#not a the princess bride reference

[ahhrenata]

[isabeauwolf]

Dabi x reader: As you Wish (Period Comfort)

It was back.

Mother nature's curse, Aunt Flo, Jason, whatever the hell you wanna call it.

Your period had come.

Dammit.

You'd think I'd learn by now, but noooo. You sighed, covering your eyes with the back of your hand.

All of the signs were there: you was overly horny all week, then you wanted to cry out of nowhere and over the must dumbest shit, or was extremely moody and pissed off. You were so sleepy yesterday, even after oversleeping past your usual nap time and your breasts ached and were sensitive. Seriously, your nipples just barely grazing against your shirt made them tender and stiffen up, cut fucking diamonds.

All of this drama, only for your body to punish you for not being pregnant.

For the next seven days.

Seven days of hell.

To make things worse, Dabi was dropping by tonight.

Not that you weren't happy for your boyfriend to be coming over.

You loved seeing him. The thrill of a villain sneaking into your house without any of your neighbors noticing, or they didn't care as long as the couple wasn't too loud or disturbing the peace. It was great, one of the many perks to living in this neighborhood that was under the protection of the Shie Hassaikai, the yakuza. You paid your rent on time and were never late. Never asked questions and kept your head down whenever Mimic or one of Overhaul's eight bullets collected the months payment.

Of course, your period had to strike as you were about to take your early morning nap, as you rose to your feet you felt it.

The pool of blood staining your underwear and favorite pajama pants, dripping down your thighs, the uncomfortable dampness and stickiness.

The painful cramps in your abdomen hit, making you close your eyes harder, and focus on your breathing, simple breathing exorcises, deep inhale and exhale. In and out.

Who would have thought working as a nurses aid in training in a nursing home worked. All of the older woman teaching you tricks of the trade from their time as midwives or nurses at the local hospitals in their youth.

"Fuck," you cursed underneath your breath, making your way awkwardly towards your bathroom, waddling and shuffling without straining the floor. You felt gross already, yuck. Striping from your dirty and soiled, blood covered underwear and pants, throwing them into the hamper with a heated glare.

Opening your period drawer and checking on your supplies. Lips thinned into a firm line, clicking your tongue, and grumbling bitterly, "Of fucking course."

Your period supplies and stash was running low.

Damn near out of almost everything.

Groaning in frustration, you opened the drawer wider. Pulling out your period panties, placing a pad into it on top of the rest of your stack of clean clothes, you placed on the counter earlier after getting home. Bulky hoodie, check. Navy colored sweatpants, check. Pad and period underwear, check. Tank top and socks, check. Lazy girl outfit all here.

Turning on the shower head as hot as you could stand it, then removing the rest of your clothes as you waited, Need to wash these before they stain. thinking to yourself, inwardly sighing.

Hoping onto the shower, frowning as the water, blood and blood clots went down the drain. The heavy smell of blood and iron hit your nose making you wrinkle your nose in disgust. Closing your eyes once more, letting the warm water hit your now aching lower back as a thought came to mind. I need to tell him.

It's not the first time he's come over while you were on your period, and hopefully not the last. It's funny. You'd think that having a villain for a boyfriend, he would be a major asshole most of the time. He kept surprising you, awkwardly being kind and sweet. He grew up with a mother who birthed his dickhead of a father four kids and he had a younger sister, of course, he knows about women having their periods.

Chuckling, washing all of the iciness away with your favorite shampoo and body wash, rinsing and turning the water off.

Stepping out of the shower. Feeling like a drowned rat, slowly and still soaking wet, hesitantly and quickly, stepping down on the green furry rug, shoving your new underwear with a pad over your hips, then grabbed a blue towel, drying the rest of your body while checking to make sure bloody drops weren't running down your legs.

Sniffing and frowning, you finished getting dressed, grabbing the bottle of midol and shoved it into the front pocket of your hoodie, opening the bathroom door wearing a separate towel on your head, and walking back towards the living room. Retracing yours steps, eyes glued to the floor, thank god, there was no mess.

Standing in front of your favorite chair, opening the matching ottoman beside it, placed down a hidden pillow and red towel down as you sat back down, reaching for your favorite large fluffy blanket and phone.

Swiping your thumb over the screen, finger hovering over the message button, pushing it and waiting for it to load, then pressed Dabi's name, "alleycat" - he still snickered at the fucked up nickname you picked for him in case any dumbass tried to steal your smartphone.

"What?" You replied, giggling. "I can't put your villain name, or blue flame. That's amateur bullshit, 101." Rolling your eyes and snickered, adding, "Besides it's true, isn't it?" You teased lightly, "You are my chill and lazy alleycat." You reached over and lightly caressed and pet the top of his soft raven locks through yours fingers.

Dabi rolled his eyes, a light grin on his scarred lips. "Whatever works for you, princess."

A small smile graced your lips.

You: I'm on my cycle again, yay..... not. -_- If it's not too much trouble do you mind picking up some supplies for me?

He replied immediately.

Alleycat: Yeah, whatcha need? Send pics, I'm already at the store getting snacks anyways.

Your smile widened, you were lucky to have such an understanding boyfriend.

You: Thanks, babe~ U R the best! ;) See you soon and be safe.

Scrolling through your camera roll at the last time you forgot to write down your period shopping list, you sent them to him: pads, midol and chocolate.

Your good mood soured as another wave of cramps hit, forcing you to suck in a hissed breath. Closing yours eyes once more, trying to blink away tears spilling from the corner of your eyes, rubbing them away, burying yourself deeper into the chair, turning and laying your head against your arms, phone in your lap and spacing out.

You passed out in a matter on seconds it.

Or at least, that's what it felt like.

Your door bell ranged twice, letting you know that he was here.

Blinking and rubbing your eyes, groaning and yawning.

I don't wanna get up. You thought, blinking as a wave of tiredness and an incoming headache coming on. "I'm coming," you raised your voice slightly, licking your dry lips and rubbing the ball of your hand across your temple. The bell rang again, he must not have heard you, trying again, "hang on, hold your horses," rising once more from your comfy nest, "impatient, kitty, I swear," dragging the blanket along, unlocking it and opening the door.

As soon as you saw your villainous boyfriend, his sexy deep, heavily lidded ocean blues. Something in your overly hormonal brain flipped, like a switch: to overly painful cramps to overly horny, your drowsy eyes widened and your breath hitched. This isn't fucking fair! Down in between your legs, your traitorous clit ached, throbbed hard and painful.

Why the fuck can't your body make up its damned mind?!

Dabi leaned against the threshold of your doorjam. He titled his head, a playful smirk on his scarred face. "Special delivery." Hold two large grocery bags in his hand. "Your butt napkins and sugary snacks, my lady."

You should be pissed off, but instead a giggle slips past your lips. "My dark knight to the rescue." Rolling your eyes, opening the door wider and letting him in. "Take-out's on the way. I hope you don't mind Chinese." You mentally recomposed yourself as your cheeks heated and body grew more flushed and overly excited, "I don't feel like cooking tonight."

He walked in and waved, slipping off his boots, "Yeah, that's fine."

You watched him as you closed the door.

Dabi placed the snacks down on the coffee table. "Might have went overboard. Whatever we don't eat tonight, you can eat whenever." He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching and observing, then slowly, shrugging off his coat and lazily laying it on the side of the armrest of the couch, and beside his spot for easy access whenever he wanted his smokes.

"You didn't have to, you know." You smiled sheepishly, pulling the bottle of midol out from the pocket of your hoodie, opening it and popping two of the white and blue pills into your mouth as he opened a bottle of your favorite soda, sipping it and swallowing it down. "Thanks."

"Hush and let me spoil you a bit, yeah?" He replies, lightly pulling you into his warm chest, knowing you would enjoy the comfort of his body heat against your body. He loved whenever you were super clingy, it didn't bother him. Must be the touched-starved part of him that craved affection and attention he was denied growing up, he never said it, but somehow you knew, and you couldn't say no to him.

Closing your eyes and smiling, nuzzling into his chest and sighing in content, hugging him. "I've missed this, I've missed you," you admitted, enjoying and indulging both him and yourself.

This was nice. You needed this, your sweet and caring boyfriend.

Dabi smirking, lightly rubbing your back, and lazily trailing his hands down to your hips, and cooed gently into her neck. "Ah, my poor little ketchup packet."

And there was the asshole part of him, you didn't like that.

Mother always said every man is an asshole. Your boyfriend was no different.

Leaning away from him and gawking. "You are supposed to comfort your girlfriend, not be an asshole, jackass." Smacking his arm with tears prickling the corner of your eyes. It's stupid. You knew he was joking to try and make you laugh, but instead he had done the opposite.

Dabi's eyes widened. "Shit, sorry, m'sorry," he pulled you into a hug, holding you against him again. Resting his head against the top of your head as you buried your face into the his chest. "Please, don't cry." His voice was soft and genuine. "You know, if I didn't tease ya a little bit, then you'd think I was mad at ya."

You sniffed and muttered a soft and quiet, "I know, baby, I know." Nuzzling more into his chest, inhaling his cologne and the smell of smoke from both his flames and nicotine.

"What crappy, cheesy, romance movie do you wanna watch tonight?" He asks, picking you up, making you squeal cutely and giggle, swinging you around like a princess before plopping down on the couch and laying you sideways in his lap. He tilts your chin up, meeting his gaze as his thumb wipes your tears away. "What does my princess want?"

You hummed in though, smiling as the perfect movie came to mind. "How about The Princess Bride?"

Rising an eyebrow in amusement, "Again?"

You laughed, "C'mon you know you love it whenever Wesley beats Prince Humperdick and steals Buttercup away on their wedding night."

"Yeah, that spoiled dickhead deserved it." he agreed, smirking and nodding. "Alright, alright," He winked and kissing the top of your head. "As you wish."

Smiling you put on The Princess Bride, nibbling on some chocolate to hold you until food arrived. It didn't matter, if it was the first time or the thousand time, this movie never got old for you. A true childhood classic.

When Princess Buttercup and Wesley were entering the Fire Swamp, the food arrived as Dabi was reaching for a bag of chips.

"Perfect timing." You muttered, slipping more of your soda and paused the movie, "Gotta go to the bathroom."

"I got it, babe." He gave a small smile.

You stood up and winced, the ache in your lower back and hips were back as you slowly made your way into the bathroom, "I'll be right back, ouch."

Dabi's smile dropped, standing, walking towards the door and opened it, and looked completely bored at the young kid, holding there take-out, grabbing it and muttered, "thanks" as he lightly slammed the door in their shocked and scared face. "Punk ass," he grumbled underneath his breath, peaking into the bags, his scowl curled upward as he saw his favorite meal sitting on top.

Seriously, you spoiled him. How he was lucky enough, a bastard like him got a great girl like you he never knew, and didn't bother asking.

Grabbing some napkins from the kitchen he placed the takeout spread out onto the coffee table: dumplings, fried rice, chicken on a stick, chicken lo mein with extra chicken(his favorite), and donuts.

You came back, watching as he set everything up all nice and neatly. "Think we can eat it all?"

He turned his head, smiling smugly, "Hell yeah, we can. It's gonna get messy cuz I'm hungry."

You blinked and sat down. "Did you not eat again before you came over?"

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling you into his side. "I'm fine. We've got food, you've taken your magic pain away pills. Now, let's eat. I'm starving." Dabi hit play on the tv, then handed you a plate and chopsticks without looking away.

Complain all he wants, but you are certain that he loves this movie just as much. What's there not to like? Revenge, fighting, true love and miracles.

By the time, the movie was almost over most of the food and snacks were eaten, and what was left Dabi was sweet enough to put everything away and wash the dishes.

Of course, you cried when Prince Humperdinck pulled a jealous dick move and had the machine suck 50 years of Wesley's life away, the actors anguish cry of pain had you choked up and in tears. As Dabi pulled you into his side, pouting as he offered you comfort.

When the movie was over, both of you were quiet.

Dabi spoke first. This question had been on his mind, the whole time.

"Why do you love this movie so much?" he asks, watching the credits roll and listening to the song playing at the end, but its was just background noise. "It makes you cry every time and yet, you still watch it over and over again."

"I watched it plenty of times with my mom growing up." You said smiling, pressing into his side with your head underneath his chin. "No matter how many times, we would both laugh and cry together. I miss her and this movie like many of her favorites brings me a strange form of comfort." Blinking back more tears, you straighten and face him. "I know you haven't had the best life at home, but know that no matter... what happens you will always be my home, and I hope that I am yours, Touya."

"Of course, you are, Y/n." He whispered, cupping your face. His touch and eyes were gentle, warm and you trusted him completely. "You are my light in this fucked up world." Dabi swallows the lump in his throat as he tries to calm his breathing, bloody tears prickling his eyes, and falling. "You see the man behind the burns and the scars, a broken and insane bastard who loves you. Would burn the fucking world for you. I love you, my princess." He pulls you into a slow and tender kiss which you kiss back, holding him against you and crawling into his lap, and straddling his waist.

Panting you break the kiss first. A breathless string of giggles slips between your kiss swollen lips. "Come on, let's go to bed, my dark prince."

Dabi sniff and laughed, grinning. His turquoise gaze bright in the dark room and the moonlight. "As you wish, princess buttercup." He picks you up again into his arms, a soft smirk appearing on his red tears streaked, burned, and stapled face.

You laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. "Whatever am I going to do with you? My dark prince? More like a bratty king."

"Yes, as you are my Queen." He whispers into your ear and gently places you onto the bed with care, stealing your lips again. "Your King of hell will take no refusal, my love." He purrs, lightly nipping into the crook of your neck as you squirm against him and cackle.

"Alright, alright, you win, dammit." You pant in between fits of giggles, lightly trying to shove him away. "You Mister need to wash your face before you stain my sheets." You give a light glare, watching as Dabi pulls back, dramatically grabbing his chest.

"My Queen Buttercup, you wound me so deeply." He gasps, raising an eyebrow and smirking. "Such a heartless woman I have for a lover."

"Oh, go on you big baby, shoo, shoo," You wave him away, getting up and heading towards the bathroom, feeling his gaze on you as he follows close behind. "Besides you need to brush yours teeth."

"I'm going, I'm following." He chuckled, pulling his white shirt over his head and dropping it into the laundry basket beside yours and the rest of his clothes follow. He doesn't care that he's walking around buck naked in your place, he's confident and has no shame. Finding a pair of black sweatpants in your hall closet and puts them on, tying the drawstring around his waist, then heads back into the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth with your toothpaste.

Dabi turns the lights off in the house as he makes his way back into your bedroom, where you are already in bed, and waiting for him. "The castle is safe and your king is tired."

You snicker and pat the space beside you. "Well come on, King Touya. It's rude to keep a maiden waiting."

Without a word, he turns the light off, slowly stalking his way towards the bed and on his side. Dabi's strong hands pulled your body closer, your back against his chest, he rested an hand on your lower abdomen caressing it. "It's getting colder at night, let me help warm you up." He whispers into your ear, purring and his voice growing low and husky, dripping with dark promise. "I'll behave tonight, but no mercy tomorrow, baby."

Your breath hitches and you gasp, when he trails his over hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin and travels upwards, lightly cupping your swollen and sensitive breast. "Touya, you horn dog. Cheater." You moan and pant as you pull him into a kiss.

He smirks against your lips, chuckling. "I am behaving, honest. I've been a good boy all night," Dabi pulls his hand away as if he did nothing, and placed it behind his head underneath the pillow. "This is my reward for pampering you all day." The heat of his body hitting your lower back, leaving his other hand over your abdomen, heating up and drawing patterns with his fingers.

Calming your breathing, shifting onto your side, you close your eyes, reaching behind you, finding his free hand and squeezed it lightly, whispering. "Thank you. Good night, Touya." Sighing in content and falling asleep.

He hummed, watching as the discomfort disappeared from his girlfriends usually happy and cheerful face. He wished he could do more to help. If he needed to use his quirk to help ease his baby's suffering, then he'd do it.

For once, he was happy to be cursed with his fathers quirk. Only during times like this was he genuinely happy, holding his lover in his arms, all his, no one else's.

He decided that in the morning, he would make a light breakfast knowing that chocolate pancakes and hot chocolate always made you smile.

Scooting closer, tangling their legs together and pulling the blanket over them, he laid back down and closed his eyes. Listening to the steady breathing and light snores below him as a small smile curled against his scarred lips, kissing the top of yours head, and whispered, "Feel better soon, baby."

He fell asleep.

He didn't care, if no one in the else in the world loved him, or hated him. As long as he had you, his baby, his whole world.... his reason for living, he could live with himself, with these scars, burns and broken body.

A little period blood wasn't going to keep him away.

Not now, not ever.

Even while moody, pissy, tired and grumpy, you were still the most beautiful.

You were their for his bad days, so why shouldn't he be there for yours?

💙----------🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥-----💙

I did it! Took a minute, since I'm not used to writing in canon x reader, so please excuse the cringe! ^^

To all my fellow period buddies experiencing there cycles with me or after me! I made this for you! Wanted to spoil my peeps! I hope it showed?

Love ya'll! Plus, I wanted to throw in more Dabi fluff! He would be the sweet, but still teasing boyfriend, well, in my eyes anyways ;)

@fairymama624 @dabislittlemouse @touyas-wife @nightgale @canary58143 @redr0sewrites

[deconstructthesoup]

The Princess Bride came out in 1987

Which means that Charles can reference it in fics

[jinxedshapeshifter]

Klavier does seem like the type to watch The Princess Bride on a regular basis tbh

[zylphiacrowley]

Adventures in the Northern Wilds pt. 2

<previous - next>

[nionkitkats]

Adam showing up alive after SAW & surprising the shit out of Lawrence, who thought he was dead. Adam tells him, in that bitterly joking way where he can’t take anything seriously because he’s in emotional denial, that “There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive.”

(Let me be very clear that he’s not quoting movies at him, I just love to recycle dialogue from one of an actor’s movies to another of their movies as a fun little treat. Adam is canonically stealing this line, bc it’s my Saw Extended Cut Universe & I can do whatever I want).

[destiny2-names]

[loki-god-of-mischief-13]

Saw this in a Click video, did not end how I thought it would:

[alphashley14]

Readers, you know how much I would love to update my fic, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped.

[city-of-all-tunas]

hamlet and horatio in iii.ii

Horatio: i am at your service, sweet lord Hamlet: horatio, no man i've ever spoken with can compare to you Horatio: (bashfully) aw shucks mate Hamlet: this isn't me complimenting you!! i get nothing from it cause all you've got is your good spirits. no money and that's...that's important, right? i repeat, this is not me flattering you. you understand? it's just that,, my soul chose you to have for herself. you, who is strong throughout life's ups and downs. i hold you in my heart—well, actually, in my heart of heart, very near and dear. Horatio: ... Hamlet:(blushing furiously) no homo, now help me avenge my father Horatio: as you wish

[flowerbarrel-art]

@occatorcreator Scribbles’ right hand has six fingers, so I couldn’t resist drawing Scribbles and Chosen acting out that famous scene from The Princess Bride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello.

My name is The Chosen One.

You killed my friend.

Prepare to die.

Stop SAYING that!!!

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

I bought three bras for $90 yesterday

three whole bras

for $90

not $90 each

$90 in total

before my surgery I was spending almost that much on one singular bra

now I can just. buy a single bra for $30??? absolutely insane.

and they're PRETTY TOO 😭 I haven't owned a pretty bra that I could actually wear in like ten years, when you're buying Bras of Unusual Size you get plain beige and black and that's it

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM CONCEPT ART: Harry vs Theodore

A/N: I reimagined The Princess Bride scene with Harry and Theodore. It’s just a messy sketch for now cause I’m too lazy to clean it up and color it.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Polyship Week 2024, Day One: Team As Polycule (Valicer In The Dark AU)

Hello everyone, and welcome to Valicer Polyship Week 2024! :D Where, just like in 2023, you will get a daily Valicer fic based on one of the prompts from the official Polyship Week 2024 prompt list, courtesy of, naturally, @polyshipweek! Today is Day One, and the prompt I chose was "Team As Polycule" -- mostly because it immediately made me think of my Valicer In The Dark trio, and how they are a criminal crew as well as a polycule. Though, interestingly, the story that I came up with doesn't have actually have them doing a score together or anything like that. Instead, I ended up writing something about Alice being told that romancing her fellow crewmates is a bad idea by the leader of another gang in the area, and taking semi-violent offense to said leader poking her nose into her business. :P Not sure why my mind went off in that direction -- but as you will see tomorrow, apparently I really wanted to write "someone is a jerk to one of the trio, only to get theirs in the end" this year...

--

“You know, it’s not a good idea to mix pleasure and work.”

Alice blinked, then looked over to see one Nessa, leader of the Gray Cloaks, standing by the door to the bathroom, arms folded across her chest and mouth thin with displeasure. “It’s not going to end well,” she continued. “Sooner or later, the tower of cards always collapses.”

“Right.” Alice shook her hands off above the cracked sink basin before reaching for the towel. “First of all, did you really follow me in here to say that? And second of all – what? What are you talking about?”

“Yes, I did, because I had to go anyway – and I didn’t want to say this with your two, ah, friends overhearing,” Nessa replied, jerking her head toward the door and, implicitly, at Victor and Smiler back at their table. “And you know what I’m talking about. You’re playing a dangerous game, getting – involved with your partners in crime.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe I asked your opinion on my love life,” she said coolly, drying her hands.

“You’re getting it anyway,” Nessa said, untroubled by her tone. “Because I think too much of you to let you make a stupid mistake. Look, you’re easily the most sensible one in your little gang–”

“Me? I’m the one who talks to things that don’t exist on the regular,” Alice cut in, raising an eyebrow. At her feet, Cheshire covered a chuckle with his paw. “Just underlining my point there, Cat.”

“Sure, fine, but look at the two people you hang around with,” Nessa insisted. “Your Whisper’s a slip of a thing from money, and spends his time sticking his nose too far into his books and fiddling around with things he doesn’t understand. And your Leech…” Nessa rolled her eyes. “Well. They’re an Advocate. We all know what that lot is like.” She pointed at Alice. “But you? You know that this world’s a stupid, cruel, cold place, full of people that are as likely to stab you in the back as they are to shake your hand and give you a smile. And you’re more than ready to do the stabbing if you have to. You’re the one who sees things as they are.”

“Except when I don’t,” Alice said, watching as a tentacle poked its way through a hole in the ceiling. “Though I suppose I should take a compliment when it is offered. But what exactly is your point here, Nessa? I know you have one, even if it’s just hidden in your cloak.”

“My point is that you should be smart enough to know that getting personally involved with your crew is only going to lead to trouble,” Nessa said, shaking her head. “You can’t trust them that far, no matter what they might whisper in your ear in the middle of the Names. It’s common knowledge that Roric and Lyssa were lovers before she tore his belly open and dumped him in Ratblood Canal so she could get the Crows all to herself. Less common that Mylera of the Red Sashes used to be a spy in the Lampblack ranks, and seduced a few secrets out of Baz himself before running back to her own to destroy him. And don’t get me started on what happened between the Billhooks’ Tarvul and his wife before she ended up in Bellweather Crematorium and he in Ironhook Prison…” She huffed. “Point is, this city is rife with idiots who took a chance on getting close to their fellow scoundrels, and paid the price. And I see the way you look at your crew, and – I know you’re gonna get hurt.” She sighed, letting her arms drop. “Van Dort grew up rich, Alice – the minute he thinks he’s got enough Coin to get back into proper society, he’s going to ditch you without a second thought. And Alton – I bet you you’re never more than one too many frowns away from being stuck with a syringe and dragged back to their headquarters to get your head ‘corrected.’ Maybe you three work well enough together now, but – you can’t trust ‘em to treat you right.”

“I see.” Alice hung the towel back on its little hook. “Is that your entire piece?”

“Yeah,” Nessa nodded. “Just had to get it out there.”

“Excellent.” Alice took a moment to brush her hair back from her face –

Then, before Nessa could move an inch, she slammed the woman up against the wall, putting her knife against her throat. “Here’s mine then – keep your fucking nose out of my fucking business,” she hissed. “You think Victor wants to go back to a life where the weight of his parents’ expectations made him miserable? You think Smiler doesn’t care enough about me to know that getting me high on Joy Serum is the worst way to make me happy? You honestly think I’m stupid for daring to fall in love with the first two people who ever actually treated me like I was a person and not just a broken simulacrum of one? You don’t know anything about us, then. And I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself in future.”

Nessa stared at her, eyes wide and breathing hard – and, judging by the sudden smell, no longer with a need to go to the toilet. Alice released her and tucked her blade away again. “Good talk,” she said simply, then headed back out into the Ball & Socket.

As she’d expected, Victor and Smiler were still at their table, finishing off their food. “Was that Nessa that just followed you into the bathroom?” Smiler asked as she sat back down again. “Thought I recognized her braid.”

“It was,” Alice confirmed. “We just had a rather illuminating chat.”

“Oh?” Victor said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “What about?”

Alice responded by grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a kiss. “About how she’s an arsehole who thinks you two are idiots and I’m an idiot for being in love with you,” she said after releasing him. “And how, if she doesn’t believe a crew can trust each other enough to be together more – intimately than normal, that’s not my problem.”

“Uh – ah – oh,” Victor said, blinking as his brain tried to catch up. “I – I see. I think.”

“I definitely see – that was rude of her,” Smiler said, defying their name by frowning. “I mean, sure, probably what we have together isn’t conventional for a crew, but – I like what we’ve got.”

“Me too,” Victor agreed, before leaning over to give Smiler a quick kiss, apparently worried they’d feel left out otherwise. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been with you two.”

Alice smiled at them, taking both their hands in hers. “I feel the same. And trust me, Nessa knows that very well now.” She glanced over to where the Gray Cloaks were huddled, looking a bit nervous about how their leader hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet. “So – no offering our services to help them gather more evidence about how they were framed right now?”

“Hell no,” Smiler said succinctly. “Maybe the Lost could use our help instead – I heard that they’ve got a vendetta against the owner of the Cordelia Furniture factory now...”

[arvandus]

Devs really missed an opportunity for having rats (as we understand them) be something much worse in the Devildom.

All this time we thought Barb was being just a wee bit sensitive but in actuality, they're HUGE AND TERRIFYING.

Barb fighting off the vermin like:

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Heirs to Empty Thrones (ao3)

In the absence of the king, Nesta finds herself carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there's only one knight in the world that can take her mind off it. (For @cassianappreciationweek day 5. We're playing very fast and loose with the term 'lionhearted'...) (psst, @c-e-d-dreamer)

The gold circlet at her brow was heavy.

Heavier than before— heavier than it had been that morning. It was a burden, a chain around her neck, and it didn’t matter how fine or gilded it was— the hammered band was a mantle she did not wish to bear, and now there was an invisible weight crushing and pressing and bearing down on her as the strain worked its way into her very bones. It curled up around her veins and grew tighter, squeezing until it felt like the cold, thin band was constricting, determined to make her bleed.

It ached.

Everything ached.

Her father was gone— abandoned them a decade ago to wage holy war in lands so distant they seemed like another world, and now every day that dawned brought a horde of dissatisfied noblemen to her door, in their fine clothes and gold rings, horses hooves clattering in the courtyard every morning as the gates to the castle were thrown wide. The same men who had decades ago refused to accept a woman’s rule now crowded in her hall, begging her to write to her father and bring him home, as if her words could do anything, as if they were of any value at all.

Nesta shivered, the nighttime chill seeping through the stone of the central keep, and through the thick-paned and lead-lined glass she saw the torches glowing on the curtain wall, flames stark against the night sky, devouring the dark.

Beyond the light of those torches, in the distant miles outside that high stone wall, the realm crumbled. The roads were filled with bandits and rebels, taxes went unpaid, and as each day gave way to night, the laws of the realm seemed ever more breakable, no stronger than reeds swaying in the wind. Her father had left her uncle as regent, charged him with the protection of the crown and its lands, and yet unrest had never been so widespread. There were rumours of men in the forest stealing from the rich to give to the poor, tales of children starving, and with no king to call on there was no solution to be had, nothing to be done.

Nothing— and Nesta dropped her head into her hands now, wondering when exactly she’d been the one to pick up the weight her father had dropped ten years ago. She had been a child when he left, the eldest daughter he’d gotten in place of a son, and for so many years she had awaited his return, watching for his ship on the horizon, counting the sails of every vessel that came to port. In vain— she had waited in vain, and when her mother and sisters had returned to their estates in France, Nesta had stayed behind, a woman now, all alone and bearing the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. 

Weary, she sighed.

The hour grew late, the darkness deepening, and yet Nesta didn’t move. She remained sitting alone in the small chamber branching off the great hall with only the silence for company. A single candle cut the dim, sweet wax scenting the air as night descended, the flame flickering in the draughts that crept through the stone.

Already, she knew sleep would not find her tonight.

Her head began to throb, the coronet she wore unbearable. Her people suffered, her realm burned, and what was she but a princess in a world that didn’t hear the voice of women, powerless and vulnerable until her father returned? She shook her head, and with a steadiness that surprised her, she lifted her hand and removed that God-forsaken band, casting it onto the thick wooden table before her, leaving it to sit in a pool of candlelight, gold and shining and bright with something she had once thought to be promise. The jewels winked, garnets and emerald and sapphires, cut stones set into the band, and oh, once Nesta had looked at the diadem and thought it pretty.

Once she had thought it beautiful.

She didn’t think so any longer.

And with her head resting in her hand, she sat alone in that chamber, lost, only waiting for somebody to find her.

It didn’t take long. 

Soon enough a knock sounded at the door, echoing through the silence, and Nesta almost opened her mouth to ask for peace— but before her lips could part the door was opened, iron hinges creaking as old wood slid across even older stone. Footsteps sounded, muffled by the rushes scattered across the floor to fight the chill, and as Nesta looked up, fingers still resting against her temples, she glimpsed the bulk of a man slipping around the doorframe, a silhouette against the candlelight.

Somebody had found her indeed, and as she straightened in her chair, she realised that perhaps she didn’t mind so much that out of all the souls in this castle, he had been the one to seek her out. 

Cassian.

The man who had helped her off her horse so many months ago, when she’d first arrived at this particular castle, so close to the coast. He was her father’s knight, a broad span of hardened muscle with hands no strangers to the hilt of a sword, and yet when he’d lifted her down from her horse at that first meeting, when her hands had slid down the length of his chest, his fingers had curled around her waist and brushed her spine, and she’d felt a jolt go through her that had her suddenly wanting to ride every day, if it meant he would be the one to lead her horse to stable when she returned.

When her feet had hit the ground, his hands had lingered at her waist as hers had tarried at his shoulders. He had dipped his head as he took her horse’s reins, wrapping the leather around his fist, and when he’d glanced up at her from beneath thick eyelashes, he’d murmured welcome home, princess— and Nesta had known then that she was in trouble, swimming in dangerous waters, at risk of drowning.

He’d been knighted by her grandfather before the late king’s death, earning his spurs fighting rebels, and daily he could be seen in the courtyard practising with his blade, so lethal it was a wonder her father hadn’t ordered him to lead the armies fighting in the Holy Land. Silently, secretly, Nesta was glad he hadn’t. Cassian was confident, arrogantly so, but loyal to a fault, and since that very first day he’d worked his way into her good graces, slipping so easily among her thoughts it was though he was always supposed to be there, taking up space inside her head. 

And now she prayed for meetings on the turrets stairs, chance encounters in darkened halls, where his hand might brush hers, or his smile might make her heart race.

“You should be in bed,” he said now, looking at her across the candlelit chamber, over the long wooden table surrounded by empty chairs. “It’s late.”

His familiar face eased the ache that had plagued every part of her, and as his eyes dropped to her circlet lying discarded on the table, Nesta tipped her head up to see his face, raising an eyebrow as she rested her hands on the arms of her chair.

“Are you my nursemaid now?”

Cassian let out a small laugh as he stalked closer, prowling through the darkness as his eyes studied every inch of her he could see, as if searching for injury, looking for strain. As her father’s household knight, he was honour-bound to protect and serve her, but as he raked his gaze across her face, Nesta knew with certainty that it wasn’t honour that had him closing the distance between them with even, determined strides. Slowly, he tilted his head, giving her a brazen smile.

“Would you like me to be?”

He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword as he came to a halt, standing on the other side of the long table. His silhouette was stark in the golden light— broad shoulders lined with muscle were covered with a simple linen tunic dyed a watery, washed-out red, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. Golden brown skin shone almost bronze beneath the glow of the candles, and his wrist lay idle atop the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip. Nesta dragged her eyes over him, from his leather boots to the silver bracelets at his wrists— a matching pair, each studded with a single large garnet. They glimmered, deep crimson stones shining like molten rubies, and even though they were far from extravagant, Nesta’s eye caught them anyway. Cassian lifted his wrist from his sword as he crossed his arms over the wide span of that chest, his gently curling hair spilling over one shoulder and brushing his collarbone.

He was…

He was everything she shouldn’t want, and everything she couldn’t have.

And yet still she met his eye, his hazel gaze a delectable blend of gold and green and brown— rich and warm and sweet. Cassian didn’t blink, and just as she always did, she felt stripped by the intensity of his gaze. He looked at her now, expectant.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted at last.

Cassian frowned. “You seem troubled.”

Nesta barked a laugh, one that was bitter and as sharp as shattered glass. She shook her head, and even without the golden circlet around her temples, she felt the pressure still there, pushing in on all sides. 

“Do I?”

“You do,” Cassian nodded, taking another step forward until he stood directly behind one of the chairs tucked beneath the empty table. He reached out and braced his hands on it, fingers curling around the wood as he leaned down to her level, canting his head to the side and sending his long hair tumbling over the other shoulder. Something thick and heady stirred in his eyes, something that seemed like concern mixed with something… something else, something she couldn’t recognise. His face softened as he let out a breath, tension seeping from his jaw as his fingers loosened on the chair.

“Tell me,” he said after a moment. “Tell me what burdens you.”

Nesta blinked. “It’s your brother that’s advisor to the crown,” she said, thinking of Cassian’s adopted brother— Rhysand, the one who was, even now, with her father in the Holy Land, kept deep within the king’s confidences. “Not you.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don’t want to be an advisor to the crown.”

“Just advisor to me, then?”

His lips split into a grin, one that made her heart ache. 

“If you’ll have me.”

Nesta shook her head again, dipping her gaze to her hands, just to stop herself from dragging her stare over every inch of him, over the forearms where his exposed skin shone in the candlelight.

“I can guess,” Cassian continued, his voice a drawl through the otherwise silent chamber. “What it is that brothers you— I can guess. Your uncle is causing chaos outside these walls, princess. Soon there will be riots.”

A chill gathered at the base of her spine. Nesta knew this already— had spent hours being lectured on it by the very men who her father had trusted to keep his lands safe. And now they looked to her, as if she could fix it— as if she had any sway at all over the man who had left when she was a child. The king had become a stranger to her, hardly a shadow in her memory, and she was naught but the princess of a failing kingdom, the daughter of an absent father. What did she have— what power did she hold at all?

“The law means nothing anymore,” Cassian said with a wave of his hand, lips pulled downwards in distaste. “Your grandfather I respected, but his sons leave him a poor legacy. Your uncle takes what he wants when he wants, and his retainers are worse. The taxes he levies are brutal and—”

Nesta let out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “I don’t want to think of it anymore,” she said, tired. “I want to forget about it— about all of it, for just one night.”

She looked up, at the warrior on the other side of the table. His words died on his tongue, and the silence stretched for a beat too long as he met her gaze. Her heart seemed loud enough for him to hear, and as the night pressed against the windows and the candle flame flickered, Nesta looked at him with a challenge - a plea - in her eyes. She blinked, but he merely looked at her the way he always did, like he knew her down to her bones.

“I want to forget,” she repeated, a whisper as he pushed away from the chair and took a step towards her, bringing him close enough to touch, now. “Let me forget, Cassian.”

Silent, he nodded. In the gathering dark he reached for her, lifting her hand from the arm of her chair and bringing it, reverently, to his lips. His mouth was warm against her skin, his hand tightening around hers, holding her against him as though he wanted to keep her there forever, and though this ought to have been a knightly gesture, something chivalric and gallant, there was something in the way he held her that made it deeper, made his kiss something far more than a show of loyalty from a knight to his lady.

Something far more meaningful— and something far more dangerous.

“I can help you,” he murmured, his voice little more than a breathless whisper in the darkness. Nesta found her eyes drifting closed, and even though he lifted his lips, he didn’t drop her hand. “I can make you forget all of it, princess. Just for tonight.”

Her eyes fluttered, and oh, it was a kind of treason— to let him touch her, to let him press such a lingering kiss to her skin, to let him speak to her as though he knew her, body and soul. With effort, Nesta forced herself to remember where she was— who she was, because with that raw heat dancing in his eyes… oh, yes. It was treason to touch the king’s daughter the way he did.

“My father…” she began.

“Is absent, princess.” Cassian let her hand slip from his, and the absence of his warmth was jarring. “Your sisters are in France. There’s nobody here but you and I, and no king on these shores to object to anything.”

“Treason,” Nesta breathed, her voice soft. To speak against the king, to speak of him with such disdain… that was treason too, or as close as one could get without lifting a sword. But Cassian only let a grin curve his lips, crooked and charming as he pulled away just enough to draw his sword an inch from its sheath.

“Will you end my life here, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Brave, Nesta thought wryly, looking at the hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his blade. They called her father coeur de lion, but it was Cassian who had a lion’s heart. A foolish heart— but brave nonetheless. He smirked a little still, even as he unsheathed his sword all the way and set it on the table. The steel was bright, polished, and the hilt was simple— wrapped in leather with a silver pommel. Her father’s was decorated with gold, vines engraved down the blade, a groove down the middle to wick away the blood he shed. Cassian’s was far simpler, but no less sharp— no less deadly. It lay between them as he nodded.

“Go on, princess.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes dark and daring. “Attaint me. Have me stripped of everything I own, take my name and ruin it.” His voiced dropped lower, his gaze turning heated. “Because even if your father were here, my loyalty would be to you. I wouldn’t go to the edge of the courtyard for a man that abandons his realm for ten years. But for you— for you I’d go to the ends of the earth, and you’re right princess, that’s all kinds of treason, so you should do everything that I’ve just said. Have me attainted, confiscate my lands, and then have someone slit my throat, because death is the only thing that could stop me from doing this.”

With an unwavering gaze, Cassian lifted a hand.

Slowly, purposefully he cupped her cheek, his touch far too bold and far too brazen as his fingers strayed across her jaw, sliding into her hair— braided and bound and up. His rings snagged on her braids, the plain silver bands he wore with swirling engravings reminding her of the woad tattoos she’d once heard about the ancient Scots decorating their skin with, and as his lips neared hers, her heart began an off-kilter beat inside her chest. His touch was one of devotion— unyielding and unshakeable and so very, very treacherous.

She didn’t move— couldn’t. His eyes roamed her face, searching, as her lips parted he looked at her like he’d just found whatever it was he’d been looking for. He risked his life, his neck, and yet something thrummed through her as she felt his callouses against her skin, rough from all those years with a sword in hand. The cool metal of his rings pressed against her cheek, and it felt all kinds of forbidden and yet— she didn’t pull away.

The gold circlet on the table was all the reason in the world that this was a bad idea, but outside the world was already going to Hell, and Nesta just wanted one moment of peace— one breath of it, no matter how brief. Cassian looked at her like she was the closest he would ever come to Heaven, like he’d already resigned himself to his damnation, and she knew without needing him to speak that she was the only thing he’d kneel for, the only altar he would worship at. 

“You can’t,” she whispered as he tilted his head. Those eyes - those damned eyes - were afire, blazing with a kind of heat Nesta had only ever heard about in songs and chansons de geste— epic, lyrical poems. They were certain to be her undoing, those eyes. Her unravelling. But as the candlelight glowed, reflected in that unwavering, steadily burning hazel… Nesta longed to fall, to let herself come undone.

“And why not?” Cassian asked with a rueful smile, daring to drag his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Because I—“ she began, but her breath faltered as he moved his thumb to her lips, tracing the bow in the centre before dropping to her chin and circling beneath her jaw. Nobody had ever touched her before— nobody had ever dared. “My father is the king,” she forced out.

“Your father hasn’t been here for ten years, sweetheart.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” she said, forcing her eyes open even as they threatened to drift closed. 

Cassian let out a breath, and when he spoke next his voice was firm. “Princess, your great-grandmother sank this country into a civil war to get the crown. You could too, if you wanted.” He didn’t waver, and his touch didn’t slow, exploring the planes of her face with a gentleness that contradicted the sword on the table, the scar through his eyebrow. Treason danced on his tongue, but he spoke of war and bloodshed as if it were nothing, as if he’d serve up this realm to her singlehanded if only she’d ask.  “And I will cut down every single person who stands in your way, if I have to.”

“That really is treason,” she whispered. 

“I care not,” he murmured, dipping his head until his lips were barely an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her cheeks, felt her heartbeat grow wild.

“Fool,” she said softly, but there was no ire there, none at all. He only hummed, nodding in agreement.

“Only for you,” he answered, and it seemed, somehow, like a promise. Like a vow. “Only for you would I draw that blade— only for you do I kneel.”

The candle flame flickered in the corner, and with the moonlight drifting through the windows, she let herself, for just a moment, lean into his touch. She turned her face into his palm, and he hummed again, daring to let his other hand curl around her hip. 

She felt herself slipping, falling. With the golden light dancing on his skin and setting his hazel eyes aglow, she felt herself forgetting all of the turmoil outside of these walls. Tomorrow— she’d deal with it tomorrow. For tonight she only wanted this— the man who looked at her like she was the sun and the moon and the sky itself, who offered her the sharp end of his blade, hers to command as she wished.

“No one can know,” she breathed. “About this— whatever this is.”

He smiled softly. “I always have been exceptionally good at keeping secrets.”

Nesta smiled too, and with every beat of her heart catching, stumbling, she reached for the hand he had rested at her hip. She tangled their fingers together, his rough against her smooth, and Lord have mercy on her— she melted at that touch, felt herself sinking into it and letting it enfold her, engulf her. His thumb moved across the back of her fingers, his lips parting on an exhale, and with all of the weight and authority that she could muster - every ounce of regality that circlet gave her, that her royal blood gave her - she lifted her chin and sought out those eyes of burning, burning hazel.

“Kiss me,” she said.

Cassian smiled, his fingers squeezing hers, tightening his hold. Nesta longed to feel the curve of those lips against hers, yearned for it, and just before Cassian pressed his lips to hers - just before he gave her everything she had ever wanted - he let out a soft breath, one hand moving behind her back, resting between her shoulder blades to pull her closer, to hold her pressed to his chest. As Cassian’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, he smirked.

“As you wish, princess.”