#me? butchering yet another language? more likely than you think

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 4: Midnight]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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It paints you like a canvas: sunlight, candlelight, sunlight again.

Two days after the miscarriage—the stillbirth, actually, the delivery, the beginning and the end all at once—you are searching the halls of Westminster Palace, the train of your gown dragging on the floor. It’s just a little too long for you now; it had been tailored to accommodate the additional weight and inches of pregnancy. And the court is just like they were before. They gawk, they jabber amongst themselves, but they can’t seem to think of a single word to say to you. Well…there is one exception.

“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing here?!” Nico exclaims when she rounds a corner and spots you. She rushes over and takes both of your hands in her own. “You look awful, you must be ready to drop over and sleep wherever you fall. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your rooms—”

“I can’t stay in bed for another second. I’m losing my mind. I’m just lying there, useless, staring up at the ceiling thinking about...everything.” The baby. The throne. Aegon. Aemond.

“Oh,” she says, sympathetic and yet proud. She sweeps back loose strands of hair from your face. “You have too much fire in you for that, I suppose. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a shame you were born a woman, you could have ridden into battle and butchered people and put all that ruthlessness to good use.”

“Being a woman didn’t stop Boudicca.” And she wasn’t just a woman. She was a wife, a mother.

“And where did that get her?” Nico retorts with raised eyebrows. “Nowhere enviable.”

You can’t think of a clever response. “Would you happen to know where Aemond is?”

“Not presently. He’s been looking in on you, you know.”

You do know: you’ve glimpsed him in the doorway, caught his whispers with the physicians and the midwives and your secretless English ladies. “I need to speak with him about something. To…” You pause. You can’t tell Nico about the poem that’s now hidden in the trunk at the foot of your bed; but you can tell her something else that’s true. “To thank him.”

“He’s been distraught,” Nico says, her voice low. “Quiet, secluded. Even more than before.”

As usual, she sees too much. “Yes.”

“He cares for you. Quite a lot, I think.”

“I’ll check the courtyard,” you say, hoping to change the subject. “Maybe he’s training there.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I think I can manage.”

“What if you pass out and end up out in a field somewhere covered with snow? What if you find a boat and row yourself back to Navarre? What if you’re eaten by wolves?”

“Send out a search party if I’m not back in an hour. But don’t invite Daemon. He’d drag me headfirst into the lair.”

“Alright,” Nico relents, touching your hair fondly again. “One hour. And I’ll chew my nails to bits the whole time.”

“As long as they’ve grown back by the wedding.”

She beams, white teeth and starry eyes. When she at last marries Daeron in August she will be another princess from the Continent, another thread in the Greens’ tapestry. She will be a lot like you…except that she will be in love with her husband. And she will be able to give him children.

But Aemond’s will come before them in the line of succession, you think, with a mournfulness that shocks you. The sons he has with whoever he ends up marrying, Helene of Austria or Beatrice of Naples or Anne of Bohemia. Some other woman, some other future, parts of him I’ll never know.

“I want you to help me choose every detail,” Nico says. “From the food to the fashion.” This is how she plans to distract you from your own misery. And the Duke of Hightower will indulge her: with every pregnancy you lose Nico becomes more relevant, and in any case Milan is a greater ally than Navarre. If the Holy Roman Emperor’s daughter ends up crossing the English Channel, she will eclipse you both.

“I’ll endeavor to not be eaten by wolves until August,” you tell Nico, and then head outside into the courtyard.

Aemond isn’t sparring there with Sir Criston Cole; with the exception of a few amorous couples strolling through the powdery white snow, the courtyard is empty. You pass next through the palace gardens, frozen and naked, their treasures—angelica, feverfew, St. John’s wort, betony, chamomile, rosemary, pennyroyal—long-since plucked and dried and stored away for winter. Aemond isn’t there either, and he isn’t in the royal stables when you enter them, horses chomping noisily on oats and hay.

You go to Vhagar’s stall and she pops her great shaggy head out to greet you. “Hello, you big monster,” you murmur, smiling. You run your palm down the white stripe of her blaze. She’s killed people, and everyone knows those stories; she stomped one man to death and kicked another in the jaw, trotting away and leaving him to drown in his own blood. That was before Aemond tamed her when he was still a boy. He mellowed her, or she mellowed for him, and however it happened they’re both better off for it. She’s a weapon, the same as his sword or his strategies. She has a role to play in the Greens’ battle for the throne as well.

There’s rustling from Sunfyre’s stall, too loud to be a rat or a bird. You cross the aisle and peer inside. There on the floor, half-covered in straw, is sprawled your husband. Sunfyre looks passively down at him, stems of hay sticking out like porcupine quills from his muzzle.

“Aegon?!”

“Shh!” he pleads, waving one hand drunkenly. His white-blond hair falls over his face like a veil. “I’m hiding.”

“From who?” But the answer to this is obvious; you know before he says it.

“Grandsire. He’s furious, he’s a demon. He’ll have me drawn and quartered.”

“What’s he so upset about?”

“Oh, the same old thing, I’d imagine,” Aegon says vaguely. His shortcomings, his embarrassments. Then his murky ocean-blue eyes focus a bit and his voice goes tender. “Are you in pain?”

“I’ve had a lot of wine. It helps some.” Takes the edge off, smooths down the fangs, dulls the knowledge that parts of you are still collapsing down to fill the space where your child once lived. Blood drains away, blood fills up again, blood readies itself for the inevitable next attempt.

“Good,” he says, though uncertainly. His sentiment is clear, but he doesn’t know how to express it.

“Have you seen Aemond?”

“Not today.”

You sigh. “Never mind, then. I’ll keep looking.”

“Should you be running around the palace like this?”

“I haven’t done any running in a very long time. And I’m confident I can find my way back to bed when I need to.”

Now Aegon is gazing up at the stable ceiling, studying eaves and bird nests like constellations. “It should have been him,” he exhales like a confession.

“What?”

“Aemond. It should have been him. The one to shoulder the responsibility, to reign. I don’t belong someplace where people watch me. I have nothing to show them that they want to see. I belong someplace warm and wild, someplace I can disappear. Is it such a crime to not want to be held to a higher standard than an inconsequential man? Is it such a crime to not wish to be remembered? I never asked to be the heir. Not even the king wants me to be the heir. How am I the one in the wrong here?”

“I think many of us wish for things we cannot have,” you reply morosely.

“We could have them,” Aegon counters. “If we ran far enough.”

“That’s a coward’s way out.”

“I’d rather be a free coward than a jailed prince. Or a dead one.”

As if to emphasize his point, you spy something odd about his saddle, hanging from a massive iron hook on the stable wall. You move closer to scrutinize it. Then you return to Sunfyre’s stall. “Someone cut your stirrup,” you say, frightened. “Before the Christmas boar hunt. It’s sliced clean most of the way through and then the rest of it must have ripped as you were riding.”

Aegon squints up at you. He’s mystified. “Why would someone do that?”

Your exasperation—your contempt, not for him but for his failings—must show on your face.

“Please don’t look at me that way,” Aegon says. “Not you. Mother always loved Aemond more, Father always loved Rhaenyra, Grandsire loved the throne. You are the only thing I’ve ever had that’s supposed to be mine.”

And now you’re the one who is imagining a traitor’s death: hanged momentarily, cut down and thrown onto a table, drawn open like a gutted animal as the crowd’s screams mingle with your own, dissected into quarters once your belly is sufficiently emptied. Because surely you’re the worst sort of traitor there is. “You must be more careful,” you implore Aegon. And he smiles; he takes this as a token of affection.

You finally find Aemond somewhere you should have suspected. It’s where people go to find peace, solitude, wisdom. He’s sitting in a cascade of kaleidoscopic light pouring in from the stained glass windows, scenes of King Arthur and Saint George, lovers and swords and dragons. You slide into the pew, cool austere wood. The small private chapel is abandoned except for the two of you. On the altar is a cross: blood, pain, sacrifice, redemption. Aemond has his hands folded and propped on the back of the next pew. He stares straight ahead, grim and silent. He must know you’re there, but he doesn’t make any sign that he does.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you say.

“You’re not interrupting. I was just speaking to God, but I’m finished now.”

“Do you believe he can hear us?”

“I used to.” Still, he keeps his eye on the altar. Flecks of luminance pepper his skin: gold, ruby, emerald, sapphire. “You’re wearing green,” he marvels. He can see you well enough for that, a blur on his periphery.

“Yes. Like ivy.”

And only now does he look at you, afraid and yet with fragile hope.

“Aemond,” you say softly. “I didn’t know.” I longed for it, but I didn’t know.

Long seconds tick by, ten, twenty, a hundred. “I have envied Aegon my entire life,” he says at last. “I have felt that I was more suited to be the firstborn, to be the heir. I have watched him squander opportunities and defile morality and bring nothing but heartbreak to my mother. I have worked myself to the bone to prove myself worthy of what he was freely given. I carry scars in the shape of his absence. I have always envied Aegon. But never more than the day I watched him marry you.”

You move without thinking, reaching for his hands and interlacing them with your own. “Please don’t hide from me anymore. I can’t endure it. Not added to the weight of everything else.”

He feels your cheeks and forehead, his brow crinkled with hushed concern. “You’re in pain.”

“I was alright when I left my bedchamber. Now…” Now the cramping is very bad again, and the strip of thick linen folded between your legs is nearly soaked through with blood, and your mood is sinking; you feel shaky and insurmountably sad, like you could rupture into tears at any moment.

He is distressed. “Why did you exert yourself like this?”

“I had to find you.”

He stands and offers you his arm. “Then now that you have, allow me to escort you back to bed.”

“And you’ll stay for a while?”

He smiles, warm, a flicker of candlelight in a dark room. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll let me.”

You walk very slowly together, you clutching his forearm, Aemond distracting you with English legends: myths, monsters, men. But he does not speak of children. Westminster Palace is frenzied when you step inside, courtiers rushing around and hissing gossip back and forth to each other. Greens and Blacks appear to be equally scandalized; you wonder what has happened. As you and Aemond make your way down a hallway—your steps halting and dizzy—Prince Daemon sails by wearing a cruel smirk, sharp, delighted, Scottish deerhounds loping alongside him. And then you peek into the Great Hall and you see them: the Montfords, Lady Joanna’s parents and uncles and her handsome, ambitious brothers. They’re all beaming and radiant, though they really have no reason to be, now that Aegon is long past bedding Joanna and the Montfords can no longer call upon the Duke of Hightower for any exceptional favors. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Joanna since around the time Nico arrived in London, since August, since you discovered you were pregnant again. That was five months ago. The Montfords are passing around an infant swaddled in green cloth, showing him off to the other powerful families of Southern England, accepting compliments and proposals of betrothal to wealthy newborn daughters. From what you can tell, the child is fat and mewing and…and…

You gasp, and Aemond swiftly directs you farther down the hallway before anyone notices you watching. He says nothing, but you can read the shock and fury on his face. Because Lady Joanna Montford’s infant is a healthy living boy with silvery white hair just like Aegon’s. Because her child is a Targaryen.

There are yelps and whimpers coming from Aegon’s bedchamber. Somebody must have found him hiding in the stables after all. The door is open. Inside the Duke of Hightower has backed Aegon into a corner and is slapping him: his head, his face, his hands when he tries to shield himself. Aegon’s pale skin is freckled with angry pink welts, his hair in disarray. There are still bits of straw knotted in it.

The Duke of Hightower seethes: “To do this, to have a bastard before you’ve secured the succession! It’s a disgrace! You have muddied the waters yet again, you have undermined certainty when we so desperately need it, when all of our lives depend on it! You should be putting every last ounce of the miniscule effort that you possess into producing a legitimate son with your wife—!”

“Grandsire, she’s not capable of it!”

Then they see you, and Aegon has the decency to cover his face in shame; but the Duke just glares at you, as if he wouldn’t mind hitting you too, as if you are dangerously close to becoming an enemy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks after the miscarriage, the royal family has gathered for a private dinner. The occasion is Daeron’s sixteenth birthday, although the king mentioned it once and then seems to have promptly forgotten again. He is admiring a collection of tiny woodcarvings of horses that Joffrey has made, praising them as if they are great treasures, handmade tapestries or poems or blades. Alicent, much to the contrary, fawns over her youngest son. She frets with his curly white-blond hair—trying to make it lie neatly, a pointless aspiration—and asks Nico about wedding plans. Nico is effervescent, bubbling over with enthusiasm for fabrics, colors, cakes, flowers.

Aegon sits to your right, Aemond to your left. Your husband is drowning himself in wine and peering blearily down at the trappings of the table: duck, mushroom pasties, spinach tarts, salmon pie, bread, and makerouns of course, Daeron’s favorite. Aemond doesn’t say much, but he ensures that your cup stays full of apple cider and your plate piled high with winter delicacies.

“I can’t,” you complain when he serves you another spinach tart. You’re still bleeding, although it has lessened considerably. You still have very little appetite. Weight has fallen off you like leaves from autumn trees since you lost the baby, a fact that no one seems to have noticed except Aemond.

“Try,” he replies, and slices you a portion of duck too, the browned skin crackling and shiny with grease. Across the table, Daemon and Rhaenyra exchange fleeting caresses and gazes warm with desire. Jace chats politely with Baela, Luke giggles with Rhaena. They all wear lustrous black like a uniform. Even the king wears it, accented with maroon the shade of dried blood.

“We must get you a real horse,” King Viserys is telling Joffrey, who smiles adoringly up at him. The king coughs into his sleeve and then continues. “Would you like a Marwari, like your mother has? They’re nimble, gorgeous creatures, and with such peculiar ears! They’re very rare as well, only bred in North India. Seafaring traders can bring some here for you to choose from. They come at a great cost, but you are worth it, don’t you agree, Joffrey? You know, India was once partially conquered by Alexander the Great. He…”

Aemond glances longingly at the king; it’s a split second, and then it’s gone. You are well aware that Aemond knows very nearly everything about Alexander the Great. The king never speaks to him about it. He rarely speaks to Aemond at all.

You lay a hand on top of Aemond’s. “Will you tell me about it later?” you ask him. “Alexander and India?”

He smiles, his cheeks blushing pink. “Of course.”

The Duke of Hightower clears his throat loudly. “I have some happy news to share.”

King Viserys looks up, as if suddenly remembering that the Greens are here too. “Oh? Do enlighten us, Otto.”

“After much negotiation, the Holy Roman Emperor has formally agreed to a match between his daughter and Prince Aemond.”

“Very impressive, Otto!” The king claps politely. He’s already resuming his conversation with Joffrey, a six-year-old.

“Wonderful!” Nico heralds cheerfully. “Lose a Helaena, gain a Helene!” She holds her cup aloft in a toast, then lowers it as she observes the awkward atmosphere of the table. You and Aemond are so determined not to appear heartsick that you can only avert your eyes, Alicent frowns anxiously, Daeron is bewildered, Aegon drinks. Rhaenyra forces a stiff smile; Daemon watches you, deep-set eyes gleaming with dark mirth.

“Well…” the Duke says. “Perhaps I should have started with the unhappy news. Princess Helene is dead of fever, God rest her soul.”

“Oh, the poor girl!” Alicent laments, crossing herself. “And poor Frederick and Eleanor.”

“Fortunately, Frederick still has one daughter left—only one—and he is willing to send her to us.” The Duke doesn’t have to say what this means aloud: that the Greens have risen ever-higher in the Continent’s estimation, that their allies grow mightier and more numerous by the day.

“How fortunate,” Daemon quips. “Always a wise idea to have children to spare.” He winks at you, swigs his wine, licks red drops from his lips. His Scottish deerhounds, which follow him everywhere, sniff around the table for scraps. “And who is the lucky bride-to-be?”

The Duke of Hightower is glowing. “Kunigunde.”

“Kunigunde?!” Aegon blurts out, then drops his head back down when the Duke glowers fearsomely at him. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, staring into his wine cup. “What the hell kind of a name is Kunigunde?”

“She sounds…” Daemon raises his white eyebrows, choking back laughter. The Black children are following his example and snickering derisively, even little Joffrey, who doesn’t have the slightest idea what this marriage represents. Even the king smiles. “Germanic.”

“You’ll like her,” the Duke informs Aemond, ignoring his detractors. “You should be crawling on your knees to thank me for this match. You think I’ve taken no notice of your hard work, of your sacrifices, but I have. Kunigunde has received an extraordinary education for a woman. She studies astronomy and mathematics and history, not just languages. She practices archery. She is a renowned horsewoman and hunts often. She is intelligent, and she is bold, and she is precisely the sort of woman you would choose for yourself, is she not?”

“She is,” Aemond admits gravely.

“Kunigunde,” Aegon mumbles again, incredulous.

The Duke continues: “And so when she arrives you will wed her and bed her and I will hear not a single word of complaint about it. You will like her, or you will grow to like her, or you will endure it with grace if by some miracle you don’t like her. Is that understood?”

“How romantic,” Daemon chuckles. “A toast? To love?” He lifts his wine. Only the other Blacks join him, their cups clanging merrily against each other.

“I’ll be delighted to make a new friend, at least,” Nico says. “And one from so distant and vast a kingdom!”

Alicent nods distractedly. “Yes, we’ll have to ask her all about what it’s like there.”

“Hmm.” Daemon bites into a halved pomegranate, spilling juice like rubies, like blood. “Now my curiosity is aroused. Tell me, Navarre, what is your homeland like this time of year?”

“That depends on which region you have in mind,” you say frostily. Aemond is glaring at his uncle, measuring him, waiting, coiled. “The mountains are cold and snowy, the valleys are more temperate, the deserts are stark but still golden. Navarre is beautiful, even in January. It might be the most beautiful place there is.”

“You don’t find it to be…rather…” Daemon grins, pieces of pomegranate seeds caught between his teeth like bits of organs. “Barren?”

The table goes silent. Time slows until it stops. You should have a barb of an insult to hurl back at Daemon; you open your mouth to loose it like an arrow. But nothing comes out. Instead, hot sudden tears brim in your eyes and begin to spill down your face, your skull filled with flashes like white lightning: What would we have named him? What would he have been like?

Aemond bolts from his seat and goes for Daemon, fists swinging. Everyone is yelling; chairs are tipping over as people leap to their feet. Nico is shrieking and swearing at Daemon as her betrothed holds her back, his hands linked around her waist. Aemond’s knuckles crack across Daemon’s face as guards flood into the room and struggle in vain to separate them; Daemon strikes out, scratches, bites, yowls like an animal. Rhaenyra is pulling Rhaena and Joffrey away to safety. Unprovoked, Aegon pitches a handful of salmon pie at Baela, then screams and flees when she scrambles over the tabletop in pursuit. Alicent intercepts her, pinning Baela’s hands to her chest where they pose no threat. Jace and Luke try to join Daemon, but the Duke shoves them aside, bellowing ferociously, words you are too panicked to register. In the melee, Daemon snatches up a fork, turns to Aemond, and aims for his remaining eye. You dart beneath the table and knock Daemon off his feet, catching him unprepared. He whirls to you with his back against the floor, eyes glittering savagely, and, roaring, stabs at you with the fork. You duck, but the metal skates across your cheekbone, drawing a thin stripe of blood. The Scottish deerhounds are snarling and snapping at you. Aemond yanks you away and drags you to the other side of the room as Daemon follows, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“Enough!” King Viserys thunders, and the turmoil dies. Alicent flies to him—attempting to pacify—but he ignores her.

“He must pay!” Aemond shouts, pointing at Daemon, whose nose is bloodied from his blows. “He must pay for what he’s said, for what he’s done!”

“It looks to me that he already has,” the king replies impatiently. He grimaces at everyone present, with no lines drawn between the blameworthy and the not. “This rivalry, this petulance, this bitterness, it must end!” He turns to the Duke of Hightower. “You must restrain your branch of the family, Otto, just as Rhaenyra must gain better control of hers—”

“Viserys, Daemon has ceaselessly antagonized the princess—!”

“I am not Viserys!” the king booms, then pauses to cough. “I am the king, I am your king, and since there seems to be enduring confusion, allow me to clarify some things, some exceedingly fundamental things. I have already chosen an heir, and it is Rhaenyra.” He looks to Daemon. “You have nothing to fear from Alicent’s children. You have no cause to provoke them. It is a waste of your many talents.” Now the king addresses Otto. “You can glorify your house however you see fit, but remember where this all ends. Rhaenyra and her heirs will inherit the throne upon my death. It stays with her, that is my most ardent wish. It is treason to undermine it. By all means, increase the wealth and status of your dukedom. But never forget who gave it to you.”

The king sweeps out of the room, Rhaenyra and her children following closely behind him. Alicent stands there helplessly, abandoned, forgotten. Nico and Daeron comfort her instead. Aegon meanders back to the table, sighs deeply, and pours himself a fresh cup of wine. Aemond examines the shallow gash across your cheek. Daemon watches, a dozen guards stationed between you and him. Growling Scottish deerhounds flank him like the train of a gown.

“I’ll kill you one day,” Aemond says calmly, matter-of-factly.

Daemon shrugs. “You’re welcome to try.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two months after the miscarriage, the physicians say it’s time to try again. They are the ones who decide: not you, not Aegon, not either of the people whose bodies are requisite to the task. Just old men in the service of another old man: the Duke of Hightower. Men who have never had to feign pleasure as they were groped and invaded. Men who have never felt a child tearing from their own flesh, nor the cramping and blood that follows, reminders that are impolite to speak of.

Aemond keeps you company; you don’t even have to ask him to. Your ladies are no longer surprised when they walk into your rooms to find him there. He, Nico, and Daeron are frequent visitors, far more frequent than your own husband. You read together, or Aemond reads and you embroider, or you play card games, or you simply talk until the stars have rolled by overhead like a wheel and the first golden bars of daybreak spill in from the windows. Tonight, as you wait for Aegon to arrive—full of anxiety and impatience and hope, full of dread—you are embroidering a pillow with Vhagar’s silhouette. Aemond is sitting beside you on the bearskin rug and reading a book about the kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula, including Navarre. The fireplace pops periodically, heat and red-golden light, sparks and shadows. Aemond is dressed in his usual dark green attire, but you’re only wearing a white nightgown. Once someone has seen you sobbing on the floor and coated with the blood of failure, it seems useless to try to reclaim your modesty.

“Does this look like a horse?” you ask Aemond doubtfully, showing him the pillow.

He blinks at it. “It certainly looks like…a large land-dwelling creature. Of some sort.”

You sigh defeatedly. “I’m so damned nervous. My fingers won’t cooperate, I can barely feel them.”

“I’d still enjoy the pillow. Even if Vhagar looks suspiciously like one of Hannibal’s elephants.”

You laugh. “Yes, that nose…a travesty, surely.” You set aside your embroidery. It’s a lost cause this evening. You stare into the fire, feeling warmth like the sun on your face, so hot it nearly burns.

“Why are you still nervous?” Aemond asks gently. “After all this time?”

“Will you be nervous when you’re expected to fuck Kunigunde?”

“Yes,” he says, a bit startled.

“Only the first night? If she never stops feeling like a stranger to you?”

“No,” he admits. “Perhaps not.”

“That’s why I’m still nervous.”

Aemond closes his book and studies you pensively, firelight dancing on his face. Several miles away in the Tower of London, the bells toll twelve times: midnight.

“He won’t be here,” you say, relieved and yet broken, no end of your prison in sight. “Not tonight. And why would he be? Who would want this, the way it is between us? He’s fumbling and drunk, I’m a resigned liar, both of us trying our best but just waiting for it to be over. Rhaenyra gets to enjoy lying with her husband, Nico will enjoy it when it’s her turn, but I don’t. I never will. I’ll never know what that’s like.”

Time slinks forward. It seems like an eternity passes before he speaks, dust to pyramids, castles, cathedrals, civilization and then back to dust. “I could show you,” Aemond says, so quietly you might have imagined it.

You don’t understand. “Show me what?”

“How good it can feel.”

You gape at him, stunned. “I can’t lie with you.” And then you think immediately, like a traitor: Can I?

Aemond shakes his head, staring down at his open palms. “Only my hands.”

You should say no, here in your bedchamber waiting obediently for his brother to arrive, here on the skin and fur of a beast Aemond killed for you, here with sweltering flames inking you both with amber-rust light like sunset, like dawn. But something stops you. It’s the fact that Aemond knows you somehow, all of you, or very nearly all; and when he stumbles into one of your rare secrets like an unfamiliar room he wants to get down on his hands and knees and memorize every floorboard, every fleck of paint. You nod, moving towards him, your nightgown whispering against your bare skin. “Just this once?” you ask.

“Just this once,” Aemond agrees.

You can already feel yourself aching for him, muscles and nerves waking up, violent red craving. You press your left palm cautiously to Aemond’s chest. “How…?”

“It’s alright. You can lean against me.”

Your right hand travels up to rest on the back of Aemond’s neck; you can feel his long silvery hair ghost across your knuckles. You inhale him: leather, smoke, musk, darkness and possibility all tangled up together like the two of you are now. One arm circles around your waist, drawing you in even closer, until your thighs are touching. You wonder what his bare, defenseless skin would feel like on yours; you wish the clothes between you were in a pile on the floor. But that is far, far too risky. You could not remedy that instantly if there was an unexpected knock at the bedchamber door.

Aemond’s pale blue gaze—rapt, intense, starving—stays on yours as his other hand settles on your ankle. His fingertips move slowly upwards, tracing your skin lightly, slipping beneath your nightgown: calf, knee, thigh. He hesitates there: one last chance for you to stop him.

“Yes,” you murmur instead, resting your head against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. And already, you know this will be different; everything about it feels different. Because Aemond is the one here with you.

He reaches between your legs and finds warm, slick folds that are already wet for him. His breathing hitches, then quickens, his ribcage rapidly expanding and caving in again, a cycle like the moon or the seasons. He drags his fingers through your wetness and then places them on a spot that Aegon always paid great attention to, although to little effect. But when Aemond touches you there—experimenting with different pressures and motions—you are swept up in a euphoric riptide that can only carry you higher, higher, higher still. You’ve glimpsed this feeling before, but you’ve never been able to get lost in it. You are gasping, restless; your hand on the back of his neck wanders and inadvertently knots in his hair. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, low and husky, meaning: no, don’t apologize, no, don’t stop.

“Aemond, something’s happening…”

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His fingers circle more quickly, more powerfully. You moan and bring your lips to his throat, delicious heat and salt flowering there. You fight the instinct to bite down, to leave bruises, to mark him as your own. He’s not yours and he never will be, and no one can know all the irrevocable ways he has written himself into you like the ink of a poem, words scaling the scarlet walls of arteries and veins, rhymes in your bone marrow. The pleasure keeps mounting; every time you think it can go no higher, you climb to a new height like the steps of a staircase. “I can’t stand it—”

“Almost there,” he pants, and pushes a finger into you, the heel of his hand still grinding against the place where the sensation is greatest. Your hips move in time with his thrusts.

“More,” you beg helplessly, and Aemond glides a second finger inside. You twist your grip into his tunic, into his hair. You meld yourself into him, never feeling close enough. Now he’s nipping at the line of your jaw, his free hand against your face, his whispered voice telling you to relax, to breathe through it, that it’s alright to give in. And then your eyes flick down and see the outline of him through his trousers—how large he is, much larger than his brother, thick and long, perhaps even too much for you to take—and it is this, the thought of having Aemond completely, of him spilling himself into you in body as he already has in soul, that sends an indescribable wave jolting through you: heat, ecstasy, contracting muscles, bursts of color.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you say in a rush when it ends and you’re too sensitive to be stroked. Aemond’s hand stills, but he keeps his fingers inside you, feeling your walls throb around him for what he undoubtedly fears is the first and last time, resting his forehead against yours, trembling all over.

Your thumbprint skates across his parted lips, and then you cup his face with both hands and kiss him deeply, soft and slow. It might as well be your first kiss, your only kiss. It blows the past out of you like stormwinds ripping up homes and centuries-old roots.

You tell him when it finally breaks: “I wish it could be you.”

Aemond searches your face, then kisses you again, fiercely this time, with an unspeakable desperation. Then he rises to his feet and leaves, no goodbye, no plans, no promises.

And when Aegon does stagger into your bed the next night, you’re able to nudge his hands into the perfect position and close your eyes and think of his brother, and for the first time you reach a shuddering, breathless peak with him. You try to stifle the sheer intensity of your pleasure, the arching of your spine and the way your fingernails bite into his skin, leaving dark pink blooms like roses. But he knows this time is different.

“Well, wife,” Aegon says, grinning roguishly. “I think we’re getting better at this.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Aemond fetches you without a word of explanation. He leads you to the royal stables, where the last of the winter’s snow and ice is melting away, dripping from the eaves like rain.

“Are we going to take Vhagar out walking…?”

But Aemond breezes right past Vhagar, who watches you both with large, intelligent eyes as she crunches on a mouthful of oats. He stops at a stall that has always been unoccupied, ever since you first arrived at Westminster Palace over a year and a half ago.

“What—?” And then you see her: pure glossy black like onyx, long mane and tail, intrigued ears pricked forward towards you. She’s heavy with muscle, bigger than Sunfyre or Caraxes, almost as large as Tessarion. “Oh, Aemond…”

“She’s an Andalucian,” he says, anxious, hoping you’ll approve of her. “I wrote to your brother Alonzo and arranged for her to be shipped over from Navarre a month ago, but she’s just arrived today.” He smiles faintly, wistfully. “So don’t think she is a gift for services recently rendered.”

You smile back. “I don’t recall having the opportunity to serve you.”

He flushes, but tries to ignore it. Still, his eye traces the curves and valleys your emerald green gown, all those places he never got to see, to taste.

You pet the Andalucian’s inky muzzle and she consents, nickering contently. “I never thought I’d have my own horse here,” you say. “Not unless I gave Aegon a son. Maybe not even then.”

“What will you name her?”

You look at Aemond as you answer, your eyes dark with craving for him, a curse you can’t break, a spell you’d cast over and over again. “Midnight.”

[bowieandqueen11]

Looking After A Sick Billy Butcher Would Include...

Request: I love your Billy Butcher headcanons so much! 🥰 If you are looking for another Billy Butcher idea i think either 'Looking after a Sick Billy Butcher' or 'Billy Butcher with a Plus Size reader' would be adorable, as your Steven Grant ones are so beautifully written 💕 thank you for all your incredible writing, you are truly amazing 💐

Oh thank you so much @missscarlettangel!!! You’re always the loveliest and kindest

Warning: a little strong language and slight NSFW!

(I do not own The Boys or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @9thblogboyz.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Billy Butcher is such a dramatic ass hoe when’s sick dearie me. If you think he’s an annoying git before this, just wait until the sniffles start settling in, the man could annoy a saint to high heaven.

The man will not stay in bed. At all. You came into the home base to immediately be greeted with a near-crying Hughie and near-fuming Kimiko trying to wrestle the a**hole down onto his bed. Naturally, this ended with Hughie flying back and landing ass over tea cup through the bed side table and half off the wall, and Kimiko releasing her failing grip on his arm in shock. As soon as Billy spots you standing there, he comes swaggering out from the room, clad in his black jumper and jeans and pretending that he’s ‘alright, love. Me ‘ead is just a bit unda the weather today, that’s all.’ Even with his slick words, you can tell by how sweaty his forehead is that the man is about to keel over. He’s so damn stubborn - too prideful to admit that he could ever have a fault, but deep down, he’s also scared stricken to think he has an exploitable weakness when he’s supposed to be the big mad Charcuter. He’ll only let you touch him: and so you do, wrapping an arm past the buckles of his belt and holding onto the thick muscles around his hip. He jauntily wraps an arm around your shoulder, pretending to be as cocky as ever as you stroll him towards the living area.

‘Thanks darlin’, he whispers against the tip of your ear with a ragged breath. ‘I couldn’t take the yammering of them two cunts in my face any more. I’m glad you’re back now, we got a new job-’. He lets go of you, fisting his hand and hacking a cough against it until you push him down on the sofa to make him nap.

He’s literally that knackered that he passes out pretty much straight away. You sigh, squatting down near the window to pull off his boots and leave them resting under the perch. You wave at Hughie as he sneaks out on his tip toes like he’s in ‘Scooby Doo’ towards the door and mouths exaggeratedly at you that he’s ‘going to get some soup’. Once you’re done smiling him out, you lift Butcher’s head and wiggle onto the sofa underneath him, gently squishing his cheek back down onto your lap. For once you’re overjoyed that M.M. and Frenchie are busy arguing as they stand in front of a makeshift cork board in the safe, or Billy would never let you hear the end of it for making look like such a sap. You’re stuck there for a while: Billy whimpers in his sleep, his arms ending up at some point wrapping around your knees and sticking you in place under his thick biceps. 

The man is still clambering all over you as soon as he wakes up though. It could be the literal raining hell fire of the end of days washing down on the two of you and Billy Butcher would still be trying to climb over you like a tree. Not even in a fully sexual way - he adores you more than anything in this world, and needs some kind of constant touch when he’s feeling unsure as a reassurance that you’re still real. That you haven’t left him yet too. That he hasn’t destroyed you. You could be be sitting cross legged on the sofa next to him, huffing as you pull the blanket back up his shoulders every time Billy grumbles and pulls it off again. Dropping the cup of tea he was sipping, he uses his large fingers to quickly grab yours and pound them both down on the table. The desperation is evident in every sharp movement: the way he’s straight to grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap till you’re straddling his thick thighs, the pressure of his chin as his stubble scratches the curve of your neck, right under your earlobe. By the smirk you can feel, you know he’s doing it just to tease you, knowing it drives you wild. His arms wrap like an iron vice as he peppers languid, unrushed kisses up your pulse point. Like I’m sorry but can you imagine those coarse, rough, devoting hands running up your shoulders? Those harsh thumbs gripping the back of your head tightly and pulling you back until he’s angled you perfectly? You’re putty in his grasp, and as he grinds his midriff up against you and hears the pained whine fall from your lips, he knows it. He wets his lips, attacking your chin, and then the corner of your mouth - and then he ends up sneezing before his desperate mouth can rove any further.

The problem is, he sneezes exactly as M.M. is walking past; the poor man is just holding a cup of coffee, minding his own business as he goes to read his file in his desk chair. After a moment of standing there in confusion, he runs off to shower and makes Frenchie and Annie hose down his clothes outside for half an hour straight. He spends the rest of the day glaring at Butcher from his desk, taking out antiseptic wipes every ten minutes and spraying a can of air freshener out in his direction with a disgusted frown. 

You know better than to try and feed Billy. The man would literally snap your fingers off. Sadly, Frenchie was still under the illusion that he could just... skirt around this lesson, and came waddling happily towards Butcher with Hughie’s broth in one arm and a holding a spoon with the other. Once the airplane noises start, and the whooshing spoon through the air... well, let’s just say that it is a very lucky coincidence that there was so much traffic down fifth avenue today and the broth was tepid by the time Hughie got back. Two hours later, Frenchie is still running around with wet trousers, picking pieces of celery out of his pants and running after M.M. every time he calls him ‘pee pee boy’.

Billy always acts as if everyone’s annoying the heck out of him, but in reality, he just wants to be left alone with you for a while. By ten o’clock he’s so fed up of Hughie throwing him pity looks, and Frenchie pecking like a mother hen in his face, that he gets up and locks himself in the bathroom just to breathe for a damn minute. When you hesitantly knock twice on the door, and he unlocks it, on the floor is where you find him: curled up with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, trying to drown out the memories of how similar the withdrawals from compound V felt as they pound through his brain. You’ll have to sit by his side, huddled up with your arm looped through his stiff one and spreading your fingers out over his kneecap, massaging it. Although he doesn’t like too much physical touch when he’s so withdrawn as he is, if your fingers leave his knee for one second he’ll start whining like a kicked puppy.

You do get to help him change out of his jumper at the end of the night though hm hm (even though he’s bloody perfectly well enough to do it himself and you both know it.) He has that shit eating smirk on his face when he sees you back in his doorway, and he holds his hands out to you, beckoning you towards him. He takes a few steps back once he feels your fingers latch onto the pads of his own, his face lighting into a smile as you draw them down to tug at the hem of the rugged material. Before you can lift it though, he brings his sock round to kick the back of your heel and has you tumbling over the edge of the bed to lie on top of his chest.

And then... *ahem*... well let’s just say that all the clothes came off pretty quickly shall we?

By the way Hughie is literally sinking his face into the cereal bowl the next morning: the way Frenchie is trying to hide his spurts of laughter from where he’s playing cards with Kimiko: how M.M. rolls his eyes and lifts his newspaper to cover his face when the two of you come dandering out of his room, you didn’t manage to be as discrete as a *sick* Billy Butcher believes himself to be. His pair of undies swinging from the ceiling fan all but confirms it.

[nkn0va]

Another OC Post

My previous post that debuted Six got very glowing reviews from @your-phantomfield. After some conversation I ended up getting another idea for a oneshot, this time also featuring one of their OCs as well with their blessing and some help. Writing motivation has unfortunately been butchered due to multiple factors but they've managed to make me really wanna do this. Hopefully this goes just as well as the last one.

Yet another long post under the cut. (Like, noticeably longer than the last one.)

Six...for lack of a better term, froze when he found out. Yet his heart was going a million miles a minute with a myriad of emotions all at once, feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest.

Hakumen...Trinity...

...Nine...

His magic reacted to his emotions, becoming unstable and chaotic just like they were right now. Almost to a dangerous degree. His arms glowed with the near overflow of power, any lesser Sage would've lost control and lead to disaster. He'd been told of the news from Valkenhayn who'd learned about it from Jubei, and with only a word of thanks for the news he teleported away, ending up somewhere in the forest outside of the Alucard Manor. The tree unfortunate enough to be next to him was the victim of his rage in the moment, receiving a punch and combined with his power, immediately froze over, the bark becoming rock solid and the leaves turning brittle like ice cubes.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible for it. He already knew even without being told. The only question was how. How the hell did he break free from the Mind Eater? Even if this was Terumi, he couldn't think of a single way he was able to break Nine of all people's spell. That didn't matter though, what was done was done. More importantly, he had some questions that needed answers, and only one person could give them to him.

With a teleport, Six was at the doorstep of a small house in the outskirts of Ishana. He didn't bother to knock, it was rather likely he was already being expected. He opened the door and the person he was looking for was expectedly there, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of the living room.

There sat a woman, a tad bit older than Six. Her face was largely covered in a midnight black veil that ran down the length of her body and flowed onto the floor behind her. Her aura was that of emptiness. Apathy, even. Yet beneath the facade, she was rather intrigued about how this interaction might turn out.

"You've come", she stated plainly. She'd known that he was going to, and she had a pretty good idea why. She needed no power to figure it out.

Six crossed his arms, his patience already being considerably worn. Four was no longer deserving of any formalities, as far as he was concerned. He cut straight to the chase.

"So you kept silent again. And once more other people are paying for that."

"Whatever do you speak of?"

"Don't you even think of trying to play oblivious, it's not going to save you this time." Six pointed an accusatory finger at his colleague.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re falling like flies out here as of late. One got eaten up by the Black Beast like a corn chip, Eight was killed by the weapons that were supposed to protect us, Seven’s gone AWOL, Clavis of all people dropped dead, and now…”

Six had to stop for a bit, taking a deep breath in an attempt to keep his composure. Six was only getting more exasperated the more he spoke, it was clear in his body language. He gestured around with his hands one by one as whilst listing the situation Ishana and the world at large found itself in, each movement unconsciously letting out a small gust of chilly air. His magic was starting to grow just as agitated as he was. “...Now four of the Six Heroes, two of which were among our own, are now wandering about in the Boundary who knows where… and yet again here you are, doing nothing about it.”

Under all the veils, she's smiling during the first half of Six's confrontation. He's snappy, he's interesting... until he directs the blame for all of this onto her. How childish.

"I'm a noncombatant." A simple, to the point answer, as if it absolves her of all culpability. As if somehow Six had simply forgotten that, and everything will be all right now that she's pointed out the obvious. He wasn't buying that though, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“And that’s your excuse? Your excuse to watch and let people die? Your lack of frontline capabilities and the limitations on your powers to do nothing? You couldn’t have spoken up? You simply let things start falling apart because it’s inconvenient to your abilities?” 

Before a response could be formulated, he turned his head away for a moment, scoffing. Now that the words had actually escaped his mouth he realized how redundant it sounded. “Who am I kidding, of course it is. You already let millions die with that excuse when you said nothing about the Black Beast. We let you off because your intel was useful, but now you seem to think your work is done. Now that the Beast isn't at risk of knocking on your doorstep anymore apparently you're of the idea that nothing matters."

“Was that not the state of the world at large for years, Six,” Four inquired calmly and matter-of-factly. “All that death you're so concerned about, that has simply become a way of life now. That's what happens in war. We lost Nine, but she saved countless. She's a hero. She served her role... you're just taking it personally because you wanted to fuck her."

Oh hell no.

His head dipped down, the shadow of his hat covering his face. The only thing peering from under the cloak of darkness was a single pale blue light. The fury in its brightness was clear as a winter afternoon sky, the cold aura that emanated from it contrasted with the unusual raging hot fury that gripped Six’s psyche and refused to let go. Six wasn’t like Nine, he was above raising his voice. He didn’t need to, the tone he spoke with more than conveyed his emotions. Calm, yet venomous, bitingly cold. He had more than one way of making others freeze in their tracks.

"You want to run that by me again, by chance?"

His cloak and hat fluttered in the wind. The icy, cloudy air that now permeated the room and formed crystals of ice at his feet, sending chills down Four's spine. If she couldn’t find a way out of this, her only choice left against the enraged ice-clad angel, or demon, depending on who was asked, would be to pick a god and pray. Even then, they might not be able to save her now.

The heaviness of the situation began to creep in on her, both figuratively and literally. Normally it would excite her, the entertainment a tempting prospect to play with. Though now she realized perhaps she'd extinguished that possibility now. There was no way even she could escape the fury of the Frost Angel, as some had taken to calling him. The fact she'd even gotten this far now meant she now needed a way out, lest she be extinguished as well.

Thankfully, she just happened to have the perfect ace in her sleeve.

"You think I wouldn't have seen your feelings for her by now? It's why you're acting up like this. It's quite unusual for you. You think she's dead."

The light dimmed, a good sign. "What...? What are you trying to say?"

"Did you honestly believe someone like Nine would fall victim to the Boundary? She's perfectly alive and well, just not right now."

The bright blue light narrowed, Six evidently squinting his eyes in suspicion as if she'd gone crazy. "You're telling me that someone is capable of surviving the Boundary? The place of infinite Seithr, where the Black Beast came from? That Boundary? Are you going to tell me that Terumi will come back and start a non-profit charity next?"

The clairvoyant's body racked slightly with a silent laughter, the most emotion she'd shown in a while. She couldn't lie and say that his snappiness wasn't amusing when he wasn't apparently holding back the urge to freeze her solid. "Come now, Six. Let's not be unrealistic here."

Despite the sheer amount of palpable irony, the words died in Six's throat, in contrast to the indifference Four had shown to...well, just about everything. Surviving the Boundary...was that truly possible? He did suppose if anyone was capable of it, it was Nine. And as much as he preferred not to admit, Four had yet to lead astray with her visions.

The light didn't go away completely, but it was clear her strategy was working. "...Where?"

Now this was getting interesting. Four hummed to herself in focus, peering into the future where she saw Nine again. The veils she wore hid her visions from his sight. "...About 85 years into the future, give or take. You could potentially make it there if you took your own chance in the Boundary."

Six could only fall silent. So Nine really was out there? But so far into the future. Attempting to go through the Boundary did seem like his only real chance, but that chance was so miniscule, even for him. Even if he did make it out in one piece, there was no guarantee he'd even make it to where he needs to go.

Four sensed his hesitation, capitalizing on it to shake his resolve as much as possible. "Surely you can pull this off, can't you? You're a Great Sage yourself, one of the youngest to ever do it. Such a painful loss you had to go through...Jubei came and swooped her up before you could get the chance to tell her how you feel, they get married, have a child, only for her to be taken away. Do you not see that as an injustice?"

"I-..." Six turned his head away, the feelings he'd tried to hide deep down for years at this point rising to the surface. His mind played back the promise he'd made to himself all that time ago now, when he'd become Nine's equal, when he'd finally proven himself to her and the rest of Ishana. When the hat was put on his head for the first time.

'Whatever happens, no matter what I need to do, I'll do it. I'd freeze the sun over if it meant keeping her dream alive.'

Four knew she was inside his head now. She was almost out of the woods. "If she's sent so far in time, now's your perfect chance. You can finally make up for such tragedy. You truly deserved better, Six, and you can get it. All you have to do is take that leap of faith forward. That is what people do for love, is it not?"

It didn't take long after that to figure out what she was trying to do. She'd gone into self-preservation mode. Both of them were acutely aware of their power dynamic. If Six was more of the brutish type he could easily dispatch the other Sage. Instead, he simply turned on his heel, his back facing Four now.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Four. You're in no position to lecture me on loss. You’ve never experienced it for yourself. That feeling truly only comes when what you’ve lost is something you love more than yourself. I’m rather doubtful that someone like that comes to mind for you.”

The frost and crystals that had begun to permeate the room disappeared in a flash of blue light. There was nothing more for him to say, but plenty to think about. "Next time we see each other again, you're going to pay for all the blood that rests on your hands. There's a price for every sin, sloth included."

With that final warning, he warped away. Now alone, Four allowed herself a small, yet excited smile. She could see it; he was about to do something. Jump into the cauldron? Set off to simply survive the march of time? She couldn't see it, nor what he intended to do when they met. There was only one thing she was truly sure of.

"I look forward to it...Nivalis."

~~~

The sixth of the Great Sages found himself at the Cauldron hidden deep beneath Ishana. His face had gone back to normal staring into the gateway as he pondered Four's words...and the possibility that Nine was waiting on the other side.

Could he really pull something like that off? Swim through an endless abyss full of nothing but Seithr? It sounded absolutely ludicrous, but Four had confirmed it was possible. He didn't have a reason to doubt it. She was many things, but dishonest had never been one of them for as long as he'd known her.

"I do hope you aren't thinking of actually jumping. It'd be a terrible waste to die attempting such a fool's errand."

Six's head perked up suddenly, having been shaken out of his thoughts. He'd been caught red-handed. And by a very familiar voice, no less. The girlish, posh voice was one that someone didn't simply forget.

"Surely you have much more valuable uses of your time than to stare into that old thing. Such thoughts of attempting Boundary travel in the first place should be beneath someone of your stature."

Six sighed forlornly, the whirlwind in his mind was clear as day for anyone to see. "It's Four...she told me-"

"She told you that Nine is still out there, isn't she?"

He properly turned around now to face Rachel, his eyes widened. "How did you...?"

The vampire allowed herself a small, smug giggle. "I do happen to have a few tricks of my own."

Vague as ever, he noticed. He knew it'd be a waste of time to try and get her to elaborate. He looked back between her and the Cauldron a few times before his gaze landed on her once more.

"If it's really true...then what do you think I should do?"

Rachel closed her eyes at the thought, seeming to think, or at least pretending to as her smile disappeared.

"Must you need me to tell you everything? Why you're one of the Great Sages, for crying out loud. The greatest cryomancer this world has ever seen. Surely you can figure out the answer on your own."

She stopped though for a moment, humming in thought. "...Although I suppose an emotion such as love can indeed cloud the mind. What do you currently believe to be the correct course of action?"

That stuck out to him. The feelings he had for Nine were indeed impairing his better judgment. He had Four to thank for that. He needed to take a step back and truly think about what he should do.

Terumi...the one responsible for everything. It was his fault that she, Trinity, and Hakumen were unjustly taken from him. It was him that needed to pay, however he didn't know if and when he would ever pop up again.

His mind started racing. Confronting the true culprit should be priority number one, but he didn't know where, or specifically when to start. He needed a reliable way to last long enough, but what? Rachel did have a point, his ice magic was second to none, surely he could-

That's it...

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Rachel's voice once more, apparently he'd been silent for longer than he anticipated. "Six? Earth to Six. Are you even paying attention?"

He shook his head, snapping back to reality and recollecting himself. "O-Oh, yes. Sorry, Miss Rachel."

"Perhaps by chance you were taking my words to heart and came up with the solution?"

For the first time since Nine had been banished to the Boundary, Six allowed himself a smile, though small it may have been. He nodded in confirmation. "Yes, I have."

He vanished in a flash of light as he teleported away, only to come back before Rachel could fully register that he'd left a few seconds later. In his hands was a glass ball that he held out for her to take. The ball looked and felt a bit comically large in her tiny, pale hands.

"I'm going into hiding, use that whenever you need to find me again. I'll be waiting." With that Six began making his way out of the cathedral, leaving Rachel alone with her new artifact. The magic she sensed inside had his fingerprints all over it, he definitely made it himself. For what purpose originally, she couldn't tell, but now it was for her to have.

Her bright crimson eyes peered deep into the ball, trying to look past the fog inside that was preventing the transparency it should have. It cleared up as she looked into it, showing her Six walking outside and into Ishana's town square.

So that's what it was...

~~~

There was one more person to find before he could enact his plan. He left the larger city of Ishana and into the forest surrounding the city. There wasn't much so this wouldn't be hard. After some walking, he came to a stop.

"So, how much longer do you plan on just standing there?"

A familiar figure came out from the shadows, a rather short one, though one that Six damn well knew not to take lightly, at least if it was an enemy.

"You've been gettin' better, kid. Color me impressed."

"Well, I had the privilege of learning from many of the best."

He recognized the look on Jubei's face. Behind the friendly attitude, he was just as devastated over their current circumstances as he was.

"Hey, about Nine, I..."

"Just save it, Six." Jubei's mood immediately dropped at the mention of Nine. At this point he just felt...done. Done with the loss, done with the pity, no matter how genuine it might've been.

"No, I'm not here to offer my condolences. I'm sure you already have enough of those to go around. I need to give you something."

"Give me something? What might that be?"

Six had already given his enchanted tracking ball to Rachel, so the next thing to give was a test tube with a crimson liquid inside.

"Use this when the time's right, just pour it onto the ground and it'll lead you right to me, at least when you're close enough."

"Lead to you?" The beastkin was understandably confused. "Where are you headin' off to now, kid?"

"You'll find out eventually. Rachel will know what to do. Just...promise me something. Take good care of that kid for me, alright? She's all we got left of Nine. I'd do it myself, but...it was you she chose."

He had to hold back his tongue, refraining from saying anything more out of jealousy, or perhaps even animosity. He didn't want any of the latter to be between him and Jubei. He had respect for everything he'd done, both for him and the world at large. Jealous? Well who wouldn't be jealous of the person who'd stolen the only person they'd fallen for away, but he couldn't fault Jubei for his own shortcoming of taking the leap. He turned around and started making his way back to Ishana to make the last of his preparations.

Jubei's eye widened to double its normal size as he put two and two together. He stared blankly at his comrade's back as he returned to the city, emotions inside him conflicting left and right at the revelation. A bit of shock, a lot of intrigue, a bit of concern, a bit of guilt.

"Wait, kid, I-..."

The words seemed to completely leave Jubei as Six stopped looked back at him.

"Don't feel bad about it, you just did what I couldn't do myself. All I want you to do is keep that promise."

There were so many things Jubei wanted to say. He wanted to defend himself, he wanted to console Six, perhaps apologize to him. His throat clenched up, and there was only one thing he could muster up the strength to say.

"...I promise."

"Then we're even." The Sage turned back around toward Ishana before his emotions started running too high. Before his resolve could waver. It couldn't, not now.

"Wake me when you need me."

[burntblueberrywaffles]

Fic tag game

got tagged by @fangeek-girl ❤️❤️

How many works do you have on Ao3?

I have 7 works but 3 of them are fanfic lol

2. What's your Ao3 word count?

1896 words total. Your girl is definitely one for brevity LOL

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Wednesday, that one drabble I made for The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, and I've been writing for Star Wars (though I haven't posted anything yet) and Mrs maisel (i wrote a whole short fic for that almost a year ago but I forgot about it completely until I found it in my notes apps, I should get around to posting it)  

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I don't have 5 fics total but here's my current count in order:

1-Lies

2-The world's a little blurry

3-Pretend

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes always! the fact that people are READING my stuff and taking time to comment has me 🥺🥺🥺

My writing ao3 isnt linked to my main email adress though so sometimes it takes me a while to respond because I wont see it until I periodically check my fic stats

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

.....Probably The world's a little blurry let's be real (I'm going to fix it it in the next one in the series, I promise!!!)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

akdadhjgsjgd hard to say all my shit is angsty, I guess Pretend?? kind of, it's less of a downer than the other ones. The final part of Come a little closer will have a happy ending though I promise! (already finished writing the end, I just need to write the beginning lol)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No ❤️ I don't think any of my stuff has gotten enough attention for that lol

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

NO my ace ass has no experience with that so I wouldn't know how 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️(I might need to in some future project, fortunately a lot of my friends are perverts (affectionate) so I could probably ask for some guidance if it comes to that LOL)

10. Do you write cross-overs?

No, I'm not a big fans of crossovers in general so certainly have never felt compelled to write one.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

So many ugh I cant even choose, it's more rare for me to actually finish something than the opposite, that's why I'll never post anything unless the whole thing is finished (only exception is my current series, but that's because I felt like each fic making up the series were self-contained enough that they didn't need to follow up immediatly to work? if that makes sense - plus the first one was a one shot and only thought of how to follow it up after posting it)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

ANIDALA MY BELOVED

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm really good at imagery and emotion (being a poetry writer goes brrrrr)

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIPTIONS oh god I'm so bad at it. My fic are vibes only lmao, what are they wearing? where are they? what movements are they doing? NOT IMPORTANT how about I offer you 12 metaphors on how this character is feeling instead. (though I'm forcing myself to work on it haha)

I also struggle with any longer story arc... there's a reason all my stuff is so short lol

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If it's in french it would be pretty fun since it's my ✨first language✨ hehe. For other languages I'd see if one of my friends speak it but otherwise idk if I'd include it bc I don't want to butcher another language, I've seen too many english authors put french through the ringer it's painful 😭

18. First fandom you wrote for?

I guess Julie and the Phantoms? I never posted it but I had a pretty advanced fic for that. unless you count the 13 reasons why fic I posted on wattpas when i was early teen but we dont talk about that

19. Favourite fic you've ever written?

right now it has to be The world's a little blurry, I just love how it came out hehe

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

none right now.

Anyway tagging @nonamemanga @beri-allen @unlifeira @realmermaid333 @suchaladyy @witchysith @king-crimson-works @theycallme-thejackal and anyone else who might want to do it!

[invisibleraven]

Imagine your OTP with Character A secretly learning Character B’s mother language to say stupid pick-up lines to them / Rulie

Also for @innytoes who agrees this prompt is extremely Rulie coded.

“Damn you owl!” Reggie scowled as he tosses his phone across the couch.

“Did you get Rick Rolled by an owl?” Luke asked, not even looking up from the song he was working on.

“Something like that,” Reggie grumbled.

Alex picked up the phone, and bit back a grin as he saw the screen. “Bonita, not bonito.”

“Stupid feminization,” Reggie replied. “It’s screwed me up more than once.”

“Should I ask why?” Alex asked, nodding at the phone as he handed it to Reggie.

“I think you know why,” Reggie replied.

Willie peered over his shoulder and smiled. “Dude if you want to learn Spanish there is a whole ass family willing to teach you.”

“I want it to be a surprise,” Reggie replied.

“Also I doubt he wants to ask Ray how to flirt with Julie in Spanish,” Luke smirked.

Reggie sputtered at that, but it wasn’t like he could deny it. He figured if he hit Julie with truly epic lines in Spanish she might grant him a second glance. Or at least laugh in that way that he loved-all crinkly eyes and letting her smile shine.

But languages had never been his strong suit, and well there was only so much that Duolingo could teach him.

Yet he was still here, struggling along as he learned the basics, dog earring his Spanish English dictionary, and watching a lot of movies with subtitles turned on.

“This is a stupid plan isn’t it?” he asked.

“I think it’s adorable!” Willie proclaimed. “I know I would super appreciate it if a guy learned another language for me.”

“Even if it’s just to flirt?” Alex countered. “Because I can learn conversational Japanese if you want. Though you’d have an easier time learning German.”

“Anyways…” Reggie drawled before those two started at it again. But before he could continue that thought, they all heard the door to Julie’s house open, meaning she was headed this way for band practice.

“You got this Romeo,” Luke said, clapping on the back.

“Romeo was Italian,” Alex piped up.

“Zorro?”

“Close enough.”

With that they high tailed it out, greeting Julie, claiming they were going on a snack run. Despite the fact that Ray always kept the garage well stocked.

She shook her head as she entered the garage-she would never get these guys. But then she noticed Reggie, fiddling with the ends of his flannel, an almost queasy smile on his face. “Hey Reg.”

“Hola,” he replied. “¿Dónde están tus alas?”

“My what?” Julie asked with a giggle and Reggie hoped his pronunciation wasn’t as horrendous as he thought it was.

“Alas,” he repeated. “Porque eres un ángel.”

“Gracias,” she replied, a tiny blush painting her cheeks. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“I’m still learning,” he stated. “I didn’t butcher it too badly did I?”

“It still has a pulse,” Julie said. “Can I ask why you decided to learn Spanish? I could have taught you.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Reggie murmured.

“Well it’s a lovely surprise,” Julie said, looping her arms around his neck. “Though you need to work on rolling your R’s.”

“I can do that,” Reggie replied swaying them back and forth. “Rrrrrobot. Rrrrrribbit. Rrrrrreggie.”

Julie giggled, nuzzling their noses together. “Me das dolor de cabeza, mi lindo.”

“That means you think I’m cute right?” Reggie asked, his smile almost blinding.

“Si,” Julie replied. “El más lindo.” Then pulled him in for a kiss that made Reggie forget every language he knew.

But it didn’t matter because that kiss was easy to understand-no translation needed.

[mychemicalrachel]

Thanks so much @zephfair and @lizpaige for the tag! This was fun 😊

How many works do you have on ao3?

60 total. 18 as MyChemicalRachel, 31 under the pseud MonsieurBlueSky, and 11 posted anonymously 😎

What’s your total ao3 word count?

930,700. I'm sooooo close to a million!

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now just TRC/TDT, but I’ve dabbled in a lot over the years.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Crossfire - Teen Wolf x Supernatural crossover where Stiles is Sam and Dean's cousin.

The Long Way Home - Sterek fic where Derek is a dilf.

Just A Spark - wherein Stiles is ace and a stork delivers a Sterek baby.

Fast Times At Clairemont High - yet another Sterek fic. Stiles goes undercover at the school where Derek is a teacher.

Magnetic - Pynch! And Rovinsky! And lots and lots of angst!

Do you respond to comments?

😬😬 Look. I try to. Most of the time I don't know what to say, but I love getting comments and I cherish them all!

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof. I used to write a lot of angst. Probably Forever. It's a MCR/Frerard where Frank goes to an NA meeting and tells the story of how Gerard died.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don’t know if I'd consider it the happiest ending because I write a lot of happy endings, but I think Magnetic has the most cathartic ending. It's a big ball of angst so the happy ending has a bigger payoff.

Do you get hate on fics?

Oh yeah, for sure. Not so much now that I've made my fics private, but it happens 🤷‍♀️

Do you write smut?

Yes 😌

Do you write crossovers?

Yeah! I love crossovers! It's fun to take characters I love from separate fandoms and put them in situations together.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I'm sure they didn't consider it stealing, but yes. I found out that someone was translating a bunch of my WIPs and reposting to a different site without my permission. I love translations, don’t get me wrong, but I like to keep track of where my fics are posted and who is posting them.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! I've got some Teen Wolf fics in Russian, French, and Spanish. There's a Portuguese translation of Magnetic. And a bunch of my old MCR fics have been translated to Russian.

Have you ever co written a fic?

I.... do not play well with others. That said, yes. I co-wrote a MCR fic years ago and it was a bad experience because we were making up the plot as we went along and the other writer was more invested than I was since I was drifting away from that fandom, I lost interest halfway through and just wanted it to be over. And I'm currently working on a pynch fic with @iammistressofmyfate which is already a better experience than the last time 😘 I like collaborating and sharing ideas so I wouldn’t be opposed to co-writing again in the future, I think it would just have to be the right person and the right idea!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, right now I would have to say Pynch. They've got a great dynamic that I keep finding myself drawn back to.

What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It pains me to say.... the Pynch track AU. It was a meet cute friends to lovers AU where Adam is on the track team. I just sigh every time I open the word doc so I don’t know if I'll ever get around to turning my outline into an actual fic 😮‍💨

What are your writing strengths?

Characters. I have a knack for making even the worst characters likable and I'm good at making them complex.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action. I'm so bad at writing action scenes where so much is happening at once and there's a lot of movement.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I usually don't just because I'm afraid I'll butcher it.

First fandom you wrote for?

Asking Alexandria 🤘🤘

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

That's a hard one. I haven’t even posted all of it, but probably Love & Lace. I was able to incorporate humor and feelings and character growth along with some top tier smut and I'm really proud of it 🥰

Ahhh I never know who to tag on these things so @singersargentboi @uncannycerulean @deerna @beautifulcheat I haven't seen any of you do this yet! 💕

[three-drink-amy]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag @rmd-writes @orchidscript @welcometololaland @cha-melodius!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 99 works and am actively plotting 100. Hoping to hit that milestone soon!

2. What’s your AO3 total word count?

My word count sits at 1,850,826. Kind of astounded by that, not gonna lie.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I write for rwrb and 911 lone star!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

They are all rwrb fics:

What Do I Know?

Best Kept Secrets

Aged Like a Fine Wine

Someday We’ll Know if Love Can Move a Mountain

Boy, I Fancy You

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Look, here’s the thing, I always mean to reply, but I also end up forgetting. I will stare at comments and reread them over and over, but far too many times, I forget to actually reply.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t do that. Happy ending or it’s not over yet.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I guess all of them??

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes.

9. Do you write smut, if so what kind?

Yes, I do. Usually it’s smut with feelings.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I don’t. Though I did have the idea to make my 100th fic a crossover of all the fandoms I’ve written for. But I couldn’t make it work.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I mean, I don’t think so? I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also, no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Once, with @everwitch-magiks and it was a truly wonderful time! I was really nervous about writing with someone else and it was an awesome experience!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Do I have one? No, couldn’t possibly choose. But also, I have 45 firstprince fics which is more than double any other ship I’ve ever written for. So maybe I do…

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Uh, probably the TK is at work during the townhouse fire fic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm. I think emotions and dialogue. I agonize over it and put a lot of thought into both aspects. A fic isn’t really going to land if the feeling isn’t there, so I work really hard on that and I do think I usually manage it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, Lola already called me out on this for sure. Overwriting. It’s nearly crippling. The times I manage to keep a fic under 5k, I’m like so proud of myself.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I really only do if it’s a word or a nickname or a phrase already used in canon. I am not bilingual, so I do not want to butcher anything.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Mindy Project

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I could never pick a favorite! It’s probably aged like a fine wine linked above.

Who wants to answer questions? @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @fuckingyrs @walkinginland @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes @celaestis1 @celeritas2997 @actual-sleeping-beauty @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe @lightningboltreader @rosedavid @catanisspicy

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

Fanfic Tag Game

Tagged by @dorothyoz39 thanks so much for the tag! 🥰

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

104.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

520,363

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sanctuary and Stargate SG-1.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Commute - 85 (Stargate SG-1, G, Sam/Jack)

In-Between - 70 (Stargate SG-1, G, Sam/Jack)

One Snowy Day - 65 (Stargate SG-1, G, Sam/Jack)

Two Kinds of Sparks - 60 (Stargate SG-1, T, Sam/Jack)

One Rainy Day - 58 (Stargate SG-1, G, Sam/Jack)

I'm sensing a pattern.... 🤔

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, I always respond to comments. They make me happy and I want to take the time to thank anyone who took their time to respond to a thing I wrote, because I very much appreciate it.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Last of the Tau'ri - Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack

This was inspired by The Last of Us and is a one-shot. I don't want to spoil anything, but it involves death and loss of hope, so that's probably the angstiest.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't know. Really, I don't. I have a lot of fluffy endings, but I don't know if I've had hugely happy endings.

Waving the white flag on this question, sorry.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten comments telling me what I got wrong in canon and how I got it wrong and then told how I shouldn't ask for them to stop doing that.

On ff.net I've had people speed-run all the chapters of a story and then their only comment is that it's depressing. (And also assume that because it hasn't been updated in a while, it's finished)

I don't know if that counts as hate, exactly, though.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Yep! I love doing crossovers. I only have four published crossovers write now and since two are extremely serious, I'm going to have to go with 'Tesla's Moving Castle'.

This is Howl's Moving Castle with Nikola in the role of Howl and Helen in the role of Sophie, but with science instead of magic, set in the 1870s.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not yet, technically. @tina-mairin-goldstein got me to agree to co-write a Supernatural/Hannibal crossover, but I haven't really put any effort into it. I'd like to, though, in my fandoms.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Helen/John, Helen/Nikola from Sanctuary and Sam/Jack from SG-1.

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I intend to finish every fic I have published, even if inspiration and computer problems are delaying some, so I think I will finish them all, eventually.

The rare few I started and abandoned in my document folder are abandoned because I don't want to finish them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Emotion and tension between characters. And foreshadowing, though that's sometimes not intentional.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Emotions, funnily enough. I always have such a hard time during the writing process and it's not great.

Or description.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I've done it a few times, when characters speak another language, mostly just sprinkling in a sentence or word or two. I like including it when possible, though I worry that the translation program (i.e. google translate) may butcher the language and I worry about that, because I don't want to be disrespectful.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior cats (unpublished).

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

*cries in 104 fics*

Either Enigmatic Confections or The Abnormal X-File

It changes with my mood.

No pressure tagging: @lanistas, @tinknevertalks, @theleotorrio, @zeldamacgregor, @chartreuseian,

and @romanaisalive and anyone else who wants to play! (Tumblr no longer allows you to tag more than five people without a paragraph break)

[ruin-a-wedding]

The Broken Crown exists in two parts.

From the view of the street the bar looks indistinguishable from any other shithole. Faded decorations hint at a theme that has faded with time, leaving only ghosts of the original concept. It has stools and tables, as these places so often do, but nothing remarkable enough to draw any attention from passersby. Newcomers to the bar often remark that they thought the building was abandoned or the bar had closed years ago.

However long it's been since Meliza had left TGP, she’s held on to her skills just as you’ve retained your father’s training. You don’t know how the magic works and know better than to ask. The only thing you need to know is that people never find the front of the bar if they’re looking for it, and people only find their way to the lounge at the back of the building if they already know its location.

You consider this magic, along with what you have just performed, as you make your way up the basement stairs. Sanguimancy must be of a similar school: those skills which are innate at birth instead of passed down through teachers. There’s no explanation for why you think this, save for the taste in your mouth every time you enter the lounge. It’s the same way your mouth tastes now, fresh with the senator’s blood.

Or perhaps that’s merely the cocktail of drugs he had in his system when he died.

A promise awaits on the horizon, his blood tells you, formless and indefinite. These premonitions are never exact, but you can feel it rushing toward you like a car speeding down an empty stretch of road. Fate is a thread and you are the spool, winding it ever closer until your destiny arrives at your feet.

The rush of a magic you so rarely get to practice makes you giddier than any human drug, though perhaps that’s just the exhaustion hitting you after such a big cleanup. Transmogrification is more taxing when you’re so out of practice.

On your way to the lounge you make a quick stop at the kitchen, catching the attention of Cookie, the head chef. The scar that runs along the underside of his cheek dimples as he smiles in greeting.

“I was starting to think you only appeared when you smelled blood,” he says as he joins you in the hallway outside of the kitchen.

Casimir Koska, Cookie to the Crown’s employees, is one of your most regular stops in your capacity as the bar’s medic. Usually if the two of you cross paths it’s because someone is bleeding, be it Cookie or another, after feeling the bite of one of Cookie’s many knives. The frequency of these visits has allowed the two of you to become fast friends.

“You’re the one stabbing yourself every time you start to miss me.”

“And it works!” He laughs, throwing his hands in the air. “So what’s the occasion, Sosia?”

Few people in this world are allowed to address you so informally, but you’ve never heard Cookie address anyone by their given name. In Meliza’s words, no one’s really part of the family until he gives them a nickname.

“Got a pig needs butchering,” you say in a low voice so that no one will overhear you.

“The meat?”

“Not great, but there’s a market for it. Good pedigree.”

He gives some sort of exclamation in one of the many human languages you haven’t yet learned to recognize. What little you know of his background is almost as bloody as yours, though his affiliations are strictly human. It makes you curious about what the underworld of the mundane must look like; this is far from the first body you’ve offered him, and he’s never struggled to find a buyer.

“I will take him to the market tomorrow then.”

The money was never as good as it was when you had Theodore Saint-James as a buyer, but those days are far behind you. Still, you find yourself mourning the loss of your connections in moments like these.

You leave Cookie to butcher the body and make your way to the lounge’s staff entrance. One of the newer hires is lingering in the doorway, accompanied by a waitress hiding in his shadow. The two of them are watching someone and whispering between each other.

“Sightseeing?” you say, more out of courtesy so you don’t startle them.

Cindy, the waitress, lets out a small yelp at the sight of you and scurries off to find some task to pretend to do. Many of the staff have come to view you as a godsend, but some of the more intuitive humans are able to sense something unsettling about you. As annoying as it can be at times, you don’t fault them for their caution; in most other instances those instincts will mean the difference between life and death.

“There’s a suit,” Tyler answers with a nod at the center of the room. From where you stand you can’t see much of his face, but you catch the glint of a watch on his wrist. “Won’t order. Keeps turning entertainers away. No one knows how he got in.”

As you survey the area you realize every floor employee seems to be lurking in the corners of the room. He looks too obvious to be a cop, but the watch on his wrist is worth more than any of you make in a year. Money like that in a place like this, more often than not, means trouble is soon to follow. And you’re too tired to hide any more bodies tonight.

“I’ll deal with it.”

You step out onto the floor and are about to approach his table when your movement catches his attention. He turns in your direction, and you freeze when you realize the man looking back at you is the eldest living son of Nettie Corbeau.

[ladymorghul]

Hello there! I’m the anon who couldn’t  understand why and how the brothel situation could foreshadow al*smond. Thank you very much for answering my question. Hope you wouldn’t mind me sending yet another ask. BTW I’m really happy I finally found an ANTI-a*smond friendly space.

Frankly speaking, I will be disappointed if in se2, Aemond’s “relationship” with A*ys is pictured as an overly romantic love story. From what we know from the books, she was literally his s*x slave, watched him butcher her entire family and had every right to, well, not reciprocate Aemond’s feelings even if he actually developed some kind of twisted fondness for her. As you mention, power imbalance between them was at least disturbing. Personally, I hope their relationship in the show would be much like the Melisandre and Stannis situation.

As for A*ys’ age… Well, from the books we learn she looked much younger than 40. The actress cast for this role is in her early 30s. I wonder if Aemond was generally attracted to women twice his age, which is why he spared her, or when he took A*lys as his POW, he thought she was like 7-10 years older than him?  Much as I believe it’s totally fine if you have the “Aemond was a milf hunter” headcanon and enjoy creating such content. However, I don’t understand why and how the “Aemond was into much older women HEADCANON” should debunk the helaemond theory. Personally, I really like helaemond, although I doubt this relationship will be confirmed as show canon. But on the other hand, why should Aemond’s (for want of a better word) romantic interests’ age be the only thing that attract him to them? Maybe those are just my headcanons, but I think Aemond and Helaena have something in common. For example, they both have a streak (Aemond is interested in history and philosophy and Helaena is into biology/entomology) and experienced se*ual abuse. In addition, it seems pretty in-character for !show Aemond to become fascinated with his sister simply because she’s a dragon dreamer. Also, why wouldn’t he want to gently make out with someone who’s an ethereal, melancholic girl approximately his age and not a curvy, dark-haired s*x worker, much older than him. And, most importantly, no one forces him to sleep with her Or maybe teenage Aemond simply needs someone who’d stand by his side and stroke his arm when he’s stressed 😊?

Those are just my thoughts. Thank you for sharing your rants ant theories on this amazing blog. Hope this time I made myself more clear. English is not my first language.

hey there 😇 no problem

i think you're right in that it's very plausible to assume he would find comfort in helaena who has a similar experience to him when it comes to SA and considering that we're shown aegon being annoying to aemond when they're young, and aemond standing up for helaena, we can easily guess he relates to her better than he does aegon. and vice versa.

and when they're older, when aemond walks in the room in episode 9, helaena literally lights up at the sight of him. throughout the second part of the show you can see they're closer to each other than they are to aegon.

in general, i think anyone writing off helaemond completely as being this insanely impossible ship is doing so out of spite and i think the reason alysm*nds portray him as an exclusively milf hunter is because of they relate more to the idea of al*s that they have (not a noble, witch trope, so special that she catches the eye of a prince). and they're weirdly posessive with aemond's character... which is just a character.

[sparks-to-flames]

This is a bit all over the place but please understand what I am trying to say. If you need me to make this more clearer, I will make another post about this.

Ngl I want to start a convo with other black people about watching non-black creators misusing AAVE. Even though, you love their content. (This may be a sign for me to watch more black creators tbh and if you have any good ones let me know.) Because I'm sick and tired of hearing my language being butchered and being used as a joke or to get brownie points to seem to be cool, hip, and/or trendy. And then some of these creators saying that they don't understand "today's lingo", despite the fact it was here before they were even born. Like there's actual proof of these words existing through older music or films. For example, I remember seeing a clip from MASH and a white person used the word "period" correctly. And that word is older than that show. (To be honest the only way they would have known that word is if they heard black soldiers using it.)

And I'm starting to watch less of these creators works/videos because of it. I want to talk to my favorite creators about it but I fear that they may not take in consideration of my or other black fans' feelings. Either because they don't want to bring "politics" into it (tbh I feel like everything is political, even if you strive to be apolitical but that is for another post for another day.), don't want to think about a minority of their fanbase's feelings because they are a fraction of the whole fanbase, or a combination of these two. Despite the fact some of these creators had publicly sided with the BLM protest back in 2020.

With everyone non-black just now discovering "gyat", to me, it seems like it's been really blown out of proportion. It physically hurts me when I hear it misused. Gyat is not an acronym nor does it mean that someone has a fat ass. It's another way of saying goddamn. It's just written as if someone was saying it but they stopped midway. Similar to chile, it's just an Ebonics phonetic spelling of child. It's not that hard to understand unless you are not a part of that culture or you don't care about that culture.

I just want to watch something without mocking my culture because I get that on a daily basis in real life. I know this sounds like I need to touch grass (I know I do), but I use the internet to escape it. Yet it seems like I can never do. Everywhere I go I get ridiculed for it, even if it's unintentional. It still hurts me and other people like me either way. Especially since I may seem less "intelligent" by using that word meanwhile if someone that is non-black uses it, they're funny. And I hate that black people's lives get treated as a commodity for non-black people's entertainment and have no sympathy for us.

Again, please if you are black, please feel free to respond to this post.

|| To non-black people: It is okay for you to reblog, just don't comment on this though. If you want to talk about it, dm me. ||

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Minecraft Diaries: The Descended (Pt.2)

The trio wasn't quite sure how long they'd been camping in the ruins of Phoenix Drop, only that it was still cold dark and fairly miserable.

"Well. . . At least we have one house built now?" Porter said, shrugging, an uneasy laugh exiting his throat.

"And thank goodness for that- I'd hate to think what would happen if we were caught out in a storm or something- or if that thing came back." Ophelia responded, dusty and yellow-paged books clutched tightly in its arms.

"I wish I could remember what it is. . . Something about it is familiar but I- I don't know how. . ." Cori was situated outside, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick they'd splintered off from one of the trees.

It was strange- the powers they'd unlocked didn't seem to follow any sort of natural logic- knocking trees down in a single punch- building houses without having to use screws nails or hammers. It felt almost like living in a video game.

"The pages in these books are all to old for me to understand- not to mention the language they use- all these weird. . . Symbols," Ophelia muttered, looking through yet another unearthed tome.

"Not like there's much to get- we're camping out with a goddess who has pissed off what I can only assume is some freaky incarnation of the devil," Porter said, tossing a rock at a nearby group of logs.

"I should get going- if I build up more houses we won't all be in the same space- and maybe we'll be able to attract someone who knows what's going on," Cori said, standing up. Porter and Ophelia followed close behind, each holding what seemed to be makeshift axes made of stones.

Two more houses were constructed with little to no effort on the part of the young goddess, beds were constructed out of wool from passing sheep and wood from leftover logs.

"Ugh- never thought I'd have to butcher my own meat- but I guess at least we have food now huh?" Porter said, turning some raw mutton on a spit over a campfire.

"Yeah. . . This is like some freaky survival game now- you think any of our parents were expecting this?" Ophelia said, currently working on constructing a pickaxe.

"I guess ma probably was- sure would've been nice if she'd at least mildly explained what any of this was supposed to mean," Cori muttered, working on a bow and arrow using some loose string they'd found on the outskirts of the little village.

The abandoned mines that existed within the woodlands of Phoenix Drop were quite frightening to explore, but it was the only way the trio could get material for their village- so if they had to brave spiders of unreasonable size and hordes of varying undead, it would have to be worth it.

Perhaps more frightening than the caves however, was the sounds that would be heard outside at night.

Some were recognizable as the same creatures that lay within the mines, but the howling, screeching, and more animalistic sounds- the trio certainly didn't recognize.

Porter, ever impulsive, had dubbed himself a guard, and as such had positioned himself to watch over the encampment over night. Cori didn't ask him where the scars and bruises came from, if anything they were afraid to. But they had gotten ahold of many of their powers much quicker than they'd anticipated, so healing injuries was little more than an inconvenience for them.

Of course, as the shadow had said, this hadn't come without consequence.

Cori's dreams as of late had been. . . Strange.

The most recent of which detailing the adventures of what they assumed had been Lady Irene's first incarnation Aphmau, specifically, an extensive venture with local werewolf tribes.

"Werewolves. . . I can't believe they're actually real- I thought they made them for all those teen novels. . ." Cori muttered to themselves as they took up the bow, aiming for a chicken that seemed keen on escaping its makeshift pen. The chicken gave a weak cluck as the arrow made contact with its body, collapsing to the ground. Cori approached it, picking it up by the feet and taking out a small knife to begin removing its feathers.

"What? Not a fan of mutton?" Porter asked, laughing.

"It's not for me- I'm going wolf stalking." Cori said determinedly.

"We'll come with you-"

"No, you won't, I don't need you two endangering yourself, you're safer in the village." Cori said, rushing off into the woods before the two could protest.

What seemed like several hours had passed before Cori came across a huddled figure, it had ears and a tail like a wolf, but it'd body was entirely human. It was shaking, whimpering, like it was cold.

Cori dropped the raw chicken next to themself, backing up slightly as the werewolf roused itself from its slumber.

"I-I promise I'm not here to hurt you- I'm- I'm trying to find allies- for my village-" Cori said, trying to sound assertive.

"We haven't had a village in these woods for many centuries. . . I have only heard of your kind in stories. . ." Said the wolf.

"My kind? Mortals? Er- humans?" Cori replied quizzically.

"Lords. . . You smell of royal blood." The wolf replied, now finally making its way over to the chicken carcass. It's eyes were a stark icy blue, contrasting the darkness of its hair and skin, like a full moon within the night sky.

"I. . . I suppose- thats what I am-" Cori responded.

"Briak, son of Sabrione, prince of the Werewolf Pack of Phoenix Drop Woods," Briak said, attention now fully focused on eating the chicken.

"Cori Irenia- Lord of New Phoenix Drop- I suppose-" Cori responded. At this, Briak looked up, his eyes wide.

"You must come with me- now." He said, finishing off the chicken in rather impressive fashion before approaching Cori at an alarmly fast pace.

"I- what?- I just met you!." They managed to squeak out, clearly alarmed.

"You won't be harmed- I swear- but the return of a descendant of Lady Irene after so many years bodes ill omen for you and any who may call you an ally," Briak said. He began to shift, Cori cringed at the sound of creaking bones and stretching muscle before a rather large wolf stood in front of them.

Cori reached a hand out cautiously, digging their fingers into the soft fur.

"Ok, I'll join you, as long as it helps me learn more about what I am,"

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

Tag List:

@thelostscholarofmcd

@cryptid-in-your-closet

@twilight-skies

@kistunegdx

[pockymun]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I stole this from @little-box-of-wonders.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10 as of today. (1 more planned)

2. What's your total A03 word count?

436,818 currently. There's a bit more I haven't published, and a lot of things that were cut.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, just Final Fantasy XV. Still.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I Want to Get to Know You, Son - 26 kudos (honestly I forgot this existed)

Etro's Blessing: Andromeda - 23 kudos

The Paradox in the Prophecy - 12 kudos

Final Fantasy XV Maps - 9 kudos (more of a resource fic than actual story, but it counts)

Etro's Blessed Ones - 8 kudos

I think it's worth mentioning that the kudos were given before I started to revamp the story. I Want to Get to Know You is the only fic that doesn't have worldbuilding or a whole cast of OCs in it.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Most of the time, yes! I really appreciate it when people take the time to say something about what they just read. I feel like leaving a comment unanswered is a little cold. It's difficult to answer comments without giving away spoilers, or maybe infodumping stuff that the reader didn't want to begin with. There are few comments that I left alone.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That's a tough one. I write a lot of angst, but the endings usually have that small glimmer of hope that drive into the next fic. I plan on Reluctant Crownsguard to have the angstiest ending because that hope isn't there. But that's not written yet.

I think so far, Etro's Blessed Ones has the most angstiest ending because it ends with death, mourning, desperation, and a cliffhanger. It's intentionally left vague as to what happens at the cliffhanger, but clearly it's not good for anyone.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably I Want to Get to Know You, Son. That was about five years ago. I can't remember the ending, but it was slice of life, so it's probably happy enough.

I don't write happily ever after. It's unrealistic and gaudy. Characters get what they deserve, not what they want.

The Paradox in the Prophecy will most likely have a happy enough ending, but I don't think I'll manage to finish that one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! I don't get a lot of hits to begin with. People on AO3 are decent enough to follow the "Don't Like, Don't Read" rule.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really. I don't care for smut, which makes me an outlier as a fanfic writer. It doesn't appeal to me and it doesn't have a place in my stories. There's only been one time where I considered a short scene of it, but decided to keep it innocent.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No. Too complicated. I prefer to add in additional worldbuilding and lore that wasn't in the canon.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't believe so! I have my fics locked on AO3 to protect them from bots.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I don't plan to. I might do a simple Google Translate lookup for some words here and there, but I don't trust it for full sentences. Full sentences of another language would disrupt the flow of reading, when the reader (and the writer) doesn't know the language.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, although @groovytimetravelflower has helped me think through a lot of plot details (apparently I am unable to write anything truly on my own anymore!). I wouldn't be able to get along with anyone well enough to co-write something!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That lady who trained Ed and Al in Fullmetal Alchemist, and her husband who's a butcher. It's been years since I watched the show.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The new Rekindled Rebellion. That's another fic with no canon characters, only OCs. It was grueling to write Heretical Oath, which is much the same. I have a lot of writing to work on, so I really don't think I'm going to go much further with Rekindled Rebellion.

16. What are your writing strengths?

It was dialogue, but I think I've made a lot of improvements in regards to perspective. I am very good at sticking with one character's perspective, and not giving information that the character couldn't possibly know.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scenery and descriptions. I love how some authors can really paint a scene and give such ambience to their stories. I am not one of those people. It's something I try to work on a lot. Also I forget to describe the character who's giving the perspective, because they never focus on themselves.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I sort of answered this already.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In middle school, I was writing X-men fic, before I really understood what fanfic was and the difference between the movies and the Evolution series, and the comic books. I switched to Kingdom Hearts in high school, because somehow that was easier to follow.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I am still proud of how much Etro's Blessing: Andromeda has improved. It has a slightly stronger plot and leads in to the other fics nicely now. It's the start of the series, where there's a lot more potential of where it's all going.

Tagging @groovytimetravelflower @andywinter16 @pandansca(No pressure! Only if you want to).

[queenclaudiabrown]

The Scarecrow | Prologue

     Melody Hawkins fumbled with her messenger bag as she walked hastily toward the fountain in the plaza of Truman State University, having been ‘summoned’ by one of her dormmates, Grace Davis. Walking with her were their other two dormmates, Natalie Mitchell and Beth Nelson. Natalie was on her phone, talking a mile a minute in German with Peter, a boy who attended the same German Modern Language class with her. Grace had never met him, but Beth and Melody had, and neither had the heart to tell her he was very gay.

     “Mel, you got another scrunchie or something? I need to get this mess under control before Grace sees me and makes fun of it again.” Beth queried, struggling to tame her wind-tangled blonde locks with a mini hairbrush, several gold bobby pins held by her teeth so she could access them easily.

     “Here.” Melody took the blue scrunchie out of her own hair, letting her wavy brunette locks hang freely around her shoulders, and offered it to her friend.

     “Thanks.” Beth accepted it with a small smile. “You’re the GOAT, Mel.”

     Another thing Melody would never admit was that she didn’t know what that meant.

     Finally, the three girls arrived within viewing distance of their destination. Center stage, lounging comfortably on the fountain’s edge was Grace Davis, the blonde-haired diva herself. One sneaker-clad foot was beside her and flat on the ring of brick she sat on, while the other rested on its heel on the main ground, dipping and bouncing in place to an unheard beat. Propped on her vertical thigh was one of many spiral-bound notebooks, onto which she rapidly scribbled what Melody knew were annoyingly neat characters.

     Beth slowed her pace and stepped behind Melody’s taller frame to finish securing her hair in an elaborate but cute bun out of Grace’s sight, and Melody and Natalie paused to give her the moment. Finished, the blonde retook her place on Melody’s left, and the three approached their dormmate and friend.

     It wasn’t surprising to see Marty Pike seated on the rim of the fountain next to the blonde- the biology major was her boyfriend, after all. He watched her with a fond gaze, almost enraptured by her even as she completely blanked him.

     “Alright, we’re here.” Melody announced.

     “And so are we.” Came the voice of Eric Baker, arriving closely followed by Dave Robinson and Zak Wilson. All three were friends and dormmates of Marty’s, and through his and Grace’s relationship they all knew each other.

     Grace closed her notebook and set it aside. “Great, you’re all here! So, things have been hectic recently, but we’ve all got a week of vacation coming up soon, so I thought we could all use a vacation.” She began excitedly. “My family has a ranch in Scotland county, about an hour from here. It’s pretty isolated from society- no phone service, no internet or Wi-Fi, and it’s about three square miles. Arbela, the closest town, is actually the smallest in Missouri. I think we could all do with a break, so it would be really nice to get away to somewhere like that.”

     “I’ll follow you anywhere.” Marty proclaimed, leaning over to kiss Grace. “Besides, a ranch? Is there any livestock there?”

     “There’s usually a couple cows and chickens, but we butchered them recently and haven’t replaced them yet. But we do have fresh milk, eggs, chicken, and beef from them, so it won’t just be canned stuff in the pantry. We can eat whatever we find.” She smiled at her boyfriend. “You’re more than welcome to explore the barn and animal pens.”

      He punched the air. “Yes!” His excitement made sense- his interest in his minor in animal science was a direct result of cherished childhood visits to his uncle’s farm. “You’re spoiling me, honey.”

      Melody frowned. “Your family won’t mind? It sounds nice, but I don’t want to intrude.”

     Grace smirked. “My family’s on vacation in Europe right now, so it’d be just the eight of us.”

     Eric shrugged. “Sure, I’m in. I’ll have nothing better to do.”

     “Absolutely count me in.” Dave agreed enthusiastically, almost immediately after Eric had spoken. Melody and Beth exchanged looks, and the former wiggled her eyebrows.

     Timidly, Beth cleared her throat and raised her hand. “Is it safe?”

     Grace rolled her eyes, looking annoyed. “Yes, perfectly safe. I know every nook and cranny of that place. The bees won’t be too bad this time of year, and there’s probably some snakes and spiders about, but nothing major.”

     Melody shrugged. “Alright, I’m in.”

     Beth chewed her lip for a minute before nodding. “Yeah, me too.”

     “Well if you’re all going, so am I.” Agreed Natalie.

     “Zak?” Marty questioned. “Don’t back out on me now, man.”

     Zak rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. “Chill, man. I was about to say ‘yes’ anyway.”

     “Great!” Grace smiled. “Now, this is my turf, my idea, so Miss Leadership’s gonna need to take a backseat, okay?” She spoke with a saccharine condescension with a pointed look at Melody.

     Melody rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Grace. It’s just my major. You’re taking us to a family ranch; you’re in charge. We might not be each other’s favorite person, but I do respect you, and I hope you respect me.”

      “Preach, queen.” Beth agreed, nodding emphatically. Grace rolled her eyes. She didn’t like Beth that much- in fact, Melody and Natalie wondered how neither of them had moved out of the dorm to escape the other. Or that Grace hadn’t tried to pressure Beth out- Grace was a psychology major with a minor in cognitive science, after all. If anyone could do it, it was her.

     Zak raised his hand. “When do we leave?”

     “Uh, I was thinking this coming Sunday. That’ll give us Saturday to pack, the whole week to be there, and all of the Sunday after to come back.” Grace replied. The group nodded, working out packing lists and schedules in their heads.

     “Guess we’ve got some packing to do.”

[izacore]

Jeg er dansk men forstår sagtens både norsk og svensk 🙋‍♀️ mente heller ikke du var svensk. Jeg kan desværre ikke hjælpe med det svenske men held og lykke med opgaven🍀🌻

ahhh så jag var fel, förlåt 🙈🙈🙈 och ingen fara, jag trodde inte att du menade att jag var svenska haha yeah, det är som typ superpower för er att ni kan förstå varandra så lätt!!! tack så mycket 💗💗💗 jag har skrivit nästan två sidor idag vilket är hmmm två sidor fler än jag har skrivit på en månad så kanske kommer jag att avsluta mina studier i år. tack igen och jag hoppas att du är trygg 💗

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [17] - Loyalty

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter and the story!❤

Summary: Friendship requires loyalty.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, slow burn.

Word Count: 6100 

Series Masterlist

You had to admit, you did not think that you would be spending your afternoons reading through gossip papers with your name on them when you first moved into your father’s house. You were lying on your stomach, kicking your legs back and forth lazily as your eyes darted over the lines, and you heaved a sigh, burying your face into the pillow.

“I have read it already, it’s not bad,” Lucie said and you lifted your head.

“Oh it’s not that it’s bad,” you mumbled as she showed you a pair of earrings, and you shook your head before sitting up in the bed. “It’s just that…”

She raised her brows. “Hm?”

“I just miss him.”

“My lady, you saw him two days ago.”

You let out a whine and fell back to the bed “Exactly! I am in love, I must be exempt of these—these wretched rules!”

“That is not how the world works at all.”

“It should be how it works,” you insisted. “If you ask me, anyone who is in love should be free to see their love whenever they want.”

She scoffed a laugh and held up another pair of earrings, and you shrugged.

“Yes, I suppose,” you said sulkily and walked to the mirror to put them on. The folded paper on your vanity caught your eye and you reached out to grab it while Lucie fixed the ribbons in your hair.

“Mr Sinclair’s poem?” she asked and you looked up from the lines.

“It is a very nice gesture, but my heart belongs to another,” you said. “I do wonder how Lady Whistledown heard about the poem though.”

“Didn’t you say he was talking about it in the ballroom?”

“That’s what Cece and Benedict told me.”

“Something tells me he was not very secretive when he sent it too,” Lucie pointed out. “He called you a nymph?”

You nodded and held up the paper. “Yes, see? Then I saw a nymph so dazzling, the ballroom coming to a still, she sent my heart galloping— meh.”

“…Meh?”

“Well I—I gather he means well, even though he hasn’t stopped talking about himself once during our dance. I could barely get a word in.”

Lucie shrugged her shoulders. “I gather he means more than well, though he could work on his lines,” she said. “Have you sent a thank you note?”

“Not yet.”

She shot you a look. “My lady.”

“I know, I know!”

“You must send a thank you note today, no matter who holds your affections,” she said. “You don’t want to look ungrateful.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not at all, it is such a kind gesture, I just…I’ve been distracted.”

“How about Monsieur Allard?” she asked, trying to get you to think of anything but Anthony. “Lady Whistledown said you danced with him on the last ball.”

“I did,” you said. “He’s very pleasant still.”

“And I’m sure you’ve missed having a conversation in French with someone other than me?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I kind of liked it better when Anthony accidentally butchered the language for me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He said something to me in French because we were talking about it while we were dancing and he mispronounced a word and Lucie, you should’ve heard!” You turned to her with a big smile. “It was the sweetest thing in the entire world!”

Lucie stared at you for a couple of seconds, then shook her head.

“Oh this is not going to get easier, is it?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She held you by the arm to make you stand up. “Come now my lady, you must write the thank you note to Mr. Sinclair. No use delaying it, you can do it in the drawing room.”

You nodded and let her lead you out of the room.

“Elias all but kicked me out of his room this morning,” you mused. “Is he out yet or?”

“Not yet I think.”

“Well, I will give him another half an hour and then I’m going to bother him into leaving his room,” you said as you reached the bottom of the stairs, then went past the Duke’s study. “He can’t keep sulking there, he has to get Cecily back.”

“Y/N?” the Duke’s voice carried out into the hallway and you turned your head. “Do you have a moment?”

You pulled your brows together, confusing swirling in your mind before you approached the Duke’s study to peek your head in.

“You asked for me, your Grace?”

“Yes, please come in—no need for that,” he stopped you before you could even curtsy and you approached the seat across from his desk to sit down.

“How are you?”

“I’m well,” you said after a beat. “And you?”

He waved a hand in the air. “I’m alright. I figured we could talk about your uh…” he took a deep breath as if the very mention annoyed him. “Your suitors?”

Oh.

Oh this was going to be absolute torture, and it was all because you had been ungrateful to Mr. Sinclair’s nymph poem.

“My suitors?” you repeated. “I don’t…I don’t really—”

“You’re not the only one who reads Whistledown,” he said as you turned the folded paper in between your fingers. “And I hear things.”

“What things?” you couldn’t help but ask and he tilted his head.

“That you have admirers,” he stated and checked a paper on his desk and you blinked a couple of times.

“You have a list?”

“Makes it easier to keep the count,” he said. “I’ve heard about a certain Baron Grant-?”

“Oh he recently got betrothed to Miss Alice,” you said. “It was announced in the paper yesterday if I’m not mistaken. Purely business, Cece says.”

He raised his brows. “He sent you flowers and then proposed to Miss Alice?”

“Yes but I don’t mind,” you stated. “I had Elias turn him down on my behalf before that.”

“Marriage in the ton is a horserace, honestly…” he mumbled and scratched out the name. “Mr Oakley?”

“He has an illegitimate child from a maid and he rejected them both. I would never.”

“Good riddance,” he scratched out the name and checked the Whistledown’s paper before going back to his list. “This is quite new but, Lord Trenlove?”

“Cecily’s brother?” you asked. “We only danced once, but he is a very nice person. I gather we will be good friends when Elias snaps out of his moping and takes action.”

“Dear God, is he still moping?”

“He’s in his room.”

The Duke heaved a sigh, shaking his head to himself and took a look at the list.

“And Mr. Sinclair sent you a poem?”

You fiddled with the paper in your hand and nodded. “Yes he did.”

“I’m confused, which Mr. Sinclair is this?”

“The third son,” you said helpfully. “It was confusing for me too at first, they have eight sons I’m told.”

“Why are they all trying to get married this season with such an undue haste? Is someone dying?”

“I’m still unsure about the reason but I will figure it out by the time the season ends.”

“Did you like the poem?”

“I was just on my way to write him a thank you note,” you said. “Mr. Sinclair is…very enthusiastic.”

He shot you a sympathetic glance. “Was it that bad?”

“I don’t wish to be punished further for my hubris so I will just say that he will make a lady very happy one day,” you hesitated for a second. “Preferably one who can’t read.”

The Duke let out a chuckle and cleared his throat. “Understood. And this Parisian knight?”

“Cavalier Pierre Allard,” you said. “He is a great gentleman, we have much in common.”

“I see,” he muttered. “Does he live in Paris?”

“Yes, but his mother’s side of the family is here so he’s visiting,” you said and that made his frown deeper.

“That’s useful information to keep in mind,” he said and his eyes fell on the next name on the list. “And Lord Bridgerton.”

The mere mention of his name was enough to make your head snap up and you repressed the bright smile threatening to pull at your lips, but the hopeful light in your eyes must’ve caught his attention because he stared at you for a couple of seconds.

“Oh no,” he murmured, running a hand over his face and you sat up straighter.

“He’s not my suitor,” you managed to say and he looked up from the list in front of him before reaching out to open his drawer, then took out a stack of papers and put them on the desk.

“These are all the Whistledown papers about you two.”

“Well—there’s an explanation for that actually,” you started the sentence without so much as an idea on how to continue it. “You see, we— he—he asked me on a dance when I first got here and he was only being kind, and Lady Whistledown misunderstood it and that influenced her other writings.” You nodded to yourself. “Yes. That is what happened.”

He pushed at the paper. “Y/N, Lord Bridgerton is a terrible idea.”

“Is this about the fine china incident?” you asked “He brought down the whole cabinet when he was a boy and that’s why you dislike him?”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s a contributing factor.”

“Because I couldn’t help but notice we have a full set.”

“Y/N.”

“And you’re a duke, so—”

“He is a rake.”

You held your breath and nodded again, your lips pursed.

“Mm hm,” you said. “I’m aware but he’s not my suitor. I would never—I would never consider being in a courtship with him.”

You were getting quite good at lying in your opinion.

“Good, because you cannot trust rakes much less one like Anthony Bridgerton,” he said. “The number of his conquests is more than the number of gowns you own.”

There was a bitter taste at the back of your throat but you smiled calmly.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ve heard. Everyone talks of it.”

“And the fact that he does not hide it makes me think he isn’t planning on changing his ways anytime soon. He would not make a good husband, so please make sure to—”

He was cut off when the butler announced Anthony’s name and your heart started pacing in your chest.

“Speak of the devil…” he murmured as his eyes stopped on you while you shifted your weight in your seat. “You may leave if you’d like.”

You jumped on your feet but before you could even reach the door, you heard him say your name again, making you turn around.

“Chaperone,” he reminded you. “Take your maid with you if you’re planning on greeting him.”

“Of course,” you said and as soon as you stepped out of the room, you hastened your steps with Lucie by your side before you stopped in the foyer, clutching the paper tight.

“Lucie, will you please keep guard by the door and tell me if anyone comes closer?” you whispered and she frowned.

“But they frown upon it, if anyone heard—”

“No one will, just let me know if Elias or anyone at all comes closer.”

She gripped your wrist before you could take a step.

“My lady, you—” she hesitated. “I’m glad that you’re in love but please do not get lost in the feeling. Everyone tells you to be cautious for a reason.”

“I am being cautious,” you whispered back. “I want a moment with him but nothing else will happen, you know that. I merely missed him beyond words, Lucie.”

She heaved a sigh.

“I will keep guard by the door and knock and come in if anyone comes closer so that we can claim I was there all along,” she said and you giggled, hugging her tight before making your way to the drawing room. You pressed a hand over your chest, feeling your wild heartbeat before you gripped the doorframe and peeked your head in.

The sight of him was more than enough to make a bright smile appear your face and those familiar butterflies fluttered in your stomach when his gaze fell on you, a smile pulling at his lips as well.

“My lady,” he said, his voice warming your insides and you stepped into the room, your hands clasped behind you.

“My lord.”

“Where’s your chaperone?”

You shrugged your shoulders playfully, your nose up in the air while you sauntered in the room, still keeping your distance from him. “By the door.”

He raised his brows, tilting his head. “Careful there, you’re playing with fire.”

“Oh well, I suppose I could invite her if you insist,” you said and turned to the door but before you knew it, he had already grabbed you by your upper arm to pull you to him, making you let out a small squeal. You giggled as he backed you to the wall, his pleasant scent filling your lungs.

“Don’t you dare rob me of my moments alone with you,” he murmured, “They are very hard to come by.”

His lips brushed over yours, making you melt in his arms as you stood on your tiptoes, then heaved a sigh when he pulled back. He caressed over your cheekbone, making you steal a kiss from him, coaxing out a smile.

“I missed you,” he murmured and your heart skipped a beat.

“I missed you too,” you said, pouting. “Beyond words. Even my dreams were—” you held your breath, scrunching up your face but it was way too late, he had already heard it.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked out, already aware that he would in no way let it go, and of course…

Of course he did not.

“What was that?”

“I don’t—” you stammered, looking up at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You dreamed of me?”

You tried to swallow the nervousness and averted your gaze down to fiddle with the folded paper but he curled a finger under your chin to tilt your head up.

“Y/N.”

Panic was slowly poisoning your system and you took a trembling breath.

“I know that it’s disrespectful.” Your voice was inaudible even to your ears. “And very inappropriate but I didn’t mean it, I swear.”  

Anthony looked very amused. “Disrespectful?” he repeated and you nodded.

“Yes, to you.”

“To me?” He let out a chuckle. “And what exactly did you dream of, darling?”

Your stomach did a happy flip at the term of endearment and you nibbled on your bottom lip.

“We…we were at the greenhouse,” you mumbled, still unable to look him in the eye. “And um—there was no music so that you could…you could kiss me longer this time. I woke up before you could kiss me for the second time though.”

A silence fell upon you and it was only when you raised your glances you could see the fond smile on his face.

“That’s all?”

You nodded and he repressed a chuckle, tracing the line of your bottom lip.

“I dream of you too.”

You pulled your brows together. “Are your dreams as inappropriate as mine?”

He bit inside his cheek as if he was trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

“…Something like that.”

“What do you dream of then?”

A mischievous smirk appeared on his face, making you blink in confusion.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing,” he said and changed the subject, “What is this I hear about Sinclair sending you a poem?”

“Oh he did!” you said. “I was just coming here to write him a thank you note.”

He hummed. “Can I see the poem?”

You held up the paper so that he would take it from you and he unfolded it, his gaze getting darker as his eyes skimmed the lines. You wanted to smooth out the frown lines between his brows but managed to contain yourself since you weren’t quite sure if he wanted you to touch him; it was probably inappropriate.

He scoffed at the poem, distracting you from your own thoughts.

“It was nice of him,” your remark was light and his jaw clenched for a moment before he held the paper between his pointer and middle finger so that you could take it back.

“It was foolish of him,” he commented and you blinked a couple of times.

“But why?”

He smiled as he leaned in to press his lips on your forehead, making your eyes flutter close.

“My nymph…” he muttered before dipping his head to kiss the tip of your nose, a giggle escaping from you. “My siren.” His lips brushed over yours. “My darling.”

The knock on the door snapped you both out of it and you held your breath, Anthony taking a step back as you went past him. Lucie entered the room.

“Lord Westcliff just entered the hallway,” she said and you nodded, then rushed to the writing table to sit down while Anthony leaned back to the wall, his gaze still burning you.

“Good afternoon,” Elias said as he walked inside, then looked between you two. “What are you two doing here?”

“I was accompanying Lord Bridgerton while he waited for you,” you said. “I had to write a thank you note to Mr. Sinclair and I like the quill here better.”

Elias made a face. “Ugh, that poem…” he murmured and turned to Anthony. “What’s going on and why aren’t you leaving me in my misery?”

Anthony rolled his eyes.

“Eli, I will drag you out of here if need be,” he said, making you stifle a laugh. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

“You’ve done it before?” you asked and he nodded.

“Back in Eton.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You were moping in your bed, I had to.”

“I’m trying to get used to the fact that I will spend the rest of my life with Lady Miriam, I think I deserve to have some time for myself.”

“You’re not going to spend the rest of your life with her,” you said. “Over my dead body.”

“Listen, Daphne and Simon are making all of us go to Hyde Park for a picnic, and apparently a bunch of people are going to be there.” Anthony said. “So you’re coming.”

You gasped and turned to Elias. “That’s a wonderful idea!”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“That’s really not my issue,” Anthony deadpanned. “I’m serious. I will drag you out.”

Elias let out a whine and slumped down on the sofa and Anthony stole a look at you.

“And I hope you will join us as well, Lady Y/N?”

“Of course,” you smiled brightly. “I will make sure to send you a letter if Elias refuses to join, so that you can drag him outside.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Elias made a face and motioned between you two. “I don’t like this alliance.”

“Too bad,” Anthony retorted as he walked to the door. “Lady Y/N.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” you said warmly and he bowed, then left the room. You heard the front door open and close, then turned to Elias who let out a whine as if he was being tortured.

“Elias?”

“Hm?”

“Would a poem make you feel better?”

“Oh God, please no.”

                                                  *

As Anthony had said, the Hyde Park was full of people. The weather was considerably better, so everyone wanted to celebrate it by being outdoors. There were so many couples strolling along the park, some on the boats in the lake and some having some light snacks under the trees.

You had darted for Cecily as soon as you saw her and Elias had all but disappeared into thin air by the time you turned your head. Her brother Lord Hugh Trenlove was with her again to chaperone her and he seemed to be very welcoming to you.

“Mr Randolph invited me,” Cecily said as you three stood by the trees. “He said we could get on a rowboat.”

You made a face. “Ugh, Mr. Randolph? Really?”

“Y/N.”

“What?” you asked innocently, making Hugh chuckle.

“You don’t approve, Lady Y/N?”

“I haven’t met him yet but no I don’t.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” he jested. “You could sit between them, since I can’t.”

“Hugh!”

“I’d love to do that, but I’m afraid being on any boat or ship makes me sick,” you said. “And I don’t want to cause a scene and read about it on Lady Whistledown.”

“Oh true,” Hugh said, “Speaking of Lady Whistledown, have you read that I’m apparently courting you?”

You let out a clear laugh. “I have,” you said. “I just wish you would’ve told me beforehand.”

“It was news to me as well,” he grinned and found someone over your shoulder and turned to you. “Don’t turn your head now, but your other suitor is looking.”

Your raised your brows. “Who?”

“The rake,” Cecily muttered. “I cannot believe you dislike Mr. Randolph and—Y/N, you’re smiling.”

“I’m not!” you defended yourself, trying to keep a straight face while a lady came to talk to Hugh, but Hugh muttered something to her which seemed to make her stomp on her foot and walk away.

“Who was that?” Cecily asked and Hugh shrugged his shoulders.

“An old friend. Anyway, Bridgerton though? So Whistledown was right for once?”

You shook your head, your cheeks burning. “Not at all.”

“Yes she is.”

“Cece!”

“What?” she grinned at you. “I’d have to be blind not to notice that sour look on his face whenever you dance with anyone else.”

Before you could even reply, a lord came closer to Hugh and cleared his throat.

“Lord Trenlove.”

“Mr. Sinclair.”

“Another one?” you mouthed at Cecily who shrugged.

“May we have a word please? I’d like to…explain myself.”

Hugh raised his brows. “I don’t believe I want or need any explanations, Mr. Sinclair. And I am chaperoning my sister, in case it has escaped your notice.”

Mr Sinclair bowed at Cecily and then you.

“Lady Y/N. My brother sent you a poem I hear.”

You blinked a couple of times.

“He has,” you said after a beat. “For which I’m incredibly grateful. How lucky of him to have such a…talent.”

“He will be glad to hear you’re here.”

Oh no.

Oh no, this was yet another problem you did not want to deal with today.

Mr Sinclair bowed again and walked away from you as you let out a whine and Cecily turned to Hugh.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

“The fourth.”

“And he is…?”

“Another old friend,” Hugh said calmly. “Anyway, how bad was the poem?”

“I’m not going to comment on that,” you said. “I’ve been punished for my hubris already this afternoon, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Bridgerton really does not look happy.” Hugh commented, “Is it about the poem or me, do we think? I mean I’d love to take the full credit but…”

“I’m guessing both,” Cecily muttered and you rolled your eyes.

“You two,” you motioned between them, “are deranged. By the way, do we know any place in the park that will ensure that I stay away from Mr. Sinclair’s sight?”

“This is a park Y/N, unless you’re planning on digging a hole on the ground, I don’t think so.”

“Not to mention, I don’t think your rake lover—”

“Shh! Not so loud!”

“What?” He had the audacity to look innocent. “I was merely saying he does not look like he will be sharing your attention anytime soon. Not willingly anyway.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you talk of,” you managed to say while Mr. Randolph came closer.

“Miss Cecily, the rowboat is ready.”

Cecily smiled at him. “Oh that’s lovely, thank you Mr. Randolph.”

You tried to control your expression while Hugh grinned before leaning in slightly to mutter into your ear so that they wouldn’t hear.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will overturn the boat if he proposes.”

A burst of laughter escaped from your lips as you covered your mouth and Hugh stole a look over your shoulder again.

“Oh I was wondering what would make him move, I guess that was it.”

“What?” you whispered but before you could even say anything, you heard Anthony’s voice behind you.

“Lady Y/N.”

Your heart started to pace in your chest as you turned around to look at him. His jaw was clenched as he glared at Hugh who looked like he was having way too much fun.

“Lord Bridgerton.”

“Trenlove,” Anthony said drily before turning to you. “I was just going to ask if you’d like to join me and my family, seeing that your brother is busy.”

“Of course, I’d be delighted!” you all but chirped and reached out to touch Cecily’s arm. “I will find you later, alright?”

She nodded. “Are you sure you can’t join us?”

“You don’t want me to join you, trust me,” you said before turning to Hugh. “Lord Trenlove.”

“Your presence is always a pleasure, Lady Y/N.”

With that, you and Anthony walked away from them and you stole a look at him. Even a mere observer would be able to tell how tensed up he was, a fire burning in his dark eyes and you smiled up at him sweetly.

“Is Eloise here too?”

“With Penelope,” Anthony said curtly and you licked your lips.

“Oh. What about your mother? I’d like to greet her if she’s here.”

“She was with Lady Danbury the last I checked. What was he whispering into your ear?”

“Lord Trenlove?” you asked. “Oh he was just joking about how he would overturn the boat if Mr. Randolph proposed. He knows I don’t approve of—oh he has got to be jesting!”

Anthony seemed to be distracted by that remark and followed your line of sight to the lake.

“Ah. That.”

You gawked at Lady Miriam and Elias on a rowboat and while Lady Miriam looked like she was very happy, Elias almost looked…

Numb. He looked numb and to be honest, miserable.

“He is joking,” you said. “Tell me he is joking.”

“It’s not like he’s proposing, Y/N.”

“I don’t care, he can’t do that!”

“He’s not doing anything Miss Cecily is not doing with Mr. Randolph as we speak.”

“But that’s his fault too!” you exclaimed and took in a breath. “Unbelievable. What does he even see in her?”

“Nothing other than duty and centuries of dukes that made the same choice.”

“Well, just because centuries of dukes were miserable does not mean I will let him be miserable as well,” you stated. “I don’t like that smug smile of hers.”

“Mm hm, I could tell.”

“And her dress, what even are those accessories? She looks like she’s wearing a carpet.”

He repressed a small laughter but you clenched your teeth, shaking your head.

“Anthony?”

“Yes my darling?”

You were way too focused on Elias and Lady Miriam to even notice the term of endearment.

“I have a proposal for you,” you said. “I know that I get seasick but I think I can control myself for a short time. Can we get on a rowboat as well and crash it into their boat? It’d look like an accident.”

He tried to repress his chuckle. “You’re willing to drown your brother?”

“He can swim!” you said and thought for a moment. “I think.”

“You think?”

You tried to bite down your smile at his teasing remark. “And if he can’t, he will have been drowned for love. I cannot think of a more noble way to die.”

He let out a hearty laugh, the rare, yet pleasant sound making your smile wider and he offered you his arm.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you somewhere else before you commit fratricide.”

You put your hand on his arm. “Can we eat something too please? Anger makes me incredibly hungry.”

That coaxed another chuckle out of him and he nodded.

“Of course,” he said, a fond light playing in his dark eyes. “Whatever the angry lady wants. Let’s get you something to eat.”

                                               *

You liked spending time with Anthony’s family almost too much. Even though you were dying to be with him alone, when Anthony took you to them, you almost forgot that you were there for him. Not that you could spend any time with him even if you wanted, even though Hyacinth looked very delighted to have you there and asked you a thousand questions, soon enough her brother Gregory started to taunt her so they ended up running around and Anthony had to leave to keep an eye on them.

It was only when Lady Bridgerton asked you whether Elias would be joining you that you realized he was nowhere to be seen as well.

“I’d better go and find him,” you said as you stood up. “Excuse me.”

“Y/N, we’re coming with,” Eloise said as Penelope stood up. “I need to stretch my legs.”

“Oh of course,” you said as you linked your arm through Eloise’s and you three started walking.

“So,” she said. “Could you talk to Cecily about this?”

“Just once,” you said. “You?”

“Same.”

“Penelope?”

“I tried to, but she refused to give details, she was very sad.”

“She would not marry that Mr Randolph though, would she?” you asked and Eloise heaved a sigh.

“I don’t know really,” she murmured. “I mean she cares a lot about Elias, but since Elias is being an utter fool, no offense…”

“None taken, you’re right,” you said. “I’ve been trying to snap him out of it but—”

“Lady Y/N!”

You turned your head and Eloise scoffed beside you.

“Great.”

Lady Miriam was sitting with some ladies by a tent, some of the lords and ladies having conversations around her and she gave you a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. You pulled your arm out of Eloise’s and forced a smile as well.

“Lady Miriam.”

“Your brother has just left to look for you,” she said. “I’m afraid we’ve lost the track of time on the boat, the slight disadvantage of a lovely company.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Oh but please stay a little more,” she said. “You too Miss Eloise and Miss Penelope. I gather you two are close with Lord Westcliff and we must get to know each other a little more, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No thank you,” Eloise said and Penelope raised her brows, looking between you and her. A lady whispered something into Lady Miriam’s ear, making her giggle.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” she said when she saw your quizzical look. “We were just…talking about your friend Miss Cecily. Lord Westcliff and I saw her with her brother and Mr. Randolph. How lucky of her to find herself a suitor when her sisters couldn’t, am I right?”

Eloise narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth but Penelope elbowed her.

“I beg your pardon?” you asked and she waved a hand in the air.

“Don’t get me wrong please, I’m merely worried about her. She looks very sad, that poor thing. She did not hope that something would come out of those dances, did she? Considering your brother is a future duke.”

“I think it depends,” you said silkily. “Do you hope something will come out of that little boat trip?”

Her smile faded a little and she sat up straighter.

“I think your brother and I make a good couple. My father is a duke just like yours,” she eyed you up and down. “I mean…”

The implication was there, it was there even if she didn’t finish her sentence.

Elias could say even the rumor of it was nonsense until he was out of breath, but there was always going to be some people in the ton still would question your parentage.

You needed to keep your anger in check. You were in a crowd, there were people watching and you just wanted to go home and bury yourself under the covers because even though you knew it was a whispered scandal, it didn’t mean—

It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt every time you heard these false accusations.

You gritted your teeth and shot her a smile, then turned around to walk away but before you could even take two steps, you heard her voice again.

“I’ll have my mother send you an invitation for tea, Lady Y/N,” she called out, making people around you fall silent. “We’d hate to get you snatched by social climbers after all.”

Oh.

Oh alright.

That was it.

You stopped dead in your tracks, a spark of fury shooting through you as you cracked your neck, rolling back your shoulder.

Disrespecting you was one thing, but disrespecting someone you loved was another. Cecily was your best friend, she was one of the very few people who saw through the scandal and actually got to know you, and you would be damned if you let someone badmouth her or call her a social climber.

And thankfully, your mother had trained you very well on that issue.

Lady Miriam was a duke’s daughter, and just like Anthony had told you before, being presented to the ton as a duke’s daughter meant something. It meant that both men and women would be watching her for completely different reasons; she would have to be fashionable and desirable.

And considering both men and women were watching you right now, it just meant you had to attack her from both perspectives as well.

You turned around and narrowed your eyes before you managed to smile, then took a step towards her.

“I’d love that actually,” you said. “I’m sure I could learn a lot about how everything works in London, because it’s so much different than Paris. Take you for example.”

A smug look appeared on her face. “I take pride in setting a standard for London’s ladies as the diamond.”

Oh perfect, she had taken the bait without so much as an effort on your part.

“See, exactly because of that we must talk,” you said. “Because what you’re wearing right now would be completely unacceptable in Paris.”

All the chatter ceased instantly and Eloise’s eyes widened while Penelope tried to repress her smirk.

Anthony was wrong about one thing earlier. Perhaps people did not copy you completely because of France, but France was still the biggest fashion influence here, especially among the ladies.

“I’m sorry?”

You waved a hand in the air. “I mean it’s obvious that I have much to learn about London because I could swear I saw you wear those earrings at the last ball. Wearing rose cut agate? Twice? It would be enough to get outcasted in Paris, not in here though, as it seems.”

Couple of ladies reached out to touch their own earrings as if they wanted to make sure they weren’t wearing the same gemstone.

“But I suppose it’s the wise choice,” you said. “Financially, I mean.”

There it was.

The impact you had wanted from men.

Men of the ton did not know anything about the fashion nor did they care, but they knew the implication of a lack of dowry when they heard one. You could swear you could see a couple of them slowly step away from Lady Miriam and her friends like they couldn’t wait to put distance between them, just in case.

“I…” she looked like she was at loss for words but you were nowhere near done.

“Not to mention the beadwork on your dress,�� you cut her off before she could say anything else. “We wore those last year in Paris, but I should applaud you. I’ve always admired the people who are not afraid of looking out of fashion. Very much a risky decision of course but… I see that it makes you happy, so who can judge really?”

Everyone. Everyone could and would judge, that was the ton’s favorite pastime activity after all.

A couple of ladies –her friends, you supposed- stepped back from her as if they could be contaminated and you repressed a grin.

“Well this has been fun,” you commented. “But I’m afraid I must find my brother. As you said, he is a future duke and his knowledge on what is in demand and acceptable among ladies is no more than any other man’s, so I shall be very happy to enlighten him about his boat partner’s…” You eyed her up and down. “Um, humble fashion choices.”  

You could see that Penelope and Eloise were watching you with identical smiles and you tilted your head, keeping your gaze on Lady Miriam who was gawking at you.

“But I’d love to have tea with you, let’s set it up sometime.” you said and nodded at her. “Have a wonderful day, Lady Miriam.”

With that, you walked away from her, unable to stop the grin on your face.

Chapter 18