I want to. Show me. Show me how good it feels.” 

Bucky looked deep into your eyes, checking for himself and when he seemed satisfied, he nodded gently. “Okay... Okay. If you feel uncomfortable, if it hurts or it’s too much, please tell me to stop. Use the safeword, hit the top of my head, kick me, anything. Okay?” 

God, he just cared so much didn’t he. 

Heart melting, you nodded again, a smile mixed of anticipation and a little bit of nervousness on your lips, “Okay. I promise.” 

Sndjcidks djcocks djckc

The approach of your impending third orgasm was almost painful, the heat in your belly tightening impossibly, every single muscle in your body locking up and screaming for release. 

Bucky was there, already reading it in your body and his free arm lifted from across your waist, reaching up and sliding through yours. 

You tightened your fingers around his cool metal ones, your hips now free. 

An instinct came over you, and you began to rock your hips against his face- 

Heat and shame flushed your cheeks and you opened your mouth to apologise, to try and stop your hips from moving - 

But then Bucky let out a rough moan that reverberated through your walls, through your clit and you realised - he liked it. He liked you fucking yourself on his tongue, smearing your slick over his chin and lips. 

Holy fucking god. 

You wanted this, you wanted this all the time, him all other time. 

Bucky rubbed harder at your clit, running tight circles and his tongued slide over your folds and then speared inside you, like white hot fire. The tip of his tongue stroked that spot, that spot that he seemed to have a direct route to and then - you were falling apart. 

Your orgasm barrelled down into you relentlessly, searing through your body and turning you to light and stars and something entirely ethereal. 

It felt like every cell in your body exploded, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you that just didn’t end. 

Bucky took it all, took every ride of your hips, every clench of your thighs around his head and he worked you through it, tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved as you came apart above him. 

He didn’t let you go, holding you steady in the whirlpool of pure sensation as you ever so slowly came down back to Earth. 

You panted softly, your eyes slowly opening to the familiar ceiling of your bedroom. 

Fucking hell. 

Fucking. Hell. 

A stunned laugh escaped your lips and you unclenched your fingers from Bucky’s hair, rubbing over your face. 

He pressed soft kisses to your thighs, trailing up your body and then lightly pressing his lips to yours. 

You could taste yourself on him, and it was intimate and a little filthy and god - you loved it. You loved him. 

Kissing him back with equal fervour, you couldn’t stop grinning. 

Bucky matched your wide smile, his body held up over yours and he brushed back your damp hair, “How do you feel?” Always looking out for you. He pulled away gently from your lips, trailing his mouth over your jaw. 

You chuckled again, breathlessly, “I feel... amazing. Like my body is singing.” You shook your head just slightly in awe, “I don’t know how I’ve gone so long without that. You’re fucking good...” 

You felt his shit-eating grin against your jaw, his teeth lightly nip your skin, “See... I told you. You deserve to be worshipped, baby. And I plan on doing it again and again, on my knees, under you, over you... like the goddess you are.” He brushed his lips over the shell of your ear, his voice a rough, husky whisper, “And I plan to carry on right now.”

The rest of the night fell away as he slipped back inside you effortlessly, and you climbed to the sky together again and again, and all you could think was... This was it. 

You’d only been with him for a few months but in that time he had shown you more than anyone ever had. He had lovingly and carefully peeled back your layers and revealed such a shining light beneath, the light that had always been there and he had seen since that first meeting. 

You wanted this forever, all the time. His love, his trust...

And his lips and tongue. 

[pigeonwhumps]

The interview

Sam and Lucan masterlist

Sam meets Caroline Jones and her pet-class slave Puck (aka Lucan, although Sam doesn't know it yet).

1.5k words

CWs: slavery, pet whump, non-human whumpee, dehumanisation, humiliation

The impression Sam gets when they open their door is red. Very red. Red dress with white polka dots, red belt, red shoes, red headband over her dark hair, red bag, red nails, red lipstick. Red-dressed pet at her feet.

She looks every inch the polished up-and-coming actress, model and prominent supporter of non-human slavery that she is. They glance down at her pet-class faerie, on his hands and knees in a red shirt and short skirt, red collar contrasting against his rich blue skin and long, white, red-streaked hair. His eyes are cast to the ground, and Sam’s beginning to regret agreeing to this interview already. They force a smile on their face.

“Miss Jones. Please, come in.”

“Just Caroline, thank you. Do you mind if I leave Puck’s lead on the coat rack?”

“Oh. Um... yes, of course.” They don’t think it’s their imagination that Puck’s ears darken at the name. They get the feeling he doesn’t like it overly much, which is understandable – Caroline clearly has a cruel sense of humour. But as much as Sam doesn’t want to call him that, even in their head, they can’t think of anything better. “Sit down in the living room. Would either of you like something to drink? Tea? Wine? Milk?”

“I’ll have some wine, please.”

They head to the kitchen, calling over their shoulder, “and for your pet?”

“Oh, Puck won’t have anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, he doesn’t deserve a reward. He’ll have a bottle later.”

Sam brings two glasses of wine into the living room, where Caroline’s taken the armchair, Puck kneeling at her feet. “A... bottle?”

“Mm. Our local supermarket sells these wonderful shakes for slaves that provide all the nutrients Puck needs without me having to cook. It’s fantastic. Would you like recommendations?”

“No,” replies Sam sharply, “I don’t have a pet.”

“Oh?”

“Can we get on with the interview? It’s been a tiring day.” They take a large gulp of wine, grateful for the alcohol. They’ve seen those shakes – flavourless, grey things. They look disgusting.

“Of course, my apologies. I get rather too excited when talking about Puck, everyone says so.”

“I understand. So, what is it you want to ask me about?”

“May I record?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” She pulls out a small recording device and sets it on the coffee table, pressing a button. “Well, my next project is set in medieval times and I’m playing the Lady of the castle. I was wondering what you could tell me about the life of a woman like that.”

Sam resists the urge to scream. “Well, although I lecture on medieval history my specialism is in the lives of magical beings at that time, not humans, but I’ll tell you what I know. A Lady’s main roles were to manage the castle’s estates while the Lord was away, and to look after household affairs and manage the servants. You know, tell them what needs doing, where to go, things like that. She was also in charge of the castle’s slaves, although non-human slaves were rare then, when non-humans were more respected and before human cities started encroaching majorly on fae land and werewolf territories, to name a couple. It would be more likely human slaves, but you haven���t given me a narrow enough time window to know for certain whether they would’ve even had them.”

“All I was told was medieval. What do you know about the fae of that time? I’d like to find out if I can include Puck in the project somehow. I don’t want to pay expenses for boarding him again, and I can’t leave him at home alone without fearing for the furniture.” She lets out a tinkling laugh and Sam gives a tight-lipped smile. Puck freezes entirely, even stiller than he already was, barely even breathing. “But anyway, they won’t let him on set unless he’s working. And it would be a real shame for him to miss out, wouldn’t it Puck?” He bows his head in apparent agreement, then pushes against her leg affectionately. Sam feels sick.

“I’m afraid the fae generally lived apart from humanity until around the 1400s. Occasionally a village would come into contact with some, but by and large they stayed apart, only properly coming together at times of catastrophe for either species. They were a respected and proud people, sometimes contracted to do important work for humans, and vice versa. Certainly a Lady wouldn’t have kept one as a slave.”

“I see. Not quite what I was hoping for, but it can’t be helped. May I use your toilet before we continue?”

“Of course. Straight down the corridor, on the left.”

She nods, rising. Once the bathroom door shuts behind her Sam grabs a tissue from the box on the coffee table and crouches down in front of Puck to hand it to them, before hesitating. Will he even accept it? They have to try. He’s been crying silently since Sam started talking about faeries being treated with respect.

“Do you want a tissue to wipe your eyes with? You’re crying.” Puck twitches his hands like he wants to take it, but holds himself still. “I’ll wipe them. If... if that’s acceptable?” The slave nods, and Sam gently wipes it under his eyes, brushing away the tears. More form immediately. They feel very awkward, having no idea what to do. They reach forward hesitantly and scratch the top of his head, like they’ve seen people do to unhappy pet-class slaves, or ex-slaves, before.

Immediately, Puck’s eyes droop and he pushes up into Sam’s hand. They smile uncertainly. “You like this?”

Puck doesn’t respond, and Sam hates themself a little for continuing, knowing it’s at least mostly his intensive training making him react like this, but if it helps him it helps, whatever the reason.

The bathroom door shuts and footsteps sound in the hallway. Puck’s eyes snap back open and Sam sits back on the sofa, trying to look for all the world like they weren’t just comforting someone else’s slave. They don’t think it would go well for Puck, if Caroline knew. Not if the possessiveness she displays in her interviews is real.

Caroline re-enters the room with a polite smile to Sam, eyes flicking over Puck appraisingly and narrowing at whatever it is she sees. “Right. One more question, I think, before we need to be heading home. Puck’s looking rather tired, and I have an early start tomorrow. I’ve had a last-minute interview request.”

Sam doesn’t miss the flash of fear in Puck’s eyes at her words.

“Very well. Ask your question.”

“What sort of hobbies would a Lady have?”

“Well, there were many things a noblewoman could participate in, for example embroidery, reading, dancing, and berry-picking, among others. They had a decent amount of free time, certainly more than the servants, and the money to indulge. Any more questions?”

“No, thank you. And thank you for giving up your time, I’m most grateful.”

Sam gives a half-hearted shrug, following her and Puck to the door, where she clips the leash back onto his collar. “You’re paying.” They hold open the door for the pair to exit, Caroline barely paying Puck a glance as he crawls along behind. “Goodbye.” They shut the door and put their head in their hands.

Jesus.

How anyone can treat another person that way is just... Puck might not be human, but he’s still a person, and even that name is offensive. Sam regrets that he took part in that system, even for a second, even if they had to to comfort her slave, even though Amanda has told them time and time again to stop feeling guilty when they shouldn’t. This world’s a fucking mess.

They pull themself together and head to the nearest window overlooking the street, watching Caroline stride across to a big black car, Puck struggling to keep up without being dragged. Sam swallows, and worries.

They head to their bedroom, toying with the phone in their hand as they pull an old biscuit tin out from under the bed. It’s full of old badges and polaroid photos, from non-human rights protests and meetings and picnics. They pull out a well-thumbed photo of their parents kissing in front of a large banner. They remember taking this one, the day everything went wrong.

This flat only has one bedroom, but there’s space for one more person. Their parents would definitely approve of what they’re about to do, they think, unlocking their phone and calling a contact they’d almost forgotten. He answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Luke.”

“Sammy. I was starting to hope I’d never hear from you again.”

“No such luck, you know how I feel about debts. You owe me a favour, and I’m calling it in.”

[goldenzingy46butwriteblr]

I'm going on a long plane ride soon, and I really need long Tomarry fics (that are completed preferably.) I like time travel stories, serial killers, basically anything that I can totally escape into please please please please :D

Fuck yeah, I’ve got you.

Sky Full Of Glass by SofiaBane

The Horcruxes have become unstuck in time, and it’s the responsibility of the Master of Death to figure out why. And since Voldemort needs to be punished for transgressing into the realm of Death anyway, he might as well come along.

A quite delightful take on the Master of Death Harry, who has complete dominion over space and time, too. 20k.

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

Now, I have no doubt that you already know this one, but how could I leave it off a rec list? The prequel is also fantastic. 211k.

The Ouroboros by WyrmLivvy

Once upon a time, a woman wished to have a child with the man she loved, that would have his porcelain skin as white as snow, his rosy cheeks red as blood, and his dark hair black as ebony. …

The child was not born with red cheeks but red eyes.

(Tomarry vampire/fairy tale/Snow White AU)

Now, this is not quite time travel or serial killers, but it’s absolutely fantastic all the same, and absolutely worth the read. Fantasy, dark-ish, and a happy ending. 20k.

The Eyes in the Bramblebush by relic_crown

For a long time, Tom was just another violinist, perfect and beautiful and boring. Then Harry truly saw him, and knew he was anything but boring - he was the edge of a pocketknife, the red of nightshade berries, a lie in a crisp black coat.

Harry had never fallen in love so quickly.

Once again, technically neither time travel nor serial killers, but it is most certainly something to sink your teeth into. 12k.

Darling, do you remember what you did? by Baryshnikov

Tom had been waiting to do this.

Waiting for a very, very long time.

Oh, this is gloriously dark, with knifeplay and power games galore. 13k, technically a WIP, but you’d be missing out if you didn’t read it.

Mania by Angel_Of_Mysteries

Harry and Tom have been together for two years, and Harry’s finally ready to take their relationship to the next level. Little does he know, so is Tom.

I can’t say much on this without spoiling it, but it’s wonderfully painful. 9k.

No Body, No Crime by duplicity

Harry works as a car mechanic in a small town. He and Ginny are best friends, their close bond the product of a traumatic event that scarred them both as children.

Now that they are adults with separate lives, it seems inevitable that they will drift apart. That is, until Ginny confides in Harry that she thinks her husband—the charming, enigmatic Tom Riddle—is cheating on her.

A day later, Ginny goes missing. Harry is convinced that Tom is behind her disappearance, and becomes determined to exact justice by any means necessary.

This one was so goddamn painful, but so brilliant. 20k.

God of Nothing by machiavelli

The other orphans avoid Tom Riddle like the plague. He lounges on his broken throne, watches the whispers fade around him with sharp, dark eyes. Nobody can quite work out why he seems so fascinated with the new boy, who walks in smelling of smoke and hasn't said a word in three days.

I remember following this one as each of the chapters came out, and by the gods it was glorious. In a much darker universe, half tinged with madness, Harry and Tom meet, and it’s perfect. 83k.

dust in your pocket by relic_crown

Two hundred years ago, the world died.

All that remains is a technicolor wasteland, swirling with ash and populated by radiation-warped humans. Tom, immortal and bloodthirsty, crowns herself queen of this ruined world and wanders it namelessly, building and burning empires at will.

Then there's Harry: eyes like chips of sea glass, hopeful in the face of the apocalypse -- and by far the most dangerous person Tom's ever met.

Holy shit. An almost steampunk AU, femslash, and completely incredible in every single way. 24k.

Dreams and Darkness Collide by Epic Solemnity (Dark_Cyan_Star)

Though he was raised without the expectation of saving the world, Harry still possesses a savior complex. Only, it's so dark and twistedly immoral, he created an alter ego to practice vigilantism. His second identity makes a name for himself and immediately ensnares Minister Riddle's complete and obsessive attention. A game of cat and mouse begins and morals are questioned.

One of my favourites, although I’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. Vigilante!Serial killer!Harry and Minister!Riddle, who still runs the Death Eaters, and makes for one dangerous, tantalising romance. 209k.

Footsteps On Empty Floorboards by AgonisedDaily

After a recent screw-up on the job whilst hunting a serial killer, Harry needs a break from being an Auror. His new Victorian house promises just that, but living with the restless spirit of a former Dark Lord isn't quite part of the peace and quiet he was hoping for.

Okay, okay, okay, I know you said completed works only, but I’m incapable of leaving this beauty off my rec list. Maybe I’m just a sucker for darker things, but I think this is beautiful. 125k.

Break and Burn and End by duplicity

Harry Potter has died over and over again: in a cradle, in a graveyard, in a courtyard. If Harry Potter has ever lived, if he was the accumulation of years filled with burdens and grief, he has long since warped into someone else.

So let Harry Potter die, let his legacy run like ink through the pages of history until it dries for evermore. The world is better off without Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort both, so Harry will kill the one of them that he can and hope it will be enough.

OR: Past and present, Harry and Voldemort are connected. A tale of two immortals and the question of what it means to have an adversary when forever is in the cards.

Immortals AU of letting go and healing. I love it. 17k.

I hope this is enough, and, as always, I had fun making it! I will do the customary my fics are great please read them at the end, but considering most of them are WIPs or oneshots, I won’t include them as serious fic recs. You’ve been spared.

[honouredsatoru]

JJK Characters x You on a date

notes : I tried including Gojo's love for Digimon since I also grew up watching Digimon and loving the anime with all of my heart, also because Gojo's seiyuu, both Japanese and English versions, voiced for characters in Digimon, so I wanna pay homage to the both of them. other than that, I also included my love for arts and history, something I tried to incorporate into my writing, just to make it like.. lilith's style, ya know?

extra notes : also I wrote megumi for Elli, just because haha.

warnings : slight cussing. not proofread lol. other than that, none. 100% fluff!

characters : gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, nanami kento, itadori yuji.

Gojo Satoru - Arcades, vintage shops, especially collectors, especially Digimon, comic book/manga stores.

[Your name]! [Your name!]! Look, look! It's the Digimon Adventure V-Tamer 01 series! All 9 of them! Let's get in!"

"Ahh hold on. Towu! We're supposed to visit the cat cafe, you promised that you would go with me and take pictures with the cat hairband on! And I'm starving!"

You jokingly scowled at him, tapping your Doc Martens feet on the ground, arms folding.

"Fucking adorable. Let me see if I can tease her more, hah." A smirk soon appeared on this blue-eyed darling of yours.

"Let me get the manga and I promise, I'll go to this cat cafe with you, baby. Hm?"

"Oh alright."

"I love you, sweetheart. I know how much you wanted to go there but the manga. I- ahaaaa"

He started pouting as he kept pointing in the direction of the Digimon manga by the window. You quickly opened your camera, taking pictures of him sulking, emitting a soft giggle that actually made his heart squeezed with joy.

He presses his lips against your forehead, thumb circling your cheek, gently squishing them before opening the door, yanking you into the comic book store with him. You vowed to hide the comic books once he goes on a mission. After all, he made you wait a month before the two of you finally get to go to this cafe you always wanted to visit.

"Baby, I can read what you're thinking. Your face shows it too. Hehe. Watch me hide your panties."

Taking in a few gulps of air to deepen your breath, you opened your eyes, to meet the love of your life's own eyes, snickering at you, his large hands on the crown of your head before ruffling your already messy hair. There is no way you can stay mad at this man, as childish as he is, you know he loves you and deep down? He knows you love him too.

Itadori Yuji - Thrift stores, internet cafes to play online games with you, cinemas.

"Candy! [Your name] love! Don't! Make! Me! Ahhh cover up for me! I am gonna lose! I am gonna-"

He turns around to face you with soft eyes, his eyebrows slightly droopy before looking back at the computer, taking in the seconds in his head to register the fact that he lost in his mission with you in Inferno.

"Awww sorry babe. I mean.. you just started playing CSGO, so tell me, why- again- damn it- you wanna- AH. Damn it! Throw the fucking grenade! I mean why you wanna play this game, you need more practice- FUCK YOU."

Gentle chuckles were heard, emitted from his throat, his soft, peach toned lips landed on your cheek repeatedly as he rubbed soothing circles around your back.

"Breathe, bunny baby. You're so feisty whenever you start having online matches. Breathe. I love you, and I don't want you to get your blood pressure rising because of these dumbos, hm?"

Your lips curl into a faint and appreciative smile, nodding while your eyes are glued to the screen, ignoring the fading laughs and snickers from the people acknowledging your mini rage.

"I love you too. If I win, I'm getting us boba and chicken nuggets. So let me fight them, okie?"

"Yes ma'am!"

Megumi - Museums, art galleries, photo exhibitions, aesthetic cafes.

"Oh Gumi bear, look at that! That is the Raft of Medusa, it was done by Thèodore Géricault, he himself interviewed two survivors from the shipwreck."

He looks over your eyes that shine with excitement and pure happiness.

"Art"

Was what he thought every time he laid his sight onto you. God knows that he falls in love with you every single time he is blessed with your presence. Resting his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, inhaling the scent of mixed berries and wild roses, he swore he heard his heartbeat increasing every two seconds in a span of one minute.

"Oh really? What do you think this painting is all about?"

Glancing at him before returning to the painting, you puffed your cheeks, pressing your lips together with your index finger curled on your chin and your thumb under it.

"Lord, she is so cute whenever she does that. Can I kiss her? Should I? No wait, she's trying to tell me her own interpretation of this painting. To me. Oh wow. I'm gonna kiss her... later. I can't interrupt her." That is all he could think of. You. He is deeply, madly, beautifully in love with you.

"In my opinion, it tells me the ways of how men, or human beings, seek out in order to survive. When we are at the brink of desperation, insanity, happiness, greed, lust, desire, wrath, grief, don't we all do things unimaginable to help us go through the day? They even resolved to cannibalism. I think even I would commit to that if I was in an extremely dire situation."

You looked at him, a wide smile on your face, emitting a soft giggle that entered his right ear and stayed within the chambers of his mind. He closed the spaces between the both of you, sealing his lips onto yours, with the intention of making this very moment last a little longer heavy within his heart.

"Art."

Was what you thought of him.

Nanami Kento - Theatres, historical museums, fine dining restaurants.

You squealed, lightly clapping your hands as you ran to a block of marble, your foot tapping against the floor. He chuckles, hands in his pocket, taking fast strides towards you.

"Namnam! Look look! That's the Parthenon Sculptures! It was founded in hm... Athens, yes! If I am not mistaken, around 438 to 432 BC. These sculptures decorated the insides of the Parthenon, it is a temple located at the fortress of the Athenian Acropolis. It is said that this temple was built to appreciate and worship the Goddess Athena, she was the deity worship in Athens. Also, ah ah! Did you know that the word parthénos means "maiden", "girl" or ‘virgin"? And I-"

You look at him, your magnificent lover wearing a dark brown trench coat, with ecru brown trousers and a black turtleneck tucked in, his neck layered with white gold necklaces. Your hand unconsciously scratches your sideburns, giggling at the side of his stoic expression, eyes piercing yours beneath that yellow-green glasses he constantly has on his chiseled face.

"Oh... I am sorry... I didn't mean to bore you. I was just so excited because you know me! I love anything that is related to ancient greek history and mythology. I can't seem to get enough of it and it is absolut-

"I'm not bored, [your name]. I was just paying attention to every single word that pretty lips of yours uttered. It's magnificent that you knew all of this. It shows just how smart, curious, bright your mind and soul is. And darling?"

"Huh?"

"I am lucky to be blessed with someone like you. With Gojo constantly following me, there is no way I can read the books I bought for myself. However, having you around, breaking the ice with your random history tib bits, I feel like I am reading the pages, savouring each word, alphabet, sentence, thus expanding my quest and love for knowledge."

You looked down. Normally, you're not the type to tear up this easily but seeing how this man, this angel of a man, appreciates the little things you loved and adored, you can't help but let the waterworks out. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze, the tip of your nose slightly stuffy. You grabbed his arms, clinging onto him, the difference of height and size makes it sweet to the eyes of strangers surrounding you both.

"Oh Namnam. Thank you so much. This means the world to me. Shall we... go and see the best of Ramesses the Great? I've loads to tell you!"

Nobara - Shopping malls, ferry rides, beach dates, parks with cherry blossoms.

"Baby... tell me, have you ever seen anything as joyous as the ocean?"

You two stood by the seashore, fingers intertwined, your head resting on her shoulders, the sound of the seas splashing against the rocks and the warmth around your foot, it tingled but it feels good at the same time.

"I don't want this moment to end, [your name]."

"Why is that, pretty one?"

A faint sigh leaves her lips, you feeling her body loosen up.

"I just.. school is sort of stressful so my time spent with you liberates me from the pressure, fatigue, and image of curses embedded in my brain. Walking with you... through this airy womb of skies and clouds, don't you know it makes me happy?"

You leaned closer, pressing a soft peck on her cheeks, earning yourself a pair of scarlet cheeks with a gorgeous smile from the one next to you. You turned yourself to face her, hands on her shoulders, bringing her body closer to yours.

"Whenever and wherever you need me, I will be there. I might not be perfect, but I am gonna do my best to be the one you can always count on."

You pressed a kiss on her left cheek.

"I love you."

A kiss on her right cheek.

"I love you."

A kiss to the lips of the woman whom you shared your entire universe with.

"To the moon and back, I love you, Kugisaki Nobara."

The end.

tags : @tojisveryown @sookyshima @megumifushi @sixeyesgojo @sirthisisa-wendys @sasso-oda @fushigurocockslut @nkogneatho @kotarousgf @noritoshiikamo

[kythed]

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji. 

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.” 

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.” 

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.” 

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh. 

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.” 

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.” 

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?” 

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.” 

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am. 

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own. 

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.” 

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.” 

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin. 

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.” 

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his. 

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.” 

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.” 

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair. 

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” 

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—” 

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.” 

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way. 

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception. 

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am. 

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?” 

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing. 

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!” 

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?” 

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.” 

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself. 

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?” 

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair. 

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.” 

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.” 

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.” 

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips. 

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.” 

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles. 

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.” 

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job. 

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat. 

“you okay?” 

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.) 

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.” 

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye. 

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.” 

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he���s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.” 

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation. 

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”  

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.” 

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning. 

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

you scoff. “corny.” 

“you like it.” 

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.” 

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.” 

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.” 

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.” 

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.” 

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind. 

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm. 

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.) 

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?” 

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.” 

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?” 

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?” 

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.” 

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.” 

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.” 

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.” 

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.” 

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real. 

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

[zemodaddy]

Hey so i finally completed the first chapter of the zemo x reader fanfic. Make sure to read the authors note at the end and i hope you enjoy.!

Synopsis:

Y/n is an ex-avenger who, after the blip was forced to work for the US government. You trained to be an assassin/spy and your gifts of wielding flames made you invaluable. When you were assigned to follow Bucky you find him helping Helmut Zemo escape from his prison cell. What is he up to? Should you stop him?

Warnings: violence, lots of swearing, angst, fluff and in later chapters extreme acts of hatred towards John Walker :)

Shades of Him

They replaced him. They replaced him with a random guy and stuck Steve’s shield on him. You were staring at the TV in disbelief. You thought of Steve like a brother and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted this.

After the blip you had no job, the avengers pretty much all separated and that left you without anything to do, and that meant no income and no income meant no home or food. You couldn’t exactly find a normal job because most people were afraid of you. A trained assassin and spy who could wield flames wasn’t really considered normal. That left you with no choice but to accept the deal the US government offered you. Do their dirty work and you wont end up homeless.

Your newest mission was to track Bucky to make sure he followed the rules set upon him for his pardon. You are close to him, like you were close to Steve. Hiding the fact that you were following him everywhere he went was kind of hard but you managed. You had to manage.

So finding him and Sam visiting a German prison kind of surprised you. Had this got to do with his therapy? Surely not. They left around an hour later and from then nothing more suspicious happened. A quick google search and a deep dive into some public records showed that a high security prisoner resided at this prison. Not just anyone. Zemo.

Interesting you thought. Later that night you followed Bucky and Sam to an old garage. You waited outside for 5 minutes before entering, trying to keep to the shadows of the room. The two men seemed to be in the midst of a heated discussion. “You want Zemo to help us?” Sam looks exasperated. Bucky looks a bit apprehensive as he says “Look let me walk you through a hypothetical, can I do that?” He begins to explain an elaborate escape plan for Zemo. Your mind was wizzing with thoughts as you tried to figure out your next move. He really isn’t in the right headspace, same old Bucky, you roll your eyes. “What are you guys doing?” You step out of the darkness. The two seemed to jump out of their skin, clearly not expecting you to be there.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Bucky asks. They both looked so shocked by your sudden appearance that you had to suppress a laugh. “I was following you.” He doesn’t look happy. “YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME?” He raises his voice. You weren’t scared because you knew he loved you really. Keeping the same tone as him you shout back “YES AND YOU’RE HELPING A CRIMINAL” “I SAID HYPOTHETICALLY DIDN’T I”. Sam looks like he could start laughing any moment. You weren’t even sure if you should laugh or arrest them. Suddenly your phone buzzes. “Then please explain to me why I just got a message saying that ZEMO HAS ESCAPED FROM PRISON?” Sam looks mad now. “You’re kidding me Bucky” he says. “Look we don’t have any other leads, we were at a dead end.”

You knew that the two were looking for information on the new super soldiers serum. “He blew up the UN, he killed king T’Chaka!” Before Bucky could reply to Sams argument, the sound of a door shutting sounds through the garage and guess who walks in. Helmut fucking Zemo. Your hand flies immediately to the dagger on the side of your thigh. “Woah woah woah” Sam starts walking towards him as Bucky tries to hold him back. Too bad he didn’t see you slip past them and push Zemo against the wall with said dagger against his throat. “Your going back to prison” you pass him a sickly sweet smile. He looked surprised by you holding him against that wall but didn’t fight back. Not with the blade in your hand starting to heat up against his skin. “y/n let him go” Bucky looks frustrated.

“He can lead us closer to the serum, just let him breath for a second” Zemo did start to look a little breathless. Good, he should be scared of you. Reluctantly you let him go. He starts to talk “if I may”. At the same time the three of you go “NO”. He looked a little displeased by the response but didn’t have any other option but to oblige. “Apologies”. After further debating and a lot of disagreements you and Sam finally agree to trust Zemo.. for the time being anyways. “Alright Zemo, where do we start”

You mentally set a reminder to always have an eye on Zemo, how could you not with a guy like him. He seemed to be sending you anxious glances in return, which to be fair you did nearly choke him to death. He leads you to a large warehouse containing numerous cars of different ages, sizes and colours. Probably stolen you think. After grabbing a case full with clothes for zemo you all head to an airstrip. In the middle of which was a private jet. You look at it in awe. “So you were rich all this time?” Sam asks. “I’m a baron Sam, my family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country”. Shit. Those cars weren’t stolen then..

The mention of his country makes you think back to that battle against ultron. You were very tempted to leave the avengers after nearly wiping out the entirety of a population of a country. But they convinced you to stay, where else could you have gone anyway? You think a little longer about the aftermath, when you helped after the battle with the injured, and loved ones finding their dead. It was one of the saddest moment of your life, until the blip. No one else helped from the avengers, they didn’t even visit the memorial..

“Y/n you coming?” Sam was saying from the top of the stairs. Lost in thought you were stood in front of the plane. Maybe I should stop getting distracted you thought. Entering the jet the seats on the right were already occupied by Sam and Bucky, leaving the only other seat opposite Zemo free. Great. As a gentle reminder you check your dagger on your thigh, almost like a warning that if he tries anything he’ll know what’s coming. Zemo swallows looking where it would be and ask his butler person for a drink. Was that his butler or the pilot? Rich people problems you thought. The plane sets off and you look out of the window daydreaming a little.

The other three talk lightly until the mention of Buckys list, which ends in zemo being choked yet again. You smile a little, enjoying the mini acts of revenge for the people he’s hurt and killed. You feel a bit sleepy but then they start to discuss where you were going. “Do we want to live in a world full of people like the red skull” Zemo shakes his head lightly “that’s why we’re going to Madripoor”. Confused, Bucky explains the place’s history in the Indonesian archipelago. “It’s kept its lawless ways but we cannot go in as our selves” Zemo says. Uh oh that can’t be good.

You were right. Zemo had handed you a bag full of clothes and a pair of heels. You stared at yourself in the full length mirror that resided in the toilets. “You have got to be kidding me” you say aloud. Your were wearing a dark purple silky dress that reached only just halfway down your thigh. It exposed most of your arms, shoulders and a lot of your chest. Thankfully there was a black leather jacket in the bag too, however on the shoulders sat a blanket of fur, similarly to Zemos coat that he took from the warehouse. Your heels were also purple. You thank the lord you took the time to train in heels too because you never know when the situation arises when you happen to find yourself in those monstrous shoes.

“This” you point at yourself “is not happening”. “Ah my baroness has arrived” Zemo says, amusement glinting in his eyes. You glared at the word ‘baroness’. “Here put this on darling, to finish it off”. He holds what seems to be a lipstick in his hand. You already knew what shade it was before taking it from him. “Do you have some thing for purple or is that just me?” Sam and Bucky both laughed.

You had to admit, the dress didn’t look bad, in fact it looked expensive. To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement, not necessarily for what you were wearing, but for the hand now draped around your waist. Zemos hand. He said that no matter what, you couldn’t break character. Bucky was playing the role as the winter soldier; you felt bad for him, the memories this must bring up. You can’t even begin to imagine. Sam however, wore an extravagant and abstract red suit that kind of looked like a dress. It was funny to see his reaction to which he comments that he looked like a “pimp”.

A car pulls up beside you and you all pile in. Of course you were sat next to zemo in the back. After around five minutes you arrive in lowtown. A place where you could apparently find a gall called Selby. That hand snaked back around you as you intermingle with the crowded streets. The high density of the crowd forced you even closer to Zemos side leaving practically no space between you now. You could feel his warm body against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down on you. His eyes seem to be softer now than they were before and he gives you a quick kiss on the temple as if to reassure you that you’re safe. You tried to keep yourself from shaking him off of you but as you carried on walking, you got used to him a bit more. Sam and Bucky followed the two of you, both with grim faces.

Finally, you come to a bar, most people around you watching carefully as you all enter. Zemo orders the both of you a shot and Sam gets his usual. This turned out to be something containing whatever the barman cutout of a snake. The sight of it made your stomach drop, and to your astonishment, Sam actually drank it. He looked like he wanted to be sick but, no matter what he had to stay in character. Bucky gave a slight nod, he didn’t get a drink, not as the winter soldier.

You had let it be known of who you wanted to see and as you waited a man came up behind Zemo and you. He immediately guided you away from this man so he was in front of you and Zemo in front of the man. He knew you could hold your own, you had made that clear already, but he wanted to protect you. For the act of course. “You ain’t welcome here” the man stated, placing a hand roughly on zemos shoulder as he turned to face him. “I have no business with the powerbroker, but if he insists he can either talk to me” Zemo points at Bucky. His hand then slipped to yours, holding it tightly. “Or bring Selby for a chat”. The man looks displeased and walks away. You had many things you wanted to say to Zemo at this moment, but sticking to your character was more important. As he continued to grip your hand, other men started to menacingly prowl towards you all. Zemo gave Bucky the order to attack and so he did. A fight quickly broke out between them all but Bucky was far too strong for them all. This ended in Bucky holding one of the guys that remained standing against the bar table. Finally someone called to say selby was ready to see your group. This was going to be interesting.

Notes

Okay i left this on a little bit of a cliffhanger but the next chapter should be out in a day or so. This is my first fanfic i have published so I’m interested to see what everyone thinks. If there’s any spelling or grammar mistakes then umm you didn’t see anything. I hope you enjoyed!

@killsandthrills @aisling1985 @booklover2929 @arianalilyblack @your-pixels-are-showing @kenna-1904

[swordofpevensie]

We Will See (Prince Caspian x You Fic.)

requested: by @lovecatystuff​ Hi! Could you write something with Caspian and arranged marriage, when both of them didn't want it at the beginning but later he see how caring and lovely she is, please? Thank you in advance! 💜💜💜

warnings: angst, arranged marriage, the reader (you) has a terrible father, mentions of violence, implying of rape, almost violence, we defeat sexist idiots here, miraz is a jerk, slowburn. 

word count: 5005

a/n: i sincelery hope you like it caty because you are so cute and deserve to be happy. i’m so excited to share it with you! (｡♡‿♡｡)

my masterlist is not here because you know, i broke it. 

                                                      .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧

The first time you saw Caspian, you were sure that you hated him. First of all, he was so spoiled, because he was the prince of a strong empire. He was also conceited. He didn't even greet you. And you could tell he was doing his best not to look at you.

While your father and Miraz were discussing how this marriage would be and its benefits, you and Caspian just sit there. No one asked you what you thought, if you wanted to get married, if you liked each other. You felt like a worthless and pathetic animal waiting to be sold to its new owner. You wanted to cry and escape from that room, that castle and get lost. You wanted to be alone for the rest of your life because you were sick of your greedy father and sacrificing yourself for his benefits.

“My Lord,” You heard your father speaking. “I'm sure this marriage will make both of us stronger than we already are.”

Miraz nodded; there was an evil smile on his face.

“You know she will stay here,” He spoke. “Is she good and obedient? I don't want a bride who is a rebel in my castle.”

Your father had a little flashback about you. You fighting with a sword, showing up in the castle covered in mud, the time you bit a man's hand because he was trying to stop you from fighting, you yelling at your father because he didn't allow you to go outside, the time you fell into a hole with your horse while you were training.

“She is absolutely obedient, my Lord.” Your father said. You tried so hard not to smile. “She will not cause you any problems.”

Miraz looked at you; there was something in his eyes that made you so uncomfortable. But you didn't look away, answered his eyes and stared at him until he felt annoyed and turned his head.

“Then, let the preparations begin!” Miraz shouted.

Your father signified you to come with his hand. When you stood up to go, Caspian did the same.

“May I talk with you before you leave, Princess Y/N?”

You didn't ask your father for permission on purpose. He beat you and forced to you to get married no matter how hard you tried to fight back and stop him. Now, you were determined to turn his life into a ceaseless torture.

“Yes, of course.” You replied him. Honestly, you were surprised that he condescended to talk to you.

“I think it will be better if we can talk alone. Would it be okay for you to go out?”

“I'd like to go outside.”

Your father grunted angrily and intended to stop you but Miraz stopped him.

“We should let young lovers talk.”

When you were finally outside, Caspian stopped in the middle of the garden.

“Thank you for accepting my offer, Princess Y/N.” Caspian started to speak. “I know you do not want to get married with me. I totally understand that, we've just met and maybe you have someone else in your heart, or maybe you just do not like marriage.” He cleared his throat. “What I'm saying is although we both do not want this marriage; I think we should try to enjoy it. I do not expect you to love me and I can't love you suddenly but if we try to be friends, things may be easier and bearable. What do you think?”

You didn't like him, that was a fact, but his words offended you somehow. Especially when he said bearable, you felt very offended. Were you ugly or not enough for him? Were you a person who was annoying and unbearable? You didn't do anything wrong in the short time he saw you. Why did he use such words then?

“Yes, Prince Caspian, I do not want to get married to someone like you and I will do whatever it takes to stop this marriage.”

He seemed angry. “You cannot stop it now. They've already decided. We are getting married, no matter we like it or not.”

“I can stop it!” You raised your voice. “And I will!”

He rolled his eyes. “Could you stop your father when he first informed you about the marriage?”

Your answer was silence.

“That's what I thought.” He took a short breath. “I know you are angry and sad. I feel the same things. You are not the only one who is forced to marry. If we can respect each other and become friends, we can at least have a good time despite their evil intentions.”

“No,” Your voice shook. “I will stop my father. I will try harder.” When you felt your tears coming, you turned around and left Caspian there.

Caspian was sure that he hated you. Although it was the first time he saw you, he thought you were unbearable and about to turn his life into a nightmare.

                                                  .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧

 It had been a month since you and your father left Miraz's castle. During this time, you kept fighting with your father and objecting this marriage but he was determined and strong.

He punished you, made you stay in the dungeons for a week, locked you in your room and let you out only when tailors came to prepare your wedding dress.

You felt nothing but unhappiness. Sometimes you weren't even there, people talked to you but you didn't hear. You were unhappy, sad and broken because you felt like nothing, no one. You opinions weren't important, your voice wasn't heard. You didn't want this marriage because your mother and father's marriage was also arranged and your mother suffered because of your father for her whole life. You were scared to have the same fate.

However, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop your father and your wedding day came. You, your father and the maids travelled to Miraz's castle the night before the wedding.

The maids helped you get dressed, they did your hair, put some scent on your body, and you were ready to go.

Your father was with you during the ceremony. He escorted you until you arrived to the dais and Caspian held your hand.

Your dress was dark red; you noticed Caspian's cape was the same colour. He wore black trousers and boots, his shirt was also black.

You made your marriage vows but both of you kept it short and simple.

Caspian had managed to convince his uncle not to have a ball after the wedding. Miraz accepted because he didn't care about your wedding at all and he didn't want to deal with people.

When you were informed that there wouldn't be a ball last night, you were glad. You didn't want to want to dance with him and pretend to like him.

Therefore, after ceremony ended, Caspian and you went to your room. The place you would stay for the rest of your life. You hated every step you took and every single minute you walked. Caspian was holding your hand until you arrived to the room. It was a matter of form.

He opened the door and waited for you to go inside.

You were scared. What if he wanted to make... It? Would he hurt you if you said no? You had no weapon with you because your father made sure you didn't take any. You could fight with him with bare hands but what if he had a weapon? Your heart was beating so fast and your legs felt numb. You entered the room and just stood. You didn't know what to do.

But when you turned and looked at him as he closed the door, you realized he seemed nervous.

“So...” He said in a low voice. “We have to be here tonight, to make others believe in our marriage. Will you just sit and pout or would you like to talk with me? My books are there,” He pointed the right side of the room with his finger. “I mean if you like reading history.”

He was not going to hurt you. You took a short breath in relief. You felt all your muscles relaxing and that numb feeling leaving your body.

“I love history.” You replied him. You tried to sound friendly. He was right, you had to stay in the room until morning and maybe spending time with him wouldn't be so bad?

He took a step towards you, meanwhile you stepped back reflexively. He frowned.

“I know we do not know each other yet. The first thing I need you to know about me is I will never hurt you. I am not a violent person; you don't need to fear me.”

You just nodded.

“Is there anything you need me to know?”

“You should fear me.” You said and he laughed.

“Why?”

“I am an excellent fighter.” You were really proud of yourself. “There is no man I can't beat in a sword fight.”

“Oh, okay, Princess Y/N is fierce.” He had a smile on his face which made him look very friendly and warm. “Would you like to fight with me at dawn?”

“Of course.”

He extended his hand. You took and shook it. You looked at each other for a few minutes, without breaking the handshake.

“History,” You said when you realized you'd been holding his hand. “Books. Could you please show me your books?”

“Please,” He pulled the chair behind the desk for you. “Be my guest, Princess Y/N.”

You smiled as you sit.

“What do you like to read?”

“I read anything I find.” You replied. “But my favorite subjest is Narnia tales.”

He seemed suprised. “Do you know about them?”

“Of course I do. My mother used to tell me their stories. Kings and Queens of old, I am very fond of them.”

“Talking about Narnia is forbidden here.” Caspian said. “My uncle doesn't like Narnians.”

“So how do you know?”

“I have a professor. He teaches me. Wait a second.”

He turned his back to you and started to search something in his bookshelves. One wall of the room was used as a bookcase. He took a book from the back of the shelf. He brought the book and put it to the desk.

“May I sit?”

“Yes, yes please.” You moved a little when he sat to the chair next to yours.

He opened a page. “Here is one of their pictures.” He explained. His voice was confident and excited. You could tell how interested he was in Narnia. “This is High King Peter, this is King Edmund, this is Queen Susan and this is Queen Lucy.”

You nodded as you looked at the picture. “It is very beautiful.” You'd never seen their pictures before. “Do you know Mr. Tumnus?”

“No, I have never heard this name before.”

“Oh, he was an satyr and Queen Lucy's friend. They say when she first came to Narnia, Mr. Tumnus saw her and welcomed her in.”

“Who else do you know?”

And you talked about Narnia, Kings and Queens, fairytales, your favorite stories and heroes, what might have happened to Narnians. You chatted about yourselves too. Your childhood, your training stories, what you liked to do, what your favourite food was.

He wasn’t that bad, actually, he wasn’t bad at all. Communicating with him was easy, he was friendly and talkative. He smiled frequently and was always careful, never got closer to you before asking.

You thought maybe he was right after all. You were married now and neither he nor you could rise against your father or Miraz. Maybe things would be better if you started trying to be friends with him.

That's why you were nice to him whole night. You let him see the true you, the funny, nice, kind and lively you. And he liked that side of you. He hoped you'd never stop being like that because he hated to see you upset and broken. The day when you talked in the garden was a nightmare for him. You seemed so unhappy, so tired and upset and he felt the same things. The look inside your eyes broke his heart, which was already damaged.

Because when his uncle told him he'd get married, Caspian was so scared. He was too young to be married. He had dreams, wishes, and plans in his head. He was going to be a seafarer and search for Narnians. But this marriage would mean to stay inside of the kingdom and with his future wife. He hated that thought. However he still hoped his chosen wife would be someone easygoing so that even though he wouldn't love her, he could still have good time with her and try to make her happy.

That hope was destroyed by you when he tried to talk with you. He was disappointed and sure that his life would be a disaster from now on. He thought you'd make his life a torture for him.

Spending time with you, however, changed his thoughts. He realized you were nice and easygoing when you wanted to be. You were funny and very wise. Every story you told him and each new information you gave him about Narnians amazed him and he felt so glad that you knew and liked Narnia. He loved the way you told stories, with a big excitement and admiration, because he felt the same things when he talked about Narnian stories. Sharing his feelings with you made him feel so good.

You fell asleep after a while. The whole day was overwhelming and you were really tired, therefore you couldn't stop yourself.

Meanwhile Caspian was trying to find a book about astrology. When he finally found the book, he turned his face to the desk and saw you sleeping. Your arms were on the desk and you put your head on your arms. He couldn't help but smile. But then he realized he couldn't let you sleep on the desk. He put the book randomly to a shelf and approached to you silently.

“Y/N,” He told your name in a calm voice. “Princess Y/N, you should wake up.”

He tried to wake you up a few more times but you were in a deep sleep.

“Okay.” He muttered and sat next to you.

He couldn't sleep though. He sat there with you until you woke up at dawn. He read some books, thought about his day, and sometimes watched you.

He honestly felt happy because you two managed to be friends.

                                                .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧

 After three weeks had passed since the day you and Caspian got married, your public duties started. The first one was to visit the market place and observe the economic situation of the people and listen to their problems. You were really excited because you liked to talk with people and also you wanted to feel useful. Sitting inside the castle all day and spending most of your time with Caspian were getting boring.

Honestly, spending time with him was actually good. Waking up at dawn and fighting until you both were tired became your tradition. Caspian taught you how to use arrow and bow; in return, you taught him how to fight with a dagger. After fighting, you came to your room and took bath respectively. If there was any meeting, you and he participated together because Miraz demanded you to make this marriage seem believable, therefore outside of your room, you were always together. You had to hold hands sometimes but besides that, it was alright. When you spent time together in your room, you read, studied with Proffesor, just chatted together; you drew and he watched you, you watched him as he played the piano. At night, you slept in the same bed but you kept the distance.

However, all of those activities made you feel selfish because you were now the princess of Telmarines and your duty was to serve them and meet their needs.

When you finally arrived to the marketplace, you walked arm in arm. He was very thoughtful; he helped you with your dress, pulling it gently so that you didn’t step on it. He held your hand while you were getting out of your carriage.

You couldn’t tell if he was excited or not until he started talking with people. You saw that people loved him and he was very fond of them. He knew their names and he was so kind. He was very good at talking with children and he was so soft and cute with babies. He introduced you as his wife many times, which made you feel weird but somehow good.

He watched you as you talked with people. He was surprised because you were very nice to everyone. You were polite and your manners clearly showed that you cared about all of the people. Several women gave you flowers or something they cooked or baked. His eyes were on you as you ate food you were given and thanked and praised each woman. He’d seen princesses who didn’t even accept food from people. A boy wanted to give you a flower crown and you crouched down for him to put the crown on your head. Caspian found himself smiling while watching you. He realized you weren’t a person like he’d assumed. He let his prejudice form an opinion about you, which was something he shouldn’t have done. He judged you with your one and only mistake and realizing that made him feel very angry at himself.

He took a deep breath to get rid of his thoughts. He firstly needed to do his duty. Later, he could apologize to you.

You spent almost four hours in the market place, however neither of you realized how much time had passed when your driver and one of your guards (you insisted that you didn’t want them but you couldn’t stop Miraz) informed you about the time and told you it was time to leave.

Caspian and you discussed everything people told you, their problems, how to solve them, how to help people. The problem was actually very clear: They were sick of paying taxes as they knew their money was only spent for the armies of the lords who did nothing to help them.

As soon as you arrived to the castle, you went to Miraz’s room to discuss it with him. He was a strong lord and if you could get his support, others would probably listen to you.

Caspian was with you when you entered the room. He was right behind you but he was silent. He wanted you to be the one to solve this problem and win the hearts and minds of people.

However when you explain the situation to Miraz, he said ‘’No.’’ without hesitation. You were shocked because you really thought he would want to help you.

You frowned. ‘’How can you say no? They are our people, we must help them.’’

‘’Their taxes protect them.’’ Miraz looked very determined.

‘’There is no war at this moment. I think we can abate the taxes.’’

‘’Princess,’’ Miraz said in a insulting manner. ‘’You shouldn’t puzzle your brains with such problems. Go and do ordinary princess things. Comb your hair, sing, kiss your husband or whatever. This is not your business.’’

He made you angry, more than you can describe in words. You wished you could punch him but you managed to be calm somehow.

‘’My ordinary princess things are my actual responsibilities towards our people. And it is not your decision to make. It concerns all of the lords, therefore we will take it to the council.’’

‘’You will not.’’

You looked at his angry eyes with determination and stubbornness. ‘’You cannot patronize me. I have every right to discuss it with the council. Who do you think you are? The king?’’

He raised his hand against you however Caspian captured it before you or Miraz could do anything.

‘’Don’t even think about it, uncle.’’ He said in a low voice, gritting his teeth.

It was the first time you saw him angry and you could honestly say that he looked dangerous.

‘’She is right.’’ Caspian continued. ‘’We will take this to the council and you are not the king, you cannot stop me or her. The council will decide what to do.’’

He let go of Miraz’s hand but his face didn’t change.  ‘’You wanted to bring her to this castle and make her our princess. You have to respect everything she says and does because like it or not, she is our princess and I think what she is doing is amazing and very right.’’  

After hearing Caspian’s talking in that tone and manner, you understood why he was a prince and the next king. At that moment, he was not just a young and inexperienced prince, he was a strong king and he knew how to rule a kingdom, in that case, people. He was made to be king and realizing this made you feel proud of him. You also appreciated him and how he stood up for you.

‘’Come.’’ He said to you and together, you left the room. Caspian directly went to the council room and demanded a meeting.  

You explained the situation and needs of the people. Caspian supported you and made sure that everyone knew that you weren’t alone. Some of the lords didn’t want to abate the taxes while some of them supported you.

It was debated in the council for two days, you and Caspian never gave up the cause. At the end of the second day, lords announced that they agreed to abate the taxes and spend their economic sources to help and support the people. General Glozelle supported you extremely. You thought he supported you just to annoy Miraz but you were still thankful.

You and he were in your room after everything was over. You felt really tired after talking, discussing and arguing for two days but the satisfaction of beating Miraz was worth it.

‘’Princess Y/N,’’ Caspian said. ‘’I really appreciate what you achieved. My uncle doesn’t even let his wife to be a council member but you defeated him very elegantly and successfully.’’

You smiled at his compliments. ‘’Thank you,’’ You said. ‘’But I think I would lose without your help. Thank you for standing up for me and your support.’’

‘’With such a determination like yours, I think you would beat my uncle and council without me.’’

You smiled proudly. ‘’Thanks. My father says I got it from my mother.’’

‘’May I?’’ He asked as he stood up close to the bed.

‘’Yes, please.’’ You made room for him. ‘’And you don’t have ask every time. Also you can call me just Y/N. You don’t need to add princess.’’

‘’Oh, so, are you starting to like me, Y/N?’’ He asked jokingly.

‘’I thought we became friends.’’ You looked at him. ‘’Didn’t we?’’

‘’Yes, yes we did. We are friends.’’ His voice was low and he wasn’t looking at you.

‘’Is there any problem?’’ You felt worried. Had you done something wrong?

‘’No, just...’’ He breathed out as he rubbed his nasal bridge. ‘’Yes, there is a problem and you’ll hate me when I tell you.’’

‘’I won’t hate you.’’ You got closer to him. ‘’I know I was really rude to you at first but believe me, it changed. Please tell me. I’m sure we can solve the problem together.’’

‘’I tried really hard not to do this but I couldn’t stop myself. How could I? You know about Narnians, you love history as much as I do, you are an amazing fighter, you are brilliant, lovely, caring and very stubborn.’’

You were confused. Yes, you were flattered but what did his words mean?

‘’Caspian-‘’

‘’I like you. Not as a friend. As a... When I introduce you as my wife to people, I feel good.’’

You couldn’t say anything. The only thing you did was to give a short and shaky breath. You were totally shocked because you never thought he’d like you. You had been mean to him and you were distant. Honestly, you thought he hated you or didn’t like you. You assumed he was just trying to be nice and was putting up with you. But his words vanished all of your prejudices because he sounded very sincere and serious. The way he complemented you and the last thing he said... You felt good, that was for sure, but you didn’t know how you felt about him. Did you like him? You’d never considered this, maybe because you were determined not to like him or maybe because you were sure he wouldn’t like you.

‘’Caspian, I really don’t know what to say. But I don’t hate you, I never did and I never will. You’ve been so good to me, more than I deserve. You are so nice, kind, thoughtful and caring. I am really thankful to you. However I am not sure about my feelings. I never thought we would like each other.’’

He nodded silently. ‘’It’s alright.’’ He said. ‘’I don’t and can’t expect you to like me suddenly.’’

‘’It’s not because you are an unlikable person.’’ He looked at you as you continued. ‘’It’s because I was sure that you would never like me.’’

‘’So... What will happen now?’’

You smiled at him. It was a warm and sincere smile. ‘’We will see.’’

                                                    .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧

‘’I’m beginning to think you are doing magic.’’ Caspian said while he was looking at the second arrow you shot which pierced the little red circle on the target board.

You laughed. ‘’I wish I could but, no, it is the result of practicing too much.’’

He took the arrows from the board and brought them to you.

‘’You’ve improved so much. I feel very unneeded while I’m standing here.’’

‘’I think you should be proud. You are my teacher after all.’’

‘’You are a brilliant student.’’ He said, smiling. ‘’However, I think if put your leg like this,’’ He put his right leg a bit further than where yours were. ‘’It will be better.’’

You did as he told. ‘’Is it okay?’’

‘’Yes, and you should raise your arm higher.’’

You did that too.

‘’Just a little- Can I show you?’’

‘’Yes of course.’’

‘’Okay, now,’’ He took a step towards your back. ‘’Your elbow should be like this,’’ He spoke while he put his hand to your elbow and pushed it up softly. ‘’And it would be better if your arm,’’ His hand were on your arm now, his touch was so gentle. You felt that his fingertips were burning part of your skin which wasn’t covered with arm-guard.

You tried to ignore his touch and focus on what he was telling but you failed. You felt like a candle slowly melting because of the fire. You woke up to the fact that you wanted to melt. For him.

‘’Y/N,’’ You finally heard his voice. ‘’Are you alright?’’

‘’Yes, I am.’’ You took a short breath and lowered your hands and bow. ‘’I’m sorry, I just...’’ You turned your head back and looked at his face. ‘’Can I ask you something?’’

‘’You can.’’

He looked very worried and you loved it. He was very caring during all this time you spent together. He was also so thoughtful. Whenever you frowned a little, he immediately asked if you were okay. He always made sure that there was water on your night table. He always helped you when your dress caused you problems.

‘’Do you still like me, Caspian?’’ You asked very nervously.

He licked his lips before talking. ‘’Yes, I do. More and more day by day, actually.’’

You smiled when you heard his answer. ‘’Then, I have some news for you.’’

He raised his eyebrows, there was a little smile on his face. ‘’I am listening very carefully.’’

‘’Prince Caspian,’’ You said and took a deep breath. ‘’I think I like you.’’

His smile got bigger and bigger and you heard him laughing. ‘’Really?’’

You nodded. You were smiling too. Saying your feelings out and loud made you feel very relaxed, as if a heavy burden was taken off your chest.

‘’How?’’ He asked.

‘’Am I supposed to give you an alphabetic list?’’ You shrugged your shoulders. ‘’It just happened but I think it was inevitable.’’

His dark brown eyes were shining. ‘’It feels like I am in a dream.’’

‘’Does it mean you dream about me?’’ You asked jokingly.

You realized he was taking you into your arms. You let him because you needed to be in his arms, feel his touch and body heat.

‘’Sometimes.’’ He said. ‘’Don’t you?’’

‘’Sometimes.’’ You copied him. It made him laugh.

‘’Can I kiss you right now, Princess Y/N?’’

‘’Yes, yes you can, Prince Caspian.’’

You dropped the bow when his lips touched yours. All of your muscles relaxed, you felt like you would fall to the ground but thankfully his hands were on your waist, holding you tight.

His lips were soft, his kiss was passionate. You could almost taste his desire and you absolutely loved it. Being loved and wanted by him felt like you were over the moon.

He was the one to break the kiss and look at your face very carefully. He liked it when he saw your red lips.

He was looking at you carefully, as if he was trying to understand whether you were real or not. You noticed that he really couldn’t believe you liked him.

‘’I like you.’’ You needed to say it again so that he could believe.

He took your hands into his and brought them closer to his lips, then kissed your hands. You bit your lower lip, it was your soft spot.

‘’I like you too, so much.’’ He managed to say before you grabbed his face and kissed him.

[imagine-that-100]

All of You

Description: Alex Turner x Reader (Female) | After getting married, you and Alex go on your Honeymoon that comprises of two destinations. Athens is filled with shitty jokes whilst Bora Bora is filled with compliments and kisses.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Lil smut 

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @ghostlightqueen​. Really hope you like it and I hope the rest of you do too. Likes and reblog are appreciated and thank you so much for reading x

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You thought that the day you got married would be the happiest of your life, but it seems that the days that followed were somehow even more joyous. You travelled to your second Honeymoon destination a week after your wedding and the moment you got off the plane with your husband's hand in your own, you knew that this was heaven on earth.

Bora Bora was gorgeous, and it was truly the best Honeymoon destination for you and Alex. You don’t think he’d done nothing in his mind for a long time so the absence of the need to write songs really must have relaxed him.

You’d already been to Athens to see the sights. You both found a lovely antique store whilst you were there and by some miracle you both found an English poetry book in there and each night, before you slept, one of you read one to the other.

The sight-seeing was really fun with him too. You enjoyed going round with your polaroid camera and asking strangers to take a picture of the both of you.

You knew Alex didn’t really like pictures but the ones with you he never failed to smile for. Your husband was also hilarious with you the entire time you got excited to see something new.

Seeing the world was something Alex was obviously lucky enough to do, and you’d been lucky enough to to accompany him a few times, but this was totally different. You were viewing history and you found it so fascinating.

“You’re really Greek-ing out over the view, aren’t you?” Alex chuckles loving seeing you as excited as you are.

“Al, that was awful.” You giggle putting your camera down.

He laughs at your distaste for his joke, but he grins at you and nods, “But you are though.”

“Yes Alex, we’re standing in Acropolis… I’ve always wanted to come here.” You tell him what he already knows.

He smiles at you then before he quickly kisses you. When he pulls away, he says, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you carry on Greek-ing out.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh lord.”

The day after, you both go on a tour around the Parthenon, and Alex catches you looking at an ice cream cart. So, Alex, being the loving husband he is, he goes and gets you an ice cream as you continue to listen to the tour guide.

A minute later Alex came back over with two ice creams in hand and he whispers into your ear after he hands you yours, “What’s Athen’in?”

The way you rolled your eyes at that would have been comical if Alex saw it, but he didn’t, you elbowed him in his side for the awful way he asked, ‘what’s happening.’

“Thank you for my ice cream, you fucking nerd” You whisper back dismissively and Alex chuckles before taking your hand and following the rest of your group as you started moving from your current spot.

Alex continues to make his shit jokes all week and you won’t let yourself admit they are entertaining. You didn’t want to encourage his silly behaviour despite secretly loving it.

On your second to last day before you were due to travel again, you go to a museum and you absolutely love it. But your husband loves to be needy in the crowd of people you were in.

“I love you.” Alex says, leaning over your shoulder and kissing your cheek as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Love you too Alex.” You smile as you rest your hands over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb.  

Alex pouts wanting you to return his kind gesture, “Give me a kiss to prove it then.”

“Why can’t I just tell you? We’re in public.” You say, not feeling the need to get off with him as you were standing admiring some art.

Alex grins as you’ve played right into his hands. He jokes, “Athens speak louder than words, Y/N.”

You groan, “That’s the worst one yet.” leaning back into him.

“You love it really.” Alex mumbles as he leans down and places a kiss on your shoulder.

Alex kisses then travel from your shoulder and up to your neck. You’re well aware he likes that your shoulders are available to kiss because you're wearing a white vest top with spaghetti straps. He always loved to follow that trail of kisses.

You pay the loving kisses no attention though, you just chuckle and tell him, “I can’t wait to tell Matt about your shitty jokes.”

“Hey...” Alex pouts, “What Athens in Greece, stays in Greece.”

You hold your groan back this time and curiously ask, “Can I get an annulment or does it have to be a divorce after nearly a week?”

You can’t hold back your smile as he loudly gasps and spins you around. You knew that he knew you were joking but that doesn’t stop his jaw falling open.  

“You love me, you wouldn’t do that.” Alex playfully frowns a little.

“You should know by now that you can’t tame me Turner.” You grin and wrap your arms around his neck.

Who were you kidding, you didn’t care about PDA that much.

“I know everything about you, Turner.” Alex grins, using your new last name against you. “You’ve been my best friend since we were seventeen.”

“I know, you idiot.” You smile as you feel his arms wrap around your lower back.

“That’s how I know you hate me when I do this.” You grin as you reach up, messing up his fluffy hair with one hand whilst stealing his sunglasses with your other.

Alex gasps and laughs, pulling you in tighter so you can’t escape. You giggle like an idiot trying to get away from him but he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“You’re my wife, you can’t pull shit like that anymore.” Alex says, his jaw still a little agape.

You grin and say, “I can and I will… Gotta keep you on your toes now Turner.”

Alex shakes his head and mumbles against your lips before he lets you fully kiss him, “Like you have done the past twenty years, you mean?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Bora Bora was a completely different experience.

Maybe it was because there was less to do or you were both just shocked by the beauty of the place. You felt like you were in Neverland.

The islands surrounding the one your resort was on was amazing. You and Alex were staying in your own water villa and it was one of the end ones so you had the best view and the bigger place.

Not that you really needed it but you had to admit, it was nice to have a big house in a stunning paradise to yourselves.

There was a balcony on the water villa you were both staying in and it was amazing. It came equipped with sunloungers and even a small pool, which was mental to you because the sea was right there for you to jump into if you wanted to swim.  

But that didn’t mean that you didn’t get use out of it.

You’ve both been there a few days and you’ve not yet got bored of sunbathing after your hectic week of being a tourist. Last week had definitely tired you both out, so despite you already having your tans by now, you still loved spending your full day out in the sunshine.

You got up from the sunlounger, that was more of a sun bed, beside Alex not 20 minutes ago, and swam to the edge of the small infinity pool and rested your elbows on the side of it as you watched the sun go down. The view was stunning.

The sun slowly hid itself behind the stray clouds that littered the sky, turning them red which against the now orange sky made it look picture perfect. You wanted to paint the scene in front of you.

But before you knew it, it had disappeared and darkness was creeping its way to the sky. So you slowly made your way out of the pool so you could get ready to go for dinner soon.

“You look so good right now Angel.” Alex says as you walk up the steps out of the pool.

You smile, feeling a little shy for some unknown reason. Probably because you weren’t doing anything that you thought was compliment worthy, “You think so?”

“I always think so.” Alex nods before gesturing for you to come towards him.

He didn’t care that you’d just been in the water at all. His trunks were still damp from his swim earlier so when he guided you to straddle his lap, he didn’t care at all.

You looked stunning in your blue and white striped spaghetti strap bikini. He definitely couldn’t not tell you, even if he did see traces of embarrassment show on your pretty face.

“I love you.” You grin before pressing your lips to his after wrapping your arms around his neck.

Alex grins back and keeps you close as he whispers, “I love you more.”

You brush your nose against his as you shake your head, whispering back, “Not possible.”

You kiss him then and despite it being soft and gentle, you get the same nervous feeling in your stomach that you got the first time you kissed him however many years ago now. The kiss deepened and you guess the two of you just got too consumed in the moment because before you knew it all the strings that held your bikini together were being untied and Alex’s trunks were off.

If you ever cared about having sex and the risk of others seeing you, you certainly didn’t in this moment in time. You were riding your husband on the large sunlounger on your balcony and you felt euphoric.

The intimacy of the moment somehow made it better and you think even the risk of others seeing or hearing increased the pleasure you were feeling too. That must have been subconscious though because all you could think about was Alex.

His hold on your hips was strong and when he pulled you hips down to meet his, it caused the sweetest sound to fall from your lips which made Alex do it again and again. You looked heavenly above him like that.

Eyes closed just basking in the feeling of pleasure you were both giving each other. The sun setting behind you as Alex watched you ride him was stunning, it made you look like you were glowing.

Gorgeous was another word Alex would use to describe you when your head tilted back in the bliss of the moment. The whine you release when Alex starts kissing your neck where he knew you were sensitive was music to his ears.

And the way your fingers laced through his hair and pulled on it causing a similar sound to fall from Alex’s lips. But most of all Alex just thought you were the most beautiful human being and he never had a problem with telling you that.

The things he told you during intimate moments like this just made everything better and when your orgasm hit you, it was unearthly. You cling to Alex like he was going to magically disappear and Alex did the same to you when he got his release.

“I love you Alex.” You just about manage to say into his neck where you were hiding yourself when you came back to reality.

Alex trails kisses from your shoulder all the way up your neck to just under your ear as he’d done hundreds of times before. He breathes you, “I love you too Angel.”

~*~*~*~

Days in this paradise were spent relaxing in each other’s company outside or inside, in bed. The latter happened often as there was no need to get yourselves up in the mornings so you lazed about in bed.

Either cuddling and listening to music or listening to the TV in the background as you both stared out at the amazing view that the island had to offer. There weren’t very many times throughout this honeymoon when you wouldn’t be found touching each other.

Even if you went out for a walk you’d be hand in hand. But mostly you were entangled together in the confines of your own villa.

Either in the same sense that you were when you were on the sunlounger, which you couldn’t look at the same again, or just innocently cuddling. You think that your happiest day had been when Alex showered you with a million more compliments than he did every other day.

Today you’d stayed in your villa for most of the day, first Alex had made you feel euphoric again by making you feel like a queen (his queen). This time in bed though and not on the sunlounger.

Afterwards, you both showered and you were certain you’d never felt more peaceful than in that shower with him after he’d just made you feel pure bliss. After you dried off, Alex catered for you by making you a late breakfast which later you returned the favour for and made him lunch.

After relaxing in the small pool that was on your balcony, you also messed around a little and both jumped in the sea a lot, as if you were seventeen again. Once you decided it was time to make yourselves presentable for dinner later, you both headed back inside out of the sunlight.

You ran yourself a bath and unsurprisingly Alex joined you in it when it was filled. The bath was next to a large window that again showed off the stunning views of your amazing surroundings, so you enjoyed resting back against Alex, listening to the music that was playing out of your phone.

The kisses to your head as you both relaxed warmed your heart more than the water you were both sat in. It made you not want to leave the escape that the villa brought you.

So you dragged the bath out for a good hour and after Alex washed your hair and you had a giggle washing his, you got ready and went out to have your meal.

You came back to the villa long after the sun had set and you couldn’t wait to get in bed so a whole new day could start. Alex had been charming and flirty all throughout dinner so it really wasn’t a surprise when that continued.

The compliments started falling from his lips as soon as you both made it back to bed. Both of you cuddled together but he was once again teasing you with neck kisses.

“I’m sad you took that dress off, you looked stunning tonight.” Alex tells you as he places random kisses just below your ear.

He was pretty much lying on top of you, your chests pressed together and his head was buried into your neck. You weren’t complaining though, you just happily traced patterns on the smooth material that rested on his back, and now and again you ran your fingers through his hair.

You grin knowing he’d like it. “I thought you’d like that one.”

It was a little black dress that you’d bought purposely for a dinner date. You knew he’d love it because of how perfectly it fit you, but you had to admit, taking it off and putting your new black silk pyjama top and shorts on felt comfier.

“I like everything you put on… Or take off for that matter.” He chuckles a little, still lying on top of you and kissing your neck now and again.

He made you feel really warm and you loved the intimacy of the moment. Just lying in bed with him with the balcony doors open and letting the cool breeze run over the both of you as you listen to the waves.

“Very easily impressed, aren’t you?” You grin as you twirl his hair around your fingers.

Alex chuckles before kissing his way back up your neck. “Only by you, Angel.”

You giggle a little then as you play with his hair whilst he still distracts himself with your neck. You were sure he’d keep his head there for all eternity if you let him, and he had even more reason to stay there because he knew you secretly loved it.

“I could name 110 things I love about you right now, just off the top of my head.” Alex promises as he lifts his head and kisses your lips.

You giggle when he pulls away, “That’s oddly specific.”

Alex grins and kisses you again as he says, “Well I could have said 505 but at the risk of being cheesy, I adapted.”

The laugh you released then was something Alex was so glad he could hear everyday now. He couldn’t wait to start a proper life with you now you were officially his.

“Your laugh might be at the very top of that list.” Alex tells you, smiling to himself.

“Then your eyes, they are so stunning.” Alex tells you, his own eyes looking back and forth between yours. Almost as if he couldn’t decide which he liked better. “I’d write a full song about your Y/E/C eyes if you’d let me.”

You grin at him but shake your head. It was an answer that Alex knew was coming but he still loved them non the less. Alex gazes down at your lips then that were tugged up into a stunning smile.

“Your smile is definitely up there too. I don’t think I could ever have a bad day again if you smile at me like that every day.” That fills your chest with warmth.

Alex gives you an eskimo kiss then and your heart skips a beat at your noses brushing together, and again when he softly says, “I love the way you just sort of melt when I do that.”

It was true you really did practically melt beneath him. Your eyes close, you release the breath you're holding and you just bask in the feeling of his nose brushing against yours, you feel like you sink into the pillow beneath you more than you already had.

His compliments continue, “I love the way you run your fingers through my hair and how you twist it around when you’re relaxed and happy.”

You smile as you carry on doing it. And you didn’t plan on stopping.

“I love that you still wear that perfume I helped you pick out years ago.” Alex says getting another whiff of the gorgeous scent.

“I love your kisses. To the point where I think I’d cry if you’d deny me one.” Alex jokes a little with you and it makes you giggle again.

“I love waking up and falling asleep next to you.” Alex admits, “Definitely better than waking up next to the idiots back home on a tour bus.”

“You’re such a lovely friend.” You chuckle looking into his soft brown eyes.

Alex hums in agreement and continues with, “I love that you’re my best friend and have been since I can remember.”

“I adore the fact that you’re amazing at what you do and you give 110% for each new thing that’s thrown your way.”

“You’ve said 110 twice now, should I be expecting another song?” You playfully ask him and Alex laughs before he kisses you again.

“I love your reactions to the songs that are about you.” Alex grins.

Your eyes narrow a bit there as he knew how you felt about the songs. But you could let that go a bit now.

He was your husband after all.

“I love that you get really sexy when you get annoyed at something.” Alex says before kissing you again, and he starts kissing down your jaw and he focuses back on your neck.

“I love the way you pretend you hate this but I know from the way that you react that you don’t.” Alex says and you catch yourself reacting in encouraging ways.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, you gave him more room for his lips to find your skin, and your breath hitched when he teases the spot he knew was your weakest.

“I love that the way you breathe gives away how you want to have sex.” Alex practically purrs in your ear.

Alex’s lips continue to tease you and after a few seconds he nips on a spot he already got before and you release a breathy whine. Of course Alex says, “I love those noises you make so much. I wanna hear them all day.”

Alex slowly moved himself a little further up your body, this time resting himself down between your legs and you can feel him getting hard through the both of your pyjama shorts. You gasp a little, “Alex.”

He all but groans, “I love the way you say my name.”

Your eyes are closed now and you focus on the kisses on your neck and his hand running down your side until he carries on to your leg and he gently guides it to hook around his waist. He felt even better against you then and you bite your lip to stop yourself from giving anything more away.

“I love how you try to stop yourself from wanting us… Makes it even funnier now we’re married.” Alex chuckles before he kisses your lips that he catches you biting.

You don’t really care now, he’s right. He’s your husband, you don’t have to show restraint anymore. Especially on your Honeymoon.

Your kiss is slow but intense. You could feel how much Alex loved you and you wanted to show how much you love him too. And in this moment your actions seemed like no better way.

“Alex.” You breathe to grab his attention.

He kisses you again and bites in your lip as he pulls away. He grins at your whine and innocently asks you, “Yes Angel?”

You grab a fistful of his pyjama top and say, “Please let me take this off”

He lets you and once it’s somewhere on the floor Alex grins at you like an idiot. You know he’s happy, overjoyed even, but there’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes so you lean up and kiss him again to bypass that.

Your top hits the floor next and Alex has his fun attaching his lips to your chest leaving mark after mark. The rest of both your pyjamas are removed shortly after. 

Before anything goes any further though Alex pauses for a second. He looks down at you so lovingly, you feel as if you could literally melt under his gaze.

His chest is still pressed to yours and you’re both breathing a little heavy from previous kisses. But the way he’s looking at you makes your heart flutter.

At this point you don’t think it ever wouldn’t.

Alex’s declaration of love finishes off with, “I just love you Mrs Turner... All of you”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~