#maybe don’t carry a sword next time you try to force someone to marry you

[audsomeartist]

Swordtember Day 4: Divine Relic. Me- “You know you’re supposed to posted it at the beginning of the day right” My brain- “Haha, digital painting go brrr” (The quote is from “All that blood” by the band Saw Mass)

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 6

Summary: Losing someone can make you realize what was already there and the Darkling is about to find that out the hard way.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five  

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Five days have passed and the Darkling had never stopped looking for his wife. His men never saw him rest, sleep was simply never on his agenda. He barely ate at all, merely giving time for the rest of them to gather their strength.

He was restless, constantly questioning how this could have happened. No matter how he looked at it, the Darkling felt guilt consuming him. Without his rage, he worried the guilt would have paralyzed him. Had he not went on a pointless hunt for something that’s likely a tale, she would have been right by his side, antagonizing him.

It’s been hundreds of years since he felt this way, as if his heartstrings are being pulled by someone other than himself. In this search for Y/N, he realized she is consuming. After all, she might have been right – a part of him may actually care for her. He cursed that part of himself over and over again as result.

They’ve tracked her toward Fjerdan borders. Every now and then, they would find bodies on the road, their throat cut or stabbed right through the heart. Sometimes, he found them alive still. He never refrained from calling on his shadows, trying to draw useful information to close in on their whereabouts.

Y/N never saw him use his shadows before. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d disapprove of the means he’s using to find her. After all, she called him a demon on their wedding night. She would never accept him as he is, he had no doubt about that.

Did she want to be found by him?

The first body they found, the Darkling smiled. He didn’t question it was her hands who have taken the man’s life. There was no concrete proof, but he was certain of it. Every body found felt like her own version of breadcrumbs.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled heavily. If she managed to set herself free so many times to leave what was now five dead men behind, he couldn’t help but worry for her safety. What was the price of each crumb she left?

It wasn’t just the exposure to snow he worried about – and he did worry as she got cold too quickly and he was the one to warm her up before. Who’d warm her up now?

The darkness of the forest gave him cause to worry too – she may have tried to hide it, but he knew she was afraid of the dark. He realized it when her breathing turned shallow and fast their first night together just as she extinguished the candlelight. The next night, he left his candle to burn long into the night.

Something stirred inside him, a beast has awakened. Despite the war his heart and mind waged, he wondered if he’s his own worst enemy. Maybe it was time to let someone in. For too long, he had been alone in the shadows of his past lives.

Why is he repeating the same mistakes?

How can he be afraid when he married a woman who never blinks in the face of danger?

His heart was ice and stone until she came and now the ice has started to melt. All he’s done is hurt and destroy, but he wanted out of the loneliness that clings to him.

She was right, as hard as it is to admit it. He’s a demon, a devil that walks the earth and he cares. Because of her he hopes he might love again and he can’t let anyone take that from him – hope is the only thing stronger than fear. And when a devil falls in love and discovers hope, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful sight. They should fear him as he will go to the depths of hell to protect her.

While his eyes may have been closed, his heart jumped as a bright flash forced him to open them again.

He was never given a chance to be soft. His hands had to be bloody, to have people fear him. Only when they feared him, they wouldn’t hurt him. Now was the time to show them just why they fear him.

“Where?” He growled out, looking to Ivan and Fedyor who were looking at the sky.

“East”, Fedyor replied hastily, ready to follow Kirigan who set off in said direction without a second thought. He didn’t order anyone to follow, but they did.

Ivan and Fedyor walked two steps behind their general, alert as the flash had awakened them from a deep slumber. They weren’t the only ones shaken, unsure what they’re walking into but none showed fear as their general lead them straight to the source. Their loyalty, their belief in general Kirigan runs deep.

Except for David. He was afraid. He didn’t want to be in that forest and he didn’t want to be in danger, but he trusted Kirigan. Besides, Y/N was nice and Genya seemed to like her. So he came along too.

Kirigan walked in strides, the snow didn’t slow him down. His hands formed fists, his face twisted in anger, but his heart pounded in his chest as he had no inkling what he might find. All he knew was that he had to get there, fast.

As if made of darkness itself, the Darkling emerged on what looked like a battlefield. The trees surrounded a small clearing covered in snow that melted under the spilled blood – still warm as it poured from the dead surrounding her.

She’s on her knees, two Fjerdans chaining her up as if she’s a wild animal.

“You think you’re scary, huh?” She spat at the Fjerdan’s feet – a crimson liquid, Darkling realized. She’s bleeding.  

“That’s adorable”, she chuckled maniacally as she held her fierce gaze on the Fjerdan stood before her. They pulled her left hand behind her back and her right hand in front as they tightened the chains that were secured over rope that laid just beneath.

Darkling’s blood boiled. It is fear that brings rage, that hot burning anger that seeks to harm. Once again, he was afraid, not of her but for her.

Four more Fjerdans came from behind the trees, all covered in blood. “Fucking bitch”, one of them kicked her in the ribs and he couldn’t take anymore. He could kill them easily for what they’ve done – he’s killed every one of them he ran into in the past five days without even blinking, regardless if they were involved in her disappearance or not.

“Mister, I’ve seen scary and you don’t have his handsome smile.”

Licking his lips, the Darkling nearly smiles at her remark. There’s no possible way she means anyone else but him. Looking at his Grisha, he found them nearly all in position. They would attack in a minute, swiftly and deadly.

Yet in a moment of carelessness, he missed the Fjerdans realization they’re being watched. Too quickly, more of them appeared. The pitiful human managed to land a few consecutive blows to Darkling’s face before drawing a dagger.

Angry, dark eyes showed the Fjerdan that the Darkling’s brain is in a different mode, that he has switched gears from empathy he had for his wife to cold emotional indifference. Never once has he directed this mode in Y/N’s direction, yet it emerged when he sensed a threat to her life, letting out a part of him that was full on protective.

Grunting, the Darkling’s eyes narrowed at the human who dared to sink the blade into his heart. Despite his immortality, he could still hurt. The pain of a stab wound felt just as it would if here as fragile as the human before him.

But he’s not human at all.

Connecting his hands, the Darkling lifts his head as he summons the darkness that spills from every corner of the forest. “Foolish”, he sneers, “Attacking me in the dark?” The Darkling smirked, walking past the petrified Fjerdan, allowing his shadows to administer a thousand cuts for his transgression.

As he walked toward the middle of the circle, his shadows followed, aiding his Grisha in taking the rest of the Fjerdans so quickly that Y/N gasped.

Looking around in shock, she found Kirigan kneeling beside her.

“You have a knife”, she coughed into her shoulder, “A knife in your chest.”

“I promised”, he gasped for breath as he pulled the knife from his chest. “That I would protect you and I intend to keep the damn promise.”

On the brink of tears, her lips quivered before she laughed. “I thought you’d let them kill me.” Better to laugh than cry, she thought.

Frowning, he shook his head. “That would be too easy”, he waved David over who stood at the tree line, wide eyed. “If anyone’s going to kill you, it should be me.”

Even with tears blurring her vision, she giggled at his stupid remark. She had tried so hard to free herself.

It wasn’t the first time she had been captured by enemies, she knew what to do. But there were so many of them. Each time she freed herself, they would descend upon her. She managed to run, twice, each time they dragged her back kicking and screaming.

Despite his words, Y/N didn’t believe Kirigan would come for her. She had to be her own hero and she tried. In the end, she used everything at her disposal – everything.

Feeling the chains drop, Y/N glances at David, “Thank you.” The ropes were cut as well, but she didn’t move. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she could stand on her own and asking for help would wound her. Rubbing her bruised wrists, she reluctantly looked at Kirigan.

“Here”, Kirigan offered his hands. Truth be told, he wanted to carry her, but he knew her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Hissing, she forced herself up despite Kirigan’s offer. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

He’d have asked her again because she trembled when the wind blew. Her hair was matted with blood, her face red and not from blushing. He could see the damage they’ve done more clearly now as she bent to take a deep breath as if the simple act of breathing hurt her.

Staring at her, he nodded despite his better judgment. Her breathing was ragged, dragging her feet as she walked. She felt his eyes on her, it unnerved her. All she could do is hope her legs don’t give out, but it felt as if they would betray her any moment now.

“Go and make camp ahead”, he ordered his Grisha to speed up as he realized her stubbornness would kill her. Stepping before her, he wrapped an arm around her waist. There would be no asking her for permission this time, he’ll not allow her to deny his help. Hoisting her up in his arm, he held his breath as she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

How could he not bring any healers? How could he have been so stupid?

Groaning, she sent him a stern glare yet found no anger in his. His eyes are like the ocean - they have the potential to destroy, yet when the waves reach the shore, they dissipate, leaving soft designs in the sand as a gentle reminder of its presence.

Leaning into his embrace, Y/N let out a gentle sigh of resignation. She’s been caught in the riptide and for once, she doesn’t want to fight it.

“I really thought I’d die”, she admits reluctantly.

Feeling him stiffen as he held her in his arms, Y/N frowned. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, or anything at all. This isn’t what they do, they don’t bare their hearts open.

“And when I faced death”, she continued regardless. Tilting her head to look up at him, she let out a shuddered exhale. A shy smile adorned her lips as their eyes shared a gaze so tender, an outsider would believe them to be in love.

“I thought how silly it is that I don’t know your first name.”

Snorting, Kirigan raised his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yes”, she breathes out.

Looking at her now, the Darkling couldn’t believe this is his wife. The woman who infuriates him so often seemed so small, so fragile in his arms. Her gaze held remains of the horrors she was cast into and yet he never saw her as earnest before.

“I married you and I don’t even know your name.”

Licking his lips, he stops. Truth be told, no one actually knows his name. His name was long forgotten, a piece of his soul he had left behind in the fold. He promised himself he’d never utter it while he lives. He had promised he would never be that man again.

Unfortunately for him, he seems to be breaking his promises lately.

He promised her he’d protect her and he failed, just as he promised himself he’d never care for her and yet he does.

“Aleksander”, he mutters, still unsure if it’s the right decision. He placed one of his greatest secrets in the hands of a woman who’d see his world burn. He gave her power she never should possess and yet he’s not afraid. No one could make him fear anything after the ordeal he was put through since she decided to tear down his defenses.  

Smiling softly, she closed her eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder she felt satisfied. It may be small, but finding out his name felt like a victory. She was born to play this game, it was her destiny. He is her destiny.

Waking up, she found herself wrapped in several blankets inside a tent. Grunting, she struggled to sit up on her own. It seemed to be dark still, but she had a blue light lantern lit inside. She may not know who left it there, but Y/N was thankful. Despite her fear of dark, she found it odd she did not fear Aleksander’s darkness at all.

When his shadows nearly encased her in the clearing, she didn’t fret or worry. She smiled.

As contradictory as it may seem, she wished he was with her now. Her entire body ached and still, she was more bothered by the empty spot beside her. Shaking her head, she bites her lower lip. Would it be so bad if she showed a sliver of vulnerability for a single night? Would making a small concession such as this truly take away her power?

Before she has a chance to change her mind, she’s already outside of her tent. The cold chilled her to the bone, biting every inch of exposed skin. Teeth chattering, she looked to the tent next to hers as it was the only one so close – seemingly intentional.

Trying to open it in the cold seemed impossible as her fingers shook violently. Feeling faint, she wondered why she couldn’t just stay in her own tent for the night. Surely it would have been a better idea than to admit she’s scared to be alone.

A warm liquid trickled down her lip and she nearly laughed at her own idiocy. The darkness and cold and her own injuries have all been fairly good reasons for her to just sleep and try to recover and she still tried to find her husband who showed so much disdain for her in the past.

Just as she was about to give up, a familiar head of hair peaked through.

Shivering, she wipes the liquid from under her nose with the back of her hand. Looking at it, she realizes it’s blood. There’s a slightly dazed look in her eyes, the blood loss suffered over the past days leaving its mark.

Looking up at Kirigan, her lips tremble and she sways slightly as her legs threaten to give out. “I didn’t know who else to go to”, she mumbles meekly before collapsing into Kirigan’s arms.

No…Aleksander’s arms.

Pulling her inside, he wrapped her in his arms as she shivered. Covering her with blankets didn’t seem to help either, but he had confidence it would soon enough.

She closed her eyes, clinging to him and selfishly, he smiled. It brought back memories of the night she climbed atop of him to warm up, he assumed. She didn’t know he was awake then, but she did now. She trusted him enough to seek warmth and as her shivers stopped slowly. That’s when the Darkling realized he would never deny her anything she asked of him.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breath and her eyes open.

He looked at her in a haunted way, a shadow of a bruise marred his jaw and she reached up to touch it, her chest aching when he nuzzled into her palm. They have never been quite as tender with one another, never so intimate. It felt surprisingly nice.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, feeling so emotionally raw. Physical pain and lingering fear of impending death must have weakened her for a short while. Surely, she can allow herself a few moments of humanity?

He caught her wrist and pulled her hand down to press flat over his heart. “Here.”

Drawing a shuddered breath, her eyebrows knitted in worry. That’s where the knife was, she remembered with guilt. He could have died for her. Hating him requires too much energy; one she had little to spare. For the night, he can just be her husband and she will just be his wife. What harm can it do?

“Why did you come for me? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for me?” Her confidence wavered as he sighed, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Not only did he come for her, but he murdered men for her.

Blinking slow, half in a daze as a low-grade fever began to grip her too, she had no more strength to deny how beautiful he is or how disarming his charm is. He may never love her, but she could…she could love him. If she ever fell for him, she knew she’d never be able to unlove him. She wouldn’t want to and that…that felt oddly comforting. For once, she was too tired to listen to her mind that preferred to set the world on fire rather than care for him.

As her eyes closed and her face relaxed, he stayed awake. He didn’t understand it, but he embraced the warm feeling spreading in his chest as she fell asleep.

“I’d burn this world for you.”

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PART 7

[intercoursefluids]

Marry Me Part 1

Dick cracks the kitchen door open and takes a picture of the scene.

Marinette kneading dough with a focused look on her face, Damian sitting at the counter occasionally looking up at Marinette before continuing to sketch.

Dick turns to the side, noticing Alfred coming his way and scrambles to hide the evidence of his snooping.

Alfred looks at him, raising an eyebrow before walking in the door.

Dick waits around 6 minutes for Alfred to walk out and away before creeping back over to the door.

Soft instrumental music now fills the air, Marinette humming along as Damian watches her with a soft smile.

Marinette's soft humming fills the air accompanied by Damian's pencil strokes.

Dick pulls out his phone taking a small video and posting it to his personal twitter with the caption “It’s so Domestic!” followed with a crying emoji.

Marinette finishes kneading the dough and starts to form them into little rolls, placing them on the pan as she sways to the music.

Jason arrives just as she finishes.

Dick waves like crazy, signaling him to be quiet, and for once Jason listens.

He comes over peeking through the door with Dick before breaking out into a wide grin, pulling his phone out as Marinette places the pan in the oven, turning on the timer before washing her hands of the flour.

They watch as she hums swaying to the music as she dries her hand with a dish towel when the unexpected happens.

Now to understand their shock, you’ll need some background information.

Damian Wayne would rather gouge out his own eyes before dancing with someone.

So imagine their surprise when their little brother stands up and walks over to an oblivious Marinette, humming softly with her.

He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention before bowing at the waist and holding out his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette smiles blindingly bright before placing her hand in his.

He guides her around the room, spinning her periodically with the softest look any of them have ever seen on his face.

He starts to hum louder than before as he spins her before pulling her close again with a hand on her face.

Dick has to put a hand over his mouth and pass his phone to Jason because he's shaking so much. Tears stream freely down his face as he stifles his sobs.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Neither brother even jumps at Selinas sudden voice, instead mutely nodding their agreements.

Dick leans back against his step-mom, sniffling at the display of affection playing out in front of them.

“It’s okay Dick, me and Selina are crying too.”

One look at Jason and Selina confirms that they are both in fact crying as they record. Well in Jason's case his eyes are a little shiny.

The song comes to an end as a timer rings.

They break away and Dick takes back his phone, stopping the video as Marinette checks and something in a pot on the stove.

Dick is about to step away when he notices Selina still filming and Tim walking towards them.

“What are you all doing? And why is Selina recording?”

Thankfully Tim seems to notice the secretive atmosphere and whispers not giving away their position to the two inside the kitchen.

“Your little brother is being sweet and I have a feeling that he’s not done being affectionate yet.”

Tim raises an eyebrow crouching down next to the rest of them and pulls out his phone before pointing it through the gap.

“Blackmail kinda sweet or make me cry kinda sweet?”

He turns back to the rest and sees Dicks face before pulling out a handkerchief that Marinette made him.

“Nevermind.”

They turn back in time to see Marinette finish stirring whatever is in the pot and move it off the heat before turning back to Damian.

Hugging him she rests her head on his chest with a smile as a new song starts up.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marinette looks up at Damian with a confused smile on her face.

“I thought we already did, mon chou?”

Damian chuckles softly tucking some of the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“That we did, Habibiti. But against my better judgment I can’t help but find that dancing with you is one of the finer things in life.”

Marinette smirks at him, her hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the hand still cupping her cheek.

“Well then maybe we shouldn’t dance, afterall too much of something you enjoy can lead to an addiction.”

Damian smiles, swooping down to kiss her softly before pulling away.

“Indulge me just this once?”

Marinette sighs heavily, before speaking.

“Oh alright, but just this once.”

Behind the door there isn’t a dry eye in sight, even Jason shed a tear or two.

They start dancing again but not quite how they were before.

Before they were doing proper ballroom dances, now they just hold each other close and sway. Marinette's arms around his neck and her head resting on his chest, meanwhile Damians arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him with his chin resting on top of her head, both of their eyes closed. The perfect picture of contentment.

Dick snaps a picture before immediately posting it to his twitter with an attempt at a caption that looks more like a keyboard smash since he can’t see very well through his tears.

They sway together for a long while before a second timer sounds.

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, and Marinette pulls the tray from the oven before carrying it over to the counter and switching the now golden brown buns to a cooling rack.

Since she is now facing the door the brothers plus Selina have a perfect view of Damians face from where he stands behind her.

Dick, now coherent enough to take pictures without them being blurry, lets the others film as he takes another picture. Posting it again to his private twitter so the rest of the family can see.

His face is full of pure adoration and love for the girl working in front of him.

“Mon Chou? Can you grab the glaze from the fridge? I need it.”

Damian immediately snaps out of his daze to do as she asks. He places the bowl by her hand before wrapping her up in a hug from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Marinette.”

Dick immediately takes two pictures, one with just the hug and Marinette working and another of her smiling after he says he loves her. And just like the rest, he immediately uploads them.

She smiles, stepping away to untie her apron and walking away. Effectively breaking the hug much to their 4 spectators disappointment.

“I love you too, Damian.”

She walks around the counter to hang up her apron, leaving only a few feet between her and the people who are filming them.

She doesn’t make it.

“I think I want to marry you.”

The 4 sharp inhales go unnoticed by the two teens as Marinette drops her apron, spinning around to face Damian with a bright blush.

“What?”

Marinette's voice is barely a whisper, as Damian rounds the island to come stand next to her, taking her hands and accidentally angling them in the perfect view to show both of their faces to the cameras.

“Let me reword that. Marinette, I know I want to marry you.”

Tears start to form in her eyes as Damian gets down on one knee, pressing a kiss to each of her hands before he starts to speak again.

“Marinette, you are so incredibly phenomenal. Ever since the first day I met you I knew I was doomed to fall for you, I just wasn’t prepared for how hard I would actually fall.”

Dick snaps another picture managing to type out a simple “OMFG” before posting.

“You are the only one I have ever been able to see myself spending the rest of my life with, the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Tears stream down Marinette's face as Damian looks into her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by the people you trusted most, you’ve told me how the people who were supposed to stay by your side turned you back on you.”

Damian sighs, turning her hands up and kissing her palms.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I vow from this day forward that in any way I may accidentally hurt you, even when I try my damndest to prevent it, that I will allow it to be done onto myself tenfold. I will stand by your side but I will never force you to remain by mine. When you want to take the lead I will cover your blind spots and protect you from those who try to blindside you. When you can’t think of a plan right away, or are too overwhelmed to take the lead I will stand front and center to cover you till we make it to safety. My sword arm, my strength, and my knowledge are at your disposal. And my heart and love are yours to take.”

Selina reaches over dick to Jason and Tim, putting her hands on their shoulders as they both cry freely.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing or even understanding my emotions.”

Marinette opens her mouth at his self deprecating tone, but Damian rushes to catch her off guard.

“Even so, the one thing I am sure of is that there will never be enough words to tell you just how much I love you. I will happily spend everyday for the rest of my life, trying to show you just how much you mean to me. And even then it won’t be enough.”

Damian pauses giving Marinette time to let out her thoughts before he continues.

“Oh Damian, I-, but what will everyone think? We’re 16! No one even knows I am with you outside of friends and family. What will we do when people call me a gold digger? I- people in France already don’t like me. I don’t want to drag you through the mud with me by agreeing to marry you Damian.”

Marinette winces, slowly pulling her hands away from Damians. He just grips them tighter.

“Marinette.” His serious tone makes everything go quiet, silencing even his brothers and stepmom's soft sobs.

“There are only two things in existence that could stop me from marrying you and one of them is if you say ‘No’. If the people in France believe that they have any say in what you do or don’t do just because they believe the words of a liar over you, it just proves that they are even dumber than I thought. As for our age? We can be engaged for the two years it takes us to turn 18, or if you want, we can wait longer. I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure that if someone called you a ‘gold digger��� Jason, Dick, and Tim would put a stop to it before word even got to us.”

He gently pulls her hands back again, kissing her palms as she speaks.

“What's the other thing?”

He hums in question, meeting her eyes.

“You said that there were only two things that could stop you from marrying me, one was me saying ‘No’. What’s the other?”

Damian straightens slightly making sure she knows just how serious he is.

“Death.”

It's silent for a minute, no one daring to breathe.

“Yes.”

It's barely a whisper, hardly more than a breath, and yet it holds more worth than anything else in the world.

“Yes I will marry you, Damian.”

Damian immediately jumps up wrapping Marinette in a hug and spinning around with the before dropping to the ground again.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

Marinette laughs at Damian, happy tears flowing down her face.

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t think that I was lucky enough for you to actually say yes!”

Marinette giggles again pulling Damian into a kiss that he happily returns, at least before he groans loudly and breaks, instead resting his forehead against hers.

“What's wrong?”

Damian sighs his shoulders lumping before answering.

“I have to tell my brothers and Selina by tomorrow. At least Dick and Selina so they can help me-”

He cuts off, paling severely.

“Dicks gonna kill me. I proposed to you without a ring, and he will skin me alive for it.”

Marinette laughs again.

“I’ll ask him to spare you. Besides, he can’t have me as his sister-in-law if he kills my husband.”

Marinette blushes at him as he smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get the ring tomorrow. I don’t think I could wait any longer than that to finally put a ring on your finger.”

They cuddle up together, relishing in each other's presence.

Dick is the first to stand up, followed by Jason, Tim, and then Selina.

They walk down to the cave, all staying silent as their phones save the videos they were lucky enough to take.

Once they make it the tears start up again, full volume wails coming from dick and sniffles from Jason.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Dick cries into his stepmother's hair. His brothers following suit.

All of a sudden Dicks phone starts going off like crazy.

He pulls it out annoyed ready to tell whoever is on the other end off for interrupting his cry sesh.

467 notifications and climbing from twitter.

He opens it to the picture he snapped when Damian started swinging Marinette through the air with the caption ‘She said yes! BRB gonna go cry my eyes out’.

He looks at his username with horror, paling considerably as he looks at his family.

“I fucked up.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

consider: trans girl jiang cheng

Untamed verse:

When Jiang Chen was little, she told her mother that she wanted to be like her when she grew up.

Madame Yu thought it referred to her cultivation and was very proud, even smug, but actually Jiang Cheng had been eyeing her beautiful skirts and delicate jewelry, her proud back and gentle curves.

It wasn’t until Jiang Cheng was a little older that she realized that she couldn’t be like her mother – that she was supposed to be like her father. Because she was her father’s son, and not his daughter.

She was never going to be like her father.

It was both a relief and a terrible heartache when Wei Wuxian joined the household – he was everything her father had ever wanted in a son. Jiang Cheng’s competitive streak was spurred on for a little while, trying to show that she could be just as good a son as Wei Wuxian, but she failed, and failed, and failed some more, and in the end she realized she really wasn’t.

She wasn’t as good a cultivator, she wasn’t as good a leader, she wasn’t as good a person.

She certainly wasn’t as good a son.

(She wasn’t a son at all, but who was she going to tell? Who would ever believe her?)

-

She thought for a while that she might be a cutsleeve – it was said that men who liked other men were feminine in behavior and in their thoughts, a result of their being lacking in yang and overabundant in yin – but the pornography she got Wei Wuxian to get for her, after she’d egged him on to do it under the guise of a dare, ended up leaving her cold and more than a little bored.

(It’d been Wei Wuxian who’d ended up staring at it for hours and hours, mouth slightly agape, before slinking away with hunched shoulders and look on his face; she assumed that was the normal reaction to pornography, for boys who weren’t defective the way she was, and sighed again over her own failures.)

At any rate, the first time her heart had ever been moved, it ended up being for a woman after all: Wen Qing in her red dress and her head held high, proud and a little above-it-all, carrying a sword like any man and needles in her fist like the doctor she was.

It had been a relief to think that she might be normal in some ways, some obvious ways, that she might be a boy in the ways that mattered, like love.

She even bought a comb for her, wondering if it would be rude to hand it over – presumptuous, maybe. Wen Qing was a Wen, after all, even if she didn’t seem to think she was the sun in the sky the way the other Wens did…it probably wouldn’t work out.

Jiang Cheng put the comb away.

They had an encounter in an inn later, faces suddenly an inch apart so that Wen Qing can whisper words of warning, and Jiang Cheng expected her heart to speed up when it happens – it did, a little, but not as much as it had before.

It occurred to Jiang Cheng that she wasn’t sure if her heart had been moved because she liked Wen Qing or if it was only that she wanted to be her.

Jiang Cheng almost asked, the next time they met – Wen Qing was a doctor, wasn’t she, so surely she’d have some sort of insight – but after a few moments realized that it would be unbelievably rude to dump issues of sexuality and attraction onto Wen Qing’s shoulders at a moment when they were surrounded by the ghost puppets of Wen Qing’s family who were trying to kill them.

Plus, Nie Huaisang was there. That would have made everything even more awkward.

So she didn’t ask, said “Never mind” when Wen Qing asked what she had been going to say, and ignored the thoughtful look on Nie Huaisang’s face – he was probably just thinking that Jiang Cheng had a crush.

Wen Qing probably thought she just had a crush.

It would be easier if it was just a crush.

-

It turned out that Jiang Cheng had underestimated Nie Huaisang, and also she might be a little in love with Qinghe – her father had always said they were a bit odd, in a tone that didn’t quite suggest approval, but it turned out they were just the right kind of odd for Jiang Cheng.

“Are you a girl?” Nie Huaisang asked, idly fanning himself – Wei Wuxian had wandered outside with his jar of liquor after the feast, and Lan Wangji was nowhere to be found, very likely already leaving.

“What?” Jiang Cheng said, then turned to glare incredulously at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve walked into our rooms in the Cloud Recesses without knocking often enough to know the answer to that.”

“Not on the outside,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “On the inside. Are you a girl when you think?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jiang Cheng asked, suspicious, and her heart was racing faster than it ever had around Wen Qing – mostly in terror.

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh as if Jiang Cheng was being especially stupid. “Misaligned reincarnations,” he said. “Two births, one man and one woman, happening at the same hour, same minute, same second – except the man’s soul gets lost and goes into the woman’s body, and the woman’s goes into the man’s. Think of it as a filing error by the heavenly bureaucracy.”

Jiang Cheng had never heard anything so stupid and wonderful before in her life.

“You’re joking,” she said, accusing. “There’s no such thing.”

“There is! I swear! It’s not uncommon in Qinghe – we have at least a dozen misaligned reincarnations in the Nie sect right now.”

Jiang Cheng crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe you. Name one.”

“My older brother,” Nie Huaisang said promptly. “I swear that’s why he’s so pleased over that stupid mustache of his; it’s a sign of how good his cultivation is, putting all that yang energy in the right place.”

Jiang Cheng blinked, not quite understanding. “Why would he be pleased about having a mustache if his soul was actually a woman’s?”

Certain Jiang Cheng went to extraordinary lengths to keep her own chin clean-shaven. The thought of having a beard repulsed her.

“What? No. His soul is a man’s.”

“But you said he was misaligned…?”

“He is. What, do you want me to ask you to look inside his robes to see what he doesn’t have between his legs?”

Jiang Cheng gaped. “But he – he dresses as man!”

“He is a man,” Nie Huaisang said. “He just happens to be a man who, if you’re talking physically, would be the one to bear children, not the one to sire them.”

Jiang Cheng felt the need to sit down. It was as if her entire world had changed to spin the other way around.

“I’d really like him to marry Meng Yao,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “He likes him so much – he really respects him and listens to him, and my da-ge doesn’t listen to anyone. And that way I could have some nieces or nephews! But maybe he’ll decide to marry a woman instead, and then they’d have to find someone else to sire the children. Maybe Lan Xichen; he seems like the sort of person who’d agree to donate without demanding a share of filial piety…”

“I am,” Jiang Cheng said quickly, forcing the words out of her mouth before she became too shy to say them. “Your – question. From earlier. I am.”

Nie Huaisang smiled brilliantly. “I thought you might be,” he said. “Would you like to spend the evening trying on some of my mother’s old dresses? She had your shoulders – da-ge’s biological mother, you understand. Very tall. I’m sure we could find something in purple…”

Maybe it was bravery inspired by the liquor they’d all drunk at dinner, but Jiang Cheng agreed.

It was a good night.

-

It was something she thought about a lot, later, when they were stuck in the camp with the Wens, and after, when they’re back at home again.

Wei Wuxian’s words, reassuring her that she would be Sect Leader no matter how unorthodox – his reminder that Lan Yi was Sect Leader Lan, and just as valued as any other despite being who and what she was – made Jiang Cheng wonder if Wei Wuxian somehow knew.

She hoped he did.

After that, though, she didn’t – there wasn’t time to think about anything as stupid as identity.

Not for a long time.

-

Everything after Wei Wuxian came back was a disaster, every last bit of it.

Wei Wuxian was different, cold and unfeeling; Jiang Cheng tried to reach him, over and over again, but nothing seemed to work. She even wondered, in a panic, if Wei Wuxian hadn’t known, and maybe had somehow found out – he certainly seemed to be avoiding her in specific.

She didn’t know what else it could be.

Everything was falling apart around her – her older sister was remaining at Koi Tower, her shixiong had turned from mere negligence to outright rebellion…

She followed him to the Burial Mounds.

“You should disown me,” Wei Wuxian said. His face was cold.

It had always been cold, ever since he’d disappeared – they’d been with the Wens then, too.

“Fuck that,” Jiang Cheng said, and just gave up, sitting down on the ground. “No. Fuck you.”

Wei Wuxian scowled at him. “Don’t be so indecisive, Jiang Cheng; it doesn’t suit you. Disown me as a rebel, and the shame of my actions won’t be reflected onto the Jiang sect.”

“The shame of my actions,” Jiang Cheng said mockingly. “Don’t call it a shame if you don’t think it is one, Wei Wuxian! You’re proud of what you’ve done. I suppose in the end it’s a good thing my father didn’t have a son like you!”

“Oh, that old thing again,” Wei Wuxian said, his face twisting. “I’m telling you, you’re his son –”

“I’m not,” Jiang Cheng snapped back, pushed beyond her limits. “I was never his son; you were the only son he ever had, no matter how little blood there was between you. You keep pushing this, Wei Wuxian, and I never want to see or hear of you kneeling before his memorial tablet ever again, you hear me?! Neither as son, nor nephew, nor disciple!”

It was a low blow, she knew, but she didn’t know how else to reach him. Even if Wei Wuxian, the new Wei Wuxian, didn’t love her as much as he loved the Wens, then surely – surely he loved Jiang Fengmian enough?

Or had all her father’s love been pissed away into nothing?

Wei Wuxian stared at her, his brows pulled together, and promptly fixated on the wrong thing entirely. “What do you mean you’re not his son? Madame Yu would never –”

Jiang Cheng jabbed a finger at him.  “Do not accuse my mother of adultery!”

“I wasn’t going to!” Wei Wuxian protested, and then looked around almost as if he though she was going to overhear him and order him to go kneel.

It was so familiar a gesture that Jiang Cheng let slip a hysterical giggle, which somehow set Wei Wuxian off laughing, and then that set Jiang Cheng off in turn.

“This is so stupid,” Jiang Cheng moaned, her hands over her face to hide her tears. “No one even said anything funny…you don’t make any sense, Wei Wuxian.”

“I don’t make any sense?” Wei Wuxian was hiccupping. “You don’t make any sense. What was that about not being Jiang Fengmian’s son?”

At this point, Jiang Cheng couldn’t see any path forward that didn’t involve banishing Wei Wuxian from the sect, to never see him again except as strangers – or at least to only ever see him in secret. They’d already grown so distant…there was no point in holding anything back.

So she told him, borrowing Nie Huaisang’s words to explain the concept.

“I didn’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his eyes. “I really didn’t. I didn’t even know enough to guess.”

Jiang Cheng sniffed and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and putting her chin on her knees – disgracefully childish, really, but she felt that way right now. She felt hollowed out, as if telling Wei Wuxian her greatest secret had left her with nothing else inside.

“You’re the one who can’t be guessed,” she said bitterly. “I don’t understand you, Wei Wuxian. You said you’d be at my side, that you’d help me, but you’re picking these people over me without a second thought…did I do something wrong?”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “No, that isn’t – it isn’t – it isn’t about you at all.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me to help you with them?” Jiang Cheng asked. She’d wondered that for a long time. “It’s not like you were the only one Wen Qing helped back then, when we were running from the Wen sect! She hid me, too! If that’s the debt you want to repay, shouldn’t I have every right to repay it, too? But you never told me you were going…”

“You couldn’t have come! What it would have done to the Jiang sect’s relationship with the Jin sect –”

“Oh, now you give a fig for politics? I’m Sect Leader! Those guards that you say fought you; they would have had to listen to me – if they challenged me, the scandal would be about their conduct, not mine! I could have helped, I could have explained it, we could have figured out a way to do it together…no,” she said, suddenly certain. “I’m not kicking you out the Jiang sect. You’re the only man we have left in the family, Wei Wuxian; you can’t just run out on me now. Especially given that jiejie’s leaving, too.”

Wei Wuxian jerked as if he’d been stabbed. “What do you mean, shijie’s leaving?”

“She’s going to accept Jin Zixuan’s offer of marriage,” Jiang Cheng said, and had Wei Wuxian really not known? Had he paid any attention to anything related to the Jiang sect in the past few weeks? “Maybe not yet, but…soon. And then I’ll be alone in the Lotus Pier, trying to run the entire damn sect without any help at all – no, I’m not kicking you out. I refuse.”

She’d been willing to agree, even a few short moments earlier. But then they’d taken the time to sit and talk about other things – she’d taken the time to make sure Wei Wuxian knew who she really was, to bare herself to him, no matter how stupid it might feel to be concerned about her self-perception when put in comparison with the destruction of her entire family – and the pause had given her time to think it over again.

It had made her realize that she didn’t want to give up on Wei Wuxian, even if he was giving up on her.

“Aren’t we a Great Sect, after all?” she said, scowling, gathering her strength of will. If she was going to need to stand up against the rest of the cultivation world, Wei Wuxian included, to keep her family together, then so be it; she would do it if she had to. It was better than the alternative. “Sect Leader Jin is always making noises about being able to show strength – fine, then, we’ll show him strength! You have the Yin Tiger Seal, I have my forces, and jiejie – maybe jiejie can convince Jin Zixuan to help us –”

“Lan Zhan let us go,” Wei Wuxian said abruptly, and Jiang Cheng turned to him in surprise. “He encountered us on the Qiongqi Path; I told him to fight me if he wanted to stop me, and he didn’t. He let me go – he let all of us go.”

“So maybe he’ll help us again, if we asked?” Jiang Cheng hazarded a guess. “That’s good! And we’re old friends with Nie Huaisang, and we worked with Nie Mingjue during the war – the Nies are very upright, very straightforward. If we showed them that most of the people here are non-combatants, showed them everything…well, everything but what you’re doing with Wen Ning, anyway; what are you doing with Wen Ning? He’s not really a ghost puppet you’ve brought back from the dead, is he?”

“He’s not dead,” Wei Wuxian said. “Just very close to it. He’s been infected with resentful energy and his qi circulation has been thrown out of alignment with…it’s complicated, and I don’t think you care.”

“I don’t,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “But that’s fine. You talking about it like an academic is better than you talking like you’re about to raise armies of corpses to send against the rest of the cultivation world…anyway, start packing up your things. I left my people at the bottom of the mountain; I’ll go get them, they can help carry both things and people, and we’ll move you all back to the Lotus Pier.”

“Back to the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian murmured, looking dazed.

“Yes, back to the Lotus Pier! Possession is nine-tenths the law,” Jiang Cheng said, thinking out loud. “If necessary, I’ll throw a fit and claim that Sect Leader Jin wants to invade the Lotus Pier the way the Wen sect did. He’ll never forgive me for it, and things might be a bit tricky for a while…he’ll probably say I’m too emotional to be sect leader. With your backing, though, I think we should be able to get through it.”

That was the key bit, though, wasn’t it?

“Do I have your backing?” she asked.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “You do.”

[hushedhands]

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

[mintvender]

Hi there! Can I request the boys' reaction to you being jealous? Maybe Y/N saw someone flirt with the boys'? 💓

Ooh yes, enjoy 🌿💚💚

Harem!AU

BTS’s Reaction to You Getting Jealous

Warning: Slight suggestive moments, killing ( please keep in mind that this story is set in a historical setting where killing was considered to be a normal occurrence)

Masterlist

Kim Taehyung

You and Taehyung were on one of your guys’ rare missions set out by the organization. Even if you are the ruler, your original roots are from the organization so you are obligated to carry a mission when needed. This mission is one of those that is set in a very luxurious brothel. The target is a wellknown business man who has a hobby of meeting up with beauties at night. To say the least, every beauty that is here tonight is more than what meets the eyes. Most would say that they are desperate for money, others would think that they are born from lust, itself; however, whatever way an individual choose to believe, it all comes down to their first night together. Once they have done the deed, those people are forever hooked with those venomous snakes.

Your guys’ organization is very hidden even in the underworld, so all members must wear a covering to prevent exposing their identity. Y/N was wearing a full on mask that represent your alias ‘ Pheonix’. Unlike you, Taehyung chosed to be more revealing and risky, wearing only a thin black veil that can easily be ripped off. Of course, with his not very strong physique, it is extremely risky for him to wear such a frail covering but you decided not to say anything as it is in his right to wear anything he wanted to. But what you are going to do is stick by his side while holding a sword for the rest of the night.

Like any other missions, this one went smoothly. You both managed to finish the guy without anyone noticing courtesy to your deathly abilities and Taehyung’s sharp mind. What didn’t go as plan was that one of the snakes managed to ripped Taehyung’s veil off, revealing his pretty face. Further more, the ‘beauty’ thought that it would be alright to flirt and woo him into her bed. Furious at how daring she was, you decided that it was finally time to end her career. Unsheathing your sword, it only took a few movements of your experienced hand for the deed to be done. Taehyung, confused at what had happened could only offer you a stunned expression. Deciding not to answer him, you sped up your pace, leaving him to run after you. Ignoring him on the way, Taehyung could only pout, trying to get you to forgive him. When he finally managed to forced an answer out of you, he found himself snuggling himself in your hold, trying to persuade you to forgive him; promising that he would not be that reckless again.

“ Y/NNNN, talk to me please? I won’t do it again. I will stick to your side the next time we’re on another mission so forgive me. Please?”

Kim Namjoon

Have you ever have an apprentice that never leaves your side the moment they saw you? Well congratulations, this is one of those scenarios. Recently, you have decided to start enlisting many potential talents for the countless open spots in the various offices. Unsurprisingly, the medicinal department was also short of staff so they were in need of receiving more apprentices. As the head of the department, Namjoon has the final say on who is allowed to enter the department. Lucky for him not for you tho, there are many unpolished gem that wants these positions. Being the wise person he is, he managed to earn the respect of many adolescents on the very first day. All of them were curious children who needed a mentor to help guide them in order to become successful. To Namjoon, there was a particular apprentice that stood out to him. She was very interested in medicine and is highly intelligent in the field so he decided to let her be his private apprentice— who stays by his side every second he is in office and maybe even more.

Anyways, with how much that little girl is staying with Namjoon, it would make sense that she would also accompany him for your monthly checkup as well. The moment you saw that girl walk through the door, you were stunned. Stunned for Namjoon breaking the organization’s rules, and stunned that the girl managed to catch Namjoon’s attention that he was willing to even set his life on the line for her. Before Namjoon could explain the reason of that girl being there, you decided that it was within your right to kick the both of them out. Now, this might be the reason listed above and could be more but for Namjoon, he interpreted your commands as a warning. That if he were to expose his identity, he will absolutely receive none of your help and will have to deal with that on his own.

Acknowledging that you were probably right, he decided to reassigned the girl to another physician after your multiple attempts of ignoring him — not wanting to get in between his problems as it’s too risky. The next time you guys’ had a monthly checkup, the girl was nowhere in sight but your silent treatment still remained firm. Knowing that it was his fault, Namjoon could only apologize and would not do it again. He then slowly walked over to the desk near your bed and began making a concoction of herbs to help calm you down. However, unlike his usual calm self, he had clumsily shattered a few bowls while at it. Y/N could only sighed before bending down and cleaning it up before going over to him to check on his wounds. How could you let your intelligent yet clumsy physician if he were to break things everytime he crawl back to you and apologize?

“ I apologized, Y/N. I was not in my right state of mind to consider the possible risks that it would bring to our organizations. I was too excited when I saw her thesis that I completely lost my rationale.”

Jung Hoseok

Because of his wretched father, Hoseok found himself having to return to his old home every couple of weeks. His father had complained to you that Hoseok was neglecting his maternal family the moment that he was wedded to you. Y/N, not wanting to create a bigger mess, managed to convince Hoseok to return to his home every once in awhile which leads us back to the current situation. Before Hoseok got wedded to Y/N, he already had a fiancé which he has bonded throughout most of his childhood. Of course, Hoseok only saw her as a friend who he has a platonic relationship with or simply a sister, but that was far from what the girl had wanted. His ex-fiancé, Miyoung was studying abroad so she was not immediately notified of him entering the harem but the minute she got informed, she was packing her belongings and heading back.

The trip started out as any other with Hoseok getting greeted the moment he enters the front yard by the matriarch along with his father and countless servants. This time however, the moment he saw Miyoung standing courteously behind his father, Hoseok wanted nothing more than to run for the carriage that had already left. You see, when Miyoung confessed her feelings to him—who did not her and got rejected; she did everything in her power to get engaged to him and that was how she became his fiancé. From that day on, Hoseok’s relationship with her only continued to sour before they were not contacting for months on end when she’s studying abroad. The matriarch—who did not agreed on him marrying Y/N, purposely set the both of them together, wanting the pair to interact together. This idea was not only reckless and unecessary as it it basically threading your position as his spouse and have him cheat on the ruler of the nation. Hoseok’s matriarch had also stupidly decided to invite you to come as well, wanting you to witness the couple’s strong bond personally.

Knowing that you could not deny her offer as they are still one of the major families, you had coincidentally entered the room at the time when Miyoung was being extra touchy. The sight, however, did not stunned you but only made you more confused. Questions began to erupt from your mouth asking about the situation while watching Hoseok desperately trying to escape Miyoung’s grip the moment he saw you. Expectedly, the matriarch’s answer is utter garbage, knowing that this is all a setup. Deciding to just stand there and wait for Hoseok to escape from Miyoung, you observed the main contirbutor’s expressions, silently judging their ability to properly. But the moment Hoseok managed to move within your arm’s length, you could feel his little suprised gasp as you pulled him into your hold before leading him out of the place not before warning to not touch what is yours. On your guys’ way home, Hoseok tried to explain what you had witnessed but instead got the silent treatment. Let’s say that it was extremely daring to touch a assassin’s possessions but a nation’s ruler as well is simply too moronically.

“ It was not what you think, your highness. We may not know each other for long but I’m incredibly loyal! That girl was my fiancé before I got wedded to you but I don’t love her! Please believe me!”

Min Yoongi

You getting jealous with Yoongi would happened on a blue moon as he is frequently seen by your side and that most people inside the palace hate his family too much to hit on him but it does still happen. Like any other day, Yoongi is with you in your office helping you with the minor tasks. Seeing how he was getting comfortable with the tasks you had given him, you decided that it was time for him to interact with some other officers in the smaller departments. Yoongi, of course was extremely nervous but wanted to make you proud so he quickly set off to his destination. The task you assigned was quite simple; getting the finished manuscripts that have been assigned yesterday. Everything seemed to go smoothly but what did not was the officers’ attitude towards Yoongi.

As they were considered to be quite young, they must have not know that the boy that is getting is one of your consorts as Yoongi usually prefers to dress in casual clothing; they decided that it was appropriate to flirt with him during office hours. With him having a more petite and delicate figure, it was extremely easy to turn him into their little doll— well or so they had thought. Sensing their hidden intentions towards him, Yoongi quickly asked for the needed documents before hurriedly making his way back. Unfortunately, before he can make his way past the entrance, a pair of hands grabbed his torso, restricting his movement. The officer began to whisper disgusting words in his hears causing Yoongi to instinctly attemp escape. Thanks to his previous training, he managed to escape their grip and ran out of the office, desperately running back to you.

Unexpedtly the officers decided to chase him, still thinking that his master is some low-rank minister that they could easily persuade. Lucky for them, Yoongi directly ran towards your courtyard but before they managed to realized where he was heading towards, they were caught by the guards that had seen the commotion. The moment that Yoongi ran into you arms, you felt your adrenaline spiked as your poor consort slightly trembles and only offered you faint whimpers as answers to your questions. Deciding that this was not meant for him, you assigned another type of tasks after he ha recovered. To say the least, those officers were never seen again the morning after that.

“ T-t-hey touched me while whispered those erotic words in my ears. I’m sorry, you majesty, I couldn’t acomplished the task when they trapped me in their hold. I began to panicked and...”

Jeon Jungkook

Aside from being a bastard’s child, Jungkook could also be described as an outstanding male from many perspectives. So of course, many girls and eunuchs would be constantly be flirty with the young guard. Many, however, is smart enough to avoid doing said activities around you but there are still some that does not have the brain to think rationally. The longer he is under your teaching, the more polite he becomes. Unfortunately, his seemingly innocent greetings was misunderstood by these brainless fellows which resulted in quite a few episodes of misunderstanding. To Jungkook, he is using the people around him as a tool to help him enhance his logical thinking to not burden you as much but it seemed like his efforts had caused quite the tensions within the harem. Many maids would began to form groups and bet on who would end up with him. The competitions began to become so popular tha it even reaches your ears!

As you became more aware of the gossips within the harem, many are targeted towards your personal bodyguard. As the days goes by, the seemingly pile of gossips about Jungkook became to get bigger until you decided that it would be best to stop his lessons altogether deeming that it was no use to him. As first, Jungkook was quite confused on how sudden you decided to cancel his lessons and ultimately blamed it on himself. Thinking that he had burdened you, Jungkook once again turned into his past self. Hiding his emotions as it does not matter how much he tries to improve on himself if his master does not think that he is worthy.

However, before he gets fully entitled to that state, you managed to come in at the right time and bring him out again. This is however, quite the process as he now want you to be proud of him. His self-esteem would not be as high as before as he had already registered in his mind that he had dissapointed you. Even though the process would take awhile, the end result would be worth it. Jungkook would be his best self yet and is continually striving to make you proud of him.

“ I know that you are dissapoin— you’re not? No, you must be lying! If you aren’t dissapointed then why did you have to stop the lessons. Was I too troublesome? I’m not? Are you sure? You must be accountable to your words and resume our lessons, then!”

Kim Seokjin

As a merchant, Seokjin is known to be skillful in negotiating terms with different customers. Most of the times, it would benefit his business but at the same time, his relationship with you would be on a thin string. As you guys continue to bond, different feelings would naturally develop and jealousy would definately not be excluded.

With the Y/N dynasty being a new dynasty, it would make sense that you have to put in much more effort to gain alliances with the surrounding countries neighbouring you. And of course, one of the princess that was sent as an ambassador had to know the talented merchant in some sort of way. You then found out that the two became friends over their love for jewelry and talking about whatever through the night and into the early mornings. Seeing how closed they were, you decided that it would be incredibly polite for you to ignore them and focus your attention on the rest of your guests and your consorts.

Usually, whenever Seokjin would offer you a flirty comment, you woul jokingly replied back with another one of sort as well but that was not what happened tonight. Your replies towards his jokes were quite distant and cold with you having your attention on someone as but him. Seokjin, who was not used to this treatment soon found out your reasons after the banquet and ultimately decided to tease you which only ended in him whining about how childish you’re being.

“ You’re jealous! Over her? HAH! You must have fallen in love with my handsome face... Why are you not saying anything? You’re ignoring such a handsome face, how could you!”

Park Jimin

Unlike Jungkook who does not care about people who perceive him, Jimin takes the extra mile to make sure that everyone see how beautiful he is. His fame within the harem immediately skyrocketed the moment he took up the title as one of the consort. It was to be expected with how frequent he flirted with the maids whenever he pass by them. Of course, he only think that it was fun to tease them as his main goal is still you after all.

Every year, the entire country would celebrate one of its most important holidays— Seollal, where it is one of the only days where festivals are around every direction you look at, and family would reunite with each other to welcome the new year. Within the palace, however, it is celebrated a little different; a full fledge banquet is arranged on the night before the new year and with Jimin leading the performance. With his skillful moves that had took years to master, everyone can agreed that it was a pleasure to look at. What did not please you was how revealing your consort’s attire was. With every move, the fabric was seemingly getting looser that you would have stop the performance already if you were not the of the highest authority in the room. What made it worse was how much eye contact he managed to make with you during his performance, and to say that you were not angry was simply outright lying.

The moment his performance had ended, you decided that Jimin had been working too hard lately and is in desperate need of relaxing. Thinking that he finally push you off the edge, Jimin happily accept your offer and left. What he had not unexpected was you taking him out on a walk when the banquet had ended. You even had the guts to act like nothing had happened hours before this resulting in him yelling at you before grumpily storming back to his courtyard, sulking in his room. Y/N could only laugh seeing his reaction before running towards his room to comfort the boy, deciding that they have teased him enough.

“ Why are you here? No, don’t you dare enter! GET OUT! Hmph, how dare you pretend like nothing happened and teased about it? Didn’t I say that you are not allowed in here? Hmph, fine, come in.”

Copyright © 2021 MintVender

All rights reserved.

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Dark Souls 3 bosses I would or would not date

Iudex/Champion Gundyr

We’re starting off this list with a strong yes. Our boy Gundyr has had a hard, difficult life, and he deserves some good company. He’s tall, strong, and I trust him to protect us as we set a lovely camp site outside of the fire link shrine.

Vordt of the Boreal Valley

Vordt is big and he is feral which are truly the only two qualities I look for in a man. Together we’d be unstoppable. I mean, think about how easy it would be to go around with him: just climb on his back and let the rodeo begin, baby. This argument alone should be enough to convince you that Vordt is a suitable boyfriend, but here’s another one: if you get too hot in the summer, worry fucking not for your gigantic man can hold his equally gigantic hammer over you and cover you with snow like an italian man covering his pasta with parmesan.

Cursed Rotted Greatwood

Now while I’m certain it would be a perfect partner for some people, the Cursed Rotted Greatwood isn’t for me. For one, I am not fan of curses, or rot, or weird sticky balls, or strange orange acid, or pale white and slightly viscous hands bursting through a living tree. Secondly, I feel like the crowd of Hollows who group up around the tree would be a big impediment to our intimacy, and I’m not ready to be the mother of 20 Hollows.

Crystal Sage

No offense but you’d be an idiot for not wanting to date the Crystal Sage. All wrapped up in one package, you get a super competent sorcerer bf, who wears the coolest hat in the galaxy and an equally cool cape, and who overall looks like the upgraded version of a plague doctor. In addition to that he also has a pretty rapier so you can both engage in some sparring (which we all know is the most romantic couple activity).

Deacons of the Deep

Probably one of the worst options on the list, they’re all crusty, rotting men moaning around a biggass coffin. There are many technical questions. If I dated a deacon, would I have to date all of them? Can we go out on dates or are they obligated to stay next to the coffin at all times? Can I even date them at all?? Not that I would, because I have standards. The only pro to entering this relationship(s?) would be that I’d probably get one of their robes for free, but the cons are so numerous that I’d rather buy it myself.

Abyss Watchers

Let’s be real and honest even if it hurts. Would I date an Abyss Watcher? Yes. Maybe I’d even date two. However, would an Abyss Watcher date me? No, because they’re all in love with Artorias, and I can’t blame them for that.

Old Demon King

At first I considered dating the Old Demon King like a Russian Instagram model dates an old, rich American man: with a great deal of fake love but above all great patience in order to be the only person on the will. But then I thought about it more, and what does the Old Demon King have to offer, really? A big firework show that will leave him exhausted like the old creature he is, and maybe some pyromancies. Truly, it is not worth it, especially since I’d have to take residence where he lives, in a big old room filled with the corpses of his kin.

High Lord Wolnir

I’ve got nothing against Wolnir personally, but I have no interest in skeletons, nor in his army of skeleton children. As stated above I’m not ready to be a mother. I feel like if we got in an argument and he sighed, he would poison me with his awful breath and I would die a horrible death. Also, living on the brink of the Abyss doesn’t appeal to me that much. However I would like Wolnir to be a good friend I can talk jewelry with because let’s be honest, the man (skeleton?) is blinged the fuck out even in death and I respect that.

Yhorm the Giant

Yes, I would date Yhorm. He was nothing but a sweet, misunderstood giant who always tried to get people to trust him and he convinced me. I would put my life in his big hands. Think of the possibilities. Just like with Vordt he could carry you everywhere but in a less reckless way if you prefer proper manners. You’d never have to worry about not seeing anything at a concert. Also, may I add that waiting for you to show up while sitting on his biggass throne is an absolute power move? Yhorm is a Lord of Cinder, but above all, a Lord of this heart.

Pontiff Sulyvahn

Would I date him because of his appealing aesthetic? Yes. Would I date him for anything else? No. Sulyvahn is absolutely terrifying, completely unhinged in the most frightening way, which is that he doesn’t look bat shit crazy. I could be thinking that everything is going well in our relationship then suddenly he’d lock me in a dungeon then would feed me to his weird friend because I put a fork in the knife drawer. He could pretend to propose and give me a weird fucked up ring with his eye in it and the next thing I know I’d be running in a field on all fours. I don’t trust like that.

Aldritch, Devourer of Gods

I’m so sad about Aldritch because literally everything about him is completely unappealing, unacceptable, unnatural, unholy, abhorrent, but he has the delicate and beautiful face of Gwyndolin. While our lovely Gwyndolin looks gorgeous as ever it doesn’t make up for the fact that Aldritch devoured people and probably wouldn’t find love to be a good reason to not eat his partner. The only reason I can find to have a friendship (not even a romantic relationship) with him is if you really like experimenting with cooking and you really, really need someone to taste your inventions.

Dancer of the Boreal Valley

I feel attraction, which means that just like any other being who feels attraction, I would date the Dancer. She is beautiful, graceful, a bit feral, and would not hesitate to put a flaming knife to my throat, which is the description of my dream woman. Imagine walking the streets with her, trying to hold her hand while it dangles 3 feet above you and she insists on holding her sword, actually, so she might slay anyone who tries to approach you, which she communicates through icy breaths and murmurs. The date of a lifetime.

Oceiros, the Consumed King

Another awful choice on this list, Oceiros is RABID and also, as far as we know, still a married man. You really want to date a man that hasn’t even gone through his divorce but already looks like this? Me neither. I’m already not big on dragon fucking but the fact that he’s all viscous and has weird growths all over him is not helping. Also, he has children, and we know how I feel about that — although, given how he treats them, he probably won’t have kids very soon (too far?).

Ancient Wyvern

So I’ve stated that I’m not very big on dragon fucking. With that said, do I think the wyvern is sexy and beautiful? Absolutely so. You’re probably like « Blue you’re sending mixed signals, are you gonna date the lizard or not? » and to that I say, date? Perhaps not. I would however like to form a lifelong bond with this wonderful force of nature and fight by its side, live a long and fulfilling life travelling along with it, only to die at the same time atop the tallest mountain in the world, where our skeletons will be discovers hundreds of years in the future by brave explorers, who will confirm that the legendary songs that were written about us were in fact not just a myth.

Nameless King

You’ve just read what I said about the wyvern. I feel like the Nameless King really understands me and would respect me for that. We could bond over our love of dragons and other flying scaly beasts and perhaps share some chaste kisses while soaring the sky on our companions. It’s nice to date someone who loves pets as much as you. I feel like he would be a fun guy to hang around in general, maybe he’d let you braid his hair or try on his crown. He can arrange personalized fireworks shows for you with his lightning powers. I don’t think you’d ever be bored around him.  

Dragonslayer Armor

Dating an empty suit of armor has never bothered me (see: ds2 Ruin Sentinels), however I have beef with the dragonslayer armor. Is it a beautiful armor? Perhaps a bit worn off, but the reply remains affirmative. However, it is controlled by Pilgrim Butterflies, which basically means I’m dating one to multiple of these things in the shape of an armor, and I’ve gotta confess that I’m not down for that.

Lorian Older Prince and Lothric Younger Prince

Here comes the delicate moment where we have to make a choice without offending anyone. I personally, speaking for myself, in my own opinion, would rather date Lorian. Reason: he is big, strong, and a bit rabid, which I’ve made very clear is my type. I don’t dislike Lothric, but I feel like we’d be better off as best friends who have a really snarky group chat where we shit talk the entire kingdom. That’s pretty good because if I even just slightly disliked Lothric I’m pretty sure Lorian would sense it and would not hesitate to murder me on sight.

Champion’s Gravetender and Champion Greatwolf

Well the full name is just a formality here, I’m not completely insane so I don’t want to date this rabid wolf. I feel like the Champion’s Gravetender is just a normal dude who’s a bit in over his head and it’s not his fault but he just seems a bit boring compared to all my other options. Instead of a date I think he’d be more of an awkward flirt I had when I was bored and then I came to my senses but didn’t know how to disengage, but in the end it worked out because he was more interested in his work anyway.

Sister Friede and Father Ariandel

Again a choice has to be made and I will have to be predictable and say I’d date Elfriede. Just like Dancer she’s what the woman of my dreams is made of. She’s graceful and could easily take my life and I think it’s awfully sexy of her to be like that. I think I’d be accepted into the family pretty easily, which is important since Father Ariandel cares about Friede so much. I’d go visit him sometimes, play chess with him, bring him his flail, normal interactions with your girlfriend’s dad.

Soul of Cinder

I’m gonna be a tiny bit freaky here and say I’d date the Soul of Cinder. Dating it is just like opening a Kinder Surprise egg, you never know what you’re gonna get (sorry Americans for excluding you here). That makes life exciting and doesn’t let routine stall your relationship. Every day you can wake up with the question « What weapon will my darling walk around with today? The flaming sword, or the sorcery staff? » and be surprised by the answer. Truly ideal, but I understand it’s not for the faint of heart.

Demon Prince

I’m gonna go with a maaaaaaybeeeee? leaning towards no. I mean yes, the Demon Prince is a weird fleshy flaming demon, and that may be a bit gross, but I’ve gotta admit I admire his style, the drama of it all. The care he puts into his entrance, the attitude in his moves. If we don’t date I’d at least want to be friends so he can teach me his ways.

Darkeater Midir

I have very intense and contradictory feelings towards Midir. In one hand, holy shit, absolutely epic dragon, the spirit of companionship is growing in me. On the other hand, this beast is RABID and pretending I could tame him is foolish, and pretentious. I guess in the end the answer remains that I don’t date dragons, I just want to adopt them as my extremely exotic pets.

Halflight, Spear of the Church

Yeah I’d date Halflight, I know it’s the easy answer but look at him. I mean shit he’s walking around like a little thotty with his shirt open and you mean to tell me I’m not supposed to wanna date him because he looks pretty much like a regular dude? My boy Halflight WANTS me to date him or else he would not show up with his tiddies out to a sword fight, which as an activity already has enough erotic implications on its own.

Slave Knight Gael

I’m gonna say it unashamedly and I’ll say it again: I would date Gael. He’s been nothing but helpful and when he tries to attack you it’s to help his little lady that he’s adopted as his niece. We love a chaotic parental figure. Maybe he’s a tad bit old and dirty but there’s nothing a good bath can’t fix and I’m sure he’d appreciate having someone taking care of him for once. Again, he’s got that slightly unhinged quality to him that makes him delightful. When I walk around with my partner I want us to instill both fear and fascination in people which we would be able to accomplish perfectly well.

Dark Souls 1: Remastered date list // Dark Souls 2: Scholar of the First Sin date list

[ibijau]

part 11 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

As winter settles in, Lan Xichen and Huaisang hear concerning news coming from the other Nie camp.

Huaisang and Lan Xichen, both usually early risers, ended up oversleeping the next morning, and didn't stir until Meng Yao called them from outside, asking if they were alright. 

“Don’t wanna get up today,” Huaisang grumbled in a low voice, nuzzling against Lan Xichen’s chest. “Tell him to go away. We’re staying here today.”

It was a tempting suggestion, certainly, but Lan Xichen still told Meng Yao that everything was fine, and they just needed a little time to get ready. This earned him a betrayed glare from Nie Huaisang.

“What happened to wanting to be taken seriously as a responsible adult?” Lan Xichen teased him.

“Boring,” Huaisang yawned. “I don’t care anymore. Just want to stay here and make love all day.”

Lan Xichen laughed, and though the proposition was quite attractive, he still extricated himself from his husband’s embrace and started getting ready for the day. Huaisang complained at length, calling Lan Xichen cruel and unfeeling, but in the end he also washed quickly and got dressed.

“You’ll pay for this,” Huaisang said as they left the ger, pretending to be cross. He would have been more believable if he hadn’t immediately stolen a kiss from Lan Xichen, before heading off to see if Zonghui needed his help with anything. Lan Xichen’s eyes followed him a moment before finally turned to acknowledge Meng Yao, nodding at him.

Meng Yao didn’t return the greeting, nor react in any way. His entire attention was on Lan Xichen’s neck, his expression tight, almost pained. Lan Xichen first thought that, having dressed a little quickly and while distracted, he might not have been as neat as he preferred to be. Indeed, when he brought his hand up, he found his collar to be completely crooked, exposing far more skin than would have been proper. It wouldn't be so bad, except… 

Last night, Lan Xichen had been very careful with his husband, trying not to leave any marks on him since they would take so long to disappear. Huaisang had had no such qualms, kissing, biting, and sucking at every bit of skin he could reach. Lan Xichen had felt no reason to complain at that moment and still wouldn't, except for Meng Yao looking at him as if he were bleeding to death rather than marked by a few loving bruises. 

"I guess Huaisang got his way after all," Meng Yao said, his tone so severe that it dampened Lan Xichen's joy. 

Embarrassed to have accidentally put on display the signs of his marital activities, Lan Xichen silently nodded while trying to put more order to his clothes. At least only Meng Yao had seen him, who was his friend. If it had been one of the Nie, he would have been teased to death for sure. They were rather more relaxed with joking about these things than Lan Xichen preferred. 

“So in the end, the Khan was the only thing protecting you,” Meng Yao noted with a slight grimace of disgust.

“He certainly was in the way,” Lan Xichen mused, blushing again as he looked away. Even though things were getting better with his brother-in-law, he was in no hurry to see him come back. Privacy was a very nice thing to have. Lan Xichen then looked back at Meng Yao and noticed his friend’s horrified look. He felt first ashamed for even discussing such things at all, then upset about feeling ashamed. “You know, we are married,” he pointed out to Meng Yao, trying not to be hurt that his friend was apparently the sort to be disgusted by intimacy between men. “Of course something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I hope you don’t think less of me for it.”

“Of course not! Lan gongzi, we are friends, no matter what!” Meng Yao exclaimed, reaching for his hands and squeezing them gently. “And I understand, in this situation… it can’t be avoided. Even someone like Huaisang has needs.”

Lan Xichen nodded, his face burning as he thought that Huaisang definitely wasn’t the only one with needs. If they hadn't had other obligations, he would have enthusiastically taken Huaisang’s offer to stay the day in bed. He kept that thought to himself, and quickly changed the subject. Meng Yao still looked worried for a while, and only reluctantly let go of his hands. They went on about their business for the rest of the morning without mentioning this again, but Lan Xichen thought he could feel the disappointment and pity of his friend the entire time. 

After a brief lunch, Lan Xichen ended up spending the afternoon with Zonghui and those of the young men who hadn't left with Mingjue. He was becoming rather proficient with a blade, he liked to think. Not quite yet to the level of the nomads, and he wouldn't get there for a while longer, but Zonghui thought he had potential and insisted that he start carrying his sword around everywhere he went, like the rest of them. 

"In case you want to play with wolves again," a boy remarked, triggering a few laughs. 

Lan Xichen accepted the sword with perhaps more gratefulness that such a blade deserved, when Zonghui himself conceded it was of inferior quality and the only thing he could spare at the moment. Lan Xichen was in an emotional sort of mood, and so felt touched by that mark of acceptance from the Nie. 

After a while, Huaisang and Meng Yao came to watch them train, chatting together like old friends. It comforted Lan Xichen a little to see that whatever Meng Yao’s opinion was toward men who cut their sleeves, at least he wasn’t letting it damage his friendships. Of course Meng Yao still looked uncomfortable when Lan Xichen and Huaisang retired for the night, but he was clearly making an effort, and that was what mattered.

-

The days that followed were peaceful enough. Lan Xichen kept busy helping around while there was light, then returned to the ger when it got dark again to enjoy his husband’s company. With nothing but moonlight to illuminate the ger, Lan Xichen found it difficult to give the painting lessons he so wanted to share with Huaisang. The most they could do was for Huaisang to practice holding an empty brush by pretending to trace shapes on paper so he could get used to the gesture. Lan Xichen thought he had some skill for this sort of things, but of course it was difficult to know when they were both hesitant to waste what little ink and paper they had. Besides, those lessons always ended up rather short lived, because when Lan Xichen pressed himself against Huaisang’s back to hold his wrist and guide him, brushwork soon became the last thing on their mind.

Lan Xichen told himself that they were just trying to make the best of things before Mingjue returned and they had to return to their previous lack of intimacy. It was a perfectly valid excuse to behave a little lasciviously… though even when they learned that Mingjue might be gone all winter, it didn’t quite calm down their ardour.

The news came one afternoon. Lan Xichen was checking on the cattle when a rider arrived from the other camp, and thus missed the messenger entirely. Huaisang had to share the news with him that evening, when the man had already left again to let the Khan know his family had been informed he would remain absent. By then, a certain gloom at fallen upon the entire camp, and not without reason.

To everyone’s shock and surprise, Wen riders had been spotted coming worryingly close to the other camp, which was situated closer to the border with their territory. Since that camp was only used in that season, and the Wen had never yet dared break the winter truce, that unfortunate location had never been considered a problem before. Now though, the Khan had some real fear the camp might be attacked as soon as the weather improved in early spring, or even during the cold of winter itself, should the Wen spit on all their traditions.

“Would they really?” Lan Xichen asked his husband that night when they were alone in the ger, hiding together under heavy furs. For the first time since Nie Mingjue had left, neither of them was in the mood to make love, but Huaisang still asked to be held close, and that was something Lan Xichen would never have refused him, least of all when he too felt worried.

Huaisang shrugged. “Ruohan is a dangerous man,” he said. "His sons are hungry for power, and so is he. Maybe they would really fall that low. I spoke with Zonghui," he added with a deep, weary sigh. "He says next year, we will probably move the other camp somewhere safer."

"You don't seem happy about that." 

"I'm not. It's difficult to find a good spot," Huaisang explained. "It needs good grass, stable ground, decent weather, and all this close to our camp. Mingjue will be busy with that all summer, unless we can inflict them a strong enough defeat that they stay hidden a year or two." 

Unsure what to say, Lan Xichen pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. He had never seen war outside of history books. But of course, his life with the Nie had been full of new experiences, and he knew raids were part of the ordinary for them.

The idea of a war terrified him. He didn’t think he’d be forced to take part in a raid, not even if his skill with a blade improved, but staying behind with Huaisang wouldn’t be without risk either. They could be attacked, and would have to defend themselves. Lan Xichen might have to find out if he was the sort of person who could kill others, something he would surely never have wondered about himself if he’d stayed home. Worse still, he thought he already knew the answer. If someone threatened Huaisang, or even Meng Yao…

Lan Xichen shivered at the thought. Huaisang felt it, and pressed himself harder against him, holding him close.

“It’ll be fine,” Huaisang claimed with absolute confidence. “Mingjue is a great warrior. He’ll protect us all. He’ll protect the other camp until the snows melt, and then in spring he will call the other clans, tell them about the Wen, and we’ll deal with them for good.”

Lan Xichen smiled at his husband’s assurance, but remained so anxious that he barely slept that night.

In the days after learning of the threats against the other camp, everyone acted a little more nervously. Zonghui made every young men and women prepare for battle, in case they should be urgently called to help their relatives, or if the Wen decided to be particularly foolish and attack this place instead. Everyone thought it unlikely, since they were so far from Wen territories, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. The herds were kept under closer surveillance than usual as well, especially after one night, a few horses disappeared. There was some worry about wolves for a while, or thieves, but thankfully the horses eventually returned, all except Meng Yao’s own mount. The young man was quite distraught about that turn of event, and even asked to be allowed to go look for it, but Zonghui refused. The Khan would never have accepted to let Meng Yao ride out alone, and they couldn’t spare anyone to go with him.

“This spring, I’ll pick another horse for you,” Huaisang promised Meng Yao to comfort him. “A strong but gentle one, perfect for you!”

Meng Yao smiled sadly at those words, as if doubting such a thing would happen. Lan Xichen thought that perhaps his friend believed the Khan would refuse him such a privilege, since he was always ready to expect the worst from Mingjue… but if Huaisang had started proving he was trustworthy, surely the same could be accomplished for Meng Yao, Lan Xichen decided.

Perhaps one day they would all four of them get along and be on friendly terms.

In the midst of so much danger, Lan Xichen found comfort in that hopeful thought.

-

Lan Xichen woke with a start. It was dark inside the ger, and it took him a moment to notice a silhouette hovering above him, hands on his shoulders. It couldn’t be Huaisang, he felt the weight of his husband’s head on his chest, and no one else had any right to be inside their home in the middle of the night. Lan Xichen opened his mouth, ready to shout for help, but a hand pressed hard against his lips to silence him.

“Lan gongzi, it’s me,” a familiar voice urgently whispered. “I need to talk to you, but we have to be quiet.”

Having heard his voice, Lan Xichen started to recognise Meng Yao in that silhouette. He nodded slowly, and Meng Yao removed his hand.

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Lan Xichen yawned.

“No, there’d be too much risk of being heard. Please, Lan gongzi. You know I wouldn’t bother you at this hour unless it’s important.”

Lan Xichen nodded again. Meng Yao was always considerate of those around him, trying to avoid causing any disturbance for fear it would finally ruin what little goodwill the Nie still held for him. If he was there, it had to be important.

“I’ll wait for you outside, please hurry,” Meng Yao begged before leaving the ger.

Much as Lan Xichen tried to hurry, it was not easy to get out. Huaisang didn’t wake up, but it was a near thing when his living pillow started moving, and it took Lan Xichen great effort to extricate himself from his husband’s embrace. Even when he managed, Huaisang whined weakly at the loss of warmth and started blindly reaching out for him in his sleep. If not for Meng Yao waiting outside, Lan Xichen would just have laid down again and pulled his husband in his arms. Instead, he hurriedly dressed up and joined his friend outside, hoping there was a good reason for this.

With only a few days left to the new moon there was little light outside, yet even like this Lan Xichen, finally starting to wake up, could only notice how anxious Meng Yao looked. His friend made them both sit in the snow, in the ger's doorway, and kept glancing around, as if fearing to be discovered.

“Did something happen?” Lan Xichen asked with a yawn he couldn’t quite refrain.

“It’s less something that has happened,” Meng Yao explained, “and more something that is about to happen. I know for sure, now that they sent back the horses like agreed. And I hesitated so much to tell you… but in the end, I thought you might need the time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

Meng Yao wringed his hands and glanced first behind himself, inside the ger where Huaisang still slept, then over Lan Xichen’s shoulders toward the rest of the silent camp.

“Lan gongzi, you’re a practical man, just like me,” Meng Yao said with a weak smile. “We’ve both done our best to survive here, of course, but… surely you must long for home as much as I do? You must wish you could go back and put everything the Nie did to you behind you?”

“I’m…”

“Maybe you even want revenge for what you’ve been made to suffer?” Meng Yao insisted, taking Lan Xichen’s hands in his. “I thought my situation was bad, but then what they did to you, forcing you to submit to a brat like Huaisang… I swear, I would have stabbed him in the throat for tainting your honour like this, night after night, if only it wouldn’t have ruined everything else!”

Feeling completely awake now, Lan Xichen shivered from more than the cold. To hear dear, kind, sweet Meng Yao speak so viciously of killing Huaisang was a shock, yet Lan Xichen forced himself not to react, wondering how much it would take for that sudden hatred to turn against him. 

“What’s ‘everything else’?” he asked, as calmly as he could, while pulling his hands away from meng Yao's. 

Meng Yao grimaced, his eyes darting around before he leaned closer.

“Lan gongzi, our ordeal will soon be over,” he confided in a whisper. “I made a deal with the Wen a while ago, when the Khan’s anger made me try to run for my life. I happened upon their king, and found an ally in him.  We agreed that I was to warn them when there would be a good opportunity to attack, using certain signals we came up with. I’d hoped to push Huaisang to rebel so the Nie would be weakened, but he’s just too stupid to stand against his brother’s tyrany and I was starting to get hopeless when you arrived and changed everything. If you hadn’t helped me… I would never have been able to convince Huaisang to be more reliable, it was a stroke of genius. The Khan would never have divided his forces so much before, and now he won’t be here when this camp is attacked. He's going to lose half his people when the Wen strike en masse!”

Lan Xichen’s heart sped inside his chest. It took every bit of self control he had not to shout at what his friend, their friend, was telling him.

“A very bold plan, Meng gongzi,” he whispered. “And the Wen are to take us home when they’re done dealing with the Nie, I assume?”

Meng Yao nodded, a cruel smile of triumph deforming his usually mild face.

“I’ve been promised that we will be taken back to the border, and those barbarians hold their promises to be sacred” Meng Yao explained, as if not remembering that the winter truce was also meant to be sacred. “Then it’ll just be a matter of contacting my father. He’ll be delighted when I tell him that the nomads are in disarray! He is great friend with a general who is a personal friend of the emperor. Once they're all weakened by infighting, the imperial troops can swoop in, those nomads will all be destroyed before next winter, and nobody will have to fear anything when travelling.”

“You’re doing all this for your father?” Lan Xichen mumbled.

“He will recognise me if I manage this,” Meng Yao feverishly confirmed, beaming at the thought. “He told me as much before leaving me here. And I have managed it now, or will soon, all thanks to you. You have my eternal gratitude, Lan gongzi.”

Half a day earlier, Lan Xichen would have smiled at a declaration of gratitude, and reminded Meng Yao that they were friends, that it was only natural for them to help each other. Now though, realising in what danger the Nie clan was, and being told he would bear his share of the blame in the bloodbath that was to come, Lan Xichen felt nothing but disgust for the man he had so recently called his dearest friend. All he wanted was to get as much information as possible on this coming attack, and wake Huaisang to warn him of the danger. 

“Do you know when they will attack?” Lan Xichen asked, trying to sound uncaring but unable to keep his voice from trembling.

“The agreement was I would send a group of horses running toward them,” Meng Yao explained, “and they would return all of them save my own to signify they’re ready to attack on the night of the next new moon. That way, they’re less likely to be spotted. I’m thinking we could offer ourselves for watch duty anyway. Huaisang and Zonghui trust you enough for this, it’ll be easy to…”

Before Meng Yao could finish that thought, Huaisang jumped out of the ger holding a metal ladle which he swung at the back of Meng Yao’s head with enough force for him to collapse. Lan Xichen stared a moment at the motionless body of his friend, shocked by the speed of that attack, by the bloody indent on his skull when he’d never known Huaisang to be capable of violence. When he turned his eyes to Huaisang, Lan Xichen found his husband glaring at him, the ladle stained with blood already raised again, ready to strike another time if necessary.

“It was all a lie then?” Huaisang hissed, tears glistening on his cheeks as he waved the ladle in threat. “All this time, you were just lying to kill Mingjue and me?”

[vampire--dad]

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle Server prompt bingo! @lovelyeskel

Prompt: Established Relationship

——————

“You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

Jaskier smiles. He wasn’t sure about growing a beard, but since Geralt did for the winter, he thought he might as well. Over the years his hair has slowly become streaked with gray, including his facial hair. He just about fainted when he saw the first one grow through. It only spread from there. Geralt loves it. He never thought the bard could be any more beautiful, yet here he is, his ageless smile framed by brown and silver hair. The hair in the top of his head has grown as well, now brushing against his jawline. Geralt can’t help but run his fingers through it whenever he gets the chance. It’s as thick and soft as ever.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister,” Jaskier says, setting aside his lute and delicately placing himself across Geralt’s lap. The witcher’s arms slide around his waist and pull him close. “You still owe me ten ducats for throwing that snowball at Eskel’s backside because you didn’t have the balls to start the fight.”

“Mmm. What’s mine is yours… or some shit like that...”

Jaskier laughs as Geralt peppers his cheeks and lips with kisses.

“I’m sorry to tell you, dear heart, that’s not how it works,” Jaskier chuckles.

“What are you going to spend it on anyway? It’s the middle of winter.”

“I happen to be saving up for new lute strings.”

“I’ll buy you new lute strings.”

“Is that an excuse to get out of paying me?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Geralt.”

They chuckle and share a slow kiss. Ciri feigns gagging as she witnesses them over Eskel’s shoulder. Her uncle laughs and scratches his head, wondering when this girl got so good at gwent.

Lambert sees it too. He hates to admit that seeing his brother happy with Jaskier stings. He once had someone like that. Once. And he slipped right through his fingers. He should never have let Aiden go on that contract in Ellander alone. He should have gone with him. Maybe they could have fought off Karadin and his assassins together. But there’s no use in reminiscing. He and Geralt saw to it personally that Aiden was avenged. Perhaps killing Karadin was cold, but he couldn’t let the man go on after what he had done. Philanthropy means fuck all when your past is covered in blood. You don’t get to walk away from that. Or at least that’s what Lambert tells himself.

The doors to the keep burst open, groaning loudly enough for them all to hear. All eyes shoot up to the hall that leads to the entrance. Several of them reach for swords as the wind howls inside. Vesemir goes first, scowling at the hallway as he approaches it. Eskel and Ciri are the next to stand, Ciri holding a blade as they walk towards the hall. Not just anything can open those doors when they’re bolted shut. Geralt shifts Jaskier off of his lap with a frown and joins Lambert as they disappear down the hall together. Jaskier is left in the common room by the fire, knowing he won’t be much help.

A man covered in snow leans against the open door, shivering and clearly too weak to stand on his own. Short, sandy brown hair hangs damply from his head. Vesemir grips him by the collar and tosses him against the stone wall as Geralt and Eskel struggle to close the doors against the wind. Ciri props the man’s chin up with the tip of her blade, revealing a pale, scarred face, a weak toothy grin, and a pair of familiar yellow eyes— one, at least. The other is covered by a thick leather eyepatch.

“Alright, sweetheart, lay off. I don’t mean any trouble,” the witcher chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

Lambert stands frozen in the hallway, staring at the man, but at the sound of his voice, his heart almost stops beating. It can’t be. It’s not possible. Before any more can be said, he forces himself between Ciri and Vesemir, shoving his father and niece out of the way, and stands before the man with tears gathering in his eyes. He knows that voice, that smile, that beautiful man he tortured himself for ever letting go on his own.

“Aiden…?”

“Here he is, the man of the hour,” Aiden laughs weakly. “I was just looking for you, wolf—”

Whatever shitty joke Aiden had planned for him is cut off. Lambert throws his arms around Aiden and squeezes him tight, trying to reassure himself that this is real. He is real. Aiden is alive. His arms are wrapped around Lambert’s middle and his head tucked into the crook of his neck just the way he used to. He grabs Aiden’s face and plants a bruising kiss on his lips as the others watch in bewilderment. He barely even notices they’re there. Aiden’s lips are ice cold and just as sweet as he remembers. A tear slides down his cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ciri doesn’t think she’s ever seen her uncle cry. He pulls away with a relieved laugh.

“You asshole, I thought you were dead,” Lambert breathes, brushing Aiden’s wet hair from his eyes. He pulls Lambert closer in desperate search of any warmth he can cling to.

“Please, takes more than a measly little crossbow to rid you of me, wolf,” Aiden says affectionately, gently wiping a tear from Lambert’s cheek. “Now can we please talk about this somewhere warmer? I just about froze my ass off getting here.”

Without a second thought, Lambert lifts Aiden from his feet and carries him to the common room to sit by the fire. The other four witchers stand about, looking from person to person in confusion. Geralt smiles knowingly.

“So that’s why he killed Karadin,” he mumbles. “He thought he had lost the man he loves.”

“You seem to know what’s going on,” Ciri says with her hands on her hips. “Mind filling us in?”

Geralt explains their story as he remembers from Lambert. Vesemir and Eskel glance down the hall with reproach at the mention of a cat witcher. Geralt gives them a look of warning. He remembers feeling the same reproach, but he won’t judge the man if Lambert, of all people, loves him.

“I know the reputation that the School of the Cat has made for itself, but this is Lambert. He doesn’t trust easily, we all know that. If he can trust this one enough to let him get that close to him, perhaps we need to trust his judgment.”

Eskel and Ciri nod slowly. Vesemir doesn’t, but Geralt knows better than to push it. They return to the common room where Aiden is wrapped in a blanket before the fire with Lambert by his side. Jaskier has run off to the kitchen to get him something to eat. He and Lambert talk quietly about the things that had happened to him while he was gone, the wolf staring lovingly at the cat and stroking his hair gently. Eskel’s never seen that look on Lambert’s face. Perhaps Geralt is right. If anyone can break through that rough exterior Lambert keeps up, they deserve their trust.

As the others take their seats nearby the fire again, Lambert sits up a little straighter and introduces everyone. His arm is wrapped tightly around Aiden’s shoulders.

“These are my brothers, Geralt and Eskel, Geralt’s daughter, Ciri, and Jaskier is Geralt’s husband.”

“Daughter?” Aiden asks, cocking an eyebrow at Ciri. “Witchers can’t have children. What kind of chaos did you have to meddle in to end up with one?”

“It’s a long story,” Ciri and Geralt say in unison.

Aiden had always known he was going to end up at Kaer Morhen with Lambert’s family. He could never tell if he looked forward to it or dreaded it. The School of the Cat has a reputation and he knows the wolves will hold him to it until he can prove otherwise. He nods slowly and turns back to Lambert.

“And what about the old bastard— where’s he gone off to? What about him?” Aiden asks.

“That’s Vesemir. Our... mentor.”

Vesemir has retired to his room without a word. Lambert is almost relieved. If anyone is going to give Aiden a hard time, it’s him. Lambert was never one to refer to Vesemir as their father. Geralt and Eskel do, when he’s not around, but he can’t. The man might have taught him everything he knows, but he’s not his father. His parents are long dead. Aiden nods slowly.

“I remember you telling me about him.”

Jaskier returns and hands Aiden a bowl of stew. He smiles gratefully at him, noticing at last that he is the only one who doesn’t have yellow eyes, the only non-witcher in the room. He quirks his head slightly at him.

“It’s not common to find a human in a witcher’s keep, let alone married to one,” he says. His voice constantly carries a tone of mischief. “How did that happen?”

Jaskier chuckles as he sits next to Geralt and slips an arm around him. He sees why Lambert would like this one. He’s got that same snarky sense of humour.

“Many, many years of following him around and trying to keep him alive until he realised I wasn’t so bad for a bard,” he teases, gazing at Geralt lovingly. The witcher chuckles and kisses the bard’s cheek.

“More like many, many years of annoying me until I realised there was no getting rid of you,” he says with an amused smile. Jaskier laughs softly and shakes his head. They could save the flirting for later.

“Enough of that, you old brute. Aiden, how did you get to Kaer Morhen in the middle of winter? It’s bad enough to travel in winter in general, but up here in the mountains…”

Aiden shrugs as he shovels stew into his mouth. It’s been weeks since he’s had something proper to eat.

“The mages that found me had planned on keeping me until spring. I had other ideas. One of ‘em found me pretty enough to help me sneak out with a few of their warming potions and some extra cloaks,” he says with a smug grin. Lambert’s hold around his shoulders tightens possessively. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, wolf,” he teases. “Nothing happened. I was busy sneaking out to get back to you. Couldn’t let you go without me for too long.”

“Just making sure,” Lambert mutters.

Lambert lays on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching as Aiden strips himself of his sodden clothes before the fire. As long as it has been, neither of them want anything. They just want to spend the night in each other's arms as they used to after a hunt.

“That scar is new,” he observes. He knows all of Aiden’s scars like they’re his own. Aiden glances down at the thick pink line that creeps across his ribs and down his back.

“Oh, right. Cockatrice. Little fucker caught me off guard,” Aiden says indifferently, slipping under the covers with Lambert. His skin is cooler than usual. Lambert runs his fingers along the scar as if he’s committing it to memory along with the others.

“If that’s the case, you deserved it,” he teases, kissing along Aiden’s jaw with a smirk. “Should never have had your guard down.”

“I’d just lost an eye, wolf,” Aiden chuckles.

“Shame, too. You’ve got the prettiest eyes…”

“Lambert…”

The wolf sighs with content as he pulls Aiden into the circle of his arms and presses a soft kiss on a scar on his shoulder. It’s his favourite, that scar. The one he gave him when Aiden decided to introduce himself by trying to kill him. His hands roam down Aiden’s back, fingers brushing over old bumps and ridges from past battles. It’s soothing, for both of them. He still can’t quite believe that Aiden is here, he’s alive. He might just go visit those mages and see if he can return the favour once winter passes.

“I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Aiden smiles softly. He loves when Lambert calls him kitten. There were times he thought he’d never hear it again.

“I missed you too, pup.”

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Dar Atishan, A Talk with Cole

“Wind and whispers, dreams and demons, ‘why don’t they ever want me enough to want me?’” My ears perked up and I saw Cole walking towards me on the battlements. I glanced at him and returned, hunched over and brooding, watching the snow blow of the tops of mountains. “You’re hurt and hurting, all three of you wounded, worried, ‘was it the right decision?’”

I turn around and face him, smirking. “Do they have love in the Fade?”

“‘Hahren Morriel warned me, the shemlen are fickle, but the elf too?’ Wanting, wondering, ‘what else could I do?’” I sighed and patted the battlements. I pushed myself up with my hands and he joined me, legs dangling over the edge. “You’re sad.”

“I am.”

“They think it was the right decision.”

“I know.”

“But they’re sad, too. Brooding, breaking, ‘Bull said it’d help me with the ladies, but it’d break her.’” He looked towards the barn. I sighed and looked up towards the sky, clear and full of stars. “Dust, danger, delightful, distraction, ‘if she’s real, what if they’re all real, too?’”

I shake my head. “Cole, stop.”

“I want to help,” he says. He looks up, his shaggy hair nearly hiding his big eyes. I put a hand on his knee.

“I don’t think you get to help,” I said.

“Why?” He asks, his voice full of genuine curiosity.

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Sixteen, sweating, ‘Will we make it?’”

“Yes, that story. Stay out of my head, let me tell you, not show you.” He nods and puts his hand in his lap. “When I was sixteen, my vallaslin fresh, my sword sharpened, I went on a hunt with a boy.”

“Tallen.”

“Yes, Tallen. Tallen was a few years older than me, an accomplished hunter. We’d been out in the forest for a few days. He was certain he’d found some clues that would lead to some ancient artifact, something Keeper Istimaethoriel could make use of. Remind of us of the old ways.” I looked towards Cole, his gaze stuck on the lines arching across my face. “So we looked. We looked and looked and looked. Days passed, and we couldn’t seem to find whatever his sources had led him to.”

“Boredom, bothered, ‘This is worse than when the aravel breaks,’” he said. “Sorry. I’ll try to stay outside.”

“Thank you, Cole. Yes, I was bored and angry. I’d only agreed to come along because of Tallen. None of the other hunters thought it was worth our time. The Keeper wasn’t especially keen. But Tallen,” I said. I trailed off, taken back to the forest, a girl with fresh ink, so sure of what I’d chosen, Elgarnan’s markings across my face.

“But Tallen?”

“Right, but Tallen wanted to go, and I wanted to help, and I wanted to spend time with him, alone,” I said. I looked at Cole and raised an eyebrow. His face stayed as placid as ever. “So we wandered. We looked. We found nothing. One night, deep in the forest, we found a cave to sleep in. We’d build a small fire, roasted a bird we’d killed. We sat, quietly listening to the forest.” I looked up at the sky again, constellations dancing around. I heard the Hahren speaking about the legends, the Elven gods, the Dread Wolf.

“As we finished dinner, I heard stirring from the back of the cave. I didn’t have time to fully put on my armor, but I grabbed my chest plate and my blade, I got Tallen’s attention and pointed towards the darkness beyond us. He grabbed his bow, and started to draw an arrow. Before he could get a good shot lined up, darkspawn came running towards us,” I said. Cole closed his eyes. “I’d never seen one up close. I’d heard stories growing up, of course. We’d avoided the Blight, but everyone knew of them, their corruption. I got a few good swings, killed one right away. Tallen had time to back up, start taking shots at different ones as they approached me.”

“You were afraid,” he said.

“I was. I was so young, this was my first real mission.”

“You lived.”

“Or maybe I’m a spirit, too, drawn to the dying elf.”

“Jokes and jaunting, ‘laughter makes it easier,’” he said.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, you still like me. You see me all the time,” he said.

“I thought that was your decision.”

“I did, too. Go on. I like the way your voice carries the past,” he said.

“The darkspawn kept coming and coming. Soon enough I realized they were too many to fight, the two of us. Tallen called out to me,  I gave him a clear shot and we ran from the cave. We ran and ran and ran until our legs were going to give out. The darkspawn never let up.. We reached a cliff. The darkspawn were maybe four hundred feet away, running towards us as they had, corrupting everything in their path. Tallen looked over the edge, then back at me. He grabbed my face and kissed me.”

“First, frolicking, filthy, ‘I’d hoped I’d be clean.’ You’d wanted to kiss him?”

I laughed. “For a long time. Tallen was so handsome, so strong and brave. He’d be a good partner, he was a good man. I’d only come along so he’d be forced to see me as a woman instead of the child I’d been.”

“Did it work?”

“You don’t kiss children like that,” I said. “When we pulled apart, he said, ‘trust me’ and put out a hand. I put mine in his, and we jumped over the edge.”

“Maybe you are a spirit,” he said.

“I was lucky,” I laughed. “We landed in a lake, deep enough that we didn’t break any bones. The water helped wash away the darkspawn blood. When I came up for air, I looked around, gasping. I saw Tallen, swam over towards him, put my arms around him, and kissed him again, how I’d wanted to.”

“He tasted like fire and lake water,” he said.

I nodded. “We stood in the water for a time, embracing. Then we found our way to the shore. The darkspawn didn’t follow, so we made another small fire and slept for the night. The next morning, when I woke up he was gone. I panicked, put on my chest plate and went searching for him. I saw him on a far hill, picking flowers. Cole, in that moment I could have died.”

“But you wanted the flowers?”

“Good die, not bad die.”

“There’s different kinds of dying?” Cole asked.

“I settled back into camp, and he returned. Together we made our way back to the clan. When we arrived, Keeper Istimaethoriel came up and gave us a hug. The Keeper’s daughter, Asharell came up too and put her arms around Tallen. He reached in his pack and gave her the flowers.”

“You wanted to die then, too. Good die?”

“Bad die,” I said. “My heart broke into a thousand little pieces. We’d kissed, we’d survived darkspawn, and he picked flowers for the pretty girl back home instead of me.” I stopped and swallowed. The night air on the battlements had begun to chill, and goose bumps rose on my arms. “After we’d had a proper bath and a proper meal, I wandered near the halla. Tallen came up to me.”

“Kissing, killing, crying, chilling ‘No hard feelings?’ Oh. He was an ass.” I laughed and patted him on the back.

“Yes, he was. Apparently he’d long been sweet on Asharell and wanted to go on this expedition to impress the Keeper so he could marry his daughter. Our daring tale and the flowers had certainly done their part,” I said. “He came up to me and said, ‘I hope we can keep it a secret. It was the moment, fear of death and all that.’ I nodded, said it was fine. He was afraid he’d die. I was there. People have made worse choices under fear.”

“You carry this hurt like a scar,” he said. “But now, it cracks upon, and it’s hurting all the same.”

“When Solas and I kissed in the Fade, I was so excited. I hadn’t done anything like that in a long time,” I said. “But when we woke up, he said it was a bad decision, a mistake. So I let him go.” I put my hands on my knees and took a deep breath. “Then Blackwall and I, traveling, laughing. It came so suddenly, I thought the Creators had given me a second chance. We went and found his badge, we sat by the fire light.”            “But he also said it was wrong,” Cole said.

“After Tallen and Asharell married,  I spoke to the Hahren. I needed some advice. He told me, his years of wisdom, ‘You cannot beg anyone to love you.’”

“So when they said no, you believed them.”

“I’m not going to convince them otherwise. If they don’t want me enough to want me honestly, I won’t fight for it,” I said. My eyes welled up and Cole put his hand on mine.

“They could have been convinced,” he said, “but that wouldn’t have been right. It would have hurt you more than losing them.”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “I think maybe love just isn’t for me. Before I wasn’t anyone, now I’m so much more than myself.”

“Willfull, wanting, given, gotten, ‘I’ve given up so much, maybe she could be for me, maybe this woman I could keep,’” he said.

“That’s not how I feel.”

“That isn’t you,” he said. I sat up straighter and looked at him. His eyes glanced down, Cullen leaning over the battlements, his own late night stroll.

“Josephine?” I asked. He shook his head. “Cassandra?” He shook his head again.

“Lost and longing, lyrium-sick, ‘She’s so powerful, so strong, how could she ever want anyone like me?’” Cole looked back at me.

I swallow and look at him, his hands running through his hair. “I never thought, I mean, I’d flirted, but he seemed so closed off. I assumed,” I trailed off.

“‘What if the lyrium takes me? What if I’m not strong enough? She deserves someone strong enough to carry her burdens. She deserves someone without the weight I carry.’”

“Thank you, Cole. This helped.” We hopped off the edge and I gave him another pat on the shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m happy I helped.”

[thecatsaesthetics]

Anne Boleyn 2021 Review

Okay, so I want to start this off by saying I am a day late and a dollar short. I know that. Who wants my, over thousand-word, essay on this... but I've gonna give it to you. So please keep reading and leave me comments with your thoughts about this show.

So I will start this off with the positives:

I think Jodie Turner-Smith was excellently cast as Anne Boleyn. Jodie has a remarkable range as an actress. Especially since this version of Anne Boleyn, she is both victim and villain Jodie was able to pull it off flawlessly. She jumped from being a heartbroken wife to manipulating Henry VIII very well. Two scenes that really highlight this are:

The one after her miscarriage and Henry riding off; showed Anne’s desperation and sorrow very well. “Won’t you say goodbye to your wife?” was a heartbreaking line and I very nearly lost it when she collapsed.

The second was in the next episode where she manipulated herself back into his “good graces” by proposing Cromwell had been double-crossing him. This didn’t come across as villainous to me, it came across as a woman in a struggle for survival. Playing the game to keep her station after miscarriage.

I will say this about the show Jodie carried it on her back. She made Anne very sympathetic but highlight that she had this temper that harmed her. However, unlike Claire Foy’s Anne Boleyn I never felt this Anne was unlikable. She came across as someone struggling to survive. The scene with Mary after she learns of potentially Mary being reinstated in the line of succession also highlighted this. The whole "The King never likes to be without me for long" was a lie given he had left her but it was to puff up her station. Reminding Norfolk that she helped his daughter marry the King's son. Forcing Chapuys to kiss her hand. These weren't just power moves, they were survival moves.

This Anne was similar to Natalie Dormer’s Anne in season 2 of the Tudor and Geneviève Bujold in Anne of a Thousand Days. I enjoyed how Jodie both made the performance utterly her own but also obviously drew inspiration from the others.

Moving on,

Another positive was George and Anne’s relationship. I did like how touching their scenes were. The final meeting between George and Anne was heartbreaking.

The horse symbolism, while oddly ripped off from The Tudor’s swan symbolism what I liked. Also, the clock from King Francis implying the “Her time is up” I truly enjoyed. I am just a sucker for symbolism

The Norris Comment

I LOVED THIS. I loved how not only it was said, Anne being flirtatious and joking but the immediate drop. This was the moment Anne truly screwed up. I loved how Norris reacted and the reactions of everyone in the room. This comment is oddly overlooked by most productions of Anne Boleyn or Henry VIII. From what I have read it was an incredibly important comment that was made by Anne. This in combination with her final miscarriage left her in a dangerous position.

Now to a more mixed feeling:

Henry and Anne’s relationship:

On the one hand, I liked it, it showed they were still into each other a lot. This is unlike The Tudors where Henry VIII weirdly loses all sexual interest in Anne (but somehow still expects her to have a baby). Most productions show Anne and Henry’s marriage crumbling the second she has Elizabeth which just isn’t true. I also liked how the miscarriage alone didn’t cause Anne’s downfall, which is usually how it’s done.

That being said the physical violence… Henry VIII was a lot of things but he really wasn’t a physically violent guy himself. He’d execute you but he was a coward about it. I think the one notable time Henry got physically violent with a wife is when he ordered a sword after discovering Katherine Howard’s prior “relationships” and people thought he was angry enough to execute her himself. Even with Jane Seymour, he seems more degrading of her at times than physically violent. Emotional violence was more Henry’s style.

I do understand that they were trying to show the relationship as chaotic, volatile, and unhealthy. However, I just didn’t think it was necessary to add physical violence to do this.

Now with the petty:

The costumes… were so god damn ugly. Just as a side note before we pass from the positives to the true negatives. I just don’t understand what goes through the minds of costume designers. Jodie is a beautiful actress and they put her in the ugliest of clothing.

I mean I have seen worse costumes. They weren't as bad as The White Princess or Wolf Hall. But I would put them alongside The White Queen honestly.

I don't think costumes must be accurate, but I want them to be pretty at least. If you aren't going to make them accurate can we at least have something interesting to look at?

The Negatives:

Jane Boleyn: Ummm I don’t know what to say other than this is fucking dumb. I mean I guess we should be glad there was no physical violence between George and Jane this time around. Other than that I don’t get it. We literally are three mins into episode one and they have Anne call Jane a “spiteful little bitch” why? Because she’s upset her husband is cheating on her? Like Anne is upset her husband is cheating on her? Why wouldn’t Anne sympathize with Jane if that were the case? Even if they wanted to make Jane Boleyn evil they did a bad job. Am I not supposed to have sympathy with the wife getting cheated on?

Also, Dan Jones should have his degree ripped from him. Dan Jones is an actual historian who is an executive producer on this show and he allowed them to have Jane be brought as a witness to Anne’s trial.

On that note let’s move to the Jousting Head Injury thing. Again Dan Jones should have his degree ripped from him. This event did not happen, at least not like this. You can watch Claire Ridgeway’s video on this but the historical records do not support Henry VIII being unconscious at all after this fall. And it was funny they had Chapuys heavily involved in these scenes since he never even wrote about this event. You’d think if it was that important he would have.

That gross miscarriage scene… for all that is holy I do not understand why we are getting these intense miscarriage scenes. The camera was literally between Jodie’s legs at one point. It was so nasty. The sounds… I just can’t. I won’t go into it further but I’d rather have Natalie’s Dormer’s implied miscarriages with just some bleeding then this shit any day.

Now before I tactical the racism I want to say the final episode was probably the weakest one. Anne’s trial… I hated it. I hated Anne speech it was way too much Feminism™. I would have rather had her execution speech or her confession with Crammer. I do get why they only chose to have one of these in the episode, it would totally over crowd the episode. That being said… not only was the directing weird in this scene the speech they wrote just was subpar at best.

The Racism:

Okay, I am going to try my best to tactical the racism in the show. Now I am white and I don’t want to say I should be speaking over ANYONE. Plenty of black Tudor fans have written this better than me.

However, two plot points on this show really struck me as racist.

Jane Seymour: the odd predator behavior Anne has around Jane Seymour. It must be noted that the age gap looks apparent on the screen. Jane’s actress is 25 and Jodie is 34. Jane looked like an innocent schoolgirl and the aggressive scenes with Anne made these seem incredibly predatory. In ALL other productions, I’ve seen this is never how Anne and Jane come across.

The weird kiss between them was both racist and homophobic. I think they said it was about Anne wanting to see the “appeal”. Again it just made her look predator. The worst scene was when she was circling Jane as she spoke a hymn. Honestly, they made Jodie look like a fucking shark in that scene. It was so nasty.

The second and less talked about was Anne and Kingston. I don’t get why nobody is talking about that disturbing scene where Kingston physically pushes Anne onto the bed and holds her there. It was utterly disturbing, and quite frankly I am shocked anyone found that appropriate. You cannot separate Anne being portrayed by Jodie, a black woman, and having a white man grip her head down on a bed saying “She’s only a woman” as an insult. It was incredibly disturbing.

Also in general having Kingston treats Anne so awful… when all other productions of Anne Boleyn have Kingston treat her remarkably well. Racism is implied here. Why in every other production Anne's ladies are kind and gentle to her, and Kingston is moved by her, but when it's Jodie he's physically brutalizing her?

I think there were obviously other incidents, including all the shit with George and Jane but I don’t feel that equipped to handle them. I just wanted to bring these two to light.

Overall:

Jodie was amazing, carried the show on her back. That’s kind of it. It was very subpar. For a show that claims in the beginning inspired by “The Truth… and lies,” it seems more inspired by lies than by any sort of truth.

I mean did we need another Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn TV show. Probably not. Which makes me feel sad. Jodie was so good. She truly pulls off regal. I want to see her in more period dramas. But other than that… 5.5 stars maybe?

[robininthelabyrinth]

part 2 to Complications (ao3 and tumblr)

-

“What do you mean you didn’t tell Wei Wuxian about it?” Nie Huaisang asked, feeling as if his eyebrows had just gone up as high as the clouds. “You tell Wei-xiong everything.”

Jiang Cheng scowled forbiddingly at him, but years of dealing with his da-ge’s much scarier version had made Nie Huaisang immune to any hint less than an outright “fuck off” – though it looked like Jiang Cheng was starting to consider that.

“You really do tell him everything, though,” Nie Huaisang protested. “Also, if you tell me to get lost, I will, and then who’ll rub your feet for you?”

“The maid,” Jiang Cheng said pointedly. “Whose job it is.”

Nie Huaisang sniffed. “Jiang-xiong, really! As if she’d be half as good as me.”

“At least I wouldn’t have to worry that she was volunteering to do it because of some undisclosed foot fetish.”

“I said you had pretty feet once.”

“First off, it was not once. Second, my ankles are swollen, I have calluses in places I never expected, and I’m pretty sure they stink,” Jiang Cheng growled. “They’re not pretty.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you can see them this late in the game.”

Jiang Cheng looked as if he was considering kicking Nie Huaisang in the head, so Nie Huaisang decided it was time to change the subject. The weight thing was a bit of a sensitive issue, since Jiang Cheng’s body had helpfully barely shown any evidence of the child he’d decided to keep until there was only a month or two left and then suddenly swell up in a vengeance; it was what had forced him to retreat off the field, claiming a flare-up of an old injury incurred during the fall of the Lotus Pier.

It was a damn good cover story, actually, which was why Nie Huaisang was constantly stunned at the fact that his brother had been the one to come up with it.

“Really, though,” he said. “Why not tell Wei-xiong? It’s not like he isn’t back now, even if he is off glorifying in his demonic cultivation instead of taking your position as leader of the Jiang clan forces.”

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” Jiang Cheng said at once, because he always defended Wei Wuxian no matter what he did. “And anyway, his demonic cultivation is more effective –”

“Than your entire Jiang sect?” Nie Huaisang interjected, making clear his doubts on the subject. “My brother wrote to me about it; he said that that demonic cultivation of Wei-xiong is like a cannon – devastating when used correctly, but no match for sheer might in numbers.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell him, though,” Jiang Cheng said, and he suddenly looked tired. “He’s been trying so hard to help fight the Wens, with his demonic cultivation and everything, and he took – he takes everything really personally, you know? Mother asked him to look after me, and he seems to think that’s his only purpose in life now. It was bad enough with – with Wen Zhuliu. If he knew about this…”

Nie Huaisang nodded, sympathetic. Jiang Cheng had been suffering from mood swings the past few weeks, and in one particularly bad bout of them had confessed the entire painful story of the Lotus Pier and the immediate aftermath to Nie Huaisang. It’d been a bad night, and one in which Nie Huaisang had deeply wished he could offer some sort of alcohol or something as a remedy – the doctors had insisted on putting Jiang Cheng on strict diet, including a limitation on wine – but in the end he thought it had helped Jiang Cheng to talk about it.

Besides, Jiang Cheng was right about how sensitive Wei Wuxian could be.

“I’ll have to tell him eventually,” Jiang Cheng continued, looking a bit downcast. “Unlike most of the cultivation world, he knows I’m misaligned. It’s not like he’d believe I did the siring, and there’s no one else who it could have been…”

“Tell him it’s mine,” Nie Huaisang said, and grinned when Jiang Cheng gave him a look. “No, really! What a story that’d be, huh? Our Nie sect is protective of its children, so we would have gone through some really picturesque agony in deciding to let you claim it as a Jiang child –”

“Picturesque agony,” Jiang Cheng said, and he was aiming for judging but mostly coming off like he wanted to laugh. “What makes agony picturesque?”

“The fact that it’s theoretical,” Nie Huaisang said promptly, and that actually got a bark of laughter out of Jiang Cheng, as he’d hoped.

“Okay, go on,” he said, leaning back and giving Nie Huaisang an expectant look. “Your brother always says you’re good at making up stories that sound plausible. How could the brat have been yours? You weren’t even there.”

“Ah, but you’re not thinking of the right time!” Nie Huaisang said with a grin, holding up a finger. “The child was actually conceived earlier, back when we were at the indoctrination camp with the Qiongqi and everything; you and I sought comfort in each other’s arms –”

Jiang Cheng gave an incredulous snort.

“Shut up, it’s a romantic turn of phrase. Anyway, it was a spur of the moment thing, one time, and then next thing you know – child!”

“And when people other than Wei Wuxian start asking about how two men can have a child?”

Nie Huaisang lifted his fan up to his face and batted his eyelashes. “Well, Jiang-xiong, I am from Qinghe.”

“You’re an idiot is what you are. Not only are you not a woman in any way, the timelines don’t even work; those two incidents were too far apart. The brat’s not another Nezha.”

“Stop spoiling my fun. How am I supposed to get access to your pretty, pretty feet if you don’t let me have some ancestry with the baby?”

“I will kick you.”

“Maybe we’ve been secretly carrying on for years,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “In secret, of course, for – reasons that I will think of later. I went on a shopping trip a few weeks before everything happened; I could have swung down towards Yunmeng, and you could have come up on an overnight trip. You flew your sword to meet me in the middle, and we had a stolen night of passion –”

“We were literally engaged when we were younger,” Jiang Cheng said. “We wouldn’t need to steal anything.”

“We thought it was more romantic that way?”

“Try again.”

“Tough audience,” Nie Huaisang complained. “You know, most people aren’t this nitpicky about their porn…oh, I know! We got together during your time at the Cloud Recesses and were just on the verge of announcing that we wanted to resurrect our engagement when your father agreed to repudiate your sister’s; we thought it’d be rude to rub it into her face, so we decided to wait three years to tell everyone.”

“Three years?” Jiang Cheng frowned, doing the math. “Hmm. I guess that would work.”

“We would have just been nerving ourselves up to finally tell people,” Nie Huaisang said enthusiastically. “That’s why we agreed to meet! And there was wine, and moonlight, and things got out of hand, and next thing you know…”

“Aren’t you supposed to be good at porn?” Jiang Cheng complained. “What’s with all this ‘next thing you know’s?”

Nie Huaisang grinned at Jiang Cheng. “If you want me to tell you something spicy, Jiang-gege, you need only ask…”

“Never mind,” Jiang Cheng said hastily, his cheeks turning red at once. “And don’t call me gege in that tone of voice, you sound perverted.”

“As perverted as when I talk about your feet?”

Jiang Cheng really did try to kick him for that one.

“Ouch!” Nie Huaisang cried, playing it up even though Jiang Cheng had been slow enough that even he could have dodged if he’d made even half an effort, and anyway the kick itself was extremely light. “Jiang-xiong, don’t you know you’re supposed to wait until we’re married to start beating your wife?”

“Nie Huaisang…!”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help it and started laughing.

“But no, really,” he said, wiping his eyes a moment later. “If you didn’t tell Wei-xiong, what does he think you’re doing here? Did you feed him the same ‘complications’ line as everyone else?”

“More or less,” Jiang Cheng said. “I told him I needed some time to go stabilize my qi, since I hadn’t had a moment to do it since my golden core was restored.”

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Nie Huaisang said, diverted by the idea of a good story. “You don’t know how Baosan Sanren brought it back, and whether it works exactly the same way – you said it even felt a little stronger than before, but too much strength all of a sudden can be bad, too. You don’t want to risk a qi deviation. Even a small one that could hurt your future potential.”

“That’s what I told him,” Jiang Cheng said, nodding. “I also asked if he could maybe consider looking into qi deviations more generally in the future, though I didn’t say why. He’s enough of a genius to come up with demonic cultivation; maybe he can do something about – about your family’s issue.”

Nie Huaisang’s heart softened. He didn’t think it was likely after countless generations of trying, but he appreciated that Jiang Cheng had thought of it. “You know my brother doesn’t expected to be paid back for helping you – either now, or back when you were still a child.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said, groaning. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to, if I could. But he’s so self-sufficient! What can I possibly do for him?”

“Now you know what I go through every birthday,” Nie Huaisang told him. “See, this is why we should get married; that way we can suffer through the uncertainty together.”

“Get lost.”

“If you insist…”

“Get your hands back on my feet.”

Nie Huaisang grinned and turned back to his work. “How did Wei-xiong take it, anyway? He must have been worried.”

“He said he was going to try to find someone to consult with and ran off at once,” Jiang Cheng said, and now he was scowling again. “When what I meant was that he could use that to fill his time while he stayed at the Jiang camp to help lead it, instead of me having to owe your brother another favor.”

“Wei-xiong was raised to be a head disciple, not a sect leader,” Nie Huaisang said with a shrug. “He thinks more about what’s right and what’s wrong than he does about what’s necessary, because in the end those decisions aren’t his to bear.”

Jiang Cheng was quiet for a while after that, clearly turning something over in his head. Nie Huaisang didn’t say anything, focusing instead of soothing his friend’s feet and asking the maids to bring them some more snacks, especially the painfully salty ones that Jiang Cheng had become so fond of.

“I still think my father wanted the sect to go to him,” he finally said.

There was no need to ask who.

“He’s not actually your father’s bastard,” Nie Huaisang said. He didn’t bother with assurances that Jiang Cheng would never believe; he had too much experience in being the worse half of a comparison for that. “So it wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”

“No, I mean – I think that if you and I weren’t already engaged when Wei Wuxian was found, if your brother hadn’t already made everyone treat me like a boy by then, I think my father would’ve set up a marriage between us.”

“Between you and Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang’s head hurt at the thought. “But you’re more like brothers than anything else!”

“He wouldn’t have known it then, would he? And that way Wei Wuxian would be the Sect Leader, even if his children would be named Jiang.”

“That’s really stupid,” Nie Huaisang said. “Even if you married him, shouldn’t you still be sect leader, and him first disciple? It’s not really the Jiang clan if it’s lead by someone with a different surname –”

Jiang Cheng started laughing. “No, no, it’s nothing,” he said when Nie Huaisang looked askance at him. “I keep forgetting you’re from Qinghe, where the only thing that matters is the saber. Yunmeng Jiang doesn’t allow women to inherit roles in the sect; that’s why I’m the heir, and not Jiang Yanli, and why the original plan was for one of my cousins to be the heir.”

“What? That’s so stupid. What if there’s a curse on the generation so that everyone bears only girls? Does the Jiang sect just fall over and die?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes were starting to tear up from laughter, and he put his hand on his rounded belly to stabilize it. “I don’t know. That seems pretty unlikely, though, doesn’t it?”

“Unlikely my ass! Legend has it that it happened to one of my ancestors.”

“And everyone in the next generation was a girl?”

“Misaligned or otherwise, yeah. And shortly afterwards there was a whole thing with this one saber spirit deciding to possess a human body – it’s a long story, with lots of dead people; I’d tell it to you, but I can’t do it justice the way one of our clan storytellers would. You’ll just have to wait until we’re married.”

“We’re not getting married, Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng said, long-suffering.

“You still haven’t given me a good reason why not,” Nie Huaisang said, undeterred. “It’s all been bullshit ‘I can’t burden you like that’ sort of stuff, and I already told you I don’t care.”

“Do you want to be kicked again?”

“No, but I could negotiate being stepped on –”

“Nie Huaisang!”

[toggle1-mrfipp]

Fipp: This is just a crackship fic, nothing more.

Also, let's assume this takes place in an AU where things went better than they did in canon.

Schnee Sibling Brunch

Whitley has brunch with Weiss and Winter to better reconnect. Winter has a stroke. (Qrow/Willow Jaune/Winter crackship)

Among other things, Whitley had to admit that this was... nice. Yes, nice, that seemed like the proper way to refer to how the relationship between him and his sisters had developed recently. Much of the animosity had faded away and allowed them to grow a better and healthier interactions with one another, though they had yet to reach that stage and seemed to be in this awkward phases where none of them knew exactly how to talk to one another.

Or maybe it was just him. Weiss and Winter seemed to talk easily to each other well enough, and while he could have conversations with Weiss, with some struggle, talk between him and Winter was of a much more difficult manner, since neither one of them seemed to really know where to start there.

Hopefully these brunches Klein had suggested should help, having the three of them get together every once and awhile to talk about their weeks and breaks some ice between them. It could work, he thought, after all there were only three of them here, and in his experiences, more than three members of his family tended to end in arguments and yelling.

On the table, Weiss' scroll buzzed, slightly moving as it vibrated, while she gave an annoyed huff and chose to ignore it. That in itself isn't anything noteworthy, but what was that this was not the first time this had happened, and it had been going off nearly every minute since they sat down to eat.

“Aren't you going to answer that?” Winter asked, having taken a sip of her tea.

“It's only Ruby,” Weiss said with a roll of her eyes.

“Ruby? Whitley asked.

“Yes, Ruby. She's one of my teammates, you've met her before.”

Whitely tried to think of the faces of Weiss' friends, but while he knew what they looked liked, he couldn't say he ever got their names. “The one with the arm?” he tried.

“No, that's Yang. She's the one in the red hood.”

Oh yes, the one who crashed the sandwich tray last week. Wait...

“So the one named Ruby Rose is the one in the red cape?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Doesn't that seem a bit on the nose?”

Weiss Schnee picked up her snowy-colored napkin and laid it across her lap, to protect her white dress from any stains or spills. “Of course not.”

“What does she keeping texting you about?” Winter asked.

“Well...” Weiss said, only to pause, looking as though she was not certain how to explain herself. “Okay, so you two know about the recent... situation with our parents, correct?”

A heavy tension suddenly appeared over the table, and Whitley felt his appetite vanish.. Everything between his father and mother, his father in particular, filled with him complicated feeling and emotions that he didn't know how to place or work through. So the best course of actions on dealing with them was to ignore them and hope that they somehow worked themselves out when he's not paying attention to them. Yes, that seemed like a good idea.

“Well, as we both know, Mom recently took up to dating again and-”

Winter made a gagging noise.

“Could we not talk about that please?” Winter said, putting a fist to her mouth, her skin taking on a slightly green complexion to it.

“Yes, I feel like there are other things we can talk about,” Whitley added, wishing the subject could be about anything else than this. The thousands of  square miles of barren icy desert outside the city would be a more interesting thing to talk about in his opinion.

“Are you going to do that every time someone brings up Qrow?” Weiss asked, glaring at Winter. “I would think you would be a bit more mature about this, at least more so than Whitley”

Yes, Qrow. That ragged-looking man. Whitley didn't care for him.

Wait.

“What do you mean more mature than me?” Whitley asked, staring daggers at Weiss, who only seemed to grow in annoyance with her sibling.

“Okay, listen,” Winter said, interrupting anything Weiss could have said to defend herself. “I'm happy for Mom wanting to move on, I really am, and while she would have to dig through the bottom of the barrel worst than Jacques, there are still plenty of options better than Qrow Branwen!”

“You're over exaggerating,” Weiss said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“I am not! He is an uncouth, vulgar, vagabond! Every encounter I have had with the man has ended with me wanting to stab him in the throat!”

“That's a bit violent, don't you think.”

“Also! He's a drunk! That's the last thing Mom needs right now!”

“Actually, Ruby told me Qrow hasn't had a single drop since we got to Atlas, and Yang says that he wants to take her to one of the meetings he's been going to.”

“Weiss, while Winter and I have some obvious reservations about Mother and Qrow being... together.” Again, Winter gagged, harsher this time, like she was fighting to keep her food down. “Why don't you seem to bothered by this prospect?”

“Because unlike you two, I can be a mature adult when it comes to such matters.”

“Right,” Winter said, barely under her breath, like she was trying to hide her comment, but didn't want to do it very well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Weiss shot back.

“You know what.”

Whitley sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “So anyway, the texts from Ruby, what does that have to do with Mother and Qrow?” Winter heaved again.

With a sigh, Weiss picked up her scroll and began to flick her thumb across the screen. “Every since they started dating-” hruk “Ruby has gotten a bit to exuberant over the idea of them together, the point where she has completely gotten ahead of herself and wants them to get married so we can be cousins.”

Winter dropped her spoon, and with sluggish movement pushed her omelet to the center of the table. “I'm done, I can't stomach anything else right now.”

To a degree, he shared the sentiment.

Weiss continued, ignoring Winter. “For the last week she has much of sent me more than a hundred texts, about things like Cousin Activities, and Cousin Weekends, and has even gone as far as to threaten me with matching t-shirts.” With a sigh Weiss continued to scroll through the long list of messages she seemed to have been sent. “There's even something here about-wait, what?”

“Is something the matter?”

“Yeah, for some reason she's talking about Jaune being my brother-in-law? What?”

“Seriously? This again?” Winter groaned.

“Jaune?” Whitley asked.

“He's the blond guy with the sword.”

Oh yes, the one who knocked over the drink tray last week.

“The one with the bad haircut.”

“It's not a bad haircut, I rather like it.” Winter continued. “A while ago, he and I were on a team to eliminate a grimm that had been stalking an outpost in the tundra. A Krampus to be precise.”

A Krampus? Oh yes, their grandfather had first gotten his name as a Hunstman for killing a particularity dangerous one that had been known to target the children of Mantle when he was a young man.

“Well we were separated from the rest of the team and ended up fighting it on our own, and while he had several close calls in the end we managed to kill it.

“So can you summon it now?”

“No, Jaune got the killing blow on it. Anyway, the weather had gotten so bad by that point and turned into a blizzard, we were forced to take shelter in a way-station until it had subsided. We spent a couple of hours together alone and well, he's not half bad.”

“So you're dating him then?”

“I suppose,” Winter said, averting her eyes while a slight red came across her cheeks.

“Wait, you're dating someone?” Weiss asked, and Whitley could only look on in confusion why already Winter was looking frustrated.  “Since when?”

“I don't understand, what's going on?” he asked.

Winter could only groan, dragging a hand across her face before she looked Weiss hard in the eyes. “Weiss.”

“Yes?”

“Me, Winter.”

“Okay?”

“And Jaune, your friend.”

“What about him?”

“We. Are. Dating.”

For several seconds, Weiss had this odd look on her face, like she was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle that kept cheating without her knowing. “I don't understand.”

“See!” Winter cried out. “She's been like this whole time! It's like she's physically incapable of comprehending that I am dating Jaune!”

“Who is dating Jaune?” Weiss asked, clueless.

“Me! Weiss! I am dating Jaune! We have gone on three dates so far. Just last night, we spent an hour walking around the mall downtown. We had ice cream and then made out.”

“Okay, you're saying a lot of words that I individually understand, but the order you are saying them just doesn't seem right to me. Winter, are you having a stroke?”

“No I am not having a stroke!”

“Wait,” Whitley said after a thought. “You're dating? Since when do you have time for a social life?”

“Shut up,” Winter snapped. “Also, just what the hell does Ruby mean by 'brother-in-law'? We are not getting married! Marriage isn't even on the table yet!”

“Yet?”

“Shut up again!” She turned back to Weiss. “First of all, you're friend is way over the line here, and she-”

Suddenly, Winter frozen, her words and anger dying as quickly as they had come, and her expression had shifted into something akin to fear from an unwelcome realization.

“Winter?” Weiss asked, and Whitley contemplated poking her with a fork.

Winter next words came out weary, and defeated. “I just recalled some insults Qrow once threw at me regarding our mother, and it occurred to me he could actually carry some of those out.” Without explanation, not that he felt that such a thing were needed, Winter pushed her chair out and slowly made her way to the door, her forming retreating into the hallway beyond.

“Is she going to be okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn't she be?” Weiss said, reaching forward to take Winter's small bowl of melon slices.

There was then a loud, and muffled scream of anguish from down the hall.

“Right...” Whitley then took the remains of Winter's omelet, knowing she would not return for it.

000

Please be well,

Mrfipp

[pl-panda]

Damienette Arranged Marriage: part 2

Part 1 

This

Next

Okay. Here comes another part. I apologize if I missed someone for the Tag list, but in two days this got more responses than my other fics get in a week.

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from and me for the plot.

Damienette Arranged Marriage: part 2

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"I am so sorry they dragged you into this!" She started to apologize to him and trying to hug him. His instincts told him to push her away, but he was too stunned to follow on it. This girl was actually apologizing him for her life being ruined? Just where did his mother find her?

Marinette began to cry her heart out. She felt lost. The boy awkwardly reciprocated her hug, patting her back. His armor was not the most comfortable, but she didn’t care. The girl was always good at reading people. She could easily see that he was just as confused by this situation, only chose not show it. 

Damian gave her one more look. The girl felt so fragile right now. When she first apologized to him something inside broke. She was kind, caring and selfless. His first thought was what was he pulled into. She apologized him for something she had no control over. Back home there were plenty of girl that once they found themselves in such situation would blame him, or even worse, try to abuse the situation. She chose to instead try and conform him. Tried being key word, because she quickly became a crying mess.

“I am sorry. I usually don’t break that easily…” She said between sobs. That was too much for Damian. He separated from her and cupped her hands with his. He noted that she was speaking french, but it wasn’t a problem for him. He was fluent in it. Learned it even before English actually.

“There is nothing you should apologize for. If anyone is to blame, it’s my mother and the old man who assisted her. You have no fault in this. I hold nothing against you” He did his best to comfort her. Even after spending five years with Bruce and the rest of ‘Batfam’ (He still didn’t like the name), Damian learned a bit about human interactions, but he was still far from any good at it. The bigger was his surprise that the girl actually calmed down a bit. She was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still red and puffy. She nodded slowly.

“Thank you. I… I don’t usually shatter like that. I live… I lived in Paris.” She stated as if it would explain everything. Damian frowned at the past tense.

“Don’t worry. You will return there. Mother will not hold us captive for too long. Father will come for me soon.” He assured her.

“I… I…” She was at the loss of words. Before she gathered her thoughts and managed to say something, a new voice joined the conversation. 

“Mistress Talia want to see you both. Please follow me.” Three assassins stood in front of them. Marinette quickly grabbed the cage with Tikki still inside and pulled her closer. She had no idea how to open this thing and Kwami was unhelpful in that matter. She looked at the boy. Only now she realized they never exchanged names. He nodded to her and stood up. She did too and stood next to him. Her ladybug instincts were telling her to try and find a way out, but common sense demanded she hide behind the boy. 

She took a closer look at him. He was quite handsome. With green eyes deeper than even the ones of Adrien and fair skin. He had completely black hair that was combed back into spikes. His armor was decorated with some intricate design that any other day she would copy right away because it looked so amazing, but she was still feeling too down. It was dark gray with gold trimming. The red cape was held in place under his pauldrons and lower part formed into sort of skirt to protect his tights. He had the sword at his belt.

Damian snarled at the three assassins. “Lead the way. Be quick.” He acted as cold as he could, trying to act like he used to before his father showed him different path. To his amusement, the mooks stiffened and nodded quickly, leading them to his mother. Cowards. He scowled. It didn’t escape his attention that the girl held herself quite confident now, especially since she was a mess just a moment before. There was something strange about her. The creature she was carrying in the cage was constantly speaking to her in french and supporting her. Maybe she was not just some princess stolen from her life after all. At the same time, she was still a bit clumsy and easily scared. It made for… endearing combination. Just what the heck is going on with me! 

They were led to a large, comfortable chamber witch held a single king-sized bed, a clean desk and a coffee table surrounded with three armchairs. All was mostly green, with addition of red. He knew this place. It was his mother’s private chamber. 

“Hello Damian.” Speaking of the Devil, Talia walked from a doors in the far corner of the room. He didn’t notice them at first, but they were there. She was still dressed in her normal attire. The woman sat on one of the armchairs and pointed Marinette and Damian to do the same. He reluctantly did, and only then his ‘wife’ followed. “Tea?” Talia spoke in French, fully aware that her son would understand her, but unsure about the girl. She pointed to a fancy chinese Teapot and three cups on the table. Marinette did try to reach it, but Damian grabbed her by wrist and shook his head, earning a chuckle from his mother. “Oh please. Damian, poisoning you now would be counterproductive. I wouldn’t want to loose my new allies.” 

“What is your game, Mother?” Damian hissed (also in French), but he let go of Marinette. She shakingly reached for the set. Talia smiled at the girl and helped her. 

“Oh. Quite simple. Instead of removing a threat, I got us an ally.”

“Got you an ally. I already said I don’t want to have any part in this.” Damian said in cold fury. Marinette just sipped her tea, watching the two and slowly calming. She registered everything going on between them and her worries weren’t calmed in even smallest way.

“You will thank me one day son.” She stated. “But that’s not why I invited you two.” She pulled a small key and tossed it to Marinette, who instinctively catched it. As clumsy as she might be, she did have a good reflex. “There is no longer a point in holding the Kwami in cage.”

Instantly, the girl opened the cage and Tikki flew out, cuddling into Marinette. There were no spoken words between them, but the fact that they were both here was enough. 

“What is this mother?”

“This, Damian, is a Kwami. A small god if you wish. But I am sure your wife will tell you more about it later. Now there is more pressing question: what’s next?”

“What do you mean?” Both the boy and girl asked confused.

“You are married now. But what do you plan on doing with it?” She smiled at the befuddled expression on their faces.

“First, I want to state that I despise you right now Mother. Forcing an innocent, powerless girl into this was crossing a line.”

“Excuse me?!” Tikki shouted, surprising Damian. “Marinette is anything but powerless! She is the bravest, kindest, most selfless and caring person that I know. She is strongest Ladybug yet so be careful how you speak about her, Heir of Demon!” The small Kwami shouted at the even more befuddled Damian. Talia was smirking until Tikki turned at her. The expression of cold fury didn’t work well on something so cute and with her pichy voice her anger was more endearing than scary. “And don’t get me started on you, daughter of Demon! You dare forcing my Chosen into this disgusting plots of yours. You are lucky she is too important to me to endanger her because otherwise I would get Plagg to wipe out this whole mountain range just to get you!”

Back in her armchair, Marinette tried to meld with the furniture. She wanted to disappear, become invisible. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but be thankful to Tikki. She was defending her and Marinette was happy to know that she is cared about. The girl looked at the two other humans in the room to see the boy… her husband… unnerved by the Kwami and the woman… her mother-in-law… looking amused. “Tikki! I think that’s enough. I just want to go home, to my parents…” Ladybug tried to calm her friend. 

“I believe we were not yet properly introduced.” The woman stated. “I am Talia Al Ghul and this is my son…”

“Damian Wayne.” The boy interrupted, sending a deathly glare at his mother.

Marinette stared at him with an open mouth like he just declared to be a werewolf. She never saw any pictures of Wayne kids before, but something was telling him this was true. He didn’t need to lie to her in any way. They were already married. On that thought she had to keep tear from forming in her eye. She then realized that he was waiting for her.

“Oh! Right! Sorry! My name is Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Or now it will be Marinette Wayne? Or Marinette Dupain-Cheng Wayne? Do you use your mother’s name as well? Because then it would be Marinette Dupain-Cheng Al Ghul Wayne… Oh Kwami! How am I supposed to fit it under ‘name’ label in documents!” She started babbling completely random things until Damian placed a hand on her.

“Calm down. Breath. Don’t worry about it. I will take care of this.” His voice was perfectly calm, without any emotions. His face also took a bit more genial appearance, but he was still scowling in his mother’s direcion. Marinette slowly returned to senses. 

“I am so sorry. I usually don’t panic. You know. Living in paris with all the Akumas.” She actually smiled. Never before Damian saw such prominent smile.

“What is Akuma?” He asked.

“Wait, you never heard about Hawkmoth?” She asked surprised. “I thought the news reached to America… Maybe that’s because Justice League ignored…” She stopped for a moment, remembering that her identity was supposed to be a secret, but then again, with Tikki floating around there was no real point in trying to cover it. “ignored my call for help back when I first became Ladybug. It’s been almost two years now that he is terrorizing Paris though.” She remembered when she became Ladybug, after particularly close Akuma attack she decided to call in help. She used her yo-yo to contact the League, but Green Lantern laughed in her face, calling it prank and threatening to sue her.

“And Justice League didn’t do anything? You look my age!”

“I am fifteen thank you very much.” She huffed. 

“Exactly! So you’ve been doing it since you were twelve? Did you at least have some help?”

“Well, there was my partner, Chat Noir. And later on Master Fu trained me to be the next guardian.” She saddened on the thought of her former teacher.

“So two barely-teenagers were the only people protecting city from a terrorist attacks?” Damian was suddenly fuming. He had no idea why, but he felt protective over this ray of sunshine. She did not deserve this. “And the Justice League didn’t help?” She shook her head in response. Damian felt his hand instinctively go to his sword.

“But that’s a good thing. I don’t think I would be able to deal with akumatized Superman. Or even Flash. Or any other hero.”

“Don’t worry. I will have a talk with them about that.”

“You know them?!” Marinette screamed. Well, he was Wayne, but she didn’t think even the richest family in America had this kind of connections.

Talia watched this exchange with amusement. Maybe this girl wouldn’t be so bad for her son. She was reluctant to agree to this, but ultimately it was necessary. And now that she saw them interact they seemed like perfect couple. She brought light into the darkness that dwelled in her son while he gave her stability.

“Guess since you revealed your secret to me, it would be only fair for me to reciprocate.” He stated, sighting. “I am Robin.” He dropped the bomb as casually as he could. She looked at him with open eyes. 

Before either could say anything more, there was a commotion outside. Talia instantly jumped from her chair and pulled her gun. Damian drew the sword and held it close. For a brief moment a memory of the attack Deathstroke led at the temple five years ago returned to his mind. Marinette looked at Tikki. The Kwami nodded, instantly understanding what was that about. “Tikki! Spots on!” She shouted and pink light enveloped her. When it died, Marinette was now dressed in red skintight bodysuit covered in black spots and with a black turtleneck. On her face was a red mask with five black spots that were in a symmetrical design. The bands holding her hair back became red ribbons, resembling a ladybug's antenas.

Damian wanted to stare at the girl, but the commotion got closer and closer to the doors. He took stance, ready to attack. Next to him, Ladybug started to spin her yo-yo in front, forming a pink shield. 

The doors finally bursted open, revealing a towering man in suit that resembled bat in some way. “Demon Spawn!” Behind him came another voice, calling to the boy. Former assassin only groaned. 

“Shut up Todd!” He scowled and sheathed his sword. “Looks like cavalry is finally here. Took you long enough.” Damian turned to Marinette. “Meet my father and a bunch of idiots that he adopted. I am still the only blood son mind you.” He announced that last one with pride. 

“Whatever keeps you running demon spawn.”

“Stay silent Drake or I will make you!”

Bruce watched stunned. “Damian! No names in the field.” Batman gave another murderous glare at the girl. Everything about her practically screamed hero, but Bruce was a tidy bit overprotective about his family. To his surprise, the girl didn’t even flinch at his best patented bat-stare ®. She just smiled, but Damian spoke faster.

“I already told her about us. She knows who I am and even a complete idiot would figure the rest from there. And mother knew all along, so I still don’t see a problem here.”

“And why would you tell her everything?!” Jason screamed, still hidden behind Batman’s towering posture.

“Because she is my wife Todd!” Damian screamed. The silence in the room was thick enough that if the assassin swinged his sword, he would be able to cut it in half. Finally, Bruce was the one to break it.

“Fuck.”

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Taglist (sorry if I missed you)

@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman 

[nitewrighter]

Omg I loved the ASOIAF Gency post you wrote recently! Can you write more?

God this has been languishing in my drafts since... September?? Jesus...

Anyway, a continuation of these ficlets!: 1, 2, 3

-----

“I mislike this,” said Orisa as Efi carried her helmet over to her, “I am your sworn shield, I will not have my oaths or her family’s... undermined like this!”

“And I’m quite capable of traveling on my own!” said Angela but both Efi and Orisa gave her skeptical looks and her lips thinned and she glanced off. No woman in her right mind would travel the Stormlands alone, but then again, no woman in her right mind would flee her betrothal with the intent of lying her way into the Citadel at Oldtown, either.

“This isn’t just about her, Orisa,” said Efi, “I want to go to Oldtown when I’m old enough, too. And I don’t want to be married off, either.”

“Your dowry could be in the form of books?” Orisa said a little helplessly, “Perhaps even Valyrian manuscripts!”

Efi gave her a half-lidded look with one corner of her mouth tugged up.

“...the marriage is the problem,” said Orisa, glancing off.

“The marriage is the problem,” said Mercy in agreement.

“It would only be to get her to the Citadel!” Efi insisted, “Then you could come right back to Aurochs-ford!”

“Taking the marriage out of the equation might force the Storm lords to re-evaluate their little feud as well,” said Mercy, “Disrupt things enough so they cool their heads. Maybe buy enough time for the Iron Throne to step in.”

“See?” said Efi, “You could be saving the Storm Lands in the long run! This definitely falls under ‘Sworn Shield’ duties.” Efi gave a glance to Angela, “If we can give her a chance...then maybe when I’m old enough...”

“You can forge your own Maester’s chain?” said Orisa with a tilt of her head.

“Not a full chain,” said Efi, “…Gold, iron, and black iron links for sure, though...” she said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“I only need the one,” said Angela, “Silver.... though... lead might be useful as well...”

“If you’re still at the Citadel when I get there, we’ll get a Valyrian steel link together!” said Efi, her hands balling into fists with excitement.

Angela chuckled a little, “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Indeed. Neither of you are at Oldtown yet,” said Orisa, flatly. She looked back at Efi, “I will see her safely to Oldtown at your request, my lady,” she said with a bow of her head.

Efi touched a small hand to the side of Orisa’s face, her brown eyes bright.

“And then I am coming right back to Aurochs-Ford,” said Orisa, furrowing her brow.

Efi giggled and brought her skinny arms about Orisa’s neck. Orisa pulled herself up to her full height to embrace her, bringing Efi up off the floor.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Orisa’s eyes opened in a gray morning light and she quickly sat up in bed and gauged her surroundings. She was in a bare, wooden room, the foliage of a tree outside suggesting she was on the second floor of a building. Her own well-rested state quickly set her on high alert. She sat up in bed--Bed--right, they were in an inn. The mattress was stuffed with hay but it was still the finest sleeping conditions Orisa had since leaving Aurochs-Ford. She wondered if Lady Efi was doing all right. Probably still puzzling over those dusty old books of Valyrian alchemy and inventions, maybe even bogarting the castle blacksmith to forge her another obscure and specific little gear for her devices.

Orisa flinched in bed to see the door opening, her hand quickly going for the sword hanging on her bedpost, only to see Mercy in the doorframe, the very image of a pleasant septa with a tray of honeyed oatcakes, boiled eggs, and mugs of weak ale and goat’s milk.

“I overslept?” Orisa said looking out the window.

“No, I just woke up early to check on our lordling,” said Mercy, setting the tray on a table. She smiled a little. “He’s still alive---in remarkably better shape than last night, as well.” The relief in her voice gave Orisa pause.

“Do you still wish to go through with this?” said Orisa.

“What, I could bring books as a dowry?” said Mercy with a huff as she flaked shell off of her egg with her thumb, “I’m sure they’ll be perfectly wonderful reading when Lord Akande puts our houses to the torch.”

“You seemed to get on well with him,” said Orisa, frankly looking for any excuse to end this folly of a quest and get back to her young charge.

“Even if I did tell him--what would happen then? ‘Oh, by the way my lord, I’ve been lying to your face for the past three days because I’ve been desperately fleeing our marriage!’ That’s a wonderful start to things!” She huffed, “No,” she said, taking a bite out of her egg, “I said I would go to Oldtown, and I’m going to Oldtown, but if you wish to go back--”

“No one in their right mind would travel these lands alone,” said Orisa, flatly.

Mercy gave her a steady look, her mouth slightly tight at the corners in a not-quite smile. They were both highborn, but Orisa’s family had let her pursue knighthood while Mercy had seen more instruction in courtesy, embroidery, and the arts expected of ladyhood. There was admiration in Mercy’s eyes, maybe even a little envy. An idealist who longed to be practical, she gave off the air of someone who never quite fit the role set for her, and she had Orisa’s sympathy for that. Believing in the ideals of knighthood, that was a solid thing to believe in--but it definitely got more complicated being a woman.

“...I’m going to Oldtown because I--I don’t want to be a burden,” said Mercy, taking a bite out of her egg, “But I feel like a burden on you.”

Orisa glanced down, “I am doing this for Lady Efi,” she said, snapping an oatcake in half, “I want to believe in the world she believes in... but she is young and idealistic, and I know, being older, you have a greater understanding of just how much stands in your way.” She took a bite of her oatcake and chewed.

“I won’t let her down,” Mercy said, her eyes fierce, gulping down her own mug of goat’s milk.

“Intention and execution can be two very different things,” said Orisa.

“...well,” said Mercy, standing up, “We’ll set deeds to words, then. We’ll get out before our lordling wakes up. You finish breakfast and get your armor on, and I’ll saddle Dynast.” Her hands balled into fists with determination. “I’m already packed.”

Orisa gave a short huff through her nostrils. “That may be your most practical suggestion since this whole quest started.”

Mercy beamed before slipping out the door.

Mercy grabbed her satchel from her room and made her way to the stair leading down to the inn’s ground floor, humming. She froze at the sight of a dark haired figure on the stairs, his hand braced against the wall and his body tensed. Unthinkingly, her foot made contact with the first step and it creaked beneath her weight, and the figure on the stairs flinched at the sound and looked sharply over his shoulder at her.

Genji. He was awake. How was he awake already?! There was still a weary shine to his eyes, he still wasn’t back to full strength from his injuries, but there was an alertness in his stance that filled her with dread.

“My--?” she nearly started saying, ‘My Lord?’ but he put a finger to his lips and she quieted herself as she craned her neck to try and see what he was seeing.

“I’m only asking if you saw someone bearing a standard with two dragons on it,” A woman dressed in black and white with white hair--Lysene, perhaps--was addressing the innkeeper. Behind her were three men, of equal height, too lean to be highborn, the lower halves of their faces obscured by yellow cloth. Mercy would have tried to identify the sigils on their tunics but her own fear at being seen forced her to draw back behind Genji.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss who’s currently staying here,” said the innkeep.

There was the hard metallic ting of a dagger piercing wood and a long period of silence.

“...as innkeep it is my duty to assure my patrons safety so long as they are under my roof,” said the innkeeper, “You want to wait for them on the road, you can wait for them on the road. But there’ll be no bloodshed here.”

“A woman of business,” said the Lysene woman. There was the clink of coins in a sack hitting the wood next, and both Mercy and Genji tensed.

“...They’ve paid, too. And my service they’ll have,” said the innkeeper.

There was the sound of steel being drawn and Mercy’s breath caught in her throat.

“...leave her,” said the Lysene woman, “We’ll get what we need, with or without her.”

Silently, a bead of sweat quivering down his temple, Genji slowly backed up the stairs. Mercy tried to follow suit as silently as she could, but then one stair creaked loudly beneath her foot and the Lysene woman’s head swiveled sharply to the stairs.

“Go—Go!” Genji hissed under his breath as they both rushed back up the stairs.

“Septa—?” Orisa was stepping out of her room,  holding her sword in its scabbard, not yet belted to her hip, when alarm filled her face at the sight of Genji next to Mercy. “You’re—?” Orisa started but then cut herself off as the Lysene woman and her three compatriots rushed up behind them. Orisa read the situation in an instant and sidestepped in front of them.

“Find another exit,” said Orisa.

“What other exit?!” blurted out Mercy, but Genji hurried down the hall to an unglazed, shuttered window and threw it open, “Genji—I mean—My lord!” Mercy’s head jerked back to Orisa at the clash of steel on steel behind her. There were a few panicked seconds where Mercy was transfixed, watching as Orisa blocked the short sword of the Lysene woman before clocking one of the cloth-faced sellswords behind her with her buckler-bearing arm, dazing him before a hard kick in the stomach sent him tumbling backward and she once again clashed blades with the Lysene.

“Septa!” Genji’s voice sounded behind her. He had one leg out of the open shutters of the window, one arm braced on the frame, the other out toward her. She hiked up her skirts and rushed after him, hearing Orisa’s sword sing and gauntleted fists make contact with grunting flesh.

“It’s one knight!” The Lysene woman was barking behind them, “You fools can’t take out one knight?!” before there was another loud clang of steel.

Mercy felt Genji grab her forearm and she stumbled out the window after him onto wooden shingles that creaked with rot. Genji was already nervously sidestepping across the short row of shingles that formed an awning around the ground floor of the inn’s exterior, before Mercy saw he was moving towards the stables.

“We can’t just leave her!” said Mercy.

“She’s in full plate armor, she has a better chance if we get the horses and she’s not worried about us being in the crossfire,” said Genji, still edging forward.

“It’s four on one!” said Mercy, one hand against the side of the inn and the other bunching her skirts up for easier movements as she sidestepped after him. There was a sudden clatter behind her and her head swung around to see one of the brigands tumble out of another shuttered window, and roll backwards off the awning before landing with a grunt in the mud below.

“...three on one,” said Mercy, blinking incredulously.

“The skill of the Warrior and the strength of the Smith,” Genji said, impressed, “I guess the Seven really are with you two!”

“Genji, the stables!” Mercy said furiously, still sidestepping forward.

Genji gave her an odd look.

“My lord, the stables,” huffed Mercy, another prickle of stress burning on the back of her neck, wondering if her panic in the situation had given her away in other ways.

“...you can call me Genji,” he said, still sidestepping forward, “I rather like the way you say it, Septa.”

“That is not appropriate,” Mercy said, glancing down and blushing furiously.

“Well you’ve already seen me naked, I’d say we’re well past--” He reached the edge of the awning closest to the stables and sucked in a breath, “Oh this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Mercy closed the distance behind him. “Do you need--?”

“You can barely move in those sept skirts as is--I’ve got this,” said Genji, dropping to a squat and positioning himself with his back to the edge, He braced his hands on the shingles and then pushed his legs out over the edge, grunting in pain as he dropped to a hanging position before grunting in pain again as he dropped to the ground, the length of his own body significantly reducing his fall. “Ah---” his hand went to his side as his feet hit the ground, but he shook his head, “Okay, your turn.”

“Right--okay--” Mercy started haltingly as she reached the edge and turned around but then she heard another groan and craned her neck over to look at the sound’s source. The sellsword Orisa had knocked out of the window was stumbling to his feet, muddy, shaking his head out of a daze, and he saw Genji. He drew a short dirk from his side and broke off in a stumbling run toward genji. Genji followed her line of sight but his injury slowed his reaction. Mercy wasn’t fully sure what compelled her to suddenly leap off the corner of the awning, but there was a half-beat where she felt the cold morning air rushing up her skirts and her arms flailing with nothing to grab before she dropped like a stone... right onto the sellsword with a grunt and a splatter of mud, her elbow slamming his face into the muck. She rolled off him and stumbled to her feet, panting. Genji looked from the unconscious sellsword in the mud, up to her.

“...don’t know which of the seven to thank for that,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Come on!” said Mercy seizing his arm and rushing to the stables.

“Ow--injured--ow!” said Genji as the muddy Septa pulled him into a run.

-----

The Lysene woman fought with both a short sword and a dirk, and her attacks were relentless. But her remaining fellow sellswords seemed to be more of a liability than a threat if they didn’t have the element of surprise. Orisa’s biggest disadvantage was the narrowness of the hallway they were in... if she could just find a way to get her opponents down stairs to the Inn’s dining area, maybe she could more properly maneuver... or maybe that would give them more space to flank her. Orisa had at least successfully backed them up to the point in the hallway so they couldn’t access another window to go after Genji and Mercy, but her brow furrowed as the Lysene woman and her two remaining compatriots kept their blades pointed at her.

“You were sent by Lord Akande, I take it?” said Orisa.

“I’m afraid the answer to that’s going to cost you,” said the Lysene woman.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” said Orisa.

“The Shimada lordling slipped from our grasp before... but we had expected him to die, I suppose we underestimated his house’s banner lords...” said the woman.

“I am under no banner but the Seven’s,” said Orisa, and she felt a surprising strength in what had previously been merely a cover story. To have a sword sworn to the Seven, to defend this grievously injured Lordling purely because he was attacked out of treachery rather than on the field of battle, it was thrilling, it was knightly.

The woman gave a derisive snort. “So I can’t expect you to counter Lord Akande’s offer with one of your own. No amount of piety will make a hedge knight anything more than a hedge knight.”

“...and I can’t expect you to hold to any word,” said Orisa, her eyes narrowing.

The woman grinned wolfishly before lunging forward, Orisa stood her ground, meeting the woman’s long blade with her own before glancing off the woman’s dirk with her buckler. Orisa’s shield and helmet were still back in her room, so she could count on the Lysene to go for the face. The woman kept up her assault and Orisa gave a bit of ground. Her attacks were aggressive, clearly she was trying to use the advantage of lighter armor lending greater stamina to keep up a relentless barrage of attacks, but Orisa remained calm. This was waves breaking on stone. One of her compatriots flanked Orisa only to get a hard buckler to the face, Orisa using the movement to pivot and yield space to back into her room where her helmet and broadshield were. The Lysene woman lunged forward with her short sword and Orisa tilted her torso in its movement to grab her shield. Orisa knew she wasn’t a small target, but the right movements could send virtually any blade scratching uselessly across the plate of her armor--and just in time, too. In seizing her shield, she yanked it up, her arm only looped in one strap, and used the weight of it to slam it hard into the shoulder and side of the Lysene woman sending her staggering to the side trying to regain her footing. Orisa kicked the other closest sellsword in the stomach, knocking him onto his back, only to see the third man in the doorway, pointing a crossbow at her. Orisa froze.

But then, there was a shattering sound and the crossbow-bearing sellsword’s eyes rolled back in his head, goat’s milk dripping down his piecemeal armor and he swayed and collapsed onto the floor. Mercy was standing behind him, the lower half of her skirts caked in mud, the broken top half of the jug from their breakfast in her hands. Orisa blinked in surprise, and even Mercy seemed a bit stunned at the collapsed sellsword drenched in goat’s milk at her feet before she seemed to snap out of it and shake her head.

“You--!” the Lysene woman scrambled to attack Orisa from the side, her attack panicked and messy, only to get cuffed hard in the face by Orisa’s buckler and get splayed out on the floor. The other sellsword, seeing the only two backing him up now unconscious, scrambled to the side of the Lysene woman, shaking her shoulder. “Lady Ashe?! Lady Ashe, get up!” but Orisa was already rushing to the door, properly strapping up her shield and grabbing her helmet as she and Mercy hurried down the hall and down the inn stairs.

“Genji’s gotten the horses,” said Mercy, as they darted across the tavern floor, tables groaning against the wood as Orisa’s armored frame shoved them aside, “Come on!”

They rushed out into bright, damp morning air to see Genji astride Dynast, holding the reins of a large honey-colored mare. 

“You made it!” said Genji, as Mercy scrambled up onto the saddle behind him and Orisa swept up onto the mare and they all took off into gallops down the road from the inn.

“Who’s horse is this?” said Orisa.

“Didn’t have time to ask! I imagine it’s one of the sellswords’!” said Genji, they were all half-yelling over the thundering hooves. 

“We’re stealing a horse?!” Orisa blurted out.

"Borrowing!” said Genji.

“IT IS NOT KNIGHTLY TO STEAL A HORSE!” said Orisa, her pauldroned shoulders bunching up.

“They attacked me,” said Genji, “Hardly good folk. You, on the other hand, have valiantly defended a grievously wounded storm lord and commandeered a mighty steed.”

Orisa blinked a few times. ‘Oh...I... I suppose I did.”

“It was like something out of a song!” said Mercy, her eyes bright.

“A song...?” Orisa started hesitantly. She tucked a stray braid of hair back, “...I suppose it will be a good story to tell Lady Efi when I return.”

“...Lady Efi?” said Genji, “I thought you said you were sworn to the Sev--”

“To Oldtown!” said Mercy, spurring their horse forward.

“To Oldtown!--Ow--ow..” Genji had punched a fist into the air with excitement, quite forgetting he was still injured. The dew seemed to make everything sparkle. Orisa wasn’t sure if it was the rush of adrenaline confusing the senses, making the light seem brighter, the sky bluer, the air cleaner, or perhaps it was the days of rain before. Orisa rolled the grip of her gauntlets on the reins of her own mare, a bright flare of thrill thumping with her heart in her chest. She looked over at Mercy, her arms gingerly wrapped around Genji’s waist, avoiding his injury as they rode, then Orisa scoffed a little, her own expression partially hidden by her own horned helmet, and her sound silenced by the thunder of galloping hooves, feeling the Inn shrink into the distance behind them. This was a terribly foolish thing they were doing, but at the same time, would anything but something terribly foolish give her the excitement she was feeling now? Were valor and stupidity two sides of the same coin? Perhaps theirs was a tale like Florian the Fool. 

Like a song, indeed, Orisa thought with some amusement. 

[angelrider13]

Alright, so I mentioned in discord yesterday that Thalassa’s been dimension hopping. (We all have that one OC.) She’s currently hanging out in MDZS/Untamed world and causing chaos - as she does. @starofthemourning asked what specifically she was getting up to. So have a ramble!

- Thalassa was just minding her business, cruising through Death’s realm as she does from time to time, visiting past children and friends, helping newly deceased souls cross over, etc., etc., when she gets yoinked into a completely different land of the living.

- Thalassa: Toto, we are not in Eos anymore.

- She’s been summoned into the body of a young woman by a group of demonic cultivators that pushed some buttons they should not have. They are a cult, because of course they are, and Thalassa has no idea what’s happening, but they are cuckoo bananapuffs and leaning WAY too hard on the cult thing - virgin sacrifices, child sacrifices, torture, lotsa bad things. Thalassa in her new, 100% human body, says no.

- Enter JC! Who, as we know, hunts down demonic cultivators with a single mindedness that is probably more than a little unhealthy. And this is...I’m saying like 3 years after WWX died, so some things as still fresh (and also, other people are still alive to react to Thalassa and her...Thalassa-ness).

- JC arrives to find that Thalassa has already solved the problem. Very thoroughly. This strange woman covered in blood, with lines of fire burning across her skin and a smile that’s all teeth and gold, gold eyes that burn with power, escorting children and missing travelers out of the smoking ruins of their former prison, carrying the dead and dying with her. Because she cannot save them, but they will die free.

- JC is immediately Suspicious. This woman is not a cultivator. She is also not human. He is sure of it. He absolutely cannot prove it. (The body she’s currently inhabiting is human, she used to be human in body and soul and still is to an extent - she’s not lying.)

- Thalassa ends up being dragged to Lotus Pier along with some of the kids she saved, because orphans and we all know that Thalassa can and will adopt everything that breathes if it stands still long enough. She has technically done nothing wrong and has earned the gratitude and good will of quite a few people, so it would look bad if JC just disappeared her. But Something Is Afoot, so JC isn’t about to let her go gallivanting across the countryside either.

- Thalassa notices pretty quick that these people bow a lot. In greeting, in farewell, to show respect. Thalassa is Not About That. She is the Sea and the Sea Does Not Bow. It’s not such a big deal at first because the circumstances of meeting are...messy. But once they’re in Lotus Pier, people start noticing that she never bows, even after they’ve bowed to her, and they are Offended. The only ones that are not are the kids that she adopted. No one says anything at first, but they all make spectacular pissy faces that Thalassa delights in. JC eventually snaps at her, snarling about respect, and Thalassa calmly replies that if she ever bows to him or anyone else, they will have earned it. (”I have only ever bowed to my Mothers, to Death and to the Light of Dawn, and no other.”) JC, knowing that she’s not human, but not knowing exactly how, doesn’t bring it up again.

- Thalassa likes Lotus Pier. It’s bright and colorful and loud and surrounded by water. It’s not as good as her waters, of course, but it’s nice to be able to swim when the mood strikes. It’s nice to be able to swim with the children, nice to know that everyone learns to swim at Lotus Pier and that they take it seriously. The first time she catches JC teaching the kids she brought with her to swim she stares because he’s not gentle exactly, but...softer. These people operate on different rules than her, but it’s nice to know that somethings always stay the same.

- It takes Lotus Pier a little while to figure out that they’ve been adopted, but they get there. Thalassa is the weird big sister/aunt/mother figure that will be getting you into trouble one moment and then helping out get out of it the next. She doesn’t bow and they don’t make her. She’s chaos in human skin, but some of them (far, far too few) remember that Lotus Pier has always had a soft spot for chaos gremlins and their antics. It brings smiles to their faces when they see this strange whirlwind of a woman trail after their Sect Leader, tugging at his sleeves and leaning into his space and laughing with a smile brighter than the sun when he swats at her, a secret grin tugging at the corners of his scowl.

- At some point, Thalassa meets other sects. It goes...well it goes. For maximum chaos, let’s say its a discussion conference. At Jinlintai. Which brings us right back to the Thalassa and bowing thing.

- JC and YunmengJiang have been dealing with Thalassa’s bullshit for - months? a year? who knows, it’s been awhile - at this point and know that it’s better to just Roll With It.

- The rest of the cultivation world has very much not learned this lesson.

- The Lan are Offended. So Offended. Depending on the Lan, at least. LXC is pretty chill and would probably also be offended, but not let it bother him much. LQR leans so much on propriety that he might just qi deviate. LWJ also leans pretty heavily on propriety but he is also that person who is So Done With Everyone’s Bullshit that he’ll just walk right out of the room so who knows.

- The rules of propriety! Broken!! Without cause or care!!! The Lans are flipping their shit. Quietly. And with great dignity.

- The Nie also kinda offended, but not nearly as much as the Lan. It’s not often that a woman will look Sect Leader Nie in the eye and refuse to bow to him, but NMJ can admire the guts it takes. He’s also the most likely to bring it up and Thalassa will calmly tell him what she tells everyone who asks - that she does not bow. Most especially not for social niceties that mean next to nothing at the end of the day.

- She absolutely bonds with NHS over the arts. He shows off his fans, she does a dance or two with them, they ramble at each other, they are now best friends. (JC is in the background being a Dispair because he knows, he knows, the NHS is an Enabler. He should never have allowed them to meet.)

- The Jin...well. Thalassa is a woman. Thalassa is very pretty. Thalassa knows she is very pretty and flirts as she pleases and moves with a grace that draws many a eye. And JGS...is JGS.

- You know that post that’s buried in my STotS story tag where Mera, literal Queen of Atlantis, breaks a man’s arm because he put his hands on her without her permission? I’m not saying that happens...but that 100% happens.

- JGS tries to be all smooth and Thalassa is Not Having It. She is well aware that 1) this jackass is married AND absolutely does not have the permission of his wife to fuck around and 2) JGS has a reputation among women. And it is not one that endears JGS to her.

- So he puts his hands on her. Pulls her close and tries to flirt. She tells him to let go. He smiles in that ‘aw you’re playing hard to get, how cute’ way that he probably thinks is charming but really wants to make women punch his face in, and gropes her. So Thalassa breaks his arm, snaps it in her hand and doesn’t let go. She uses the pain and the leverage of her grip to force him to his knees before her.

- It draws attention. JGS doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets in physical fights much - he probably doesn’t have much pain tolerance. He’s likely screaming. And you know cultivators are trigger happy little shits so swords are drawn. Thalassa smiles, all teeth.

- JGS is probably demanding that JC ‘put his woman in her place’. JC, having witnessed what happened and far less inclined to put up with this man than he was in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign when all he had was the ashes of his sect, is having None Of It. He’s like well if she’s my woman why are you touching her and if she said no, why are you still touching her?

- NMJ approves. JGS deserves this. He’s had it coming for years. He is so happy he gets to witness this. As far as he’s concerned JGS brought this on himself and if he can’t handle it, maybe he should try keeping his dick in his pants.

- Thalassa is not impressed. She’s heard the titles thrown around. Sect Leader, Chief Cultivator, Your Excellency. She is well aware that leaders do not represent the entirety of the people, yet these people overthrew a tyrant and let this take his place? (”So you allow an oathbreaking rapist to lead you. This explains so much.”)

- JGY steps up and tries to smooth over the situation. Thalassa does not allow it. (”The next time he touches me, I will cut off his cock. If any woman he’s touched comes to me for help, I will rip out his intestines and strangle him with them.”)

- The Jiang are the only ones who know that she means this 100% literally. More than a few of them are okay with her following through. JC is standing at her shoulder, glowering at the whole room because Thalassa is one of His People at this point and you better believe he’s not going to let someone, not even another Sect Leader, not even the Chief Cultivator, disrespect her this way.

- JGY continues to deescalate with varying levels of success. (Thalassa is old. She is old and has lived through much. She knows what a viper looks like no matter how honeyed the words or how silver the tongue or how sweet the smile. This child thinks he can manipulate her. How cute.)

- In the end, no action is taken against Thalassa. JC is loud in his defense of her actions and NMJ and LXC side with him. JGS was in the wrong and his behavior was disgraceful. The Jin have no choice but to concede fault.

- Thalassa may or may not spend the rest of her time in Jinlintai teaching as many women as she can how to cripple a man twice their size.