#lush swap

[theradicalace]

i talked to three (3) other trans people at the mall Ws only

[saturdaymournings]

Damn I’m so proud of myself actually. I got so used to living that I forgot about products and now I don’t even give a shit anymore. Good for me!

[milliesfishes]

Omg I could really use some PK coryo angst from you, every time you write an angsty snippet about him I die 😭 PK coryo is something else

꣑ৎ౨ৎThe Bodyguard꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: attempted kidnapping pairing: peacekeeper coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: after a scary incident, your father takes what you deem unnecessary precautions author’s note: anon I apologize for not answering this sooner but I hope this fulfills the need <3 tagging @melo-bees thank you so much for this idea lovey!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Skipping through the town square, you dodged a few stray people, bestowing them large smiles and letting your bag swing as you passed through. You hummed something to yourself, basking in the sunlight. Summer was in full bloom, and you reveled in it, feeling as though you were in a whirlwind of happy things.

Maybe you shouldn't be out here by yourself. Maybe you should have told someone where you were going, like your mother or a maid or something. But it was just a quick pop into the market, to say hello to a few people and maybe get something pretty for yourself.

The arduous years of school had ended in the spring, and you'd proudly taken your diploma and hung it in a silver frame on your wall. A part of you mourned the loss of that time, knowing the innocence of those years would be pried from your hands and twisted into something worth marrying. But the other held onto the spark of youth that somehow hadn't been doused by your parent's warnings of the future.

"A young lady shouldn't wander the streets by herself." "A young lady needs protection." Given your father's prominence, there were legions of Peacekeepers at his disposal, and he'd made empty threats of putting one or more on your tail. But you waved them off. They were nothing but air.

Clasping the hands of a woman behind a vendor's stall, you squealed, bouncing on your heels. "Oh, Ember you've outdone yourself this week." The jewelry spread out across the wooden surface of the table was exquisite, metal twisting around itself, stones embedded as the tiniest of details. You held up a pair of earrings, letting the light catch the gold and emphasize the red shine of the tiny rocks nestled in the crafted design. "Would it be alright if I got these?"

"Of course, honey," she smiled, taking the coins you slipped into her hands. Counting them, she frowned and tried to pass a few back. "That's too much-"

"Really? Could've sworn you undercharged." Grinning, you swapped your old earrings out, stowing them safely in a pocket of your bag.

Ember gave you an exasperated look. "Now-"

"It's been a pleasure, I'll see you next time!" You tossed a few more coins on the table, letting them rattle and clink against each other as you broke into a run, skipping away. Ember's laugh followed you like an echo, and you smiled as you pictured her shaking her fist at you.

Your new earrings bounced against your cheeks as you ran down the alleyway and down the lush forest path, holding your skirts in both hands. It was always while running that you felt the freest. And so you did it over and over again, through the trees and streets, through every place you could think of.

With the wind on your legs, you felt liberty's sweet caress all around. It lifted the corners of your lips and practically made you levitate. If feathers sprouted from your limbs and air built up under your arms, sending you soaring into the clouds, you wouldn't have been surprised.

This could be your life. Dancing around town and supporting your friends in the way they needed you to. Nodding along to your father's requests and then turning your cheek. This was boundless, beautiful-

You smacked something firm, the force of it knocking you backwards. Shoulders hitting the dirt, your hair became a curtain over your eyes that you didn't part right away. The collision had stolen your breath, and you chased it back, finally able to grasp and shove it back into your mouth.

Blinking wearily, you swept your hair out of your eyes and got a good look at what had interrupted your joyful flee. A man, clothes tattered, face streaked with dirt. A hat shaded his eyes, but you could see the firmness in them.

An apology bubbled up, escaping your lips as you scrambled to your feet. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where-"

"You're the mayor's daughter." The words were frozen like glaciers, and you lifted your lips in a sweet smile, hoping to thaw him.

"If you'll excuse me-"

His hands were gripping you tight suddenly, roughened nails leaving imprints on your skin. You gasped, wiggling in his hold and trying to squirm away. "I really...if you'd just let me go-"

"How much d'you think Daddy's gonna gimme for givin' his pretty daughter back?" The question sent snakes slithering up your spine, wrapping around your throat. The look in his eyes was haunting, hungry. You cried out, trying to reach out and push him away but he held your wrists fast, twisting one and sending a sharp pain up your arm.

It happened before you could even think. Your knee shot up like a missile, landing between the man's legs. When he shouted, releasing your arms to clutch himself, you caught a glimpse of his mouth. It was unclear whether he was missing teeth or if they were blackened by dust.

You didn't stick around to find out. Now your running had a new purpose, and you sprinted down the road, sobs moving past your lips choked and desperate. Hot tears stung your cheeks as they poured down like rain.

Fear struck you like an arrow, hitting dead center. Over and over you'd been told of people who would be out to get you solely because of the position of your birth, but never before had you witnessed it. As you reached the edge of town, darting back through the narrow alleyway and leaning on the wall to catch your breath, you shuddered involuntarily and hurriedly wiped the tears away from your face.

"Are you alright?"

A gasp clenched your breath and your head snapped up, heart pounding before you realized who stood before you. A tall man in a Peacekeeper's uniform with blue eyes like cornflowers, clutching a weapon. Your shoulders sagged in relief, and your eyes fell to the ground, foot toeing at the cobblestone. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." His voice was low and you managed to meet his eyes, holding your chin high.

Studying him, you were almost surprised at how young he appeared to be. Close to your age, surely. It was such a strange thing, to be so close in age and yet so starkly different.

"I'm fine. I'm just having a bad day," you said, wiping your eyes again. It felt humiliating to talk about what had just happened, and so you sealed your lips.

The Peacekeeper's mouth was set in a firm line, and you could tell he didn't believe you for one second. "May I walk you home?" Now you could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes, and you knew the idea of your father was bouncing around in his head. Maybe he wanted praise, or a monetary reward. The chances of him doing it out of the goodness of his heart were low.

Mustering a smile you hoped was sweet, you shook your head, clutching your bag and sidestepping him. "No thank you. I'll manage."

"You're-"

"I'm fine!" you called, already walking away. This time you clung to the shadows rather than enjoying the sunshine. Nobody else needed to see you like this.

It was embarrassing enough that a man with eyes the color of the sky you so badly wanted to soar into had.

The delicate lace of your curtains looked so pretty in the sunshine, and you clasped them in your fingers, pleased to find them warm. Lying stretched out across your bedspread, you smiled brightly, kicking one foot up into the air. The bundle of wildflowers on your nightstand was tied with a ribbon, and their sweetened scent greeted your nose.

It had been a perfect day in the forest, lying amongst the flora and fauna. You'd brought your picnic with you as usual, reading to yourself and enjoying the quiet. In the past bit you'd hardly been able to have a moment to yourself, making today all the more magical.

Since that awful day a week ago you hadn't breathed a word to anybody about what had happened, although you knew your mother suspected something was wrong when you came home with dried tear tracks staining your face like berry juice.

She'd occupied you with social visits of all kinds, to people far and wide across the town. There were only so many parlors you could sit in, so many polite smiles you could offer for so many days in a row before you went crazy.

Of course she meant well. But today was your day, and you had enjoyed it immensely.

Your father's voice pierced the quiet and you sat up when you realized he was calling for you. Swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you stood and stretched, muscles popping like bubbles. It was rare that he summoned you before dinner, and you wondered what he wanted to discuss now. If it was the prospect of another son of a wealthy acquaintance you wanted no part of it.

Making it to his office, you paused in the doorway. Had you known your father wasn't alone, maybe you would have taken the time to smooth your dress or run a brush through your hair.

Standing there in front of him was a young man in a Peacekeeper's uniform, blond hair buzzed to his scalp, hat under his arm. You shyly clung to the frame and watched them exchange words for a moment before they noticed you.

When the other man turned it hit you like a stone. Those eyes. The color of a summer sky. You were frozen for a moment, staring at him and feeling nothing except your heartbeat pounding your ribs. His gaze didn't tear away from you either, and for a moment you felt as though you were the only two people in the room.

What was he doing here?

Your father broke the tension, clearing his throat. "I'll expect you back here tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." The man tore his gaze from you and nodded at your father, shaking his extended hand. "I look forward to it."

On the way out, he paused, giving you a nod. "Miss." You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest.

It wasn't until the front door shutting announced his departure that your father spoke to you. "That was Private Snow."

"Ah." You nodded, shifting on your feet and further entering the room. "Is he going to be here more often?" Now you were imagining him standing guard with the other Peacekeepers protecting your home and family, gorgeous eyes piercing your soul every time you left the bounds.

"Yes." Your father smoothed his beard, studying you. "He'll be here for you."

Straightening, you tilted your head, brow knitting. "For me? What-?"

"For your protection." Before you could argue, he firmly said, "An incident was brought to my attention recently. Apparently, you were seen hysterical in an alley."

Your lips parted and you tried to speak, the words coming out in a pathetic stutter. "I...it was...nothing-"

He held up a hand, effectively silencing you. Your fingers found your skirt, twisting the fabric and clenching it tight as every possible excuse swam through your head. But you could see now that it would fall upon deaf ears. For every time he'd warned you, he'd finally made good on his threat.

"You've been far too careless," he began, each word with an edge like a knife. You swallowed, bowing your head as he continued. "Running around town and cavorting with whoever you want. That ends now. It's very clear you can't handle yourself."

Tears were pricking your eyes, and you suppressed a sniffle. This was humiliating, to be reprimanded by your father for something that wasn't even your fault. In a whisper, you tried, "I didn't mean to-"

A shake of his head cut you off. "Private Snow will be accompanying you from now on wherever you go. You'll have constant supervision so I don't have to deal with you every time you get yourself into something stupid. There will be no further discussion." He turned back to his desk, waving a hand and indicating your dismissal.

The walk back up to your room was slow and shameful. Frustration brimmed at the edges of you, poking and prodding at your head. Constant supervision...already you mourned the loss of your precious alone time, the freedom you had enjoyed. Now you would have a shadow trailing behind you carrying a gun.

Shutting the door, you let your tears fall freely, though no sobs parted your lips and split your soul open. You tried to convince yourself that maybe this could be okay. It wasn't like your routine would be interrupted. It only meant that he would be there.

Sniffling and drying your eyes, you took a deep breath, eyes falling on the wildflowers again. It would be okay. Everything would be okay. It was for your own safety after all.

You tried to picture it then, a prophetic vision. The man who'd looked at you in a way nobody had before, who'd awoken some strange feeling in your heart protecting you.

It stayed with you for the rest of the day, trickling into your dreams.

In Coriolanus' life, he'd been mildly interested in a great many people. Ones who could aid his journey to the top or help him play the game of the Capitol's choosing and change the rules for him. He'd been interested, is all.

But he'd never been utterly enchanted by anyone before. Not until you.

All too often he chided himself. The daughter of the mayor, the girl he was only supposed to be keeping an eye on. Really, whatever he was feeling needed to stop immediately. It was blatantly unprofessional.

And yet here he was, standing in a field under the shade of a tree and watching you use your skirt as a makeshift basket as you gathered strawberries into it. Tucked haphazardly in the crook of your arm was a messy bunch of wildflowers. Your hair was loose, taken out of the braid he'd watched your mother approve before you left the house.

You were a vision, something not meant for his hopeless eyes.

Coriolanus took every bit of his life as a Peacekeeper seriously, but this was another matter entirely. It perplexed him how much more committed he'd found himself once every aspect of his duties were steered in your direction.

He'd once felt fascination for Lucy Gray, whom he'd pulled every stop for to get her out of the arena. A girl with a voice like a songbird whose dedication to her found family had inspired him. She had been his ticket out of poverty, and he clung to it with every fiber of his being. When his methods had been unveiled, resulting in his life sentence to the military, he'd kept at his trying, attempted to bribe his way to her.

The attempt had failed, and now he was in Two, among forest confines. At least he wasn't breathing in coal dust. And now there was you.

Given strict instructions on where you were and weren't supposed to go, Coriolanus had known you would be a stubborn case. From the moment he'd recognized you in the alley he'd gotten the feeling that you were as free spirited as a bird. Your father had seemed all too happy to hand you off. Coriolanus hadn't understood why until this morning.

"It's not dangerous," you'd protested in the kitchen this morning, cutting a few slices of bread. "I go there all the time. There's nothing but trees."

"Your father said not to allow you to go past the town limits," he countered, voice firm. He felt like a giant next to you as you delicately gathered your food into the wicker basket shaped like a heart, pink linen lining the insides.

Giving him an exasperated look, you brushed a stray strand away from your face. It had been bothering him for a minute, and he'd longed to do that exact thing. "What could possibly happen if you're going to be with me the whole time?"

Huffing slightly, Coriolanus felt the beginnings of a headache twinge at his temples. A week into this endeavor and he could already tell you were going to be difficult. You fought him at every turn, pleading with him to let you go literally everywhere on the list of prohibited places.

The market on the wrong side of town. A nighttime club with live music. And now the forest, which had particularly been emphasized to him by your father.

You'd batted your eyelashes and shut the lid of the basket. "Please? You've done such a good job at keeping me safe. And it's not that deep in the forest, just a little bit of a walk."

The white dress you were wearing was edged with fine spun lace at the neckline, exposing your collarbone. He tried not to stare at it, tried not to make it so obvious that he found every angle of you beautiful.

Unhelpfully, the look you were giving him reminded him of a doe, the pretty one who pranced among snowflakes in the picture books with rich illustrations his mother used to read him. He was struck dumb for a moment, staring at you.

"Okay."

The little squeal you gave was worth it alone, along with the way you grabbed his wrist and squeezed. "Thank you!"

Now he was watching you in your element, feeling like he'd stumbled upon a nymph. Your essence trailed behind you like fairy dust.

You spotted him watching you and threw him a sweet smile, one that gnawed at the edges of his heart. He somehow found it in him to snap to his senses, boots crinkling the grass as he made his way over to you. No longer did he have to carry the enormous Peacekeeper's gun, only a small one at his hip. This was one of many perks of working directly for your family, among being moved from the base to the servant's quarters of the house, and of course, you.

Now close to you, he solemnly said, "We should head back," expecting your face to fall or for you to try and pout your way into thirty more minutes. Coriolanus had grown accustomed to your methods in very little time, as they were tried and true.

Instead, you nodded and tried to shift your flowers up the crook of your elbow. "Could you take these? I want to put the berries in my basket."

Coriolanus removed your bouquet, feeling a little silly as he watched you deposit the strawberries. The skirt of your dress was lightly stained with red juice, and he wondered if it was as sweet as you were.

You reached your hand out from where you were kneeling, about to take the flowers when you groaned, letting your arm fall. "My hair. I have to braid my hair. Hold on-" you gathered it up and let it fall behind your shoulders, clumsily separating it into three sections. Your movements were messy, the result a crooked pattern traveling down your back. Tying it off with your ribbon, you reached up once again, expecting him to hand you the bouquet.

He was staring at your hair, frowning. You re-emphasized your hand. "I can take them now-"

"Your hair doesn't look anything like how it did when we left." He studied the messy attempt, and you half smiled.

"It's fine. Nobody pays attention to that."

Coriolanus pressed his lips into a firm line. If you came back looking even slightly like you'd been in the forest, his entire position could be jeopardized. It was bad enough your skirt was stained, but that could be played off. There was no place in town you were allowed to go where you'd be able to take your hair down. Women around here always had it pinned up or pulled back in some way.

Anxiety pulsed at his heart as he imagined what would happen if you were discovered. He'd be disciplined for not following orders and sent back to the barracks, maybe even demoted. Worse, he wouldn't be allowed to be near you anymore. You, who were quickly becoming what he orbited around.

Dropping to his knees and setting your flowers to the side, he paused before he touched your ribbon. "May I?"

You raised your eyebrows. "it's not a big deal Coriolanus."

He ignored how his name sounded with your lips wrapped around it. That was something he could dwell on later, when he was staring at the ceiling and trying to fall asleep. Instead, he gave you a look. "Just let me."

Shrugging, you faced forward and nodded. He untied your ribbon, fingers unweaving the mess you'd made of your soft hair. It was pretty- tumbling down your back like a waterfall, and he savored holding it.

Coriolanus combed his fingers through it once before meticulously separating the sections. You were perfectly still, the peace of the area enveloping you both. He was lost in the task for a moment, carefully weaving the strands together.

Your soft voice lilted his ears. "How do you know how to do this?"

"My cousin used to have me braid her hair," he murmured distractedly, careful as he smoothed one section before folding it over another. "Every day before she went to school."

"Oh." The word was quiet, and he had the feeling you'd have turned around if he'd have let you. "Do you miss her?"

He was surprised by the question, swallowing and nimbly finishing the bottom half of your braid. "Yes." Nobody had asked him about his family since arriving. The closest had been when he'd filled out the Corso address on the form that directed where his pay would be sent.

Tying the silky white ribbon around the end, securing your hair in place, he cleared his throat and sat back, getting to his feet. "All done."

You lifted your eyes to him, and he was rewarded by that sweet smile again. Coriolanus held out his hand and you took it, standing up with your flowers in one hand and your basket hooked over the same arm. For a moment, your soft hand stayed in his, soft fingers wrapped around his palm. "Thank you," you breathed, meeting his gaze.

It took a moment for him to find his words. Even the mere sight of you shook him to his core. "You're welcome."

On the walk back home, you let go of his hand and he mourned its loss for a moment before you slipped your own into the crook of his elbow, eyes darting around the space. He'd noticed you do this on the walk over too, searching the space as if you were expecting something to appear from the tree line.

As you walked quietly beside him, he thought of the first day he'd seen you, with tears falling and eyes blown wide. You'd come from the forest then too, and he wondered what had scared you so badly it had lingered. You bit the inside of your cheek and took in a shaky breath.

"I'll keep you safe." The words slipped out, but he made no attempt to remedy them.

If his heart was going to spark every time you looked at him, it would be a fire in no time. You searched his eyes, squeezing his elbow. Even through his uniform shirt he could feel your hand warm from the sun. If he wanted to (and he very much did) he could count every freckle you'd gained from your time outside.

With no more than a smile and a sweetheart's demeanor, you'd ignited something so untouchable in his soul, something that almost scared him. It was untouchable, boundless. An ocean of wonder he was only beginning to set sail on.

If the boat capsized and drowned, he'd go happily.

[mothandpidgeon]

P Boy Podcasts

I was swapping podcast recs with @schnarfer and asked her what kind of podcasts would each of the Pedro boys host? (I’m a bit of a podcast junkie. I'm literally listening to one right now.) Well, we were brainstorming and I went and created episode art for each of their shows. Which ones are you subscribing to?

Nic on Nic Get a peek into the brain of legendary talent Nicolas Cage. Cage collaborator (and fanboy) Javi Guttierez is watching everything from Con Air to National Treasure 2. Take a deep dive into the films of Nic Cage and hear exclusive interviews with the man himself.

The Unfortunates There are spies living among us, everyday people living double lives. What makes them do it? And how do they keep their secrets? Each week, Dave York shares a true story from the clandestine world of espionage. 

Foundlings Din Djarin’s parenting journey has never gone to plan because he never planned on becoming a dad! Come along as he navigates the challenges of single parenting a 50 year old son. Each week Din leads insightful discussions with a range of guests— pediatricians, parenting experts, and  other parents that are just trying to figure it all out.

Declassified Drugs, danger, and dames. The fall of Escobar made way for the Cali Cartel. Hear the story from  Agent Javier Pena as he recalls the hunt for the Cali Cartel and reveals details that have never been heard before. 

Tales from the Green Ezra shares spooky fales of distant worlds on this anthology fiction podcast. All set on the Green Moon, these bizarre and enthralling stories introduce you to a lush world filled with intrigue and danger. 

Heist The Mona Lisa only became a cultural icon after it was stolen in 1911. Learn about the greatest capers in the art world with host Marcus Pike. Hear first hand accounts going undercover during his time in the FBI. 

No Cap 4 best friends chat about anything and everything. Hear Santi, Will, Frankie, and Ben give their takes on dating, travel, and current events. You’ll love listening to them react to r/aita. 

UNKNOWN ZONE Alien encounter? Evidence of the lost city of Atlantis? Ghost fucking? Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. Join celebrity host Dieter Bravo for real life brushes with the unknown!

Joel’s Construction Corner Have a burning home improvement question? Or maybe you just like a southern drawl? Host Joel Miller has 30 years of experience in contracting and he’s here to share his advice with you. As soon as he figures out how to use this damn computer. Ellie does the ad reads with a pun for every one. 

Hungry History What does the invention of margarine have to do with Napoleon? Did Marco Polo really introduce pasta to Italy? Which Founding Father had a craving for ice cream? Follow your stomach to discover the origins of your favorite foods as we travel back in time with host Pero Tovar. 

--

I might've gone overboard. But I wish these all existed???

If you reblog this please rec me your favorite podcasts in the tags.

[youryurigoddess]

The summer that was never supposed to end

You’ve probably noticed how in Good Omens 2 Crowley’s eyes are brighter, more saturated, as if glistening with liquid gold. We’ve already covered his hair. And it’s not only the visual aspect of him — even in objectively stressful conditions, Crowley appears mature and put together, way cooler and more protective than before. Even his faults are heavily romanticized in the past and present scenes, reminding of the S1 body swap, when Aziraphale projected his love to him on the way he played the demon in Hell.

It’s not just the demon. The whole season is more vibrant, bolder, filled with sunshine. Just like a summer that was never supposed to end. Like a memory of a loved one seen through the eyes of someone who thinks of them every day until the end of the world.

S2 seems ridiculously saturated, whimsical, and full of red and gold, just like a certain demon. Aziraphale not only painted his bookshop in his image, but literally colored the whole world in Crowley’s colors. It was such lush and saturated and blooming with warmth and hazy light.

It’s either that all the newest events are just another memory seen through a certain angel’s eyes, or said angel actively made it appear this way — as in, his feelings grew so strong that they’ve started to warp the reality around him. And it’s a well-known fact that Aziraphale has a tendency to affect his surroundings, either unconsciously, when his presence in the bookshop literally lightens up the sky seen through its windows, or very much consciously, when he takes over the position of a master puppeteer and manipulates people with or without the help of his miracles.

S1 was more dramatic and apocalyptic, but not particularly gray — at least not as much as the color grading typically used in portrayal of similar apocalyptic narratives. S2, at least as seen through Aziraphale’s own La Vie En Rose lens, is vibrant and saturated. And those colors drastically fade in the heavenly light of the elevator during the credits, suggesting that they won’t be as visible in the course of S3.

But I don’t want to ramble about the apocalypse sandwich and the three-act structure here, so let’s circle back to S2.

Good Omens 2 was really set in a summer that was never supposed to end. But it did, autumn crept in, and there was no chance of hearing the nightingales sing. They all had left by the time an angel and a demon finally kissed.

In the most literal sense: the very last nightingales usually migrate from the UK to their wintering grounds in Sub-Saharan Africa in the first days of September.

Aziraphale was right that nothing lasts forever — and the passage of time on Earth is marked by subtle details invisible to the immortal eyes.

The main thing about autumn migration is how sudden and hard to predict it is. The birds start disappearing gradually, often without notice, until at some point they are no longer here. Much like the angel leaves the bookshop — their shared nest — to spread his wings and fight.

And it was basically announced on the poster.

Can you see the migratory formation of birds up in the sky? It looks like Aziraphale is the last one to get off the ground and fly.

[utterlyotterlyx]

4 and/or 25 with Eris, please!

Lost In The Fire

Eris x Fem!Reader

Warnings - mentions of arranged marriage, suggestive comments, lots of fluff

(not spell checked sorry x)

What if you - If you're really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you. Don't leave me here alone.

Balls had never been, nor ever would be, your thing.

The opulence that came with them was sickening, a waste of precious resources that could be put toward something more beneficial. The gold on display, the mountains of food that hardly anyone would touch that sat as a putrid reminder of power and wealth, and the stench of ale made your stomach churn with distaste.

You would forever curse your brother, Thesan, for giving you over to the Autumn Court, you understood that you had a duty to fulfil, and since you were the sister of one of the more liberal courts, with unmatched spiritual abilities, it meant that you were a high prize indeed.

You had long lost your usual clothing, red and gold loose fitting robes that still had the power to accentuate every feature you held lay dormant in your wardrobe and had been swapped out for tighter fitting garments in an arrangement of greens and browns and oranges. By order of Lady Autumn, of course.

There would be a day when her title would belong to you, and you always had to look the part.

It was a part you played well.

Marriage to Eris, the Heir of the Autumn Court, wasn't nearly as bad as you had expected it to be. It was lucky that your talents in spirituality were so advanced, and you were also lucky that his knowledge of your gifts was so little when you had first met.

Despite his cold exterior, you saw a small boy within him wanting more than anything to break free from the chains that bound him to his position. It was his only defence against his father. But, he knew that you could see through it, see through him in a way that no one else could and part of him was relieved to finally have someone who could understand him.

Things were still rocky, you struggled with their way of life, something Beron despised and spoke of frequently, saying he did not want you leading his court if you couldn't bend your morals and do what was needed. If turning your back on the people who needed you was too stiff, then you didn't want to be leading his court anyway.

But everything with Eris was good, more than good actually, you had actually come to care for him beyond the requirements of your marriage. Eris had moved your rooms opposite his own to have you closer to him, to have you speak him into newfound calm when his duties became too much; to have you closer to him so that he could soothe your clairvoyant episodes that pounced on you from nowhere.

It was meant to be a marriage of convenience, a marriage to forge new power and bonds and produce a litter of children who possessed both of your abilities. A new path for Autumn, a stronger path.

The clouds darkened on the horizon, the moon poked through their curls and illuminated them with a faint pale blue glow. Lanterns lined the garden paths below your window, Eris had made sure to give you the room with the best view, and you watched idly as high born nobles and invited guests to the nights festivities strolled down the cobbled stone paths arm in arm, pointing at the array of intricately carved white marble statues and fountains littered across the lawns, scattered between the hedges and lush flowerbeds.

Ladies swarmed you, tugging at your limbs and shimmying skirts up your legs before huffing and ripping them down again, tapping your calves to tell you to lift your feet so that they could try the next one. Lady Autumn ordered that racks upon racks of opulent dresses be wheeled into your chambers, it was important that you look your best in front of all of the nobles attending that evening, from Autumn and those from other courts.

Even Beron knew how powerful your opinion was to others, not like he would ever listen to it himself. You had been the one to accompany your brother to the High Lords meeting to find a path forward against Hybern. It was your grace and elegance that kept the meeting from boiling over since you were able to feel the emotions of others and force them to simmer down before they consumed the room. It was you who had been able to tell them all of Hyberns movements which no doubt gave them the edge they needed. It was you who saved dozens upon dozens of soldiers from all courts.

You had been the one to help Feyre with the complications with her pregnancy, you had been there for the birth of her son and had given a kernel of your own gift to keep her alive; it made you a very trusted ally to the Night Court, a friend. Helion wrote to you often asking for you opinions on research and inventions, even went as far as to ask for your input on some new policies he wanted to introduce to Day.

It was stupid to suggest that you wouldn't be the perfect High Lady.

Diplomatic. Gifted. Elegant. Poised.

And Eris adored every part of you that you decided to show him, he basked in it actually.

You weren't really paying attention as the ladies around you tugged at your hair and pulled another dress up your body, fitting it tightly around your breasts and hips before standing back and humming in approval. Then you looked.

An assortment of shimmering golds, burnt oranges and flecks of silver, all weaving between one another like the summer tides. It was sheer, enough to be endearing and elegant but not enough to appear indecent. There was a cut out half sphere below your breasts and the bodice flared upward like streaks of sunshine at the crack of dawn. Even you had to admit that it was a stunning piece indeed. Like a stained glass window glowing with dawns kiss.

"This is the one," your fingers brushed around your hips with a faint smile, your hair was unbound and simple, a perfect compliment to the other-worldly dress you adorned, and your makeup was a picture of dewy perfection, shimmers along your cheekbones and forehead, arched brows, glossed lip. "Thank you," you had dismissed the flock of women as soon as they strapped your shoes to your feet, taking a moment for yourself before you slipped from the room.

The quietness of the hallway was enough to tell you that Eris would already be in the ballroom, no doubt sassily quipping the other High Lords and Ladies with cold eyes and a stiff spine. An act that would melt under your presence.

You weren't wrong.

As soon as you had entered the room, it was encapsulated by you. Feyre and Mor rushed to greet you, stroking your hair and running their hands down your skirts, begging for you to tell them where had gotten it. Cassian bundled you into a boisterous embrace which earnt him a curt jab from Nesta for the inappropriateness, Azriel kissed your knuckles as did Rhys, and Helion kissed your cheek in greeting, muttering to you how beautiful you looked in a hushed tone.

No reaction compared to that of Eris however as he remained glued to his seat with lips agape as his russet orbs scoured your figure, the mere action of his eyes on you making heat rise to your cheeks.

Tables lined the room with benches on either side, all packed with goblets of wine and mugs of ale, platters of food scattered at intricately measured intervals. Only Beron and Lady Autumn sat at the head of the hall, the latter of which examined you with approval.

Everyone had floated about you, stealing your attention from the one you desired to give it to. From Rhys asking you, jokingly, to revolt against Autumn and find sanctuary in Velaris, to Thesan pulling you to the side to inquire if you were being treated well. Helion had updated you on the policies you had so gracefully aided him in implementing, and you found a moment to catch up with Kallias and Viviane.

Then you made your way over to Eris who was wrapped up in a conversation with Lucien and Elain, whose gaze jolted from cold to warm in a split second when he saw your dress glistening in the corner of his eye, "Hello, Embers," his voice was as smooth as freshly cracked open whisky as he prodded you with the nickname he had given you, he thought you glowed, not brightly, but like embers on a dying fire, low and warm.

Eris was extremely proud to call you his wife, not only were you clearly beautiful, but you had a heart of molten gold, people sought you out for comfort and aid, you were graceful and poised, and could change the world with your bare hands if you wished it. It was what he needed, a chance of a real future with the woman he was falling in love with.

He couldn't blame you for your feelings toward him, you didn't exactly have a choice in the marriage but you had tried to make the most of it, and you had let him in and spent more time with him away from the duties required of you. Eris thought that you had finally started to feel a certain way toward him as well, from the faint shine in your eyes when you looked at him to the real laughter that sliced through the fogged atmosphere when he quipped something to you. You made him melt, you made him be who he always wanted to be.

"Hello," your voice was as soft as drizzled honey and your hair fell over your shoulders as you leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek, a necessary act to display your strength as a couple.

Eris felt your eyes trail down his chest and arms, the open collared cream shirt and chestnut brown jacket and pants; he had styled his hair the way you loved it, tamed but still with a playfulness to it, tousled slightly as if he had been stood on the balcony in the wind for a few moments. "Do you like it?" Eris motioned to his suit with that gleam in his eye that made your knees weak, it was certainly a good thing that he wasn't an empath like you, otherwise he'd know his effect on you and no doubt tease you for it.

Just because Eris couldn't feel your emotion doesn't mean that someone else couldn't read you like a book.

You're blushing, a voice infiltrated your mind and you did well to keep a stoic face against Rhys' shit-eating smirk he was no doubt wearing from his seat across the bench from your husband, with his arm loosely wrapped around Feyre's waist, sipping from his goblet with a teasing glint in his eye. Someone might say you might actually feel something for the man.

Ignoring the voice in your head, you spoke, "I love it, we're basically matching."

You'll definitely be matching when both of your clothes are on the floor tonight.

Go fuck yourself, Rhys.

I don't need to. Not when I have my lovely mate.

The walls in your mind flew up then, trapping his talons against the roof of your consciousness with such force that the High Lord visibly winced and rubbed his temple tenderly.

"You look angelic," Eris stood before you, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips against the back of your hand, dipping low and peering at you through his lashes, making no effort to mask the desire in his emotions.

"Thank you," it came out as a whisper and he placed your hand back to your side, sitting down again beside his brother, allowing you to glance along the table which housed not only Eris and Lucien, but also Elain, Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, Helion, and your brother, meaning there was no space for you, "I suppose I'll go and sit with Kallias and Viviane," you picked up your skirts to turn away when Eris' hand shot out and secured around your wrist.

Eris' eyes glowed in the candlelight, you could see the flames flickering in his russet orbs that had you in a constant chokehold, "What if you-"

"If you're really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you," Azriel choked on his wine and coughed as Rhys and Cassian howled in laughter, even Eris chuckled and ran a hand through his hair at your words, standing to tower over you and cup your face in his hand.

"Perhaps later," he smirked and you visibly blushed at the words, even Eris couldn't miss it and he stroked a thumb over your rosed cheek.

In defence, you quipped, "Maybe I'll go back to my chambers then," the words flew from your mouth and you only realised how they sounded when Eris' focus darkened, the tension between you both was palpable to the point that even Azriel let out a whoosh of air he didn't realise he was holding in his lungs.

"So tempting," he took a step closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and speaking a low, rough tone, "Don't leave me here alone, you know I don't do well without you."

"Fine," you strained and he grinned victoriously before ordering his brother and Elain to scooch down slightly to make room for you, and you slotted beside Eris like the final piece to his puzzle, thanking him for the goblet of wine you had taken from his offering fingers and looking upward at Rhys and Feyre who both sent you a knowing glance.

Knocking on the doors of your mind, you allowed Rhys to slip in, doing your best to stay distracted against Eris' hand on your hip that sent fire coursing through your veins and heat pooling between your thighs.

I've never known him to be like this, you know.

Like what?

Rhys' eyes flickered to Eris in examination before finding you again whilst Feyre kept the heir ignorant to the conversation between you and her mate.

Soft. Caring. He loves you, Y/N.

Well, it's a good thing I love him too then.

Rhys smirked, raising his goblet to you to which you clinked against your own, sipping the spiced wine and smiling with happiness at his words.

Eris sighed and turned to you, placing a kiss to your cheek, allowing his lips to graze against your cheekbones and his breath to fan down your neck. The rest of the room had moved on, wrapped up in one another, wrapped up in the ale and music, leaving you and Eris alone and untouchable in your little bubble. His eyes scanned you, sketching every part of you onto the canvas within his mind, "Your presence has impacted me so deeply that I'm convinced that if we never met then something would feel missing," he rested his forehead against your own and his hand gripped your waist as his gaze bore into you, "Don't leave me alone, don't ever leave me," a breathless plea that stole your heart.

"I will never leave you, Eris. I will be here to watch all of your dreams come true, I promise."

Flames danced in his eyes and he became unbothered by who could be watching, "They already are," his finger stroked a line up the curve of your throat as he lifted your chin up, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours in something you could only call ethereal, so tender but passionate that you felt your heart burst with golden light in your chest.

Eris smirked against your lips, a knowing thing, like he knew exactly what had just happened, pulling away, you gasped as your hand ghosted over the fabric of your heart, "You knew?"

"From the moment we met at that meeting in Dawn," his nose brushed against yours, "You were too busy helping Thesan and keeping Tamlin under control to notice, but I saw you, and I knew I needed you."

"You never said anything."

"How could I?" Eris pressed a kiss to your nose, "You had to fall for me on your own, I couldn't influence that."

You inhaled his scent, of crackling firewood and spiced oranges and sighed, you curled your fingers around the lapels of his jacket and kissed him again, more forcefully, and luckily for you both, the room hadn't noticed your infatuation due to Cassian's well played distraction to give you both a moment, one that you needed.

"I need to get you out of here before I take you on this table," his voice possessively growled and it made you shudder in intense delight.

Rhys watched from across the way as Eris took your hand in his own and pulled you from the room, smiling at the large grin on your face and the faint giggles passing through your lips as he saw the silhouette of Eris flinging you over his shoulder cascaded in shadow onto the white stone floor.

If anyone deserved true happiness, a life of wonder and love, it was you, and it was something Rhys believed Eris was now fully capable of providing for you.

Author's Note

Back from Paris in love with the idea of love so expect lots of fluff coming your way x

[katyawriteswhump]

the holiday 💝

For @stevieweek movie marathon prompt, ‘the holiday,’ @steddieholidaydrabbles day 27 prompt ‘traffic’ (also, 28, ‘pining’); @steddiemas prompt ‘surprise.’

WC: 990; Rating: M; CW: none. Tags: transfem supermodel Stevie, ordinary British bloke Eddie, meet-cute, strangers to lovers, modern AU, inspired by the movie ‘The holiday’ but you don’t really have to have seen it.

💝💝💝💝💝💝

Stevie huddled, shivering, under her house-swap’s thickest duvet.

When she’d left LA for her ‘holiday’ near London, nobody warned her the heating hadn’t been updated in centuries. Nor that it was a ‘flat’ in a crumbling Victorian mansion, with traffic roaring by constantly.

Not that she’d sleep tonight. It was 4pm back home! She might’ve placed half the world between her and Jason, but sleeplessness still equalled wrathful pining…

A door rattled.

Crap! What was that?

The flat’s front door creaked open. In the half-light, her frantic gaze alighted on a hockey-stick. What were the laws on self-defence in this crappy country? She hid behind the bedroom door, waited till they neared, then…

Crack!

“Bloody Hell!” yelped the burglar. Stevie had—stupidly?—not hit hard. Chiefly, because the guy was sexy-as-fuck. “You’re not Chrissy!”

“Chrissy? No, I’m—”

“World-famous supermodel Stevie Harrington! Why are you in my sister’s flat?”

“Your sister?” The hockey-stick slipped from her trembling hands. He’d got long dark hair and obscenely beautiful eyes.

He rattled a door-key: “See?”

“Oh shit,” she mumbled. “Not a burglar.”

“No. Um, sorry, but I’m inordinately pissed and… really need the loo.” He grimaced, hopping toe-to-toe. “May I?”

When he returned, she gave him ice for his bruise, and he slumped on the sofa.  After learning about the house-swap, Eddie—as he introduced himself over brandy—explained how Chrissy wanted to escape her loneliness following a break-up.

“Yeah,” sighed Stevie. “I relate.”

Eddie’s sad smile touched and intrigued her. Before she dared ask, he winced at his cell. “Ten missed calls from Chrissy. I’m a terrible brother.”

“Yeah? I should sue her for false advertising.” Stevie sat down beside him to share the house-swap pics, which he explained were taken on a rare snow-day.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna sue her?”

Her turn to wince. He was intense, clearly super-protective of Chrissy, which made her sigh inwardly. He was literally the anti-Jason. “I won’t. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Please yourself. Honestly, South London is cool. Jude Law grew up nearby.” Stevie shrugged. “The Stones? David Bowie?”

“Bowie? Wow!”

Eddie’s smile finally lit those eyes. He sent a Bowie playlist to Chrissy’s speakers, while leaning dangerously into Stevie’s personal space. Or was she being pulled, magnet-like, into his?

Warmth blossomed in her chest, radiated out with every beat of her heart. They were laughing and joking and… her focus flitted to Eddie’s lush lips.

His slid… lower.

“Honestly,” he said, in that totally-growing-on-her accent, “these days, Bromley is considered pretty desirable.”

He stared so hard at her cleavage, she gasped.

“Sorry.” He discarded his brandy, pinched his brow. “This is weird. Me hanging with Stevie Harrington.”

Stevie sighed. “You think I’m shorter in real life?” It was one of Jason’s fave put-downs.

“No.” That smile again, and she was dying happy. “The biggest surprise is your Winnie-the-Pooh PJs. I pictured you sleeping in baby-doll lingerie.”

Stevie blinked. He pictured that BEFORE we met?

Okay, she'd modelled slinky stuff, but… Dammit, she’d barely had time to be embarrassed about Pooh.

“This was gonna be a ‘me-break,’” she flustered. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“Yeah, sorry. Again. Um… can I kip on the couch? Be gone before you wake.”

If Stevie had worn her matching Pooh slippers, her heart would’ve plummeted through them. Then instantly skyrocketed. Eddie leaned waaaay too close again. Trouble was, even his beer-breath proved alluring.

“Yeah, fine,” she stammered. “Tho’ this sofa is tiny, and…”  She brushed her mouth against Eddie’s, the whispering ghost of a kiss.

“W-wow?” stuttered Eddie.

She licked her lips. He tasted boozy, but she liked. And omfg, what had come over her? Her knuckles caressed his cheek, trembling like she was the drunk one. “I’ve never kissed a stranger before.”

His flirtatious snicker warmed-up long-neglected places inside her. “Really? I do it all the time.”

They tumbled into the next kiss, which heated, sizzled, lingered smoochily, till she asked, breathless: “Seeing as you’re super-hot, and I’m leaving tomorrow… we should have sex.”

“Stevie, you’re the hottest girl in the world—sure you’re not a dream?”

They barely reached Chrissy’s bed before they fucked, with Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ cheering them on. Stevie had never done anything this spontaneous. And, for someone ‘sozzled’, Eddie sure knew how to please a partner… over and over and over.

Eventually, Stevie watched him sleep, cursing her surging 'feels.'

This heartache was crazy. Why couldn’t she enjoy a one-night stand? Eddie seemed sweet. Also, a stranger! She was on the rebound, still kinda pining… or was she?

Honestly, she felt closer to Eddie already than she ever had to Jason.

Stevie, you’re jet-lagged and over-emotional. Go home. To a fresh start.

And nope, she couldn’t make that new life here.

Next morning, Eddie apologised about basically everything.

“Chill,” said Stevie breezily, over their Deliveroo banana-chocolate crepes. “I had fun.”

Not gonna be clingy and tragic.

“Still leaving?” he asked, doe-eyed.

She nodded. Her chest panged, and it didn’t help that Eddie resembled a kicked puppy. He fluffed his hair, awkward.

“Stevie, listen. Firstly, that ex of yours who said you sucked at sex? He’s a liar. Secondly, my life is really complicated.” Indeed, his cell bleeped with messages all night. Another reason Stevie’s ‘feels’ were madness. “But… if you change your mind, I’m having dinner later at the pub on the corner.”

The hug, and their tender farewell kiss, choked her up. Shit, she never fucking cried!

Her limo sat in traffic for two hours on its way to the airport. Three more, after Stevie demanded the driver turn back. In the pub, she got tons of stares in her cute cocktail-dress and even signed some autographs. When Eddie finally arrived, his surprised smile was beyond delicious.

“Hey,” she said, deserting her Chardonnay.

“Hello, Gorgeous.” He slid his hand to her waist, drawing her into a sensual kiss that was somehow comfortably familiar and the most startling, exciting thing ever.

She was definitely gonna stay the whole two weeks. Then… who knew?

💝💝💝💝💝💝

No pressure tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚❤️💚 and also a billion thanks for helping me get this going… I would very much like to flesh this part out in a longer version and tell Chrissy’s story in LA with Stevie's friend Robin… that said, it was also nice to set something somewhere I know for a change even if the details were few and chiefly unnecessary! Anyhow... I might continue and have more fun with this, who knows… 😉) My fic on ao3

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 11

There's a forest near Redania that is lush with color and flora. Every time Geralt camps there, he gets the best sleep of his life. There's always plenty of game for when he's hungry, and the birds follow after him, singing him songs. Every time he comes back, more and more odd qualities of the forest show. Most recently, flowers spawn wherever he or Roach steps. Roach finds this amazing (and very tasty), Geralt meanwhile is starting to find this suspicious. He's begun to hear a song in the breeze, and that's when he kicks roach into high gear and gets the hell out of there. But no matter how far he travels, in the back of his head, he can still hear the sad song, sung from a shaky voice. Eventually, he finds himself along the trail of the forest, and decides to risk it. The voice swaps immediately to a happy tune, and Geralt is being showered with deer and rabbits who are suspiciously suddenly always just near his camp, fish literally jumping out of the river toward him, birds flying after him to drop flowers on him. He decides that whatever is controlling the forest must be harmless, and even wishes it well as he rides off, only to hear the sad song start again as he leaves. He assures the forest he'll return again, and the song lightens to a cheery jig once more. When a monster known for spreading rot wherever it goes suddenly appears in Jaskier's forest, Jaskier knows his only chance is to sing his witcher back (and perhaps convince him to bring Jaskier with him next time.)

[callmekenya]

Pairings: Evie Grimhilde x m!y/n

Warnings: None

_________________________________________

The garden party at Rapunzel and Flynn's Castle was a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The lush greenery, adorned with twinkling lights, set the perfect atmosphere for an elegant evening. Guests mingled, laughter echoed, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air.

Evie, the daughter of the Evil Queen, stood beside her boyfriend, Y/n, the son of Queen Rapunzel and King Flynn. Everything about their relationship seemed perfect, almost too perfect.

Rapunzel, who had grown fond of Evie, treated her like the daughter she never had, and Evie cherished their bond. For her, meeting Y/n was a dream come true—a prince who loved her for who she was, despite her past. But dreams have a way of turning into nightmares.

As the evening unfolded, an unexpected guest arrived—Lily, the daughter of Queen Snow White and King Florian. With her raven-black hair and flawless skin, Lily was the epitome of beauty, but her demeanor was anything but sweet. She was accompanied by Princess Josaphine, the daughter of Jasmine and Aladdin, who introduced Lily to Evie with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Lily, this is Evie, Y/n’s girlfriend," Josaphine said, her voice dripping with a false sweetness.

Lily looked Evie up and down, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Ah, the infamous VK. How quaint."

Evie, caught off guard, forced a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

Lily leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper, yet cutting like a knife. "You know, Y/n is just going through a phase. He'll never truly fall for someone like you. A wannabe princess will never be an actual princess."

The words stung more than Evie would care to admit. She tried to shake off the comment, but the seed of doubt had been planted. The rest of the night passed in a blur. Y/n noticed Evie's sudden change in mood and gently took her hand. "Evie, are you okay? You've been quiet all evening."

Evie gave him a tight-lipped smile, hiding the turmoil inside. "I'm just tired. Can we go home?"

Concerned but respectful, Y/n drove her back to her dorm. The silence between them was deafening. When they arrived at her door, Evie turned to him, her smile forced. "Thank you for tonight. I just need some time alone."

Y/n wanted to press further but saw the resolve in her eyes. He nodded, brushing a kiss across her forehead before watching her disappear behind the door. Little did he know, that night would change everything.

Alone in her dorm, Evie couldn’t shake off Lily’s words. They echoed in her mind, driving her to the edge. In a moment of desperation, she decided to make a change. She bleached her signature blue hair to a brown hue and swapped her vibrant blue outfits for muted, traditional princess colors. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself but convinced herself it was for the best.

The next day, Y/n was taken aback when he saw Evie’s transformation. She looked stunning, but something about her new look felt off. It wasn’t the Evie he fell in love with, but he kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to upset her.

Weeks passed, and tension grew between them. The Tourney tournament, the highlight of the season, was around the corner. Auradon’s team was pumped, and the cheerleading squad, including both Lily and Evie, was ready to energize the crowd. The game was intense, but Auradon triumphed, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

As the cheerleaders rushed onto the field, Lily saw her chance. She ran straight to Y/n, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss on his lips. The crowd fell silent in shock, all eyes on the couple.

Y/n immediately pushed Lily away, his eyes searching for Evie. He found her across the field, her face a mix of shock and heartbreak. Without a second thought, she turned and ran, tears streaming down her face.

Y/n sprinted after her, calling out her name, but she didn’t stop. He caught up to her just as she reached her dorm, grabbing her arm gently. “Evie, please, let me explain. That kiss meant nothing. You’re the one I love.”

Evie looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt. “It’s not just the kiss, Y/n. I thought I could be someone I’m not. But I’ll never be a real princess, not like Lily. Maybe she’s right, maybe you deserve someone better.”

She pulled off the promise ring he had given her, pressing it into his hand. “I can’t do this anymore. We’re done.”

Before Y/n could respond, she turned and disappeared into her dorm, leaving him standing in the hallway, heartbroken.

In the days that followed, Y/n tried reaching out to Evie, but she blocked him on everything. She avoided him at every turn, and Y/n found himself spiraling into despair. Lily, meanwhile, reveled in the downfall of their relationship, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The Royal Ball hosted by Mal and Ben was the final event of the season, a grand celebration where everyone would be present. Y/n arrived with Lily on his arm, but his mind was elsewhere, his eyes scanning the room for Evie. Then, the announcer's voice rang out.

"Please welcome Princess Evie and her date for the Royal Ballet, Doug!"

The room fell silent as Evie entered, her hair once again a vibrant blue, and her dress matching the hue. She looked every bit the princess she was meant to be, reclaiming her true self. Y/n’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was stunning, a vision of everything he had fallen in love with.

As the night wore on, the band was set to perform. Y/n, desperate to win Evie back, made his way to the stage. Taking the microphone, he addressed the crowd. "I’d like to dedicate this song to someone very special to me. Someone I should have never let go.”

[Verse 1: Y/n]

"If I could do it all over, baby, I'd do it different

Maybe I wouldn't be here, in this position 

I found you, then I lost you, looking back is torture 

And it hurts to know I let you go, you live right around the corner

Y/n’s voice was filled with emotion as he sang, his eyes never leaving Evie’s. The room was silent, captivated by the raw sincerity in his voice. Evie, standing at the edge of the room, felt her heart breaking all over again, but she couldn’t look away.

[Pre-Chorus 1: Y/n & Evie]

"And I could've had it all, could've had it all

True love, I know I had it

True love, was so hard to find

True love, if I could get it back, I'd never let it go this time

(True love) is an inspiration

(True love) it was mine, all mine

(True love) I'd never let it go

I'd never it go

I'll never let it go

I'll never let it go this time.

As Y/n continued, Evie felt her resolve weaken. The love they had shared was real, undeniable. Slowly, she began to move towards the stage, drawn to him by the pull of their connection.

[Verse 2: Evie]

"Feeling it all around me, wondering how I blew it”

And I wanna know the secret, of how they, do it

There's no such thing as perfection, I'm still learning that lesson

To forgive is key to forgetting me

And I'm staring at my reflection

And I could've had it all, could've had it all

Evie’s voice joined his, soft at first but gaining strength. The harmony between them was perfect, a reflection of the bond they once had. The crowd watched in awe as Evie walked toward Y/n, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

[Pre-Chorus 2: Y/n & Evie]

True love, I know I had it

True love, was so hard to find

If I could get it back, yeah

I'd never let it go this time

True love, is an inspiration

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, If I could get it back, yeah

Never let it go, I'd never let it go this time

[Verse 3: Y/n]

If I knew then what I do now, I'd be with you tonight

If I knew then what I'd do now we'd be alright

And I could've had it all

True love (x3)

By the time they reached the chorus again, they were standing face to face, their voices blending in perfect harmony. The emotion between them was palpable, and the audience could feel it too. As they sang the final lines together, the weight of their feelings hung in the air.

[Bridge: Y/n & Evie]

I'd never let it go this time

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, If I could get it back, yeah

If only I could get it back, yeah

(Never let it go this time)

True love, I'd never let it go

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, I could've had it,

Could've had it, could've had it all

True love, is an inspiration

True love, it was mine oh mine

True love, yeah

If I could get it back, yeah

(If I could get it back, yeah)

Never let it go

(I'd never let it go, this time)

I'd never let it go, this time

True love, yeah

The song ended, and for a moment, the room was completely silent. Then, without a word, Y/n reached out and pulled Evie into a kiss, pouring all of his love and regret into it. The crowd erupted into cheers, but for Y/n and Evie, the world had faded away. There was only them, and the love they had fought so hard to reclaim.

Lily, seething with jealousy, started to make her way toward Evie and Y/n, a glass of champagne in her hand and mischief glinting in her eyes. She intended to cause a scene, to tear them apart one final time. However, before she could take more than a few steps, she found her path blocked by Audrey and Mal.

“Not so fast, Princess,” Mal said, her voice icy with authority. “Leave them alone. You’ve done enough.”

Audrey crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. “You might want to rethink what you’re about to do, Lily. I guarantee it won’t end well for you.”

Lily hesitated, her eyes flicking from the two girls in front of her to the couple on the dance floor. The room’s attention had shifted away from her, and it was clear that if she tried anything, Mal and Audrey wouldn’t hesitate to stop her. Grudgingly, she lowered her glass and took a step back, her lips curling in distaste.

“Fine,” Lily spat, her voice low. “But this isn’t over.”

Mal leaned in, her glowing eyes narrowing. “It is, Lily. Move on. You’re not wanted here.”

With one last glare, Lily turned on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom, her frustration and anger evident in every step. Audrey and Mal exchanged a satisfied look before turning their attention back to the celebration.

On the dance floor, Y/n and Evie were lost in each other’s eyes, the world around them fading into a distant hum. The cheers from the crowd only heightened the joy that surged between them. Y/n gently cupped Evie’s face, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Evie,” Y/n whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. For letting you doubt yourself, for letting Lily come between us. I never stopped loving you. I never will.”

Evie placed her hand over his, holding it to her cheek as she leaned into his touch. “I should’ve never let her words get to me. I should’ve known better, should’ve trusted in what we had. But when I changed, I realized I was losing myself. I just… I just didn’t know how to get back to who I was, or if you’d still want me when I did.”

Y/n’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He shook his head, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Evie, you’re perfect just the way you are. It was never about being a princess or a VK. It was always about you. The girl I fell in love with, who’s brave, smart, kind, and so incredibly strong. The girl who’s never needed to be anyone other than herself.”

Evie’s lips trembled into a smile, her blue eyes shining brightly as she met his gaze. “And I fell in love with the boy who saw all of that in me when no one else did. You’ve always been my true love, Y/n. I never should’ve doubted that.”

As the music played on, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world spinning around them but never touching the bubble of peace they’d created together. The crowd, sensing the moment, began to pair off into their own dances, leaving Y/n and Evie to share this time together.

From across the room, Doug watched with a satisfied grin on his face, his earlier role as Evie’s date simply a way to remind her of her worth. He caught Ben’s eye and gave a small nod, acknowledging the part they’d played in helping the couple find their way back to each other.

Ben, standing with Mal at his side, couldn’t help but smile. “I think everything turned out just as it was meant to,” he said, giving Mal’s hand a squeeze.

Mal smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Of course it did. I mean, when have you known me to be wrong?”

They both laughed, and for the rest of the night, the ballroom was filled with joy, music, and the celebration of love—true love that had been tested, but never broken.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/n and Evie slipped away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner of the garden where the twinkling lights of the party cast a soft glow around them. Y/n wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“You know,” Y/n murmured, his voice tender, “I don’t need a kingdom or a crown. As long as I have you, Evie, I have everything I could ever want.”

Evie smiled, resting her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “And I have you, my prince. That’s all I need.”

They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the stars, secure in the knowledge that their love was true, unshakable, and everlasting.

[itslilacokay]

pls pls PLSS tell me about your NS? au i need to know as much as humanly possible...

sniff... i.... i thought no one would ever ask........... nows my chance...... to yap..........

AHEM.

ns?AVA (normalswap?ava) is my swap au! its not normal

victim and tco both take tsc's role, while tsc just takes victim's role

mercenaries swap roles with cg, though its not exact on which mercenary takes specific a cg member's role and vice versa, theyre quite jumbled around

though one specific stick in the cg doesnt take a mercenary's role and that's yellow, in fact he takes tdl's role! as for tdl he takes tco's role

"so in your au there's like only 3 mercenaries instead of 4?????" no i thought of something else to remedy that

you know that cloaked guy that gave king the command block? yeah hes a mercenary now

speaking of king........ he has a different role as well but that's in ns?avm, which i'll get to later because i need to explain more ns?ava things

so fun fact! the hollowheads have new names for this au

tsc -> The First Victim (tfv)

tdl -> The Chosen Lord (tcl)

victim -> The Return (tr)

tco -> The Second Chance (scn)

btw the animator is alexcrafter28, aka that minecraft kid in lush caves

for ns?ava lore, i wrote down what happened in ns?ava1-4 a few months ago so if you dont miiind

SWAP-AVA 1 -tfv becomes a rogue animation and destroys the computer -tfv finds the stickfight website and convinces the colorgang to destroy the computer with him, they agree -colorgang gets "ended", which makes ctv want to destroy the computer even more -ends like normal ava1 with the fla closing without being saved, since tfv is bound to that fla file he disappears with it

an extra thing to note is that if this were a video, there would be an ""animation error"" where yellow didnt get shown to be ended, an aucanon explanation would be that yellow managed to escape to the outernet, albeit on accident

SWAP-AVA 2 -tcl is made and destroys the pc, wow what a shocker -alex eventually traps him and just renders him powerless, though tcl's able to still wander around the pc

SWAP-AVA3 -yellow appears back in the pc and starts destroying it again -tcl tries to stop him but eventually joins him and also the code that disabled his power gets removed (yellow did it) -just like normal ava3, it ends with them both completely destroying the computer, ending with a blue screen of death

SWAP-AVA4 -starts like normal ava4, in the middle of an online chat -however, it starts in the middle of scn destroying the computer -scn comes across an fla file and finds tr and co -they hang out for a bit but alex eventually finds the fla with them inside -fight sequence -as soon as alex is about to close the fla a few flashbacks to (swap)ava 1 happen -they come up with a compromise, scn doesnt wreck the pc and alex lets him and his new friends hang out in said pc -a little while later it shows that scn, tr and co are in their own fla, with a house drawn inside it (similar to the stickfight website)

a few extra things i want to add before heading to ns?avm is that in this au, when tfv gets brought back from deletion he tries to immediately go back to the stickfight website in hopes of bringing back the cg

it works, but yellow is still missing

they then find out about the outernet and try to find yellow there

along the way they founded illustratiocorp

just to make it clear they dont care about the animator, or at least getting revenge on the animator is of less importance to them at the moment, for now they just want to find yellow

the reason why tcl is wanted is because he was suspected to have involvement with yellow somehow,,, and also the past instances/news of internet terrorizing but yeahhg

i think thats all for ns?AVA for the moment, now is time for ns?AVM!

so in ns?AVM, gold and king found purple and took him in (purple's lore up until that point still stays, orchid dies and navy leaves)

purple died in the minecraft event and gold feels severe survivor's guilt and now wants to destroy minecraft

unlike king, gold's ,.,,, a child so this hatred against minecraft is more severe

speaking of king, yeah he's still traumatized but he still has a bit of moral left and doesn't want gold to go through with this plan

gold then early on finds out how to enter minecraft because of the cloaked guy (gasp)

in this au, cloaked guy originally resided in the mac and later led gold to said mac

gold decided this would be a good time to start destroying a bit of minecraft currently on the mac, but accidentally ended up being a ruler of the mac village (definitely not because cloaked guy gave him the crown and silently left and the villagers took that as cloaked guy passing down the crown to this kid)

then skip to a whiiiile later, gold and cloaked guy are kinda working together and cloaked guy is also teaching gold how to work with the command block

now that golds more confident on working the command block, his plan to destroy minecraft can finally begin right after making a staff because he still liked his old staff during his time as ruler of the mac village

honestly i havent thought much about ns?AVM as much as i have with ns?AVA so maybe i'll post some other lorethings about ns?AVM after i think some more, but apart from that i thiiink thats about it yeah

[kayawolfhorse]

Anywhere You Go | Read on Ao3

My piece for the @boatemvillagezine! The zine turned out spectacular, be sure to give it a read <3

—☾—

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs as she slides open the van door and steps out into the small parking lot, gravel crunching beneath her boots. Turning around, she offers a hand to Mumbo, who still looks queasy from the bout of carsickness that’d struck him earlier on the road.

“Grian is trying to kill me personally, I think,” Mumbo mutters, holding Pearl’s arm for stability.

“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve been rid of you by now,” Grian comes around the front of the van saying, offering Mumbo a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Mumbo harrumphs, “You took that last turn faster than you had to and you know it. Why did we let you drive, anyway?”

“I’m a perfectly adequate driver, I’ll have you know! In my defense, I did not see that bend coming up—”

Scar climbs out of the backseat next, adjusting the tiny version of his scarlet top hat he’d insisted on bringing along, though his Swaggon attire had been swapped out for a more practical shirt and shorts combo of the same color scheme. Pearl admires the dedication to the theme, really.

Hooking an arm around Grian’s shoulders, Scar says, “Now, now, gentleman! Let the worries of our travels fall away as you admire the magnificent view all around us.”

Still sitting in the passenger seat, maps spilling out upon the dashboard in front of him, Impulse snorts, “You make it sound like you’re trying to sell them the forest, Scar.”

“Well, you know what they say, there’s profit to be had everywhere you look!” Scar hums, getting that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.

“As your CEO, I appreciate the mindset, but you can’t sell us public land,” Mumbo points out with a laugh, straightening up looking significantly less ill. Scar shrugs, a cheeky smile on his face.

Adjusting the bandanna she’d tied around her braided hair, Pearl bounces on her feet. “Profits aside, we’re finally here! Let’s get going already!”

Earlier in the week, Impulse had proposed an overnight hiking trip, following a trail through the scenic foothills of the closest real mountain range, ending the day out by camping around the lake found in one of the higher-up valleys, to give the Boatem crew a break from building. The idea was met with enthusiasm, and just a couple days later, Pearl found herself crammed between Scar and everyone’s luggage in the backseat of Mumbo’s van as Grian drove and Impulse directed, Mumbo clutching the front of his pineapple-patterned shirt next to Scar for dear life.

After hours being stuck in the same uncomfortable position, Pearl’s more than ready to start up the trail. The others are quick to agree, and after packs are assembled, shoelaces are tied, and the van is locked, they’re off.

The woods feel like an entirely different world than the lot they parked in. Tall, thin trees with fluffy foliage form a lush canopy high above Pearl’s head, and between the trunks the ground is alive with brush, pocket-marked with fallen logs and framed by the soft brown pine needles of the forest floor. Lichen creeps up the boulders scattered throughout, and steep rock faces contrast beautifully with the greens of the plant life.

Mumbo’s the first to break the hush that had fallen over the group. “Wow,” he breathes, “just, wow.”

Impulse nudges Mumbo and points to a tree with a thicker trunk and hole in the center that, paired with the bits of bark surrounding it, almost resembles a mouth of sharp teeth. “Hey, look, it’s Treesa!”

Following his gaze, Mumbo laughs. “I see it! Could be Treesa’s cousin, maybe—it doesn’t quite have her eyes.”

“I knew it was going to be pretty, but I didn’t expect it to be this amazing! Would you just look at the shape of those trees!” Scar walks in front of the group and waves vaguely to the left, grinning.

“Uh, Scar, we’re surrounded by trees,” Grian teases in a deadpan.

“And they’re all beautiful,” Scar agrees, stretching out the syllables of “beautiful” with a studious nod.

“Oh, I completely get you. Look at this terrain! I’m getting so much inspiration for my mountain already.” Pearl wishes she’d brought her sketchbook with her. Such beautiful shapes! She’s determined to commit everything to memory to recount on paper later.

Scar and Pearl fall into step together as they walk, the path beneath their feet nothing more than a line of dirt trodden enough to be distinguishable from the undergrowth, laughter from Grian, Mumbo, and Impulse echoing all around them. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling against the gorgeous landscape, and the conversation between Pearl and Scar is nothing short of gushing about every detail.

—☾—

The first three forks in the trail are marked with signs, and it’s easy to follow the arrow pointing towards the lake. The forth fork’s signpost, however, must’ve succumbed to the elements at some point, and now lays half buried in the mud puddle gathered on the side of the path.

“I can’t make out what any of it says, can anyone else?” Grian squints at the muddied sign, whose lettering has weathered away almost completely. After a chorus of no’s in response, he asks, “Impulse, would you be able to find the route on the map?”

“I sure can!” Impulse sticks a hand in his shorts pocket, only to frown. Checking the other pockets, his expression grows more worried, until he pulls off his backpack to root around its compartments. “I must have it here somewhere.”

Remembering the stack of maps piled on the dashboard of the van, Pearl sucks in a breath through her teeth and asks, “Did you actually grab it from the car? Before we left?”

Freezing mid-action, Impulse’s eyes go wide. “Now that you mention it… no, I didn’t. Do we go back for it?”

Grian shakes his head. “We’ve already been hiking for hours. If we go back now we’ll be trying to find the campsite in the dark. Should we just… follow the path and hope for the best?”

“It’s a terrible idea, but it might be our best option, and if that doesn’t sum up our group as a whole, I don’t know what does,” Mumbo agrees.

“Then it’s settled! Onwards!” Scar marches forward, before seemingly remembering that they haven’t decided which route to take. “Actually, which way are we going?”

Impulse points to the right, where the slope they stand on continues uphill. “The lake’s in a higher valley, it’d make sense to keep going up until we find it, right?”

With a shrug, Grian says, “Seems like a reasonable plan to me.”

From there, of course, it doesn’t take very long for things to go wrong.

Right over the crest of the hill they’ve been hiking over is a pool of sticky, deceptively shallow-looking mud that spans too far on either side to be avoided without getting tangled in dense vegetation. In their attempt to cross, Scar missteps and ends up in mud up to his ankle, his boot completely trapped underneath. Mumbo and Impulse manage to free Scar, but his shoe is lost forever, and the spare pair Impulse loans out to Scar is a size too tight.

On the other side of the puddle, the trail is notably not nearly as worn down as the rest of it has been so far, and after a while it fades entirely, leaving the group stranded.

“I can’t see anything!” Mumbo throws his hands up in defeat. “Isn’t a lake supposed to be big? Surely it should’ve been visible by this point?”

The part of the forest they’ve found themselves in is densely wooded, the trees close enough together that it’s near-impossible to see anything beyond the small clearing they’ve stopped to rest in. Paired with the slowly setting sun, Pearl’s suddenly struck by the feeling that she does not want to be here past dark, thank you very much.

Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, Pearl suggests, “I could climb a tree? See if I could spot anything from up there?”

The idea is met with mixed responses. “It’s definitely illegal, and stupid, and dangerous,” Impulse starts, “but… it would be good to reach a higher vantage point.”

“Oh, super illegal,” Grian agrees. “I’ll go with you, Pearl. We’ll make sure not to litter or destroy the tree. I’m sure the forest will understand.”

After leaving their bags with the rest of the group, Pearl and Grian set off to find a good climbing tree. The forest is predominantly made up of tall trees with narrow trunks, with their shorter, bushier counterparts dotted in between—nothing ideal for climbing.

“Oh, this one is pretty good!” Pearl says, as they come across a tree suitably large, with branches low enough down to act as footholds.

“Sure is,” Grian says, bending down to tie his shoe. As he straightens up, he tosses Pearl a grin. “Race you to the top!”

“Oi!” Pearl exclaims, grabbing at the first branch and hoisting herself up. The limb creaks, but holds fast, and Pearl reaches for the next. Partway up the tree, Pearl and Grian are neck and neck, and Grian sticks his tongue out at Pearl around the trunk, Pearl wrinkling her nose in response.

In the highest boughs that’ll support her weight, Pearl gives a whoop of victory, holding her hand out to Grian to help him up the last bit of the way. There’s no real place to sit, so instead Pearl takes to crouching on her branch with an arm around the trunk, Grian standing, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.

“See anything?” Grian asks, after a quiet moment of taking in the view.

Scanning the land around them, Pearl sighs. “No. It is quite lovely from up here, though.”

From so high up, the mountains are visible through blue-tinged fog, ringing the horizon like a crown. Rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see, and Pearl can just make out the rocks that break up the woods below. The cool spring breeze rustles the treetops around them as it does the loose hair around Pearl’s face, and when she inhales, Pearl’s surrounded by the scent of sweet, refreshing pine.

“Well, this was a bust, then.” Grian lowers himself, readying for the climb back down.

Carefully shifting her grip to join him, Pearl takes one final sweeping glance, when something shiny catches her eye. Turning fully towards it, she gasps, “Wait! Grian! I see the lake!”

“You do?”

“Yeah! Over there!” Pearl points to where the last remnants of the sunset sparkle over the water of the lake, mostly obscured by trees and uphill to their current position. “It’s not too far! We’ve been running parallel to it, looks like.”

Grian laughs, full of incredulous relief. “Sounds about right for us. Let’s grab the gang and get going!”

Feeling rejuvenated in their discovery, Pearl and Grian sprint to where the others are waiting in a small clearing, seemingly focused on the ground at their feet.

“Please do not destroy my shoes,” Impulse is saying as Pearl and Grian come into earshot. Scar, wearing said shoes, pouts in response, and Mumbo looks to be weighing the merits of the option.

“We found the lake!” Grian shouts in excitement. “It’s just beyond that hill over there!”

The trio looks up from the shoe debacle in almost perfect sync, which Pearl can’t help but snicker at. “You did? We’ve been this close the whole time?” Mumbo passes a hand over his hair. “I thought we’d have to camp out right here!”

“Don’t be dramatic, my good sir, have some faith in us! We would’ve been fine,” Scar assures. “Though, having an exact location streamlines the process, I will admit.”

“You were just planning to cut Impulse’s trainers into sandals!” Mumbo retorts. “You have no standing to be calling me dramatic.”

“My toes are all cramped! I see where Impulse is coming from, unreasonable as it is, but it would’ve been worth—”

“Fellas!” Grian interrupts. “We can keep arguing about shoes all you want later, but for now it’s getting dark and we still have a couple hundred blocks to go. Let’s get a move on.”

“Fair point,” Mumbo concedes, holding a hand out to help Scar to his feet. After Scar’s up, they’re moving, anxious to get to the campsite.

The woods beyond the clearing are far darker than Pearl expected them to be, and the torches are broken out almost immediately. The birdsong that had accompanied the daylight is quiet, save for a few stray chirps here and there. Even amidst the shadow, while surrounded by the glow of the torchlight and soft chatter of her friends, tired from a long day of hiking, Pearl feels safe.

Nighttime has settled over the land entirely once they reach the lake. Stumbling through thick brush, Pearl breaks through to the water’s edge—only to find herself looking at the campsite, tiny from so far away, on the other side of the lake.

“…Well, at least we found the lake?” Impulse winces.

Mumbo sighs, picking loose a few thorns stuck in his shorts. “There’s no way we can walk all the way around, is there?”

“We could take boats across?” Scar suggests.

“That’s a great idea, actually! I packed a few extra, just in case.” Pearl pulls the boats’ compacted versions from her backpack, setting three down in the water and watching them grow to full size.

“You’re a lifesaver, Pearl,” Grian thanks, climbing into one of the boats. Scar settles in behind him, and Mumbo and Impulse get into the next one together, leaving Pearl with her own.

Grian’s boat leads the way, and as Pearl rows behind it, she catches sight of the stars, reflected against the water, disrupted by the ripple of her oars. Slowing to a stop, Pearl lets her boat drift as she looks up to admire the scene, filled with more galaxies than she could count, the moon hung high above. Stars all around her, in the water and night sky, Pearl feels like she’s floating through the void beneath the Boatem hole, untouched by the chaos of the world above.

Apparently noticing Pearl’s inaction, Impulse’s rowing peters out, and she waves to let him know she’s alright. After a moment, Mumbo calls out for Grian and Scar to stop, and the soft lapping of the water against Pearl’s boat and rustles from the surrounding forest are the only noises to break the silence as they all take in the view.

They soon start for the site once more, docking against the sandy bank. Five tents are arranged in a semicircle around a campfire, and dinner is shared over it. S’mores are an irreplaceable classic to any good camping trip, and after a proper mess of sticky marshmallow and gooey chocolate is made, Pearl bids her goodnight, and heads for her tent, exhausted in the best way.

In the morning, the hike back is easier than the one the day earlier, and they make it back to the van in the early afternoon. The drive back home is filled with blasted music and recounts of their adventures, and towards the end of it, Pearl isn’t the only person to catch a quick nap on the final stretch of road.

Returning to Boatem, Pearl sets down her bag and immediately goes for her sketchbook, stored by her bed in her little starter boat. She has so many ideas for her megabase.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[fatswaps]

After moving out of his parents' house, despite their concerns- Eric had refused to take any university courses. Finding out that streaming games could earn him enough money to survive, he had gotten used to spending his days playing competitive multiplayer games. Often times, he was too lazy to even pull on a pair of pants- just gaming away bottomless.

As one might expect from a 20-something man, Eric wasn't necessarily the nicest person, and his new lifestyle was bringing out the worst in him. In each game, he'd yell and cuss at his teammates the moment he noticed their shortcomings. He'd regularly make little children cry with his excessive insults, gaining a sick enjoyment each time he made someone rage-quit. Though this day, it would be different.

It was another day of gaming for Eric, when he noticed something strange in the voice channel. It was the sound of a much older man, clearly over the age of 60- asking for backup through the channel. A smirk arose in Eric's face as he realized what a golden opportunity this was. With a loud laugh, he begun insulting the poor old guy. "Hey grandpa, shouldn't you be more concerned with finding a grave to crawl into instead of this game?" He laughed, adding insult to injury "There's no place for old farts here". The older man didn't seem to respond, and soon left the match- leaving Eric to revel in his victory.

Soon though, a wave of restlessness hit the redhead. Yawning, Eric soon laid down- deciding a small nap couldn't hurt. Closing his eyes, the young man drifted off to sleep but things felt... different as he awoke. Firstly... everything was blurry, and this was not the position Eric had fallen asleep in. He was now laying on his back, with his face towards the ceiling. Strangely, he felt heavier- and his head felt a breeze up above. Slowly pushing himself up while rubbing his eyes, Eric muttered "What the hell..." but an unfamiliar voice came out, something raspier and deeper. As he continued rubbing away at his eyes, a pair of glasses fell onto his face- previously on his forehead. Though, what they revealed was perhaps more terrifying than Eric could imagine.

There, in the mirror in front of him was a nude, old man- with a ridiculously obese body. Watching as the old man moved in the mirror with his every move, Eric let out a scream as he begun to realize the extent of his situation. He felt his bald head, previously lush with beautiful ginger hair. Felt his massive, soft belly and embarrassing moobs. He even got a look at the downsized equipment he now had, tiny and from the seems of it... unable to get hard due to his old age. As Eric began to cry, struggling to understand what happened- suddenly he heard a notification from... right under him. Rolling over to grab the phone which smelled like an old man's arse, Eric clicked on the notification to see an image. And image that was all too familiar

"You were right, kid. This game isn't for old farts- I've been doing so much better at it in your body. Hope you have fun finding a grave to crawl into in my 87 year old body hahah!"

That caption had broke Eric, 87 years old!? In the blink of an eye, over 60 years of his life were stolen alongside his perfect body. As he tried to text and call his own number- he soon found out that the new Eric had blocked his number and with no way to do anything to reverse the swap, Eric could only cry and pray this was all a dream.

As weeks passed, Eric was disgusted with his new life more and more. Moving was hard, and doing anything was hard - and the only thing that never seemed to get hard was his penis. Now stuck in the life of this single, obese old man named Herald- Eric never accepted this body as his own. Around three years after the swap, poor Eric passed away due to complications with his morbid obesity while Herald continued to enjoy a young and care-free life long after the swap.

[ddejavvu]

Reader who steals clothes from both Steve and Robin (maybe a poly, maybe just the best of friends) but they always let it happen, neither of them complain! Until one day you notice half your closet missing, and when you go into family video, both members of the himbo and lesbian dynamic are covered head to toe in your stolen clothes

as per the request criteria, they all swap clothing so it's implied that they're relatively similar sized!

--

You find it rather unfair that, out of all of the clothes in your closet, your favorite jeans have gone missing. The ones that you wear every day, the ones that you've nearly worn holes through, the ones that fit you so perfectly they might as well be a second skin. They've got deep pockets and a good waistband, but the ones you'd had to shove on last-minute to get to work on time are too-tight and the pockets are sewn shut to the rest of the fabric.

You're already in a bad mood when you storm through the doors due to the uncomfortable pressure around your waist, and your belongings dangling from your hands instead of tucked safely into your pockets, but your eyes zero in on Robin's pants immediately. She's waiting for you at the door, holding a stack of tapes in one arm as she smirks at your disheveled appearance.

Her pants are your pants.

"Morning, Sunshine," She drawls, that lazy smirk over her face fitting her features like a glove, "Jeans shrink in the wash?"

"The hell- those are mine!" You accuse, jabbing a finger towards her lower half. The jeans fit her just as snugly as they do you, and you see a pen barely visible in the pocket. Your pocket.

"We decided to get you back," She explains, "You take our clothes all the time. It's time we stole yours, too."

"We?" You ask, "Where's Steve?"

"Here." He calls from behind a few shelves down, "Your jacket's really comfy, by the way."

You stalk over to where his voice is coming from and find him snugly fitted into your lush pink zip-up, the hood fleece-lined for cold winters. There's rhinestones on the back that say 'babygirl', and when he peers up at you through his lashes where he's crouching to shelve tapes, he looks the part.

"You rats," You conclude, jaw perpetually agape, "I- I'll give back your clothes, I swear! Just don't stretch out my jacket, Steve." You cast a wary glance down to the zipper that looks like it may spring free from its constraints and smack you in the forehead, "Your boobs are too big.”

[barrenclan]

If PATFW MCs and TDS MCs were to swap universes for a day what would their reactions be? Also who would win in a 1v1 Applestar or Rainhaze?

Pinepaw would absolutely love to be in a lush forested prairie with a much more open and welcoming environment, no question. I think Flamesnout would physically attack Cootstorm within an hour of being in BarrenClan.

Absolutely no question, Applestar steamrolls Rainhaze.

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Month 4

A Steamy Situation

Part One | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

This idea was sent to me by Anonymous! CW: it gets a little steamy in some parts Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 3.3k

“You didn’t tell us the mission was at an onsen!” you whispered, your voice full of excitement. 

“Because I knew you would pester me about getting here faster,” Marco griped. “Go check in. We can’t be seen together.”

You squealed in excitement and reached for Ace’s hand. This weekend was going to be so much more fun than you initially thought. You could already feel the air change, both you and Ace thinking of what the two of you could do. 

“No,” Marco hissed, slapping your hand away. “You’ve got the solo room. Me and Ace have a business suite.”

Your mouth dropped as you stared at Marco, trying to fully understand his words. “Excuse me?”

“Go!” Marco said, pushing you towards the front door. “Remember your code name!”

But you weren’t ready to give up yet. “You take the single room!” you pouted. “Come on Marco, seriously? Just let me and Ace-”

“No.” Marco’s voice was low and serious, indicating his decision came from someone higher than him. And there was only one person higher than him. “We can’t be distracted. Distractions-”

“Mean death,” you grumbled, finishing his words for him. Your eyes flitted over to Ace, a silent message passing between you two: Find me tonight.

Your check-in went smoothly. You operated under the name Astrid Cleminson, but the man at the desk didn’t even ask for an ID. 

Your only goal was to find the pirates who were rumored to be staying here; ones who had plans to attack an island under the Whitebeard Pirates' protection. Maybe if you found them today, Marco would swap rooms with you. 

Your room only fueled your desire to share it with Ace. You had gotten a private onsen with your room and a beautiful patio with lush, green plants scattered throughout it. You wanted nothing more than to sit all evening in that hot spring with Ace, the two of you quietly enjoying each other’s company. But Marco had robbed that from you. 

You quickly unpacked your things and went to find the communal female bath. Nobody there would know you had a private one in your room, and you needed to find these pirates as soon as possible so you could enjoy a bit of vacation away from the ship. 

You stayed in there for an hour, desperately listening to all of the conversations around you, but if there were enemy pirates, they didn’t show their hand. You finally gave up and retreated back to your room. 

Funnily enough, you were inserting your key just as your neighbor was inserting his. You turned your head to see who it was, and your eyes found your favorite freckled boy. 

He gave you a cocky smirk. “Come here often?”

“Ace?” you whispered, looking up and down the hallway. “You guys are my neighbors?!”

“I guess Marco had it set up this way so it wouldn’t be obvious to any onlookers if we walked into each other’s rooms.”

“Wanna come into mine now?” You turned the door handle and raised your eyebrows at him, all but begging him to join you. 

His eyes lit up and his smile became devious as he followed you into your room and quickly shut the door behind him. 

Ace was on you in an instant, his lips pushed against yours in a hungry desperation. The two of you had been traveling with Marco for almost a week now and had hardly had a moment to yourselves. Even sleeping, Marco made you guys split up. It was almost annoying how much of a dad he was being on this trip. But now it didn’t matter. You had Ace all to yourself. 

You whined into his mouth, pulling at the buckle of his pants. Normally Ace made fun of your desperation, but today he obliged with quick eagerness, as if the two of you were running out of time before you had even started. He loosened his buckle and pushed his pants off, leaving one less piece of fabric between the two of you.

His fingers twitched at the hem of your shirt, which was all you needed to break away from him to quickly pull it over your head, throwing it on the floor. You didn’t need any encouragement today; just a small touch was enough to make you crazy. The two of you stumbled over to the bed, trying to stay close but still working on your own clothing. 

Ace was fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt, trying to desperately pull them apart. 

“This is why I hate shirts,” he mumbled, clearly struggling with his task at hand. 

You gave a soft giggle at his attempt and grabbed his shirt collar, pulling him back into your lips again. You were so desperate for more of a taste of him. Your own tongue swirling against his, with moans of desperation filling the room. 

Your fingers skillfully trailed down his shirt, unbuttoning each one until there were none left. You had to admit, Ace always did look good in a button-up, and you loved that he didn’t have to break away from your lips to take it off. 

A knock came at the door, startling you both. You paused for a moment, lips still locked. 

“Ms. Astrid?” Marco’s sharp voice came from the other side of the door, and you wanted to weep. Just ten minutes. You only needed ten minutes without him constantly checking on you. 

You pulled away from Ace, his face turning into an instant pout as you cleared your throat and prepared to speak. 

“Yeah?” Your voice came out uncertain, but you knew Marco could hear your voice through the door. 

“Do you know where my assistant is?” Marco asked, his voice quiet and stern. 

“No!” you called out. Ace, growing impatient, began sucking on your neck gently, trying his best not to leave marks.

“Really?” Marco’s voice called. You could hear the skepticism in his voice, but you didn’t care. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed. Your brain was starting to get foggy, and you prayed Marco would go somewhere else for just a few minutes. You just wanted a little time with Ace. 

“Interesting,” Marco said. 

Ace bit at your tender flesh and you started to moan out, but his hand quickly flew up and clamped over your mouth to muffle your lewd noises. 

“It’s just weird,” Marco said, still right on the other side of your door. “Because his key is in our door. And your key is still in your door.”

Both of you froze, and you could hear the knob starting to turn. You had seconds before Marco opened the door and found the two of you half-naked and entangled in an embrace. 

You had just enough time to break apart and throw Ace’s shirt over you before Marco swung the door open, a look of disappointment already on his face. 

“Can’t you guys focus on the mission for 5 minutes?” he scolded, staring down at the two of you on the bed. 

“Can't you leave us alone for ten?” you shot back. You couldn’t help your foul mood. Being in such a beautiful place like this and having to pretend like you and Ace were strangers was killing you. It wasn’t fair that you were stuck here alone. It wasn’t fair that you couldn’t be with Ace. 

“You need to grow up,” Marco said, his voice short and snippy. “Learn some control, both of you. People’s lives are on the line. People who are under our protection. Or did you forget that part of the job?”

You rolled your eyes “It’s not even a difficult mission-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it seems like a difficult mission or not. You need to treat every mission like it’s your hardest one yet, or else you’ll get overconfident and you’ll fail. And people will die.”

The words stung, and you thought back to your failure just a few months ago. You were supposed to protect those people, and you had failed. 

Ace sucked in a breath, knowing where your mind had gone. “Now hang on, Marco-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Ace. The two of you have been getting away with things because you technically got the mission done, so Pops lets it slide. But we’re not doing a sloppy success this time, and we’re sure as hell not failing it. So I need you guys to actually focus on something other than each other for 5 seconds and we can get this over with.” Marco paused, realizing he may have been a bit too harsh on you. “And then you guys can resume whatever was happening before I walked in, okay?”

You both knew he was right, even if he was rude in his delivery. It was pointless to argue anyway. Ace sighed and got up from the bed, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead as he went. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch him go or to make eye contact with Marco. You were too filled with shame. 

And then they were gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

You were steaming from Marco’s words. You could feel it. But he wasn’t wrong. You had failed or sloppily completed all of your major missions over the past few months. Some of them hadn’t been your fault for failure, but you had to wonder if you would’ve been more aware of things if Ace wasn’t always on your mind. Even things as mundane as grocery shopping seemed to make you and your commander stumble these days; your minds were simply too cluttered with the thoughts of each other.

The realization of his words brought tears to your eyes, and you struggled to blink them away. You didn’t want to be a failure. You had trained for two years so you wouldn’t be a failure. And yet here you were, struggling to focus on the task at hand because of a boy. 

No more. You would complete this and every mission from here on out with perfect accuracy. Failure couldn’t be an option anymore. You refused to mess up. 

You didn’t sleep well that night. The victims of your failures came to visit you in your dreams, accompanied by Marines you feared and everyone’s opinion you valued. They all mocked you for your decisions and pain. Eventually, you decided your own conscious thoughts were better than the subconscious ones, and stared at the sky until you saw the sun start to come up. 

At breakfast, you kept your eyes peeled and ears open for any hints of pirate or coded words. You saw Ace, but the two of you quickly looked away from one another. You had a mission to focus on. 

You went to the woman’s bath and cleared your mind as you dipped into the water. You had to listen now for any tips.

“He did what?!” 

“I swear, the whole thing!”

No. 

“I’m going to try to go to Sabaody this summer!”

“Aren’t you worried about the Celestial Dragons?”

“They don’t scare me!”

No. 

“If we want that aggressive of a timetable, we’ll have to leave today.”

“It’ll take five days to reach it?”

“Five days if we’re lucky.” 

There. Your eyes snapped over to the two women talking, and you memorized everything you could about their physical appearance as you focused in on their conversation. 

“It’s a small window, but there’s only a week where the Beards aren’t around. So it's best we move quickly.”

The Beards was a horrible codename, but it made it easier to know they were the people you needed to eavesdrop on. There was only one problem, the two women were getting out of the public bath and beginning to retreat to the changing room. 

You didn’t want to look suspicious for exiting as soon as you entered. And you certainly didn’t want to look like you were following those women. So you did the only logical thing. 

You began coughing. Not a dainty cough either. The type of cough that makes people think you’re about to lose a lung. You jumped out of the water, still coughing, and stumbled back to the women's dressing room. 

The women immediately stopped talking as you entered the changing room, but you could sense they didn’t think you were a threat. You quickly got changed and exited the room, desperate to find Marco before they left. 

The women followed you out, and you continued to feign your cough, hoping it would draw Marco or Ace. 

Miraculously, Marco rounded the corner and began casually walking toward you. You pointed a finger subtly at the two women behind you so only Marco could see it, and passed by him without any further indication that you knew each other. 

Marco would take care of the rest. The two of you had worked together long enough that he knew your simplest signals and what they meant. Now, all you wanted was to return to your room and rest.

You slept for hours. It was a dreamless sleep, thankfully. You needed the rest and probably would’ve slept all night if you hadn’t been woken up.

A knock came on the other side of your door woke you, and you opened it to find Marco on the other side. 

“Can we talk?”

You gave a silent nod and followed him down the hall and out of the building. 

“They left this afternoon, so we can drop the cover stories now,” Marco said. 

You gave another nod to acknowledge his words. You still weren’t sure where you stood with him after yesterday. 

“Do you feel better?” Marco asked. “It’s always nice to have a solid win.”

“Yeah.” You kicked a rock down the path. The air felt heavy with tension, as if you were about to get scolded again. 

“Listen, kid. I’m not mad at you,” he said. “You just needed some sense talked into you. And spite is like, your greatest motivator, y’know?”

You looked at him curiously, surprised that those were the words he chose to speak. You were expecting a lecture, but that didn’t seem to be the case. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you do everything out of pure spite when someone says you can’t do it. And you need the sense knocked into you or you’re too stubborn to change. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” You said. And you believed him. Marco never said or did anything to intentionally hurt you, but he also wouldn’t spare your feelings when you needed to be corrected. 

“Well, our mission was successful. So go.” Marco pushed you back towards the onsen. “I think he’s waiting for you at the bar. Don’t make him wait too long. I have a report to make, it’ll probably take me at least a few hours before I get back to my room.”

Your eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Go! Before I change my mind!”

You gave him a grateful smile and took off back towards the bar. Finally, you’d get time alone. Finally, you could relax. You just had to find him.

You slid onto the barstool next to Ace, but he didn’t even bother to look over at you. It was semi-crowded in the bar, and you knew he wasn’t exactly expecting you to be sitting next to him in such a public place. 

“Two drinks of your finest sake,” you said to the bartender. Your voice prompted Ace’s head to swivel toward you, shocked that you were actually next to him. 

You grinned over at him. “I’m celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” Ace questioned, a soft smile appearing on his face. It was always good news when you were smiling. 

“Just closed on a really big job. I’ve got the weekend to relax now.”

Ace’s eyes lit up, understanding the subtle explanation you were giving him. “That is cause for a celebration.”

The bartender set two drinks in front of you, and you slid one over to Ace. “Just need someone to celebrate with now,” you said, your eyes lingering over his body. 

“Oh, I’m always down to celebrate a big accomplishment,” Ace said. He threw down some money for your alls drinks, grabbing his drink in one hand and your hand in the other. “Lead the way.”

You grinned, picking up your drink and pulling him along with you, trying your best not to seem overeager to anyone else in the bar. But the moment you were in the hallway, Ace slammed you up against the wall and pressed his lips against yours. 

“Fuck,” he moaned softly. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“So eager,” you teased. Normally those words came out of his mouth. It was nice to have the tables turned on him for the moment. 

Ace’s mouth twitched upwards into a smile. “Shut up,” he mumbled, his lips already dipping down to make contact with yours again. But you pulled away at the last second, continuing your playful act. 

“My room,” you whispered. Your fingers intertwined through his and you quickly pulled him down the hallway, trying to get to your room as fast as possible. 

You fumbled with your key as you struggled to unlock the door. Ace was as patient as he could be, kissing the nape of your neck as he stood behind you, pressing his body flush against your back. 

“Let me kiss you again,” Ace whined. 

“Let me open the door first,” you giggled. “Then you can do anything you want to me.”

You could feel his cock twitch against you, the air charged as both of your minds scanned the possibilities your words held. 

“Anything?” he whispered, his voice unable to contain the lust and desire he was feeling. God, you missed being this close to him all the time. 

You hummed in agreement. You didn’t care what he did in the moment. And usually when you gave him free reign like this, it always ended up being a night to remember. 

“I have a private hot spring too,” you said, clicking open the door and turning back to face him too. “Wanna see it?”

His eyes lit up. “I haven’t been in a hot spring yet. Couldn’t get in the public one since our cover would be blown.”

“Wanna go try out this one together?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Oh, that and so much more.” His grin grew devious, and you knew you’d be feeling the ramifications in the morning. You should’ve cared, but the thought only made the anticipation in your core grow heavier. 

He picked you up and carried you across the threshold of the doorframe, his lips back against yours again. It was a good thing you had taken that nap because the night was just beginning. 

The two of you became one that night, in many different ways and forms. You were afraid to let each other go. Afraid that you might not get another moment that could be this intense. You didn’t break apart until the sun began to rise, the two of you collapsing into one another for a momentary reprieve.

“You are incredible,” Ace whispered, his fingers ghosting across your skin. 

“I have a good partner,” you said back, giggling lightly as he kissed your nose. 

“I think we can probably get a good thirty-minute nap before Marco comes to get us.”

“We could.” You hummed, considering that option. Your thoughtful expression turned mischievous as you looked at your partner, still slicked in sweat from a night of activity. “Or we could go one more round.”

Ace’s face spread into a wide grin, and his lips instantly began dotting kisses across your skin. “Your wish is my command, princess.”

As he positioned himself above you, you couldn’t help but think: he really was the most wondrous man you’d ever laid your eyes upon.

--

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[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

AO3 Link

Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother���s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

��He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

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