#my sister even said she would never employ me

[ignitelimelight]

I may have girlbossed too close to the sun and made myself look presentable on paper to the point that a disability lawyer won't take my case. Which is funny because, like my girlbossing despite being nonbinary, it seems i've distilled the complexity and nuance of my particular disability into something palatable. And palatable does not get disability.

[rushtoprove]

to deceive a prince

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: general audiences word count: 6k+ summary: when aemond targaryen shows interest in courting your little sister, she employs your help to capture his attention through sharing letters and notes, all the while acting as if you are her. it was never meant to become so complicated. warnings: medieval catfishing? rom-com vibes. a little bit of fluff because my masterlist was getting to angsty so i needed something to lighten it up. catfishing bad in real life obviously. This has been flagged as mature by the tumblr gods but i promise it’s not.

“Please!” You wanted to curse your sister. Could she not see you were enjoying the peace of the gardens? That you were content simply reading beneath the oak tree that kept you hidden from the surrounding courtiers? Why did she need to pester you with such idiotic conversation? 

“Repeat it again?” You were in disbelief at what your younger sister had just requested of you, but her excitement rendered her oblivious to the discomfort. 

“Prince Aemond requested me as a dance partner at the ball last night and now I am in love! But I woke up to this letter beneath my door and I do not know how to reply! Or what some of the words mean. He was so sullen with me last night that I thought he must have hated me so. But he likes me!” She spun around in childish glee, ignoring your widened eyes and cruel laughter. 

“So, you want me to write back to him? As you? This morning did you not call him a tedious bore? You said you regretted wasting a dance on him, if I recall correctly?” 

“Yes, yes, I know! I was too devastated that he did not like me, so I had no choice but to mask my despair. I know you understand what I’m asking for, I do not know why this is the fourth time you want me to repeat it you obviously know what I’m talking about!” 

“Tell me one more time for good luck.” You could help but play with Mariyanna now, enjoying her desperation. You both had only just been sent to attend court three days ago, but it was no surprise to you that she would catch a suitor’s eye so quick. Even if it was the sullen prince with an ill temperament that many had warned you to take care around. 

“Stop! Please sister, please!?” 

“Many say he is a cruel man little Anna. Heartless even. Hell bent on revenge from years ago. And that he does not smile or laugh. I’m surprised he danced.” You sighed as you lowered your book and finally gave your attention to her. She was three years your junior, but you often treated her as a baby. She let her knees sink to the cold earth so that you both sat facing each other and Mariyanna clasped your hands together tightly. 

“His mother requested he dance so he could begin trying to find a suitable wife. Apparently, he won’t accept anything his family suggest so he is being given the freedom to choose. As long as she is suitable enough to join their family.” 

“He told you all this?” 

“No, his brother Aegon told me after he saw us dance for the second time.” 

“The drunk?” 

“Hush sister. But yes... that one. You would know all this if you attended!” She tried to glare at you in disappointment, but her smile was uncontainable. She was truly getting swept up in a fantasy that was created less than a day ago. You rolled your eyes at her comment before lifting your book back up. 

“You are a fool little sister.” 

“Imagine it though! Me! Marrying a prince and becoming a princess! I think I would fit well into that duty.” Her eyes glazed over as she imagined her possible future, but once she returned to reality, and quickly returned to begging. You groaned as your book was covered by the letter Prince Aemond had slid beneath her door, turning your nose up at the courting language. It was infected with imagery of nature and copious amounts of sentences comparing sweet Mariyanna to different flowers. You moaned in discomfort. 

“PLEASE!?” She cried. You did not want to. You loathed the idea. But you were always ready to do whatever your sister required, so with a sigh you wrote a letter in return. She complained it was not filled with enough declarations and promises of love and duty, but you simply waved her away. 

“You do not want to seem desperate for him. He will think you are only after his title.” And like always, your sister followed whatever you said. After that she sat wide-eyed as you quickly wrote down little sentences that quietly asked to be answered. You made small jokes about their previous night as you listened to your sister retell every moment in detail. The moment it was finished she bounced up quickly and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.  

“I love you!” You had no time to reply before she spun on heel and raced up the grass hill, desperate to find a maid to deliver the letter. 

“That’s the only time Mariyanna!” You called out after her, but she was already gone. 

+++ 

It was only a day later that your little sister had come running back with a letter grasped tightly in her grip. This time she was interrupting your alone time in the library. 

“He replied!” She squealed before shoving you along the stone bench to sit beside you. You thanked the gods no one ever seemed to come to this part of the castle, as they much preferred the newly renovated library across the other side of the red keep. She gave no time for you to reply before it was shoved into your face. 

Mariyanna, 

I must apologize as there has been a mistake. I did not send any letter to you after our dances. I believe my mother has taken it upon myself to incite conversation between us. However, I quite enjoyed your reply, and I would like to talk more this evening. Please do me the pleasure of accompany me on a walk along the grounds. 

Prince Aemond 

“My letter has captured him! Can you believe it!? A prince!” You almost laughed at her. Almost.  

“Why are you here and not racing down to find him?” 

“I do not know what to talk about I need some tips. I know he studies philosophy and he read many books according to Lady Ariyanna. I need you to give me some talking points!” She begged. 

“You want talking points on books you’ve never read? Little Anna I am sure you must simply be yourself and he will fall in love with you. Do not mould yourself into something you are not. He would be a fool not to be enticed instantly for your charm and beauty.” You brushed a strand of hair from her face and smiled at the delight that had consumed her entire being. 

“I know! And I won’t! I just need some extra wit. I need your brains. You are the most intelligent person I know. Just this once. Afterwards I shall use my own letters and interests.” You sat staring at one another for a second before you simply sighed. 

“Fine.” 

You had one hour to drill small jests and facts about your favourite books. You discussed quickly about Ten Thousand Ships and the journey Nymeria faced in her battle to be Queen. You kept it short and simply, but hoped it was enough for her to act out her silly little infatuation with the young prince. For your sister’s sake.   She could not sit still from the nerves of what was to come, and you swore there was no way she would recall everything. It felt she was hardly listening, but your sister was treating the whole thing quite seriously.  

When she left you, you moved to gaze out from the window and looked down to the gardens below. You had the perfect view of your nervous sister. She was cautious as she moved towards the looming figure of the prince, his arms crossed behind his back and his posture standing tall. He was looking upon the oak tree you had sat yesterday but turned as he realised your sister had crept forth. They bowed, and you imagined they greeted each other, before beginning the boring small talk that comes with meeting someone new. But when you saw your sister begin laughing, and his arm move to offer itself to her, you knew your tips had paid off.  

Moving away with a sigh, you returned to your book. 

That was all you would do for their courtship now. 

+++ 

You don’t know how your sister did it, but letter upon letter you had exchanged with Prince Aemond over the last few months. It quickly became easier than breathing. His interests were the same as yours, and his humour yours too. The books he suggested kept you enticed to the very last page, and he wrote that your recommendations happened to do the very same. You found him charming, however not overbearing, and you quickly realised you had dug yourself the deepest grave. You had never loved anyone.  

Until now. 

“Mention how I enjoyed his thoughts on Lies of the Ancients! Oh, and that I have come to agree the Starks made up all their stories to look really powerful!” You looked at your sister, disturbed by her ridiculous take.  

“I will not write that.” You muttered. You don’t remember how she coerced you in to writing this letter, yet here you were, scribbling stupid quips and more enticing conversation starter. 

“It was what Aemond told me. It will show I was listening!” 

“Mary, he is playing with you. No one regards Archmaester Fomas’s writing as anything more than an old man raving his madness to the masses. If he brought it up, I believe... well, I believe he was making a joke.” You grimaced at your sister, trying hard not to imagine her nodding along to Aemond Targaryen’s dry humour. 

“Oh.” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay, well write that I thought it was a funny jest.” She leaned her weight on to your back to get a full view of the stupid letter. You groaned beneath her with a huff but decided that you would mention that you knew he was jesting with his thoughts. You did not want your sister to come off as a halfwit. Or perhaps it was that you did not want him to think you a halfwit. 

“There. Mariyanna, I truly mean it when I say this is the last time, I shall do this. It does not feel right to mislead Prince Aemond.” You pushed the letter away in defeat for her to sign, which she happily scribbled on. You heart ached from the entire ordeal. At night you found yourself craving the idea of Aemond finding out the truth, but you also resented the idea of your sister being left broken. She brought the letter to her lips and placed a small kiss to the corner of it, leaving her lip paint to stain the very edge.  

“I know. I just don’t want to lose his attention. He is so tall and strong and princely. If it is not me who mothers his children, I do not know how I shall survive.” Her giggling was infectious, and you thought you hoped her happiness would never fade. So much so, you knew you were willing to give up your own for your sweet little sister.  

“Just... be careful little Anna. I worry you have fallen too deep into something that could implode in any moment.” You hoped she would heed your warning, but the youthfulness glee did not fade from her eyes, leaving you in doubt that she had even heard.   Her snickering suddenly came to a stop when the sound of the libraries grand door clicked open. You cursed inwardly, how many people were to invade the only peaceful part of the whole keep? She eyed you uncertainly and you quickly shrugged back in panicked confusion. She shrugged back at you even harder making you roll your eyes and point for her to see who had entered.  

“Why me?” She mouthed. You rolled your eyes and shoved her off her chair, leaving her no choice to silently toe towards the edge of the bookcase. Leaned forward in anticipation, you almost cried out in fright as she swung around in panic.  

“What!?” You hissed, bouncing to your feet in fear of whatever danger had entered. She quickly began shooing you away with her hands and began tidying the desk you had left sprawled with your readings. 

“Go!” She mouthed silently at you again. You angrily threw your hands up in frustration at her choice not to answer, but the sound of man clearing his throat halted your every movement. 

“My ears may deceive me, but I thought I heard your laughter, Lady Mariyanna.” Your jaw opened and closed in shock before you desperately began waving to your sister. 

“Not here!” You quietly begged her. You did not want to see. You did not need the image of him staring upon your sister and whispering in her ear. You wanted to preserve what you had with him in your stupid letters.  

“What do I do!? Why do I say I was in here for?” She grasped your shoulder and pulled you into her, shaking you for an answer. Stumbling in disbelief, you shook your head. You were both rattled by this turn of events, but you still could think unlike your sister. 

“Fucking reading you idiot!” You hissed, making her almost slap her forehead. 

“Right? Fuck what book?” She haphazardly began spinning on her spot, and you both desperately tried to find a book. 

“Let me come and find you, my prince!” She cried out in fake delight before staring at you franticly. You both shrugged violently at each other and began glaring in alarm.  

“You must leave. I will not be able to hide here long.” The sound of footsteps grew closer, leaving your sister no choice but to shove you away. 

“No need. Who I am to draw you away from your readings?” The voice called out. You stilled for a second over the calmness of his voice. 

“I’ll just read what you were reading.” She was alarmed by how close he was and quickly gave up the effort of finding a book. 

“No!” You cried out quietly as you stumbled behind the bookcase. She ignored your cry and left you to crouch down out of sight, biting your knuckle in shame for what was about to happen. You were secluded enough behind the shelves that you were hidden from the great Aemond Targaryen, but you found you had a perfect view of the meeting. You watched in trepidation as he slowly stepped to the table that your sister had managed to gracefully sit at, after she had calmed herself from the madness that had taken over you both. 

“My lady.” He bowed before her, leaving her nothing more than a blushing mess. If you had not have been in the clutches of utter panic at your precarious position, you would have rolled your eyes at her folly. 

“Prince Aemond. I did not expect you!” She was flustered by his towering figure leaning over her, and quickly moved to stand, but he gently lay a hand on her shoulder to keep her sitting comfortably before him. Breathing in deeply, he let his eye rake over the shelves making you quickly duck away from his gaze. It was a surprise your beating heart did not give you away for you swore every person in the kingdom could hear it. 

“No need for such formalities. It is I who has intruded upon your time; therefore, it is I who should be paying you the respect you deserve.” His tone did not match the sentiment as you had never heard such an unwavering, and proper speech come from any man in the court. No one could deny the authority that seeped from his very being, nor the power he held in his mere stance. Something quivered inside you at the sight of him, but it was in the most delicious way possible.  

“I do not consider it an intrusion my prince. I am always grateful for your company.” Mariyanna squeaked out, her face the deepest shade of pink you had ever seen. You wondered how she had managed to converse with him this far? 

“Please, you know I wish for you to call me Aemond.” The corner of his lip seemed to move upwards, and you wondered if that was his idea of a smile. Gazing upon his face, you found yourself struck by just how handsome the prince was. You had heard him to be described as frightening and dangerous, but no one had mentioned how sharp his jaw was. Your sister had informed you that his face simple, but pretty enough, and you felt the need to wring out her neck right then and there. How could she be so blind? 

“Yes, my prince.” Anna sighed out dreamily and this time not even the panic of the situation could stop you from rolling your eyes. 

“Are you enjoying your book?” Aemond enquired, reaching down and bringing the cover to his face. Your sister was too busy in her own realm of glee to notice the way his remaining eye widened in shock. You inwardly groaned. 

“Oh yes! I am learning so much! I really think it one of the greatest books ever written.” Your sister tried to feign interest, placing her chin upon her hand and smiling up at Aemond. You had groaned even louder in your head. It was a shock when Aemond let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Well... you continue to surprise me. Perhaps you shall have to tell me what you learn by the end." You could not blame Aemond for thinking your sister was being flirtatious because the book you had been reading was A Caution for Young Girls, a book banned from most libraries in the seven kingdoms for its erotica and sinfulness. It was infamous, so when it was passed back to your sister to look upon, even she knew what the novel was about. 

“Oh god no! Not me!” She cried out in shock before throwing it across the library franticly. She quickly began spewing out apologies for presenting such an ungodly object before Aemond, while he simply looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. 

“You do not need to worry. I shall not disclose it to anyone.” He tried to jest but it simply made her more frantic. 

“I’m sorry you see? It was my sister! She must always make sure she partakes in the most unproper things to displease my father. see? It was my sister! She must always make sure she partakes in the most unproper things to displease my father.” You did not miss the way she hissed, knowing fully well that she intended you to hear her anger. You flinched into yourself, mortified that the prince would now think you a sexual deviant before you were to even become acquainted. You had only wanted to know what all the fuss was about.  

“You have never mentioned a sister?” Perhaps Aemond was trying to defuse your sister’s panic, but the statement tugged at your heart hard. How had your sister not thought to mention you after all these meetings over these past few months. 

“Yes... well... she doesn’t leave her room much, you see? She, well everyone thinks she is quite simple.” The tug was so harsh you felt your entire heart shatter inside your ribcage. As if she heard, Mariyanna looked apologetically towards where you were hidden. Aemond was gazing solemnly out the window so you simply took the opportunity to make sure she could see the way your lifter your middle finger in her direction. 

“Cunt.” You mumbled, before quickly ducking once more as Aemond turned.  

“I understand. My brother is the simplest person in the entire seven kingdoms. It seems we have much in common.” This time he finally did smile down at your sister, who in return, linked her arms tightly in his. 

“Well at least we have each other to keep company.” She gazed up at Aemond from beneath her eyelashes, and you didn’t miss the way his eye softened.  

“I came here for a reason, actually.” He muttered; his gaze unbroken from hers. He frowned as she quickly moved her gaze to anywhere but his scarred skin that was hidden beneath his eye patch but continued anyways. “I wished to invite you to dinner with my siblings tonight. I would like to introduce you to my sister Heleana and younger brother Daeron. Unfortunately, Aegon will also be attending but perhaps you can invite your brainless sister to entertain him.” His description left you heart squeezed, drained of every drop of happiness and leaving it to bleed through his tight grasp. 

“She will be there. I’ll make sure of it. Now come, let us wonder the gardens! It is a beautiful day outside! Much too beautiful to be cooped up in here. It’s so dusty.” Your sister danced away merrily, happy to have succeeded in diverting away from a disastrous interaction. You swore you heard Aemond follow, so with a huff you stood straight and began stretching out your cramped limbs. When you gazed at the door, however, you saw him lingering, playing with the note you had written for him only moments ago. You watched the soft chuckle as he read it, and the way his demeanour seemed to lighten.  

“Continuing to surprise me.” He huffed, before slowly bringing the edge of it to his lips. The act was intimate, much to intimate for you to be gazing on. Stumbling back, you tried to remove yourself, but your skirt knocked down a book from a top its stack, and Aemond swung around in haste. You saw him begin stalking forward to find the source of the noise, making you cover your mouth and bite down hard on your palm.  

“Who goes there?” He whispered, prying his head around the bookcase. If Mariyanna was to renter, she would see Aemond standing above you, the only thing keeping you hidden was the books and cloths hanging over the shelf. You heard him inhale deeply, and for a moment you felt like prey being hunted by an animal. But she never came, and instead she called. 

“My Prince!” Her laughter floated about the room, making Aemond instantly straighten with a huff.  

“Hmmm.” He whispered, before turning and stalking off in her direction. You did not realised your skirt had been in plain view. 

+ 

Shamefully, you agreed to attend the meal with no argument. You would like to sit before Aemond once, even if it was to watch his courtship of your sister. Absolutely shameful. 

“I am happy you joined us, Mariyanna! My brother has talked a lot about you. A lot. Like all the time! Yesterday, I was showing him some art and he said it reminded him of this poem you had suggested he read. Even though he doesn’t like poetry. And, when you said you read that stupid book about ancient people lying, he was so amazed he didn’t shut up about it for a whole week! AND...”  

“Daeron, please, for the love of the gods shut up.” Helaena quipped up, placing a protective hand on Aemond’s sleeve. Daeron giggled mischievously, his childish humour leaving only him amused. The glare Aemond sent his way left him clutching hard at the table trying not to let himself howl out in delight. You were seated beside him, with Aegon boredly picking his teeth in the reflection of his soup spoon on you other side. Helaena was perched across from him but was seated beside her obviously favourite brother Aemond. Mariyanna was seated on his other side. This meant Aemond and yourself were seated directly across from one another, and due to Helaena forcing the dinner to be an intimate event, your legs were almost touching his under the small table. The heat that radiated off him, and the accidently touches of his long legs had you pressing your thighs together as tightly as possible.  

You do not know what possessed you to read that stupid book. 

“Thank you for being kind enough to invite me.” Your sister ducked her head in appreciation, and you quietly sighed as no one paid any mind to you. It was a shock, however, when you raised your gaze and saw Aemond staring upon you, as if analysing your very soul. Without a second thought, you stared at him in the exact same way.  

“Yes, my brother says you love all those stupid books. I’ve been trying to convince my mother to renovate that ancient library in the south corner of the keep and turn it into a theatre for us to watch plays. The commonfolk have some fucking hilarious skits.” Aegon laughed ignorantly, and you watched your sister laugh too. 

“Oh no!” Your words came before your thoughts, and everyone quickly turned to you. You quickly looked at your sister for some support only to see her looking at you in frustration. “My sister loves that library.” You coughed out, and Mariyanna quickly nodded in agreement.  

“It’s filthy. The new one is much nicer.” Aegon pointed out. Mariyanna kept nodding, getting confused with who she should comply with, but you shook your head. 

“It’s too busy. And it censors the books too much.” You muttered falling into your seat to try and hide yourself from the attention. Aemond chuckled at your words, before beginning to tap his fingers a top the table. 

“Yes. I hear you enjoy the restricted section of the library.” He smirked at you, thinking he knew a secret that you didn’t. Led to believe that he was alone in the library with your sister. But you were there, and you understood his words perfectly, leaving you reddened in shame. 

“Oh really? How obscene do you enjoy your novels?” Aegon was suddenly interested as he snaked his arm around your chair and leaned in with a grin. 

“Ugh.” You grunted out in disgust without thinking, leaving Mariyanna gasping in shock. 

“Forgive my sister she...” She was drowned out by the laughter the three siblings shared at the treatment of their brother. 

“Move away from her Aegon.” Aemond sighed. Aegon sighed in mock defeat, before turning his attention to swirling his wine. Looking away, you tried to turn your attention to your sister, but was caught by Aemond’s gaze once more. 

“You do not come to any of my mother’s dances, am I right?” Shifting nervously, you quickly shook your head. 

“I find my sister is much better at those types of things. I like to live through her little stories.” He hummed at your reply, before drawing his goblet to his lips. 

“And what do you do in your spare time? Write?” Your sister and you stared panicked at one another, before you quickly shook your head. Helaena stared confused at the three of your, but Aemond simply looked at you. Nowhere else. His eye was on you. 

“Not me.” The squeak of your voice mimicked that of your sister’s fluster under his gaze. Mariyanna was biting down hard on her lip, willing herself not to cry. She thought it obvious you had been caught. 

“I just noticed the ink stains on your fingers. It was a simple assumption.” You quickly hid your fingers in the sleeve of your gown and tried to think up an excuse. But everything thought seemed to evade you.  

“Not me.” You repeated quietly. The room fell silent for a moment, everyone staring between yourself and Aemond, but then you found yourself saved by the servants. The doors swung open as they swarmed in, carrying different trays of food and began arranging your feast on the small table. You quickly looked at your sister who widened her eyes in question. You simply widened your eyes back. You also did not understand what was happening.  

“I have been so hungry this whole time.” Daeron moaned as he began piling his plate with potato's. Everyone moved to reach for a dish, so you quickly reached for the spoon that was within the soup dish. It also happened to be the dish Aemond reached for leaving you both grasping onto the tips of each other's fingers instead of the spoon. You quickly pulled back and cradled your hand with widened eyes. The touch had sent a sensation down your entire being, even all the way to your toes, leaving you with no choice but to curl them up inside your slippers.  

“Apologies.” You choked out, looking down shamefully. You cursed yourself in embarrassment, declaring to yourself that he really will think you simple and brainless at the end of this dinner. He simply hummed at your regret, before lifting your bowl towards him. Without a word, he poured you a serving before returning it to you. No words were spoken as you nodded in appreciation.  

+++  

The dinner had gone smoothly after that. Perhaps smoothly wasn’t the right word. You had to cradle Mariyanna in your arms as she had spent the whole time after sobbing. Aemond had not paid her much attention to her, and she thought it obvious he had figured out that it was you who had captured him all those months ago. 

“Shhh you do not know that to be true.” 

“I do! I saw the way he was looking at you.” You had patted down her hair in comfort as she shook in your arms. You could not celebrate at the idea that Aemond might have figured it out because you heart ached for your sister. 

“Even if he has figured out that it was I that was writing the letters, it does not mean he did not fall for you after all those hours he spent courting you.” You tried to reassure her, but her broken cries only got louder. 

“I could tell he did not like our talks. I am not dumb. I knew when I laughed at the wrong times and disagreed and agreed on his thoughts mistakenly. I knew he only liked me because of your letters. I just thought with more time he might grow fond of me.” You shushed her crushed sobs and pressed a kiss atop her head. 

“If he did not grow fond of your little Anna, then he is a fool.” You whispered. She lay in your arms a little longer, before letting out a long exhale. She quickly sniffed, before sitting herself up and wiping her eyes. 

“It is okay.” She whispered, pinching her cheeks and quickly blinking away her tears. You were shocked by her sudden change of demeanour, but she ignored you and moved to her window. With a frown you slowly stood, scared any sudden movement would break her once more. 

“Mary...” 

“Veron Greyjoy has asked me to wed him. I think I shall accept it.” She gazed out, as if she had not mentioned something so immense.  

“What?” You rushed to her side, but she simply sighed at you like you were an idiot. Clasping your hands with hers, she finally looked at you. 

“My courtship with Aemond was flawed. I had to make sure I had other options. Of course, marrying a prince of Westeros was the ideal option but I was not dumb enough to think there was a certain likeliness of me wedding him. Unlike you, I do not mind if I marry for security. So, I entertained some men on the side. I have had a few other proposals of course, but I enjoy Veron’s company the most.” You could not speak from the shock of her news, but Mary simply kissed your fingers. 

“What of Aemond?” 

“He was kind, of course. And I would have been happy to wed him because I believe he shall make a wonderful husband. But I do not love him.” Disbelief. It is all that you felt. But you should not have been surprised. Your baby sister was born to thrive amongst the court, and you were a fool for thinking her dim-witted. Perhaps she was a greater schemer than Otto Hightower? 

“You’re fucking insane.” You let out a breathless laugh, as you stumbled to leave her room. 

“At first I was committed to him.” She called. You turned back to look at her smirking face. “But I started looking elsewhere when I saw you sign one of those letters with your own name.” Staring at her with a gaping mouth, you could not believe what was happening. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” You muttered defensively. It only made her chuckle. 

“You have my permission.” 

“For what!?”  

“You may let him court you. I know you love him. And who am I to get in the way of that? I do not remember a time you showed interest in any man.” She smiled lovingly at your blushing form while you stood spluttering out sentences of denial. 

“He is a prince.” You finally whispered in defeat. You could never hide anything from her. 

“And you shall be a fine princess.” 

+++ 

You could not sleep after your talk with your sister. You had spent your night twisting and turning under the moonlight that streamed in from your window. So, with a huff, you found yourself marching to the library in a robe. Carrying a candle and allowing your hair to flow freely as your bare feet slapped upon the stone hallways, you were sure to have looked like a madwoman, but you were to frazzled to care. It was only when you made it into your hideaway within the library, that you finally allowed yourself to relax. You began lighting the candles upon the walls so that you had enough light to read and allowed yourself to reach for the book Ten Thousand Ships. During your exchanges with Aemond, you had spent many letters discussing Nymeria and her reign over Dorne. It was your favourite piece of literature, and it was his too. 

You couldn’t read. You tried. Gods you tired. But the longer you stared at a page, the more distorted the words became. Instead, your mind was only on Aemond.  

“You deceived me.” The sudden voice that came from between the shelves made you scream in shock. The book dropped as you quickly pushed yourself back in fear. But it only took a moment to be reminded whose voice that was. You watched as Aemond stepped forth from the shadows, still in his leather pants from dinner, but now just a sheer white undershirt covering his torso. The candlelight illuminated his face as he moved forward, and you breath hitched at the sight. He no longer had his eyepatch strapped up, but instead he left his missing eye bare for you to see. You expected a sunken hole where his missing eye once was, but the light caught on the sapphire, and you watched it glisten. You were awed, and when he noticed you did not look away from his scarring, he could not help but look upon you fondly. Swallowing your anxiousness, you simply bowed your head. 

“I am sorry Aemond. Truly.” You cursed yourself for being so informal and allowing yourself to call him by his name, and when you watched him clench then unclench his fists, you thought you had already ruined everything. 

“I could have you arrested for such fraudulence.” He muttered beneath his breath, making your neck bow even further. You felt tears spring to the corners of your eyes while you tried to gain composer. 

“It is true. And perhaps I deserve it. I did not intend for it to go this far.” Your breath was shaky as you exhaled your words and allowed yourself to slowly lift your gaze. You expected to see Aemond glaring, full of hatred at the revelation that he had been played a fool, but he was simply looking down at you with an amused smile. 

“I jest. I shall not have you arrested.” He apologised with a smirk, and this time your heart began to race for different reasons. No longer were you in fear of imprisonment, for now all you care for was the way Aemond Targaryen was standing above you in hardly any clothes, while you were sitting on the ground like a peasant with no shoes and untidy hair. You could not look away from the way his hair seemed to glow in the moonlight, and it was at that moment that you realise how unkept it was. It looked as if he had run his fingers through it a million times and in different directions. 

“I could find no sleep.” You whispered. He exhaled a breath and let out a soft hum. 

“Neither could I. My mind is... preoccupied.” You nodded in understanding and felt your heart soar from your chest. You were no fool. You know what was happening. 

“Will you sit with me?” You suggested as you began clearing away the books you had scattered across the floor. Aemond did not need to think as he gracefully dropped to his knees and allowed himself to fall to your side. Trying to make yourselves comfortable, he let his hand stretch you behind you, and you were quick to fall into his side. 

“Are you still reading A Caution for Young Girls?” You felt yourself choke at his jest, before allowing yourself to laugh.  

“No. I finished it.” You smirked while pulling your book back into your lap. “Hmmm. A shame.” He whispered, leaving a tingling sensation running down your spine. 

“I found it... enlightening.” You smirked as you ran your thumb across your lower lip. You felt him push his nose in your hair and you both couldn’t help but smile. You let out something between a moan and a laugh, before holding up Ten Thousand Ships. 

“I believe you are familiar?” You teased. He let his teeth draw in his bottom lip quickly before chuckling at your question. 

“I know something of it.” You went to turn the next page but stopped as you felt him move your wild hair to the side. 

“Let us start again.” He whispered. Reaching down to your hand, he pulled up your fingers and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

“I am Aemond Targaryen, my lady. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” 

[andypantsx3]

Deceiving the Duke | 4 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.1k of 30k words | 4th of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

A few weeks on, you received a reply from Camie.

It was a great luck that the Utsushimis employed so few staff, which meant that you were the servant in charge of collecting the post. You imagined Mrs. Utsushimi would have seized on the letter as soon as she caught sight of it.

It was addressed in Camie’s horribly girlish hand, and it opened in the most typical of Camie phrasings.

Y/N, my sweet foolish friend–

Your plot is hilarious but doomed and you should end it sooner rather than later. Mumsy should have never asked you for this, it’s sure to ruin you and ruin her, even if Caroline makes a match.

I would have always taken care of her, and Inasa has promised the same. Of course you will come live with us on Inasa’s estate, too.

You’ll find a way to put a stop to things, won’t you?

She’d signed her name below with an aggressively elaborate flourish, so you knew how upsetting she truly found the news.

Guilt settled in your stomach like a leaden weight.

You shouldn’t have undertaken this plot, obviously. You’d said as much in your original missive to Camie. But now that the scheme was already well underway, you thought it had to be seen through. Otherwise, what had all this been for? The Utsushimi family would be embroiled in scandal with absolutely nothing to show for it. And you doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be so generous with your promised wages, were you to renege on your commitments now.

Carefully folding Camie’s letter and stowing it under your mattress, you decided you’d just have to redouble your efforts. Perhaps you would start accepting dances with gentlemen just to talk Caroline up, and mention her kindly to Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui.

You wished you’d taken the chance to mention her to Lord Shouto, before you’d caused the scene at Lady Cathleen’s party. If he wasn’t actually courting Princess Yaoyorozu, that was, as rumor seemed to suggest.

With a new plan in mind, you started your morning chores, mending the hem of one of Mrs. Utsushimi’s gowns where she’d torn it, starching the linens, picking seams on the latest of Camie’s dresses you planned to wear. You helped the family with breakfast and saw them off to the milliner’s, after which you changed their bedding and washed the old sheets. You were just settling down to get more work done on one of Camie’s gowns when a knock came at the door.

When you pulled it open, you found Lord Shouto on the other side, peering into the dim of the hallway. His mouth parted in surprise to see you, those mismatched eyes going rounder at the corners. You immediately panicked, slamming the door shut on him.

Fuck! You’d been dressed in your maid attire, not expecting the family to receive a caller! Your only grace was that the hall was very dim this time of the morning–you hoped he hadn���t been able to make out your dress in the dark.

“Um!” you called through the door, your voice strangled. “Forgive me, my lord, I am not yet properly attired! I will be right back!”

You dashed up the stairs, grabbing the latest of Camie’s gowns, quickly unlacing your apron and shedding your clothes, then stuffing yourself into the dress. Your fingers scrabbled over all the ties and buttons, shaky with nerves. You were back down the stairs in under two minutes, panting, hoping Lord Shouto wasn’t working himself into a state at being so rudely received.

When you pulled the door open again, however, he was wearing a curious expression. Those eyes picked over you, seeming to note every detail, and you self-consciously tugged at the skirts of your dress. You did not even want to think of the state of your hair.

There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand, sweet purple lilacs decorated with bursts of white clover. You squinted at the flowers, remembering Caroline had told you each had a special meaning, if you knew how to interpret them.

They looked too pretty to be declarations of your idiocy, however, so you guessed they might not be for you.

“I—you must be here to see, um, Caroline?” you asked. “I’m afraid she’s out at the moment–she should be back in a few hours, however–if you want to leave your card…”

Lord Shouto shook his head, stepping forward. “I am here for you.”

Your heart tripped over itself with his proximity, and you backed up a step, leaning back to look into his face. “I–-you are?” you asked stupidly.

The tiniest hint of a smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. “I came to see that you were well, after Lady Cathleen’s.”

Your stomach churned guiltily. That was really too kind, especially considering that you’d done nothing but fling snacks at him, ramble nonsense at him, and then pretended to faint on him. To say nothing of the fact that you were pretending to be an entirely different person than the one you’d introduced yourself as. And here he was, in your doorway still, looking at you carefully, as though he meant to catch you were you to faint again.

Now that he was here, it would not be so easy to refuse him. You backed out of the doorway, gesturing him inside. “Please come in. I can serve tea in the sitting room.”

Lord Shouto inclined his head and followed you inside. You lead him to the parlor, glad you’d neatened it, wondering at your own nerve–a servant, entertaining a duke, in a sitting room that was not her own.

“The maid is, um, indisposed today,” you told him. “I’ll make the tea myself, please make yourself comfortable.”

You left him to his own devices, darting to the kitchen. You’d hoped to run into the cook but she was also apparently out, probably at market, so you threw the kettle on and spent several long minutes rummaging around for the nice tea–-the kind Mrs. Utsushimi only served when she wanted to impress. You figured a duke would definitely meet her criteria for people worth impressing.

When you returned, Lord Shouto had left his flowers laying over the settee. He was at the mantle over the fireplace, glancing through the Utsushimis’ portraits and displayed needlework. That curious look was back on his face when he turned back to you, and his eyes seemed to rove over every inch of your face.

He looked strange, in fact, as though he’d just been confronted with a startling discovery. You flushed under his scrutiny, hoping you hadn’t missed a stain on your dress or some large rip in the fabric.

You hurried to the corner and set the tea tray down on the sideboard. Your skin prickled tellingly as he drew near, and you quickly poured him a cup and ordered him into a chair to get him away from you. You did not understand why his presence made you feel so strange.

You dared to pour yourself a cup of tea, too, and perched on a chair opposite him, luxuriating in how good the tea was compared to your usual fare.

“I, um, appreciate you calling,” you said to him, watching him settle into his chair, and trying not to pay too much attention to the way his thighs filled out his breeches, or the way his shoulders seemed to take up the entire width of the chair back.

Lord Shouto sipped at his tea, humming low in his throat. “Have you recovered, Miss Utsushimi?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. It was just, um, a passing thing. I am completely fine.”

He looked satisfied, smiling softly into his tea cup. “I am happy to hear it.”

You noticed his lashes left long shadows over the tops of his cheekbones as he drank, and you pinched your leg through your skirts when you realized how deeply undue that observation was.

You quickly cast about for something to take your mind off of the way Lord Shouto looked sitting across from you.

“The flowers are pretty,” you said, glancing over at them. The purple of the lilacs looked especially deep against the lighter fabric of the settee–you wondered what purple lilac was supposed to mean, and which of the Utsushimis they were for.

Lord Shouto had said he was calling on you, but he’d not said the same of the flowers. It would be the height of conceit to think that they were also for you, especially given how completely unhinged you’d been with him to date. A man did not bring flowers to a woman who pelted him with snack cakes.

“Are they–-Caroline’s?” you guessed.

Another threat of a smile pressed at Lord Shouto’s mouth. “You speak as though you’ve never received flowers before.”

That arrested you. What did he mean, you? They were for you? You couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open.

“I–me?” you asked, dumbfounded. “I’ve never—are you certain?”

Lord Shouto’s eyebrows went up, and there was a note of something amused in his deep tone. “I should hope so.”

You left your cup on the table beside you, unable to help the way you were drawn to the flowers. Your first bouquet! And probably your only, considering your prospects and the expense. But they were so lovely, and they smelled so bright and green and fresh.

A weird giddiness came over you, and you tried to squash the feeling down.

“I–Thank you, Lord Shouto,” you said, unable to help the embarrassingly touched note in your voice. “They are beautiful.”

Lord Shouto looked a little bit smug, you thought, as you fingered some of the petals, feeling their silky smoothness on the pads of your fingers. You’d have to put them in water. And maybe hide them in your room, if you got the chance. You doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be pleased to discover Lord Shouto had brought you flowers, considering you were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Which you were apparently utterly failing at.

You turned back to Lord Shouto, placing your flowers on the seat next to you, unwilling to be parted from them. It was probably strange, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care quite enough to try to be normal about it all.

“They don’t mean something like learn Greek, do they?” you asked him suspiciously.

Lord Shouto laughed, out loud this time, low and easy, and the sound went straight to your head.

“They do not,” he said, but he did not elaborate on whether they did mean something. You made a note to try and look them up later.

You had the sudden, wild thought that a man bringing a woman flowers meant something more than you were currently accounting for. And it also dawned on you that you were a man and woman alone–-an impropriety by any of good society’s standards, regardless of the fact that your first meeting had been much like this as well.

“Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi should be back soon,” you blurted out, as if to reassure him that you had no inappropriate designs on him.

Lord Shouto looked unbothered, watching you with those mismatched eyes over the rim of his tea cup. “It does not matter to me. I am not here to see either.”

There was something teasing in his tone that warmed you all the way to your toes, and you had to school your face so as not to betray how much that pleased you.

You tried to remind yourself that he meant nothing by it, and that this could be nothing, in the end. And now was as good a time as any to try and talk Caroline up, now that you had Lord Shouto in your clutches.

“Caroline is good company, it is a loss,” you said. “Have you met her?”

“In passing,” Lord Shouto said. “She’s never flung anything, so I’m afraid she did not make a significant impression on me.”

You laughed. “But a better one, I hope.”

Lord Shouto did not say so.

“You’ll remember how pretty she is, though,” you said insistently. “And she does read Ancient Greek, I think. She’s accomplished on the piano forte.”

“So her hobbies are not so secret as yours?” Lord Shouto asked.

You smiled. “She is rather more accomplished. I must hide my own in order to save myself the embarrassment.”

Lord Shouto leaned forward in interest. “You’ll tell me at least one? You are aware I am a trustworthy secret keeper.”

He looked so earnest, and his tone was so genuine, you couldn’t do anything but give him what he wanted. Much may it please him to learn.

“My chief hobby is reading–though obviously not in any ancient languages. I’m…quite fond of novels, actually.” You were mostly fond of them because Camie was fond of them, and they were the principal artifact she had been able to smuggle you. But you quite liked all the tales of adventure, cunning, and head-spinning romance. The only type of adventure you’d seen thus far was this hare-brained scheme of yours–and it would not end nearly so well as the stories in your novels did.

“I too, enjoy reading,” Lord Shouto obliged you. “Though not usually novels.”

You smiled. “I’ll recommend you some, though I can’t tell if you’d enjoy them. They’re a lot of nonsense.”

“I believe I told you,” Lord Shouto said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on those thighs. “I like nonsense.”

For some reason, your heart did a weird fluttering motion in your chest. Your cheeks heated, and you grasped your tea cup tighter, as if holding on for safety.

“Well, then,” you said. “I’m certain I can oblige you. I’ll send you a list, perhaps.”

Lord Shouto looked pleased, blinking long and slow like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’d quite like that.”

You took another sip of your tea to hide some of your face, trying to reign yourself in. You had not meant for this conversation to turn towards you–Caroline was the objective here. You wracked your brain for another segue back to her.

“I’ll ask Caroline to send along recommendations as well–though they won’t be novels,” you said. “Perhaps something in Greek may tempt you.”

Lord Shouto regarded you curiously. “Your recommendations do not stand on their own?”

You frowned at him defensively. “My recommendations are the finest,” you sniffed.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips, like he’d caught you. “Then I need only accept yours.”

“But really–Caroline–” you started, but Lord Shouto cut you off.

“Miss…Utsushimi,” he said, pausing strangely over the name. “It is not Caroline’s opinions I seek. My attentions are yours, and yours alone.”

You froze, a spear of ice plunging into your heart. His attentions were yours? What could he mean–which attentions, exactly? That sounded quite terribly like an admission of interest–-romantic interest–-except that would be insanity itself.

He was so very noble, and so very handsome, and you were beginning to learn that he was so very kind. You were the most horrible match imaginable for him.

You’d have to make sure he understood it.

“Lord Shouto, you understand I do not mean to marry,” you said, testing the waters.

“You’ve intimated as much,” he replied, his tone low. “Though your reasons…remain a mystery.”

For some reason, his eyes cut back to the mantle, lingering strangely over the Utsushimi family’s portraits.

“I would be a poor choice,” you said. “You understand my shortcomings already.”

Lord Shouto’s features arranged themselves into a mask of polite incredulity. “You think all a man wants in a wife is her knowledge of ancient languages?”

A laugh burst out of you. “In part.”

A tiny smile threatened the corner of Lord Shouto’s mouth again. “I assure you there are other qualities one might desire.”

Yes, like needlework and piano forte and singing and such. Your talents lay elsewhere–and plenty undiscovered.

“I also understand that your hand is all but promised to Princess Momo,” you told him. You hoped he understood what you were implying–whatever attentions he had been referencing, he needn’t lavish them on you.

“Do you?” Lord Shouto said softly.

You nodded earnestly. Lord Shouto looked thoughtful but did not elaborate.

You wondered what he was really doing here, in the Utsushimis’ sitting room. If he meant for you to be a distraction, a shield against the other debutantes while he waited on the princess. Or if he was perhaps open to marriage.

You decided it could not hurt to continue to peddle your Caroline agenda. Whatever Lord Shouto’s reasons, you were not a suitable prospect for him. But if he was open to marriage, Caroline would be a good match.

“Still, I’d like you to meet Caroline,” you said. “I’ll introduce you at the Satos’ dinner next week.”

“If you like,” Lord Shouto said vaguely, but you could tell he had no interest in her. His eyes drifted back to the mantle, roving over the miles of needlework and colorful oils of the portraits.

You sighed, sensing the enormity of the task before you.

After that, Lord Shouto steered the conversation back into calmer waters, trying to ferret out more about you. You managed to turn a great deal of it back on him, learning more about his family. You were surprised to learn he was the baby of his family, as he’d inherited his father’s title.

He told you about his eldest brother, Touya, who’d disowned the family to join some antimonarchist group in the south, and his other brother Natsuo, who’d rejected the title to become a man of the cloth instead. He talked fondly of his mother and his older sister, Fuyumi, who he seemed to visit often.

You liked the way he spoke about the people in his life, with patience and intention—even Touya, who it was clear had bad blood with the rest of the family. You could have listened to him for hours, luxuriating in his low, soft tone, the occasional conspiratorial twitch of his mouth.

He really was unlike anything you’d expected from a duke.

Eventually the tea ran cold, and the real world called back to you both. You saw Lord Shouto to the door with both regrets and a resolution forming in the back of your mind.

Whatever his interest in you, you would redirect it to Caroline, and kill two birds with one stone–Caroline could make her match, and Lord Shouto would be made to see what a pretty, qualified wife could be like. You carefully ignored the large part of you that recoiled at the thought.

It did not matter what you wanted, and you wouldn’t let yourself think on it. Lord Shouto was good, and he should make a suitable match.

You would arrange it so Lord Shouto and Caroline got a happy ending, just like in your novels.

You would make absolutely sure of it.

[blossom-works]

His Sunshine

Agent Leon S. Kennedy has been through hell after hell. Never having a break from the chaos. His heart has hardened over the years since Raccoon, leading him to turn to alcohol for temporary release. Who would have thought that fighting bioterrorism was the reason that Agent Leon S. Kennedy found his peace and comfort?

Warnings: Mentions of child/human trafficking, death of children, alcoholism

*OC is Asian cause let's face it, Leon has a thing for Asians (Ada and Shen Mei)

When He First Met the Sun

"Hunnigan, what the hell are you trying to say?"

Through the heavy-duty phone screen, a woman with brunette hair has to inform her long-time friend and co-worker of the horrors of his upcoming assignment.

"We have intel that whoever is in charge of creating this strain of the virus is using children to spread the disease. Trafficked children..."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Instead of taking another shot of pure liquor, Leon opts to drink straight from the bottle. The burning liquid glides down his throat, numbing the man even more.

"The president has created a specific team for this assignment. He wants you and the BSAA to partner up with an agent from the FBI. She was specifically asked for by Chris Redfield."

"Chris is on this mission too?"

"The president wanted his expertise in this. It'll be a four-man team. You, Chris Redfield, Jill Valintine, and the FBI agent. Chris said that he'll be picking you up at your current location. You are to meet the FBI agent at 1500." Hunnigan hangs up the call, leaving the drunken man to his own endeavors.

Just when the hell is this hell going to end? Since '98, things have only gone downhill. It seems that all Leon ever does is fight these bio-engineered monsters while losing people by the hundreds. This is hell. Leon is living in hell. A never-ending cycle of death and carnage.

By the time Chris gets to the bar, Leon has already finished one entire bottle of tequila. Lord knows how Leon's liver is doing. Stumbling, Leon leaves the bar to stumble in Chris' car. On his way out he forgot to pay his tab, which Chris had to pay for (but not forgetting to make a mental note that Leon owes him).

"You reek of alcohol." Chris grimaces as he rolls down the back windows.

"Yeah, so? You smoke."

"Not as much as your drink."

Chris opens the glove compartment to pull out a file. "Here, you can go over the mission on our way to the FBI headquarters. That is if you're sober enough to even read."

Leon snatches the file from Chris, mumbling how he can read "Thank you very much". He has to shake his head to get his eyesight to work. The contents of the folder are gruesome. Pictures and names of children that have gone missing fill the thick folder. Some of the last few papers are of what is suspected to be people in charge.

"Hunnigan told me that you recommended an FBI agent to the president."

"Yeah, she's the youngest sister of one of my buddies back in the day. She works in the department of human trafficking and child exploitation. She's only worked there for about two years, but she's one of the best in the field."

"Hold on, you said she's only been employed for a little less than a year? She's a rookie!"

Chris scoffs. "And? As I said, she's currently one of the best agents that specialize in this field. If we're going to accomplish this mission, we're going to need her expertise."

"And how old is this chick?"

Doing some quick math in his head, Chris answers "23".

"She's a kid."

"And she's one of the best the FBI has to offer. That says a lot, Leon." Chris further defends. He must really believe in this chick's skills to defend her like this, Leon concludes. Shutting up, the two men travel to the agency in silence.

FBI Headquarters:

In a small room sits three people. DSO agent Leon S. Kennedy. BSAA operator Chris Redfield. BSAA agent Jill Valentine. Each of them has folders and folders of information that was apparently collected by the FBI agent they will be working with. Impressive for a woman who only has less than a year's worth of experience.

The door clicks open and reveals a woman of Asian descent with a short stature wearing a basic black and white suit, with three-inch stilettos. Her black hair is tied into a high ponytail that stops at the nape of her neck. Her features are soft and the color of her skin tells people that she most likely came from a bloodline of Southeast Asians.

"Apologies for the wait. The president sent someone to deliver some useful information."

Jill asks what that information is.

"That we are given almost all clearance to the highest level. With the president's approval, we can obtain Pentagon-sealed information. Not even the CIA can tell us 'no." You sits down at the last empty seat.

"Woah, it seems he really wants us to catch these guys."

Lean speaks up, "Then we should get started."

You go over the contents of the mission. For a woman who has been working as a federal agent for less than a year, your work ethic is top-tier. Even Leon silently admits that you are well-equipped for your job. And you are sort of a cutie. You talk about how the FBI and CIA are certain that BOWs are stemming from trafficked children. Any questions they have, are answered a couple minutes later during your presentation.

At the end of your presentation, you address the elephant in the room. "So now that I've told you everything that I know. It's time you tell me how to deal with BOWs."

Chris is the first to speak up. "Shoot them in the head. It's the only way to kill them." You nod.

"Are you up for it?"

To you, it sounds like Leon is challenging your competency. He wants to know if you will be a hindrance on this mission. Sure, you are a smart cookie but how will you hold up facing a human-turned-monster? Can you hold yourself in battle? Or will you need to be babysat along the way? In truth, Leon wants to prepare himself when he eventually loses another person in this cycle of hell.

"Agent Kennedy, I understand the reasoning behind your question. In truth, I don't know. Unlike the three of you, I have never encountered a BOW." A sufficient and honest answer. You go on further. "This mission is a give and take. I give you my expertise on human trafficking and child exploitation, you give me the galls to kill those things. You teach me how to kill BOWs, I give you the information you need to outsmart these bastards and get these kids out of hell."

Standing up, you tell your team that you will meet up here again tomorrow, at six sharp. Only this time, it will be at the FBI's helipad. The rumored place of operation is near the Mexican border. The four of you will be stationed in a remote area in Southern Texas for the duration of the mission.

Texas:

"Hey, why do you wake up so early in the morning? Are you getting some extra work in?" Jill asks as the four of you are eating some take-out.

On day two, your teammates kept asking you why they were waiting before barging into the supposed hideout. You understood that for them, barging in with the information you have is a norm for them. But they forget that they are not just dealing with BOWs but human trafficking. If any piece of the collected information is wrong, it could jeopardize the entire mission. You told them, "I'd willingly turn into one of those mutants before compromising the children's chance of freedom."

They stopped bugging you after that. The three of them stepped back to let you take the reigns. They really did forget that there is another part to this mission other than to exterminate BOWs.

"Sort of. I wake up early to do my morning workouts."

It is no surprise that you work out. Everyone in this damn house works out, but to do it so early in the morning and not take a nap during the day is crazy.

"Why so early?"

You shrug your shoulders. "I usually wake up early to go running at the park near my place, but since we're not in D.C., I'm extending my workout to make up for it." The conversation is then directed to how you know Chris.

"My brother was his junior in the Air Force. Redfield once came to our home back in Georgia for...was it Christmas or Thanksgiving of '93?"

"It was Thanksgiving. Your mom invited my family to come over."

"Wait a minute...You were born in '87, so that would make you either six or seven at the time." Jill says.

You and Chris hum before Chris starts teasing you. "She was so infatuated with me at the time that she kept calling me her 'boyfriend'."

Groaning, you throw a pen at Chris who ends up catching it. To further your embarrassment, Jill and Lean start laughing. You can feel the tips of your ears getting hot.

"Dammit Redfield, I was six at the time! Stop bringing up old shtick!" You huff.

"What? It was cute how you would want to sit next to me. You even 'fought' your own mom because she sat in 'your' spot." Chris turns his head and whispers to his other colleagues, "She was so cute I still have photos from that day", making them laugh even more. "Side note: Why do you keep calling me by my last name? We've known each other since we started 'dating."

"Because we're on the job. When we aren't working together I'll start calling you Chris again." You say as you roll your eyes. Getting Chris to stop embarrassing you is equivalent to getting a pig to fly. It is never going to happen. "Plus given the age hierarchy, you're the oldest one here, grandpa."

"A grandpa you once called your boyfriend," Chris smirks. To an outsider, it might seem like Chris and you are flirting, but you are not. One, because it would basically be pedophilia considering you two met at the respective ages of six and twenty. And two, because you and Chris see each other as siblings it would also be a case of incest if the two of you were flirting.

Half-joking you say, "I guess I've always been into older men."

To get the attention off of you, you then ask how Jill and Leon know Chris. Like they did, you sat and listened to their (less embarrassing) stories. By the end of the night, you find yourself getting a bit closer to Leon and Jill. Chris excuses himself to take a call and Jill excuses herself to take a shower. Leaving you and Agent Kennedy on the ground floor.

Leon is the one to break the silent barrier, albeit, not in the greatest way.

"So, you're into older men huh?" You can practically hear his smirk from behind the laptop.

You decide to humor the man and play along. "What's it to you?"

Leon shrugs. "I don't know, maybe after we finish this mission we can go grab dinner sometime?"

"Are you asking me on a date Agent Kennedy?"

"Depends on if you say yes."

"What if I say no?"

"Then it could be two friends having dinner together." Leon shrugs again. You chuckle and shake your head in amusement. You close the laptop and place your intertwined hands on top of it.

"I don't do flings, Kennedy." You tell the man honestly, making sure to make direct eye contact to show Leon how serious you are. Leon holds his hands up in surrender.

"Then we can go out as friends." He compromises. "There's nothing wrong with two friends hanging out over a meal, and it wouldn't count as a fling."

You are not opposed to the idea, but you do want to poke fun at the legendary Leon S. Kennedy. "I'm afraid not. I don't consider us friends, Kennedy. We're co-workers."

"What if I believe that we're friends?"

"Then I guess we're at a standoff." You tease.

Leon takes the challenge. "Then I guess I'll have to convince you otherwise."

You stand up and throw away your takeout container. Grabbing the laptop you head upstairs to where the rooms are. "I guess so," you call out from the stairs.

When He First Felt the Sun's Rays

Your apartment is filled with the scent of different herbs and spices. A harmonious smell that you hate the fact that you have to open your balcony door to let some fresh air in. Your hair is held up by a clip and you are in a white shirt, a thin flannel, and a pair of jean shorts. Classic "girl next door" look. You take a piece of laffa and dip it into the hummus. You have music playing in the background as you finish grilling the chicken kabobs.

You get a notification on your phone that there is someone at your front door and not a second later, they are knocking. Wiping your hands on a kitchen towel and turning down the heat, you answer the door.

"Hey, Leon." Your old colleague greets you back with a bouquet of parchment-wrapped flowers. Thanking him, you let him inside of your apartment and find a place to put the flowers. Walking into the open concept room, you yell out to the DSO agent.

"And don't forget to take off your shoes!"

Leon immediately kicks his shoes off and is hit with a waft of comforting spices. "Smells good in here."

"Thanks, I hope you like Middle Eastern food 'cause that's gonna be dinner. If you're a bit hungry I left out some hummus and laffa out on the island counter."

"Laffa?" Leon asks but still takes a piece of the bread and dips it into the bowl of pureed chickpeas.

"It's a flatbread. Think of Indian naan."

"Did you make it yourself?"

"No, I bought the hummus and bread from a local Middle Eastern restaurant nearby. Everything else though is from scratch."

Leon tries to go around the island to offer you his help but his left foot steps on something soft. A loud "arf" scares Leon and forces him to look down. A body of blond hair scurries across the floor towards you, scratching at your legs.

"Oh shit, I didn't mean to step on your dog." Leon apologizes. The medium-sized dog is now in your arms, seeking your comfort.

You wave off Leon's apology. "Don't worry about it. Shiloh always gets so excited to meet new people that she forgets to stay out of the way. It was an honest mistake so no biggie."

Leon manages to walk around without stepping on a dog this time. He reaches his hand out to pet the top of the dog's head as another apology. It accepts his apology and their tail starts wagging again.

"Her name's Shiloh, huh? What breed is she?"

You put Shiloh on the ground so you can put the kabobs on a platter. "An English Cocker Spaniel. I got her while I was still living in Georgia."

Leon is too busy with your dog to listen to you. He is bent down on one knee and Shiloh is climbing onto him. Begging him to keep petting her.

"Leon!"

"Huh? What?"

You roll your eyes and place your hands on your hips. "I asked if you could help me set up the table."

"Oh, yeah, sure." He spits out in embarrassment.

Together, you get the table ready for your fourth date in a row. Since you got back from Texas, Leon has not stopped pestering you to agree to go on a date with him. The first date was the unofficial date and the second was the first date. Making this date at your apartment the third official date with Leon. To your surprise, Leon is a total gentleman. You thought men like him liked to "date" women for a while in the name of fun. So far, Leon has only been able to change half your mind about him.

The unofficial date was a simple walk in the park followed by lunch at a diner. The second (first) date was at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History where you could geek out. Leon found your dorkiness cute. The third (second) date was a nice dinner at a steakhouse. Leon found out that you gave the waitress your card and told her that you would be paying for yourself. When you parted ways, Leon told you that he would get back at you for your little stunt. And the fourth (third) date is dinner at your apartment.

During your dates, including the unofficial one, the two of you have been getting to know each other a lot better. The two of you talked about your childhoods, hobbies, and stupid shit you did as a kid. Leon is a little confused as to why you failed to mention you have a dog.

Leon hums in delight. "The food is good. Didn't think you would be such a good cook."

"All thanks to my mom who would drag me and my sister to the kitchen whenever she would cook." You shiver at the unpleasant memories. "What about you? Do you cook?"

"Not like you," Leon answers honestly. "Just basic meals."

"Mmm...sounds sad." Leon laughs as he agrees with you.

Dinner went by wonderfully and Leon even helped you clean up. You purposefully put some food in a separate Tupperware for later. After the table is clean and the dishes are done, you propose that the two of you play a couple games of Smash Brothers, igniting the competitive side of Leon. Sitting next to each other, you try to kill off the other's character. After some 1v1 games, you paired up to play against bots in 2v2 games. To further challenge Leon's competitive side, you switched to Mario Cart. You end up getting a text from one of your neighbors to quiet down.

The reason why you two are now cuddled on your couch, watching an old Barbie movie. Why is the famous Agent Leon S. Kennedy watching an early 2000s Barbie movie? Because you wanted to. That is all the reason Leon needs to watch the damn cliche, animated movie about a doll. Shiloh has plopped herself on the other side of Leon. Like you, she has nuzzled herself into his side. When the movie finishes, it is close to ten.

"Think it's time to call it a night?"

Reluctantly, Leon nods. For the duration of the movie, Leon has been petting Shiloh's head, lulling her to sleep. By now, your dog is fast asleep in doggy dreamland. Getting off of your date, you head to the kitchen to grab something. Stretching his legs, Leon gets off the couch and heads to the foyer. When he turns around to say "bye", Leon is surprised to find you standing behind him with a cloth-covered item.

"Here, it's some leftovers from tonight's dinner. Just heat the bread in the oven so it won't get soggy."

For some reason, the gesture warms Leon to his core. Never once has he had a woman pack him leftovers. Not even his own mother. The sweet act touches Leon so much that it sort of scares him. Like scares him, scares him, and scares him because he wants more of you this. Your soft face and sweet eyes. Fidgeting your feet because you are embarrassed. The soft smile on your lips is just screaming at Leon to kiss you.

"Thanks...I'll remember that." Grateful, Leon takes the meal from you and the two of you awkwardly stand in your foyer. "So, uhh...I'll be off now."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll walk you out."

The two of you step out of your apartment and hug each other. Unlike your previous hugs, this one is tighter and longer and more intimate. You have to force yourself to release the hug or else you risk never letting go of the man. You whisper a "good night" to Leon and he returns the favor. Deciding that life is too short, you pull Leon back to you. Cupping his cheeks, you bring his face to yours and you kiss the irritatingly attractive man.

There are a few times Leon has been surprised. Both good and bad surprises and Leon is more than happy to count this feat as a good, no, a wonderful surprise. He purses his lips and uses one hand to hold onto the widest part of your hips, bringing the two of you closer. The new closeness gives you a burst of confidence. In the silence of the hallway, you can hear the faint smacks from your lips on Leon's. Your left thumb rubs over the growing stubble on Leon's cheek.

Leon always thought that your lips looked supple and soft. Finally able to feel them the way he wants to, your lips are supple and soft with a dash of chapped. Who knew kissing you could feel so addicting? To calm the animal inside of him, Leon compels himself to pull away. His mind is going haywire when he feels a string of saliva break.

When you open your eyes, you look too good. More attractive than usual. Too attractive to the point where Leon has to chant "Not now. Not now. Not now." in his head. What puts a crack into Leon's self-control ability is when you peck his lips a few more times.

"Goodnight Leon."

Out of it, the only thing Leon can do is nod, making you laugh a bit. That is before you look over his shoulder, which is still hunched over from having to bend down to your height.

"I can see you two."

Your neighbors that have been nosily watching, quickly pop their heads inside their apartment and close the door. You smile and roll your eyes. "Neighbors." You kiss Leon's stubby cheek and shoo him away.

Leon gives you a charming smile and tells you that he will text you later. When he is a couple of steps away from the elevator, Leon hears you call out to your neighbors again.

"I can still see you two!"

When the Sun Knew He Would Clear the Dark Clouds to Let Her Shine

With his wrists tied together, Leon manages to use his legs to kick the infected away from him. JD is too inexperienced to aid Leon, so he needs to hurry or else they will both die in this hellhole. Before Leon can get the upper hand two shots are fired, killing the two infected. JD checks himself to make sure he is not bit or injured anywhere. Leon sits up and looks around to see who is responsible. It could be a friend or foe.

"You know when you said you'll wait for me to finish my case, I didn't think to find you in an underground bunker."

A part of Leon is relieved to see you, knowing that he has at least one person he can trust. The other part of Leon is PO-ed that you willingly threw yourself back into fighting BOWs. The DSO offered you a position for your extraordinary work back in Texas, but you declined. "I'm crazy to be doing what I do, but I'm not that crazy to fight BOWs for a living."

"What the hell are you doing here? How'd you find me?" Leon demands as you cut the restraints on his wrists.

Sarcastically, you ask him if that is how he greets you after you saved his ass from getting infected. "Hunnigan told me about your little stunt so she gave me your last known coordinates. I called your cell earlier which gave her a few seconds to find your general area. I followed the corpses, which is how I ended up here."

Before the conversation can go anywhere else, JD interrupts. "Woah! I knew American women were hot but seeing one of them in person is a whole lot better!"

You look at the punk male in disinterest. Comically, the guy tries his best to look cool but in fact, does the opposite. "So, you single?"

"Umm...I'm flattered but I'm actually getting married in a couple of months."

JD hunches over himself. "Awe man! Why are all the hot chicks always taken!"

"Probably 'cause she's with the hot guy next to you."

Confused, JD looks to his side and is face to face with Leon's brown sweater. Looking up, Leon is staring down at the short man with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Almost like he is challenging JD to say another stupid thing. The Eastern Slavic male nervously scratches the back of his head and whispers an apology to the American male.

Sighing, Leon tells JD that when he does decide to use the gun, to shoot the infected in the head for an instant kill. JD leads you and Leon further down the bunker and into a narrow hallway where a metal door is. Leon and JD try to pry the door open while you watch their backs. The grunts and noises from the door gain the infected's attention.

What creeps you out is that one of the infected's head slits open to reveal flesh-like tentacles. Leon calls out to you, telling you to get yourself on the other side of the door. A little annoyed that JD cannot force himself through the crack, you plant your foot on his back and manage to push him through the door. Leon tumbles inside the room after you and chains the door within a couple of seconds.

If you were not creeped out before, you definitely are now. When the three of you reach the surface, you end up witnessing how the citizens of this country are being infected. Like a scene from a sci-fi movie, an alien-looking creature is forced down a person's throat. Truly a parasite. The three of you take a quick break before reaching the cathedral. Uncharacteristically, Leon starts to once again, complain that he was shipped off here without anything to eat.

"Are you really that mad they didn't provide you with any breakfast? I get why you're pissed our vacation got cut short, but over breakfast?"

Leon shrugs his shoulders and looks at you like you are the crazy one. Then again, you are not surprised your fiance is bitching about not eating. The man gets hungry as fast as he gets hot. Seriously, if you are not blasting the AC at home, a puddle of sweat will form around Leon. Reaching into your vest, you pull out a wrapped snack.

Tossing it to him you say, "Here. Protein bar. Should hold you over for the next couple of hours." Leon thanks you a million times over, happy to finally have something in his stomach. You offer another bar to JD and he too thanks you for your generosity. You ask the two of them to fill you in on the missing details since you basically came to the country blinded.

When you and Leon eventually leave the cathedral thanks to JD's help, you end up meeting the woman who had Leon's heart long before you met him. A couple of minutes before meeting her, you told Leon to go ahead and go inside the parking garage. You will stay behind for a bit to make sure neither of you were followed. When you eventually go inside the parking garage, you spot Leon talking to a woman with short, black hair.

"So, shall we continue from that night?" She flirts.

Yes. You know who this woman is. In fact, you knew about her before you met your soon-to-be husband. Claire once told you about Leon when she used to crush on him. She would rant about how the DSO agent was practically wrapped around some other woman's finger. Who is this woman in question? Why, none other than the infamous Ada Wong. The woman that brings the ugly insecurities out of you.

"I don't think so, Ada. I don't know if you've heard but I'm getting married soon. Don't plan on fucking that up."

Ah, so the rumors are true. Who would have thought that the puppy she leashed years ago would slip off of its collar and run off to someone else?

"I heard. She must be something if she was able to steal you away." Ada taunts.

"She is. She's more than I could ever want and even a little more than that. She's the reason my endless cycle of hell has stopped. I'm not losing her." Leon wanted to add "And I was never yours to begin with," but he knew that was a lie. For the longest, Ada tugged at Leon's heart and even his soul. He could never get her out from the back of his mind even if he tried.

When he met you, that annoying gnat slowly started to disappear. You taught Leon how to live again, not just how to survive. When he was actually in D.C. and not somewhere else in the world, Leon looked forward to running with you and Shiloh every morning. Five days a week. To put it simply, Leon's hardened heart started to crack the more time he spent with you. There is no possible way to ever thank you for the light you bring to Leon's dark and lonely life.

Ada, as much as she hates to admit it, knows that Leon is telling the truth. He truly does cherish this woman. His eyes hold that conviction. She guesses that her game of cat and mouse with the former RPD is officially over. They both knew their past together would always be there, but now they would truly be going their separate ways. Her heart tugs a bit at the fact. Not that she would admit it out loud. She bids farewell to Leon before using her grappling gun to escape through the hole in the roof.

When Leon hears another pair of footsteps, he points his gun to his right, ready for another fight. He does not expect the love of his life to tackle him with so much force. Unknowingly, Leon cleared all of the insecurities you had about Ada. In fact, Leon would never know that you knew about his past with Ada or about her in general. Not even when he died as one of America's greatest heroes at the age of eighty-three.

When He Knew He Could Not Live Without His Sunshine

Leon knows how shitty his life has been since '98. Nothing seemed to be going right. In fact, it seemed that everything was going downhill since Raccoon. His apartment was bare as a result of how often Leon had to get up and leave at a moment's notice. Leon would drink his sorrows and pain away. He relied on alcohol, but now, he relies on you. A little too much he thinks but you do not mind. You know the shit he has seen and done. You know the shit he has to do to protect the innocent. You know the burdens Leon has to carry.

You make doing what he has to do a little bit easier every time he comes home. Leon used to wake up in an empty bed but now he wakes up to you sleeping next to him. Sometimes Shiloh will sleep between the two of you or favor one person over the other. On the rare occasions that he does get to sleep in, Leon loves to be woken up by you and Shiloh. You would have finished your morning workouts and have made breakfast. While Shiloh licks Leon's face, you kiss the one spot she missed, his lips. Probably because getting kissed on the lips by a dog is pretty gross, but you take what you can get.

Leon loves the quiet moments with you. The one where it seems like the world is in perfect harmony. No BOWs or maniacs wanting to turn the human race into the living dead. No orders from the president or the people under him. No guns. No explosions. Just you, him, and a cocker spaniel in the comforts of your shared home.

Leon loves it when the two of you cook together. You always seem to get a bit bitchy when things are not done your way in the kitchen (a trait that was passed down from your mother), but Leon deals with it. He tries to follow your instructions to the letter to make you proud. Even more so, he loves the end result. Sitting together at the table with delicious food the two of you made together.

Leon can list hundreds of reasons why he loves you, but it would never be enough. No list will ever be long enough for Leon to write down the different things he loves about you. About the things you bring into his life. His heart pounds whenever he thinks about you. He gets all giddy when he knows he is coming back home to you. He mourns the days when he has to leave because of some stupid assignment. It scares him whenever you put yourself in a battle against BOWs because you always have his back. Even if you hate BOWs as much as the next person.

The first time you shared an "I love you", Leon wanted to take you away to a secret location and live the rest of your lives there. Leon wants to be selfish and keep you all to himself, but then his sun will not be able to shine as brightly. Leon loves you. He desperately loves you. He will do just about any and everything to keep you by his side. Leon Scott Kennedy is hopelessly in love with you. It is the whole reason why he is at your childhood home in Georgia.

Knocking on the front door, he waits for one of your parents to open it. He called your parents a few days ago to tell them that he was coming to visit and asked if they could not tell you about it. Leon has just gotten back from a mission overseas so he looks a little roughed up, but he cannot let this opportunity slip. Your mother answers the door and lets Leon inside.

He is welcomed to a homemade meal, family style. A table set for three people. During the meal, your parents ask Leon what the hurry was. They worry that something has happened to you and Leon is here to bring them the horrible news.

"No. No. She's doing fine." Leon looks down at his watch. "In fact, she's probably on her way back to our place right now." The DSO agent knows your weekly schedule. He memorized it so he would always know the general area where he could find you if a disaster happened.

Leon looks directly at your father. "I came here to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter."

Yes, in the two years of knowing you and the year and a half of dating you, Leon Scott Kennedy wants to be with his sunshine for as long as time permits. His sunshine that gave his life anew. The sunshine that he loves dearly. His sunshine.

---

P.S. I wrote this in two days when I should be focusing on my class work. Whoops...Stay focused kids.

[nesiacha]

Reflections on the Comments of Maximilien Robespierre and Manon Roland on Condorcet

Nicolas Condorcet (1743-1794)

A long time ago, I found on the excellent site Les Amis de Robespierre what Madame Roland and Robespierre thought of Condorcet. Here is the link: Les Amis de Robespierre. I will translate the thoughts of the different protagonists from this article and give my personal opinion.

Robespierre's Opinion on Condorcet: Condorcet and Robespierre often attacked each other on the issue of war in 1792. Robespierre said about Condorcet’s articles that he knows "nothing worse and more treacherous." After the arrest of the Girondins, when Condorcet fled, Robespierre apparently said, "This coward Caritat, who, like his friend Brissot, fled national justice, and who no less deserved it," and "The coward Condorcet began to fear the responsibility for his liberty-destroying impostures." A few days after the last statement, Condorcet died, either by suicide, from understandable stress, or, some say, possibly murder (I personally doubt the third hypothesis, but I mention it nonetheless).

In his speech on May 7, 1794, when Robespierre spoke about religion and morality based on republican principles, he released new cutting remarks against Condorcet: "A timid conspirator, despised by all parties," and whose writings are described as "the treacherous jumble of his mercenary rhapsodies." Such violent and cutting words against Condorcet. Yet, on the insult of cowardice, someone else who was initially allied with Robespierre before becoming an enemy would join him in this term.

Manon Roland's Opinion on Condorcet: The woman who was called muse of the Gironde had harsh words for Condorcet in her memoirs. She described him as "weak of heart and health," and added, "A brief note on Condorcet, « whose spirit will always be on the level of the greatest truths, but whose character will never be above fear." She concluded about him, "Such men should be left to write and never employed."

My Reflections: I thought these were heavy words. Of course, Condorcet also said very harsh things, and it must be said that my boundless admiration for him when I was very young (especially since the activist he was for gender equality could only please the future feminist in me) was greatly tempered when I read his equally cutting speech about Robespierre. Speaking of Robespierre in this way: "He talks about God and Providence; he calls himself a friend of the poor and the weak; he gets followed by women and weak-minded people. He gravely receives their adoration and homage, disappears with danger, and is seen only when danger is past. Robespierre is a priest and will never be anything else," I need not say more about what irritated me when he spoke of women this way. Firstly, there were many politically active women who did not follow Robespierre or necessarily the ideals of Condorcet. Should we, for example, speak of Albertine Marat who declared to Alphonse Esquiros, "She then spoke to me about Robespierre with bitterness. 'There was nothing in common,' she added, 'between him and Marat. Had my brother lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmoulins would not have fallen.'" Even if I slightly disagree with this part that if Marat had survived, Danton's head would not have fallen (Danton being a very corrupt character and Marat starting to doubt him greatly, especially according to the excellent biography of Danton written by Frédériche Bluche), we are far from admiration for Robespierre from an important revolutionary activist like Marat's sister. And this is just one example among many. We can profoundly disagree with men and women for their political convictions, but what makes feminism and above all gender equality is not imposing a woman's way of life, whether it be thoughts or convictions. I will make a provocation by paraphrasing Voltaire to transpose what I mean: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Although personally being cowardly, I would not do it to the death, this exactly reflects what a feminist person should be. And clearly, Condorcet did not respect this part, which makes his conception of gender equality totally imperfect (to put it mildly) by lumping many women together with Robespierre's speech and mocking their political convictions. I feel with him that as long as these women were in agreement with him, it was acceptable, but as soon as they had different political convictions, he cataloged and despised them.

However, do I agree with what Manon Roland and Robespierre said about him? Is everything to be discarded from Condorcet?

Regarding Robespierre, let's not forget that he was an adversary of Condorcet, so it should be taken with a LOT of caution. And let’s not forget that when Robespierre made his speeches, he himself committed acts that can be easily criticized.

Regarding Manon Roland, let’s not forget that Condorcet had positions that were quite difficult to situate within the Girondins and Montagnards split. The group we will call the Girondins did not like to be called that way, and there were more political dissensions between them, and Condorcet did not share all the positions of the Brissotins. So, her words should also be taken with some caution, and she too has things to be blamed for.

But let’s think, would a coward have moderated his criticisms on the moderation of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and the Constitution of 1791? Because he publicly showed strong criticism.

He was a fervent opponent of the death penalty and stuck to his principles to the end. While some Girondins tried to spare Louis XVI not out of abolitionist conviction or royalism – most were republicans, including some before their time, like Manon Roland – but to not further legitimize the day of August 10, 1792, Condorcet voted against the death penalty out of conviction, whereas Robespierre, who had been an opponent of the death penalty, voted for the death of Louis XVI, rejecting the reprieve. However, he also felt that Louis XVI’s high treason deserved an exemplary punishment, being one of the few to demand that he be condemned to the galleys. He also advocated very early for the rights of Black people. Furthermore, what hastened Condorcet’s end was his condemnation of the arrest of the Brissotins – although his end was accelerated by the fact that he fled, which led to his death sentence in the summer of 1793. To my eyes, a coward would not have condemned the arrest of the Brissotins publicly. He would not have voted in contradiction to his own camp for his convictions (on this point, there is a certain parallel to be made with Robespierre facing the Constituent Assembly of 1789-1791, as Robespierre often intervened against a large majority to make his political ideas and those of so many others triumph).

Of course, I find it unfortunate that in popular culture, Condorcet is often forgiven for his mistakes because he also made mistakes that endangered the French Revolution, particularly the question of war, or what he said about women when he attacked Robespierre. His Panthéonization, for me, is deserved given that he, along with others, advocated generous ideas, and in his biography by historian Antoine Resche, “a public instruction project which, if it was not taken into account under the Revolution, laid the foundations of the school as it has been conceived since the Third Republic, that is, necessarily widespread education, by degrees,” but it is unfortunate that popular culture forget, especially Louis Michel Le Peletier, who proposed a mixed, free, and compulsory primary project defended by Robespierre. When speaking of revolutionaries defending the rights of female citizens, Condorcet is highlighted but not Charles Gilbert Romme, Guyomar, Charlier, and many others. Even more so, we forget revolutionary women like Théroigne de Méricourt, Pauline Léon, Claire Lacombe, Simone Evrard, Albertine Marat, Marie-Anne Babeuf, and many others, as the list is long.

In conclusion, what do I think of Condorcet now that you know that my admiration for him as a teenager has long been greatly tempered and that he is not among my favorite revolutionaries? Well, I still have a fondness for him, a recognition, and a admiration for him like for other revolutionaries, including Manon Roland and Robespierre, although they are not in my top 20 either and not my favorites characters of the frev. They were, fundamentally, complex people caught in a complex period who made, of course , grave and even unforgivable mistakes, but as was said on Tumblr, faultless revolutionaries are quite rare ( (even if there are people in my eyes who are indefensible or rotten like Fouché, Carrier, Tallien, Barras, Charles X, etc.) especially during these during this hellish period of civil war, external and former leaders like Louis XVI who betrayed his people or émigrés who were ready to do anything to destroy the necessary gains of the revolution. . And they are still considered today in a period that is a victim of a black legend that must be constantly combated .

P.S : Forgive me is there was an article Tumblr about what said Manon Roland and Robespierre about Condorcet I checked but I might have missed it

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Personally, I dnt see Nesta abusing Feyre because of how vague their history in their past home was like. They seemed on v equal ground wit the way they argued and fought. Feyre calls Nesta a burden then Nesta retaliates. Nesta warns Feyre about the old hag and Feyre brings up their past fight from the other night. Nesta tries to save Feyre and Feyre realizes there is more to her sister than she thought.

They always were at odds with each other but their never seemed to be any serious power dynamic between them. Neither was afraid of the other and both saw themselves in the other. I honestly think they both have stuff to answer for from their days in the cottage.

In SF, the book even says that Feyre wasn’t perfect and that she made mistakes but their past doesn’t have to define their future. Again, we dnt know what those mistakes could have been since there is such vague exploration of their dynamic back then. But passages in the books like these make me see that it wasn’t abuse between them. It certainly wasn’t healthy but definetly not so one-sided as many antis make it out to be.

hi anon!!

my response is loooooong 😭

i do really want to talk about this. i think the set up in the cabin is very important to the foundation of the sisters' relationship, and because its left as this gaping hole that lacks nuance and logic, it muddles the characterization going forward. a court of silver flames runs into trouble for this reasons, hence why is said it employs the use of 'placeholder' plotlines. to start, as many have stated before me, the set-up in the cabin makes no sense. none. not even a little. that matters for a lot of reasons but specifically because we can't really argue the validity of any of the sister's actions when the worldbuilding around them has none to begin.

its very hard to apply a real system of continual power, abuse, and neglect, when the circumstances around such dynamic is vague and uncommitted. the story doesn't want to commit to the consequences, but it also doesn't want to establish a relationship between the sisters without placing feyre as the permanent victim. so - it created an absurd scenario that doesn't make any sense. what i am saying is - the story has to go wayyyy out of its way to make elain and nesta 'villains' - to the point that the plot can't even support it. like for example, the girls live together in the cabin without feyre hunting for about a good 3-4 years. that means: someone clothed them, someone fed them, someone cleaned, someone took care of them. someone picked up the slack and its wasn't feyre. we know that mama archeron dies when the girls are 8, 10, and 11 - and the shortly after that, they lose their wealth. so - the girls are maybe 11, 13, and 14. literal children. and again - someone had to be taking care of them, a dynamic existed before feyre went hunting, but somehow never gets brought up. if the story is committed to this story, why doesn't it highlight nesta/feyre/elain's relationship in the moments where feyre isn't hunting? what was their relationship like? what was feyre like? these are perfect moments to establish the relationship. even if the sisters were lazy - what would they be doing all day? how would they even sustain themselves on meat all year long? even if the sisters were evil sisters there's little motivation for them to even be like this. the sisters are only three years apart. literally. when feyre was 8, elain was 10, and nesta was 11. thats not a big enough age-gap to even sustain partially of what the story argues about why the sisters have a disconnect. nesta would have been a BABY when feyre and elain were born - where is the motivation? how do elain and nesta develop a faction when they would have been mere toddlers when feyre came into the picture???

either papa archeron isn't a deadbeat or some mysterious force clothed, bathed, fed, and took care of them. like even the circumstances behind papa archeron being a deadbeat make no sense??/

and then there's the added layer of the suppose abuse the grandmother and mother were doling out to nesta, elain, and feyre. nesta was physically abused, and feyre was neglected to hell and high water - there's a plot pont to exploit right there. if the story wants to commit to nesta being abusive, but also wants her to be sympathetic, validating where her anger comes from, while acknowledging how it negatively affected her relationships with her sisters would be the perfect way to go. playing into the mirror sacrifices these sisters (youngest and oldest) made towards one another would have been *chefs kiss*. but again - the story leaned way too moral to even attempt a conversation like this. its willing to forgive the tamlins, rhys's and cassians, but not the women in the story. the thing is - the story doesn't commit to real faults with feyre - and it doesn't do that with nesta or elain either. they are only a standard to compare feyre against. and that's why the story cannot commit to a basic conversation between the sisters - there's nothing that exists between the except the drama. nesta has to atone for mystery reasons bc the story has rewrote their dynamic too many times. sjm acknowledges that the sisters are caricatures at this point of the story, but she doesn't rewrite the first book to accommodate her switch is plot direction.

nesta can't really tell feyre 'why she treated her x way ' bc the story doesn't know why either. a reason doesn't exist. elains book will probably have the same issue, on an even broader scale bc it doesn't actually have a reason these sisters chose to stare at a wall for 24 hours out of the day. the reason elain 'chooses not to help' is even more flimsy than the reason it gave nesta. esp bc the story later establishes that elain isn't even supposed to be a bad person, she can actually be caring. shes also a gardener so it also makes no sense that she would...cringe away from feyre bc of dirt???? that part makes no sense. she literally refused gloves at some point bc she liked to use her hands. she does so in the same book. and i don't even like this character but its the truth, and its why i cannot adequately take what the story argues about the sister seriously. nothing about what it argues makes any logical sense. it for this story...yeah that matters.

so....its valid that people don't take those chapters seriously. they are actually written with unserious intent. like how can i be angry at the sisters when the story argues they were essentially staring into space for eight years??? argues that papa archeron with 10000000 connections couldn't just....use those connections like he literally did near the end of tar and war? that the sisters could live off wild meat for years and still be alive? that toddler nesta and baby elain annexed toddler feyre??? its an unserious situation here. like feyre would rather -- @ 11, 14 or whatever age the story chooses to argue -- would immediately turn to the deadly woods and not yknow...an actual job??? mmkay.

[separatist-apologist]

We Never Go Out Of Style

Could end in burning flames or paradise

Summary: When Gwyn breaks up with her boyfriend on the eve of Nesta's destination wedding, Nesta Archeron has only one objective: set Gwyn up with her high school crush.

Note: Based on this tweet from @heathermcwrites: "One of my bridesmaids just broke up with her bf who was supposed to come to my wedding & I was sad for her for about 3 seconds until I remembered that her crush will also be at the wedding (single) and I'm now more committed to this 2nd chance romance than to my own marriage."

"I should also note that this is a destination wedding so there are EVEN MORE opportunities for uh…shenanigans"

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | AO3

“This whole week has been a bachelorette party, Nes,” Emerie complained from Nesta’s couch. One slim arm was thrown over her eyes, dark hair a tangled mass against the pillows. Gwyn nodded, slumped on the hard floor while her feet rubbed against the soft, black and white shag carpet sitting just beneath a coffee table. Gwyn didn’t bother mentioning that Cassian’s ass cheeks were imprinted on the glass, though her eyes kept drifting toward it.

How had they not broken it?

That didn’t matter? Not when Nests flung open the curtains in her suite living room, earning groans of protest from the very hungover Gwyn and Emerie. “Turn it off, Nesta.”

“I can’t turn off the sun, Em,” Nesta replied. “And it’s almost noon. Don’t make me spend the day with my sisters.”

“Why not?” Gwyn asked, turning to bury her face in the squishy, leather couch. “They went to bed earlier than we did.”

“Come on. Lets do the work out class in the pool and have a few drinks—”

Both Emerie and Gwyn groaned again at the mention of alcohol. The Archeron sisters could drink like fish, and wake up just as pretty as they’d started. Not Gwyn, though. After their hike, Nesta and Cassian had wanted to go to another club, where drinks were half off if you were a lady. Had Gwyn taken advantage, flirting with men at the bar only to pass drinks along to Azriel—and Cassian, if he was nearby? Yes. 

And what had it gotten her? Passed out on the floor of Nesta’s suite while Azriel was god knows where, all while her friend was hoping for a repeat. 

“I can’t, Nesta. My mouth is dry.”

“Drink some water,” Nesta said casually before vanishing behind a doorway. She returned moments later with two of her own swimsuits. Neither Gwyn nor Emerie made any attempt at catching them, leaving the red fabric hanging in her hair. No matter what they said, Gwyn knew she and Emerie would put them on and be in the pool within an hour.

“Will you braid my hair?” she asked of Emerie instead, ignoring the soft sound of triumph that left Nesta’s throat. Emerie peeked open a pretty brown eye, glazed from the bad sleep they’d gotten, and mumbled that sounded mostly like agreement. Maybe a little swearing, too, which Nesta promptly ignored.

“Cassian bought a bunch of frozen breakfast burritos. Want me to microwave—”

“Yes.” They said it in unison, the most certain either Gwyn or Emerie had been all day. While Nesta powered up the microwave and moved through the kitchen with the same efficiency she employed in the courtroom, Gwyn tried not to complain too much when Emerie began dragging a brush through her hair before snapping little plastic ponytails against Gwyn’s scalp to create two thick, cute bubble braids. 

The smell of cheese and peppers filled the air, turning Gwyn’s stomach hollow with hunger. She scarfed one down while Nesta watched, triumphant. “It’s fixing you, isn’t it?”

“No,” she lied. “Make me another.”

Nesta only laughed, pretty as ever in another black bikini that somehow made her seem impossibly tan. Gwyn retreated to the bathroom, throwing on the red suit that Cassian probably loved on Nesta given the scraps of fabric held together by flimsy string. She tried not to think too much about what Azriel might think.

But she wondered, all the same, if he’d have any reaction at all. She traded places with Emerie, scarfing down another piping hot burrito and chugging a cold glass of orange juice before she said a word. 

“You know, I have an actual bachelorette plan for this weekend,” Gwyn began, drumming her fingers against the laminate countertop. “I’ve been putting it together since we got here.” “Cassian told me,” Nesta admitted, eliciting a choked sound of outrage from Gwyn.

“How—Azriel.”

Nesta grimaced. “They don’t keep secrets. Cassian especially. It sounds really fun, Gwyn,” Nesta added, though Gwyn could see she didn’t really mean it.

A little offended, Gwyn asked, “What’s wrong with the night I have planned?”

“No Cassian.”

Gwyn spluttered. “That—that’s the whole point! You have your whole life to see Cassian!”

Nesta nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What if we combined them—”

“Then it’s just a regular night! A stripper was coming, Nes,” she added, snapping her fingers in front of Nesta’s face. “And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which I was assured is better than a regular one.”

“Cassian would probably think that’s very funny—”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Gwyn grumbled. “Why would you wait until now to tell me?”

“I thought maybe Azriel would convince you—”

“Why would you think that?” Gwyn demanded, suddenly defensive. Nesta’s cheeks seemed to darken even as those silvery blue eyes flashed a warning. Gwyn was going to lose this fight. Nesta shook her head, brushing strands of her that had escaped her own braided hair from her face.

“I—”

“He’s obviously into you,” Emerie interrupted, strolling into the room in a vibrant purple two piece. She’d braided her hair, too, which warmed Gwyn. They’d been wearing the same hairstyle for years, and not even marriage was going to stop that. No matter how chaotic their lives got, they were still friends first. “We all saw that picture he put up, too. That man doesn’t have one woman on his grid but now he’s got you.”

Nesta was fiddling with the ties at the front of her swimsuit. Quietly—so quietly Gwyn barely heard her, she murmured, “I put you two in the same room.”

“You what?!” 

Nesta sighed. “When you ended things, he called me. Wanted to know why, and how to get you back blah blah blah. I didn’t help him, but…you had that crush on Azriel in high school—”

“Oh my God,” Gwyn mumbled, putting her head in her hands. “And this whole time…I thought…”

“Did it work, at least?” Emerie asked curiously, picking up one of the microwave burritos from a paper plate. “Have you…you know?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes,” Nesta said, slapping a high five out with Emerie. “Do you like him?”

“I’m not answering that, either. I’m feeling a little betrayed right now. ”

Nesta sighed. “Well, don’t. It was done out of love for you both—Azriel is stupid when it comes to women and you…God, Gwyn, do you have any idea how much it has sucked watching you lose yourself to Jonathon?”

Gwyn looked between her friends, heart pounding. Emerie grimaced.

“He made you so small,” she murmured, squeezing Gwyn’s hand.

“All he did was complain,” Nesta added darkly. “The amount of times I had to remind Cassian he couldn’t hit him…” Nesta shook her head. 

“It doesn’t have to be Azriel,” Emerie amended hastily. “It just seemed like maybe you two…”

“So you both knew?” Gwyn asked flatly, unsure how she felt about the whole thing. Though a new, more terrible thought was settling in her chest. “Did Az—”

“No!” Nesta said quickly. “God, no. Not even Cassian knew.”

“Because he—”

“Can’t keep a secret, yeah,” Nesta agreed. Gwyn exhaled a breath. If Azriel had known, Gwyn thought she would have had to pack up her things and fly home, change her name, and start over in an entirely new city. “He doesn’t know. And it seems like he likes you. Rhys told Cassian Azriel said something that made him think so. He didn’t say what, though.”

Gwyn could have admitted she and Azriel slept together. Could have put Nesta and Emerie out of their misery and told the truth. Instead, she clarified, “So, this whole time, you’ve been playing matchmaker during your wedding?”

Nesta nodded without an ounce of shame. “I’m more committed to your romance than my own marriage, Gwyn. Don’t be mad,” she added, the closest Gwyn would get to an apology. “You’re so stubborn…if I’d told you what I was thinking, you would have avoided him on principle.”

“Yeah, and I probably wouldn’t have slept with him in the airplane bathroom,” she grumbled.

Emerie burst out laughing. “I didn’t believe Mor when she told me she saw you two go in there. She’s going to die—”

“Do not tell her!” Gwyn shrieked. “Tell no one.”

Emerie and Nesta, eyes bright with delight that their scheming had worked immediately, nodded their heads in agreement. God, how had they even gotten here? Looking up at the popcorn ceiling overhead, Gwyn forced herself to say, “It’s not like that between me and Azriel. It’s…this is just a vacation thing. Proximity—”

“Oh, bullshit!” Nesta exploded while Emerie swallowed the laughter causing her shoulders to shake. “Azriel isn’t capable of casual anything.”

Gwyn wanted to believe that. He’d said a lot of things, always with his cock in her body. Never…never without. And Gwyn was cautious to trust anything a man said in the middle of sex given he was likely to say anything he thought she wanted to hear if it meant he got to finish. 

“I don’t know how we got here,” Gwyn grumbled, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Do not meddle, okay? If you want to change the bachelorette party tonight, that's on you.”

“Finally,” Nesta breathed, her delight evident.

“Control freak,” Emerie teased.

And somehow, everything was fine. All Gwyn’s resentment melted away as they devolved into silly teasing, finishing their food and drinks before heading out into the hot Italian air. The sun bounced off the flagstones, blinding the three of them until they clutched at each other, giggling and lamenting that they’d forgotten to put on sunscreen. Gwyn’s hat and sunglasses were in the room she shared with Azriel, and today she didn’t dare run down to get them. She’d hoped to avoid Azriel until she knew how to tell him they’d been set up.

It didn’t matter, at any rate. He was already laid out in a pool chair, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, arms folded behind his head while one muscular leg was bent at the knee, causing the muscles in his abdomen to flex obscenely.

It was absurd, how handsome he was. More absurd when he lowered his glasses to look at her walk past him—as if both Nesta and Emerie didn’t immediately notice. He wasn’t beating the not interested charges, which both annoyed and thrilled her. Azriel didn’t seem to notice the group of beautiful blondes in the pool all laughing loudly, hoping for his attention. Nor did he pay them any mind as they continued to get out of the pool, dripping wet as they slicked their hair back right in front of him.

Even after he’d put his mirrored shades back on, Gwyn could feel his gaze burning against her skin. 

Azriel isn’t capable of anything causal. 

To find out the truth, she was going to have to just ask him flat out what he wanted. And if he wanted to keep this going when they got home—for real, and not when he was erect or drunk or lost to romantic moonlight. Gwyn swallowed.

It was better to know.

Right? 

AZRIEL:

“What was the point of asking me to throw you a bachelor party if we were going to end up with the girls?” Azriel grumbled, thinking of all the wasted money Cassian was flushing down the toilet. It didn’t matter if Rhysand and Nesta had venmoed him more than he’d spent—it was the principle of the thing. He’d paid for a stripper. And not just any stripper, but an Italian stripper, which was, apparently, better than American ones. 

“Nes wants to be together tonight,” Cassian said, flashing Azriel a grin. So much for a nice night out—Azriel was wearing a pair of salmon colored shorts and a white and blue Hawaiian shirt wholly unbuttoned and a lei around his neck. Cassian’s choice, of course, tied together with flip flops that made him feel like a middle aged dad on a Florida beach. 

“You’ll be with her your whole life,” Azriel reminded him, for all the good it did. They were still at the resort for a themed beach night at the adults-only club, and judging from the others he’d seen, their clothes weren’t creative.

The girls were worse—or better, depending on your point of view. Better, because they were in bikini tops and tied sarongs, and worse because every fucking man with eyes was hovering, hoping to drag one of them home. Rhys immediately pushed onto the pulsating dance floor, mere shadow in the black lit dark. Feyre didn’t seem to mind the attention, or was merely trying to get a rise out of Azriel’s brother.

And Rhysand was so, so stupid he fell for it every single time. Azriel wondered if they’d be married next. 

At the bar, Elain Archeron was carefully arranging glasses filled with pale, pink liquid on a circular tray. That seemed safe enough—he was terrified to look for Gwyn and see her with another man. A distraction was exactly what he needed.

And a drink.

Or maybe six. 

“Want help?” he asked Elain. She looked up, relieved to find him and not one of the crawling creeps. Glancing just behind her, Azriel found Lucien Vanserra having a loud conversation with his brothers wife, oblivious to his own being hit on simply for breathing. How could Nesta and Cassian find this preferable to a quiet evening with food and strippers? 

“Yes,” she nodded, shouting over the thudding music. Azriel took the tray and brought it to her husband while Elain began doling them out with a pleased smile.

“Can we try not to get so wrecked tonight?” Emeries voice pulled Azriel from his eyes off Elain and found Gwyn standing close enough to touch. Back in that red top that had been haunting him since he’d seen it at the pool. Did she even know the effect she was having? He wished she’d kept the braids in her hair, though her thick, cinnamon colored hair fell in thick waves down her back which was erotic in its own kind of way. 

He wanted to wrap it around his wrist until her back was arched in the air. She hadn’t come home the night before, likely tucked in with Nesta but Azriel’s imagination had run wild. He imagined her all night with another man, writhing with pleasure and screaming his name.

Cassian had told him when he woke up he’d found Gwyn asleep in the bathroom, one arm flung over the closed lid of the toilet, and Emerie on the couch wrapped up in one of his shirts. Azriel hadn’t dared to ask why Cassian was telling him that, though the knot of anxiety that had formed in chest eased significantly when he learned she was safe—and still his.

Gwyn offered him a tentative smile before throwing back her shot. So much skin was on display—so much he could touch without anyone thinking twice. In fact, Azriel could see her breasts peeking from the bottom of the swim top, taunting him when Gwyn stepped back, shaking her head with a grimace. 

Cheeks flushed, she said, “That was awful.”

“It’s a barbie shot!” Elain told her cheerfully, pushing one toward Azriel. Gwyn’s eyes found him again, smiling sweetly before she took Emerie’s hand and led her back out onto the dance floor.

Fuck. Holding his glass, Azriel couldn’t drag his eyes off the sway of her hips or the way her hair swished back and forth.

A heavy hand clapped on Azriel’s shoulder, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. Cassian, just behind, grinned. “Want to dance?”

Azriel leveled a flat stare. He’d never danced a day in his life—he wasn’t about to start now. He was content to watch. Cassian, too, given he beckoned for Azriel to follow him up a set of grimy stairs where beautiful women came down, eyeing him up and down and running their hands down his chest while pretending there was so little space they had to touch him.

Normally that kind of would amuse him, but today it irritated him. 

“I paid for a private room,” Cassian told him, the music quieter as he pushed into a door with his tattooed shoulder. It was nice, with a long, semi-circular table with booth and chair seating and a glass window overlooking the dance floor beneath. The stripper pole in the middle of the room made Azriel wish he hadn’t canceled the one he’d paid for Cassian’s bachelor party.

“Should have kept the stripper,” Rhys said, reading Azriel’s thoughts. 

“Maybe we can get Nesta—”

“No!” Rhys and Azriel said at once, falling into their seats with wide eyes. 

“Don’t make this weird, man,” Azriel added as Cassian chuckled. “Save that for tonight.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Rhys asked Cassian, who pulled up a chair across from them. 

“It will be when the pizzas get up here. I know…look, I know you two really tried, but I don’t need one last night of freedom. I don’t want to pretend to be single.”

Azriel and Rhys sighed, though neither could pretend to be surprised. All Cassian had ever wanted was Nesta. It made sense, he supposed, that Cassian would want to spend this night with her, too. He knew, from the look on Rhys’s face, that the same soft jealousy he felt was echoed in his brother.

They wanted what Cassian had. 

“We can do strippers when Feyre decides to marry Rhys,” Cassian added with a laugh. 

“Yeah fucking right,” Rhys grumbled, cheeks flushed. “Not if I want to keep my balls.”

“Az, then.”

“Don’t look at me,” he replied, heart thumping loudly. “I’m not getting married anytime soon.”

He wondered what Cassian knew when he replied rather smugly, “We’ll see.”

Had Gwyn told Nesta? Or had Rhys told Cassian? That seemed the most likely given Rhys was suddenly studiously examining his fingernails. He was spared a confrontation by Elain Archeron, repaying the distraction favor, albeit unwittingly, to bring up more shots, along with the Vanserra brothers.

“Nice,” Lucien said, setting a round of beers in front of them. “Bottle service?”

“Do I look cheap, Vanserra?” Cassian replied with a grin.

“Yes,” Eris responded, earning a warning smack in the chest from Elain. More people filed in, along with a very beautiful waitress and the bottle service Cassian had paid for. He barked at everyone to drink, and drink heavily, given it hadn’t come cheap. For the crowd they had, it seemed more than reasonable and no one paid him any mind when he ordered a glass of water and kept quietly to himself. He was waiting for an opening—one he found when Gwyn stumbled down the steps for the bathroom.

Azriel made his way after her, content in the knowledge that all their friends were too drunk to notice if they left together or not. And maybe this loud club wasn’t the place for a conversation, but when Gwyn pushed into the bathroom, Azriel followed right behind her.

“Is this a new kink I should be worried about?” she asked, though she still undid her bottoms to pee in front of him. Azriel turned, only a little embarrassed.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“Oh? Why is that, I wonder?” she asked, her voice just a little louder than usual. Okay, so maybe she was a little more drunk than he thought. Azriel hesitated.

“Because I like you.”

“Me? Or me naked?”

Oof. “Both,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I ah…I wanted to talk about going home.”

Her laugh bounced off the tile walls. “Are we breaking up?”

A flush, and then Gwyn, flip flops slapping against the floor while she went to wash her hands.

“No. I want to see you when this is all over. Just you,” he added. 

As my girlfriend, though Azriel didn’t know if he dared to add that. Not when she was looking at him with…was that amusement? Was he about to have his heart broken? 

“Just me?” Gwyn asked, shaking her wet hands between them. “This is starting to sound like a confession.”

“I just told you I liked you,” he reminded her. Gwyn’s smile widened. 

“So you want..what, exactly?”

“You,” he replied, daring to come closer. Close enough to touch her arms, to smell the scent of her shampoo and the salt on her skin from dancing. “With me and no one else.”

“So…your girlfriend.”

The urge to play it cool, to tell her no and hedge his bets rose through his throat and nearly spilled out of his mouth. Did she want to be casual still? To keep her options open? Azriel didn’t, and the thought of agreeing to that made him want to vomit on the floor.

“Yes.”

Gwyn’s brows shot skyward. He’d caught her by surprise, then. “Just you and me,” he added, so it was perfectly clear to her. “No one else.”

“Starting…when?”

“Starting now,” he replied, pulling her closer still. “Right now.”

“You should know something,” Gwyn said, before rushing to tell him the whole, sordid saga of Nesta’s manipulation. With flushed cheeks and averted eyes, Gwyn told him how they’d been paired together—and that Nesta had known she’d been single the entire time. Azriel waited patiently, unsure why it was so critical he know this. Did Gwyn think he was going to change his mind, or that proximity was the only thing drawing him to her?

He wanted her in the airport, well before they ever got seated together, and told her as much. It was hardly romantic, telling your would-be girlfriend that you fucked her in an airplane bathroom because your attraction was driving you insane, but Gwyn obviously needed to hear it.

But even if that hadn’t been true—he’d still want her. And would have thanked Nesta for hitting him over the face with it. 

“So…so it doesn’t matter?” she asked, twining her arms around his neck.

“Never did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her mouth. Azriel might have taken her right then and there, but a pounding against the door reminded him that they were not anywhere private—and there were limited bathrooms. 

“I can’t leave,” Gwyn lamented, reading his mind.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said instead, selfishly wanting her more than he wanted to carry her back to their shared room, black out drunk until she threw up in his lap. “Cassian has pizza upstairs. You should eat some.”

“Insatiable,” Gwyn teased, unlocking the door and dragging him out with her. Everything was perfect. Better than perfect because for the first time, Azriel genuinely believed he could have what Cassian and Nesta did. That this might actually be it for him, and all he had to do was hold tight and try not to fuck it up too badly.

He never considered outside forces were conspiring against him. And he never thought, when they were back just outside the dance floor and he’d pulled her flush against his body for a languid, long-coming kiss, that anyone would even care. 

“Gwyn!” 

Gwyn froze, turning her head in slow motion. Azriel, too, turned to look at the masculine voice calling over the music. His stomach dropped to the floor. There, in an ugly green and blue striped tie and a long sleeved, white button down made of stifling polyester, stood Jonathon. 

“Fuck,” Gwyn whispered.

Fuck, indeed.

[starfall-spirit]

@officialfeysandweek2023

🎨: @sarahsoba

Read on Ao3

Summary: Feyre trusted Azriel and Cassian to keep her work as a Wraith secret. Perhaps they had, but it doesn't change the fact their High Lord knew what secrets were hidden in the shadows they share. Angered by her deception, Rhys sends Feyre home, freeing her from their marriage and bargain made Under the Mountain, all too soon finding that to be the worst mistake he's made in five centuries.

AN: The Silver-Tongued Bride, a Feysand fic based on 1,001 Nights/Arabian Nights, has been discontinued so I can write a book with a similar plot in the future, but UBC brought up the fic and I was struggling with my original project for Mates. So I'm closing this AU with a bang. As I said in a previous post there is a major time skip between Wife or Weapon? and Would You Like Me On My Knees? so reading/rereading STB is not vital, but the link is there if you want to see what the original story idea was and get a better idea of Feysand's history in this AU.

For those unfamiliar with 1,001 Nights, you can read the basic plot here.

CW: Dark!Rhys, Smut

“Feyre, you’ve told me a story every night for months now.”

“I have,” she murmured. “Would you like to hear another this evening?”

He gave her a slight smirk from across the oversized table between them, fiddling with one of the strategy pieces. “No, darling. Eager as I am to hear the ending of this last story, I have one to tell you tonight.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “One about a village girl brave enough to save her people.” She narrowed her eyes, accepting the chair. “Once upon a time a wicked foreign commander took control of seven High Lords’ power, trapping all but one in her perversion of a court.”

“Why are you telling me—”

“Be quiet and listen,” he hissed. There was something in his eyes tonight that for the first time stirred something like fear in Feyre. “For forty-nine years those faeries hoped and prayed for some salvation that never came. Until one day a village girl was just desperate enough to go Under the Mountain to save her sisters, and in her dealings with Amarantha, Prythian.”

Though he’d given her nothing but facts she recognized from her own story, something close to dread was coiling in her gut. “She succeeded, at the cost of her life, but was revived by the seven High Lords when their magic was returned to them. One would think after dying, our heroine would be content enough to keep a low profile and stay tucked away with her sisters.”

“You kept me from that, I’ll remind you.”

“Did I? Or did all of this start when you decided to play spy, Wraith?”

She ground her teeth, holding his burning stare. “You live in such wealth and privilege. Tell me, when was the last time you went days or weeks without more than bread and water? I did what I needed to to make sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, as I always have. Just because it took you three years to look at who you employ doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.”

He stood from his own seat. “You're right.” It took a moment for the words to register. That he had actually surrendered that small victory to her. “You haven’t actually done anything, beyond failing to mention your other duties to the Night Court. Which is why you will continue those duties, unrestrained.”

That dread began to seep back in, coiled and curdling deep inside of her. “Unrestrained? What do you mean unrestrained?”

“You are vital to Azriel’s network. I will not kill you, but you can not fully commit to your duties as my bride.”

Bride. Never wife, though she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about that little technicality during such a serious conversation. Because what his words implied…

She lurched from her chair.“Rhys, you can’t.”

“It is not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Feyre.”

“Rhys, please.” She was begging. Something she vowed she’d never do when it came to him. “Please don’t do this.” Her hand was fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt as if she could keep him there and hold his attention so simply. “They don’t deserve this.”

He cocked his head. “What would you give me, darling, to keep me from looking at another female?”

“Anything.” Dangerous words to offer the fae, especially one so powerful. “I will give you anything so long as these bride killings stop. Name your price.”

“Feyre, did you really think you could stop this, single-handedly? You never had a—”

He grunted as she pulled him down closer, one hand still holding his shirt while the other threaded through his silky hair. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly took control, lifting her onto the table and disregarding the scattering of figures and marking pins so carefully arranged on the broad map atop it. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb just brushing across her jaw. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, holding her in place to deepen the kiss.

She could say the same. Their kiss was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, and that cruel mouth working down over her neck, his tongue flicking that little sweet spot just higher that nearly had her whimpering. Apparently he remembered a few tricks from their time Under the Mountain. Each one left something inside her singing. And aching for more.

And then he was off of her, around the other side of the table before she could even open her eyes or try to assess what was threaded between them.

“No,” he growled, gripping the wood of the table hard enough his skin lightened. “You—we needed that distraction back then. I am not about to let you bargain with your body now, Feyre. You’ll leave in the morning, as usual. This time—” He waved a hand and a fresh horror filled her as the ink on her right arm vanished. “—free of our marriage.” Another wave and her left arm was bare. “Free of our bargain.”

She stumbled around the table. If Rhys was letting her go… “Rhys, wait.”

“It’s done. You’re free. You never have to see me again. What more do you want?” he snapped. She stopped in front of him, nearly close enough to share breath. Even wide and wild, those eyes drew her in. “What?” he growled.

“Promise me it will end.” His brow furrowed. “You’re a better male than this. I can see it. Your brothers can see it. I don’t know the others, but—”

“That’s enough.” He tilted his head as he assessed her, looking every bit the predator he proved himself to the world, any trace of the goodness she’d thought she’d seen just as absent as she ink on her arms. Her heart sank as he tutted, stroking his thumb down her jawline, this time almost condescendingly. “So that’s what you’ve been, little temptress. The martyr bride. One day my lover? My High Lady?”

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be if it saves others who are meant to follow me here.”

Reckless, stupid words, and yet she meant every one of them. She refused to release him until he listened.

Or winnowed.

Or layed her down on that war table and reminded her how easy it was to break a male.

Any other male, it seemed.

His hand dropped to wrap around her throat. One last security blanket, a means of control, even as she watched his resistance fracture. “Gods. Feyre, you don’t know how you tempt me to break the one code I can keep.” At this point she didn’t know how else to express she wouldn’t be as unwilling as he believed. Again, he tore away from her, leaving her cold and aching. What had gotten into her? “Your village and family will be pardoned in the future. If you’d like to take anything I’ve given you home then you’re welcome to pack tonight. As a Wraith, you can leave at your leisure. I trust you’ll be gone before breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his back to her to repair the map she’d unknowingly torn. She should have felt relieved at the dismissal, but all she could currently think was that this was so wrong. On a scale larger than this sexual chemistry.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It rang in her head loudly enough she double checked her shields. Still impenetrable. Body and mind steeled, she gave him five parting words meant to sting after all this time in each other's company. “As you wish, High Lord.”

And she walked away, gaining her freedom, and losing so much more.

But what was still the question. 

~~~~~

Her sisters were elated. At least, Elain was elated. Nesta only felt the need to interrogate Feyre about what she had done to earn her freedom. “I wanted out,” she lied. “I told him I was a Wraith and he decided that was important enough to the war to release me.”

Neither of them seemed to believe her, especially with her vow to keep telling stories to maintain her position as a Night Bride and save the girls he’d yet to draw into his cruel game. Half of the town had started to treat her like a plague. The other was in awe when they saw her arms were bare of ink and her head was attached to her neck. 

Feyre didn’t have enough energy to care.

That was more frustrating than anything else. That empty feeling that grated against the anger and hurt she couldn’t find a way to justify. The dangerous tumble of thoughts that kept her awake in her bed until she was watching the sunrise. Because Cauldron damn her, she missed it. Missed him. The smirk on his face and the light in his eyes when she encouraged his flirtation. The glide of his hands over her body before that brutal dismissal. The taste of him, endless and all-consuming. The abyss she was too ready to leap into if she’d find him at the bottom.

That desperation scared her more than anything, and opened up a very unwelcome thought when the evenings went quiet. So she locked it away in a little mental box, shoving it behind that wall of steel and stone, down, and down, and down where she couldn’t feel even a flicker of want or worry.

But then, she had never been very good at compartmentalizing. And too many things in the home and village around her brought those feelings back to the surface. What they meant. But if she didn’t give it a name it didn’t have to mean anything. Not after he freed her. And with that mindset, she kept going, day by day.

She kept moving though life, waiting to hear the Bride Killer had returned to find his next target. But he never did. Not for weeks. She didn’t think it was possible for a town or village to simply freeze, but there was a feeling in the air all the same. As if the villagers around her, the birds and bugs and cattle, the very land around them was holding its breath.

It was excruciating to endure.

Still, she made herself go about town. To the market each morning and social functions in the evening. Nodding along as other females tittered about the latest gossip and just how lucky she was to be alive and marriageable again. It was positively disgusting. But she’d endure that too, for Elain and Nesta. It was where they thrived and she could tolerate being labeled the odd ball a while longer. It’s what she’d been her whole life, after all.

She should have known things wouldn’t be left there. That she wouldn’t be given time to heal and pass this strange emotional lull without some grand interruption. And grand it was.

In typical fashion, Rhys arrived at the height of the evening, his announcement by rolling thunder. “What a pretty little party.”

~~~~~

The house cleared remarkably quickly between the families scurrying for the door or flat out winnowing as he commanded them to leave. The only people to disobey were her sisters, frightened as they were by the intrusion. There was something to be said for their improving loyalty, she supposed.

He didn’t speak again until the door snicked shut behind their last guest. “Good evening, Feyre darling.”

“Rhys.” His name was hardly higher than a breath, but its weight did enough to heighten the already unbearable tension. “What do you want?” she asked a bit more confidently, pushing off the wall and shoving the flare between them down as deep as she could. If he wanted the… connection… between them, he wouldn’t have sent her away like he did. “You said you wouldn’t return to this village. Especially not this house.”

“It’s not your sisters I’m here for, Feyre.” The promise in his voice paired with the heat in his eyes sent a fresh bolt of want through her. “The last time we spoke—”

“The last time we spoke, you promised me my freedom, Rhysand. Peace from your games.”

“I think you like my games more than you’re willing to admit, darling.”

She scoffed, putting more distance between them as she moved behind the couch. “What do you want, Rhys? Say it and leave.” Her father coughed pointedly from where he had joined them just seconds ago, some small effort as the technical head of the house. It was a reminder to check her tone, speaking to a High Lord. She snorted. “He won’t touch me.”

Rhys winnowed across the room, his broad figure a mass of warmth against her, his scent flooding her senses. She pressed forward, hips digging into the back of the couch as she focused on taking shallow breaths, pointedly ignoring everything her body was demanding she do. “The last time we were this close—”

“You sent me away. I didn’t beg and plead for you to erase the bargain and wedding vows. I said I’d stay there for good. I’d be whatever the hell you needed me to be and you sent me away.”

“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to beg and plead you come home to me? Do you want to see me on my knees for you? Should I grovel, love?”

“It would certainly be a new look for you, wouldn’t it?” she spat.

Ignoring Elain’s squeak, she shoved at his arm to escape his hold, fiddling with anything and everything that was already in its perfect place to ignore the male behind her as best she could. The next time she turned around he didn’t give her the choice of distancing herself. 

One hand caught her hip, the other cupping her face. Though his touch was loose and gentle, after weeks apart she was helpless against the pull of their bond. She sank into his chest, trembling slightly, finding that thread between them raw and open. “Darling.” There was a tentativeness to his voice she’d never once heard. Not in their most vulnerable moments Under the Mountain and certainly not in their time together in Velaris. “I’m sorry.” His right hand slid up, winding in her hair to keep her eyes level with his. “You need to know, you are worth more than what you thought I needed. I’ll have you as my mate—my High Lady—or not at all.”

She stiffened. “I don’t know a thing about leading a court.”

“You’ll learn.” Before she could say another word about it or explain anything to her family, she felt him start to winnow. 

“Rhys, wait! Don’t—” Her protest was cut off with her air, as they were folded in shadow, surfacing in the dining room of the town house in Velaris, his family already occupying the table. She jerked free of his hold. “You can’t just abduct me from my home,” she growled, ready to send herself right back.

“Just wait. Please.” The house was dead silent. She froze, watching with wide eyes as he sank to his knees. “Feyre.” The vulnerability between his actions and that one word was enough to clear the house, leaving the two of them alone, save each other. “Feyre. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his face. “But this is a discussion we need to have… unmonitored.”

“Tell me it's over.”

“It’s over.”

“Tell me that even if I turn around and go home, no more innocents will die at your hands. By your orders,” she clarified.

“I will never kill an innocent again. I will not call a priestess to an altar unless it is you by my side. You being pronounced my mate. My wife. My High Lady. My Forever. Feyre, my name is a stain on the history of this court. That will not change.” She shuddered as he wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees. “Help me do what I can to pave a better future.”

Because what would the world think when their Cursebreaker willingly married the Bride Killer? When she bore the ink of his court again? What would the world think of her when they realized she’d fallen in love with their greatest evil? 

She sank down to the ground, knee to knee with her mate. “I’ll be your equal? Respected in this court and the others.”

“The other High Lords will favor traditions. Especially those of the seasons. I can't promise you their respect. But no citizen of Night will question your authority and keep their life.”

“And… the other expectations of a High Lord’s wife?”

“One day, with this war behind us I would want to build a family with you. Raise children beside you. But not yet, Feyre. Not with this war upon us. I don’t—”

She kissed him, throwing her weight enough that he twisted his legs, settling on his back to let her set the pace. Though he didn’t object to her straddling him she didn’t think the privilege of control would last long, considering his grip on her waist was already beginning to tighten. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, working them open with an impressive dexterity, considering her mind felt like a muddled mess.

“Wait.” Feyre paused, confused. Then they were winnowing again, this time to a cabin in the mountains. “We won’t be disturbed any time soon,” he promised, walking her backwards through the cabin until she stumbled, only to be lifted upright in his arms before she could hit the floor. She locked her legs around his waist, gasping against his mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, her hands pinned over her head. “I’ve been aching for you,” Rhys confessed, “from the moment you left my bed three years ago, I’ve wanted you back in my arms.”

Years. Not just the weeks they were apart, but since they found freedom from Amarantha. Feyre tried to look back on those days, recalling the vulnerability between the pleasure they shared. Where they had let those careful masks crumble to dust. A single brief moment where she had let herself wonder if Rhys was more broken than he let on.

She pushed those thoughts down. “You sent me away.”

“Love is a dangerous thing,” he told her, letting her stand on her own feet again, his arms braced on either side of her. “And you were offering yourself to protect others, not for your own happiness. You would have come to hate me if I tried to act on our bond. I couldn’t see you reliving my mother’s story.”

“It may have seemed impulsive then, but I wanted it. Even without the mating bond established I wanted you.” 

Now that they’d both said it aloud it felt a thousand times more real. They were mates. A perfect match by nature or fate depending on who you asked. “Oh, and if we’re to do this in some sort of reasonable order.” She parted the panels of her gown. “It has pockets, see!” He was clearly confused about the relevance of her dress having pockets but stayed quiet to humor her. “I was keeping this for myself since they were just about the only enjoyable thing at that party, but here,” she told him almost conspiratorially, unwrapping the small linen napkin holding the cookies she was saving for a snack. “I didn’t technically make it myself, but… Food. Eat. Now.”

Confusion softened to something like awe and she realized for as cruel as he’d been in his time as High Lord, he had grieved the simple pleasures he thought he’d ruined his chance of finding. Like a female offering him food and truly accepting an eternity with him. He had a better future to look forward to, starting with half-crumbled cookies. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his thumb sweeping tenderly across her cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, Feyre.”

She just smiled, nodding to the meager offering again. They were gone in seconds, the napkin so clean she wouldn’t have believed there were crumbs at all if she hadn’t seen the mess of crushed dessert herself. There was something to be said for a newly mated male’s dedication.

“Delicious,” he purred against her ear, tossing the pristine cloth over his shoulder. “But I can think of something else I’d rather taste at the moment.”

~~~~~

Rhys had never gotten a female out of a dress so quickly. He had never felt so close to losing control of himself. Not just that spiral of desire and the need to please his mate and satisfy their bond, but something more. Ancient and dark and primal. The need to claim in every respect. 

He hadn’t felt the cage swing open. Not until the thing within him was stalking out, his skin itching and tight as onyx scales rippled over it in patches. He groaned against Feyre, the taste of her on his tongue was doing nothing to help his attempt at suppressing the creature he worked so hard to hide. He knew it was only a matter of time before his talons would make themselves known and draw his mate’s attention to the steady shift claiming his body. She gasped as one of those obsidian claws nicked her tender flesh and an ugly guilt began twisting inside him at the single drop of blood that bloomed. He released her instantly. 

“Rhys…” He had been bracing himself for horror or disgust, not this quiet curiosity. 

“I normally have better control than this,” he said, jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t lost control of his beast form since he was a youngling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It's…” Her eyes shared the words her tongue couldn't find. She wanted this. Was hungry for it, even if it would temporarily cost him his sanity. 

He growled as she tried to guide him back between her legs. “As you wish, darling.”

She shivered at the next slow stroke of his tongue, her legs tightening around his head. “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

A chuckle rasped out of him, even as he felt his control slipping little by little. “So my bossy little mate thinks she knows what she wants, hm? We’ll see about that.” While his body was only half-his own at the moment, he managed to retract the talons that had scratched her a moment before. Beast or not, he promised his mate his mouth, fingers, and cock tonight and he had no intention of disappointing her again. 

He didn’t quicken his pace, not when he had the absolute pleasure of drawing her steadily higher and higher until she was on the precipice of falling, flushed from head to toe and clenching around his fingers. He grinned as he heard her let out another frustrated whimper, her short nails dragging down from his scalp to scratch the back of his neck, bringing about as much pain as a kitten might. 

Do you need something, love? he teased, withdrawing entirely.

She gave a hard shove and he let her flip their positions, folding an arm beneath his head as he watched her straddle him. Seeing as her patience has been rather unremarkable thus far, he had ultimately expected her to take advantage of her position over him and claim the pleasure they were both aching for. It appeared she would once again surprise him.

“You take far too much pleasure in keeping me from mine,” she told him, almost in reprimand. “It’s high time the roles were reversed—” She slid back, wrapping her slender hand around the base of his swollen, scaled length. “—don’t you think?”

“I think, Feyre, that you should be very careful,” he warned her. Both of them knew she had no physical leverage over him. That he had let her turn the tables and could reclaim control the moment he decided he was done with this game. But for now he’d pretend he was a decent male, if only so his mate could feel proud of herself for this momentary victory. “Go on, darling. Do your worst.”

She grinned, sinking down to take the first inch of him in her mouth. Rhys could feel her smugness rippling down the bond, multiplying when his free hand flew to her nape. “Look at you,” he praised her, his fingers carding though her hair as a means of comfort as she took him deeper at her own pace. “So pretty, taking my cock down your throat.”

She wouldn’t be able to take all of him like this, not with him half-shifted this way. But she was trying her best and it wasn’t a sight he would forget anytime soon. She dragged her teeth against him and he jerked forward on instinct, choking her slightly. “Careful, pet,” he warned, the tension in his voice betraying his own state of mind. Her little hum told him she knew he was close to spilling down her throat and he had no intention of letting things end so soon.

He twisted her hair around his hand, pulling her up to face him, “As pretty as you’d look drooling on my cock, I think I’d rather watch you ride me, Feyre.”

She wasted no time, letting him guide her down onto him. “Look at you,” Rhys murmured again, his breath fluttering against her hair. She whimpered. “Slow down, darling. Almost there.” He hissed as she clenched around the full length of him, a new instinct roaring to life within him. Claim, claim, claim. 

For the millionth time that night he found himself grieving the absence of the  ink that clearly tied her to him before he granted her her freedom. He’d remedy that problem after they dealt with the frenzy.

He watched Feyre for a moment, taking in the glaze of lust in her eyes and the love beneath it, And deep down, even under that, the instinct that mirrored his own. He shifted on the bed slightly, preparing to flip them again. “Do you know what it wants, Feyre? Hm?”

She blinked down at him, trying to piece together what he was asking. “Do you know what the beast beneath my skin wants to do to you when you’re taking this cock like such a good girl?” She moaned again, hips jerking against his unyielding hold. “Needy little mate,” he admonished softly. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting. Now fuck me.” 

She yelped as he flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “I told you to be careful, little mate.”

“Rhys—”

“I warned you to be careful, Feyre. That I was close to losing control. That there was only one thing the beast in me wanted from you.” She shuddered as he shifted both of her hands under one of his, bringing his free hand down to stroke her clit. She keened. “But maybe that’s what my little mate wants too.”

“Rhys.” A foreign, desperate sound left her as her release rattled through her. Rhys didn’t let her come down from it, refusing to acknowledge how she felt clenching around him as he aimed to bring her to her second orgasm. “Rhys, wait. I need—”

“Darling, I thought you needed to come,” he teased. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to overstimulate her, scrambling her senses and bringing her pleasure over and over. It had been his greatest joy in those moments they stole when they were stuck Under the Mountain. His only joy, actually. But that time was behind them. “So, so pretty like this, filled up with my cock,” he praised her, tensing slightly as the dark scaled patches rippled and spread over his skin. “Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby.”

She let out a low groan that had new pride blooming, a jerk of his hips sending her over the edge once again. “Rhys, need you to fill me up.”

“I know, baby. That’s a good girl.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her neck as his slow drag turned more deliberate, bringing them to the next high together. He ducked his head again, slanting his mouth over hers as they came together. “I love watching you come undone for me,” he murmured. “I’ve missed it more than anything.”

She hissed as he pulled out of her slowly, watching onyx scales revert to brown skin, the possessive glint in his eyes fading to something softer. “What took you so long? The ward on the house was pathetic. Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

“Because I never deserved you. And one day I stopped caring about what was deserved and decided to be purely selfish. So I made you a Night Bride.”

“And then you sent me away.”

“I didn’t deserve a mate either. And I knew you would begin to recognize the bond for what it was. But the weeks apart, knowing it would be final, I couldn’t stand it. So I swallowed my pride and came to grovel.”

Feyre sighed, laying her head on his chest. “I’m very glad you did, Rhys.”

He smiled against her hair, holding her a little tighter. “So am I, darling. So am I.”

~~~~~

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[bearbluebooks]

Chapter 2: Nautical Errors

Captain Azriel and chief stew Gwyn are both employed at superyacht Velaris. Four years ago they shared one passionate night and one cold morning when Gwyn woke up to an empty bed and even emptier promises. Will the past catch up with them?

Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

This chapter has angst, banter, the Smut Sisters and a lot of NSFW. I said Porn without Plot so that's what you'll get!

TW: reference to sexual assault, mention of word r*pe

Azriel POV

Rain on the sea was a beautiful play of movement and melody. Each drop formed a different note in the ballad of waves. Together they formed a dance that spoke to Azriel's soul.

The monotone beats of the drip, drip, drip offered a calmness he rarely felt in the normal world. It was on a similarly dark and gloomy evening that an immense dog walked up to the docks. The obsidian animal was nearly invisible in the darkness of night.

He was about to walk away, back to the solitude of his boat when he noticed the dog that followed his every footstep, like a shadow that never left him.

He tried to bring her to a shelter, but she always found her way back to him.

He grew fond of the soothing presence and the comforting joy she brought to his life.

He didn’t think about the memory often, he loathed to think about where she would’ve been if they didn’t find each other on the dock that evening.

The sudden moisture on his face brought back the memory in a flash, when he woke up to the rare rain he loved so much, and the dog licking it off his face- whom he loved equally as much.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, captain.” A lilting voice said from behind him.

It was still dark out, the only sound was the rain that dropped silently on the teak flooring and the rustling waves of the sea.

The voice belonged to the copper-haired stew who was sitting on a deck chair that was conveniently covered by a beach umbrella.

Despite the colder temperature, she was wearing short white cotton shorts, a white camisole, and a knitted brown cardigan. She wore her hair up in a messy bun, with loose strands that framed her freckled face.

He jolted up with a force that almost knocked Shadow off his lap, “were you watching me sleep?” he suggested slightly shocked.

What was she doing here?

He glanced quickly at the night sky to calculate what time it was, and he could confidently say she should be in bed right now.

“I thought maybe there was some wisdom to you sleeping outside. I guess your talent is limited to being captain.” Her voice was strong, but there seemed to be some other emotion behind it.

His heart warmed at that aspiring insult. Why were even her insults laced with compliments? She should really work on that, and he would gladly help: “You think I’m a good captain?” he tried not to smirk but he couldn’t help it.

All embarrassment- or anger, went directly to her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.” She turned away from him to face the sea instead. “Stop putting words in my mouth”, she spit out.

He slightly moved Shadow off his body and walked towards a beach bed across from her.

“Why are you really here, Gwyneth?” he demanded with genuine concern. He knew the grueling schedule of chief stews. They worked backbreaking 16-hour days, filled with a difficult balance between acting, skill, guidance, and leadership. She was responsible for the performance of all stews, and the quality of the guest experience. It was a balancing act few stews achieved successfully in their careers, and that was with sleep. 

Even though he had moments of silence, she was not granted that privilege. He couldn’t fathom how she was doing it without.

She remained silent as he took the seat across from her. He knew they didn’t have that kind of relationship, but they agreed to be cordial. He was still her boss. Her well-being was the ship's well-being.

“I know I am a sight to behold, but even I can admit I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.” he said in an attempt to get her to explain what the hell she was doing here in the middle of the night.

She finally looked him in the eyes when she said “If you must know, I have really bad insomnia.” She sat back, easing her body into the chair, and the conversation.

“I’m lucky if I get three hours of sleep a night.” She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more but she chose not to. Instead, she crossed her arms, slipping that guard back up.

“Me too.” He decided to answer.

He had struggled with restlessness ever since he was a little boy. His dad used to test him, to see how far he could push him before he would break. Food, sleep, and grades were all means of control. Methods to prove he was finally worthy. That he was worth love, worth it to be part of the family, worth it to exist.

He was the bastard child, his brothers often reminded him of the fact. His hands were a permanent reminder. To never forget he wasn’t good enough- not as a son, not as a brother, not as a male.

His hands were a gift from his brother, the insomnia a gift from his father.

Her small voice interrupted the flood of memories when she asked “what do you usually do-?”

“-to sleep.”

Over the years he had developed ways to tire his body and mind, “I work out. I watch the night sky.”

“…I read.”

Reading was one of the few ways through which his mind could shut off- reading and fucking. Although he was never shy of people to assist him in the latter, books came with fewer emotional attachments and complications.

She laughed with a smile that reached her eyes when she dared “You read?”

“I am more than just a pretty face, Gwyneth.”

“Fair enough.” She answered with a smirk of her own.

She contemplated her next question.

As if she didn’t know where to start until she decided on: “What do you read?”

“Let me guess…”

“International code of signals. Ships Routing. Maritime Rescue manuals.”

“No, no, wait, don’t tell me. Moby DICK!” She laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair.

She was enjoying this too much. Two could play that game. “What do you like to read.”

There was that red flush to her skin again. This should be interesting.

Cassian had informed him of the kind of books Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn liked to read in their book club, called ‘Smut Sisters’. Cassian stole one of their books once, just to see what all the fuss was about. 

He was no stranger to experimentation in (and out) of the bedroom, he participated in his fair share of practices that some would label as intense, or scandalous, but the little parts he read turned even his cheeks red.

He was curious to see if she would admit it, or if she had another answer ready.

“It’s nothing you’d know.” She said with a dismissive hand.

“Try me”, he coaxed with a smile he tried really hard not to have shown on his face. He didn’t want to push her too much.

She looked him up and down before she finally caved and admitted her interesting reading choice, “Selena Drake’s latest novel To Capture a Heart: Tales of the Sea. Nesta, Emerie, and I thought it would be ironic.”

“Uhuh.” He only said. Ironic his ass.

“And what’s it about, it sounds interesting.”

She crossed her arms again. He knew he shouldn’t be pushing so hard but it was so difficult not to. Like when someone told you not to press the red button, and your whole body urges you to do it.

“It’s about a pirate who rescues his long-lost love. They met when they were younger, she fell in love first, but he fell harder, and they were separated by circumstances but true love can never be kept apart.”

“And there’s lots and lots of sex in it.” she quickly added.

Something shifted in her demeanor when she said “I know you and Cassian stole one of our books last year.”

“You think you’re so mysterious and sleek, but you can’t fool me, Azriel.”

She quietly added, “Not anymore.”

“Good night, captain.” She hastily stood up from the deckchair and walked back towards the entrance to the interior.

The wind howled all around him. The sea rocked the ship to sleep. But he was wide awake. He knew why he was distant, but why was she? 

Something suddenly shifted in him. He was prepared to be cordial, to let the past be in the past, at least for this charter season. But that sentence with that emotion, ‘not anymore’, made him angry. She said it as if she was hurt.

He looked at the empty seat across from him, and then to the door she was disappearing behind.

He jumped up out of his deck chair as if the wind aided him as he yelled “wait!”

It was silent. And a thousand different scenarios filled his head. What if she ignored him and went back to her cabin? Or worse, what if she came back?

He first saw her copper hair and her teary teal eyes, before he heard the words “Are you ordering me as my captain, or are you asking me?

He stepped forward as he said, “Whichever one makes you stay.”

She seemed to contemplate the answer. Weighing out all options. She was a thinker, too, it seemed.

“What do you want Azriel?” She said as she leaned against the metal wall, close enough to the exit but right in his line of sight.

“What did you mean when you said ‘not anymore’?” He took another step forward. He tried not to let his anger show.

Anger was an emotion he grew up very familiar with. An emotion he vowed to never release, especially not towards women. He remembered how his mother would cower in front of his father. No hand needed to be raised, his voice was enough.

“You know what I meant.” She spat out. Crossing her arms. As if the posture could protect her from whatever emotion was unfolding inside of her.

“Why don’t you explain.” He was really trying not to raise his voice, or to ball his fingers into fists, or to move too close.

He steadied his breath and stayed on his spot. He needed to understand what she remembered, because he sure as hell knew what he remembered: the greatest and worst night of his life.

“You left.” She said as her eyes turned downcast and a tear ran down her cheek. She adjusted the sleeves over her hands, to give her the comfort she was longing for but he couldn’t give. Didn’t want to give.

He still didn’t understand the emotion behind her words. He was the one who deserved to be hurt, what reason could she possibly have?

Memories flashed back into his mind. Everything from that night played in his mind like a movie, scene after scene, picture after picture.

As if he was there again.

He could hear her tantalizing voice, feel the soft strands of her hair in his scarred hands, taste her…

She was right.

He did leave- his insomnia was playing up again, and she was soundly asleep. He didn’t want to bother her, so he left to go for a walk. He hoped the fresh air would help him fall asleep.

“I did leave.” He didn’t know what else to say.

What else to ask to understand.

Then she said the words and it all made sense, “You never came back.”

Shit shit shit.

The realization hit him like a truck.

“Gwyn.” He crossed the distance between them at a speed he was sure should be impossible.

He put his scarred hands on her cheeks when he said “I did.” He tried to coax her to look into his eyes too, so he could convey every emotion he knew words could never express- their shared hurt, their fucked up past. All the lost chances.

“I did come back.”

His voice choked up, as he repeated “I did.”

Gwyn’s eyes were still downcast, despite the sudden presence of his towering body in front of her. Despite the warm touch of his hands on her cold freckled skin.

She was cold.

He had his sweater lying somewhere under the deckchair. He quickly let go of her face as he went to pick up the black sweater. Even though leaving her side felt like leaving her all those years ago, he knew he couldn’t fix that, but he could fix this.

“You’re cold, put this on.”

“I’m not…”

“… you don’t have to.”

“Please, Gwyn.” His eyes swelled with tears too.

They were tears of frustration- he was so angry at that male who dared fuck up his future. All this time he was mad at the wrong person. He hated violence, but he was already planning on ways to make that male pay.

They were tears of sadness- all the stolen moments he could have shared with Gwyn in those years when they both lived in lies.

They were tears of fear- how would this new knowledge affect Gwyn? He couldn’t imagine the horror of losing your agency like that. How a male could invade one’s space and you were utterly unaware.

He stood in front of her again, shielding her from the wind, when she put on his sweater. The large piece of clothing did not fit her at all, and she had never looked greater. His cedar smell mixed with her vanilla scent was like a drug he thought he kicked long ago. He moved his body closer, to breathe in more of their mingling scent. Then he shook his head. He needed to do something else first.

Something she already started when she filled the empty space with more recollection and choked words “You weren’t there.”

“We shared that night. I thought we had something…” she quieted her next words, as if she was ashamed to utter them into reality “…special.”

He needed to tell her.

It would hurt. But she deserved the truth. All of it.

So he continued, “I came back to the room.”

“I couldn’t sleep again so I went for a walk.”

She remained silent. Her eyes were still downcast. Looking at his feet.

His eyes never left hers as he continued the story.

“When I came back…

…there was someone else in the bed.”

“He was lying half-naked beside you.” Saying the words hurt more than he could possibly imagine. How he had to be the one to tell her about the horrid actions of that man. The recollection brought back the hurt of betrayal he felt all those years ago, together with the new betrayal of lost possibility. If he’d known he would have dragged him out of that bed with more force than a category nine hurricane. He failed her. In more ways than one. He hoped she could forgive him.

She looked into his eyes and he saw utter shock quickly replaced by fear, and then the sinking realization of everything that new piece of information entailed.

That male took advantage of her, and she didn’t know.

The question of whether he took more than her personal space lingered in the air.

“I didn’t know there was someone else in the room that night…”

“I thought…”

“…I thought it was you lying beside me.”

“And that you left after-

-after we shared that night.”

“That you just left me alone.” Tears fell down her cheeks like a waterfall in constant motion. Her body shook with the force of emotions that could no longer be contained.

She remained silent for a little bit.

The wind rustled her hair.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to touch her. His whole body screamed to. But he would wait. He would do and be whatever she needed.

She choked out the words “Someone was in my room?”

“Did he-?”

He didn’t know. Gods he didn’t know.

But he did know that he would kill him. For what he did to Gwyn. The way he took advantage of her. He didn’t even know in which way. He couldn’t shake the image of her lying peacefully in the hotel bed, with that naked asshole beside her.

How she didn’t suspect a thing, in all the four years since then, until he had to shatter that illusion. His hands turned into fists. He felt his heart beat faster, and his vision turned red when he had to utter the words “I don’t know Gwyn.”

Gwyn’s posture seemed to be the opposite. She became utterly cold and unnaturally still, as if she slipped on another Gwyn when she asked “Who was it?”

The name tasted like poison on his lips “Lucky.”

Some sliver of emotion still flashed through her eyes, it was so quick he was sure an untrained eye would have missed it. Azriel needed to be closer, to protect her from the world, the wind, the memories, her thoughts. He moved his body as close as physics allowed when he pleaded “Gwyn what can I do?”

He felt so incredibly powerless. He moved his scarred hand to move her stray hair behind her ear.

She remained silent. It was worse than any words she could have uttered.

“Please tell me what to do” he begged as he moved both hands to cup her face.

He would break all his fingers, knuckle by knuckle. He would kick his dick so severely that his grandsons would still feel it. He would blacklist him in the industry so hard that nobody would touch him with a ten feet pole. He would do everything, everything to make her feel even a little bit better.

“I will make him pay. I promise you that.”

Gwyn POV

Lucky was the nickname of one of the crew members on the first ship Azriel, Nesta, and she worked on. He was the lighthearted lanky eighteen-year-old who was just set free in the world. She knew he had a crush on her- the way his attention seemed to always shift towards her, his strange jokes, his sometimes aggressive come-ons. But her attention was elsewhere, on a handsome lead deckhand.

She thought he was harmless.

Lucky. The name echoed in the deep abyss that was created by Azriels words.

Her head was spinning from the new information- it contained lighter truths, that Azriel did come back, and heavier implications, that Lucky was the reason for Azriel leaving. Both were equally devastating in impact. Both influenced her life in irreversible ways- what could have been? And what did take place?

Gwyn forced her brain to stay rational. She knew how easy it was to spiral. She needed to remain level-headed. Lucky came into her cabin and she didn’t know what happened in those missing hours between Azriel leaving and him coming in.

Did his hand rove over her body when she thought it was Azriels? Did he kiss her neck when she thought the lips belonged to another? The last thought made her breath catch in her throat, she felt her hands turn sweaty, and there was a ringing in her ears- did he… did he rape her?

Her body suddenly felt disgusting. As if she couldn’t trust it anymore. As if it had been violated in ways she wouldn’t even know.

She held her breath. As if a new breath would bring about a new reality. As long as she didn’t breathe, it didn’t really happen.

Gwyn rubbed her hands up and down her arms to force herself to stay present. To not retreat into her head immediately. That’s where her thoughts resided- and her worst fears. The fears that had apparently already happened.

She still remembered the first time a friend told her about child kidnappers. She was eight years old, Nellie and her were walking to ballet together when she dropped the topic conversationally, not knowing it would scar Gwyn for the rest of her life.

It opened a host of other possibilities she had never considered- other people as threats. The possibility of someone taking away your agency. Of bad people.

Ever since then, she had created a new constant awareness of her surroundings. All people, especially males, became potential threats. As long as she had that awareness, she couldn’t be surprised, she couldn’t be hurt.

But that was a lie. Because nothing could protect her. Something did happen. And she didn’t even know what.

She wrapped her arms around her body in a desperate attempt to give herself comfort.

She felt herself retreating. She felt herself becoming more cold, distant, out of her body.

Her senses fades with the wind. All she could see were memories, and everything else faded to black.

Memories flashed in and out of her mind. She tried desperately to piece the story of that night in her mind. But alcohol, love, and heartbreak made everything fuzzy. She thought she knew exactly what happened, but it was all a lie.

A lie she let herself believe for four years. That she hated Azriel, when she woke up to an empty bed, and she turned all the love she felt, into hate. It was the only way she could survive the complete and utter heartbreak the empty bed caused in her.

“Gwyn. Come back to me.” The pleading voice urged from somewhere close.

She suddenly felt a scarred hand on her cheek.

She leaned into the familiar touch and suddenly realized.

She would have known- if it wasn’t Azriel.

If non-scarred hands touched her skin. If it weren’t his luscious and dry lips that kissed her. If it wasn’t his cedar smell and something distinctly Azriel- like his sweater- that left its mark on her.

Her body would know. She would know.

A tear ran down her face, and she didn’t know if it was out of relief, or sad realization. Maybe both. It didn’t matter she decided when she pleaded “Hold me” and strong arms immediately answered her request.

She leaned into his embrace.

Everything else could wait. She would figure it out. They would figure it out. She didn’t need to have all the information. All the answers. No matter how desperately she craved them.

For now, all that mattered was that she came back. She was still here. They were still here.

He came back.

“I’m here” a louder, baritone voice reassured her. “I’m here Gwyn.”

“I’ll never leave again, not as long as the moon hangs in the sky, and long after that.”

“I’m so sorry” he whispered into her ear.

The relief of his words made her heart sink. As if oxygen returned to her lungs. Sight came back, and she saw him standing in front of her now, with his bare muscular chest and black sweatpants.

Shadow stood behind him with a worried look in her obsidian eyes.

The sound of the lapping waves mixed with the silence in the air.

Moonlight hung high in the sky, illuminating the sleeping world and all new possibilities.

He didn’t leave.

She knew the sudden realization didn’t mean immediate change. She had hated him for so long, it would take time to build something new. But for the first time in four years, she felt space in her heart to try.

She put her hand on his cheek and rubbed the soft skin underneath, when she said, “You’re cold. Let’s get inside.” Her voice was stronger, but still carried a hint of vulnerability and tiredness.

She took his hand in hers and started walking towards his cabin when she said “We can talk about everything tomorrow. For tonight, just hold me.”

“ Okay?” Her eyes still held vulnerability. But also hope.

He squeezed her hand “Okay.”

Bathing was a way for her to cleanse. Whenever her head became too full and her body too tired, she would go to the bath and leave all her troubles in the water, where they would be flushed down the drain.

The sea was one giant bath, but the ship only had showers. That’s where her mind went as she took his much larger scarred hand in hers, and led them both to the shower in his bathroom.

The lavish space was bigger than the one she and Nesta shared, perks of being the captain, she guessed- bigger responsibilities, bigger bathroom.

Most of the furniture inside was made of dark teak. The cabinets, the walls, and the mirrors. Even though he didn’t have a bath, the shower was big enough to fit even his immense body. White tiles lined the inside, and golden metal the outside, even the doorknob was gilded.

To add to the extravagance, water flowed from one of those rain shower heads. It allowed for enough water distribution for both of them- how fortunate. They could definitely not do whatever they were about to do in her cramped shower.

Before she entered the shower, she quickly assessed his products. You could tell so much about a male by how he took care of himself. Just as she suspected, 3-1 organic cedar, efficient though refined.

There was also some shaving gel on the sink, which was strange because he had a permanent stubble. Something she was very very attracted to.

The cedar smell filled the space, it was almost like her nose was directly planted in his neck.

A hand squeezed her back to reality. Thoughts quickly returned to the male standing in front of her, whom she hungrily started undressing.

With two hands she pulled down his black sweatpants to reveal black boxers and black socks. Did this man own any other color?

She took in the magnificent sight and noticed some new tattoos running down his arms. With a finger she traced the obsidian swirls, she felt a trail of goosebumps erupt under her touch.

Two hands reached for her sweater and softly pulled it over her head. The next discarded items were her brown cardigan and her white camisole top. She pulled down her white shorts and stepped out of them when they fell on the ground.

With all their clothes discarded, both Azriel and Gwyn stood opposite each other in nothing more than their underwear.

His eyes roved over her body, and she was happy she wore her nice lace bra, even though her briefs were mismatched. She felt vulnerable but protected in the safety of his affection.

Both stared at each other’s lips, not moving as they reveled in the space of pure anticipation.

“Are you sure?” he finally implored with those same burning eyes solely focused on hers.

To which she answered confidently “Just kiss me, Azriel.”

He closed the distance in seconds when his fingers softly caressed her back before they masterfully unlatched her bra.

She didn’t want to think about how much practice he must have had to be able to do it so swiftly.

Enough partners warmed her bed in those four years that she couldn’t really blame him, but she still didn’t like the thought.

The coldness of the night announced itself on her already hardening nipples. He seemed mesmerized by the sight, as his entire being stilled.

A rough, low voice spoke into the silence, “Stars are less illuminating than you, Gwyn.” His eyes seemed to contain even more affection, and the intenseness of his gaze and words heated her entire body.

“Didn’t take you for a romantic” she laughed into his hair.

One of his scarred hands rubbed hard circles on her right nipple, as if in retaliation to her teasing words. The pleasantly harsh movement send electricity through her entire body.

To ease the pain, and to increase her torture of pleasure, he licked the affected area with his flat tongue, and sucked softly on the nipple before his deep voice taunted “There’s so much you still don’t know about me.”

Equal attention was quickly given to her left nipple on which he placed a soft, small kiss, and lavishly sucked on too.

The tantalizing sensation went straight to her core. She needed more, more, more.

Her arms gripped his shoulders for extra support. All of the sensations made her feel like liquid. It didn’t matter because he held her, all of her in his strong embrace.

He made it effortless for her to ease into every sensation, she trusted he would be there if she fell. “I can’t wait to find out, captain.”

When he swept his tongue over her lips, she closed her eyes on instinct. He softly bit her upper lip, which made her smile against his touch. “Say that again” he ordered.

With her most sensual tone, she moaned captain.

All restraint left his body at the mention of the word from her lips. With a delicate yet powerful motion he pushed her against the shower wall and deepened the kiss so thoroughly that the passion overwhelmed her.

His other hand roved to her backside which he pulled flush to his body when he nudged her legs to hook onto his hips.

She took the chance and jumped into his strong embrace.

Strong hands cupped her ass and massaged them. It felt loving and desperate as if he wanted to feel she was real in his arms.

The movement roughly pushed her hips into his groin. Her eyes became big in equal anticipation and fear, as she suddenly remembered the huge size of his cock- which seemed to be increasing by the second. 

Deciding not to be scared, she tightened her legs around his hips and pressed her core into his growing bulge. In a rhythmic motion, she arched her back and pressed into him. Chasing the friction her core was screaming desperately for.

She found refuge in the crook of his neck. The cedar smell, the friction, his cock pressing into her, the sensation of him touching her, kissing her, was so much too much, she almost climaxed then and there when a soft chuckle escaped his mouth and ordered “Not yet.”

With a loud sigh, she decided to break the kiss for just a few seconds to pull her hair out of the messy bun.

Her long copper-brown hair fell in waves down her hips. She knew she would look disheveled with strange waves in the wrong places, but she didn’t care. She loved it when he played with her hair and she hoped he remembered it from that night.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He murmured into her hair.

Rough lips immediately found hers again and he seemed to be able to read her mind when he put one hand in her hair and caressed it with that perfect mix of roughness and gentleness.

It was a hard balance to find, even harder to maintain in the throws of passion, but when you found it, there was nothing better on earth.

A soft moan escaped her throat at the sudden sensation.

 “I love the effect I have on you” his heady voice boasted.

The hold he had over her was alarming, but he didn’t need to know that, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Urged in what she hoped was a stern voice. He only smiled in response as he slowly carried her into the shower. To protect her from the still-warming water, he was the one who turned his back towards the showerhead.

What a gentleman.

“I can handle some freezing water.” She said defiantly against his lips. To which he laughed, “That doesn’t mean you need to.”

“Let me, love.”

He licked her lips, begging for access again.

She wondered if she should refuse, to tease him a little bit more. But she craved his tongue with every fiber of her being.

And what point was there in punishing them both?

Slowly she opened her mouth, an opportunity he greedily took as he moved his tongue to the tip of hers and retracted it just as easily. Gwyn closed her eyes in anticipation but quickly opened them to look for the retracted source of pleasure.

A noise she had never made escaped her mouth when she said “What are you doing?”

“So greedy.” He smirked. “Maybe you should rethink the effect I’m not having on you.”

With raised brows, she retorted, “Maybe it’s me who has the power over you?”

He was about to speak “I never denied-“

When she moved her lips to his with the speed of light and the need of passion.

She would show him who had the power here. She didn’t need him to take charge, she was more than capable of doing it herself.

As a small punishment, she bit his lower lip before she swept her tongue over it to alleviate some of the pain. No need to be cruel about it.

All of a sudden her core felt wet with pleasure, but also with water that continued to soak her underwear.

They were both still wearing their final pieces of clothing which they hadn’t thought about removing.

Without uttering a single word, she made quick work of pulling down his boxers, and his gargantuan cock sprang free from the sudden removal of the last barrier.

Words seemed to escape her at the sight of the gigantic length. Not to mention his enormous girth. How in the hell did that thing ever fit inside her?

“Enjoy what you see?” he smirked against the crook of her neck which he peppered with small kisses. A line up the distance of the soft skin was softly traced with his tongue.

Even the pleasant swipe of his tongue couldn’t ease her worries when she stammered “Azriel, it’s huge.” She knew a lot of women liked that sort of thing, but she loved her vagina intact even more.

He smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it’ll fit.”

As if he sensed the worry behind her words, he moved his head back a little, to make eye contact when he said his next words “I’ll make sure.”

“We’re not going to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.

“If it hurts, we'll stop immediately.” One hand moved to cup the right side of her face, the movement forced her to keep eye contact, “I promise.”

The words held power, but his eyes reassured her even more, so she smiled and said “I trust you.”

They were words she rarely felt and said even less frequently out loud.

She had never meant them more.

A devastating smile appeared on his face, which he moved to her neck again as he slowly kissed a trail down to her collarbone.

Fingers replaced his tongue when he planted feather-light touches on the length of her chest.  Her back arched into the shower wall at the sensation.

She whimpered his name into the small space which seemed to only encourage him more.

His mouth found her nipples again, blowing over the sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. The act send heat running down her spine directly into her core.

His tongue swirled around the hardened nub before he gently scraped his teeth against it. The harsh sensation made her gasp, and clutch her left leg around his hip to steady herself.

The shower was not small, but his enormous build barely fit in the shower, a fact that was confirmed by the way he needed to crouch to access her belly button.

Her hands gripped his hair in a desperate attempt to feel him. She was so distracted by the movement of his mouth, that she didn’t register when he skillfully freed her of her wet briefs.

One hand found the center of her heat, as he rubbed one thick, rough finger into her already soaking fold. Pure hunger framed his eyes.

He gathered some of the moisture already building up and moved the finger into his mouth. His eyes never left hers. The movement made her feel aroused in a way she had never been before. It was such a carnal act, that no man had ever done with her before, she couldn’t help but lick her lips at the sight as he lavishly sucked her wetness from his finger.

“Fucking hell Gwyn,” he groaned, “you taste delicious.”

Sure. “I bet you say that to all the chief stews you fuck in this cabin.” The words were meant playfully, but she couldn’t deny there was some insecurity laced in them as well.

Azriel removed the finger from his mouth when he stepped closer into her orbit. “Is that what you think?” he said in a vulnerable voice.

His eyes looked more distant than ravenous.

This was serious then.

It was bound to come up sooner or later. Better get it over with, that’s why she stated in an accusatory tone “I have heard the stories.”

Despite the ire, the words were said from a place of equal vulnerability. She didn’t know if she was ready for the possibility that she misinterpreted everything. That her feelings were bigger than what this was. Better to know the truth.

Nesta would often relay the information from Cassian. The stories of the nights out where all people would gravitate toward the hot captain. Not to mention all the males, and females he would fuck on the regular.

When she initially heard the stories, she was more annoyed than hurt, but with all the new information, she couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy. All the people he had been with when he could have been with her.

What if she was just another tick on his bedpost?

She didn’t know if she could handle that. The thought alone made her back away from his grasp.

“Listen to me, Gwyn.” His eyes looked desperate, not for a taste of her, but for her to understand him.

“Yes, I have fucked a lot of people when I thought we had no chance. I was devastated, and I thought if I could distract myself with other bodies…”

He stilled for a moment, when he almost whispered “I know what we had was short, but nobody has come close to what I feel for you. Nobody.”

His face was now inches away from hers. “And when I say you taste delicious, I mean that I have never tasted anything as heavenly as you.”

His ear moved to hers, “I finally feel like I can breathe again. I have you in my arms, and yet I can’t seem to get enough” The next words came out in such quick succession it sounded like a song, “your skin, your taste, your beauty, your scent.” His nose moved to her neck to underline his point.

Her heart increased to a size she held impossible before that moment. He felt the same way. He felt the same way. A weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying seemed to lift at the mention of those words. At the emotion behind those words.

It was permission for her heart, mind, and soul to tell him exactly how she felt too.

One delicate hand moved towards his face, “there has never been anyone else for me either.”

She stood on her toes to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Then she let her hands do what they wanted to do from the very beginning, to touch him.

Both hands started on his broad shoulders which carried the weight of the world. Then she slowly moved down towards his muscled chest where she traced the swirls of his tattoos. Delicate fingers softly traced the path down, down, down, until she reached the trail of black hairs that lead to her destination. He slightly shivered under her touch.

Although he towered over her, she still needed to be on her knees for this.

The water splashed all around her at the change in position, but his body shielded her from most of it.

Her copper-brown hair fell all around her body as she slowly moved down his abdomen, placing kisses on the soft skin.

She made sure to alternate between gentle kisses and harder nibbles.

He didn’t expect the initiative and groaned her name loudly when she placed a firm hand on his cock.

“Don’t suffocate me!” she said jokingly as she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock.

He stumbled over the words as he said “You…don’t have… to.”

She moved her head back a little so she could truthfully respond “You have no idea how much I want to.”

She placed soft kisses up and down his long, thick cock to further emphasize her point.

Her eyes never left his, and she hoped he could see the hunger to taste him, to feel him, to have him reflected in her eyes.

After one last languish stroke of her tongue along the underside of his cock, she took enough of the precum at the tip to start moving his cock in and out of her mouth.

She felt his restraint as if he didn’t want to force himself into her. She moaned onto his cock to let him feel the pleasure the act gave her too.

His size made it difficult to fit it entirely in her mouth, but she vowed to at least try. She relaxed her gag reflex and pushed as much of his enormous member inside her mouth as she could before backing up and letting her hand take over where her mouth couldn’t reach.

In between strokes, she looked at his reactions to study what he liked and what he didn’t like. She took note of all his moans, his grunts, and the bucks of his hips. Gwyn was nothing if not a good student, and right now, he was her subject, and his pleasure her ambition.

She especially loved it when he tried to hold back, that wouldn’t do.

One of her smutty books taught her to hollow her mouth to create extra suction, and he seemed to love that.

Noted.

She made sure to make her moan loud enough that he would feel the vibrations around his cock.

It seemed to work because he thrust into her mouth with a rhythm he seemed to prefer.

Noted.

He threw his head back as a growl escaped his lips “Gwyn, just like that”

“Keep going” he murmured with great difficulty between thrusts.

The whole act made her so aroused, that she moved her free hand to touch herself. To ease some of the intense pleasure that was building up in her too. She rubbed her clit in the same rhythm as his cock and increased slightly with every new sound that came out of his mouth.

“You’re doing so well, love.”

She felt him come undone, so she removed her mouth slightly, to swirl her tongue over the tip of his cock, before she took his length as far back as she could in one swift movement.

He groaned again “Gwyn. I’m going to come.” He tried to remove his cock from her mouth, so he wouldn’t spill his pleasure into her mouth. But she refused to let him, instead, she increased the speed with which she took his cock in her mouth, and used a little bit of her teeth.

If she remembered correctly, he liked a little bit of pain with pleasure, too.

She felt his body tense and his hips buck before she felt him come undone with her name on his lips. She hungrily swallowed everything he gave her, and as soon as he gathered himself back to reality, he wiped the rest away from her mouth. “Fuck Gwyn. That was the best head I have ever had in my life.”

The sight of him coming undone, by her touch, did something primal to her. She increased the speed with which she rubbed her clit, before strong hands stopped her chase of pleasure.

He put both hands under her shoulders and brought her up so she was standing with her back against the warm water.

“My turn,” he said with a smirk.

It was him kneeling before her now, and the sight turned her on more than a single touch ever could.

He softly blew warm breath onto her heat, before he moved a thick finger inside her, she couldn’t help but clench around the sudden intrusion. With his other finger, he slowly rubbed her clit in a familiar rhythm, and the movement eased her body in such a way she relaxed around his finger.

She was so close already, every touch felt like excruciating pleasure.

The movement made her back arche into the water.

The finger inside her curled into her body as if it was searching for something. It moved in and out, in and out. Her hips moved in time with his, guiding him to the speed she needed him to go. Her head fell back in pure pleasure when the sensation was so great she couldn’t even look at him. She would have come undone at the sight alone.

Where did he learn to do this? She moaned into the open space “You’re so good at that.”

Suddenly she felt his tongue run up one of her folds. The hand that was rubbing her clit moved to caress her stomach, causing electricity to run up every area of his touch.

His tongue quickly found the abandoned clit when he sucked on the nub of pleasure in a way as if it was the best thing he ever tasted.

It was all too much, the finger inside her, the mouth on her clit, the soft touches on her stomach, she was about to unfurl when he stopped everything and said “Come for me.”

His tongue resumed the nibbles at her clit. The caressing touch wandered to her behind, where he traced soft circles on her skin.

The thick finger inside of her seemed to have found what he was looking for, as he bent it in a sort of hooking motion, touching a spot that sent fireworks throughout her entire body. Every nerve ending screamed from pure ecstasy. The sound traveled into reality with the loudest moan she ever made in her life, as she clamped her hips together and nearly suffocated his head between her legs.

He guided her through the wave of pleasure by slowly and lavishly licking away all moisture from her pulsating heat.

When her breath returned and her heartbeat found a steadier rhythm, she regained the common sense to release him from her grasp.

The giant body slowly rose from his crouching position. Moving his head closer to hers, when he-again- sucked all his hard work from his finger, never losing eye contact.

She needed to feel him. To kiss him. Her body moved out of pure need to find his lips again.

When it finally did, she could taste herself on his tongue, and she wondered if it was turning him on just as much.

All passion was felt in that one kiss. Their tongues collided in one desperate attempt to get closer. She jumped in his arms again and after he turned the shower off, he needed a couple of tries but eventually, the water stopped.

With her in his arms, he hooked one arm under her behind, and one around her back to carry them out of the shower and into his bedroom.

Shadow had the peculiar sense to go to the bridge, so the bedroom was all theirs.

She quickly looked around to get more familiar with the space.

More teak-lined the walls, his bookshelves, the desk, and the king-size bed. She tried not to think about the fact that she and Nesta had to share bunk beds, and the king of the yacht had this enormous private quarter.

The black bedsheets made an odd sight on the otherwise classy interior. Just like the amount of books scattered around the place. How did he even get them here?

The most heartwarming thing was the giant dog bed right next to his bed.

That was all the time she got for her sneaky explorations, as he softly deposited her onto the bed. He quickly walked away to retrieve two big towels and one washcloth. “We never got the chance to actually get clean” he chuckled.

His attentiveness made her choke up a little bit.

The lukewarm washcloth was held in front of her with the question of consent in his eyes. The act was strangely intimate but somehow it also felt incredibly right.

She nodded her head in silent permission and he swiftly moved the washcloth to her heat, wiping away all other moistures. A soft kiss was placed on her cheek before he left again to put the washcloth away.

When he came back, she stood up and used one of the towels to slowly dry his gigantic body. She started with his feet, then she moved up his legs to his cock- which was still big, but much less intimidating.

Standing on her toes, she moved to his chest, where she placed soft kisses on his tattoos, and his hair, which she playfully scrunched up, which made his too-neat appearance a little bit more chaotic.

She loved seeing this side of him and to her surprise, he let her.

Without saying any words, he grabbed the other towel and repeated the process on her.

He stopped at her breasts, where he placed two small kisses on each.

Her hair was a different ballgame so he let her do it herself.

As if he couldn’t help himself, when she was turned around to brush her hair, he placed soft kisses on her back.

She closed her eyes and forced her mind to remember this moment for the rest of her life. She felt truly and incandescently happy. As if the world was finally right again.

He gave her one of his black t-shirts to wear, while he put on one of his black sweatpants. The shirt was so big she practically drowned in it. But that didn’t matter because it meant she was engulfed in his scent too.

Heavy footsteps slowly retreated to the bed, and she heard a heavy weight collapse onto it. One side of the blanket was already opened as she walked back, an extra invite was extended by that low baritone voice she loved when he softly said, “Come to bed, love.”

“Okay, captain.” She smiled brighter than she had in years.

“How was that for you?” He asked with an interesting mix of shyness and arrogance.

She loved to test boundaries, so she said with shrugged shoulders “It was alright.”

Silence rang in the air before he said “Oh come on, Gwyn. Don’t pretend that wasn’t the best  oral you’ve had in your life.”

“It certainly was for me.” Why did he need to be so confident, it ruined the game.

He moved closer to her side of the bed and tickled her body, forcing her to admit it. She wouldn’t give up that easily so she remained passive, but his tickling continued.

“No, no, STOP, Azriel stop” she laughed into his ear as her body squirmed out of his strong hands.

“NOOOO” she yelled so loud she was sure she woke up the entire boat.

His hands kept finding new ticklish places, treacherous body, she thought when she held up her hands as a pretend white flag, “Okay, okay okay.”

He stopped his roving hands, to listen intently to her next words.

With one arm arrogantly positioned under his head, he looked into her eyes with the biggest smirk she had ever seen in her life, when she confessed “I’ve never come so hard in my life, okay.”

She pulled her legs up to her chin, and her black t-shirt became a tent over her legs when he softly placed a hand on her cheek and admitted “Me too.”

“Now was that so hard to admit?”

YES

“Yes. Now let’s go to sleep, arrogant, arrogant man."

Tiredness hit her in full force. She took the empty space and rested her body next to his.

The intimacy was suddenly palpable. Even though she just had his cock in her mouth, she felt self-aware of what to do with her body- should they cuddle, or just say good night? Should she give him a handshake? Were they allowed to spoon- who would even be the little spoon and who would be the big one?

She could feel her heart speed up, and her mind take on all different scenarios. Thoughts took over her entire sight.

Her anxiety was quickly relieved by his mind-reading words “Come here.”

When she eased up a little bit he pulled her flush into his body and sighed into her hair. His head found a resting place in her neck.

He was the big spoon, and she was the little spoon.

She had never felt safer.

They belonged together like two puzzle pieces that had always been part of the same set but never seemed to fit, until now.

Dreams found her in an instant, with her body next to his.

And this time, neither of them walked away.

[t4t4t]

You make so many excuses for her but even when things are good she is bad to you. You are worth more then being her punching bag for how suicidal she is...

yeah I'm not sure why when we were housed at Bird's or Rachel's or Blue's that she (sometimes?) couldn't tell I was trying ? I didn't have a job during any of these periods but I cooked for her basically 90% of the time -- like uh.

(Bird's was a better place to find a job than Rachel's, and less expensive, but they got me sick inviting someone to visit in December. I missed work thru Greenforce then, and missed work thru Greenforce due to the ice storm, but they haven't been offering more in the spring like they said they would. A grocery store can employ 300 people to do fuck all all day but a cannabis company wants like 3 people to tear down a whole farm in a month. So stupid.

I found something thru Fieldworks I guess I'm gonna see how it works out, I went to the orientation yesterday, I need to get cleared with the state so I can legally "circulate petitions." Which is probably boring. But...)

[I need a computer to make music ? I don't think I've ever bought a computer. :--/ used to have a laptop that from my sisters ex but it's too old and weird now. the fan was always so loud, I think smth was wrong w the fan that I never fixed. It turns on but doesn't recognize my hard drive anymore. Idk]

Once at Rachel's the three of us were sitting down to eat dinner and I said something about her being rude or something and she just immediately called me a rapist in front of Rachel and I just got up and ate the food in the bathroom.

I think what Blue is implying is it's not necessarily either of our faults for it to have been a "mistake" for us to have been invited in to stay, but I can probably assume that Collie will understand this to mean that she did nothing wrong and that it's my fault she's homeless.

(Or Jikijij's fault, too, now. And so on.)

[v-thinks-on]

“As peculiar as it may be,” Mrs. Watson remarked quietly, falling into step with me as we neared the inn, “I am honestly grateful to you, Mr. Holmes.”

I slowed to put a little more distance between us and Watson and Miss Marple, who were engrossed in their own discussion and I expected would not miss us for a little while.

“Perhaps I ought to resent you,” she continued, her gaze trailing along the brick rowhouses which lined the winding country avenue, “that you won what I lost, but these days I cannot bring myself to mind. After all, it is thanks to you and Dr. Watson that I have the means and freedom to spend my days as I please. And your family has welcomed me as I could have never hoped.”

“Even I could not have foreseen having such a family,” I said airily, but Mrs. Watson must have perceived the truth in it, for she turned to look at me for the first time since she had fallen in beside me.

She nodded in understanding and I could see her sympathetic nature. “John told me. All three of us, orphans without any family to speak of, and yet, somehow, now Jane and her sisters are like the sisters I never knew, and I’ve watched dear Phryne and Bess grow up into such daring young ladies, and I even see Jeeves and Brown sometimes on their days off, like nephews. I can only count myself fortunate.”

Now, it was I who could not meet her forthright gaze. They may have been my own family, but families are rarely simple, and I could say with some confidence that mine was more complicated than most.

“I loved John,” she said at last, “but in truth I believe we were not so well suited as my girlish heart hoped, and thanks to him I have found something even more precious, so I can only wish you both well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watson,” I said, and I meant it earnestly. I believe it was her honesty, which encouraged me to confess in kind, “It is all far more than I too could have hoped. I only regret that Watson’s old tendency to understate his own abilities has reared its head again.”

A smile flitted across Mrs. Watson’s face, though she quickly stifled it with a serious nod. “He always felt he could never be worthy of you, especially when his old injury troubled him. That I resented you for.”

I could not argue with her reason. “Regrettably, I cannot employ such a simple solution.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said with a wry smile.

Watson and Miss Marple were already waiting for us out front of the inn, and at last we inevitably caught up with them, even though we had slowed our pace to allow for some privacy as we spoke.

As we neared, I heard Miss Marple saying to Watson, “I have noticed several of the gentlemen in the village who as they reach your and Mr. Holmes’s age, suddenly start acting in ways that even a younger man would call reckless. There was Mr. Williams who ran off with his mistress who was half his age, and Mr. Bennet suddenly bought that yacht on the mediterranean.”

“I hope you are not longing for the ocean air, Watson?” I interjected.

Watson flushed delicately at our ill-timed arrival. “Hardly,” he insisted.

“No, I should think not,” Miss Marple said with a shake of her head. “It shakes things up well enough, but they rarely end up more satisfied than when they started. Really, I find it’s often about something else all together, and the extravagances are just a distraction.”

[space-blue]

Hi, I love your posts and meta. I'd like to hear your thoughts on this.

Why was Vi so disturbed at Jinx's violence during fights? It's shown that Vi herself uses extreme violence in fight scenes and even has no problem killing (the factory scene comes to mind - obliterating ribs and internal organs, throwing people off the bridge, had no problem with Jayce blasting people with a Hextech gun).

Both Jinx and Vi have callously used lethal force while fighting their opponents and rivals. Jinx laughs as she shoots Firelights, Vi also grins and winks at Jayce after destroying a Shimmer soldier. Another scene is when Vi is horrified by Jinx bombing Enforcers on the bridge but didn't Vi used to encourage her to perfect her bombs to use on their enemies?

I thought maybe young Vi simply didn't realize the gravity of what she was encouraging Jinx to do in her passionate rage as a young girl, and only once she grows up and actually witnesses the aftermath of such violence that she's horrified and regrets teaching Jinx those things.

But this explanation doesn't really mesh with how Vi was acting during the factory fight, brutal and hyped about it. Maybe she was specifically shocked at Jinx's carelessness as she was shooting (since she almost hit Vi) and clocked it as mental instability, instead of being shocked at the violence itself? But then her disapproval of Jinx's attack on Enforcers is confusing...

What are your thoughts on this? Is there something I'm missing here?

Heya Anon!

You honour me with your praises... I'll try my best to make it clear. Disclaimer that it's just my perception of things.

Let's get a visual :

Vi's violence is her own, and is a positive thing to her. It's how she earned respect. Her father figure used the same sort of violence and respect. Probably taught her boxing. It's part of her identity and I don't think she could imagine herself not using her fists. Her morality is obviously tied to herself. If Vi thinks someone needs their ass beat, it's not a negative thing to her.

Powder's bombs aren't a negative either because they are for their "team". Vi can only conceive of Powder's bomb as being in their service, to use against their enemies. She doesn't grasp yet how such things can backfire (right until they finally work, and cost them everything).

Vi is in prison for over 5 years and shows the entire laundry list of arrested development. When she leaves Stillwater she is looking for Powder, not Jinx. Powder is her baby sister who is weak, pathetic and cute. She draws silly faces on toy bombs that don't work. Vi has never updated her vision of her sister. I think that her accepting Jinx as an adult who can protect herself would be tentamount to admitting she missed all of that, missed being a sister who could protect and raise her. This is inextricably tied to Silco raising Jinx with love and care, another reality Vi refuses flat out, several times. All of this contributes to her not really computing when she sees Jinx acting like Jinx.

That being said, I don't think Vi looks at Jinx all shocked just because she uses violence... I mean, Jinx looks like she's ENJOYING herself trying to shoot people, and Vi's look comes right after Jinx nearly killed her out of sloppiness. I think it's fair to say we would all be disturbed if our long lost sibling made that sort of face while trying to kill people.

When Vi teams up with Jayce, she's not killing the way Jinx kills, and she's not seeing her opponents in the same way either. The people she's targeting are 1/Silco's goons and 2/in shimmer suits. They're monsters to her eyes, monsters in the Big Monster's employ. Killing them is probably meaningless to her (and the show makes sub zero efforts to humanise them, unlike the addicts Silco uses later). Vi immediately breaks off with Jayce after he kills Reni's son, and shows real sorrow over his death. She doesn't want to hurt Zaunites, but I bet that in her mind people who work for Silco are either victims (factory kids, Jinx) or trash (Sevika, goons)... The later she clearly doesn't mind maiming and killing. Vi has a very black and white vision of the world. Doesn't help to spend your formative years in a prison cell.

There's an edge of protectiveness too. Big sister instincts. Vi voices how she wants "better" for Powder. Violence isn't something she wants for her sister. When she says she wants a better world for her, it implies she wants a world in which she doesn't have to suffer physical pain and kill people. Until the bombing on the bridge that kills Marcus and enforcers, Vi has never seen Jinx/Powder willingly kill anyone. The shootout against the Firelights would be a shock even if Jinx weren't clearly enjoying herself. She's already showing extreme proficiency for violence, meaning there's been a lot of it in her life.

Vi and Jinx have polar opposite ways of fighting. Vi always attacks head on, punch now talk later. She's got a virtuous side to herself (I'm right, my enemies are wrong, I punch my enemies to punching is good). Meanwhile Jinx is a spider. She plans ahead, uses traps and contraptions, and displays vicious cruelty to her victims — the BOOM swing, the fake little girl explosion, the pretty toys turned bombs, the humiliation of hanging Sevika and painting on her, repaying the barman with a fake bomb placed with a hug... Jinx isn't showing particular cruelty when she enjoys shooting Firelights, but Vi would never gel well with her way of going about fighting anyway. I don't think that walking into the carnage of the bridge and then getting directly shot at because of Cait would really help either.

In conclusion, Vi is brutal because it's how she is. She doesn't see it as a bad thing, and being brutal to bad people = being good. She was taught this by the literal "Hound of the Underground", the man she met when he was caving enforcers' skulls in with his metal fists. To her the factory attack was retaliation and a form of justice. A backlash against the monster who "stole" and "corrupted" her baby-sister who is so cute-useless-weak and needs to be protected.

She's struggling to see things differently because prison has completely halted her emotional and mental growth.

It's pretty glaring in the Dinner Scene, when she tells Jinx still in tears over Silco's death that "everything will be all right now," like, gurl... The level of emotional disconnect for her to say that at that time...

I still think that if Jinx took Vi's side and used her bombs to kill Silco's goons and/or enforcers, Vi would see it as a net positive. She'd probably be disturbed by Jinx's enjoyment, and be dismayed her sister had to use violence as a way of life, but I doubt she'd mind the bombs for the bombs' sake.

That's my take on it at least.

[bugeyedfreaks]

“I’ve known people who told me she’s their favorite character because she’s an unfeeling, uncaring killing machine who doesn’t let emotions get in her way (???) “

Interesting. This is actually the first time I’ve seen this, or if I did it’s probably rare. While I wouldn’t say she’s unfeeling but out of all her sisters Blosson seems to be the one thinking with her head than her feelings. She’s more logical and sensible than her sisters.

Ughh after the live action script leak a recurring pattern to make Blossom so lame + make her a love interest for some useless (probably self insert) guys. She’s treated like this by both fans and reboot/live action writers when she’s the one who never expressed any interest in guys in canon

The person who said it was pretty awful overall but like, yeah, logical does not equal robot with no feelings. It weirded me out. She’s not like a cold-hearted murderer or anything even though she frequently has to employ logic and reasoning into her decision making as the leader. And yeah, logic and reason are not the adjectives you would use to describe Buttercup or Bubbles ever. 🤣

And UHHHHH EXCUSE MEEEEE SHE IS SO SUPER CANONICALLY IN LOVE WITH BRIIIIIIICK IT IS SO CANON lmao okay okay, but seriously, yeah, like the only boy that all three of the girls smooched on their own accord was that little weirdo Harry Pitt, yet the fandom ships the girls with three characters they smooched to purposefully destroy (not to mention this was after being pummeled to smithereens so badly by the RRB and basically left for dead by them before being revived by the tears of the Townsvillians… but love story for the ages, I guess). But it’s true, for the most part, boys aren’t really a big thing for her in the OG show.

Now when it comes to things other than the characters in the canon universe… Blossom being boy crazy in the anime is something I can let slide because, like how she reflects how American superheroes act in the OG show, she reflects how a magical girl group leader acts in the anime (she eats a lot, she’s klutzy and gets bad grades, she loves boys… big Usagi Tsukino vibes, lol). That’s why giving her a boyfriend in the reboot as some kind of homage to the anime made no sense (I mean, that and for obvious other reasons, of course). And, in the same vein, I don’t necessarily mind if a more mature oriented show wants to write her as an adult woman in a relationship (same with the other girls… but boy if that live action script isn’t something I would LOVE to rewrite if I knew it wouldn’t be a colossal waste of my time that no one would actually care about in the end)… but, yeah, man, it needs to be written MUCH better if you’re gonna do it! 🤣

Overall, in the scope of the actual OG canon show where she and her sisters are superpowerful kindergarteners, yeah… we can definitely pass on that kinda thing, haha.

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

Playing the Game

Nine years.

It’d been nine years since he’d sat behind the desk within the office of the Slater estate as the one responsible for the running of the house.

Nine years since he was the one who had to deal with the daily requests for audiences, had to manage the demands for the summons, had to attempt to try to placate the overinflated egos that all too often would show up with their unrealistic demands.

Nine years since he’d had to utilize those skills. Skills he’d hoped never to have to use again. 

Skills he’d suddenly decided were necessary once again because of a pair of golden eyes and a sharp tug from somewhere within his chest. 

It made no damn sense.

He’d known Vahalia Cress for almost two years, had seen her in passing while working for the Wolves, and yet there had never been this…pull. 

Osric pinched the bridge of his nose as he tossed yet another letter off to the side of his desk, reaching for his coffee with a tired sigh, not even bothering to look up as the door to his office opened. 

“If it’s another meeting request, Wyland, set it with all the others. I’ll get to it later.”

“I’m not Wyland, and I don’t have a meeting request. But good to know you’re having a good time with all this, big brother. Settling in?”

At that his gaze did lift, and his eyes narrowed in his sister’s direction as she closed the door behind her before walking over and settling into one of the chairs across from his desk.

“I thought you had work…”

“I did. I finished, and now I’m back. That’s how that works, you should know. Isn’t that what you did for years?”

“Edalene…”

She grinned, propping her feet up on his desk. “Ooo, someone’s grumpy. Would that have to do with all the papers on your desk, or have to do with the ‘talk’ Wyland said you had with Lady Cress last week?”

Osric took a long sip of his drink, his jaw clenching as he set his cup down. “I need to have a chat with Wyland about what he shares with you and what he doesn’t share with you…”

“Doesn’t answer the question, Ozzy.”

“Does it matter, the reason? I’ve likely wounded my prospects with this decision because it was made hastily. A recurring theme.”

His sister nodded with a hum, “Well, I did try to warn you.”

“Edalene…”

“Well I did. It’s not my fault you’re stubborn and didn’t want to listen to reason. Just like when you handed things over to me in the first place.” She waved a hand as Osric opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t give me that whole speech about how you were doing what you were ordered to do or that happy chocobo shit. I know what was in the will. I read it. Well, this time there was no will. This time it was all on you, big brother.”

“So it was. And so I’m living with the consequences. She makes the choices she feels are best for her house and regardless of what she chooses…I make the choices I have to that I feel are best for us and those that are employed here.”

“You have a plan then?”

“I’m working on one. I intended to be a nameless mercenary for the rest of my days. So it’s taken a bit of adjusting.”

Edalene started to respond when there was a knock at the door, the pair turning to look as Wyland poked his head in for a moment. “I’m..sorry to bother you both, but sir, Lord Durfort is here demanding an audience…he refuses to leave without speaking to you.”

Osric’s eyes narrowed for a moment before offering a breathy chuckle. “I take it my denial letter arrived then. Well, I’ll see him.”

“Sir he’s…quite irate.”

“I’m sure he is. Bring him in, and you may reach out to the guards if you wish, but I don’t think there will be any need for that.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll handle it, Wyland.” 

The older man gave a quick bow before exiting to go gather the man from downstairs. 

Edalene shot her brother a curious look before moving to the backside of the desk, pouring herself a cup of coffee before moving to sit near the nearby window, making herself comfortable.

Osric took a moment, carefully putting all of the papers on his desk away before moving to the front of the desk once again, leaning against the piece of furniture as Wyland opened the door, letting Lord Durfort into the office, the heavy set man all but stomping into the room and wasting no time letting Osric know that, yes, his letter had arrived.

“You dare decline my offer, you ungrateful bastard.”

“Ah, Lord Durfort. You know, if you were planning on having this audience come out in your favor that’s likely not the way I would have started. That particular rumor has been disproved a number of times, by the way. So, yes. I did decline your offer, because quite frankly I didn’t see how your offer benefits either myself or my house in any way.”

Edalene scoffed into her coffee cup, managing to make it sound like a cough - not that Durfort could hear it, the way the man was huffing.

“No benefits!? You’d be allied with my house! Isn’t that enough!?” 

Osric managed not to sigh, tilting his head slightly to the side. “I’m afraid not, Lord Durfort. I’m quite aware of your house’s standing and while it was increased by your son’s reported deeds during the war-”

“His deeds.”

“Reported deeds, sir.” Osric pushed away from the desk standing to his full height, “You forget, I trained with your son. I fought with your son. There were a number of different group on patrol the night your son died. I was with one of them, the one who found the group in the aftermath. And I do hate to report sir, that there was no dragon. There was a bear.”

Durfort stammered for a moment, his face turning an interesting shade of plum as Osric continued, seemingly unphased.

“What seems rather interesting is how a group from the Convictors was not that far away and they had just killed a dragon. And one of them seemed a good deal richer in the days following your son’s death.”

“...And what of it?”

“You would have me marry and connect my name, my house to a house that used the death of their son to boost themselves up the social structure? A house that, up until recent months wouldn’t have given my house a second glance. In fact I distinctly recall times when you, your son, and the rest of your family took every opportunity to mock my house. So, while I see how this would benefit you, sir. I don’t see how this benefits me, or my sister, in any way.”

“Y-you won’t find a house in this city who hasn’t mocked this house in some way, who hasn’t called you a bastard to your face or while your back was turned. You know that’s the case - it’s why you should be smart enough to go for this offer!”

Osric chuckled, glancing back at Edalene who offered a shrug before taking a sip of her coffee.

“You misunderstand, Lord Durfort. I don’t have to marry. You presume to have some leverage over me that doesn’t exist. And with that, your empty threats are at an end and I’ve had quite enough of this discussion.”

“But I’m not-”

“But you are, sir. My personal life was never, and certainly is no longer your concern. I will not be marrying your daughter, who I pursue is nothing you need to know, and to be quite frank, your fortunate I choose no to share the name of the knight you’re still paying not to talk about the dragon he killed that you’re claiming your son did. Now, you can walk out of my office, or I’ll escort you out.” 

Durfort glared up at Osric, a full head shorter than the younger man, and swallowed roughly. He looked as though he was briefly considering bowing up at Osric, before turning and slinking towards the door, opening it to find Wyland waiting.

“Sir?” The older Elezen looked past to Osric who shook his head quickly. 

“It won’t be necessary, Wyland. Simply see Lord Durfort out. I do believe we’ve reached an understanding.”

“Of course, sir. Lord Durfort, this way.”

Edalene waited for the door to close before hopping up and wandering to Osric, shoving his shoulder hard. “Where you actually there?”

“What?”

“With his son? Were you there?! And why didn’t you every say something?”

He shrugged, moving to pick up his own mug and then to refill it. “I was. I never said anything because it never served any purpose. At the time there were the questions about my parentage and all he needed to do was draw attention to that and it would drown out what I was saying.” Osric eased down into the chair behind the desk his head resting back against it. “...I’m sure you’ve realized this too, Edalene, how often the game here is about recognizing when to play the long game.”

His eyes closed as he scoffed. “...With idiots like Durfort, it’s easy. But the Fury help me…anything related or evey vaguely related to my personal life…”

Quietly, Edalene walked around and flicked on of his ears, scampering away before he had an opportunity to react. “I think you’re overthinking…again. You made a dumb choice. Suprise. It changed things. Again, surprise. But at the end of the day, it was still gonna be someone else’s choice anyway, big brother. And there are gonna be a whole lot more idiots like Durfort before things settle down. I suggest you put some whiskey in your coffee and get to work. You have a house to run. Those letters have a tendency to multiple. Speaking from experience.”

Osric narrowed his eyes at his sister, rubbing his ‘wounded’ ear. “Well then get out and let me work. Half of these are about you anyway.”

“I’m not interested!” She tossed a wave over her shoulder as she moved towards the door, seemingly entertained for the morning.

He rolled his eyes, watching his sister leave before turning his attention back to the papers on his desk once again. 

Time to address the things he could control - even if his mind wanted to wander to those he couldn’t.

Mention - @umbral-flare-ffxiv

[bjfinn]

It's been 25 years now, and it still hurts just as much ...

My ma was born on 21 October 1928 in Little Burgundy. She had an older sister and three younger brothers. When her father left, she had to quit school in order to help take care of the family, even though she was only in seventh grade at the time. On 16 March, at the age of seventeen, she married a boy from the neighbourhood, and in August of that year my eldest sister was born - yes, it was a shotgun wedding, something I only found out about after my da died. But they loved each other very much - of that there is no doubt.

My ma never talked about her past, so I really don't know much about her except that she was a wonderful mother. She taught me how to draw, how to step-dance, how to cook. Whenever a new Disney movie came out, she would take me to the Saturday matinée at whichever theatre it was playing. On weekends when my father was working, we'd go on bus tours around Montreal, and we'd have lunch at a different restaurant each time. She came to every one of my school plays and variety shows.

She was a striking looking woman - not a conventional beauty, to be sure, but once you saw her you would never forget her. Especially her eyes - they were the most amazing shade of blue, so pale they were almost white. Ice-blue eyes that could kill a man (or a child) at fifty paces, so to speak. I've never seen anyone else with eyes that colour. And she looked almost the same at sixty-nine as she did at seventeen - her hair got greyer, she got a bit heavier and developed a few more wrinkles over the years, but that's all. Hers was a timeless beauty. Bea Arthur, the actress, had the same kind of beauty.

She loved to cook, and wasn't afraid to try something new and unfamiliar - I got my adventurous palate from her.

She loved to read, and passed that on to me.

She had a great sense of humour, and I learned to laugh from her.

She had a strong sense of responsibility towards others, which she taught me.

She loved music (except jazz - she'd gone to school with Oscar Peterson, and liked him well enough, but she didn't like his music).

She loved animals, and we always had pets when I was growing up.

She loved gardening, and even though we lived on the second floor and didn't have a garden, we always had houseplants.

She believed in 'spare the rod and spoil the child', but she was never abusive.

She believed in God, but she wasn't overtly religious.

Whatever hopes and dreams she may have had, she gave them up for her family.

I wish I had thought to ask about her past, but when you're a kid such things don't occur to you. It's something I regret - I don't have any stories of her life before I came along. And now it's too late.

In September of 1997 she was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma and was given two years to live - the doctor said that any treatment would only prolong her life by about six months, and that she would suffer from its effects, so she decided not to bother (and besides, she was afraid of doctors). And so life continued, and for the next seven months she was outwardly the same as before.

Then, on the evening of 23 April 1998, we were all watching TV in the living room when I heard her making a strange sort of snoring, gurgling noise - I looked over, and she looked like she was having a stroke. I called 911, and then handed the phone to my father - he was almost hysterical, and I thought the operator would be able to keep him calm - and then I started CPR on my mother. For twenty minutes I kept it up, until the paramedics arrived and rushed her to hospital. My da went with them, but I stayed behind to call my sisters, after which I went, too.

The doctors hooked her up to whatever machines they employ in such situations, and my sisters and their husbands arrived soon after I did.

Technically, my mother died the next morning, but in reality she was likely gone before the ambulance came - I'll always remember 23 April as the day she passed.

I miss her so much.

I love you, Ma. Always and forever.💔

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 19 November 1832

7 10

11 50

thick, hazy, soft, but fair morning – thorough November morning – F45° at 7 ¼ am breakfast with my father at 8 ½ - staid talking and waiting for Marian till 9 40 then staid talking to her till 10 ½ - about her selling my father’s propriety here to pay off with - may perhaps make £6000 of it including Hampstead -  she does not think herself bound to leave what comes extraneously to me or the Inmans   the latter can have no claim beyond my mother’s share of Skelfler and tho’ I may have claim to what belonged to both parents she would not like it to go to the Welsh Listers  and would only leave it me for my life  I spoke very gently saying all I said was merely said as matter of opinion when I said I thought I had some claim to what she had from my father and mother tho’ to nothing more we were very amicable   she said she should never to come here for more than two nights and that only to see me I observed that after her once leaving here she might see very little of me she thought that probable and that she might see more of me abroad than in England   she said if she should ever have two thousand a year   and I thought she should be the richer of the two expecting Mr Samuel Freeman at 10 ½ but did not come till 11, and staid till 12 when Mr Parker came - mentioned about Godley will employ Mitchell about it who is to come and speak to me tomorrow evening - Freeman can let me have the money if wanted - he is to value the stone in Joseph Hall’s land - mentioned having a good offer for it - he told me of the road from Brookfoot just above or below Samuel Sowden’s and to come out just above Mytholm and join the Lower Brea branch road as proposed for the private road George R- and Pickles and I were measuring for on Saturday and asked if I should object to it - no! I thought it would be a good thing, and he might count upon my throwing no obstacle in the way - it seems this road is likely to be done in another year or so - said not a word but thought to myself that will be just doing the job I want and help too to stop the road in front of Shibden hall - the road too by Folly to Southowram is likely to be done - out with Mr Parker at 12 10 for an hour - took him to the spot and explained all about footpaths and bridle roads and about the drift I want driving under the Lower brea branch road on account of the right of irrigation to see Joseph Wilkinson, and then let Mr Parker know the result and he will take measures accordingly - allows that I have right to have the old bridle road just under upper brea reopened - I can commence an auction against the Godley road commoners and compel them to do it - the matter to be settled between us - on leaving Mr P- turned up by the Stump Cross Inn to old Wilkinson’s sat sometime with him - so civil and spoke of the old gentleman so fair he seemed quite pleased, came down with me to James Smith’s land to see where it would be but to try for water - advised me about it - will meet Holt to give his advice and seemed quite on my side about it - then brought him all along my walk to see it, but could not persuade him to come in - never man seemed better pleased - we parted at our gate at 2 ¾ - then sometime with John holing for hollies in the hall wood within the railing - and then ½ hour at Lidgate at 3 40 - reading ½ hour volume I Southey’s book of the church (in 2 volumes 8vo.)  till Miss W- and Miss Parkhill returned from Huddersfield - then an hour with Miss W- upstairs - she seemed glad to see me expected my staying tonight but owned ‘it was not liked’    that it is by Miss Parkhill    I said Miss P- was foolish but all Miss W-‘s friends would be glad to get rid of me    said it would only make more civil to Miss P- and so it did on my going downstairs

 William Green carted 2 loads causeway stone taken up from the hall wood old walk into to Tilly holm to finish the footpath causeway there

 SH:7/ML/E/15/0151

 till she said she was sorry and seemed so that I did not stay    Miss W- had mentioned to her sister about going abroad with me and asked her advice   and said if it was against it she should not go I objected saying she could not advise fairly    Miss W- unhappy not knowing whether she has done right about Mr A-    if she did not marry him   I needed not fear her marrying anyone else    well said I if you do ever marry how can I respect him or you you have for once in your life had a friend   but if I leave you   it is all over you have neither head nor heart to appreciate me  (which she owned was true) and I shall escape you as it were a meteor and all our intercourse will indeed have been like a dream   this seemed to strike her    thought I I shall not go quite so often during Miss P-‘s staying and not offer again in a hurry to stay all night   but I behaved most handsomely about it - Home in ½ at 5 50 – very thick and so dark I could scarce distinguish the causeway from the road – dinner at 6 25 – afterwards read from p. 28 to 59 vol. 1 Plutarchs’ lives – finished Theseus and read part of Romulus – had a little nap, and wrote all but the first 12 lines of today and went into the other room at 9 ¼ - and staid talking to my aunt till 10 50 – very fine soft November day – F46 ½° at 11pm.