#one day i shall cross that threshold

[jointherebellion215]

His Kiss, The Riot

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)

This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

The devil takes this Orpheus

And his belladonna kiss

“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”

Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”

The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?

“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”

You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.

“Conditions?” You whispered.

“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.

“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”

The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.

“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”

Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?

“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”

Nothing makes a man so bold

As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold

“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.

Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you. 

“Now meet them or face the consequences.”

The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.

“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.” 

Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.

“So it shall begin!” 

But all alone his blood runs thin

And doubt—doubt comes in

The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.

“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.

“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.

“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.

Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.

Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.

“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.

“Let’s go fetch my bride.”

Dangerous this jack of hearts

It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it. 

A life with your love was within reach. 

The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.

This was going well. Too well.

The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever. 

He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.

The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.

Oh no. 

The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.

“You were so close!”

Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.

“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”

Then his blade pierced the man you love. 

Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.

With his kiss, the riot starts

His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it. 

You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.

A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done. 

Red flooded your vision.

With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.

“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”

Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.

“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face. 

“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”

He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform. 

The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth, 

“Good girl.”

An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his. 

As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,

“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

-

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

-

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

-

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.   

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

-

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine warning Annatar (Sauron) not to pressure Celebrimbor…

In all the years you knew him, Celebrimbor never yelled. And yet, he had just done so and stormed off.

You frowned. Taking a step away from the elven smiths by the Great Forge, you followed the staircase to where Celebrimbor had chosen to seek refuge.

You found him seated at his circular desk and marched over.

“I do not know what has come over you. And I do not know if you will confide in me.” You started and pointed toward the space from which you had just left. “But each of those elves worked tirelessly over the seven rings. I watched over their work, it was nothing short of magnificent. I cannot understand your urgency to perfect a process that has been perfected.”

“If it were perfect, I would have no need to request it.” Celebrimbor snapped in return.

You let out a soft sigh and lowered yourself to sit on your knees at his side. “Has something happened?” You asked.

His behaviour had never been erratic even on his more tempered days. Your mind wandered back to recent changes that may have affected his mood but it always singled to one particular moment - or rather, a single person who had suddenly turned up.

“Has Annatar said something to you?”

The question made Celebrimbor turn his head almost immediately. His mouth opened to speak, likely to reprimand you for the accusation, when a shadow fell over the door.

“I do hope I am not interrupting.” Annatar said politely before crossing the threshold.

With a small shake of your head, you stood up and squeezed Celebrimbor’s shoulder kindly.

“I shall take my leave, dear friend.”

Turning away from him, you made for the exit. As you passed Annatar, you paused briefly when his shoulder gently touched yours. With a subtle movement of your head, you spoke in a low whisper meant only for his ears.

“If you are the cause for my friend’s unhappiness, you will not like the consequences that I will bring upon you.” You warned.

Annatar said nothing in reply, in fact, he merely smiled. A gesture that normally felt warm but in that moment had an icy bite to it. You had hoped he would argue but as he chose to remain silent in your presence, you left the room hoping that he understood.

~ More imagines here ~

[ferretfyre]

Academy Award for Best Picture:

In this grave hour, perhaps the most fateful in our history, I send to every household of my peoples, both at home and overseas, this message, spoken with the same depth of feeling for each one of you, as if I were able to cross your threshold and speak to you myself: For the second time in the lives of most of us, we are at... at war. Over and over again we have tried to find a peaceful way out of the differences between ourselves and those who are now our enemies, but it has been in vain. We have been forced into a conflict, for we are called to meet the challenge of a principle, which, if it were to prevail, would be fatal to any civilized order in the world. Such a principle, stripped of all disguise, is surely the mere primitive doctrine that "might is right." For the sake of all that we ourselves hold dear, it is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge. It is to this high purpose that I now call my people at home, and my peoples across the seas, who will make our cause their own. I ask them to stand calm and firm and united in this time of trial. The task will be hard. There may be dark days ahead, and war can no longer be confined to the battlefield, but we can only do the right as we see the right, and reverently commit our cause to God. If one and all we keep resolutely faithful to it, then, with God's help, we shall prevail.

The King's Speech (2010, dir. Tom Hooper)

[archfeyreveries]

He will not be denied

Raphael had finally claimed the Crown of Karsus, a relic of unimaginable power, though it was not by Tav's hand. Her scornful refusal to aid him in his pursuit still burned deep within him, a slight he would never allow to go unanswered. Tav had dismissed and betrayed him as if he were a mere nuisance—a grave mistake she would soon come to regret. Raphael was not one to be cast aside lightly. By all the seething flames of Hell, he would not be denied. Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav Content: NSFW | BDSM | Humiliation kink | Rough | Dirty talk | Creampie | TW: Kind of non-con Author's note: My first smut on this cursed website and fandom. Hahaha I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed; I aimed as an exercise to keep it concise, wrapping everything up in a short, intense story (three chapters max). Enjoy and I do appreciate feedback. <3

Raphael, ever the cunning manipulator, devised a plan to isolate Tav from her allies. Employing his most potent illusion magic, he crafted a series of convincing visions that preyed upon Tav’s deepest fears and insecurities. Over the course of several days, Tav began to notice subtle but unsettling changes in her companions—whispers behind her back, furtive glances, and unexplained absences that chipped away at her trust.

The final blow came when Tav overheard a conversation, seemingly between her most trusted allies, where they coldly discussed handing her over to Raphael in exchange for their own desires. The illusion was flawless; their voices dripped with deceit and cruel calculation, leaving Tav’s heart shattered and her resolve hardened.

Convinced of their betrayal, Tav felt she had no choice but to confront Raphael on her own terms, hoping to strike a deal or end the threat once and for all. Fueled by anger and despair, she stormed into his lair, determined to face him. But the moment she crossed the threshold, the illusion unraveled, revealing the bitter truth: her companions had never betrayed her—everything had been a lie, a meticulously crafted trap woven by Raphael. And as the horrifying realization dawned, Tav found herself immobilized by chains and bound by blood to the devil.

That was over a week ago.

She struggled against her restraints, her thoughts a maelstrom of self-loathing and fury, until a familiar scent wafted through the chamber—a sickening blend of sulfur, musk, and the sweet tang of cherries. The master of the house had arrived, relishing the sight of Tav bound in chains, savoring every moment of her torment.

"Why the sour mood, my dear little lamb? I see you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament. Perhaps I could offer a remedy?"

Tav glared at the devil, her wrists and ankles bound in thick, cold chains that dug into her flesh, preventing even the slightest movement. She was immobilized, utterly at his mercy—a fact that filled her with equal parts rage and fear.

"You’re the reason I’m in this predicament" she spat, her voice laced with cold contempt.

"How ungracious" Raphael huffed, crossing his arms with a mock pout. "I wasn’t the one who chose to stray from the path. You had every opportunity to make a different choice, and yet here you are—bound, chained, entirely at my mercy. Did you truly believe I needed your help to claim what is rightfully mine? How could you ever be so delightfully foolish?"

Tav’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with bitter defiance. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I won’t give you the satisfaction of tormenting me."

"Torment you?" Raphael laughed, a deep rumble from his throat, "I'm not going to torment you, dearest. You have the distinct honor of being the first to serve the Archdevil Supreme of this era —body and soul. I chose you, and you shall serve me well."

Raphael stepped closer, his clawed finger tracing along Tav's jawline with deliberate slowness. She shuddered under his touch, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through her—no, it was something far more insidious, a dark anticipation that gnawed at her resolve.

"Do not fret" Raphael murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I’ll be gentle… if you behave. As I said, this is an honor."

He stepped back, his wings fluttering behind him, and his tail swaying lazily as if in rhythm with some infernal melody only he could hear.

"Kneel" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

"I will not—" Tav began, but before she could finish, her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, her knees slamming against the cold stone, the chains clinking ominously as her limbs were pulled taut against her sides.

"Do not defy me" Raphael spoke softly, yet his words carried a weight that pressed down on her like a physical force. His hands remained clasped behind his back, a sly grin curling across his lips. "Good girl."

Tav’s eyes blazed with fury and confusion. "What have you done to me?!" she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls.

"I did nothing" Raphael replied, crouching down to meet her gaze, his tail swaying with lazy arrogance. "You did this to yourself. Your actions brought you here, to your knees, where you belong—begging for forgiveness, for mercy." He chuckled, the sound a cruel mockery that cut through her like a blade. "But I am not in the business of mercy."

"I don’t care" Tav hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I will not beg. I will not break. Do whatever you want with me."

Raphael’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Oh, but I will. I will do everything, and more. I will break you, and you will come to love every moment of it. You will be mine. All mine. Mine alone."

With a snap of his fingers, the chains around her ankles vanished, and Tav’s legs moved forward of their own accord.

"Stand. Do not move." Raphael ordered.

Tav rose to her feet, her hands still bound behind her back, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and a growing, unwelcome desire. Raphael stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and grabbed her hair roughly, his sharp nails digging into her scalp.

"Open your mouth. Wider. Wider" he commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tav obeyed, her jaw dropping as her lips parted, her tongue visible, wet and trembling. Raphael’s gaze darkened with lust as he licked his lips hungrily. Without warning, he spat on her face, the warm saliva splattering across her mouth and cheek.

Tav recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust, but she could do nothing—her body remained frozen in place, her mind reeling from the humiliation and the dark, twisted pleasure that coursed through her veins. His cock twitched with her reaction.

"Now," Raphael murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer as he gazed down at her with a mixture of amusement and dark desire, "Lick it off your pretty face."

Tav hesitated, her defiance flickering in her eyes like a dying flame, but she could feel her resolve slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his command. Slowly, she extended her tongue, tracing the path of his spit across her flushed cheek, each movement a reluctant act of submission. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing in her ears as her skin burned with humiliation.

Raphael’s chuckle was a low, rumbling purr, his gaze never leaving her face as she continued. "That’s it, my sweet" he whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Savor it"

Tav’s movements became more deliberate, her tongue sweeping across her skin with increasing confidence, lapping up every trace of his saliva. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in her submission with a hunger that made her pulse race. As she flicked her tongue across her lips, tasting the remnants of his essence, a shiver ran down her spine.

"Good" Raphael purred, his hand releasing her hair to caress her cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "You learn fast, mouse. Now, let us see how much more you’re willing to do to please me."

CHAPTER 2 >

[ellitx]

Chapter 19: The Lord's Will

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to: srr_yo

word count: 3.9k

           The storm was strong, harsh, and maddening. The tempestuous wind annihilated the entire city— from a strong wind to a ferocious cloudburst. It was similar to how the blue dragon attacked the city and everyone presumed that was the cause, but their assumptions drowned upon discovering it was not the Stormterror causing harm to all but Barbatos the Anemo Archon.

           Aether wondered if Jean was aware that it was Venti who was causing all of this. And if she did, did he see him as Venti the Bard or Barbatos the Anemo Archon during his rampage?

           Everyone cowered in fear witnessing the strong aura of an enraged unknown being. From the center of the plaza stood a young man clad in green carrying a damsel in his arms.

           A pair of large angelic wings sprouted from his back, fluttering as feathers fell off and lifted him off the ground. Had he been the angel destined to calm the tempest storm of Mondstadt, everyone would have cheered. But that was far from Celestial.

           His figure loomed. The moon’s radiant glow cast his youthful features yet all was daubed with nothing but fury. No one can approach or stop him. Not even the Knights of Favonius.

           Not even Aether.

           If one dares to approach him, they’d be thrown away like a measly rag doll. Aether could clearly see how his once bright eyes had turned dark and sinister. All that anger was pointed at him, warning him: “If you take a single step and take her from me, I will slaughter you.”

           The crowds cowered, parents holding their children close and shielding them from the sharp gales, while others bowed, kneeling even, to honor and welcome the overwhelming presence of the Anemo Archon.

           Aether, with his restricted strength and movement, turned and saw Jean from the distance. Her face was pale, her hands shaking and clutching tightly on her sword grip. He had never seen her so scared before. No, scared was not the right word.

           She had mixed feelings of confusion, fear, and uneasiness.

           But even as the Acting Grand Master, she’s ready to charge if the archon were to burst into another outrage.

           But how ironic was it that she'd attack the nation’s god who protected them for thousands of years?

           Everyone was scared, some were shocked. Not a single soul has the courage to speak.

             “O winds that sweep o'er Mondstadt's land, hear my words, my fervent command. In the realm where skies and earth collide, a love blooms fierce, none can deride.” The archon’s voice was soft yet thundering, his words echoed and reached the city’s ears.

           “This woman in my embrace, through day and night, she's my true lover, my cherished wife. A bond unbreakable, forged for life. So heed this warning: all who dare to cross the threshold of our lair, for should you trespass, face my might. Anemo's wrath shall take its flight.

           No mercy shown. No quarter given. By my hand, your fate be driven. For love is fierce, and love is strong. And for her, I shall right all wrongs. Let these words echo through the skies, a proclamation, a love that ties. Respect our realm, and you'll be free. But disturb our love, face destiny."

           With these proclamations, Venti's voice rang clear.

           A declaration of love and fear. His power as an archon was blinded with love and obsession.

           A warning to all who dared to defy.

           Pray and obey. That’s the only rule if they wish to be alive.

           And with those words, he vanished into the dark night sky, with only a few feathers left behind. The rain continued, pittering and pattering on the muddy floor. All sounds were muffled except Paimon’s cries which were crystal clear. Afraid and petrified by what happened, he mustered the strength to hush her cries. The only protection and safety he can offer from the god’s wrath.

  —

             “Is there a doctor here? Someone please help my brother!”

           “There were so many casualties… Is this still a safe place for us to live?”

           "I heard the Anemo Archon's wrath spared no one. The Knights of Favonius are overwhelmed, and there's chaos everywhere."

           “Even the Church can’t help us…”

           "I never thought I'd see the day when the Archon's protection turned into a storm of destruction.”

           In the hallowed halls of the Knights of Favonius' headquarters, poignant cries of pain and resilience played out. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and hushed murmurs, as the knights moved with purpose, tending to the myriad wounds inflicted by the recent upheaval. In makeshift infirmaries, the wounded lay on cots, their faces etched with the agony of recent events.

           Amidst the sea of suffering, the children and families sought refuge within the sturdy walls of the headquarters, clinging to one another for solace.

           The knights worked tirelessly to mend both the physical and emotional wounds inflicted by the recent chaos.

           “How are you doing, Aether?” Jean asked while washing the dressings that needed to be disinfected.

           “I’m doing well, but it still hurts like a brick…” he offered a wry smile to her while his fingers caressed his bandaged neck.

           “Please don’t push yourself. Rest as much as you can in here, however, the city is not in the best of state and our supplies may not be enough for everyone…” Jean heaved a sigh, putting aside the disinfected dressings.  “It seems our headquarters won’t be able to accommodate any more patients. The Knights of Favonius and I are trying our best to find a secured shelter.”

           “That bad, huh?” Aether frowned and leaned in, his torso bending forward, while his arms relaxed on his knees.

           Jean nodded slowly, staring out at the grim surroundings.

           "If we're lucky, perhaps when everything calms down, we'll rebuild the city..." she closed her eyes tightly, willing her thoughts away from despair.

           “I’ve already sent the emergency message to Grand Master Varka,” a familiar voice popped into the room. They both turned to see Kaeya emerging from the door holding two cloth bags. “He has decided to send three teams to bring more rations and resources on their way back. He will also come with them on their journey back to Mondstadt.”

           “Thank you, Kaeya.” The Acting Grand Master nodded appreciatively, taking the bag that had been placed on the bed next to Aether’s. He sat down, handing a portion of rations to the boy.

           As dawn painted the sky in hues of hope, the headquarters stood as nothing but a shelter. Mondstadt was in a complete disaster. Multiple houses were destroyed, the plaza was a mess, and even the villagers living outside the city were affected tremendously.

           The blonde traveler’s eyes flashed to the small figure lying on the bed. Recalling the previous night seriously made his head ache. Aether opted to take a good night’s rest.

  —

             A week has passed and the day is still the same. Rubbles and debris are still within everyone’s sight and it’s far from finished cleaning all the mess. All of the Knights were doing labor— not only that, but they also temporarily banned travelers from stepping within Mondstadt’s borders until further notice.

           It’s too dangerous for non-citizens to visit when the catastrophe is still imminent. As much as Aether wants to help, Paimon and Barbara would scold him for his recklessness, urging him to prioritize his own safety over assisting others in such perilous circumstances.

           He grouchily grumbled to himself, letting his mind drift somewhere else and possibly hoping an idea would flick the switch for him to do something. Laying on the bed will do no good, and he’s getting tired of nestling on the bed all day.

           Although he could always fall asleep if he just stayed put and waited for his eyelids to droop. But he knew deep down inside, that waiting for this catastrophe to be over wasn’t the best way to go about things either.

           Letting his mind meander in his headspace, he recalled Jean informing him of an update from the Grand Master. She was told their estimated time of arrival would be a week from now. They have contacted merchants from neighboring nations who will bring more rations to them so the knights can use them to sustain themselves while they wait. Some gave anonymous donations, gifting medicines, herbs, and bandages to aid in recovery efforts.

           Since a week had already passed, he was certain more rations should arrive by tomorrow or maybe even today. At least there won’t be any hunger pangs for these people anymore. To witness the Grand Master still aiding the nation despite his lack of presence caught Aether’s interest. If he’s able to live up to those standards, then there’s no doubt he’ll do great things once he comes back. A flash of hope filled his heart, giving him a feeling of motivation. Hopefully, the news about the arrival of the Grand Master will lighten up everyone’s mood.

           As much as he wants to join in helping the knights, he can’t neglect what is important to him as well. He knows Barbara nor Paimon wouldn’t approve of his idea. But if no one sees him, then there wouldn't be a problem.

           It’s almost night time and everyone’s too preoccupied with healing the wounded.

           Aether stirred from his bed, the call of restlessness drawing him. With quiet determination, he quietly left his room, ensuring his steps wouldn’t make a noise. Once he got through the front door, he made his way through the sleeping city streets, guided only by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds. His destination: the bell tower of the church.

           His silhouette moved against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. With practiced ease, he scaled the rough walls of the church, his fingers finding purchase in the worn stone as he ascended higher and higher.

           The chill of the night air brushed his skin as he continued climbing, each foothold bringing him closer to his destination. At last, he reached the towering bell tower, its shadow stretching out like a dark sentinel against the starry heavens. With a final push, he pulled himself up onto the narrow ledge, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

           Leaning against the pillar to take a breather, he wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead and turned around to admire the night sky. Though the past few days were packed with dread and anguish, the luminous light of the crescent moon almost had him forget his purpose for climbing all the way here to the top.

           From his vantage point high above the city streets, he could see the familiar tower in the distance, its ominous presence casting a long shadow over the land. Aether’s golden eyes narrowed, searching for any signs of the god and his “lover” he claimed. The distance between them stretched out so far that his hope for spotting you from where he was was futile, just as he suspected.

           Forcing away the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he turned his attention to the watch tower from the Knights’ headquarters. A silhouette moving caught his attention and Aether decided to return to his room lest he’d be caught by the knights lurking in the bell tower in the middle of the night.

  —

             Two weeks after the catastrophe, there was a small progress within the city. Several are still wounded yet they’re gradually recovering. The Knights utilized the Church for civilians who lost their homes and few kindhearted volunteers assisted the Knights and members of the Church to feed the displaced families.

           Aether’s neck had already recovered, the mark was gone but the sensation of his perpetrator’s fingers still haunted him till this day. Caressing his neck brings bitterness within him he wasn’t able to save you from the god.

           What if Venti, in a fit of rage or madness, had done something irreversible, something that could have harmed you irreparably? The mere thought sent a shiver down Aether's spine, and he vehemently shook his head, trying to dispel the dark imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.

           "No," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Venti wouldn't do that. He couldn’t."

           But deep down, beneath the layers of denial and hope, Aether harbored a nagging doubt. Even if Venti wouldn't physically harm you, the emotional toll of his actions could be just as devastating. And that was a truth Aether couldn't bear to face.

           With a sigh, he stood up from his bed and began pacing around the room. He spotted some villagers going in and out of the city gate behind the thickly curtained windows. What struck his attention were the carriages loaded with debris, and people carrying some vegetables and fruits. Perhaps to make soup for those who are still recovering.

           Somehow it stirred his heart a little to see the citizens still helping each other even after being scarred by disaster. Maybe they know it will bring more danger to move away from their homes right now, but they’re hoping for a miracle where everything will return to normal.

           The majority of the food supplies were already eaten during the crisis and a lot of residents are starving. Yet there are still people who have gone through so much more difficult hardships than what he has to go through.

           Staying inside will do no good. Aether strode to the door and opened it with determination, but the purpose of venturing crumbled to dust when a deaconess’s familiar blue optics glared at him.

           “Where do you think you’re going?”

           Aether swallowed the lump sitting in his throat, a cold sweat threatening to unveil, as he evaded her skeptical glare. “Just going outside to take a breather,” he answered immediately.

           Barbara’s frown wouldn’t expunge and he stood firmly in his place. When she took one big step, he panicked and backed off a little. If she continues walking forward, then there’s no turning back.

           Thankfully, she stopped before him. She looked annoyed and then glanced at Paimon standing beside the door, munching on a piece of bread. Was she with Barbara all this time?

           “He’s been stuck inside for a week. As long as he doesn’t do anything reckless, Paimon’s sure it’ll be fine.”

           Barbara heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose at Paimon’s nonchalant and indifferent behavior. Deciding to give in, she allowed Aether only on the condition he’d be back before it set.

           She sure has gone stern with him but the kindness within her still remains pure. It didn’t take long for Aether to prepare. He only needed his sword and his flying companion. Barbara told him to bring some medicines in case he got wounded, but she hoped he’d return unscathed.

           As Aether stood at the city gate, Paimon floated next to him, her eyes scanning the lush greenery beyond. The landscape seemed unchanged, yet subtle alterations were evident – barricades now dotted certain sections of the road, blocking any passage beyond the city limits.

           The crops at Springvale Village lay sparse and withered, stark evidence of the devastation wrought by recent events. Despite the desolation, however, the villagers toiled tirelessly, their hands calloused and backs bent as they labored to revive the once-lush fields and replenish dwindling supplies. With each passing day, small signs of progress emerged amid the barren earth, a small glimpse of hope amidst the ruins.

           Aether’s feet controlled his body, aimlessly wandering the prairie of the nation of the wind. Paimon was silent, quite unusual of her, but he didn’t ask her. She was lost in thought and so was he, but his mind drifted to the abducted maiden.

           Paimon followed him along, sometimes leaving a few comments here and there not to go to the forest lest they’d be attacked by hilichurls.

           He hadn’t realized they stopped at Stormterror’s lair. Before him was the ever-so-familiar wind barrier. It still kept him from entering further, a warning that the Anemo Archon and his dragon inhabited the empty land.

           His body took over before his mind could stop him. He rushed and slammed his hand against the barrier, screaming at an empty space. “Venti, please! You don’t have to do all of these!! I know you’re a good person but if you lock [Name] there, it’s no longer freedom!”

             No response. That couldn’t mean anything good. He pounded his fist again, the barrier rippling from the pressure, yet he felt nothing in return. Oddly, he heard something behind the barrier… But what?

           Over and over, the traveler kept on banging, crying out for Venti to release you. Paimon watched in silence, her eyes darting to him and the tower as she feared what would happen next. The pain and the stress his actions brought into the fairy's mind might make her stop him at this instant, another unintended consequence that could lead them down a different path.

           She closed her eyes, blocking out the reverberation of Aether's yells. He needed to be calm, she knew. All of this chaos and emotion were only building up more anger in Venti and she wouldn't want that.

           They were starting to disturb the wind spirits who lived nearby. Eventually, the cry ceased after a long while and the emptiness returned. His palm burned red where it touched the barrier; only moments later did he realize how close he came to harming someone.

           If only he wasn't damaged greatly, he'd still have time to save you. No, even if he was wounded, he should have been able to bring you back. How had things turned out like this? He wasn't prepared for anything of this sort. This... is not what you deserve.

           "Aether… we should just go. Venti won’t even spare us a glance." Paimon pleaded.

           "We can’t just leave [Name] there! What if something happens to her?" He shouted in return, glancing back at the pillar. It almost seemed as though she was holding her breath now, but she finally exhaled, turning to face him once more. "Stepping in again will make it even worse! Paimon will be devastated if Paimon loses you!" Her voice cracked, quivering and wavering betraying the fear and concern she struggled to contain.

           She sniffled, averting her gaze as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with her arm. They know Venti has his own reasons for keeping you in there with him, but is that really the right way to treat you? More so, he abandoned his people after the mess he made.

           Nothing will change if he stays in the tower and keeps you locked there with him.

           Aether's hands slipped, knocking his forehead on the barrier’s surface. It was too much for him, trying to figure out what to do when he should be doing his best to stay alive himself.

           There's nothing Venti will gain from it if they did so; perhaps nothing except for their— or worse, your— demise.

           “Pardon me, but are you here to offer your prayers to the Anemo Archon as well?” A voice joined in, halting his silent mourns.

           An old man who appeared out of nowhere drew near, seemingly unconcerned about their whereabouts. But they did not expect to see behind that man a flock of people holding bouquets of flowers, wines, and baskets of bread. Despite how dangerous the area is, they radiated in contrast to the gloomy atmosphere surrounding them.

           "What the...?" Paimon muttered as one of the old men set down his offerings near the barriers. He made eye contact with Paimon and she offered him a wry smile, watching everyone follow along the man's gesture to place down their gifts on the other side of the wall on what seemed to be like a shrine. Was that there all along?

           A robed priest walked towards the shrine, chanting and making prayer gestures. It was clearly evident from their actions that these were believers, using the lair as a sacred place of worship that those who visited hoped to receive some form of blessing.

           Aether had multiple questions he wanted to ask the old man, but for now, he kept quiet while everyone prayed and whispered their wishes.

           It was strange watching the group of believers praying in front of the gates, with little awareness that the person Paimon and Aether were talking about was on the other side, practically begging for the god these believers were praying for to free the girl he took.

           It seemed as though the old man sensed their watchful and peering gaze. "Please do not anger the Anemo Archon... for he may be merciful to some but harsh to others..." he said.

           "Harsh to others?" Paimon spoke aloud. The man stared back at her for a moment before answering, "Lord Barbatos is a benevolent archon, but witnessing his wrath during the Ludi Harpastum left many an unfortunate soul destroyed and exiled forever from his land."

           It sounded familiar, a promise, that would let people make offerings in exchange for good luck. The air was tense between them and Aether was at a loss for words.

           “We only wish for peace and harmony. People deserve to live their lives freely with no worries of imminent danger or threat.” The elder answered, tightly holding the cross hanging on his neck to seek guidance. “But if we worship and follow the Lord’s will, he might become merciful. It’s the only way for everyone to be saved.”

           “Will?” Paimon echoed.

           “Lord Barbatos added a will that will significantly change the scripture and history of Mondstadt,” the robed priest added. He stood up and brushed away the wrinkles of his clothes and took out a thick book from his robe. “We found this book on the altar while sheltering everyone. The Church has yet to read the full scripture but we can discern it’s about his spouse.”

           “The night after the festival was already a warning to us,” the old man’s voice trembled. “We dare not to anger him. So please, Honorary Knight, do not accumulate Lord Barbatos’s wrath.”

           Numerous times he encountered you, it always didn’t end well and the archon is always there to step in.

           He frowned and bit his lips. His fingers dug through his skin. It made him uncomfortable that the church never dared to question the sudden addition of sacred scripture and the will of the Anemo Archon.

           Perhaps because he is the archon, they obeyed his orders.

           Sighing heavily, he turned back to the barrier and placed his hand upon it.

           Under his breath, he whispered his prayers for your safety. The wind may have brought it to Venti, but the wind may have not. And regardless if it angered the archon, he’d still find a way to get you out of there.

taglist: @trust-the-oxygen @so-uncute

sorry for the very long wait for an update >.> this chapter and the next one have been sitting on my drafts for months and I didn't have the time to edit and fix it. but I finally have done it!

the next chapter was supposed to be the chapter 19, however after I reread the story, there was a big plot hole and it'd be very confusing how it got there so I had to add this chapter to fix the plot hole lol

also!! i did major edits on the previous chapters regarding Decarabian. i changed his title from “previous Anemo Archon” to “God of Storms” since he wasn't technically an anemo archon back then

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vii ~ 'Lord of the Tides'

129 AC

VISENYA - DRAGONSTONE

The sky above was grey, as it always was upon Dragonstone. The air thick and cloying, the inescapable stench of salt, smoke and brimstone filled the lungs of all who dared cross upon its stormy threshold. It was always warm here, clammy - even when it rained.

I oft found solace, riding high over the plains of ashen volcanic rock. The sulphuric steam stinging my skin as I let my dragon take me high upon Dragonmount. There I let myself venture upon its edges, discarding my boots and feeling the jagged stone beneath my feet. I enjoy feeling how it cuts and presses into my skin, sometimes I leave bloodied and limping. Though it feels good, feels righteous to have my blood dried upon its rocks, ritualistic. Just as I claimed Silverwing, I shall claim this island as my own one day.

I watch as Silverwing scurries into the large cavern etched into the side of the mountain. She oft goes there, for that is why Vermithor can be found lazing. It is a strange sight, seeing two beasts which strike such fear into the hearts of men, so affectionate with each other. I too have found comfort in their embrace, often falling asleep aside the two beasts as a child, usually as they coiled. My father, Daemon would be the one to find me, to scoop me in his arms and return me to Dragonstone.

Vermithor had taken a liking to me, he was an aloof beast - distant. Yet it was my bond with Silverwing which softened his gaze upon me, allowing me to sit by them both under the torch light, reading. Silverwing had always been the most gentle of the elder dragons, tentative to my thoughts and whims. I needn't say many commands, for she already knows my desires. Many found it odd I had claimed her over Vermithor, thinking his temperament was more aligned with my own. In some ways, I wish I had. There was something terribly revealing about claiming such a docile dragon. Something vulnerable, as though it revealed my own heart to others without any need for confession.

This was my home, not King's Landing - city of piss and rotting teeth. Dragonstone was a place of magic; I can feel it simmering in the air and ground. Sense it when I place my palm on the rocks. That low humming of the hearth of Valyria, of the Targaryen's. Many find it to be a grim place, akin with Harrenhal - though mystified with blood magic instead of a curse.

But it is that which drives me to it, my heart doesn't fear it's darkness nor its danger. For I know within it, for those truly of the blood of the dragon - its darkness is merely there so that our fire may burn brightly. A cocoon of warmth. It is not like the emptied and sullen corpse of Harrenhal, no, Dragonstone is full - it is alive. So, it came as no shock to my mother that I had forfeited my claim to the throne, opting to rule Dragonstone instead and allow my brother, Jacaerys to be her heir.

The realm deserves a King of a kind and just nature; that is not me. My temper burns too hot, and I have no desire to be pulled as a puppet on a string. I have no taste for politics, nor can bear the burden of pleasing the faith. In that regard, I am much like my father, and he was not meant for the throne either.

Daemon, of course was outraged by this notion and doubled down, claiming my willingness to give up the throne proved I was fair enough to sit upon it. But I know that is not true, for if it were - my mother would have refused me. At first, of course she protested but came to see that my heart lies here, not in court. And I shall continue our line, where our House belongs and I shall raise my brothers Viserys, Aegon iii and any child I might have here - amidst the ash and warmth.

My mother has been generous in her patience of me, and my father overjoyed with the notion that I have not wed yet. They are letting me decide who is worthy, and I still have made no choice. Marriage is to be political yes, but I cannot bare marrying and laying with a man I feel little for. I wish to have what my mother and father have, but there is an unlikely chance it seems.

The most promising match's hail from House Stark and Blackwood. Though neither of which please me greatly. In truth, I had wished to marry as mother did, to a Targaryen, to have an ancestral wedding too. Though it seems the God's did not write such a thing within my fate. So, in turn, I wait. I wait to see just where this path of what has felt like endless girlhood shall end. I am but eight and ten, still no marriage or children to speak - some have suggested that I shall take after my great Aunt Saera Targaryen. In truth such a life sounds rather pleasing; fucking lovers then taking off to Lys, pretending to be a maiden to exploit patrons of pleasure houses. Only difference being I would not have to pretend at first.

As I made my way across the stones, I noted the sky dimming slowly, twas time I return home. Even for a Targaryen, nights on Dragonmount can be treacherous. It was no surprise to me that upon my return, more news of dramatics at King's Landing filled my ears. Luke's legitimacy was being called into question as heir to Driftmark by Vaemond Velaryon, on account of Lord Corlys' sudden illness. Of course, we were to be dragged to the capital for his trial. Despite the matter being settled already, it seemed those sniveling Hightower’s were to reconsider claims that had already been declared by King Viserys, though it was no surprise either to hear how my grandsire had deteriorated in years passing. A part of me longed to visit from time to time, though I knew why mother had to leave. Why it was impossible to stay amongst those dens of vipers.

I sat in Lucerys room, my hand entwined with his as he sat upon his bed. The both of us watching as Jace paced back and forth, ranting and muttering.

"Tis an outrage... how can Grandsire let this stand!" Jace paused and turned to us, his face curdled.

"I... do not know." I say softly, contemplating his words.

Jace's face hardens, he scoffs and turns to where Lucerys and I both sit. His finger pointed directly at me," We should not have spent such time away from King's Landing. Mother ought to have trusted us to face them!"

"She has been rather busy brother, rearing us. Tis not her job to entertain the Hightower’s wicked lies and let us spend our lives defending ourselves against them." I can only shake my head at my younger brother's fierce words. For I know he is brave and true, at times Jace can be too stern for his own good.

Jace purses his lips and turns to look upon the view of the bay. I can tell he has no argument against me, so I smile softly and turn my attention to my other brother, who nestles himself upon my shoulder.

"They aren’t lies though... are they?  Even the Velaryon’s think it so. " The silence is broken as Luke's soft voice fills his chamber. His head rising from my shoulder as Jace turns once more.

“Ser Vaemond does not speak for the Sea Snake, brother…” I said, gently brushing his dark hair from his eye.

“But he speaks the opinion many seem to share.” Luke mutters lowly.

 I turn my head to Jace, and both our gazes interlock as we struggle to confirm what our younger brother already knows. The silence continues, and then, Jace steps forward, his tone proud and measured.

"It matters not what they say. The only relevant truth is the fact we are Targaryen's and that Grandsire, and the Sea Snake supports yours and all our claims." Jace beckons, giving Luke a small smile. We both exchange another look before I watch as Jace turns, making his way towards the window once more.

In the corner of my eye, I can see how Luke’s face curdles with discomfort, I turn my head and give him a gentle nod, “You worry too much. All will be well in time.”

“There is much to worry about. I… I do not feel I am right to rule Driftmark, mayhap they are right to challenge me. I know nothing of commanding a fleet.” His dark eyes lower themselves to the ground, Lucerys frowns softly and I can’t help but pull his chin up so that he might look into my eyes once more.

“What do any of us know of our future duties, brother? What does Jace know about protecting the realm, or I about ruling Dragonstone? That is for us to uncover in time. Fuck the treacherous webs our enemies spin, they have their own wants… desires that tempt them. We need not listen, for once we sit upon our thrones their voices shall be too quiet to even hear.” As I let go of his chin, I found the excitement in my tone again. Lucerys face shifts to chuckle quietly and I do the same, he nods giving me a soft glare before rising to his feet to speak with Jace.

I take a moment to gaze upon my two brothers, to see them now growing into men… when it felt like only a moment ago they were mere boys before me. To see how their temperaments became more distinct by the day, gave me a sense of relief for our futures. They were good and brave, it seemed such were rare traits in times such as these. Their dark hair gleamed bronze in the sunlight for a moment, and I was filled with a warmth, a love that I couldn’t quite explain. Though yes, they were my mother’s sons – at times it felt like they were just as much my baby’s as they were hers. How I had held each one upon their birth and ran my fingers across their fat cheeks when they were babes. How, now as they grew into men it was the hard bone of their jaws my fingers would feel beneath them. Such sentiments made my stomach coil with a grief for our youth, for the innocence I felt was being chipped away at by the day. Yet now, seeing them before me, they still appear as the small boys I once held so close, and I knew it would not be very long until I had to let them go.  

●

The trip to King’s Landing was but a short one on dragonback and the Princess Visenya indeed watched her earthly surroundings go from smoky wonders of Dragonstone to the dust filled haze of the capital. She practically felt her stomach reel from the mere thought of the familiar stench, and after leaving Silverwing in the Dragonpits it came as a surprise to all her family that upon their arrival to the Red Keep, none from their own House were there to greet them. Only Lord Caswell appeared before Princess Rhaenyra, approaching her with an understanding gaze. Of course, Alicent and her peculiar spawn would not show the decency of kin, for they weren’t. Not truly. Perhaps by blood, but it seemed that made matters worse given the context of the Blacks return. Still, Visenya thought, it had been six years since last they saw the rest of their family. Six years since the night on Driftmark which led to an even greater rift… six years since he had lost his-

“Sister!” Jacaerys snapped his finger before her face, snickering at the dazed Princess.

Visenya looked up from her entranced gaze, realising she had been staring at the ground below, she looked around to see the bustling of carriages and servants around her. The Princess shifted to her two half-brothers, Jace and Luke standing before her. The glimmer of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s silver hair disappearing into the darkness as they made their way into the keep.

“Mother and Daemon are to have an audience with Alicent, and it seems none of the Hightower’s have made time in their day to greet us. We are on our own.” Jace scoffed, folding his arms as he cocked his head.

Visenya raised her brow, nodding as she began to walk, “Tis a blessing really. I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful day with the look of their sullen faces.” Her head turned as Jace and Luke followed alongside her.

“They did all seem rather grey didn’t they?” Jace jested, chuckling to himself.

The three young Targaryen’s continued forth, making their way up the stairs from the middle bailey and into the halls of the Keep. Visenya spoke once more.

“I’d imagine all the years of conspiring and prayer has meant for little time in the sun. They likely appear as corpses now.” The Princess hollowed her cheeks as she gave a wink to Luke, winning a small giggle from him.

Once they had reached Maegor’s Holdfast, the siblings had branched off, returning to settle in to their childhood chambers. As Visenya reached hers a wave of bitter nostalgia washed over her, she let her fingers glide upon the stone walls observing how it had been kept so similar yet… different to how she had left it. Naturally, she had taken her belongings with her but the furniture and the deep crimson bedding. Yes, it had been left just as it was. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly lit candles, the small dish of water and soap which sat in a silver tray upon her vanity, a small rag draping over the chair. Visenya smiled, knowing the servants had remembered such preferences of hers. Near her bed, sat the small trunk of the few belongings she’d brought from Dragonstone. Upon the mattress itself, lay the scarlet gown and matching slippers.

She sat upon her bed, taking in the smell of damp and mildew. The air around her was quite cold, though a fire crackled. It was likely her chambers had not been used since her departure, from the smell of it – it seemed to not have been cleaned very often either. She settled in, and soon found herself sitting at her old vanity. Admiring how she had grown, how the last time she gazed into this mirror she was but a girl.

The princess had indeed grown vigorously as the years passed. Much like her parents it seemed she had inherited both the mind and body of a dragonrider. Imposing, her body had become – not only to others but to herself. Her form Junoesque, unyielding in its femininity as her hips and breasts were among the first thing to develop suddenly. It seemed almost overnight she had no longer fit into the clothing she once freely adorned, her body changing, aching even. The first time she had gotten her moonblood felt like a life sentence for Visenya, as no more did she feel the same kind of unawareness of her body. The princess had felt like she was now very much a prisoner to her newly found womanhood, she seldom understood why such changes were needed. Why every moon her belly would swell, growing heavy and coil with pain, how she would have to crawl to her mother’s quarters and lay by her side simply to reassure such things were normal. Though, as the years had gone by, she adjusted to such feeling, relished that the pain she felt at times was proof of her fortitude. That no man could endure such sufferance so frequently.

Visenya marveled at her sun-kissed skin, the way her silver hair gleamed now that it had grown even longer than her mothers. She kept it loose, unbound; for she relished in letting her body grow as it pleased, there was no use in taming herself; her hair included. Indeed, did the Princess enjoy herself – for no matter how beautiful a man thought her to be, it was herself which she wished to appease the most. The Princess was strict regarding her standards, unwavering that she would be dressed in the finest gowns, and smell of the richest scents the realm had to offer. Whether it was silk from Dorne or perfumed oil from Lys – she simply refused to lead a life without such beauty within it. Some may think it shallow or indulgent, but Visenya knew it was merely her lust for life which drove her towards such luxuries. She wished to experience everything, wished for a life of sensuality and passion. There was no grey cloud in her sky that was without a silver lining, for she would not accept much less than satisfaction. After all, there was so much suffering in the realm, so much ugliness and brutality. She owed it to every poor soul who died so terribly, to live life as it ought to be lived. Indulging and embracing pleasure and beauty in every way, for so few had the opportunity to.

Such mentality, did however, lead her at times to indulge in the filtrations of men and despite Visenya’s bravado, she was gentle at heart - oft stringing men along rather than shatter their dreams of winning her favor. Such is exactly what her father had told her worried him before their arrival to King’s Landing. He spoke of how difficult it was stopping his inclinations to assault the few men he might find leering at her at Dragonstone. King’s Landing, however, was a different beast and Prince Daemon had no doubt he would be combatting an endless sea of men who might have more lecherous ideas. He had spoken sternly about keeping to herself, not drawing attention to herself beyond what would already be given. That if any man were to approach her, she would deny him.

The Princess of course, found her father’s worry amusing, the few times she had entertained men had only ever ended up with innocent mischief being made, and at times drunken affections… which were oft less innocent in nature.  But she was no fool as to lose her virtue before marriage, for she knew how such a thing impacted her mother and she had promised herself that her virtue was a pleasure in itself. That there is beauty in saving herself for the truest, purest of loves, as there is beauty in indulging in fleshly pleasure. Visenya was positive no man would attempt to accost her in such a manner, for if they did they would face the wrath of her mother and of course the looming threat of her rumoured father, Prince Daemon.

As she prepared herself to leave, she peeled the thick, black riding leathers from her frame, cringing at the particular scent of sweat and dragon that ruminated from them.  Visenya then doused the rag in the bowl of water, using the soap to scrub at any and all places which eluded to such a scent. Soon, she had changed her undergarments, and drew the scarlet shaded gown over her frame; it’s sleeves long and elaborate, intwining string which laced across her structured shoulders. Visenya then pulled a small vile of perfumed oil, from her trunk, dabbing it upon her skin and threading it through her hair. The contents of which filled the room with the smell of heady jasmine and musk, a recent gift from a nobleman in Lys.

As she left her chamber, she was accosted by Jace and Luke. Who swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her along the corridors as they babbled about going back to the middle bailey to re visit where they trained as children.

 Once they reached those fateful steps, they let go and waved for her to join them in a busy yard below..

“Come. You can watch.” Jace beckoned, Luke stopping upon the steps to look up towards her.

Visenya shook her head, leaning against stone banister upon the mezzanine which overlooked the commotion below. The Princess cocked her head to the side, “I’ve just changed… I have little intention of getting myself filthy once more.”

“Of course…” Jacaerys shook his head, rolling his eyes as he let out an amused scoff, “Suit yourself then.”

With that, the two boys trotted down the steps, and Visenya looked upon the bustling yard below.  She watched with a hearty smile as her brothers made their way towards the wooden weaponry stand, Jace playfully swinging one of the swords at Lucerys. However, she noted the few people who glared at her brothers and the whispering that occurred in their presence. A slight anger rose in her belly, do these fat old Lord’s and Lady’s have little else to do but gossip?

She waited until a pair had noticed Visenya’s scowling from above, and smiled smugly when swiftly they turned their heads and went about their business. A small gathering had distracted the Princess, as it seemed there to be an on going sparring session in the far corner of the yard. The whipping of long silver hair catching her attention, and she noticed how her brothers had soon caught wind of the action, joining the crowd below.

The silver haired figure was lithe with lean thew and a tall frame all tightly contained in black leathers. He swiftly jostled the sword in his hand with a fine precision, but her eyes caught a familiar sight, that it was Ser Criston whom the figure dueled against. A cunt, though he may be, but a talented fighter indeed.

Criston swung his Morningstar, shattering the figure’s shield. He’s done for. Visenya thought. However, she raised her brow in intrigue as the figure discarded his shield with fierce aggression and then began striking. Perhaps not. She thought again, impressed by his fortitude. One after the other, a flash of steel and light locks before he ducked and turned – it was then when she felt her heart practically fall into her chest. The figures face sharp and aquiline, his skin pale… too pale. That familiar grey.

It was the black eye patch which was tightly fastened over his right eye which gave it away.

Aemond.

He continued on, fighting harshly and fiercely against Cole before finally, winning the duel. Visenya looked at her brothers below, hearing Aemond’s voice mutter something to them both as he had finally acknowledged the two young Princes’. Though something had told her, Aemond was well aware of their presence. Jace looked up at Visenya pleadingly, and it came as no surprise then when she looked back, she noticed Aemond’s gaze follow her brothers upwards.

For what could have only had been a second, they clocked each other. The Princess felt her eyes widen, shock, fear, anger, intrguie, digust; any and all emotion flooding through her in those fateful seconds. He noticed her, he took her in. He knew it was her. She tussled her hair back and looked away, pretending as though she hadn't recognized him.

Aemond narrowed his eye upon the Princess, scanning her briefly. He had only gazed upon her for a second, he tilted his head as if he was contemplating something before his attention was drawn to the incoming drawing of the heavy gates.

Visenya steadied her breath and watched as the gates opened with a heavy moan. If only to make matters worse, the arriving party was another headache in itself... Vaemond Velaryon.

○viii○

[stiltonbasket]

what happened when wwx went to gusu summer school in the wrh raises wwx au?

"Thank the heavens," Lan Xichen laughs, when Lan Wangji presents himself at the Hanshi after returning from his latest monthlong night-hunting tour in Huai'an. "Shufu has been at his wits' end in your absence, didi."

Lan Wangji lifts an eyebrow and begins to unpack the basket of tribute gifts he received from the Huai'an magistrate. "Why? My duties were to be delegated to Changyi-tangxiong while I was away; and whatever Shufu might find wanting in his temperament, I have never known him to be anything but diligent."

"No one has dared replace you as head of discipline," his brother says wryly. "And according to Shufu, this batch of guest disciples has worse manners than most."

"Shufu rarely has trouble with the guest disciples," Lan Wangji points out, frowning. The lone exception to this rule was Nie Huaisang; but no one in the Cloud Recesses has ever bothered disciplining Nie Huaisang, even before his older brother was betrothed to Xiongzhang. "Who does he wish me to discipline this time?"

Inexplicably, Lan Xichen only grins at him and scoops a handful of icy-red lychees out of the tribute basket.

"Go to tomorrow's lecture in the Lanshi," he teases, "and perhaps you shall see."

Lan Wangji could not see the sense in this. If one of the guest scholars was being impudent in the Lanshi, Shufu ought to have sent them to the Pavilion of Discipline to receive punishment instead of waiting for him to settle matters; for as Head of Discipline, Lan Wangji's main duties consisted of revising the codex of appropriate punishments and patrolling the Cloud Recesses after hai shi on alternate fortnights.

But the next day, he made his way to the Lanshi as bidden—and the moment he crossed the threshold, he understood exactly who had been making trouble for his uncle, and why he had been left for Wangji to handle.

As ever, all four of the other Great Clans were represented among the guest disciples: Yunmeng Jiang disciples in violet and jade-green, the Jin in cream and gold, Nie Huaisang and his shixiongdi in their familiar black and silver-gray—and by the window, the fiery scarlet and gold of Wen Ruohan's delegation, dressed in silks so fine that they would not have looked out of place upon an imperial concubine.

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes at them. Each one is haughtier than the next, though not quite brazen enough for Shufu to blink at; but then his gaze moves to the disciple sitting at the front, and freezes as the boy rolls his shoulders and turns around to greet Wangji with an insolent, lazy smile.

This is the one, he realizes, as the disciple flutters painted—painted?—lashes at him before turning back to look at Shufu. He is the one Uncle wants me to discipline.

"Wangji," Shufu says, with such open relief that Lan Wangji looks away from the Wen disciple in surprise. "At last. Have you come to attend lessons with the guest disciples?"

Wangji puts his hands together and bows. "Yes, Uncle."

"Excellent. But before you sit down, go take Wei Wuxian to the dormitories, and see that he washes his face and removes those ornaments from his hair."

Lan Wangji nods and takes three great strides towards the Wen disciple. "You heard your laoshi," he says. "Come."

The disciple—Wei Wuxian—gives no reply; but luckily, he rises from his chair and follows Lan Wangji out of the Lanshi without protest. As soon as the doors to the lecture hall fall closed behind them, Lan Wangji opens his mouth to deliver a short lecture on the virtues of modesty and simplicity in dress—only to snap it closed again in shock, for he has never seen a man who painted his face like this outside the theater troupes Xichen used to visit with him when they were children.

Wei Wuxian's lips are a wet, shining crimson, as if he had dipped them in blood before arriving at the Lanshi; and his eyes are lined with fine black paint and red rouge mixed with some kind of bright, sparkling dust. Worse yet, he had even painted his eyelashes, to make them seem twice as long and dark as any man's lashes ought to be—and as if all of that were not enough, the heavy locks of his hair are fastened with chains made of solid gold.

"Why are you looking at me, Lan-er-gongzi?" Wei Wuxian asks. He puts his head to one side, and despite himself, Lan Wangji hears music; for someone had woven small golden bells into Wei Wuxian's braided hair.

"Enough talk," Lan Wangji says flatly. "Follow me back to the dormitories so you can wash and brush out your hair."

To his astonishment, Wei Wuxian does not object. He keeps pace with Lan Wangji all the way to the compound reserved for the Wen disciples; and then, without another word, he vanishes into his lodgings and leaves Lan Wangji behind to wait for him on the porch.

Puzzled, Lan Wangji seats himself on a convenient stool and wonders why Wei Wuxian had obeyed him so easily. It was only too clear that Shufu first tried to teach him the virtues of simple adornments at least a month ago, if not longer; so why had he flouted Uncle's wishes and honored Lan Wangji's?

Perhaps he is being too obedient, says a small voice in the back of Lan Wangji's mind. Perhaps he has run out through the back of the house, and gone off to frolic in Caiyi.

Lan Wangji frowns more deeply than ever and raps on the door with his knuckles. "Wei-gongzi? Are you finished?"

"Nearly," Wei Wuxian calls. "You can come in, if you'd like."

Wangji highly doubts that Wei Wuxian is really making himself presentable (or at least, not as he ought to be doing) so he enters the house and finds his charge wiping his face with a damp towel.

He lowers the towel at the sound of Lan Wangji's footsteps, and then:

"You were not meant to paint yourself in a different fashion," he says, incensed. "Wash your face properly at once."

Wei Wuxian blinks at him in confusion.

"I have washed it off," he says. "Look."

And then he leans forward and grabs Lan Wangji's hand, drawing it up to the damp skin of his face before Lan Wangji can turn tail and flee. He drags Lan Wangji's fingertips over the smooth bones of his cheeks and forehead, and across the bronzen skin circling his eyes—tanned and not painted, Lan Wangji realizes—and presses his full lips to the heart of Lan Wangji's palm, so forcefully that any traces of rouge left upon them would have been imprinted on Wangji's skin.

"There!" Wei Wuxian says, beaming—and completely unaware that Lan Wangji is very near to bursting out of sheer fury. "I'm as clean as a new jian."

"Your hair," Lan Wangji croaks; for if he dared raise his voice any further, he would scream, and then he would be the one submitting himself for punishment at the discipline pavilion. "Comb it."

Wei Wuxian nods and unravels his braids. Rather than undoing them one by one, he merely snaps his fingers and lets out a burst of spiritual energy; and immediately, the gold fastenings fall loose and clatter onto his dressing-table, leaving the glittering mass of his hair to slide down his broad back like a waterfall coursing down the face of a mountain.

Suddenly, Lan Wangji finds himself unable to breathe.

He flings himself out of the guest house and up the hill towards the Jingshi, where he spends an hour meditating in complete silence before he can bring himself to set foot out of doors again.

"Brother," he says, when he finally works up the courage to return to the Hanshi two days later. "I fear that I may be unable to take over the duty of disciplining Wei Wuxian. He made me angrier than I have ever been in my life."

Lan Xichen—who had heretofore shown no signs of being anything other than a kind, understanding brother—only stares at him, and bursts into laughter.

[heich0e]

the heart is but a winding road p.3 - shouto todoroki/f!reader (2k) pro-hero shouto, approx late 20s early 30s-ish, this is a begrudging father figure fic bc i can, fluff, someone pls give takahashi a raise

p.1 - p.2 - YOU ARE HERE - p.4 (upcoming)

It’s still raining.

The gloomy weather doesn’t necessarily bother Shouto, it just… is. There’s not really much point in sulking over something unchangeable, so he doesn’t—even if he does grumble a bit as he towels off wet his hair after his patrol for the nth day in a row, trudging from the locker room at his agency up towards his office.

Takahashi meets him as the lift doors open onto his floor, bowing in greeting.

“Welcome back, Shouto-sama.”

“Hello,” Shouto greets his secretary, letting his towel rest looped around his neck. “It’s late, why are you still here?”

“I have some paperwork to hand off, and felt compelled to stay until you reported back for the day.” The two men begin making their way down the corridor towards Shouto’s private office, falling easily into step with one another after so many years. “Besides, there is another matter…”

Shouto pauses in the archway leading towards his personal office space. Takahashi’s desk sits just outside his office door, neatly organized as it usually is. There are a few plants in the tiny vestibule—though Shouto’s uncertain as to who actually put them there or tends to them—and a small seating area along one wall for anyone waiting for meetings with the pro-hero, even if he rarely schedules them.

Unusually, there’s someone sitting in those generally unoccupied chairs today.

A woman.

“She’s been here for most of the afternoon,” Takahashi says, keeping his words low and inconspicuous, spoken just on the edge of his breath. “She insisted that she’d wait to see you.”

Shouto blinks.

The visitor has spotted the two men now, and peers at them almost in surprise from across the room—like she scarcely expected to see the two of them at all, though she’s the interloper in this particular place. Shouto’s eyes flicker down to the small box held carefully on her lap, and the umbrella leaning up against her chair.

Oh.

You.

“Shall I ask her to return another day?” Takahashi quietly asks the man at his side, looking between his employer and the unexpected visitor in turn.

“No,” Shouto says, having emerged from his momentary stupor of surprise. He takes a step in your direction. “This is fine.”

You stand as the Pro Hero approaches, and he can’t help but notice you seem a little nervous.

“Hello, Shouto-san,” you say, bowing politely as he nears. “I’m sorry to turn up unexpectedly.”

“It’s no problem,” Shoto says, “Takah—my secretary informed me you’ve been waiting quite a while.”

You make a sheepish little expression. “I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to return, and it was important to me to see you in person.”

“I see,” Shouto nods, glancing once more at the box you’re clutching tightly in your hands. 

It’s quiet—ungracefully so—for a moment. Across the room, Takahashi clears his throat lightly.

Shouto lifts his hand, pointing a bit too briskly towards his office door for the gesture be considered elegant or well-practiced. “Would you like to speak inside?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” you nod. “I really do apologize, I know you just got back from patrol. I don’t mean to take up much of your time.”

Shouto steps towards the door to his office, holding it open for you to enter before him. You hesitate once you’ve crossed the threshold, uncertain what to do next. In the doorway, Shouto similarly hesitates—carefully contemplating whether to leave the door open or closed.

He doesn’t often welcome people into his office, and among the few he does, they’re certainly not civilians and even less frequently are they strangers. His office is fairly sparsely decorated, because he’s never really felt the need to decorate, but Takahashi keeps it tidy while he goes out on patrol. Shouto used to insist to the secretary that he didn’t need to do it, but he’s grown to appreciate the straightening up—and file alphabetizing—and has learned to accept it without complaint.

He's never had reason to be insecure about the austere nature of his workspace, but he's exceedingly conscious of it now that he doesn't even have a seat to offer you.

You suck in a breath before him, as though gathering your nerve, and Shouto’s eyes flicker over to you.

“I came to say thank you,” you tell him, and Shouto is taken aback by your air of sincerity. “For the gifts.”

He clears his throat, looking away from your overly earnest gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he says. ”Did your son like them?” 

“Are you kidding?” you blink, your expression startled like you can’t believe he’d even ask. “Nao loved them. He was so excited the first night he hardly slept, and he insisted on bringing all of them into bed with him—there was barely enough room for him to squeeze in.”

Shouto feels a certain peculiar sense of satisfaction hearing that.

Takahashi really had outdone himself in securing a variety of Recycling Hero merchandise for Shouto to have sent to you and Naoyuki. Frankly, Shouto wasn’t even aware that there was a Pro Hero with such an extensive array of branded goods—besides possibly All Might, and more recently Dynamight (though the majority of those products were unlicensed and manufactured by fans.) There were all the usual items—like keychains, figurines, clothing and other wearable accessories—but Reductro has recently branched out in a variety of ventures, like lunch boxes, reusable water bottles, and even adhesive bandages that are all made of organic compounds and can biodegrade. All of his merchandise is made of sustainable, organic materials, in the spirit of his environmentally conscious ethos.

Your eyes land on a rather large pile of packages next to Shouto’s desk, and your gaze traces them in relative alarm.

Ah. 

He’d forgotten about those.

“Um, are those for…” you trail off, your attention flittering over to him nervously.

“Oh, no,” Shouto replies. “Those belong to me.”

The pile of Reductro merchandise beside his desk is comprised of duplicates of what he’d had Takahashi secure to send to Naoyuki. When his secretary had sent him a list of items for him to choose from, he simply told him to purchase two of each: one for the boy, and one for himself.

You look at him a bit strangely then, though Shouto’s not entirely sure why.

“You’re a fan of Reductro?” you ask him.

Shouto nods. “I wasn’t overly familiar with him, but recently have become quite interested in his work.” 

He surveys the pile of packages beside his desk, and then his eyes flicker back to the box in your hands.

“It was largely thanks to your son.”

You laugh then—a bright, happy sound. Shouto wasn’t expecting it, so he startles slightly, his eyes snapping up to your smiling face. 

“Nao would be really happy to hear that, you know,” you say to him.

Shouto stares at you for a moment, until eventually you look away.

“We made these for you,” you say next, holding out the little box in your hands. “Nao and I.”

Shouto reaches out and takes the offering from you, though he’s hesitant. 

You would have had to pass security before entering the building, and he’s fairly confident you don’t seem the type to do him harm, but he’s still a bit wary as he lifts the lid of the container and peers inside.

“They’re cookies,” you tell him, a bit shy. “We weren’t sure how to say thank you, and they were Nao’s idea…”

Shouto isn’t sure what to say.

His experience tells him he shouldn’t accept the gift. Poisoning is a real threat for public figures, especially Pro Heroes. Even if the gift had passed security, they wouldn’t have been able to test for illicit ingredients or toxins, and sending them downstairs for testing would likely be troublesome—assuming that the research and development department of his agency even has the tools required to screen them.

But he can’t remember anyone making cookies for him before.

“It’s a recipe from Reductro’s cookbook, in case you’re wondering why they’re green—“ you step forward to explain, pointing down towards the little box of baked goods that Shouto is still blankly staring into.

His head pops up.

“There’s a cookbook?” 

You laugh, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, and then you cough lightly as you look away. After a moment you peek back at him, nodding. 

“A few months ago, when we first got it, Nao refused to eat anything that didn’t come from it,” you say, smiling a little as though you’re reflecting fondly on the memory. “I’ve never seen a kid so excited to eat leafy greens.”

In his mind, Shouto makes a note to have Takahashi look into this as soon as possible.

“Well,” you say, clasping your hands together in front of your coat. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, and all the kind gifts you sent to Nao.”

Shouto shakes his head lightly. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll leave first,” you say, dipping in a bow. “Thank you very much for the work you do, Shouto-san.”

You step towards the office door—left ajar since Shouto never did decide whether he should leave it opened or closed.

“Um—“

You pause when you hear Shouto speak again, turning back towards him from the doorway.

“Please tell Naoyuki-kun that I’m grateful to him,” Shouto says, his brow furrowed like he’s deep in thought. “For introducing me to Reductro’s work.”

You smile softly. “I'll let him know.”

“And also for the cookies,” Shouto adds after another moment of thought.

“I'll tell him that too.”

Shouto nods, satisfied he’s said all he needs to say. 

“Goodnight, Shouto-san.” You dip your head in a final bow of parting, and then you slip out through the door.

Shouto stands in the centre of his office for a while after you depart, the box of cookies still open in his hands.

He plucks one out, surveying it closely on all sides—and then sniffing it for good measure. He glances towards the door with the cookie held to his lips, half expecting Takahashi to appear and chastise him. When he’s confident the secretary is not lurking just out of view, he takes a bite.

It’s… strange.

It certainly has the consistency of what Shouto would consider a cookie, but it’s not quite as sweet as he was expecting. He contemplates this thoughtfully as he chews. There’s also a distinctly vegetal flavour that lingers once he swallows the mouthful down, but he can’t say with any certainty what ingredient might be imparting that particular taste.

He appraises the cookie in his grip, missing one semi-circular bite mark. 

He likes it.

He pops the rest of the baked good into his mouth, shuffling towards his office door.

“Akahahi-han—“ he calls as he pokes his head out into the vestibule, and his secretary turns in his seat towards the sound of his name—or what was supposed to be his name, but was garbled thanks to the food in Shouto's mouth. He quickly swallows down his mouthful. “Where’s the nearest bookstore to here?” 

Takahashi turns to his computer, tapping away at his keyboard for a moment. 

“Six block northeast—located in the shopping centre where you apprehended the pickpocket with the adhesive-type quirk two weeks ago,” Takahashi relays his search results faithfully from his screen. 

Shouto nods, dipping back into his office.

He reappears a moment later with his jacket on, a baseball cap in his hand, and his little box of green cookies tucked safely under his arm. 

“I’m leaving first,” Shouto calls as he passes his secretary’s desk.

���Shouto-sama, is there something you require at the bookstore?” Takahashi rises swiftly from his seat and pursues the young Pro Hero towards the elevators. The two men stop and wait for the elevator to arrive once Shouto pushes the down arrow. “I’d be happy to retrieve it on your behalf.”

The doors slide open and Shouto steps in, pulling his baseball cap on over his head.

“There’s no need, you can head home for the day,”—the elevator dings as the doors begin to slide closed, Takahashi’s usually placid expression markedly perplexed at his employer’s peculiar behaviour—“I just need to pick up something for dinner."

[anbaisai]

Hello Syder! ♡

Here's a little scene with Ruthleen and Mayu, I hope you enjoy! ♡

There was a knock at the door of Ramshackle, opening it to reveal Ms. Marraine. Her heels click against the wooden floors once invited inside, her expression cold as looks around. After a moment she focuses her attention on Mayu, crossing her arms before speaking.

"It's been brought to my attention that your diet consists of canned tuna and rice, is that correct?" She raises one hand as she asks, continuing before Mayu could respond.

"And you're given a pitiful allowance at that..." She shakes her head, making her distaste known. She heads back towards the door before waiting at the threshold, gesturing for Mayu to follow her.

"Come, let us go to the store. Save your coins for another day." she heads out, not taking no for an answer as she leads her away.

Once there, she let's Mayu (and Grim) pick out whatever they like, picking some things out herself she thought they would need.

"You have guests that visit, don't you? It's impolite not to have something for them. A good host always has good snacks." She explains, putting various drinks, sweets, and snack foods in the cart.

They check out after she makes sure that Mayu got everything she wanted, helping her (and Grim) take everything back to Ramshackle.

"We shall go again in two weeks, so have a list ready." She pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing. "You will need a new coat as well, since the weather's growing cold... and medicine too, in case you turn ill..." ♡

Thank you! ♡

SHEEEEEP This was so unexpected but so so cute omg 😭❤❤ Ruthleen's way too kind, thank you for saving my poor starving girl... she will remember this favour forever...

I made a little doodle to go with the fic after reading it because it was so sweet ❤, I hope I got her features right!! 🥹

[awakenedsalamander]

I keep thinking about the section at the very end of the 2E Mage: The Awakening Corebook that discusses Ascension.

Obviously, Ascension is the big goal of both Mage games (the WoD version is, of course, literally named for it), and so it makes sense for a Mage fan like myself to be kind of captivated by any hints of it I get.

And I am in love with the little details we get of how mages Ascend; the strange behaviors and otherworldliness of the Awakened on the threshold of another sublime transformation— how their very names and symbols become charged with power once they cross beyond the Abyss.

But what really keeps my attention is this section:

[None of the Ascended are] remembered by the Sleepers who once knew them. The Ascended slip out of Sleeper memory like water through a sieve. The Quiescence sits heaviest upon close friends and family. People who saw the Ascended every day, if she kept any in her life, wax nostalgic for a short while, as though their loved one had simply gone on a long trip. They quickly change the subject, and resist attempts to return to it. The more distantly a Sleeper orbited the Ascended’s life, the foggier the memories get, until no one remembers her at all.

(Mage: The Awakening, Second Edition, Page 313.)

How deeply melancholic a thought— you become an incarnate symbol of magic, finally complete your journey… and so, of course, the Sleepers forget you.

I’m not here to say that Ascending to the Supernal is a bad thing, I think that’s probably up to the individual mage, but what a heavy price. It really frames the Silver Ladder and the Free Council, and their vastly different but still related dreams of freedom for Sleepers and the Awakened alike.

It was always a painful goodbye, to leave for a world beyond worlds. But the parting is not made easier, knowing only one of us shall remember it.

[lieutenantfloyd]

When Duty Calls Part 2 | Cyclone x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You arrive at The Hard Deck, a place that was once like a second home to you.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, and Hangman being... Hangman.

Authors note: Life with a neurodivergent brain means I haven't updated this series since September but I managed to write this chapter in less than a day. Writers block be damned lol.

Read on AO3

It only took you twenty minutes to arrive at The Hard Deck, but another twenty minutes elapsed before you were able to convince yourself to open the car door.

You savor one last minute of air conditioning before willing yourself out of the car. Each crunch of sand under your shoes feels almost deafening but you push yourself forward, instead letting your eyes examine the scene in front of you. It’s early evening and a decent size crowd is occupying the parking lot while a slow moving but steady stream of people flow through the front door.

You join the back of the pack and slip your phone out from your back pocket. As luck would have it, your phone—unused since before you’d gotten in the shower—opens directly onto the text-that-shall-not-be-named. The panic inducing text bubbles have vanished and your initial message remains the last one sent between you both. Half of you is flooded with relief by the lack of response while the other half is more bothered by it than you’d ever care to admit.

You peer around the man in front of you, hoping to find a spot to slip through, but to no avail. From where you’re standing, you’re granted a perfectly framed view of The Hard Deck’s sun washed coastal siding against the blazing blue sky. It is a view that fills you with both comfort and nostalgia.

The nights you’d spent at this bar were among the few memories you let yourself get lost in. Quarters in the jukebox, the feeling of salt and sun making itself home on your skin, Clinking bottles and cans together after a job well done, the biting taste of whiskey on your tongue while venting frustrations. All things that drove you away, yet they kept you going when you needed it most.

Your spiraling thoughts barely register when you remember the phone still in your hands. You hurriedly lock the screen and slide the device back into your pocket. You far from expect anyone peering over your shoulder to piece together exactly who had left you on read, but your instincts tell you that you can’t be too careful. You’ve seen first hand how people here ensure that even the most baseless rumors spread quicker than wildfire. The last thing you need is to be pulled into an office and reprimanded before this mission even begins.

You were now second place from the entrance, so you capture the remaining moments and stomp out the last bit of anxiety left in your gut.

You cross the threshold in one quick step, your eyes already scanning the room and taking note of how many of the faces in this bar were completely unfamiliar. Whoever had sent the summoning text you’d received roughly two hours earlier chose to leave out who or what you should be looking for, so you instinctively set off towards the bar. ~ There wasn’t an empty barstool in sight, so you stay on your feet and shoulder your way through the rowdy servicemen until you can lean your elbows against bar top. Your chosen attire of light wash jeans and a brown tank top is nothing special, but your actions have earned more than a few glances, and you felt myself wanting to shrink under their eyes. You push your insecurities aside just in time to spot the woman you’re looking for.

“Penny!” you call out, raising your arm above your head in a lazy wave. She pivots instantly at the sound of her name and freezes briefly as her eyes land on you. A wave of memories—both wanted and not—wash over you in the time it takes her to abandon the towel and glass she’d been drying and pace over to you.

In a past life, you’d spent the majority of your free time helping out behind the bar or escorting Amelia and her friends around town. Penny was like a sister to you then, and both her and Amelia had been two of the hardest people to leave behind.

“Now that’s a face I didn’t expected to see at my bar again.” Penny says bluntly, but you can see the tell tale signs of a smile threatening to shine through.

“It’s good to see you too, pen.” You say with an easy smile.

“I assume you got called back too?” she asks. You give her a curt nod in response.

“Well then it seems like your friends got the party started without you.” She says while signaling towards the pool table on the far side of the bar.

“Friends is a strong word.” You say dryly.

“Well, in that case,“ She starts, only to pause and crouch down behind the bar. “Go easy on them.”

She finishes her sentence with a soft laugh and slides a can across the bar towards you. You wipe the ice and condensation off the rim and crack open the soda. The action is so familiar you don’t even give the can’s label a glance. You make sure to take a long, dramatic swig in the process.

“Thanks.” You say, tilting the can towards her while simultaneously breezing past her comment.

“I mean what I said. I obviously don’t know what’s ahead, but I get the sense that they don’t either. Hold your cards close to your chest around them.” She warns.

“Yes ma’am.” You affirm.

The area around you has cleared a bit which gives you some much appreciated breathing room. Over Penny’s shoulder you watch yet another man approach the bar, only this time it’s a face you’re anything but excited to recognize.

Of course Hangman would be back too.

You fight back the urge to grimace as he calls out to Penny, who quickly acknowledges him before turning back to you.

“Do you still have my number?” She asks.

“Always.” You answer, which earns me a soft smile from Penny.

“Good. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That we do.” you agree, trying your best to mask any lingering unease about what the following weeks had in store.

You take your time circling the bar, and keep your eyes on Hangman as Penny serves him another beer. You have half a mind to ask him if he has any idea why we were all called back, but the thought dies the minute he makes an painful show of checking you out.

"Hangman." You say with the fakest smile you can manage.

“Just when I’d thought you were gone for good…” he says while dragging his gaze slowly up your body until he reaches your eyes.

“I knew you’d be bored without me.”

Jake laughs while you take a sip of soda and swallow down the anger building inside you.

“Aw, how considerate.”

“We can’t all be complete assholes, so…” You respond pointedly.

Hangman gears up in rebuttal just as Penny calls out your name and waves you back over. He turns to make his leave—and you’re almost shocked he’s accepting defeat—but the shock instantly becomes irritation when you both back away while throwing each other equally unkind hand gestures.

Turning towards Penny, you let her take your free hand in hers and give it a sisterly squeeze. An uncomfortable silence lies between you, and you can practically see the wheels of contemplation turning in her head.

“Have you… talked to him?” She queries in a low voice.

You don’t know what your face betrays, but hers instantly fills with a look of regret. You change your grip on the soda can, the chilled aluminum suddenly searing against your fingertips. You open your mouth to answer but can’t find the right words. Thankfully, she seems to take the silence as a hint.

“Well, I hope to see you both around more often.” She says quietly. Her words are simple and pleasant, but you can’t help but feel the urge to read deeper into them.

“Yeah, me too.” You breathe.

She squeezes your hand once more, and you all but cringe as the vulnerability in your words and voice rings loudly in your ears. After the unfortunate events of the last ten minutes, you’re quick to follow Hangman’s path towards the pool table. ~ You can feel eyes on you as you drop into one of the surrounding barstools, but make no effort of acknowledging them. The game plan you’d written earlier in the day flashes through your mind, and you know you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. You chose to sit and observe for a while before briefly catching up with old friends from your first time at Top Gun over a few rounds of pool. Soon after, you use the uncomfortably tense exchange between Hangman and Rooster as cover and slink onto the stool next to Phoenix’s new backseater.

You quickly learn that as quiet as he may be, the WSO—who’s stationed out in Lemoore and has the name and callsign Bob, according to your former wingman Natasha—Is more than happy to engage in a bit of gossip. Something which you’re happy to do as you watch the last several aviators file through the door.

It is only when you rise from your seat to refill Bob’s bucket of peanuts that you notice the awkward hush falling over the group. It wasn’t hard to decide that if the already heavy dose of tension was anything to go by, this mission—and the complete lack of details as to why any of you had been called back here in the first place—has everyone feeling shook up.

Bucket in hand, you skim the outskirts of the group. And quickly share a collective double take with Harvard, Yale, Omaha, and Fritz. You know the same question weighing heavy on your mind is doing the same to theirs. Yet before you can ask, the sound of Phoenix’s voice commands everyone’s attention and breathes life into one of the many questions you are all dying to ask.

“Everyone here is the best there is. So who the hell are they going to get to teach us?”

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[thesparklingwriter]

to love a dragon

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, there’s more than one dragon in this house.

tags: established relationship, gn!reader, zhongli is half dragon i have warned you, fluff, literally no plot to this sorry

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

You’ve already settled yourself in the living room when Zhongli finally returns home. He’s been needed over the past few nights for the funeral of a high-ranking dignitary, and despite his protests, you like to stay up waiting for him, using the time to catch up on a new novel. Of course, he can’t deny that he enjoys coming home to see you waiting patiently for him, your head tilted to the side as you tear through your book. 

“I’m home,” Zhongli mutters as he crosses the threshold, taking his shoes off. You watch over the top of your book as he takes off his coat and blazer. His movements are graceful but wearier than usual, his perfect posture ever so slightly slumped, and his amber eyes laced with exhaustion.

“Long day?” You ask him as he approaches you, raising your head to kiss him lightly. Zhongli nods.

“It’s been…troublesome at best,” he chuckles lightly, sinking into the seat beside you as you open your arms and tug him closer to you. “How has your day been, love?”

You laugh. Your day hasn’t been particularly easy either, but you’re loath to bothering him with petty problems, especially when it pertains to hillichurls. “It’s been a day,” you respond, gently guiding his head to your shoulder so you can run your hands through his hair. “You seem tired.”

You feel him sigh, as he wraps his arms around you, his clawed nails slightly digging into your sides. His expression is blissful as he shifts his head to rest against your chest. It makes you laugh when he’s like this, on the rare days where he doesn’t feel like talking and just wants to be in the same space as you. It also goes straight to your head. The esteemed, educated consultant of the funeral parlour comes home from work to shove his face in his beloved’s chest and complain about his ‘troublesome’ day.

“My, my, how unseemly.” you tease, gently dragging your nails against his scalp. Any attempt to move away from him results in his tail shamelessly grabbing at you before settling around your waist again, gently rubbing circles into your side.

“I sincerely apologise,” Zhongli replies, but you can’t detect any remorse in his tone as he relaxes even more into your touch. “You smell like hilichurls.”

“Possibly because I’ve been fighting them all day.” You shift your hands as you feel his horns erupt from his head, focussing your fingers elsewhere. “Does that offend you?” You could easily stay like this for hours on end without a single care in the world.

He nods. “Take your jumper off.”

“How would the people of Liyue react to seeing their archon in such a state?” You smile, as you oblige him. Regardless of how much you tease him, you know how sensitive he is to scents, especially when they aren’t yours. He gives a satisfied hum before returning to where he was before with an indulgent sigh.

“Given how much you tease me, I’d hope that they’d have pity on me.”

You chuckle again, kissing the top of his head. “I doubt it. Has the smell of the hilichurls gone away or are you going to request that I take my shirt off too?”

“Is that an offer?” he asks, the hopeful tone in his voice impossible to miss.

“No.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to cope with it.” He grumbles. You laugh at him then, unable to hold back your amusement.

“Tell me more about your day. What’s made you feel so downbeat that your only cure is treating me like your personal pillow?”

Of course, Zhongli could have told you that he dropped his pen, and that would have been sufficient evidence for his current behaviour to you. As much as you tease him, you’d give him anything he asked of you in a heartbeat. He begins to tell you about the day he’s had, the deep timbre of his voice a soothing lullaby for your exhausted mind. Being around him always seems to make you feel sleepy, as well the gentle purring that’s coming from his chest.

“Am I boring you, love?” He asks upon noticing that your fingers have stopped moving and your breathing has slowed slightly. You don’t respond, a half-formed snore bubbling in your throat. He smiles softly at the way you’ve dozed off, conflicted as to whether he should risk waking you up for the sake of your neck. He decides it is more important that you wake up without aches and pains, moving his arm to gently sit up, but you tighten your grip on him despite being fast asleep.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, there’s more than one dragon in this house.

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

notes: cael was texting me as i was queueing this. this damn post took me like half an hour to set up. don't say i do work hard for you guys. i can not believe its gonna be september when this is posted wow

taglist: @ainescribe @thelonelyarchon @aixaingela @medusuu

[sizeysage]

A pov/self-insert story I’ve been working on about a couple of OCs!! A human girl and an anthro catboy stumble across a borrower in their home…

(Posting it on this account because even if this start is sfw I wanted to have it lean into more suggestive stuff later—)

Aches ran through your body, stinging you back to wakefulness. The sickness had taken its toll on you, you’d been needing more rest every day, to the point you had to take naps during borrowing trips…

…but your surroundings were unfamiliar. Not at all the hard, cold surfaces you’d become accustomed to sleeping on. This was bedding, soft fabric, kept warm by your own body temperature.

Had you wandered back home in a fatigued daze and forgotten about it? Completely possible, illness does terrible things for reason and memory. Just drift back to sleep, you thought. Nothing worth agonizing over…

“I think it’s awake,” a voice whispered.

“It’s shuffling in its sleep,” another replied, just as hushed. “I’ve seen it do that a few times now, just let it be…”

Had they used any term besides “it”, you would’ve expected to open your eyes to see another borrower having stumbled across your home. But no. “It.”

You felt idly around the cloth, pretending to still be asleep, eyes shut tight.

“Do you think it’s having a bad dream?” The first voice asked. “Looks so tense…”

“It was burning hot when I picked it up,” the second answered. “Fever dreams aren’t great, that can’t be good for rest.”

“…shall I wake it up, then..?”

A brief moment of silence. And then, the feeling of touch: a gentle stroke across your arm. On instinct, your eyes opened wide, letting you finally see the duo talking about you.

The first voice belonged to a human: her cold finger recoiling from you as you jolted to alertness from her touch. Her eyes were a deep brown, full of concern. Black hair fell like soft fabric down to her shoulders, flowing across her shirt as water flows across stone.

The second belonged to a type of giant you hadn’t seen much of before: one of the beast people. Some type of cat person, coated in fluffy white fur with patches of grey. Yellow eyes gleamed at you from above, curiously staring down.

“Hey…” the human muttered, in a voice so quiet you almost couldn’t make out what she was saying. “We found you on the countertop behind the coffeemaker, are you okay?”

Your gaze wandered to the “bed” they’d placed you in. It was a bundle of cloth from various sources: towels, a shirt, what appeared to be boxers… all set on the seat of a couch, with the two giants sitting on the floor so as not to tower over you as much.

“Aches,” you stammered out. “I ache so much…”

“You’re definitely sick,” the human replied. “Pepper said you were burning up while he was holding you.” The beastly cat person, now identified as Pepper, raised a handpaw briefly in greeting.

“We’ll take care of you as long as you need, alright? No need to hide…” the human extended her hand once again as she spoke, resting it palm upright, her index finger about an inch from you, perhaps as a show of respect? Not crossing the threshold of your personal space? Or to ask you to reach out in return?

You assumed the last one, resting your hand on her fingertip. It was still so cold, but it was comforting. Soft, dark, cool skin to take away the pain of your body incinerating the disease festering inside you.

Without thinking, you tugged her finger closer, resting your face against it. You felt like a fiery torch submerged in water. The heat faded from your face, and you let out a deep, pained sigh of relief. All that tension began to fade.

“Thank you, thank you…” you murmured, any fear of the giants giving way to the desperate craving you had for comfort after spending so much time alone.

With her other hand, she gently pushed you onto her palm, idly running her fingers across you as she examined your comparatively minuscule form.

“I’ll bet you need water… shall we get some for you?”

You nodded in reply, too fatigued to question the giants’ kindness. The human turned to Pepper, and he nodded, standing up to hurry over to the kitchen.

The human stood up moments after, before sitting down on the couch beside the “bed” they’d both made for you. She shifted her grasp on you as carefully as she could, leaving you sitting on her lap.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

for the prompts - 49 with kit?

thank you anon!! writing some kit x bucky because OF COURSE. they own me PROMPT LIST

49 -> a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

Kit let out a huff, tugging at her fraying laces as she clumsily untied them, kicking the boots off over her heels as they clattered to the floor with a soft thud. After a long day, they felt like an extension of her body, melded to the skin of her feet so that it wasn't until she removed them that the ache began to set in. She collapsed back onto her bed with an audible groan, the mattress springs creaking below her weight.

"That bad, huh?" Sadie chuckled from the next bunk, tugging her shirt up over her head as she changed out of her uniform. They'd arrived back from their mission hours ago, but a successful trip always warranted celebration. Tonight they had shirked the pub, making the most of the summer heat as they carted beer bottles down to the bottom of the field for their own makeshift party.

"If I never have to stand up again it'll be too soon," Kit whined. They were the only boots she owned - battered and softened by years of wear and tear - but after so long, not even that could keep away the ache.

"Say shit like that n' you'll jinx it," Dawn's flat tone echoed from the opposite side of the hut, peering at them over the top of her journal.

Scoffing, Kit began to crawl beneath the sheets, tugging her blanket over her legs. "Yeah, thanks Dawn, but I don't think-"

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Dawn raised a brow.

Kit narrowed her eyes at her crewmate, continuing to burrow into her pillow. "Someone else can get that."

A voice bellowed from outside. "Kit!"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" She huffed, throwing off the sheets as Dawn grinned, and stomping irritably towards the door. The warm night air fanned her face as she tore the foor open, a frown contorting her entire expression. Bucky was leaning sideways against the frame, one leg crossed slightly over the other, a fresh gash denting his forehead, slight and shallow but still oozing droplets of blood.

"Jesus. Hello?"

"Kit!" Egan exclaimed merrily, stumbling slightly as he pushed himself away from the wall. Ah yes, definitely drunk. "What're you doing here?" He asked, seemingly completely forgetting that he'd called for her by name mere seconds ago.

She blinked.

"I- Doesn't matter. Wait here," Kit ordered, turning on her heel and padding back across the room as she headed to retrieve her shoes, resisting the urge to groan at the prospect of putting them back on. She could feel her crewmates' stares boring into her skull as she sat down, fumbling at her laces in an attempt to tie them as fast as possible.

"You look pretty," Bucky's voice echoed from the doorway. Her shirt was crumpled beyond recognition, hair already sticking up in places from the mere seconds she'd laid down - in Kit's mind, she appeared anything but. Over on the next bed, she heard Yara snort with amusement.

"Shut it, Katz," She scoffed, shaking her head with a smirk as she rose to her feet, returning to where Egan was attempting to cross the threshold. "Alright - turn it around, lover boy."

With a gentle push to the shoulder, she had successfully herded him outside, the door closing with a click behind them as they found themselves suddenly alone. Seizing the opportunity to take a long, calming breath, Kit felt the irritation ebbing away, seeping out of her body as she stared back at him, struggling to keep his balance as he passed his weight between the balls of his feet.

"Shall we - d'you wanna sit down? Sit down," She nodded, a hand on his arm as she located the nearest bench, guiding him towards it. Bucky did nothing but nod along with her instructions, doing as he was bid without objection as his gaze never once left her face, a dozy, lopsided smile creasing his cheek.

"I'm real glad you're here," He nodded as she shifted to sit sideways on the bench, a firm hand pressed against his spine to make up for the lack of a backrest as she tried to prevent him from falling over. "Thought you'd let me in though."

"You thought I'd let you try your luck in my hut? Where my crew sleeps?" Kit chuckled, shaking her hair slightly. "God, if I wasn't sober I might've taken you up it - just not in there."

It didn't feel embarrassing to admit that, not to him. There wasn't an inch of her he hadn't already seen in detail, and they hadn't a speck of shyness between them - although it might have done them some good. She raised a hand to his forehead, gently brushing away a few loose curls to get a better look at the gash piercing his skin.

"What'd you do?"

"Fell off my bike," Bucky admitted with a shrug, beginning to chuckle at himself. Kit let out a snort, throwing her free hand up into the air in frustration.

"John," She laughed. "Do not do that."

"Well I didn't mean to do it-"

"I mean stop riding your bike when you're drunk, honey."

At the nickname, he began to grin, beaming down at her. "Honey?" He repeated, voice little more than a squeak.

"Shut up," Kit shook her head, giving him a slight nudge to the shoulder. "Look, d'you need me to call Cleven? 'Cause I don't know what you came here for except to proposition me, and now you're just embarrassing yourself, so I'm gonna-"

"'M scared," Bucky admitted suddenly, and she noticed his hands clasped in his lap, gripped so tightly his knuckles were turning white. She wasn't used to this - this earnestness that never slipped when they were sober - and usually when one of them was this drunk the other was too.

"'Bout what?" She didn't need to ask. But she didn't know what else to say. Kit reached over, gently worming her fingers into the tiny space between his clasped palms, forcing the pressure to relent just to let her in.

"'Bout what happens if you go down."

Actually... she hadn't expected that.

"I know you're good," He continued. "You're better than most of the fellas, just don't tell 'em I said that. It's just... gonna do a real number on me, I think. It'll fuck me up."

How could she reply to that? What could she say to assure him that she wouldn't crash and burn like so many of the men they'd trained with, when the exact thought kept her up almost every night?

"Nah," Kit shook her head. "Not happenin'. You think I'm gonna let myself die in a plane crash? I'm a way better pilot than that, buddy," Her hand had been hanging somewhat limply in the space between his, but now he squeezed back, both of his palms clutching hers.

"Besides," She shrugged. "If I do crash - which I'll inevitably survive, 'cause I'm just that good - I got it all planned out. The crew can all shoot a gun, and we've established the order in which we'll eat each other once we run outta food."

Bucky let out a snort of laughter. "Where're you plannin' on crashing, huh?"

"Well, yeah, I'm not expecting to actually have to do it... but if I do, Marty's going first."

He hummed. "Makes sense."

"And you'll be glad to know that I'm last on the light, 'cause-"

"Skinny," He nodded.

Kit grinned. "Exactly."

Bucky had begun to chuckle. "You sure you're not drunk, too?"

She laughed. "Less sure than I was."

He was beaming at her again then, looking at her with those eyes she'd only allow because she was confident he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow. John Egan was a man with little control over his expression - little control over the warmth in his gaze, the softness with which he met her stare. That goddamn look of his would send her crazy, only because she knew, deep down, it could never go anywhere - she could never return it, because that wasn't who she was. Boys had never cared for Kit at school. And then life had gotten dark and scary, and suddenly it didn't matter what boys thought, because she was never going to see them again.

Except this one kept coming back.

She took a deep breath. "I'm gonna go inside, see if I can't rustle up somethin' to put on that head of yours, alright?"

"Cap'n," Bucky nodded, offering a half-assed mock salute as she stood up and headed inside, keeping her gaze fixed on him until the last second to ensure he wasn't about to fall off the bench.

"Angel, honey?" Kit called as she stepped inside. "Would you mind callin' Cleven for me? Let him know Bucky's made it down here."

"Yeah, sure thing," Angel nodded, pausing momentarily as she moved to pass her Lieutenant. "... Is he ok?"

She considered this. "... Eh."

"Right."

After as thorough a rummage as she could manage in only a couple of minutes, Kit managed to retrieve a handful of medical supplies, enough to patch up the bleeding wound on Bucky's head. Emerging back out into the darkness, she headed back towards the bench, faltering as she let out a sigh at the sight before her.

Egan was down on the grass, ankles propped up against the bench, clearly having toppled off the back in a moment of lost balance. He was staring rather peacefully up at the stars, but turned his head to her as she approached, grinning as if seeing her for the first time.

"Kitty-cat!" He exclaimed. "Whatcha doin' all the way out here?"

"Oh my god," She grumbled, putting the supplies down as she bent over to help him up.

"You look nice," Bucky smiled.

"Yep," Kit grunted, pulling him upright but his arms. "You said that one already."

Cleven couldn't arrive soon enough.

[pumpkinmagekupo]

Sleepwalking, Artoriel, Trick~

Thank you for your request!! (´• ω •`) ♡

I hope you enjoy!

Grave Encounters: Snow Drift

Sleepwalking, Artoriel, Trick

Artoriel was picked to accompany a group of knights to Dusk Vigil. None of the knights present were thrilled about having to go anywhere near the Vigil.  Rumours of the things that went amiss there, floated among them. 

It took them a few days to reach the grounds of the Vigil. They had started to set and even though the Vigil was just ahead, the knights set up camp outside. Not one of them wished to sleep in the accused place. They would do their mission at day break and be out before the day's end, or that was the plan. 

The knights chatted quietly and cautiously, as though the Vigil would hear their fears. Artoriel glanced over his shoulder at the silhouette of the keep, in the darkness and snow it loomed menacingly above them. 

All pointless speculation. 

Though despite his rejection, Artoriel found himself unable to sleep.  Keeping a hand on his sword, he sat and focused on the fire that flickered hypnotically in the wind. 

Artoriel closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He wasn’t sure how long it had been but the fire had long extinguished. Had he fallen asleep? No, he had only blinked- The knights around him slept peacefully, through the howling winds and the snow.

Sighing with a slump of his shoulders. He looked over to the knight on watch, “I shall keep watch.” he called, hoping his voice would carry on the wind. The knight slowly turned to face him. Artoriel felt all the air leave his lungs. The knight’s face was frost bitten and skin wore thin revealing muscle and bone.

He tried to shout everyone awake but noone stirred. Artoriel readied his sword but something jerked it from his grasp. Looking down he was greeted with another knight whose eyes were now empty sockets. Jumping back as the other knights began to rise. With grunts and groans, they rushed at him. 

Artoriel ran. As though the snow had fallen and formed tunnels that forcefully guided him towards the Vigil. Noticing the doors were wide open as he was funnelled toward it. The moment he crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind him.

The howling winds became silent and Artoriel was hit with an overwhelming sense of dread. Loud thuds on the door made him hurry away from them. 

Unarmed and with no other choice, he made his way forward. 

There had to be another way out. 

The corridor before him was lit by an ominous blue light and offered little saviour from the endless dark. He was sure there were other rooms but there was no sign of them, just one long corridor.

He walked and walked and walked, the darkness slowly swallowing the already dim light.

A loud clunk finally brought Artoriel back to reality.  

“A dreaded dream?” he thought aloud. Getting his bearings, the weight of his situation dawned on him. As his eyes adjusted to the new source of light, he was in a cell. With only the blue light streaming from a nearby corpse. 

“Another pitiful knight.”  He saw the imposing figure of a tall frost bitten knight walking past his cell, it cast its glowing red eyes at him “Eat or be eaten.” The sound of movement behind made his blood run cold. Artoriel shouted and banged on the cell’s bars. His screams echoing down a long cold corridor, never to reach another living person.

-

The knights outside were in a panic. The knight on guard had seen Artoriel rise, leaving his sword and shield and walked out of the camp. Calling out to him, he didn’t respond. His shouts alerted the group and they quickly tried to bring him round. 

“He’s asleep!”

“Then wake him up!” But none could wake him and as they approached Dusk Vigil a sharp gust of wind knocked them all back and the snow drifts fell seemingly at the same time, blocking their entry to the keep. The wind howled like hundreds of men screaming and the knights looked up in horror.  Something was amiss with the Vigil and they were not prepared to enter.

So left with only a sword and shield: What did they tell his father?