#only thing i would add is like. fur for an even more regal look but it would probably get in the way

[eorzeashan]

anyways. I really like his Commander outfit even though it's not a huge departure from his usual stealth suit, especially the cape design: to me, it looks like a spiderweb representing the game he used to play as an agent, spinning a web of deceit-- a quote from Valkorion comes to mind where the agent can answer that they're spinning a large enough web to entrap something, and Valkorion will eerily ask but for who? and I think part of the symbolism here is Eight spinning that web for the Emperor himself, and it's just. very fitting.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

I got a funny little idea thats been brewing for a bit- so Imagine like the Dorf and Demise being turned into the dogs and cats scenario right- but they turn into little boars! wather it be the spell gone awry or they just woke up like that, instead of their big boarish forms its just a small little piglet :3 if their S/O saw them too how would they act-

Ahhhhh I love this idea! I'm surprised I didnt think of it myself. For you, my dear diamondlight, here is your request

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Wind Waker Ganondorf: The Quietly Amused Boarlet

Wind Waker Ganondorf, though prideful, has a more contemplative side. He would be mildly amused at first, though his dignity would take a hit. However, seeing his SO’s genuine love and affection for his tiny piglet form would make him soften, even if he’s internally frustrated by the situation.

Scene: The tiny piglet, dark-skinned and with little tufts of fur around its face resembling Ganondorf’s beard, trots around the room with a surprisingly regal air. His SO picks him up, squealing in delight at how cute he is. Ganondorf, usually so imposing and dignified, finds himself held gently in their arms.

Is this really how low I’ve fallen? he thinks with a huff. But as they scratch behind his ears and coo over him, he feels an unexpected warmth.

He doesn’t resist as they cuddle him, and while a part of him is eager to return to his true form, he finds their affection... rather endearing. For the time being, he allows himself to relax, even if it means enduring their giggles at his expense.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf: The Embarrassed and Frustrated Boarlet

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf, with his immense pride and disdain for weakness, would be absolutely mortified to find himself in such a small, helpless form. He would try to assert his usual dominance, but as a tiny piglet, this would prove... difficult. His SO’s adoration would only add to his frustration, but he’d eventually give in, albeit begrudgingly.

Scene: The tiny red-haired piglet snorts in frustration, trying to maintain some semblance of authority as his SO scoops him up into their arms. "Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!" they squeal, hugging him close.

Ganondorf wriggles in their grasp, trying to escape, but it’s no use. His tiny legs can’t muster enough force. He lets out a frustrated snort, glaring at them with eyes far too fierce for such a small creature.

Curse this form… he thinks, but when his SO starts rubbing his little snout and telling him how much they love him, he pauses. Despite himself, he feels his anger subside slightly. I suppose… I’ll allow it... he begrudgingly admits to himself, leaning into their touch, though he’s still seething inside.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf: The Annoyed but Secretly Enjoying It Boarlet

Twilight Princess Ganondorf, typically cold and calculating, would be thoroughly annoyed by this humiliating turn of events. However, his SO’s affection might just melt the icy exterior, if only slightly. He would initially resist, but deep down, he would enjoy the attention, even if he refuses to admit it to himself.

Scene: The black-furred piglet snorts disdainfully as his SO picks him up, holding him close to their chest. Ganondorf’s usual piercing gaze is now hidden behind a pair of tiny, glittering eyes, and though he tries to look annoyed, his SO is completely oblivious to the situation.

"You’re the cutest thing ever!" they gush, rubbing his little piglet nose. Ganondorf stiffens at first, tempted to use magic to break free of this indignity, but he can’t quite bring himself to.

Instead, he huffs and goes limp in their arms, clearly displeased but not entirely hating the affection. If I must endure this… then so be it. But only for you, he thinks, glaring at nothing in particular as they continue to dote on him.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf: The Uncharacteristically Soft Boarlet

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf, who thrives on power and authority, would find his sudden transformation frustrating at first, but his SO’s reaction would catch him off guard. Despite his overwhelming pride, he would secretly enjoy the attention, though he would try to maintain some level of dignity, even as a tiny piglet.

Scene: The fiery-haired piglet with dark, golden markings wriggles in his SO’s arms, letting out a low grunt of frustration. How could I be reduced to this? he thinks angrily. But before he can try to escape, his SO nuzzles him lovingly.

"You’re so adorable!" they exclaim, holding him up and laughing. "I can’t believe how cute you are!" They press their face against his, and despite his better judgment, Ganondorf feels himself relaxing into their embrace.

I could break free if I wanted to, he tells himself, though in truth, he’s already decided not to. Instead, he gives a resigned grunt and lets them carry him around, secretly enjoying the warmth and affection—something he would never admit to anyone, not even himself.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf: The Flustered and Softening Boarlet

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, hardened by centuries of darkness and grief, would be both stunned and frustrated by his transformation. However, seeing his SO’s excitement and love for his tiny piglet form would stir something within him—something he hasn’t felt in ages. He’d find himself slowly softening under their affection, though he’d still be eager to return to his true form.

Scene: The pale-skinned piglet with dark, regal markings tries to maintain a semblance of dignity as his SO cradles him in their arms. His golden eyes, still sharp and fierce, scan the room for some way out of this situation. But as his SO pets his soft fur and coos over him, Ganondorf feels his usual anger subside.

"You’re the cutest little thing ever!" they giggle, gently pressing their lips to his snout.

For a moment, Ganondorf tenses, his mind racing. This is… unbearable. But as they continue to shower him with affection, he lets out a small, resigned sigh. Perhaps… this is not so bad.

He leans into their touch, enjoying the warmth and love they offer, even if he’d never admit to it out loud.

Demise: The Furious but Softening Boarlet

Demise, the embodiment of raw power and destruction, would be absolutely enraged by his transformation at first. However, his SO’s sheer delight at his tiny piglet form would confuse him. Though he initially tries to resist, their love and affection would begin to break through his tough exterior, leaving him surprisingly calm.

Scene: The tiny, fiery-haired piglet with dark, swirling markings lets out an indignant squeal as his SO picks him up. Demise, in all his primal fury, tries to wriggle free, but his small form offers no strength. This is ridiculous!

His SO, completely unaware of his internal turmoil, smiles and cuddles him close. "You’re the most adorable little thing!" they exclaim, kissing his tiny snout. Demise freezes, his fiery rage momentarily snuffed out by the gentleness of their touch.

What… is this feeling? he wonders, his fury ebbing away. He remains stiff in their arms for a moment longer before finally giving in, letting them hold him. Though he would never admit it, the warmth and love of their embrace feels… comforting.

In all of these scenarios, the Ganondorfs and Demise would initially react with frustration, anger, or disbelief at their sudden transformation into small, cute piglets. However, their SO’s pure love and affection for them in this form would slowly chip away at their pride, leaving them softening and, ultimately, accepting the situation—if only for the sake of their SO’s happiness.

[diodellet]

ooohh that ask game has some interesting questions hmm how abt 16, 18, and 23?

i am realizing just how much this ask game is making me bare my soul goshhh (/not srs), thanks for sending me an ask, bibi!

16. What makes you immediately close a fic that otherwise seemed good?

hm...well, most of the time i try to stick it out even if i'm not enjoying the fic from the first few sentences. like, maybe it's just me but a lot of the first words of a fic tends to be the (for lack of a better word) "the gunk" that precedes the actual story? like some stories just have slow starts, but they do get gud.

but to answer the q, i guess stuff that makes me roll my eyes at a fic, in the context of x readers would probably have to be:

disclaimer: most of the time, i don't mind reading these. but there are just moments where they bother me as i'm reading

reader getting carried bridal style (i dont like it, i hate it. id rather be carried like a sack of potatoes. or id rather be carried like a goat by its shepherd. but i do like seeing characters getting princess-carried) just carry me like this instead ����🤧👇

royalty AU++CEO/office/corporate-setting AU (like secret princess of a kingdom or being a secretary, for example) i'm not a big fan of those kinds of settings. like ok sure a chara can look good in business formal or in some fine furs, but once the eye candy wears off thats when i exit the fic oops.

fics centered around marriage: i don't really enjoy reading proposals. also thinking of how the rings, the dresses, and the flowers look is hard bcs of my (partial?) aphantasia, but weddings Are Pretty Fun as a background setting. overall, i think what bothers me most is that the chara loses a bit of their personality after they get wed together with the reader.

^^actually in relation to this... im not that big of a fan of prom/dance settings, they both read very similarly, especially since the reader tends to be placed in the more passive role of being asked out. (but when you make it angsty or hurt/comfort, ok i will read it i'm a simple girl)

Oh and ig this is just me wishing for more in the Imposter-SAGAU genre of fanfic (i mean i'm still looking around, i don't feel desperate enough to write smth of my own), but i kinda wish the charas weren't so doe-eyed and quick to apologize to the reader. like, i get the feeling of wanting to write The Good Bits Immediately (e.g. being fawned over, getting to lord that blunder over the characters) but the potential of slowburn trauma recovery and developing a relationship from straight-up antagonism is Right There.

18. What media do you want to get into because of artists/writers you like?

i think i'd want to try reading more poetry? like, if i rb a lot of web weaving, i gotta know sumn other than "deep" pop lyrics (u wont find me saying nice things about ms sw*ft). so far i'm thinking of starting with ocean vuong and richard siken (basic ik but i mean, their works are good)

dunmeshi! i've been putting it off for forever 🙈🙈 (<-girlie watched frieren and forgor abt dunmeshi bcs they got yorushika to do the 2nd OP) but senshi,,,, SENSHI THE MAN THAT U ARE,,,,

Oh! and i'm rlly curious about alien stage! my sibling's dipping into it and he told me it was basically america's got talent x the promised neverland. and he said the magic words "toxic yaoi" and "doomed yuri," i Gotta watch it atp. (also like, carole and tuesday rearranged my brain, im ready to put a sadder spin on it😤)

23. What would you make a 5 hour video essay on, if you had enough time and motivation?

as soon as i read this all my hyperfixations have: left the server HAHAHA

maybe in terms of recent ones, i could try analyzing madds buckley's my love is sick. i wrote about that album for a final paper in a basic music elective, but i was constrained to only 3 pages so i only talked about 2-3 songs. but i could pretend to be a music major and regale ppl with how the leitmotifs tie together and completely destroy me add a new layer of meaning to the songs on subsequent listens. Also like, these songs just Get It (not sure what "it" is exactly, but there's smth related to first love and love lost*)

(but atm im just yoinking songs from there to use for fic/chapter titles, i plan on using one for this ruggie timeloop angst fic im plotting out anyway)

(art appreciation ask questions, please bug me to rb some underrated art and fic)

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 13

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Dressed in the ridiculously high-cut low sided white one piece suit you find in the drawer and an oversized cream colored cashmere cardigan, you shove the sleeves up, slip into a pair of woven slides and leave the room feeling refreshed after a shower and venture down the long, somewhat dim hall, the doors to the other cabins that line the pass all shut.

You’re not below water but you feel the weight of the ship like being held safe in the arms of a protecter, shielding you from the wild seas outside.

You’d been in such a daze when you first arrived you really don’t remember the details, but now you see just how incredible his floating hide-out really is.

At the end of the hall is that common area, though there’s nothing common about it. The walls and floor are a beautiful teak, stained and sealed to a high gloss. The low, warm lighting and strip of windows that curve around the space give the room a luxe but cozy den-like feel, even with the massive tv. Look’s like the nightly Netflix binging can continue— when you’re not otherwise occupied of course.

You hear a sound from behind you and find Oeznik arraigning bottles in the wine fridge. With a smile you greet him. “Have you seen Helmut or Bucky?”

“Yes miss.I believe they are both on the upper deck. Take the stairs all the way up.” Your ears quickly adjust to his accent and you glance over at the backlit steps behind the tv wall. “Got it.”

He smiles nodding. “Enjoy.”

You just grin and quietly leave him to his work feeling the warm and fuzzies for the dear old man.

As you go to the steps, you catch a glimpse of the ocean slowly passing though you’re sure you moving a speed that will ensure your timely arrival. Turning back to the butler you frown. “Out of curiosity, Who’s the captain of this ship? I mean, there must be a crew?”

“Oh, the Baron has hired only the best.” He assures you “And only the most capable of-- keeping quiet” He answers knowing your meaning.

You nod and feel your shoulders lower as the tension between them eases now that you know there doesn’t seem to be any threat of betrayal, at least not for now.

Going up the steps you pass the empty second floor and take a quick peek. You’ll never complain about a luxury yacht, who would, but this is bordering on obscene—it’s fucking wonderful.

A pool lined by deck chairs at the far end, over looks the back end of the ship. The glass edge give views of the ocean below. At the front end, the dining area with it’s long table waits for many drunken night and dead center is a lounge area that you can already imagine dancing in. You shake your head knowing the night is far from over and continue up the next flight.

The wind whips at your skin now that you’re high above the water. You look out at all that blue and it hits you just how isolated you are which makes you feel very safe and very excited. There are no rules out here. None but his.

“No, slice it like this, that way when you bite it, you can eat the entire piece.”

Your ears perk at the sound of Zemo’s voice and his choice of words.

He’s talking to Bucky, you can tell by his tone. Patient, amused, adoring…

“I know how to cut an orange” Bucky snaps. You can practically hear him roll his eyes.

Helmut’s laugh is low, harder to hear but you know that soft rumble.

Coming up over the last step, you walk onto the deck taking the same path Helmut had early this afternoon and find them at the wet bar just under the shade of the overhang. They haven’t been around one another very long, just a couple of hours and most of that time Bucky was alone while you and Zemo reacquainted yourselves but they seem to have found their rhythm quickly.

You like watching them together, almost as much as you like the way they look at you.

Bucky’s holding his knife ready to cut again when he notices that you're here and looks up getting that goofy smile on his face like he does when you dress up to go out. This gets Zemo’s attention and the Baron looks over his shoulder finding you and instantly understands.

“She lives.” He teases and puts down the bottle opener he was set to use, but not the bottle of wine. He leaves Bucky to come to you and whatever flattered smile you might have had shifts when you notice how he looks.

Maybe he had this on earlier but you were so overcome by just seeing him that you hadn’t really noticed, now you do. Now you take the time to realize that you’ve never seen Zemo looking so causal. But even in a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up twice (to be in good taste of course) and the buttons no more than a suggestion at this point with that necklace he always wears catching the light as he struts towards you, not to mention that single lock of hair in his eyes, he is still the man in the fur collared coat you knew before he was taken away— just the holiday version.

You let your gaze wander down to admire the cut of his cream colored chinos and those modern take on Italian leather boat shoes that are probably, no defiantly from Italy. He makes getting away look obscenely good.

The kiss you share is light; a press, a hold, his hand on your face, his thumb on your chin, his smile against your mouth. “Did you sleep well?” He asks.

“I did” You answer, eyes still closed.

“You look stunning” He says sort of taking you in without moving away.

“So do you.” You say feeling yourself flush.

“Would you like a drink? James and I are making sangria.” He announces stepping away and it takes you a second to collect yourself as you watch him saunter back.

Has he always been so intoxicating? Yes girl, isn’t that how you ended up on a fucking yacht… you hold in your self deprecating laugh and join them.

Back over at the bar, you watch as he checks in on Bucky who has been very diligently cutting fruit in a way that you’ve never seen him try to do anything in the year you’ve lived together. But the thing that really holds your attention is how Zemo lays his hand against small of Bucky’s back and stands very close, watching just over his shoulder for a second then smiles approval, his hand lingering even as he steps away.

Bucky tries not to, but he can’t resist and lifts his head watching Zemo leave to walk back under the overhang.

You’ve seen that look before, or rather you’ve felt it. That hunger for the Baron, that draw to him. When Zemo walks away you want to follow. You find yourself nearly hypnotized by his regal movements that can so quickly become a force of aggression that can bring you to your knees, only for it to feel like the sun itself on your face when he finally looks at you.

Poor man, you think sympathetically smiling at Bucky. He’s in for a world of trouble.

“Hey," You tap Bucky’s forearm, “How are you?” You ask quietly while you have a few seconds alone and notice that he’s stripped out of his leather jacket and all that black.

He must have changed while you were— occupied. He’s got on a dark blue t-shirt and clearly very expensive shorts with what must be a five inch inseam because they stop just below mid thigh and yet again you're thanking Zemo for his good taste. Bucky looks good enough to take a bite out of. And…is he barefoot? You lean your head around the bar but he gives you a funny look so you sit back up trying to play innocent. Whatever, you’re just happy to see him out of the utility gear, stomping around in boots— god love him— the man deserves to relax.

Bucky frowns a little. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

He looks confused.

“Don’t play dumb, you weren’t so confident before we hitched our ride out here” You say wondering just how big a change of heart he’s had since this morning.

Bucky glances over his shoulder to find Zemo looking through the wine glass collection along the shelving and smiles. “Yeah well, I guess I’m not so worried now.” He says, his eyes sparkling with something a little mischievous in them.

“Ha! Yeah well, I tried to tell you that once we got here everything would be just fine.” You say kindly.

“Come on, you can’t blame me for being worried.”

“No, of course not.” And you truly mean it. “Honestly James, I’m just happy you’re here. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He seems touched but instead cocks his brow. “Sounds like you two were getting along just fine.”

You scoff seeing that Zemo is on his way back over. “Not fair, we needed that.” You whisper.

“I know,” Bucky teases with a wink just as Zemo sets the glasses on the counter.

“Looks good.” He says gripping Bucky’s shoulder rubbing hard and the way Bucky beams with pride you’re just happy you don’t have a mouthful of wine, the spit take would have been epic.

In minutes the drinks are mixed and the three glasses are raised in the air. “What do we drink to?” You ask.

Zemo looks between you both, settling on you first and reaches for your hand turned palm up on the counter and takes it, stroking your wrist. You sigh deep in your chest feeling yourself go as liquid as the ocean around you. “To love.” He says with confidence, smiling at you before letting go. Turning to Bucky, his hand now finding the other mans closed on the counter, he grips it tight. “And to possibility.” The look exchanged between them nearly shatters your heart it is so pure and so real.

“And the freedom to live it.” You add softly feeling that truth in your soul and both men look over at you raising their glasses.

The wine warms your belly, the taste so incredible you shut your eyes thankful for a good drink after such a batshit crazy day. Swallowing you look up at them and wonder now that the wine is flowing how long it will be before the inevitable happens.

After a few more glasses of the dangerously delicious sangria, you find yourself happily descending the levels of the yacht listening to Zemo rattle on about the specs and metrics of the luxury vessel until the three of you find yourselves enjoying a pleasant buzz on the pool deck.

You’re sauntering around, swaying to the music in your own head, smiling at them, teasing them. Bucky is amused but as usual slightly annoyed.“This is nuts you know that right” He says dragging his eyes from you to look back through towards the lounge and dining area.

There’s a sort of lazy energy down here with the indulgence on full display. Theres even a sauna just before the lounge.

Bucky looks at Zemo waiting for a reply.

He simply shrugs looking proud. “If we’re going to be here for a while I wanted to be comfortable.” He smiles and takes a drink. “Polinksy's just lucky this is all I took from him."

You stop messing around and look up at him feeling a wave of shock run through you “Polinsky? From the casino!”

“That’s the one.” Zemo says casually as he joins you at the edge of the pool. He stands, hand in his pocket looking content and a little smug.

“Holy shit… I can’t believe you took his yacht.” You say impressed looking away. “I can't believe he was rich enough to own one! But, first the casino and now this, won’t he come for you?”

“It turns out our friend had deep dealings in very dark markets but no. We have nothing to fear from him love.” He says and kisses your forehead. You sink down a little, always undone by his voice. “I can assure you there is no threat there and we have quite the safe house to show for it. And before you ask, no he did not deal in human trafficking.”

You smile, he knows you well too because you would have gone overboard before enjoying luxury paid for at the expense of another woman's suffering.

Bucky is watching, confused but resolved to not know everything about your past with each other. “Yeah well. Whoever this Polinksy is had great taste. I’ll say that for him”

“His wife actually.” Zemo says standing tall again, his hand warm on your back as he talks around you. “That idiot wanted to cover everything in gold” He rolls his eyes shaking his head. “She owned a gallery, it was a cover of course, but she did have an exceptional eye.”

Bucky nods and takes another drink.

“Oh look.” Zemo says suddenly pulling away from you. He leans over the edge of the pool a bit.”

“What?” Bucky frowns staring down into the water.

There is a playfulness in Zemo’s eyes that you spot easily enough because it is so rare, but Bucky is clueless and misses it, trying too hard to see what it is Zemo does. “There, look there. Don’t you see?” Zemo says pointing at the water. You press your lips together to keep from laughing. Is Bucky really falling for this? Knowing better, you take a large step back

“Hey, let me have a sip of your drink Bucky,” You offer grinning at Zemo.

Bucky hands it back to you without even looking.

For a solider really is oblivious sometimes.

With a wink for you, Zemo steps close and gives Bucky a single shove and you turn your head anticipating the splash as he goes over and into the water.

Your laughter rings out the moment you see his head pop up, his string of curses a mile long. Zemo’s half assed apologies are cute as he hands you his own drink and sheds his shirt and pants down to the black swim shorts so tight and high on his thighs that your voice suddenly catches in your throat at the sight. 'Damn' you smile watching as he dives in after Bucky. He comes up and they meet face to face in the water with a moment of lovely tension between them floating very close before they both beg you to join in, but you refuse and instead settle on the deck with your legs dangling over the edge and insist on staying put with your sangria and both of theirs as back up, promising them that you’re quite content to just watch —and what a show they put on.

What is it about swimming that turns men into boys?

No sooner are they in do they start to regress to childish antics, playing at fighting for no real reason other to antagonize one another.

When they get too rough you shout that they need to take a lap to cool off which only seems to ignite a fire in them both and they rush off in a mad dash attempting to out swim the other.

For your part you’ve never made a better suggestion as you get to sit and watch the way the sunlight sparkles across their wet, muscled backs and shoulders as they reach over and through the gentle waves they create, looking like a pair of Olympians with you as their goddess happy to simply sit and judge the form of their stroke— you laugh to yourself at your luck taking a long swallow of wine.

You manage to look away for a second and take in a very different view admiring how calm the ocean is this evening, but not for long as the sound of them coming back draws your attention. They race with youthful enthusiasm, showing off for you, and one another.

Hands grab the edge of the deck and soon a heated debate breaks out on either side of your legs as they fight over who won and you stifle a laugh knowing it was Bucky. “Don’t worry, you can beat him later” You tell Zemo, the double entendre not lost on him as you bend to kiss his dripping hair. He laughs a little at your awful humor and you’re certain you’ve never seen him so happy.

This world he’s brought you into is so removed from the real one, so perfect and serine that you know he’s done it to forget about the real one. He could have had you and Bucky meet him in a some dark hideout, some deep cave still gorgeous of course but he chose this because it feels most like something of his own creation and he does so love to be in control. Perhaps that’s what happens when one loses it so horribly…

“It’s nice to let him think he can win sometimes.” Zemo says and you shake the thoughts suddenly aware of his arm around your legs.

Bucky is smiling at the Baron’s words as he takes the glass from your hands and gulps down the rest.

“Hey!” You give his metal arm a smack.

“Thought you liked sharing” He teases licking his lips.

You roll your eyes but feel the need to glance at Zemo who is watching Bucky.

He’s being very patient but you can see how badly he wants him. You saw it the moment you landed. Having Bucky here is more than he thought he should hope for, but wanting him like this is agony. Bucky— with his arms up on pool side and water droplets sparkling as they trickle down the curve of his muscles, his dark hair slicked back, blue eyes fixed on Zemo and that small crooked smile taunting— is like the ripe, low hanging fruit of summer, ready to be plucked and tasted.

Still, knowing better than to push, Zemo lets go of you and calmly swims away, letting the water distract him. You look down at Bucky who turns, his eyes following the Baron.“Go on,” You urge gently. “Go to him.”

Bucky continues to observe in silence for a little longer. You’re surprised that he doesn’t seem confused or angry at your insistence. Instead he’s content to watch Helmut swim. It makes you smile, you’ve never seen Bucky this way, but then again you think back to the times you’ve caught him looking at you while you’re watching tv or out dancing and he thinks you aren’t paying attention. It’s very much like that, but softer.

Seeming determined, Bucky gives your leg a quick rub before pushing off the wall to join him.

They swim around one another for a moment meeting in the middle of the pool that must be no more than six feet deep as they stay afloat easily, but its hard for you to make out what they say at first. The mood is light though, the wine has Zemo feeling loose and Bucky is laughing, he even splashes Zemo once, but then you see a change come over them as the playfulness subsides.

As his smile eases, Bucky reaches and runs his thumb over Helmut’s brow to keep the water from his eyes. This subtle move causes the Baron to stop. He swims backwards just a bit and stands, his chest and shoulders out of the water now and Bucky follows him letting Zemo smooth his hand down along side Bucky’s face. Those hands that were aggressive in what must feel like a past life become soft and linger just a bit longer. Bucky doesn’t pull away from Zemo’s touch and you are so relieved to see it finally happening.

You’ve imagined this moment often. You’ve hoped for it, needed it, wanted it. You love them both in different ways, but to love them together— what could possibly be better than that? For a split second you imagine leather and safe words and quickly take another sip of wine looking away knowing that it can always get better.

Slicking his hair back from his face, Bucky smiles at the Baron with his sweet lips still wet from the water that trickles down his face as he stares at the older man and you can see that he’s thinking of the best way to say something, he’s so unsure but so ready for this. Helmut will guide him, you think with a smile.

“James,” Zemo says his name with such understanding and you hear him this time. “I’m going to stop playing games with you now.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks. He sinks into the water pushing back towards the deeper end but doesn’t go far.

Zemo just smiles sympathetically. He knows. Their flirtation, the bond made over sharing you, it’s all come down to this. This moment is the one that will change everything between them and Bucky is still fighting it, but not for much longer. “I think you’re still holding back for reasons that you don’t have to say right now,” He starts and comes towards him, until he is close again “Perhaps later when it’s dark you can tell me. But you don’t have to pretend. I know what it is you want because I want it too.” He says with a surprising amount of vulnerability and the perfect amount of warmth.

Bucky pushes a little closer, fighting against the water to stay near Zemo. You think he is in shock to hear the Baron say things like this. You also think you should leave but you can’t bring yourself to move. You’re also fairly certain they don’t remember you’re still here and if you distract them now it will ruin this moment.

“What do you think I want Zemo?” Bucky asks.

Zemo runs his hand over his face ridding it of water and takes Bucky by the shoulder, tilting his head as he looks into his eyes. “This.”

Both dominance and affection come into play as he grabs Bucky gently by the back of his head pulling the soldier into the softest kiss.

You try not to look, but the way they move— it’s like seeing two beautiful halves become whole. The strongest most masculine lines become soft and elegant; Helmut holding Bucky’s face so carefully, Bucky finally giving in. The tension melts into fluid movements until you think 'how could it have taken so long for something so natural to happen’. And then that slight shift takes hold. The caress becomes a clutch, the stroke becomes a grab. You see a flash of tongue as they flick and roll, fighting as the men had in the water.

But this isn’t a race to see who’s the fastest. You know who will win the battle.Bucky is breathing hard, and for the first time since you’ve known him you see a different side to him. It’s not easy to spot with the water moving their bodies, but as he holds onto Zemo, their foreheads touching now as their lips part for a moment, he seems smaller somehow, like he is holding onto Helmut because he is so eager to please him and ready to make the Baron happy and again you are shown your own feelings reflected back at you from the face of your friend.

Zemo kisses him lightly again but when he pulls away he tugs at Bucky’s lip just a little and the gasp that Bucky makes is so light you can’t hear it, but you feel it deep in your belly.

Fuck. You sigh through your nose and bite at your own bottom lip knowing exactly how it feels.

Keeping Bucky close, Zemo turns his head and opens his eyes on you.

It’s like being tossed into the high beams of a car on a dark road.

Zemo gives you a look that makes you put your glass down, slide out of your sweater and lower your head to him as you fall effortlessly into the roll you have missed so much. He motions for you come in the pool and this time you do not object.

You plunge in feet first and swim over with your head held above water, your eyes fixed on the men who wait. You reach them and feel his hand grab your arm, the look in his eyes speaking volumes. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t have to. He just plants a warm, wet kiss on your lips.

You grab onto him pulling yourself close, saddling onto his thigh as you hope to feel a fraction of what he just shared with Bucky. It’s different of course, but still there, after all this is something truly special —magical even.

When Helmut breaks the kiss Bucky takes his place and you feel that spark ignite between the two of you until he smiles against your lips well aware of what he’s just started.

You know the Baron is watching and as you turn your head just a little, you see him reach and touch Bucky’s face but his eyes have gone just a bit dark, the wheels of thought turning quickly in his mind. “Lets get out.” He says and takes a deep breath.

“I think it’s time James learns the rules.”

[penbalfour]

Chapter One (x)

“Lower your swords,” Queen Eloana commanded, her hair shining a glossy onyx in the sun as she sank onto one knee. The raw emotion pouring out of her seeped into the temple floors of the Chamber of Nyktos, bitter and hot, tasting of anguish and a helpless sort of anger. It stretched out toward me, needling my skin and brushing against this…primal thing inside me. “And bow before the…before the last descendent of the most ancient ones. She who carries the blood of the King of Gods within her. Bow before your new Queen.”

The blood of the King of Gods? Your new Queen? None of that made sense. Not her words or when she had removed her crown.

A too-thin breath scorched my throat as I looked at the man standing beside the Queen of Atlantia. The crown was still upon the King’s golden-haired head, but the bones had remained a bleached white. Nothing like the gleaming, gilded one the Queen had placed at the feet of the statue of Nyktos. My gaze skipped over the terrible, broken things scattered about the once pristine, white floors. I’d done that to them, adding their blood to what had fallen from the sky, filling the thin fissures in the marble. I didn’t look at that or anyone else—every part of my being focused on him.

He remained on one knee, staring up at me from between the vee of the swords he’d crossed over his chest. His damp hair, blue-black in the Atlantian sunlight, curled against the sandy-hued skin of his forehead. Red streaked those high, angular cheekbones, the proud curve of his jaw, and ran down lips that had once shattered my heart. Lips that had pieced those broken shards back together with the truth. Bright, golden eyes locked with mine, and even bowed before me, so motionless I wasn’t sure he breathed, he still reminded me of one of the wild and strikingly beautiful cave cats I’d once seen caged in Queen Ileana’s palace as a child.

He had been many things to me. A stranger in a dimly lit room who’d been my first kiss. A guard who had sworn to lay down his life for mine. A friend who had looked beyond the veil of the Maiden to truly see me underneath, who’d handed me a sword to protect myself instead of forcing me into a gilded cage. A legend cloaked in darkness and nightmares that had plotted to betray me. A Prince of a kingdom believed to have been lost to time and war, who had suffered unimaginable horrors and yet managed to find the pieces of who he used to be. A brother who would do anything, commit any deed to save his family. His people. A man who bared his soul and stripped open his heart to me—and only me.

My first.

My guard.

My friend.

My betrayer.

My partner.

My husband.

My heartmate.

My everything.

Casteel Da’Neer bowed before me and stared up at me as if I were the only person in the entire kingdom. I didn’t need to concentrate like before to know what he was feeling. Everything he felt was wide-open to me. His emotions were a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting tastes—cool and tart, heavy and spicy, and sweet like chocolate-dipped berries. Those unyieldingly firm and unrelentingly tender lips parted, revealing just the hint of sharp fangs.

“My Queen,” he breathed, and those two smoky words soothed my skin. The lilt of his voice quelled the ancient thing inside me that wanted to take the anger and the fear radiating from all the others and twist it, turn it back, truly give them something to fear, and add to the shattered things thrown about the floor. One side of his lips curled up, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek.

Dizzy with relief at the sight of that infuriatingly stupid—and adorable—dimple, my entire body shuddered. I feared that when he saw what I’d done, he’d be afraid. And I couldn’t blame him for that. What I’d done should terrify anyone, but not Casteel. The heat that turned his eyes the color of warmed honey told me that fear was very much the furthest thing from his mind. Which was also a little disturbing. But he was the Dark One, whether he liked being called that or not.

Some of the shock faded, and the pounding adrenaline eased. And when it left, I realized I hurt. My shoulder and the side of my head throbbed. The left side of my face felt puffy, and that had nothing to do with the old scars there. A dull ache pulsed in my legs and arms, and my body felt funny, as if my knees were weakening. I swayed in the warm, salty breeze—

Casteel rose quickly, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by how fast he moved, but I still was. In a heartbeat, he’d gone from kneeling to standing, a foot closer to me, and several things happened at once.

The men and women behind Casteel’s parents, the ones wearing the same white tunics and loose pants of those lying on the floor, also moved. Light reflected off the golden armbands adorning their biceps as they lifted their swords, shifting closer to Casteel’s parents, protecting them. Some reached for crossbows strapped to their backs. They had to be guards of some sort.

A sudden growl of warning came from the largest wolven I’d ever seen. Kieran and Vonetta’s father stood to my right. Jasper had officiated the marriage between Casteel and me in Spessa’s End. He’d been there when Nyktos showed his approval by briefly turning day to night. But now, the steel-hued wolven’s lips peeled back, baring teeth that could tear through flesh and break bone. He was loyal to Casteel, and yet instinct told me that it wasn’t just the guards he warned.

Another snarl came from my left. In the shadows of the blood tree that had sprouted from where my blood had fallen and grown to a massive height within seconds, a fawn-colored wolven crept into my line of sight, head dipped low, and wintery blue eyes iridescent. Kieran. He stared down Casteel. I didn’t understand why either of them would behave this way toward the Prince, but especially Kieran. He had been bonded to Casteel from birth, meant to obey and protect him at all costs. But he was more than a bonded wolven to Casteel. They were brothers, if not by blood then by friendship, and I knew they loved each other.

Right now, nothing about the way Kieran’s ears were pinned back was loving.

Unease skipped its way through me as Kieran sank down, the sleek muscles of his legs tensing as he prepared to attack…Casteel.

My stomach plummeted. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “No,” I rasped, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable, even to my ears.

Kieran didn’t appear to hear me or care. If he had been acting normally, I would’ve just assumed he was attempting to ignore me, but this was different. He was different. His eyes were brighter than I ever remembered seeing, and they weren’t right because they…they weren’t just blue now. His pupils glowed silvery-white, an aura that seeped out in wispy tendrils across the blue. My head jerked to Jasper. His eyes had changed, too. I’d seen that strange light before. It had been what my skin had done when I healed Beckett’s broken legs—the same silvery glow that had radiated from me minutes earlier.

Icy bursts of surprise raced through Casteel as he eyed the wolven, and then I felt…relief radiate from him.

“You all knew.” Casteel’s voice filled with awe, something no one standing behind him felt. Even the easy grin was absent from the auburn-haired Atlantian. Emil looked at us with wide eyes, broadcasting a healthy dose of fear, as did Naill, who had always appeared utterly unfazed by everything—even when he’d been outnumbered in battle.

Casteel slowly sheathed his swords at his sides. Hands empty, he kept them down. “You all knew something was happening to her. That’s why….” He trailed off, his jaw hardening.

Several of the guards moved to the front of the King and Queen, surrounding them fully—

A shock of white fur shot forward. Delano tucked his tail back as he pawed at the marble. He lifted his head and howled. The eerie yet beautiful sound raised the tiny hairs all over my body.

Off in the distance, the faint sounds of yips and barks answered, growing louder with each second. The leaves on the tall, cone-shaped trees separating the temple from Saion’s Cove trembled as a rolling rumble echoed from the ground below. Blue-and-yellow-winged birds took flight from the trees, scattering to the sky.

“Godsdamn.” Emil turned to the temple steps. He reached for the swords at his sides. “They’re summoning the whole damn city.”

“It’s her.” The deep scar slicing across the older wolven’s forehead stood out starkly. Potent disbelief rolled off Alastir as he stood just outside the circle of guards who’d formed around Casteel’s parents.

“It is not her,” Casteel shot back.

“But it is,” King Valyn confirmed as he stared at me from a face that Casteel’s would one day become. “They’re responding to her. That’s why the ones on the road with us shifted without warning. She called them to her.”

“I…I didn’t call anyone,” I told Casteel, voice cracking.

“I know.” Casteel’s tone softened as his eyes locked with mine.

“But she did,” his mother insisted. “You might not realize it, but you did summon them.”

My eyes darted to her, and I felt my chest wrench. She was everything I’d imagined Casteel’s mother to be. Stunning. Regal. Powerful. Calm now, even as she remained on one knee, even when she had first seen me and demanded of her son—What have you’ve done? What have you brought back? I flinched, fearing those words would stay with me long after today.

Casteel’s features sharpened as golden eyes swept over my face. “If the idiots behind me actually laid down their swords instead of lifting them against my wife, we wouldn’t have an entire colony of wolven about to descend on us,” he bit out. “They are only reacting to the threat.”

“You’re right,” his father agreed as he gently guided his wife to her feet. Blood soaked the knee and the hem of her lilac gown. “But ask yourself why your bonded wolven is guarding someone other than you.”

“I really could care less at the moment,” Casteel responded as the sound of hundreds—if not more—of paws pounding the earth grew even closer. He couldn’t be serious. He had to care, because that was a damn good question.

“You need to care,” his mother cautioned, a thin quiver in her otherwise steady voice. “The bonds have broken.”

The bonds? Hands trembling, my wide eyes shot to the temple steps, to where Emil slowly backed away. Naill had his swords in his hands now.

“She’s right,” Alastir uttered, the skin around his mouth appearing even whiter. “I can… I can feel it—the Primal notam. Her mark. Good gods.” His voice trembled as he stumbled back, nearly stepping on the crown. “They’ve all broken.”

I had no idea what a notam was, but through the confusion and the blossoming panic, there was something odd about what Alastir had stated. If it was true, then why wasn’t he in his wolven form? Was it because he’d already broken his wolven bond with the former King of Atlantia all those years ago?

“Look at their eyes,” the Queen ordered softly, pointing out what I’d seen. “I know you don’t understand. There are things you never needed to learn, Hawke.” Her voice cracked then, thickened at the use of his nickname—a name I’d once believed to be nothing more than a lie. “But what you need to know now is that they no longer serve the Elemental bloodline. You are not safe. Please,” she begged. “Please. Listen to me, Hawke.”

“How?” I croaked. “How could the bond break?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The amber of Casteel’s eyes was nearly luminous. “You’re bleeding,” he said as if that were the most important issue at hand.

But it wasn’t. “How?” I repeated.

“It’s what you are.” Eloana’s left hand balled into the skirt of her gown. “You have the blood of a god in you—”

“I’m mortal,” I told her.

A thick lock of dark hair tumbled from her knot as she shook her head. “Yes, you are mortal, but you are descended from a deity—the children of the gods. All it takes is a drop of god’s blood—” She swallowed thickly. “You may have more than just a drop, but what is in your blood, what is in you, supersedes any oath the wolven have taken.”

I remembered then what Kieran had told me in New Haven about the wolven. The gods had given the once-wild kiyou wolves mortal form to serve as guides and protectors to the children of the gods—the deities. Something else Kieran had shared then explained the Queen’s reaction.

My gaze shot to the crown lying near Nyktos’ feet. A drop of deity blood usurped any claim to the Atlantian throne.

Oh, gods, there was a good chance I really might pass out. And how embarrassing would that be?

Eloana’s gaze shifted to her son’s rigid back. “You go near her? Right now? They will see you as a threat to her. They will rip you apart.”

My heart lurched to a panicked stop. Casteel looked as if he might do just that. Behind me, one of the smaller wolven lurched forward, barking and snapping at the air.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Casteel—”

“It’s okay.” Casteel’s eyes never left mine. “No one is going to harm Poppy. I will not allow that.” His chest rose with a deep, heavy breath. “And you know that, right?”

I nodded as each breath came too fast, too shallowly. It was the only thing I understood at the moment.

“Everything’s all right. They’re just protecting you.” Casteel smiled for me then, but it was tense and tight. He looked to my left, at Kieran. “I don’t know everything that is going on right now, but you—all of you—want to keep her safe. And I’m all about that. You know I would never hurt her. I would tear out my own heart before I did that. She’s injured. I need to make sure she’s okay, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.” He didn’t blink as he held Kieran’s stare, as the rolling thunder of the other wolven reached the temple steps. “Not even you. Any of you. I will destroy every single one of you who stands between her and me.”

Kieran’s growl deepened, and an emotion I’d never felt from him before poured into me. It was like anger, but older. And it felt like that buzz in my blood had. Ancient. Primal.

And in an instant, I could see it all playing out in my mind as if it were happening before me. Kieran would attack. Or maybe it would be Jasper. I’d seen what kind of damage a wolven could inflict, but Casteel wouldn’t go down easily. He would do just as he’d promised. He’d tear through all that stood between him and me. Wolven would die, and if he harmed Kieran—if he did worse than that, the wolven’s blood wouldn’t just be on Casteel’s hands. It would mark his soul till the day he died.

A wave of wolven crested the temple’s stairs, both small and large, in so many different colors. Their arrival brought terrifying knowledge. Casteel was incredibly strong and unbelievably fast. He would take down many. But he would fall with them.

He would die.

Casteel would die because of me—because I called to these wolven and didn’t know how to make it stop. My heart thumped erratically. A wolven near the steps stalked Emil as he continued backing up. Another tracked Naill as he spoke softly to the wolven, attempting to reason with the creature. The others had zeroed in on the guards surrounding the King and Queen, and a few…. Oh, gods, several of them crept up behind Casteel. This had slipped into chaos, the wolven beyond control of any of them…

I sucked in a sharp breath as my mind raced, breaking free of the pain and turbulence. Something had happened within me to make that drop of god’s blood break the bonds. I superseded their previous oaths, and that had…it had to mean that they now obeyed me.

“Stop,” I ordered as Kieran snapped at Casteel, whose own lips were now peeled back. “Kieran! Stop! You will not hurt Casteel.” My voice rose as a soft hum returned to my blood. “All of you will stop. Now! None of you will attack.”

It was like a switch had been thrown in the wolven’s minds. One second they were all poised to attack, and then they were sinking onto their bellies, lowering their heads between their front paws. I could still feel their anger, the old power, but it had lessened already, was fading in steady waves.

Emil lowered his sword. “That…that was timely. Thank you for that.”

A ragged breath left me as a tremor traveled up and down my arms. I almost couldn’t believe it’d worked as I scanned the temple, seeing all the wolven lying down. My entire being wanted to rebel against further confirmation of what the Queen had claimed, but gods, there was only so much I could deny. Throat dry, I looked at Casteel.

He stared at me, his eyes wide once more. I couldn’t breathe enough. My heart wouldn’t slow enough for me to make sense of what he was feeling.

“He will not hurt me. You all know that,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked at Jasper and then Kieran. “You told me that he was the only person in both kingdoms that I was safe with.  That hasn’t changed.”

Kieran’s ears twitched, and then he rose, backing up. He turned, nudging my hand with his nose.

“Thank you,” I whispered, briefly closing my eyes.

“Just so you know,” Casteel murmured, thick lashes lowered halfway, “what you just did? Said? It has me feeling all kinds of wildly inappropriate things at the moment.”

A weak, shaky laugh left me. “There’s something so wrong with you.”

“I know.” The left side of his lips curved, and his dimple appeared. “But you love that about me.”

I did. Gods, I really did.

Jasper shook out his fur as his large head swung from me to Casteel. He turned sideways, making a rough, huffing sound as he did. The other wolven moved then, coming out from behind the blood tree. I watched them trot past me—past Casteel and the others—ears perked and tails wagging as they joined the wolven descending the steps and left the temple. Only Jasper, his son, and Delano remained, and the feeling of chaotic tension lifted.

A thick lock of dark hair fell over Casteel’s forehead. “You were glowing silver again. When you ordered the wolven to stop,” he told me. “Not a lot, not like before, but you looked like spun moonlight.”

Had I been? I glanced down at my hands. They looked normal. “I…I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered, my legs shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I lifted my eyes to his and watched him take a step forward, and then another. There were no snarls of warning. Nothing. My throat started to burn. I could feel it—tears creeping into my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Everything had already turned into enough of a mess without me sobbing hysterically. But I was so tired. I hurt, and it went beyond the physical.

When I first stepped into this temple and looked out over the clear waters of the Seas of Saion, I’d felt like I was home. And I knew things would be hard. Proving our union was real wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as gaining the acceptance of Casteel’s parents and that of his kingdom. We still needed to find his brother, Prince Malik. And mine. We had to deal with the Ascended Queen and King. Nothing about our future would be easy, but I had hope.

Now, I felt foolish. So naïve. The older wolven in Spessa’s End, the one I’d helped heal after the battle, had warned me about the people of Atlantia. They did not choose you. And I now doubted they ever would.

I drew in a stuttering breath and whispered, “I didn’t want any of this.”

Tension bracketed Casteel’s mouth. “I know.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he placed his palm over the cheek that didn’t feel swollen. He lowered his forehead to mine, and the shock of awareness his flesh against mine brought was there, rippling through me as he slid his hand into the tangled mess of my hair. “I know, Princess,” he whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut against a stronger rush of tears. “It’s okay. It will all be okay. I promise you that.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn’t something he could guarantee. Not anymore. I forced myself to swallow the knot of emotion that rose.

Casteel kissed my blood-streaked brow and then lifted his head. “Emil? Can you retrieve clothing from Delano’s and Kieran’s horses so they can shift and not scar anyone?”

“I’ll be more than happy to do that,” the Atlantian answered.

I almost laughed. “I think their nakedness will be the least scarring thing to happen today.”

Casteel said nothing as he touched my cheek again, gently tilting my head to the side. His gaze then dropped to several of the rocks still littering the ground at my feet. A muscle popped along his jaw. His eyes lifted to mine, and I saw his pupils were dilated, only a thin strip of amber visible. “They tried to stone you?”

I heard a soft gasp I thought had come from his mother, but I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see their faces. I didn’t want to know what they felt right now. “They accused me of working with the Ascended, and they called me a Soul Eater. I told them I wasn’t. I tried to talk to them.” Words spilled out in a rush as I lifted my hands to touch him, but I stopped. I didn’t know what my touch would do. Hell, I didn’t even know what I would do without touching someone. “I tried to reason with them, but they started throwing stones. I told them to stop. I said it was enough, and…I don’t know what I did—” I started to look over his shoulder, but Casteel seemed to know what it was I  searched for. He stopped me.  “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

“You were defending yourself.” His pupils constricted as he caught my stare. “You did what you had to do. You were defending yourself—”

“But I didn’t touch them, Casteel,” I whispered. “It was like in Spessa’s End, during the battle. Remember the soldiers who surrounded us? When they fell, I felt something in me. I felt that again here. It was like something inside me knew what to do. I took their anger and I—I did exactly what a Soul Eater would do. I took it from them and then gave it back.”

“You are not a Soul Eater,” Queen Eloana said from somewhere not too far away. “The moment the eather in your blood became visible, those who attacked you should’ve known exactly what you were. What you are.”

“Eather?”

“It’s what some would call magic,” Casteel answered, shifting his stance as if he were blocking his mother from me. “You’ve seen it before.”

“The mist?”

He nodded. “It’s the essence of the gods, what’s in their blood, what gives them their abilities and the power to create all that they have. No one really calls it that anymore, not since the gods went to sleep, and the deities died off.” His eyes searched mine. “I should have known. Gods, I should’ve seen it…”

“You can say that now,” his mother spoke. “But why would you have even thought that this would be a possibility? No one would’ve expected this.”

“Except for you,” Casteel said. And he was right. She’d known, without a doubt. And, granted, I had been glowing upon her arrival, but she’d known with unquestioned certainty.

“I can explain,” she said as Emil appeared, carrying two saddlebags. He gave all of us a wide berth as he dropped them near Jasper and then backed away.

“Apparently, a lot needs to be explained,” Casteel remarked coolly. “But it will have to wait.” His gaze touched on my left cheek, and that muscle throbbed along his jaw again. “I need to get you somewhere safe where I can…. Where I can take care of you.”

“You can take her to your old rooms at my place,” Jasper announced, startling me. I hadn’t even heard him shift. I started to look over at him but saw skin as he reached for the saddlebag.

“That will do.” Casteel took what appeared to be a pair of breeches from Jasper. “Thank you.”

“Will it be safe for you there?” I asked, and a wry grin tugged at Casteel’s lips.

“He’ll be safe there,” Kieran answered.

So shocked by the sound of Kieran’s voice, I turned. And didn’t stop. There was a whole lot of tawny skin on display, but he stood there like he wasn’t naked in front of all who remained. For once, I really had no problem ignoring the fact that he was nude. I looked at his eyes. They were normal—a vivid, striking blue without the silvery-white aura. “You were going to attack Casteel.”

Kieran nodded as he took the pants from Casteel.

“He most definitely was,” Casteel confirmed.

I looked back at my husband. “And you threatened to destroy him.”

The dimple in his left cheek appeared again. “I did.”

“Why are you smiling? That isn’t something that should make you smile.” I stared at him, stupid tears burning my eyes. I didn’t care that we had an audience. “That can never happen again. Do you hear me?” I twisted to Kieran, who arched a brow as he pulled his breeches up over his lean hips. “Do you both hear me? I won’t allow it. I won’t—”

“Shh.” Casteel’s light touch to my cheek drew my gaze back to his as he stepped into me. He was close enough that his chest brushed mine with each breath. “It won’t happen again, Poppy.” His thumb quickly swiped under my left eye. “Right?”

“Right.” Kieran cleared his throat. “I don’t…” He fell quiet.

His father didn’t. “As long as the Prince doesn’t give any of us a reason to behave differently, we will protect him as fiercely as we will protect you.”

We. As in the entirety of the wolven race. That’s what Alastir had meant when he’d said that all the bonds had broken. I had a lot of questions, but I plopped my head on Casteel’s chest. It didn’t feel that great, sending a flare of pain across my head. I didn’t care because when I inhaled, all I smelled was lush spice and pine.  Casteel carefully folded an arm around my upper back, and I thought… I thought I felt him shudder against me.

“Wait,” Kieran said. “Where is Beckett? He was with you when you walked off.”

Casteel drew back slightly. “That’s right. He offered to show you the temple.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. “He led you here.”

A wave of goosebumps pimpled my skin. Beckett. Pressure clamped down on my chest, squeezing tightly as I thought of the young wolven who’d spent the vast majority of the trip here chasing butterflies. I still couldn’t believe that he had led me here, knowing what awaited. But I remembered the bitter taste of his fear that day in Spessa’s End. He’d been terrified of me.

Or had he been terrified of something else?

His emotions had been all over the place. He’d gone from being normal around me, happy and grinning, to suddenly afraid and anxious, as he had been when he brought me up here.

“He disappeared before the others showed up,” I told Casteel. “I don’t know where he went.”

“Find Beckett,” he ordered, and Delano, still in his wolven form, tilted his head.  “Naill? Emil? Go with him. Make sure Beckett is brought to me alive.”

Both Atlantians nodded and bowed. Nothing about Casteel’s tone suggested that the alive part was a good thing. “He’s just a kid.” I watched Delano rush off, quickly disappearing with Naill and Emil. “He was scared. And now that I think about it—”

“Poppy.” Casteel placed the tips of his fingers against my cheek, just below a spot that ached. He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the cut. “I have two things to say. If Beckett had anything to do with this, I don’t care what or who he is, and I sure as fuck don’t care about what he was feeling.” His voice rose until all who remained at the temple could hear him, including his parents.

“A move against my wife is a proclamation of war against me. Their fate is already sealed. And, secondly?” He lowered his head even farther. This time, his lips brushed over mine in a featherlight kiss. I could barely feel it, but it somehow  still managed to twist my insides into knots. He then lifted his head, and I saw it in his features—the stark stillness of a predator locking onto its prey. I’d seen it before, right before he’d torn out Landell’s heart back in New Haven.

Casteel turned his head to the side, looking at the only wolven who remained, now standing on two legs. “You.”

[therealcalicali]

Legolas and the Gifted One

Being the temporary ward to Legolas would include:

Him eying you with contempt: Despite saying nothing, he’s offended about being put into such an unfavorable position. Nevertheless, the Elf resolves to see to the task since it was the deathbed request of an honorable friend.

Him refusing to acknowledge your presence: Despite your numerous attempts to formally introduce yourself, Legolas does not pay you any mind. In fact, he behaves as if your Guardian is the only person he can even hear. Once it is explained that he is to escort you safely to The Order, he nods. “Have no fear, old man. I shall get the package to its destination.” Obviously, you take great exception to being referred to as “the package”. However, you say nothing and go along quietly.

Limited verbal exchanges and lots of silence: As the journey begins, he mostly points to things. Only when you are riding too slowly or doing something he considers dangerous, does Legolas bother to speak. He also refuses to laugh or engage in any banter. Thus, the travel through Rhialla Woods consists of forest sounds and your singing. (Much to his annoyance.)

Aggravated looks: Each time camp has been set for the night, Legolas keeps his focus upon the firepit. And though you forcibly regale him with tales of your childhood and hopes for the future, he remains silent. But the Elf’s curt looks lets you know that he’s still paying you mind.

Arguments: Though the tone of his voice remains calm, Legolas does not mind telling you to be quiet. But when you disregard those pleas, he eventually resorts to speaking his mind. Mostly, about how he would rather be doing anything else but escorting an ingrate human. Of course, your temperament is far worse than his. Thus, things always devolve into an argument of sorts. With you doing most of the talking and ranting.

Frustrating training sessions: Though Legolas does not truly wish to do so, he resolves to improve your Archery skills. Not because you asked, but because he cannot bear to watch your improper form. Typically, things begin well; with him showing you all manner of techniques. But he always tires of your attempts at conversation. “These are lessons in Archery, Y/N. We are not friends.”

Irritation at your behavior: Whenever you reach a small village or township, Legolas typically wishes to pass through. But once in a while, he permits a day or two of rest. Because according to him, “Humans are weak and cannot survive outside of their so-called comforts”. Despite these words and attempts to keep his distance, Legolas constantly stares in your direction. Especially when you chat people up at the Inns and Taverns. “Y/N, you are a peculiar mortal. Your kind should not engage strangers so readily. It is dangerous.”

Fights about using your Powers: After burning your palms severely whilst attempting to conjure a ball of fire, Legolas berates you. Not only because you could have started a blaze in the forest, but because you could have drawn unwanted attention. “You are a chore to watch over! The day I hand you over to The Order, it shall be a relief.” But despite the harsh words, Legolas begins foraging for herbs. As you sit in silence, he makes a paste that he promptly applies to your wounds. 

Unexpected affection: With the journey nearly halfway through, Legolas’ attitude only gets worse Thus, after an entire day of misunderstandings, you decide to feign being asleep to avoid him. But as you lay with the furs halfway over your head, you realize he’s watching. After some time at the riverbank, Legolas eventually returns to the firepit and sits beside you. To your amusement, you then feel his finger upon your cheek, moving aside a leaf that had landed. Unsure of what to do, you keep your eyes closed. But you instantly realize that the Elf does not hate you as you had believed.

Being ambushed by Blood Riders: Passing through the Valley of Bones is not for the faint of heart. However it is the only way to your destination. But despite all efforts to avoid danger, you and Legolas find yourselves beset by a ghoulish horde. Though you are outnumbered, the Elf easily keeps you safe. But eventually, you are separated from his side. As he watches in horror, you conjure a massive fireball. And despite your apprehension, you manage to set the flames upon the creatures, turning them to ash. After Legolas finishes off the last few with his arrows, he walks over with an expression you have never seen. “I thought I lost you, Y/N.”

A budding kinship: Though Legolas is a creature of few words, he becomes more agreeable after the skirmish. And soon, he even begins inviting you to sit beside him at night. Especially when he is perched upon a cliff overlooking the world. And in time, you take a liking to the scenic wonders the Elf decides to share.

A tense ending: With the journey basically over, the evening at Forester’s Inn is the last hurrah. Because the next day, Legolas would deliver you to The Order, freeing himself from his duty. But despite your excitement, the Elf is in no mood for drink. In fact, he leaves you to your conversation with some locals. But after some time, he returns, grabbing you by the wrist as you and a young man are dancing. When you ask why you cannot enjoy the Spring festivities, Legolas stops walking. “Y/N, you can see your fellow humans anytime. Or do you not wish to see the falling stars?” Naturally, you decide to leave with Legolas.

A twist of fate: After riding through the Deadwoods, Legolas dismounts. He then insists you remain with the horses as he continues to The Order. But when you ask for his reasoning, the Elf sighs. After declaring that the sect is honorable, Legolas adds that you must still be cautious. Thus, he leaves you at the forests’ edge. After some time, he returns and stares a while. With glee, you jump to your feet, asking what had been said about you. To your utter dismay however, Legolas shakes his head. “They are not keen on novices. Especially Pyromancers. The danger is too great. Thus they only wish for the most skilled to enter training.” Naturally, this confuses you. Because how could one hone such skills without The Order. But just as you were on the verge of tears, Legolas takes your hands in his. “We have the greatest of Pyromancers in Lindon. You shall learn from the best.” Though worried about living amongst Elves, you nod slowly. After all, you had no family to speak of anymore. So Legolas was actually your only friend. “There are no need for tears, Y/N. I shall take care of you.”

[rena-rain]

Miraculous Holders’ Costumes - RANKED

#1 - Dragon Bug

Dragon Bug’s design is the freaking epitome of asymetrical balance. Everything about this suit is both smooth and sharp. The curving stripes and spots give the impression of fire licking up her body, same with the flame-shaped horns in her hair. You can hardly go wrong with black, red, and gold. The upward-pointing hair accessories reflect her downward-pointing pigtails, adding more subtle balance, and I love the details on her mask.

#2 - Rena Rouge

This design really suits Alya. The shape of the white front is both slimming and compliments her curves, and the black accents at her extremities are an excellent counterbalance to the white and orange. Also something about the coattails just completes Rena Rouge’s look! It’s the right shape too, because fox tails are on the bushier side, unlike cats and mice.

#3 - Chat Noir

Chat Noir’s costume can be described as “black cat meets knight in shining armor but modern.” Let’s go from the head down. The change in hairstyle balances out his cat ears. His blond hair, green eyes, and gold bell are beautiful contrasts to the black suit, which has a subtle texture to the fabric. There are visible seams over his shoulders, arms, and torso that add visual interest to the design and makes his suit resemble armor - even more so with his boots and gauntlets. Those details are fantastic because black is extremely slimming and they give some emphasis to his shape. Between the ears, eyes, bell, claws, and tail, you could never mistake his aesthetic as anything but catlike.

#4 - Hawk Moth

Do not tell me Hawk Moth’s costume isn’t sleek as hell. The monochrome works for him, the suit pairs well with his weapon being a staff, the overhead silver helmet-mask gives him a great villainous feel, and every pointy detail gives a sense of evil butterflies. I love that his miraculous is the focal point of his outfit, the light color contrast really draws the eye.

#5 - Snake Noir

They definitely combined the best elements of the Chat costume and Aspik costume for Snake Noir. In a word, you can describe his design as “lithe.” The cyan pairs well with the green, especially because there’s a Chat Noir-green diamond on his chest. The snake elements are a bit subtler, with his head smooth, the design tapering down his body, the fangs on his mask, the scale texture on his suit and the lines running down his arms. It’s cohesive, elegant, and stark.

#6 - Bunnix

I think Bunnix is meant to resemble a snowshoe hare. They didn’t give her a tail, but I think that’s what the little rounded ball accents are supposed to represent. The markings are bold and evenly distributed, making her look balanced and symmetrical. She actually has a vague vintage feel to her design: the white torso is reminiscent of a corset, which goes with the gloves, boots, and umbrella/parasol. Like Chat Noir, Alix’s hair makes a great contrast with the light blue and white. Also POCKETS.

#7 - Carapace

I love how much Carapce emulates a turtle. His hood and cowl are shaped like a turtle beak and also hide his face, serving both to protect his identity and give the impression he can physically retreat into his costume. His shield looks like a shell, the designs on his hood look like common markings on turtles’ heads, and he has a tortoiseshell pattern on his chest and shield. Like Chat Noir, the lines of his suit give his arms and legs visual interest.

#8 - Queen Bee

As much as I personally dislike the color yellow, Queen Bee’s costume has a straightforward elegance about it. Obviously the black and yellow stripes resemble a bumble bee but they’re also good for Chloe’s slender body type.. The black “neckline” and “gloves” are regal in flavor, suiting her moniker. You get a distinct bee impression from the sharpness of her stripes (a reminder of her stinging power), the black swirl around her hair, and the antennae-like hair ribbon.

#9 - Multimouse

Multimouse is another example of a well-balanced and symmetrical design. It uses the reliable faux gloves and boots design with colors that go well together. Her buns and jump rope look like mouse ears and a tail. I have a suspicion the animators came up with it to easily combine with other miraculous powers, mainly by changing the color of the pink stripes post-unification. Overall, this costume is very cute. I won’t go over every permutation of the multimice combos since very little changes other than color.

#10 - Lady Noire

Overall, Lady Noire’s suit is minimalist and elegant in a sharp, modern kind of way. Black is naturally slimming, and Marinette is already very slim, so the horizontal green accents help emphasize her curves. I don’t love the green lining of her ears, but I suppose that keeps the design consistent. I’m absolutely in love with Lady Noire’s braid (and I’d be remiss not to take the chance to point out this is the only time we see her hair properly black instead of blue). Her suit has a completely smooth texture, unlike both her Ladybug suit and Chat Noir’s, which I found odd and does’t do her petite frame any favors.

#11 - Mr. Bug

I’m glad they gave Mr. Bug black panels on his sides. The full-cover spots of Ladybug is fine for Marinette, but Adrien has a bigger frame and it would just look ostentatious on him. This design emphasizes his shoulders and slims him down a bit. He actually looks like a football player (American football, don’t @ me about this). He ranks just below Lady Noire because of the hair.

#12 - Aspik

OMG what a cutie pie. I can’t not say it - he looks like he’s wearing a corset in the left pic. Not a good or bad thing, I’m just saying. Look at this cutie pie! Aspik actually looks more snake-like than Viperion, imo: the design is sleeker and he’s got the diamonds over his head, that’s a nice touch. The snake scale pattern is a great detail. I had to step outside my own bias with this one because snakes really freak me out and so does Adrien without hair.

#13 - Jade Turtle

He’s less turtle-y than Carapace, but I was pretty happy with the Jade Turtle costume. The Asian style obviously suits him, and it makes sense because he was originally from China, while many of the others would be more used to Western clothing at a young age. Fu has a tortoise-shell pattern on his hat and shoulder guards and his shoes look like turtle feet. However, His chest plate deviates from the turtle theme

#14 - Viperion

My favorite parts of Viperion’s costume are his mask with the little snake fangs and the scale texture of the suit.As I mentioned above, it’s less snakey than Aspik’s. The lines suit his shape pretty well, but don’t taper down his body in the way a snake slims from chest to tail. I just feel like something’s missing from the outfit as a whole.

#15 - Ladybug

There’s just...nothing all that special about Ladybug’s costume. The red and black do suit Marinette’s pink coloring and dark hair, and contrast with her blue eyes. The bright color and pattern emphasize Marinette’s curves pretty well and make her look a little bigger than her slim stature. All that said, the suit is both busy and plain somehow.

16 - Pegasus

While I do love the hair, something about Pegasus’ costume is both too subtle and too over-the-top somehow at the same time. He has a lot of bells and whistles, though I suppose it’s supposed to look similar to horse tack. The winged shoes seem completely out of place. It’s not that I think he looks bad, but he doesn’t look particularly cool either.

#17 - Mayura

The one sin of Mayura’s outfit is the giant slit up the skirt, but kwamis is it a sin. The colors all go together and the headpiece matches the hem, and it has a distinct cold-weather theme going on with the boots, fur collar and cuffs, and full coverage design. That gets negated by the slit, which exposes nearly all of her legs, something that works far better for a summer evening dress.

#18 - King Monkey/Roi Singe

I’ve tried to figure out what it is about King Monkey’s costume that looks less than optimal, and I’m pretty sure it’s that it isn’t balanced well. He has large gloves, and elaborate crown and hairstyle, a thick collar, and a thick belt high up his waist. It makes him look kind of top-heavy. Similar to Pegasus, but to a greater extent, he’s washed out by the excess of neutral colors that the red doesn’t counteract very much.

#19 - Ryuko

I expected the dragon outfit to be more exciting. Other than the tail design (and the horns???), there’s just nothing dragon-esque about this. Come on, Chat Noir got ears, claws, and a tail; Viperion and Snake Noir got little scale motifs all over and fangs on their masks; Multimouse got bun ears and a tail; Carapace got a shell and a beak; Rena Rouge also got ears and a tail on top of a design reminiscent of a fox’s fur markings. Imagine the awesome tail and claws and fire motifs we were deprived of with the dragon. The best parts of Ryuko’s design is the embellished mask, her reptile eyes, and the red/black/gold color scheme, which are pretty cool.

[shyvioletcat]

okay so like i know it was like just supposed to be a one time thing, but can you add to the emt/er Rowaelin or could you do more of the er/emt for them please

I’ve had this almost done for ages... I have no excuse. Also I am not vet or doctor so don’t shoot me. Part 1. 

~~~~~

Aelin sighed as she flicked through the magazine in front of her. She’d read it cover to cover at lest 5 times, but tonight was slow and she had nothing else to do. And without a distraction her mind just kept going over what Rowan had said the last time he had been in the ER.

“It’s just an added bonus.”

“What is?”

“Seeing your pretty face.”

Aelin slammed the magazine closed and groaned as she recalled what had happened next. She’d been so flustered by his words that her only response had been to laugh, then she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye before he’d left. And laugh was a generous description, it was more of a strangled choking noise. Rowan hadn’t been in since. Aelin wasn’t quiet sure what she would do if he did turn up, but hopefully it wouldn’t be that again.

The sound of rushing feet had Aelin sitting up a bit straighter. It seemed he had been summoned by her thoughts because Rowan appeared. Instinctively Aelin looked him over searching for the injury. There was none she could see. Aelin crossed her arms over her chest pushing that awkwardness deep, deep down.

“Who was it this time?” Aelin asked.

“No one, it’s not me,” Rowan said.

Aelin cocked her head in question.

“Can you come out to my truck?”

“Why?” Aelin said.

“She’s in my truck,” Rowan explained.

“You can’t bring her in?”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be very hygienic.”

“It’s an animal?” Aelin blurted.

Rowan nodded. “The vet is closed and she’s cut pretty bad.”

“Alright, I’ll grab some stuff,” Aelin jumped up then and grabbed one of the portable hospital first aid kits. At the last second she thought to grab a hand held electric shaver as well. Then she followed Rowan out to the carpark.

He seemed nervous, concerned. Aelin just hoped she could help whoever was in his truck. Aelin had never seen Rowan’s truck, but now that she had it would be very hard to miss. It was a big, red, beat up thing, and looked pretty old. She assumed that Rowan kept it going by sheer stubbornness. He opened the passenger door and Aelin saw a cat, fluffy with splotches of orange, brown and black over her, but it had little white socks and white on its nose and down it’s chest. Then added to that there were what looked like tabby marking on it as well. It was a very pretty cat.

The cat mewled at Rowan as he opened the door.

“Pearl, it’s ok,” Rowan said as he rubbed at her chin. “Sorry for leaving you.”

Something about seeing Rowan be so gentle with the animal had her heart squeezing.

“What’s wrong?” Aelin asked softly, trying to keep the cat calm.

“She’s got a cut on her back leg, I think she was playing around in the barn and maybe a nail was sticking out. I thought it might need stitches,” Rowan explained. “I would have taken her to the vet but they’re closed and the on call vet is already on call out of town. I just... maybe can you help?” Rowan all but rambled.

“Can you bring her out to the tray so I can get a good look?” Aelin asked. It was dark out but Rowan had conveniently parked under one of the lights in the car park.

Aelin watched as Rowan lifted Pearl out of the car as gently as he could and Aelin laid out a disposable mat. Then Rowan laid the cat down, the poor thing mewling sadly.

“I know, I know,” Rowan said, patting the cat again.

Under the light Aelin could see what the problem was. There was a pretty nasty gash on the cats back thigh. Well she assumed that’s where it was, she wasn’t acquainted with the specifics of cat anatomy. It would need to be closed up so she didn’t lose any more blood or get an infection. Aelin took two heartbeats to come to her decision.

“Alright, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to shave away some of the fur, then close the wound. I obviously can’t sedate her in anyway, so you’re going to have to keep her calm and as still as you can. Can you do that?”

Aelin didn’t doubt that he could and Rowan nodded.

Aelin started up the clippers, “Here we go.”

Rowan large hands held down the cat, even when she nipped and yowled her distress. Aelin shaved away the hair around the wound before cleaning with a mild antiseptic she hope would be fine to use on cats. Then she opened a pack of Dermaclips, gently but firmly sticking them to the cat’s skin. Without the poor thing being sedated Aelin didn’t want to use a needle and thread and this way the vet could easily fix any of Aelin’s flaws. Aelin pulled the tabs and closed the wound, Rowan still comforting the distressed feline. Then she pulled out a bandage lifted Pearl’s leg slightly so she could start wrapping it. The cat hissed but Aelin kept going, she needed to make sure the cat didn’t attack the wound if she left it uncovered.

“Almost done,” Aelin said, securing the bandage.  “There.”

Rowan gave the cat a little more space and she immediately sat up to look at her leg.

“Please take her to the vet, I have no idea if what I did was okay,” Aelin said removing her rubber gloves.

“I will, it just wanted to get the wound closed,” Rowan said as he bundled the cat against him.

“She’s lovely,” Aelin said as she packed up her things. “How old is she?”

“About three, she’s a rescue so I’m not exactly sure,” Rowan said.

“Oh, I have a dog about the same age,” Aelin said. “She’s struggling a bit with the move to a place with a tiny backyard.”

“Yeah? You should bring her out to the farm sometime, let her run,” Rowan offered. “I should get Pearl home.”

Aelin smiled at the cat who still looked royally pissed off. “Good thinking.”

“See you around, hopefully not here,” Rowan said and climbed into his truck, still murmuring to Pearl comfortingly.

Aelin grabbed her things and headed back to the hospital. She was almost at the doors when she realised Rowan hadn’t given her his address, turning back she saw he was well and truely gone. His offer seemed very genuine, and Aelin would very much like to see the farm that caused him so much trouble. Rowan may not have given her his address, but she knew where to find it.

~~~~~

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[sixofbastards]

Reminiscent

(The background info NOT from the book is purely my own thoughts. Their backstories do not change. But I wanted my sad kids to have a little bit of a happy childhood.)

Word count: 1,839

Kaz Brekker never talked about his life when he was a child on a farm. He had a reputation to uphold. You don’t earn the title ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ by growing up on a farm in the countryside. Not to mention that bringing up his childhood meant his whole childhood, and nobody was good enough to know about Jordie.

Kaz and his friends (something that he only referred to them as in his mind) had started drinking after a grueling day of work. They’d gathered in Kaz’s study in The Slat, everyone’s voices soft and liquid from the alcohol. Nina had curled against Matthias on the sofa and closed her eyes. Wylan was attempting to teach Jesper some notes on the flute by the fire as Kuwei watched on. Inej was seated on the floor in front of the couch, flipping through a book. All in all, a much more preferred night than sitting alone in a dark room by himself.

A particularly shrill tweet from the flute startled everyone, and Jesper set the instrument on the floor. Embarrassment had seeped into his body as everyone chuckled at him.

“We should do something more than this,” the dark skinned boy said.

“And what exactly would you suggest,” Nina asked, her voice slurring with drowsiness.

“We could get to know each other. Sure, we’ve been through a heist together, but I would have no clue what any of your favorite colors are. I could take a guess but that wouldn’t make for a very fun birthday present.”

The air was tension filled and silent. Kaz took a slow sip of his drink, the sloshing of ice seemed to break the shared revelry in the room. His gloved fingers tapped a silent rhythm on his large stuffed chair.

“Well if nobody will go first, I suppose I’ll make the sacrifice,” Nina said as she righted herself from Matthias’s side.

Nina began talking about her earliest memory. She was lying on a wooden floor near a dim fireplace. There were fur blankets around her. Her eyes were on the ceiling, and a woman came into her view. The woman was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. The woman’s hair was a deep burgundy in the firelight, and she wore a dazzling green dress. Her eyes were shining with happiness. The woman picked Nina up in her arms and the memory ended.

“Oh, and my favorite color is blue.”

It seemed that silence was a shadowy creature that was waiting on its haunches, leaping whenever voices fell flat.

“You wear a lot of red for someone whose favorite color is blue,” Jesper joked.

“Red is a good color on me, but there’s something about blue.”

“Spare is the details of looking into Matthias’s eyes for seven hours, Nina,” Inej interjected. She admitted to herself that alcohol made her filter disappear, and she could keep up with the jokes that everyone told.

Jesper gave a whoop and Nina laughed. Wylan held his hand up for a smack, and Inej reciprocated. Matthias turned pink.

“I’ll go next,” the gruff Fjerdan said, trying to derail the situation.

Matthias’s story was bittersweet, with memories of his mother and sister. He detailed what it was like to live with the two women. When Matthias was nudged into the army, he remembered feeling that his little sister was becoming more and more like his mother everyday. Then his memory took a darker turn as he began to describe those first few years training to be a drüskelle. At this point, Nina had begun to rub his back in comforting circles.

“Thank you for sharing, Matthias. I could never understand what it was like for you, but it must be hard to talk about it at all,” Inej said quietly, passing the bottle of alcohol over to Matthias. He poured himself another drink and inclined his head in acknowledgement. His final statement of the night was that his favorite color was red.

“I’ll go next,” Inej said, steeling herself to think back to her childhood.

It wasn’t hard for the Suli girl to talk with a whimsical air when she regaled the group with tales of her life as an acrobat. It surprised no one that this was where she had gotten her incredible talents of scaling and sneaking. She told of her mother and her father, her cousins and the family she had from her traveling troop. She stopped herself before she got to the part where she ended up in Ketterdam. It was... something she thought of too often already. Her favorite color was purple.

Jesper went then. He told the group about trailing through the fields, leeching the jurda of its color. They all smiled at his recollection of his mother and her caring nature. They’d all met his father, so they knew what Colm was like, and Jesper said he hadn’t changed much from his childhood. Jesper’s favorite color was orange.

Wylan was next. Everyone knew his life pretty much. Heir to a rich man turned black sheep. What they didn’t know was how much he loved art, music, and acting. He recalled, before his father learned of his disability, that the family would go out and visit the local theatre to watch the plays. He also loved the color gray.

There was a sweetness in the air, longing for a mother’s embrace that would never again come. Jesper brought Wylan to his chest, burying his face in copper curls. Everyone gave a moment of respect, as they had done for the other stories.

Kuwei went last. He mostly talked about his father, the types of experiments he was involved with. There were brief details of his mother, someone he barely remembered now. He missed Shu Han, but was happier here with everyone else. His favorite color was green.

“Kaz? Do you have anything to add? Is it possible that you didn’t crawl from a dank alleyway and onto the front steps of the Slat?”

Nina’s question was gentle, a slight hint of joking to her voice. No matter how many times they crew had asked about Kaz’s background, he had a way of dodging the question. Always something about being a street rat or the like. But maybe now after everyone has shared? Of those in the room, they were the only ones the others could trust with information like this.

Kaz sipped his drink slowly, looking into the fire blankly. Was he really considering telling them? Not about Jordie, but...

Minutes passed, and Jesper finally opened his mouth to make a joke when Kaz spoke up.

“I was born on a farm in the Kerch countryside.”

Time seemed to stop. Nobody seemed to be breathing. Kaz’s heart plummeted to the floor and he gulped down another mouthful of his drink.

“It was a small farm. I don’t remember what our crop was, if we even had one. We had chickens.”

Kaz knew that this wasn’t nearly as detailed as the others. But after Jordie, he had forgotten most of his past.

“My mother baked fresh bread every day and I remember putting so much butter on it that it would make me sick. My brother-“

Kaz stopped, swallowing thickly. A flood of memories had come back now that he’d opened his mind to them.

“My brother and I went down to this creek every day and tried to fish. It wasn’t even ten feet wide, and it was about knee deep so there weren’t any fish. My brother always said that we were practicing for our trip to the ocean. We never went to the ocean, but I admired him so much I didn’t care.”

Once Kaz began talking, he couldn’t stop. There was something so freeing about being able to talk about his old family with his new family.

“I woke up every morning to the chickens clucking and I would feed them.”

The group’s surprise turned into awe when, as Kaz continued to talk, a genuine smile came over his face. It softened his features and was unrestrained. There was a dimple in his left cheek that had probably been hidden since whatever had been done to turn him into who he was now.

Kaz snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together. He threw back the rest of his drink, running his tongue over his lips. The famed Bastard of the Barrel stood then, his cane clutched in his hand.

“It appears we’ve run out of drink. I’ll go get more.”

And so Kaz left, trekking down the stairs, thoughts swirling in his head.

Back in Kaz’s study, the group was silent. The fire popped, and Nina jumped.

“So I guess I wasn’t crazy that when I met Kaz, I thought he had an accent.”

Everyone looked to Jesper, varying emotions rolling over their faces. Inej in particular looked very interested.

“What did he sound like,” Nina asked.

Jesper shrugged and attempted a Kerch accent with a slight drawl. Nina burst into giggles, with Wylan following. Inej briefly smiled, and Matthias looked extremely pensive.

“I do have to wonder how a farm boy ended up in Ketterdam though. When did he come here?”

Wylan’s question sent the group into their own heads. What did make Kaz’s family decide to come to Ketterdam. Or did his family stay on the farm, and only Kaz came to Ketterdam.

“We shouldn’t pry anymore. It took a lot of courage for him to say those things, and we should respect that,” Inej said quietly. The group of teens all silently agreed.

When Kaz came back, the group was spewing jokes about something Jesper had said while he was gone. He settled back into his chair, and Inej got up from her place on the floor to pass the bottle around. Instead of going back, however, she settled herself on the arm of his chair.

The night went on much the same, drinks and stories being shared. Kaz didn’t talk for the rest of the night, but he no longer felt such the usual heaviness on his shoulders. He felt free. Not completely, mind you, but free enough that he knew he could truly trust the people in this room.

Matthias had been sending Kaz some meaningful looks since he’d returned. Kaz knew what they meant, and he appreciated Matthias a little bit more.

“Oh, Kaz, you never told us your favorite color,” Jesper said.

Everyone kept quiet as Kaz contemplated his answer. Nobody had ever asked him that before. He looked to Inej, then the rest of the group.

“My favorite color is black.”

[bot-imagines]

May I request headcanona of tfp cons being turned into cats and s/o taking care of them?

I loved doing this one because I got to look at so many cats

Megatron

- He’s a Maine Coon. A big, grumpy boi. You’re not sure how, but his fur is spiked in the same places where his armor is spiked as a Cybertronian. He’s this huge bulking cat but somehow walks with a sort of regality that you’d expect to see in a show cat.

- He doesn’t want pets unless he initiates (which rarely happens) The only time he’ll ever let you pet him is when he’s ready to go to sleep. He’s only wants them on his back. If you try to pet his head, he will bite you.

- Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t fight too hard when you introduce food. After the Pits of Kaon, Megatron has learned to not be picky about sustenance. It takes him a bit to get used to the feeling of chewing, but he puts up with it.

- He doesn’t play - HE FIGHTS. He constantly claws at your legs, trying to knock you down despite the fact that there’s no way you will. He will sometimes climb onto the couch and literally tackle you. Protect your face if you value your life.

Starscream

- He’s a Sphynx. Given the culture and lifestyle of Seekers, it stands to reason that he would be one of the most high maintenance breeds there is. If it’s even possible, he gets even more whiney. He’s so cold all the time. This is bullscrap! Hope you like screaming, because you’re going to have a lot of it. God help you if you try to put him in a sweater.

- Pets must be earned - usually by presenting him with soft pillows and blankets or complimenting him a lot. And he won’t accept just any normal pet. None of that one swipe down his back scrap. He wants special attention on every spot. You’re basically giving him a massage.

- The kitchen looks like a war zone the first time you try to get him to eat. You threaten him with a feeding tube but he’s calling your bluff. You wait until he’s sleepy to try again. He fights, but he’s too tired at this point to fight for too long, so after a while, he gives in. Don’t expect him to be better after this.

- He doesn’t want to play with you. He’ll chase a toy mouse around or climb up something if he wants to, but he refuses to play with laser pointers and ribbons. He wouldn’t dare debase himself that way!

Soundwave

- He’s a Russian Blue. You don’t see him unless he wants you to. He hides a lot, though you have no idea why. He doesn’t meow or hiss. It’s… a bit weird actually. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him sneeze. He’s inexplicably calm and whenever he isn’t hiding, he’s sitting by a window, staring out into the sunny day. 

- He doesn’t outright deny you pets, but don’t go overboard. He has a limit and once you reach it, he won’t warn you before he’s swiping at you and running off to hide. Don’t pet him when he’s asleep. He wants to be aware when someone is touching him.

- He’s probably the most calm when it comes to food. He eats without any complaint, but strangely enough, he only like the fish flavors. You still don’t know why.

- Playtime is hit or miss. Mostly miss though. If he’s bored of looking out the window, he might bat at a ribbon toy. But for the most part, he keeps to himself. 

Knock Out

- He’s a Toyger. It stands to reason that even as a cat, he’d be one of the flashiest breeds there is. And what’s more flashy than a cat that was literally bred to resemble a toy tiger? He’s constantly grooming himself and sitting up high as if he’s displaying his beauty to the world. He wants so much attention. He will follow you everywhere because he wants you to keep looking at him and telling him what a handsome boy he is.

- Pets are a must, but they must be very precise. There’s only a certain way you can pet his head and his body. He’s even precise about how you play with his tail. God forbid you go against the grain on his fur. He will hiss and run off to fix it immediately and won’t let you pet him for the rest of the day.

- Food is fine. He was always a bit curious about it, so this is certainly the opportunity for him. But don’t think his eagerness to try food means he’ll eat just anything. Wet food only, please and thank you. And he only likes the shredded meat. None of that ground scrap. He’ll turn up his nose if you give him ground wet food.

- Playtime is an opportunity to show off his moves. He only plays with you. Anything that lets him run and jump is preferred. He loves the feeling of chasing something and stretching his legs.

Breakdown

- He’s a Norwegian Forest Cat. No matter the form, he is an absolute unit. He’s a balance of energy and rest. One minute, he’s lounging on the couch as a floofy loaf - the next, he’s climbing up the curtains because tHERE’S A MOTH HE HAS TO GET THE MOTH. He’s quiet for the most part, but he will whine if left alone for too long. He needs companionship - another trait he’s kept from his Cybertronian lifestyle. He also kneads a lot - so you get to tease him about makin’ biscuits.

- Pets are good. Just don’t pet him when he’s running around. And when you pet him, don’t stay too focused on one spot for too long. Except his paws. Holy scrap, please keep petting his paws.

- Feeding time is exciting. He’s hesitant at first, but he takes to it really well afterwards. He wants to try everything - every flavor, every brand, every kind. He also wants to try treats, so stock up.

- Playtime is awesome. He’s up for anything really. He wants to stay in shape after all. Ribbon toys, laser pointers, jingle balls - anything you can get, he’ll play with it.

Airachnid

- She’s a Bengal. She looks like a tiny predator because she is. She’s a hunter through and through. Unless you’re prepared to deal with the consequences, don’t let her outside, because if you do, you will come home to dead animals. And she will be pissed if you try to get rid of them. She stalks a lot. Don’t leave anything too expensive or fragile up high, because she will knock them over.

- Don’t pet her. There’s nothing else to add. Don’t do it.

- She’ll eat, but only chicken flavored wet food. Anything else gets swatted away. She’s super picky about the amount too. 

- Playtime is fine. She prefers to bat at jingle balls and hunt small animals, but if she’s in the mood, she’ll play with a ribbon toy for you. She only does it to amuse you as a reward for taking such good care of her.

Shockwave

- He’s a Cornish Rex. He’s so curious, but he’s also analytical about it. He follows you around until he finds something to investigate. Once he finds it, don’t try to distract him, because he’ll swipe a claw in warning. He’s constantly batting at things to try and get a reaction - you included. The only time he’s still is when he’s watching TV with you. He only watches factual programs with you like Discovery Channel or BBC Earth.

- Pets don’t come easy. The only way you can ever get him to stay still for them is when he’s watching TV or sleeping. He’s not too picky about how you pet him as long as you don’t pet too hard.

- Food is fine. He doesn’t complain about it, but he only eats enough to not feel hungry anymore. He’ll leave a lot of food left in the bowl and might kick some out.

- He doesn’t play, he explores. He’s only batting toys around because he’s curious, not playful. He’ll watch you wave a ribbon toy around but he isn’t going to bat at it.

Dreadwing

- Unsurprisingly, he’s a Siamese. You try to explain the concept of twins associated with the breed, but the meaning is lost on him. He likes to be up high so he can look over the room. He also wants to be around you a lot. He likes to just watch you and listen to you talk.

- He’s fine with pets, but only from you. You need to warn roommates and guests to not try to pet him, because he will bite if they try. He really likes head scratches, so focus there.

- Food is a challenge just because it takes forever for him to get the mechanics for it. You actually have to talk him through how to keep the food in his mouth when he chews and how to swallow it.

- Playing with him is an interesting time because he refuses to give up a toy once he’s claimed it. The first time he catches a ribbon toy, he yanks it out of your hand and sits on it. It’s his now.

Predaking

- He’s a Bombay. He’s already a predator, so yeah, he looks like a little panther and acts like one too. Out of all the Cons, he’s the most familiar with animal behavior so takes to it rather easily. He’s extremely territorial and as a result scratches up everything. And I do mean everything. Invest in a good scratching post if you want to spare your furniture.

- He’s hesitant to let you pet him at first, mostly since he’s not used to a kind touch when in his beast mode. But once you’ve earned his trust, he gladly accepts pets. He’s rubbing up against your leg and sitting on your stomach whenever you lay down. He purrs really loud too.

- It takes some convincing for him to eat because he’s not used to not having to hunt for his food. He’s almost insulted that he isn’t be presented with some kind of challenge. You introduce one of those little feeding balls that you have to bat around to dispense food to get him to finally eat.

- Oh hell yeah. He wants to play with everything. He especially loves the laser pointer. He chases that little dot all over the living room and he is not above launching him self up a wall to get to it. Beware his claws, because he will shred something in his attempts to get that dot.

[randomoranges]

Birthday Kisses [Besos para ti]

 Étienne wakes up and takes a moment to get his bearings. It’s like this every morning. He wakes up – is disoriented for a moment and then it comes back to him. He’s in Edmonton, in Edward’s guest bedroom and he’s here to feel – better. It’s worked – ish. If anything, he has company and the loneliness that had been clawing at him has dissipated – some. But – this isn’t home. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable and it’s a good distraction, for now. Now, he aches to be back home – he needs to be there, but he knows it’s not the time yet. He fears he’ll fall back if he returns, but he also itches staying here, living a quiet life. He still feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, but in a different way.

 He takes a moment to take inventory of the room – of the ceiling and of the decoration on the walls. It’s not overly complicated, the paint colours go well with the accent chair and the curtains. The dresser has room for his clothes and the knick-knacks on the shelves are nice. There’s no real personality to this room – left to be interpreted by the user and right now Étienne feels much like the room – personality-less. He’s here, existing, waiting for someone to use him – to ask him to serve as something.

 He sighs.

 It’s the same story every morning.

 At least it’s nice outside.

 Mercury trots up to him and jumps on the bed, as if sensing that her master has woken. She goes to lick his face and Étienne lets her, petting and cajoling her – fisting his hands in her thick fur – grounding himself in the present moment, away from his wayward thoughts and vagabond feelings. He scratches behind her ears and lets her sit on his chest for a moment, curling up in her warmth. Both master and pet remain that way for seconds, maybe minutes, and maybe even hours, until Mercury decides she’s had enough and jumps off the bed, using the step-stool that has been placed on the side, just for her. The jump is still too high for her, but – she’s growing, already.

 Étienne decides to follow her out – go out in search for the other habitants of the house and maybe get something to eat, not that he’s hungry, but he knows Edward will worry and Calvin will by extension. His feet drag him towards the kitchen, to where he hears music and the smell of fresh coffee lures him in. He tugs on the sweater he’s wearing, making sure it’s covering him, as if suddenly feeling prudish of who can see him and finds himself walking in on Edward who is nursing a cup of coffee himself, while working on what seems like a fruit platter of sorts.

 “And there he is, Mr. Birthday Boy himself, good morning,” Étienne watches as Edward puts down whatever it was that he had in his hands and walks over to him, bright smile and easy on the eyes as always. If anything, there’s at least this. Every day, he gets to spend time with Edward and even though it doesn’t fix all his problems, it mends at his once broken heart.

 Edward looks at him as though he’s a gift himself and Étienne wonders what it is he sees that he sometimes misses in the mirror. He lets Edward pull him into his first hug of the day and Étienne curls himself just a little bit more into his arms. Here, he is safe. Here, there is nothing but love and warmth. Here, he feels just a little bit more like himself.

 “I was about to surprise you, but you beat me to it,” He adds and Étienne gives him a puzzled look at that, “I knew you were up, since Mercury came out of your room – she only leaves once you’re awake and I wanted to come wish you a happy birthday first thing.” He seems pleased with his little clever idea and Étienne thinks it’s a good look on him. Edward should always look pleased with himself. Should always look this lovely.

 Étienne marvels at how attuned Edward seems to be – how he knows of his habits and his tendencies, still reads him like a well-loved book – aware of the next plot twists and surprises. He feels more well used – old and frayed with folded and waterlogged pages. But, he’s a little more sun dried now and even though it shrivels up his edges, he knows he’s in good hands.

 “This is fine,” He murmurs and – old habits probably do die hard for he burrows his face in the crook of Edward’s neck, finds the soft skin that’s always warm, and let’s himself stay there, hands fisted into the front of Edward’s shirt. He hears Edward chuckle and feels the press of a kiss to his temple. Edward indulges him, keeps him close, and rubs at his back for a moment.

 When he looks up, it’s to warm hazel eyes and a smile that still manages to make his heart stutter. It’s been almost forty years and he still has it as bad as before, if not worse. (Is it okay to say almost forty? Should he count those days and weeks and months and years when there had been nothing but radio silence between them? Should he only count from the year he admitted to being in love with Edward? To the years they spent together? It didn’t matter. He had loved Edward through it all.)

 He could live only for that smile and he would be fine, and he has lived thinking of that smile.

 “Happy birthday,” Edward says, soft and sweet and it feels like the warmest of caresses and the tightest of hugs. A soothing balm to an angry burn.

 “You’re getting your gift later, tonight, at dinner, but I was thinking, we could go for a bike ride later and Calvin suggested we stop to get ice cream. The hammock is out as well and it’s yours if you want it,” Edward prattles on, telling him of things he’s clearly given much thought to. He thinks it’s sweet and endearing, even if unnecessary. He doesn’t need to be fussed over – but, it feels nice. Étienne smiles for the first time that day – it sounds sublime, even if very simple and he supposes it should count for something.

 “However, I do believe there is something I can give you now, if you want,” There’s a mischievous glint to his hazel eyes and Étienne is once more puzzled. He wonders what card Edward has up his sleeve and even if he tries to think about it, nothing really comes to mind. “I can actually deliver on an old promise,” He murmurs, soft, into the shell of his ear and it sends a shiver down Étienne’s spine, like a lover’s warm caress, a gentle tug – and he supposes it is. It reminds him for a moment of quiet mornings, a warm bed, and entangled limbs. Laughter and breathy moans. Reminds him of love, love, love.

 “Which one?” He asks, because really, he can’t recall, but if it’s as sweet as the words Edward has whispered in his ear then he knows he won’t mind.

 Instead of telling him, Edward tilts his face slightly, before he drops the loveliest of kisses to his lips. Étienne gasps a little, surprised, but also finally realises what it was Edward meant, his mind playing catch up. He grins, a little dazed, when Edward pulls back and reaches up to caress his cheek.

 “I’m still surprised you remember,” He says, because it’s true. It had surprised him three years ago and it surprises him now. An old promise, a fallout and still, despite it all, through it all, Edward has kept his word. At least now, he feels no shame chasing another kiss, content when Edward responds. At least now, he can be greedy again. He is allowed to store his kisses from Edward. Savour them. Regal them. Play them on loop in his mind and seek more when the old film wears out. He can even have as many as he wants. He supposes it is another good thing of this disastrous situation.

 “You know,” He starts, pulling away slowly, taking inventory of the way Edward’s eyes slowly reopen – of the way his piercing look makes his heart stutter for a moment, “You weren’t there for my birthday last year...” It’s his turn to play the game and he tries his luck, seeing how far he can go with this decadent indulgence, for Edward has always been his greatest indulgence – a temptation he has fallen for and keeps willingly going after.

 Edward laughs and tugs at the cord of Étienne’s sweater. He can feel the blush on his cheeks when Edward grins at him and takes on an air that renders him speechless, “You’re right,” He says, voice low and oh so very seductive. He wonders, not for the first time, what it was he ever did to deserve this man in his life, but he files the thought away and sends a little thanks to a God he no longer prays to as often as he once did, “I could remedy to that situation.” The words ghost against his lips and Étienne nods, not trusting his own voice, anticipating the moment Edward’s lips will be back on his own – to the feel of them – to the way Edward’s body makes him feel – lights him up and makes him feel alive – loved – necessary and important.

 Edward pulls him closer still and captures his lips again. Étienne sighs, fisting his hands into his lover’s hair instead, holding him against him, never wanting this moment to end. He parts his lips and dares to ask for more, taking whatever it is Edward is willing to offer.

 “You weren’t there in 2018 either,” He says, breathless, sometime later and his eyes roam over Edward’s kiss swollen lips – to the shine they have and he can’t help but lick at his own lips, tasting the faint traces of Edward – of morning coffee and the barest of hints of that chapstick he always uses – but it’s all worth it, for Edward’s lips are soft and pliant, inviting and welcoming. A drug he can never get enough of – one that no amount of therapy can cure him.

 “I think I missed a few more as well.”

 Étienne is convinced he’s still asleep – that this is some wonderful dream he’ll wake up from that’ll leave him feeling disconnected from the world – that nothing in his day to day could ever match up to this, but as Edward makes sure to make up for every birthday he has ever missed – as Edward kisses him deep and slow, Étienne finds himself not caring. He lets himself be kissed – licks up and in and let’s out breathy little gasps when they pull back for fractions of moments, before starting all over again.

 “Happy birthday, my love,” Edward murmurs for him only and Étienne comes apart in Edward’s arms, overwhelmed in all the right ways with the love he receives from this man. Edward holds him as he trembles, presses soothing kisses one moment and languid ones the next against his skin, leaves a trail of them by his neck and counts down the years, going further back than necessary. Étienne pulls him back when he’s been gone too long, crashes his own greedy lips over his lover’s, gives back as good as he’s received, and let’s him chase every shred of fear and doubt from his mind and it is a task Edward takes to heart and vows to do more than well.

 FIN

[7deadlycinderellas]

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch26

Ao3 link

The first comment Sansa makes upon seeing Val for the first time with Robb and Ned is,

“Wow, she’s pretty. Like, southern pretty even.”

“Bit too blonde for me,” Gendry comments, “Makes me think of the Lannisters.”

And blonde she is, and tall with regal features, even in her northern furs.

“Don’t be fooled,” Ygritte comments from her end on the line, “She had a man last I heard, story was she stole him, not the other way around.”

While the others are entering and helping unpack, Arya eyes Val. Her face looks three parts stony resolve, one part confused. She interrupts her assessment only to throw her arms around Ned and Robb.

“Oi, it’s been too long. Is that whole place still an unholy mess?”

Ned smiles fondly,

“Most of the most troublesome have either fallen to fights or finally calmed down. Most don’t much like the thought of being northerners, but they like the idea of being killed by Others even less. It’s an alliance of necessity.”

Sansa’s response is quiet,

“At least now they should be considered northerners by the rest of the seven kingdoms.”

Ned’s voice is sedate.

“After the wedding, I’m calling the banners. Whatever Tywin may try to throw at us afterwards will come upon chaos.”

Sansa nods.

Catelyn is standing beside Jon and Ygritte, and she steels her face and reaches to grasp Val’s hands warmly, or what she hopes passes for warmly.

Val’s gaze is distracted when she sees Ygritte.

“Mance and Jarl both?” Ygritte asks, her voice thin.

Val nods. She still hasn’t spoken.

“Dalla and the babe too?”

Val nods again, and then speaks.

“All dead at the Wall. I ran.”

Ygritte’s lips pinch,

“Damn it all, I’m sorry.”

“How did you even-”

Catelyn cuts them both off,

“From what I’ve heard, it’s a very long story and you must be tired from the journey, let’s get you settled in.”

As Catelyn shows her the way, Jon sees Arya sprout up beside them and ask,

“What do you fight with?”

“Arya!” Catelyn admonishes,

“What? It’s an important question.”

“Anything I can get in my hands,” Val responds, quietly.

“See? We can work with that.”

When Catelyn leads her away, Val catches sight of Shireen and goes still. She’s standing with Jojen, Meera and Brienne a little apart from the rest of the Starks. Catelyn turns Val’s shoulders away, but Shireen feels the urge to pull her cloak over her face until she feels Jojen reach down and squeeze her hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” he reminds her.

The next moons are full of far too much sewing for Arya’s taste. Catelyn takes it upon herself to sew Val her maiden’s cloak and a proper gown for the occasion. Despite Val’s ferocity, she seems utterly at a loss at the power of Catelyn’s femininity.

And so Arya figures she might as well muck in. And she feels she’s done admirably, at least until one day she has to flee to the forge for a bit.

Arya shakes her head at Gendry while he works at a sheet of mail.

“We’ve been running hems,” she tells him. That’s just one thing. Sansa’s gotten it in her head to add lace to both her and Meera’s gowns she made them years ago, and they can’t seem to figure out how to dissuade her.

“Meera and I. She can mend things well enough, but never learned to do anything fancy, so we both just sort of stand back…”

She’s trailing off and Gendry fishes,

“Did something happen?”

Arya smiles grimly.

“I was doing a sleeve hem- slowly- when Shireen asked why I hold the needle in my right hand when I hold my sword in my left.”

Gendry quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Why do you? I’ve seen you write with your left hand too.”

Arya crosses her arms.

“That’s how I was taught. Septa Mordane was always very strict on doing things just as she did, and Mother always said I must listen to the Septa.”

There’s a bit of silence.

“Was it better when you switched?”

Arya sits on one of the benches.

“They were crooked as ever, but they sure took a lot less effort.”

The times she’d stitched wounds back together, Arya thought, she’d used her left hand too. It bristles at her, the thought that something that drove her so mad as a child might just have been caused by something so small. So many years, in shame. It wasn’t like she magically enjoyed doing needlework, but still.

Gendry senses her discomfort, and puts the mail down to sit next to her on the bench. He puts an arm around her shoulders and rests his cheek against her hair.

“We haven’t really talked about it have we?”

Arya looks at him funny.

“About what?”

“About what we’re going to do once all of this is over.”

Arya is quiet, far too quiet. Far quieter than she ever was.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” she admits, “I can’t seem to think of anything after…”

Gendry takes her hands onto his lap and idly rubs the backs of them with the thumb of his left hand. He kisses her head once, and squeezes his right arm around her more tightly.

“What do you want to do? If you could do anything at all with your life?”

Arya exhales through her nose, thinking deeply.

“All I used to want was to be back at Winterfell, with all of my family. I got that, I have it. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of. But now Robb’s getting married and the war’s coming, and it’s like...I know it can’t be like this forever. Eventually, most of us will leave and go our separate ways.”

Her voice keeps trailing off, as though it’s getting lost.

“And it’s like my feet are itchy. I want to see- something, anything out there. Maybe it’s because I know that now if I leave it will still be here when I come back.”

Gendry brushes a bit of her hair behind her ear, and moves his lip to that one spot behind it that always makes her shiver.

“I guess we can talk about this all again once we do survive this war,” he whispers to her.

Arya nuzzles herself against him.

“What about you? Are you really content being a smith all your life.”

“It’s good work,” Gendry tells her, “I admit, I’d rather be known for making armor than weapons.”

“After this war you’ll be known for both.’

Armor, is what Sansa thinks of when the day of the wedding comes and her and Arya are helping Val into her gown and cloak. The gown is plain while wool embroidered with silver and gold.

Arya ties her stays, and then laces her gown over it. She hands her the plain white wool cloak as Sansa helps brush her hair.

Val looks at it,

“I thought it was the fur one.”

Arya shakes her head.

“That’s the bride’s cloak. This is the maiden’s. It’s supposed to be what you’re giving up.”

Sansa tries to work the brush through her hair gently. She’d tried brushing Ygritte’s earlier, only for Arya to shoo her off saying, “You’ll scare her all the way to Dorne if you try and brush her hair like you used to brush mine!”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa tells her quietly, “This is all horseshit.”

Arya quirks an eyebrow, and Val’s response is harsh.

“If you was so opposed to your brother marrying a wildling, you should have said something. Though I suppose you southerners would have to defer to your lords.”

Sansa yanks on the bit of hair she’s holding.

“Given our understanding of the Free Folk might make it seem like you might up and slit our brother’s throat one day, you should understand being a bit cautious. Besides, I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Arya tells her, with a wiley, hunter’s gaze trained on her.

“That is indeed, not what I meant,” Sansa replies wryly. “I was saying it was horseshit that when you chose to get married that it had to be something about forging a bond between two groups in hopes of surviving a war. Once the war’s done, you’ll still be stuck with Robb.”

Val mutters something about how he had never even proven himself by stealing her properly.

“If you want to follow that tradition so bad, steal him,” Arya tells her sardonically, “We’ve heard you’ve done it before, and there will be so much wine flowing at the feast it shouldn’t take too much effort, and most southerners don’t carry their swords to weddings.”

Even without Theon here to get Robb even further into his cups, Sansa muses. It really is a shame that one of his closest friends will have to miss his wedding, though Theon would have likely spent the whole day making awful jokes.

Sansa smiles, with just a hint of teeth.

“Remember though, that he is our brother. Mother says that once you’re married, you’ll be family too, but if you try to harm him in any way, that won’t stop us from slitting your throat either.”

Arya quirks an eyebrow

“Sansa may look like a perfect southern lady, but she’s grown as handy with a bow as she is with a sewing needle.”

“And Arya has always preferred swords and other things with pointy ends to proper ladies pastimes. We used to call her a little wildling.”

Val’s deflates a bit.

“I would have done about anything to get most of us out of that place,” she mutters, and Sansa feels a flash of sympathy. She understands being held against your will, “If you say he’s a good man…”

“He is,” Arya assures her proudly, “And Jon’s probably giving him a go-over right now. If anyone understands Free Folk women here, it’s him.”

They were right in fact. Robb was currently getting a shake down from Jon and Ygritte. There’s the usual, that Val won’t know her southern courtesies, that she might occasionally threaten people. That she has, in fact, been with men before him and won’t blush.

“And she might try and drag you off at some point tonight. Not that you should just let her do it, but try not to panic, she’s not going to kill you. Probably,” is how Ygritte puts it.

Jon shakes his head,

“I still don’t understand the whole bit about stealing your spouse.”

“Well you should,” Ygritte insists, with a conspiratorial grin, “You stole me. Twice.”

Jon wrinkles his nose,

“I did not!”

The argument devolves after that and Robb puts his head in his hands.

“Is this what my future looks like?”

Jon and Ygritte both nod.

“Best get used to it now.”

When Jon moves to lace up in doublet in the mirror (Made by Catelyn, embroidered by Sansa), Ygritte pats Robb on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to do what we talked about,” she tells him quietly, “But I think you really should try.”

Twilight has fallen, and it’s time for the ceremony. Ned comes to Robb, and Davos to Val. She looks at him warily before taking his arm.

“Tradition dictates that this should be your father,” he tells her, “But far too many have lost their fathers too young, and I seem to be standing in more and more.”

The weather that day is snowy, and the Godswood is under a thick covering of powder, but thankfully, it is not windy. This is a regular snow, not a blizzard. Everyone has their cloak hoods up, hiding their faces, as the wedding party meets under the Heart tree. Even the Free Folk who are in attendance, members of the household as well as a few granted leave from the Dreadfort, seem to recognize the winter weather.

The crowd isn’t enormous. Not all of the northern lords have been able to make the journey. Sansa fears that may bode poorly, for when Ned calls the banners. Despite the frequent ravens, and the visits by both Ned and Davos,

Ygritte’s in an emerald silk gown that Sansa had altered for her from one of her old ones, she’d been inspired, she told her, when she saw they shared the same hair. She’s shivering, and muttering about how ladies in fancy gowns were supposed to keep the freezing air from up their skirts.

Arya’s gown turned out wonderfully, Sansa thought. The layer of silver lace made the dark blue wool look almost like the night sky. Arya’s holding Gendry’s arm, and Sansa hears her ask quietly,

“You sure you aren’t going to up and want me to dress like this every day right?”

“If you wore gowns every day, it wouldn’t be special. Besides, you and I both know I prefer you in nothing at all.”

Sansa chuckles.

Everyone says their words right, and Robb and Val really do make a picture, Sansa thinks to herself. The other Free Folk in the group are all behaving, even if their faces range from bemused to outright mocking of the proceedings.

When everyone’s applauding, Sansa whispers to Arya, who’s on her left (Ygritte and Jon on her right),

“Marriage shouldn’t be the glue that holds these kingdoms together.”

Arya snickers.

“Only thing my marriage holds together is me.”

Arya doesn’t think of it, Sansa ruminated. Her marriage was only even allowed because of unusual circumstances, the best her and Gendry could have hoped for under normal ones would have been to run away together.

Sansa looks down the line at the rest of her family.

Jon is technically still breaking his oath to the Night’s Watch, not that anyone here really cared, and what with him being dead to them and all. Bran and Meera would actually be considered an excellent match, if it weren’t for the fact that they likely would have never met if it weren’t for the way their lives had been...disturbed.

Gendry interrupts her thoughts,

“Time for the feast though. There are worse things to try and find common ground over than food and drink.”

He has a point, though Sansa realizes his eyes are trained on one of the Free Folk men assembled behind Val’s side of the Godswood. With a start, Sansa realizes it’s Tormund. She feels a rush of fondness, and wishes to greet him, but knows it wouldn’t go well. She hopes he at least didn’t bring that fermented goat’s milk he drinks. That might cause brawls.

But, now is a time for merriment regardless. Maybe the last for a while.

The feast is quite subdued to be honest, but as grand as can be summoned. There is a huge stew of venison, mushrooms and roots, and meat pies, and enough wine is flowing that most of the guests might not notice that the middle of the pie is almost the same as the stew. Dried plums and apples have been soaked in water and honey and transformed into puddings.

And the wine and ale flow freely.

Much food is eaten, and much ale is drunk, and out comes the lutes and the pipes, and many begin to dance.

Sansa notes at one point, when the whole family is seated at the dais, that Robb appears to be only nursing his wine, and she thinks she realizes what’s going to happen.

The dais has been set up close to the entrance to the Great Hall, there’s nothing in the way of the exit at all.

It’s after all of them are quite full, when Sansa spots Val’s hand land on Robb’s arm. She looks confused for a moment.

“Are you-”

And with one swift movement, Robb hoists her up around the waist and throws her over one shoulder, heading towards the door. It’s close enough that she barely even yells, in surprise or objection, though she swears she hears Robb say, “I’ve got four younger siblings, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

Jon points at Ygritte.

“Her and Arya suggested it might mean something to Val that he at least try  to steal her as a wildling might. I told Robb to make sure and wear his chainmail under his clothes, or she’d bruise him through all seven hells and back, at the very least, if she didn’t break a rib or two of his.”

There’s a smarting of applause and shouts from the Free Folk in the room, and Sansa hears Tormund hollar “Watch out for her feet, lad, they’re the sharpest part of her!” and it helps put the image of chainmail at a wedding out of her mind. She sips her wine.

“Do we think she’ll escape at all?” Gendry asks.

“Not with how tight I laced her stays up earlier,” Arya interjects with a smirk. “Too bad I couldn’t find one of those freakish southern ones with the whale bones. What savages she would have thought us then?”

Sansa notes too that many of the northern lords who had made the journey for the wedding look terribly uncomfortable. Catelyn looks uncomfortable, too, but tries to hide it by sipping her wine.

“Do we think this had more or less dignity than a traditional bedding?” Ned inquires.

“At least it was done quicker,” is Bran’s take.

“And no one but Robb touched her at all,” Sansa adds. She turns to Ned, “I always heard you forbad the bedding at your and Mother’s wedding, was that true?”

Ned nods, eyes training gently towards Catelyn.

“I had thought that the day would be traumatic enough without adding that on top.”

He stands, and reaches for her hand, wordlessly asking for a dance. Catelyn’s hand shakes a bit as she accepts.

Sansa’s glad. She remembers pulling Shireen away from the bedding at Joffrey’s wedding. She remembers the terror of the possibility at both of her weddings. She remembers Arya brushing away any attempts to even suggest one.

Bran’s moved over to one of the other tables to sit with Meera, Davos and Brienne, and Arya and Gendry have gotten up to dance as well, so Sansa’s alone at the table. She finishes her wine. Another wedding down. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Shireen ask Jojen if he wants to dance.

Well, that might be interesting.

“The last wedding I went to was in the south. This part is pretty much the same, but the ceremony was completely different.”

Shireen’s not the best dancer, so they’re just keeping off to one side and going at half-speed. Well, her feet, not her mouth.

“I don’t remember the last wedding we attended back home,” Jojen admits, “I know most of our traditions are northern, but there must be some differences too. Weddings never really interested me much, I was never sure if I would end up getting married myself at all. Somehow, I didn’t think so.”

Bran had mentioned to him once, that when they had gone north before, that Jojen had seemed resigned. That he had apparently seen his own death and had come to accept it. Jojen feels like he’s spent most of his life in that state, even if it was never specific.

“Me either,” Shireen admits, “So much of how they educate girls is about marriage and wifely duties. But everyone always seemed to think finding someone to marry me would be hard, so I tried not to waste too much time thinking about it.”

She also imagined that if her father had ever managed to arrange a match for her, then it probably wouldn’t be an ideal one. Who could be convinced to marry a girl with a face like hers, even if she was his sole heir?

“Maybe once your father returns from the Wall, he’ll betroth you to one of the Stark boys.”

Shireen makes a noise that’s halfway between a giggle and a snort that thankfully hides the tightness she suddenly feels in her chest.

“Since we’ve gotten here, I’ve seen Rickon go off, or try to go off with four or five of the wildling girls here. One or two of the boys too. I doubt my father would approve. And after I bumped into Bran kissing your sister the second day I was here, I sort of figured he’d been spoken for.”

Jojen’s eyes suddenly go wide.

“Oh...did you not know that?” Shireen asks, suddenly feeling awkward in a different way. “They were a little embarassed but didn’t seem ashamed or like they were trying to hide.”

Jojen sighs deeply, his eyes downcast.

“They never really talk about what happened between them after I died,” he admits, “I just know Meera was really anxious about seeing him again. I guess I should have realized.”

He looks so lost, Shireen thinks. He said he never thought about marriage, but didn’t he ever want something like for himself at all? The tightness in her chest has returned,

“I mean,” she says, “They do go off by themselves a lot.”

Jojen frowns, a blank look on his face. They’re not dancing anymore, just sort of standing off to the side though their hands are still touching. Most of the rest of the floor is heavily into their cups already and aren’t paying them any mind.

“Well,” he says, “We do that too.”

Shireen’s heart is now thudding, she can feel her blood rushing to her ears.

“We do,” she agrees.

Her eyes fix suddenly on his lips. They’re nearly the same height, and she doesn’t even have to tilt her head. She could kiss him right now.

Should she?

She feels her hands sweat where they touch. She blames the wine, even though she didn’t even have half a cup. Maybe she’ll blame this on it too.

With a burst of courage she’s not sure where she got from, she leans forward and presses her lips to his. It’s brief, and soft, and when she pulls back she’s frightened to see his reaction.

“Was that okay?” she asks, searching his face.

There’s a long pause before he says,

“I think so.”

Another pause,

“Maybe you should try it again to make sure.”

A grin explodes on her face. Well, he suggested it, so she does.

And like Shireen thought, the only people in the room who even catch a glimpse are Davos and Brienne.

The old man feels a smile creep onto his face.

“Shireen spoke of you quite a bit at Storm’s End,” Brienne tells him, “the two of you were close?”

Davos nods.

“I have seven sons of my own. Shireen is the closest I’ve ever had to a daughter.”

And now he’s gotten to see her life continue well beyond where it had before.

Brienne glances at the end of the table.

“We’re alone now it seems. When did the others leave?”

“A few minutes ago when you were fending off the ginger fellow, Bran asked the girl to help him to his room.”

Brienne looks confused.

“He doesn’t usually need assistance for that does he?”

Davos shakes his head.

But, Bran thought as they made their way down the hallway, an excuse is an excuse.

Meera stokes the fire when he sits on the edge of his bed.

“One more wedding down,” he says, echoing Sansa’s sentiment.

“It’s too bad this one is just a sign of an impending war.”

Meera turns and sits next to him. She’s perfectly comfortable here. She’d snuck into bed with him a few nights in a row when Jojen had been ill and his cough had been keeping her from sleep. It had felt normal, like when they had huddled for warmth over the wall.

There’s something different tonight though. Maybe it’s the occasion, maybe it’s the firelight.

Bran leans forward to kiss her slowly. She turns to deepen the kiss, and a frisson of need rushes through the both of them and it’s like a dam breaks.

Hands that had previously only cautiously wandered, seek each other out with what she can only describe as a hunger to disocover the other’s skin. Meera’s hand hovers the ties at the front of Bran’s jerkin and she whispers, “please” against his throat before she begins to undo the ties.

She has to turn to let Bran’s hands find the laces on her gown and begin to undo them. She realizes they’re shaking.

With her laces undone, she turns to steady his hands with her own. They’re covered in calluses and scars from years of working the dragonglass, but they comfort all the same.

“It’s okay,” she tells him, runniing her fingers up and down his forearms, “It’s not like I’ve ever done this before either.”

Her words seem to calm him, he nods to her as she lets the top of her gown fall to her waist.

In what seems a split second, both are stripped bare, eyes drinking each other in and lips seeking to kiss each freckle, each scar. Bran’s hand tentatively finds it’s way between her thighs, eyes seeking hers in wonder when he finds her warm and wanting.

Meera’s head hits the pillow, and she looks up at Bran hovering above her. She feels no fear, she realizes, only anticipation. With a kiss sweeter than many of the previous ones, she runs her hands down the flat expanse of his chest and further down.

And just once more, she looks deeply into Bran’s eyes and whispers,

“Please.”

Meera doesn’t quite expect pain when he enters her, though she does have a sliver of fear of it, but all she gets is a queer pressure that she might describe as uncomfortable until Bran groans and moves and it begins to blossom into pleasure.

She whimpers softly and tucks her head against his shoulder until he freezes with a grunt that sounds pained.

With a rush of fear, she pulls back and he slips out.

“Did I hurt you?” she asks anxiously, eyes searching his face.

“It’s fine, he says, “It’s just my hip. It’s not used to moving like that.”

More disappointed than she’d admit, Meera reaches into her mind for the few bits of advice Arya had inflicted upon her over the years.

“Lay back down,” she says, nudging him on his back. She shifts a bit and slides her leg over. Gently, she raises and lowers herself back into his lap.

It’s different like this, she thinks, but no less heady. Bran gazes up at her with adoration in his eyes as she rocks against him, sweet words slipping through her lips as his hands seem on a quest to touch every inch of her. When she tenses and a rush goes through her she’d only felt from her own fingers before, Bran pushes himself up to rest his arms around her hips and kiss her through it, before he stills, groans, and finds his own release.

As she’s coming down he kisses her cheek and softly murmurs “I love you,” in her ear. She shudders.

After some unmeasurable time, during which Meera’s breath still won’t seem to return to her completely, Bran quietly says,

“We can’t take that back.”

With the sweat cooling on her skin, Meera suddenly feels incredibly vulnerable, and feels her words catch in her throat on their way out.

“Would you want to?” she asks timidly.

Bran rolls onto his side to look at her. He reaches a hand up to brush a bit of her hair behind her ear.

“Not even a little.”

Meera laughs, and kisses him again. He throws and arm around here, and she pauses when he shifts and winces.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is your hip okay?”

Bran nods,

“It does that sometimes, just completely locks up, and then is stiff as hell for a few days. I’ll go down to the hot springs tomorrow morning, and maybe I won’t have to spend the rest of the day walking funny.”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

Bran uses the arm he has around her shoulder to pull her closer, though he looks abashed.

“I should have asked, are you okay?”

She laughs, and pulls him closer,

“I’m better than okay.”

They don’t say another word after. Just they tuck themselves into each other and drift off under the furs.

When the sunlight peeks through the next morning, Bran wakes with a start to the sound of people moving about in the hallway. Meera already has her gown pulled over her heard, though only half laced, and her feet in her boots.

She crawls back on the bed, and touches his lips with a fingertip.

“Everyone’s probably still hungover from last night’s festivities. I’ll sneak out the window.”

There’s a thickness in the air between them when she lingers. She surges forward to embrace him tightly before leaving and Bran fights the urge to cling to her.

Bran’s chamber is on the ground floor thankfully, but instead of the fresh powder Meera expects when she drops from the window, she lands instead on something soft.

She lets out a surprised “oof,” and stumbles, but the small shock is eased when she realizes it’s just Summer, sleeping in his usual spot under the window.

He raises his head to look at her, and Meera reaches out to pet his muzzle.

“Don’t blow my cover okay boy?”

She turns and scampers off, light on her feet.

She doesn’t even notice that the sky is a far darker gray than usual.

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 22

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

22/30

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

---

Book Three: Chapter One

“There should be more lace.”

“Any more lace and she’ll look as if she stepped out of a Dornish whore house.”

“She’s to be the queen, a queen can wear as much lace as she chooses!”

“As much lace as you choose, you mean.”

“Lady Clarke, what do you think?”

Clarke blinks at the sound of her name, her gazer rising from where it has been fixed to the fire flickering merrily in the grate. She stands in the middle of her solar, draped in fabrics so heavy that her arms and neck are beginning to ache under their weight. Around her, seamstresses and dressmakers fuss and argue, and the door is constantly swinging as maids and errand boys are sent running for one thing or another. Octavia leans against the wall, watching them all with disdain and disinterest, and the eyes of the room are upon her, clearly waiting for her decision.

She feels as if she is speaking to them from far away when she bestows a kind smile and says. “Whatever you think is best.”

The seamstresses turn to one another and begin arguing again, and Clarke cannot bring herself to listen to them. Instead, she slowly begins unravelling the fabrics from her arms and about her body, and when they turn to look at her with surprise, she says.

“I think that’s enough for today.”

They shuffle and grumble, but abide by her wishes, and Harper is on hand to help her into her robe. Settling into a chair by the fire, Clarke picks at the tray of sweetmeats and cheeses brought for her hours ago, and watches, enjoying the quiet, as Harper heats her tea again over the fireplace.

“I’m sure your gown will be beautiful,” Octavia says, lowly, from her place against the wall, and Clarke can’t bear to meet her gaze.

Harper, oblivious to the tension between them, says airily, “Yes my lady, it looks wonderful. You’ll be the most beautiful bride the city has ever seen.”

“Thank you Harper,” Clarke manages to give her a smile, her gaze growing curious as Harper passes her the tea and starts setting the room back to order.

“The wedding will be so wonderful,” Harper sighs a little dreamily as she folds and hangs the dresses strewn across the bed. “It’ll be nice to have something to celebrate again, after everything that’s happened.”

“You were friends with Prince Wells weren’t you?”

The question surprises Harper so much that she pauses halfway through picking up a dress, turning to look at Clarke, her eyes wide and her mouth a little agape. “I- When we were young, my lady.” Her eyes flicker uncertainly to Octavia, and Clarke hurries to reassure her.

“Octavia will say nothing, you have my word.” She pauses, considering her words. “Did you and the prince ever… share a kiss?”

The words pull a gasp from Harper, and she shakes her head so furiously that Clarke fears her eyes will fall out of her head. “No! No, never! We were always proper!”

“Do you know if the prince ever… visited someone else?” When Harper’s eyes become suspicious, she adds. “Please Harper, this is important.”

Harper is quiet for a few moments, her eyes fixed on folding linens and brushing out dresses, and Clarke is almost ready to give up when the girl finally speaks again. “I used to help him sneak away to Flea Bottom.”

“Flea Bottom?” Clarke exchanges a surprised glance with Octavia, “Do you know who he visited?”

“No.” Clarke deflates at the word, her shoulder slumping, and Harper takes pity on her, because she sighs and gathers the linens into her arms. “I can ask around for you,” She says, reluctantly, “See if I can find out who it was.”

---

Her heart feels as if it is lodged in her throat when the day finally comes. After weeks of waiting, weeks torn between fear and elation, between wishing and dreading, she finally finds herself stood in the Great Hall, waiting for the queen in the north to appear. The whole palace has been aflutter since word of her imminent arrival came, and she has been more inundated than ever with questions about the north and her time in Winterfell. Even Finn had asked her, a little anxiously, how she had found the ferocious wolf queen. The thought of seeing Lexa again, with her betrothal hanging heavily around her, is so painful that she had spent the weeks declining invitations and keeping to herself, if only to avoid talking about her. But now she stands in the Great Hall, awaiting her arrival, and there is nowhere to run to.

Every noble in the area stands in the hall, so that it is so squished it appears small. The place is polished to shining, and so is every noble in the place, bedecked in some of their finest attire to meet the northern queen who is so mysterious and strange. Clarke runs her hand over her own light blue dress, her waist and shoulders embellished by golden clasps and jewels. Her back and arms are bared to the world, and though she has worn far more revealing things in her time in the warm south, she suddenly wishes for a shawl to protect herself with. She can’t imagine what Lexa will think when she sees her like this.

“I’ve heard she rides a wolf the size of a horse.” Lady Mira mutters from beside her, and Clarke tries not to roll her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” One of Clarke’s cousins scoffs, gaze flickering to Clarke. “That isn’t true.”

Clarke can’t find the words to agree with her, so great is the ocean of feeling rising in her gut. She can barely return the smile Finn gives her from his place in the Iron Throne, the blades that the great chair is made from rising up behind him and dwarfing him.

There are shouts from outside, and the sound of drums and horses and a shiver runs through Clarke. She feels like an arrow, notched in a bowstring and pulled taut ready to be released, quivering on the edge of running. The doors to the Great Hall open with a fanfare, and if she were to spare him a glance, Clarke would see Finn straighten in his seat, but she does not. She has eyes for no one but the figure stood in the doorway, the daylight a halo around her darkened form.

Lexa is like something otherworldly as she enters the Great Hall, wearing a dress of dark velvet, pinching at her waist and forming a set of strong shoulders. The skirt brushes above her ankles and is cut up the leg, revealing a set of dark hose beneath, as if the queen is ready to jump into battle at any moment. Her broadsword sits at her hip, and silver embroidery covers her shoulders, stitched into the dancing pattern of snarling wolves. From her shoulders a long, dark cape flows, brushing the floor behind her and trimmed with white fur. Upon her head, standing tall from between her curls, is the regal crown Clarke had rarely seen her don in her time in the north. At her feet, her seven direwolves prowl, their teeth bared and their heavy paws thumping against the ground, and people gasp and recoil at the sight of them, but Clarke steps forward despite herself.

Somewhere behind her, Clarke knows Anya Mormont and Ser Lincoln stand, but how can she see them when those green eyes are staring out and claiming a victim with every gaze they meet. All she can think is Lexa Lexa Lexa. As she walks, people bow and curtsey, shying away as the wolves lope at their mistress’s feet. Lexa regards these strangers with hard eyes and tight lips, she walks with the regal gait of one who knows that their worth is far above those around them, like a goddess descending from the heavens to walk among man.

Clarke falls into a curtsey when her cousin tugs at her hand, but even then she can’t bear to pull her eyes away from Lexa’s approaching figure, drinking her in like a wanderer parched for water. Lexa’s eyes do not meet hers as she gets closer, and it is this which forces her gaze to the ground. Worse than having Lexa ignore her, is knowing the resentment that would be in her eyes should they meet. The hall is silent but for the tap of the queen’s boots as she walks, and the panting of the direwolves, and Clarke fears that should she open her mouth, a scream will erupt from her.

Clarke is disturbed from her reverie by a loud, panting mouth and a wet tongue licking at her cheek. The ladies around her recoil away, sinking back and crying out in disgust and alarm and knights draw their swords to ready for battle, but Clarke immediately recognises Faith’s white pelt.

“Hello, my friend,” she murmurs, lifting her head and petting the great, slobbering beast to try to appease her. A shadow falls over her and her eyes flicker upwards to see Lexa pausing beside her. Her eyes are dark and clouded, like Clarke has never seen them before and her voice chokes in her throat. “Your majesty.”

Lexa offers her a curt nod and clicks her tongue. Faith whines but reluctantly moves from Clarke’s side to trot along after Lexa with the rest of her pack as Lexa continues down the aisle towards the queen. The interaction leaves her feeling breathless and aching, as if awaking from some terrible fever.

“Your majesty,” Finn takes the steps from his dais two at a time, so eager is he to meet the northern queen. He offers her a bowed head, and she returns the gesture. “Thank you for travelling so far. We are honoured to welcome you to Kings Landing.”

“It is good to be here, your majesty,” Lexa gives him a polite smile, which Finn returns threefold. Watching them interact is so strange, like two parts of her life that she thought completely separate are coming together, and Clarke watches them with wide eyes.

“It is an excellent opportunity to breed good relations between our two lands.” Finn nods, and she is sure that the line was drummed into him by a member of his small council. He gestures to the side, and she watches as Lady Tris hurries forwards, clearly giddy with her joy at seeing her queen again. The little lady bows deeply to her queen, and at this Clarke sees Lexa’s smile brighten into one of genuine happiness and relief.

“Lady Tris, it is good to see you well.”

“I’m glad to see you again, your majesty.” Tris is sincere and effusive, and when she steps back again, she places herself next to her sister, who puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

Finn raises his voice. “Tonight there will be a ball to welcome the queen and her attendants to the south!”

Though she knew already, the words cause the ball of pain that seems to live in Clarke’s stomach to throb darkly, and she can’t bear to look at Lexa and remember the last time they had attended a ball together.

---

“Your majesty,” Anya watches as Lexa slowly strips off her long cloak. The rooms they have been provided with are luxurious and stately, the solar is filled with golden tapestries and two wide windows look out onto the sprawling city of Kings Landing, with its orange roofs and sandy walls. Lexa waits as her handmaidens take the crown from her head, and then goes to stand at these windows, resting her hands upon the sill to look out at the world below her.

“Your majesty,” Anya tries again, and at last Lexa looks back at her, and tilts her chin, waiting for Anya to speak. At the sight of her dark gaze, Anya falters. “We will have guards posted on the corridors and at the door at all times of the day and night.” She informs her, succinctly and Lexa nods, glancing back at the window.

“That seems safe.” She agrees, after a moment of silence and Anya bows her head in agreement. She has learnt to read Lexa’s moods in the last few weeks, as they shift like sand beneath her feet, and this mood is dark and dangerous.

“Is there anything else you would like for us to do?”

“Assign a Queensguard to Lady Tris, and have her moved closer to you or I if that can be arranged,” Lexa instructs, “Have guards on the horses in the stable, and have a taster for the meals eaten by myself, Lady Tris, or any of my attendants.”

“Do you think we are at risk?” Anya’s brows knit together, concerned, and Lexa purses her lips, her gaze once again settling on the roofs of the city.

“I think we would be best to leave this place as soon as possible,” She answers, at last, and Anya nods.

Silence settles between them for a moment, before Anya finally works up the courage to speak again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lexa’s spine stiffens, her hands forming fists on the windowsill and she looks back with anger in her eyes. “About what?”

Anya’s gaze travels over her, dissatisfied with what she finds. “I taught you better than this,” She snaps at last, her lips tight with fury. “Harbouring your anger like this will get you killed Lexa. It makes you sloppy and hasty-”

“I have no anger.” Lexa darts back, as quickly as a viper, and Anya snorts inelegantly.

“Don’t lie to me, cousin.”

“I am your queen.” Lexa takes a step forward, her jaw clenched and Anya shakes her head.

“You are behaving like a child Lexa. You have to let go of this anger before it puts us all in danger.”

“My anger is my own,” Lexa mutters, resentful, “How could it put us in danger?”

A beat, and then Anya speaks quietly. “Wars have been fought over less beautiful women.”

A knock on the door interrupts them, and they both step away from each other, unaware of how close they had become when speaking. Lexa turns back to the window, calling for entry, and Anya takes her place at the door as Lady Tris steps into the room. The sight of her gleeful face, still soft with youth, is enough to put them both at ease again, and Lexa turns to greet her with a broad smile.

“Tris, how wonderful to see you.”

“It is,” Anya steps closer and wraps an arm around her sister’s shoulders, pulling her in until Tris squirms from her grip, laughing. “What have they been feeding you, you’ve grown like a bean sprout.”

“Must be all the sun,” Tris laughs as Anya pokes at her ribs and hips. Liberty trots to Tris’s side, always favouring the young Mormont, and jumps at her, putting his big paws on her shoulders and licking at her face as she laughs and rubs his ears, finally pushing him away.

“You’ve not been training though,” Lexa allows herself one of her first true smiles in a long time, and peers at the girl’s arms. “Look at you, I bet you could hardly lift a sword.”

“My Septa says that girls shouldn’t use weapons,” Tris wrinkles her nose and by the tone of her voice it’s clear that she thinks her Septa is wrong. “She made me sew and crochet,” Tris’s wide, horrified eyes swivel to her sister and she demands. “Do you know how to crochet?”

Anya shakes her head, unable to stop her grin.

“Exactly! I told my Septa I didn’t need to learn to crochet to be Lady Mormont, and she said I would have to find a man to look after Bear Island for me!” Tris’s expression is twisted with annoyance. “Can you believe that?”

“Unfortunately I can,” Lexa laughs quietly, putting her hand on her young cousin’s shoulder to draw her attention. “Have you been treated well Tris? Have you been safe?”

“I have,” Tris nods, becoming more serious under the gaze of her queen. “They’ve treated me well, even though they haven’t let me ride outside the castle walls or train as much as I’d like.”

“And have you been safe?” Anya asks, a little more insistently, and Tris nods.

“Lady Clarke told me that if I ever didn’t feel safe I could go to her.”

The mention of the name leaves Lexa reeling, and she stares at Tris, open mouthed, until Anya presses for her.

“Lady Clarke told you that?”

Tris nods, “Lady Clarke is nice, she’s been a good friend to me.” Her eyes go from Lexa to Anya, and she asks, a little more soberly. “Will you leave me here when you go again?”

“No,” Lexa assures her, quickly, and puts her hand on her shoulder again, looking into her eyes as she promises. “You’re coming home with us Tris.”

---

Octavia meets her brother in an alleyway close to Aegon’s Square. The sun is starting to set, painting the city with long shadows and as labourers stream from their workshops, the taverns are beginning to become rowdy. In the crowded streets, Octavia is able to blend in easily. She wears a drab, dark coloured cloak, the hood pulled up to shade her eyes, and though her hand rests on the hilt of her longsword, it is concealed beneath the heavy material. When Bellamy appears, he is significantly more conspicuous in his red and gold Lannister uniform, and she rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from the shadowed wall she’d been leaning on and meeting his gaze.

“Octavia,” His smile is wide, and it falters when she doesn’t return it with one of her own. Instead, she pulls her cloak from around her shoulders and tugs it over his, hoping to cover the worst of his gawdy uniform. “What?” He looks down at the cloak in surprise, his brows creasing together.

“You’re far too obvious in that,” She grunts her irritation, tugging on his arm to draw him into step beside her, and they carefully sidestep the puddles of piss and piles of shit from the chamber pots emptied above.

“No one cares about a Lannister officer walking through the street,” He argues, but keeps the cloak on all the same, tugging it up to cover his face as they walk. “I’m glad you asked to see me again.”

“I need to talk to you.” Her voice is stilted and cold, but Bellamy powers onwards.

“I could show you my favourite parts of Kings Landing.”

“No,” She shakes her head, sighing when his eyes turn on her, hurt and confused, “We need to stay off the beaten track.”

“Fine,” His answer is tight, “So I’m guessing you didn’t ask to see me because you missed your only family in the world?”

“Bellamy-” She tries to argue with him, but he talks over her.

“You must be pleased that the northern queen has come to the city,” His eyes cut to her, and his voice is dripping with spite when he continues, “Perhaps she’ll order you to go home with her.”

Her own anger rises in her chest, and she lets out a long breath before she can speak calmly, “That’s not what this is about, Bellamy.”

“Then what is it about?” He pauses in a doorway, pulling her closer, “Because obviously you don’t care about seeing me for me.”

“I do!” Her emotions get the better of her, and she almost shouts, “Of course I do, you’re my brother!”

“Exactly!” Bellamy snaps in return. “I’m your brother Octavia, and you don’t seem to care. I thought you were dead, I thought-” He cuts himself off, turning away from her, and she wishes that she could reach out and touch him, but the action feels too intimate.

Instead she crosses her arms and says, as gently as she is able. “Bellamy. Bell, please.” It’s the use of his childhood nickname that draws his attention back to hers and her breath hitches when she sees the anguish in his eyes. “I’m sorry, you are my brother. It’s just… it’s been so long, you have to understand… I barely remember our home.”

The words make him sag, and he reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder, speaking earnestly. “You were what drove me, O. Every day, I thought about finding you and killing the person that kept you captive.” When she opens her mouth to protest, he hurries to correct himself. “I know, she didn’t actually keep you captive. It’s just hard to let go of.”

“I know,” Slowly, Octavia lets out a long sigh, and when she meets his gaze again, she feels bare and vulnerable. “I promise when all of this is over, I’ll see more of you.”

Bellamy nods, and his hand falls from her shoulder. “So, why did you want to see me?”

Her stomach flips, and Octavia steels herself. “We need your help.”

“We?” Bellamy eyes her cautiously, “What do you need?”

“We need to get into Lord Pike’s rooms, you need to get us the key.”

Bellamy’s mouth falls open, and he takes a step away from her, so forceful is his horror. “What?” He hisses, his eyes darting around them to check if anyone heard. “Octavia, have you lost your mind?”

“Please Bellamy, I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only one who can do this!”

“Why would I?” He snaps, angrily. “Why do you need to get in there?”

“Pike isn’t who you think he is,” She insists, “He’s dangerous, all he wants is power and he isn’t afraid to kill people to get there.”

“You’re crazy,” Bellamy is shaking his head even as she speaks, “How can you even say this Octavia? Is it what the queen has been telling you? Or the Tyrell lady? They’re lying!”

“They’re not! Pike sent an assassin after Lady Clarke!”

“How do you know it was him?” Bellamy demands, fiercely.

“Her mother claims Pike killed Lord Tyrell and the king!”

“The ravings of a woman mad with grief!” He shakes his head furiously, his cheeks reddening with rage. “This is absurd Octavia and you have to leave Lady Clarke’s service before she drags you down with her!”

“Prove it then!” She demands, her own anger bubbling closer to the surface. “Get us into Pike’s solar, and if we find nothing we’ll know you were right and we’ll stop going after Pike.”

“Octavia,” He stares at her, his eyes wide with despair, “What have you been dragged into?”

She ignores his question, pressing insistently, “Will you help us?”

There is a moment of silence as he stares at her, before finally he gives in. “Fine, yes. But once you find nothing you have to give up this crusade Octavia, and-” Here he grabs her wrist to hold her closer to him. “You will leave Lady Clarke’s service, and the queen’s.”

For a moment, she looks at him, her heart beating in her chest. She thinks about throwing him off, about reaching for her sword, but then she remembers the changed face of the assassin lying in her own blood in the castle hallway, and she firms her resolve. “Fine,” She pulls herself from his grip. “But we will find something Bellamy, mark me.”

---

As a northerner she has found the fancy trappings and ornaments of royalty a difficult adjustment. Growing up in a place where each winter season brought a struggle for food and shelter, there was never much call for the finer things in life, which she saw were so rife in her few visits south of Riverrun. Being without a mother for most of her life, there was never anyone to teach her the refined parts that a lady should play. Her tutors and nannies had tried to instil in her some sense of courtly manners, but her propriety and decorum came mostly from her father’s teachings of respect and kindness. Although her father had hired nannies and tutors to teach her, he had easily pulled her away from lessons in poetry and embroidery when it suited him and taught her to ride and fight and strategise. Looking back now, she wonders how long he had planned the northern secession, and at what point of her childhood he had decided to make a queen out of her.

Being queen has taught her that she must balance the line between woman and ruler finely, but she still struggles to understand the efforts of her handmaidens as they work about her like a flurry of well organised birds, pinning her hair and tightening the laces of her dress. She is glad that she insisted on bringing some of her own handmaidens; the thought of allowing some strange southern women, as well meaning as they may be, this close to her sends gooseflesh up her arms. As two of her handmaidens bustle away to organise her jewels, Clara gestures for her to sit and begins taming her unruly curls in earnest.

When a knock comes to the door, she nods her assent and watches as Octavia Snow is led inside. The girl looks much the same as she did when Lexa last saw her, weeks ago, if a little more tanned from her time in the sun. She still wears a uniform that bears the Stark crest, which brings a smile to Lexa’s lips, and her hair is pulled back into her usual thick braid. Octavia bows deeply the moment their eyes meet, and though she smiles when she straightens up, there is something strange to her eyes.

“Your majesty, it’s good to see you.” Octavia speaks as earnestly as she dares, and Lexa hums her agreement, while Clara tucks her curls away.

“And you, Snow. I trust you capital has treated you well?”

“As well as can be expected, your majesty,” Octavia gives a wry smile, her hands behind her back.

Lexa quirks her lips at the words, “Do you like it here?”

Octavia’s expression twists and she seems conflicted for a moment before half shrugging. “It’s… fine enough, your majesty. A little hot and the people are… different.”

“I can imagine so,” Lexa looks her over. Though she knows in her heart that Octavia is not to be blamed in this, there’s a part of her that can’t help but link the soldier to Lady Clarke and all that has passed between them. Octavia had no reason to send a raven, should be commended for remaining with Clarke for so long on Lexa’s orders, and so Lexa softens her expression a little and says. “Thank you for your service with regard to Lady Clarke, Snow.”

“Of course your majesty,” That strange, guilty expression crosses Octavia’s face again and Lexa wonders whether Octavia too thinks she should can in part be blamed for Lady Clarke’s actions.

“You’ve gone above and beyond for her, and for me.” Lexa pauses and Clara places her crown upon her head, the weight settling about her. It always makes her hold herself taller, her shoulders squared and her spine straighter. Slowly, she stands and runs a hand down the skirt of her dark dress, fixing Octavia with her gaze. “You’re welcome to return to the north with us, and I will see to it that Ser Indra begins your training to become part of the Queensguard.”

Octavia’s lips part, her eyes widening with her surprise, and she is silent for a moment. “I- Thank you, your majesty, I appreciate that. I will… have to think about it.”

“What?” Lexa demands, her brows furrowing.

Octavia fidgets, clearly uncomfortable and guilty under her gaze. “I have commitments here your majesty, but I am grateful for the offer-”

“Do with it what you will.” She steps away from her chair, her fury making her cold as she stalks past the soldier. Octavia rushes to step out of her way, “But the place in the Queensguard will not be kept for you forever.”

Anya falls in step with her outside the door to her chambers, and she doesn’t ask what fuels the anger in Lexa’s steps as she strides down to the Great Hall. The castle is bedecked with flowers and jewels and tapestries the closer she gets to the Great Hall, and she can hear the sound of music and laughter and talking from the many people who are surely crowded into the hall for the ball. She has to stride through the courtyard to get to the Great Hall and all around her lesser lords, squires and pages leap up from where they are lounging and talking to offer her bows. Only Honour- his dark fur bristling- and Faith- starkly white in contrast- walk at her sides. The rest of the wolves are hunting beyond the walls, but Honour refuses to leave her side in a place as risky as this, and she suspects Faith lingers in hopes of seeing Lady Clarke again. Still, they are a striking pair to walk at her sides, and Lexa is glad they are there. Anya and Lincoln remain at her back as well, with several of her other Queensguards behind them, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

The door to the hall which she had emerged through earlier that day swings open at the sight of her, and she steps inside to far less fanfare. Still, people notice her and a hush falls over the crowded room as she steps inside, until even the band falls silent. The hall is covered in the same decorations that filled much of the rest of the castle, golden tapestries with black swans upon them, flowers- roses, she notices, and her stomach curdles- trailing up the columns, and chains of sapphires and gold hung from the candelabras so that they catch and sparkle in the light. The crowd parts for her as she walks, these southerners in their beautiful dresses and fanciful armour balking at the sight of her wolves. King Finn is revealed, in a gold and red brocade coat, his sigil stitched into his doublet, a cloak over his shoulder and the golden crown of Westeros upon his head. He smiles widely, welcoming her closer, and as she moves to greet him, her eyes catch sight of golden hair and a dress of blue silk that reveals tantalising strips of skin.

She snaps her gaze away before she can catch Clarke’s eyes, her cheeks flushing darkly. It pains her that Clarke can still have such a hold over her, even after everything that has happened. Just knowing that the Tyrell woman stands nearby- and is so beautiful- is enough to send Lexa’s thoughts spiralling, and she fights not to become distracted as she walks towards the king.

“Your majesty, how good to see you. You look very- beautiful.” King Finn stumbles over the word, and Lexa knows that she does not look beautiful in the way that he is used to. There is nothing of the soft southern beauty in her tonight, only beauty similar to that of an icicle, sharp enough to stab a man to death.

“Thank you, your majesty.” She offers him a vague smile and gestures to the room, “Everything looks wonderful.”

“Thank you,” King Finn smiles more genuinely this time, and Lexa gestures forward the serving girl waiting with one of her Queensguard, to take a goblet that she knows has been tested by one of her tasters. The king holds up his own goblet, and raises his voice to make a toast. “Lords and ladies,” The hall falls silent under his call, and the eyes of the south turn upon them both. At her side, Honour and Faith sit taller, as if they know how important this is. “We welcome our northern friends into our court today. Though we are now two lands, may we be as united as ever, and continue to build our relationship together!” He raises his goblet in a toast and everyone follows, calling out their agreement. Lexa takes the slightest sip from her goblet, urging her gaze not to find the one person in the room she doesn’t want to see. “Tonight, eat, drink and be merry! Music!” At the king’s shout, the minstrels start playing again, and the hall is once more pulled into merriment.

With many eyes now turning away from them, Lexa feels able to look back at the king and say, as warmly as she is able, “Thank you for your gracious welcome.”

“Of course,” The king, though polite, is not quite sure what to make of her. She can tell by the way he second guesses his words; it is as if he cannot decide whether to address her as a woman or a man. “I hope your stay here is comfortable, how are your chambers?”

“They are fine, thank you.” She watches him as she takes another sip of her spiced wine, watches the rosiness to his cheeks and the youthful sparkle in his eyes. “I’m glad to know that you intend to continue King Thelonious’s precedent of peace and friendship between us.”

“Yes,” He seems distracted, “Well it just seems to be the best way forward for us both.”

“I agree. We were once one nation, we can now be each other’s most valuable ally.”

He meets her eyes, and she thinks she sees a flicker of respect in them. “Well said.” He says, after a moment of consideration, and lifts his goblet to toast her again. They stand together in silence for a time, watching the dancers. There are circus folk among the crowds as well, acrobats and fire breathers, and Lexa watches them with veiled amusement. “May I-” The king hesitates, and it’s enough to draw her attention back. She follows his gaze and finds it fixed to Honour, who watches him with distrustful yellow eyes. “Your wolves they are… I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“They accompany me everywhere,” She informs him, unsure what to make of his interest.

“However did you train such beasts?” King Finn sounds amazed, and she feels her lips twist with disdain.

“They are not trained pups, they are as wild as the day we met.”

“I have heard so much about that day,” Finn’s eyes meet hers again, and he is flushed with enthusiasm. “They say you are a ferocious fighter, your majesty.”

It takes her a moment to realise that he is paying her a real compliment rather than trying to undermine her, and she fumbles over her words. “I- I hear that you too are very skilled on the field.”

“I trained for it all of my life.” Finn sounds longing and mournful. “A man is not complete without a sword in his hand.”

Her lips quirk, it is incredible that this is where they find common ground. “I agree, my duties do not leave me nearly as much time to train as I would like.” Her abilities have not suffered for that, but it seems unwise to reveal that so blatantly to the king in the south.

“My sentiments exactly,” King Finn’s voice grows with his excitement. “Perhaps you would like to train with me?” When her eyes widen at the request, he hurries to speak again. “All in fun, of course. And I would love to see the queen in the north fight.”

Lexa considers him; this request from any other king- even Thelonious- would have made her suspicious, but Finn is so very genuine in his enthusiasm that she struggles to doubt him. “I will consider it,” She allows, at last, and he beams. A man appears at their side at that moment, placing his hand familiarly on the king’s shoulder, and Lexa knows from the lions stitched into the brocade of his doublet that this is Lord Pike Lannister, the Hand of the King.

“Your majesty,” Lord Pike sounds regretful and hushed, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Pike!” King Finn smiles his welcome, and Lexa feels the hairs along the back of her neck prickle when the Lannister fixes her with his gaze. She offers a polite smile when he bows his head, but barely hears Finn introduce him.

“Your majesty, I am honoured to meet you.” He fixes her with a honeyed smile, perfect for a southern man of court, and grimaces delicately. “I’m afraid I must pull you away, my king. There are many people who wish to speak with you.”

Finn’s face falls, and he nods his agreement. “Of course,” He meets Lexa’s eyes again, “Please, enjoy the ball.”

Lexa nods, and watches as the Lannister steers him away to a group of nobles with his hand on his shoulder, murmuring in his ear all the way.

---

Around her, the ball swells, like the rise and fall of the tides. The music rolls from one crest to the next and the dancers sway to its rhythm, fancifully coloured dresses swirling around their ankles. Conversation and laughter fill the moments of quiet that the music leaves, and the two echo each other like lovers calling from room to room. In her hands her goblet of wine is almost empty and she feels lightheaded and warm, her stays too tight around her waist. Around her is gathered a gaggle of court women, all jostling to court her for her favour. Women who once scorned her offer platitudes and invitations, and men who once smiled and flirted with her glance away when she meets their eyes, too afraid to anger their king. At her side, Lady Fern is a friendly constant, and even Lady Myra offers some sort of reassurance, but though she is grateful for them, she wishes they would stop observing the northern queen with such interest and fascination.

“She isn’t at all what I expected.” Lady Fern leans around Clarke a little to look at Lexa. “She’s so beautiful, Lady Clarke you never mentioned her beauty.”

“She’s fairer than I expected,” Lady Myra admits, reluctantly, her sharp features drawn a little spitefully. “I thought northern women were supposed to be as plain as can be but she… she is not.”

“She certainly isn’t,” Lady Fern takes a sip of her wine, “And those wolves… I’ve never seen anything so magnificent.”

“Will you excuse me?” Clarke steps away, ignoring their startled expression, and drains the last few dregs of her goblet. She is emboldened by her drink and her friend’s words, enough that she feels she can cross the hall to where Lexa is standing with Lord Marcus. Seeing the two of them conversing jars her somewhat, and she hesitates, almost turning to flee, but Lord Marcus catches sight of her and offers her a smile, beckoning her closer.

It is almost hard to look at Lexa, so resplendent and beautiful, and yet she also feels as if she cannot bear not to look at her. She is starved of the sight of the woman she once held in her arms, the woman she kissed and dreamed of calling her own, if only for a fleeting moment. And yet Lexa is like a woman made of stone, cold and offering her only the most cursory look before turning her attention back to Lord Marcus. There, her expression softens into a smile, her eyes shading with respect, and it hurts all the more to know that Lexa will not look at her like that again.

“Lady Clarke,” Lord Marcus, at least, is as friendly as he ever is. She knows that he disapproves of her staying here, and even more of her marriage to Finn, but he is courteous enough to not allow it to change his behaviour towards her, and she is grateful for it. “How do you find the evening? You look as beautiful as ever.”

The words are more genuine than the empty flatteries of the rest of the court and she offers him a warm smile in return, moving to stand at his side.

“You’re too kind Lord Marcus, as always.”

He only shakes his head ruefully, and turns his attention back to Lexa. “Lady Clarke’s mother, Lady Tyrell, and her late father were dear friends of mine. I knew Lady Clarke when she was no more than a babe.”

“How nice,” Lexa gives them both a polite smile, but the sight is enough to make Clarke shiver.

Something warm and damp nudging at her hand is enough to draw her gaze downwards, and she feels a rush of affection when she finds Faith at her side. The wolf seems to know enough not to bark and leap at her, but by the way her tail is wagging and her tongue lolling from her mouth, she is excited to see her once again. The sight draws a soft laugh from Clarke, who happily strokes at the wolf’s ears and head.

“Of course,” Beside her, Lord Marcus is a little startled by the sight, but he does not cower from the wolves as so many of his contemporaries do. “You have met before, forgive me. It seems to like you.”

“She did,” Clarke answers, and here her eyes flicker to Lexa again, unable to stop herself, and she finds the queen’s expression drawn in turmoil, her eyes sad.

“The queen has just been telling me about the Wall,” Lord Marcus speaks before the air between them becomes too strained. “I am so fascinated by it, I would love to see it.”

“I would happily take you and host you should you want to,” Lexa’s expression eases again. “I have heard so many things about the Eyrie and the moon door.”

“Growing up in the Vale you learn to appreciate how we must sometimes build around the challenges nature sets us.” Lord Marcus agrees, “My uncle is the Lord Commander at the Wall, I have long owed him a visit.”

“I’m sure he would be pleased to have you there.”

“My lord,” A serving boy appears from the crowd, startling to a stop, the words falling from his mouth when he realises who his lord is speaking with. He offers a wide eyed bow to Lexa and Clarke, and only continues with amused prompting from his master. “Apologies my lord, your stallion will not settle in the stables.”

Displeasure crosses Lord Marcus’s face, “What have you been doing to the poor beast? Did you rub him down with warmed oils as I said?”

The serving boy hesitates, panic in his eyes. Clarke is sure that the horse will have been lucky to make it to the stables at all in the excitement of the last few days.

Lord Marcus clearly knows this too, because he makes an irritated noise and turns back to them both. “I apologise, your majesty, I’ll have to see to this. Clarke,” His voice softens, “I hope to speak with you later.”

They both bid him farewell and then they are left together, alone despite the surrounding party. There is silence, heavy and awful around them, and Clarke plucks a goblet of wine from a passing server to drink from. Lexa’s expression is pinched uncomfortably, and she is glancing around as if searching for a polite way to escape. It’s the thought of that which drives Clarke to speak.

“Lexa, I-”

“It’s good to see you again, Lady Clarke.” Lexa cuts her off so smoothly that for a moment she barely realises that the woman has turned and is walking away. She rushes to catch up with her.

“Your majesty,” She adjusts herself, conscious of the sudden distance between them. She has no right to call Lexa by her given name, that privilege given in a time of trust that feels like it was eons ago. “Please I think we should talk.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about,” The queen replies, shortly, her eyes burning with fury as she passes through the tall columns that line either side of the hall, into the darker, more sheltered spaces beneath the balconies. “I am here to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding.”

“There’s more to it than you think,” Clarke can feel herself becoming frustrated, “I didn’t mean to betray you.”

“How could you betray me?” A server steps forward, with one of Lexa’s Queensguard at her side, and they fall silent as Lexa takes the offered drink and gestures her dismissal. Lexa turns her attention back to her again, and Clarke feels her gaze like a hot poker. “We owe each other nothing.”

“You’re being absurd.” When Lexa turns to walk away, Clarke reaches out and grabs at her arm, yanking her back. “If you would just listen.”

Lexa shakes her grip away in seconds, and anger flashes across her expression, breaking her carefully constructed mask into thousands of pieces. Cold, furious rage settles in her eyes, and steals Clarke’s breath away as Lexa closes the gap between them. In the dim light, hidden away from the eyes of the revellers, they are hard to spot.

“I have no interest in listening to what you have to say,” She spits, and takes Clarke’s hand into her own, forcing her fingers open to accept something small and cold into her palm. “You left this in Winterfell, I thought you might want it back.”

Her fingers close around the cool glass and the wax stopper and she feels her stomach roll when she realises what she’s holding. “Lexa, you don’t-”

“If you wanted to kill me,” The northern queen says, darkly, “You had so many chances.”

Clarke opens her mouth to dispute her, but no words come out, only a horrible, choking sound that reminds her unerringly of Reya’s last moments.

[that-shamrock-vibe]

First Look: Descendants 3 Promo Picture Breakdown

With the third installment in, what is to date, the best Disney Channel Original Movie franchise with the first movie’s premier night surpassing High School Musical’s opening, coming to our screens this Summer. it is obvious we will be starting to get some advertising and promotions from the movie to ramp up the hype.

This comes most recently in the form of a set of character promotional photos courtesy of Just Jared Jr, not only giving us our first look at main characters outside of the main four V.Ks but also Hades.

So we’re going to break these down in terms of styling and authenticity to the characters both from the original material and previous movies.

Original Release:

So before Just Jared Jr. released his set, this image made the rounds giving us our first official look at our main four V.Ks Carlos, Evie, Mal and Jay. Honestly from a personal perspective I have never been a fan of shooting from a low angle mainly because it creates that very unneccersary shadow effect on the necks so aside from Carlos and Evie, you can’t tell they have necks. It could also be the costumes fault which we’ll go into when we get a closer look at them further down.

Overall though with the actual styling, I like how the look has evolved again from the second movie after that look evolved from the first movie. It is still very much all about the leather to be a V.K. and for some characters it works but for others not so much.

We also had this promo of Uma and her two henchmen Harry Hook and Gil, it is interesting to see the three still together despite Uma now not really having need of cronies but I love how all three of them look.

New Promos:

Alright so we have 9 images and 8 characters to talk about. Surprisingly though there is no sign of Ben or any of the Auradon Prep kids and that may be because they’ll have their own set released but it is weird to have the main four and even Uma but not Ben.

Mal:

Mal is obviously the main character and so her shot is the one we start with. I don’t like this look one bit for Mal. I know in the first two video promos with Hades being teased and that Under the Sea special that Mal had her main look from Descendants 2, I was expecting Mal to obviously update her look but this just seems basic for her. They do say less is more but this look not only looks reverted but too plain.

First of all, these shots are way too dark because the amount of purple in the outfit as seen in the first image isn’t as visible here, so that’s a misstep, also the fact that obviously Hades is Mal’s dad explains the heavy layer of black but I really do miss all the purple.

Next her hair, I didn’t really believe Mal’s wig in the first movie but definitely believed it in the second movie, this seems just like the first movie again just a little bit thinner and longer, also with the lighting in the image it makes her hair look blue rather than purple so of course there is that misstep between her and Evie.

Evie:

Similarly with Evie, she looks like she has purple hair. It’s really confusing and I don’t know if it is to do with the story of Descendants 3 but I would love some clarity or insight because this franchise has done a lot to distinguish colours for the specific characters and purple and blue are Mal’s and Evie’s respectively.

I will say I do like her hair though, I like the fact that even though Evie isn’t royalty in Auradon she still wears a tiara because that’s just her style. I love the red heart jewel in the middle and I would love it if this was one of Dizzy’s designs.

As for her outfit, I would say the side-view doesn’t do it much justice but the front view isn’t as good either. The outfits in these promos almost look like battle armour and there is a severe lack of blue for Evie in the outfit. I actually don’t think there is any blue.

I really liked her outfit in Descendants 2 because I felt it was mature, stylish and appropriately regal for the character. This just does not say Evie to me from the neck down, I can’t imagine Evie as a fashion designer would create this for herself and believe it to be “fabulous”.

Carlos:

Carlos genuinely looks like a cross between a spaceman and motocross racer, neither of which I would ever associate with the son of Cruella De Vil.

Interestingly enough he is not wearing shorts here despite the fact Carlos has always worn shorts because I think they’re trying to show Carlos as the youngest of the four which works naturally anyway as Cameron Boyce is 3-4 years younger than the other three. I do miss the shorts I have to say, because it added a certain youthful quality to the looks that again is needed for the character in my opinion.

Also I get how the black and white colour pallet is supposed to represent the dalmatian theme he is associated with, but I feel his first two looks represented that a lot stronger than this, it almost comes across as a cow-hide than dalmatian theme. I do miss the fur I have to say, that fur collar in the first movie spoke to me like the green paw print on Beast Boy’s jacket shoulder in Titans.

I have to say also, I don’t get the hair. I think the color is still great but I don’t like them taking Cameron Boyce down the Ross Lynch route of pretty boy hair and to be honest I loved the slick look he had at the start of Descendants 2.

Jay:

Jay’s I would say is most authentic to his character and shows an organic evolution throughout the three movies, even though he has sleeves here I do find it works as a more mature look developing on his original style as opposed to how the other three look.

All his colours are still there, there’s the golds, the patches of black, the reds. I can believe this is what a modern day son of Jafar would wear. Leather works for the character anyway and this is leather-bound brilliance.

I have to say, I can’t decide if I miss the beanie or not but I would have maybe liked to see a bandanna or some sort of headwear because, if these are battle outfits, I feel Jay would wear a bandanna.

It is shocking that this, out of the four, is my favourite look because Jay, as anyone who has read my reviews know, has not been my favourite character but I will say he definitely knows how to be stylish which I thought I would say about Evie or Carlos.

Uma:

Now you see looking at this I can kind of understand Mal’s look if she’s trying to compete with Uma or vise-versa. But the problem is, Uma wins hands down as this is Uma’s style. I love everything from the accents of seagreen, to the shape of the outfit, the hair and the accessories.

Speaking of hair, it was interesting that in Descendants 2 and that special Under the Sea, Uma had braids which mostly were extensions which China McClain had embedded into her already braided hair. The look worked for the with the whole pirate gang captain attire. Here though, I will be interested to see if Uma keeps her Sea Witch status and this is definitely Sea Witch style hair. It’s very regal and you can tell where her hair ends and the extensions begin but that’s only because she filmed this alongside Black Lightning, although in Season 2 she does have shorter hair so maybe she dip-dyed and then had that cut for the show. Regardless I love how she kept the braid-style, it almost takes her look from gang leader to crime boss.

As for the accessories, Evie should be ashamed that Uma is showing her up with her bling. The necklace that she either got or stole from her mother is still there but I will agree with some critics from the her first appearance that in some shots the necklace kept changing size, but here it looks like a trinket rather than a magical object. She also seems to have more bling on as well as that so I am looking forward to seeing that in full. Also her bracelets and nails are subtle enough to not be garish but also to be the right level of stylish. Clearly her time at sea has done her good.

Harry:

If Harry has taken over Uma’s crew from the last movie, then this is the look of a renegade gang leader. I love the level of chains going on with his trousers, it’s subtle because of the darkness of the photo but seeing the shine makes it so cool.

I will say I miss the curliness and unkempt nature of his hair in Descendants 2. Here it does look good but flat, and also I miss his hait. It may not go with the outfit but I do miss it.

The leather vest with the belt motifs is a great choice for the character. I am a bit annoyed about the lighting and obscurity of his shirt because in that first promo you can clearly see it’s a skull shirt whereas if no one was to see that and instead just see this they’d be unsure if his chest is covered in body hair or tattoos because it isn’t quite distinguishable.

I like the use of the hook even though it’s merely an accessory for Harry to honor his father, I like the leather wrist-straps, love the fact he still wears guy-liner. It adds a level of camp to the character without making it seem goofy.

The only thing I don’t understand is those straps around his neck which I think are supposed to be braces but it’s too dark to tell and his arms are in the way.

But he looks good, he was one of my favourites in Descendants 2 and I am thrilled he is back with this look for the third movie.

Gill:

Gil has actually surprised me as while his Descendants 2 look was very suitable for the comic-relief role he had and actually reminded me a lot of the looks in Hook for the lost boys, this is a step up and a more mature version of that.

Looking at the head alone I do see why Jay may not have gone with a bandanna as with the long hair here the two do look alike, the two actors look alike anyway so it makes sense not to confuse the styles too much especially as you’re talking about the sons of Jafar and Gaston who are two completely different characters.

I do believe he is actually bulkier here than he was in Descendants 2 which again evolves his character and makes his resemble his father Gaston more. I will say also, I love the amount of straps he has. It references the fact that in the animated movie during the song Gaston, Gaston chewed a leather belt and spat it out. Leather is always good in my opinion and an obvious choice for villains.

I’m not crazy about his long hair, again I think it’s copying Jay a little bit too much, also I would like to see him with some sort of weaponry particularly if he is still part of Harry or Uma’s crew. Maybe not a gun like his father but a sword or a dagger or something. Uma has magic, Harry has his hook, Gil needs something.

Hades:

Alright so this is the big reveal of Cheyenne Jackson as Hades, we get two photos here to give us a proper look and I will start with the side-view.

Obviously immediately I am focusing on the hair because, my god that is not Hades. The look overall screams punk or rocker to me which, as we’ve seen with the V.Ks, is the style the movies have taken them but even with Maleficent they at least kept in touch with how the original character looked. Here that hair 1) Has way too much product in and 2) Looks ridiculous. I get they’re trying to represent the flaming hair that Hades in animation always has which is obviously not easy to do in live-action but then go with something subtler like Once Upon a Time did, do not tell me Hades is now apparently a punk. I will say they got the colour right and the mohawk effect does look like fire but, hopefully they’ll CG it in the movie but I would prefer Cheyenne Jackson to be bald and just for them to say they’ll add the hair in later.

In the front view the hair doesn’t look as bad but knowing how it looks on the side-view I can’t forgive it. However with the front view we get a better look at the outfit and again it screams punk, Where’s the robe, where’s the smoke, nothing here is giving me Hades, Lord of the Underworld.I will say he does look a lot like what they did with Steve Coogan in Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief but that wasn’t good either and obviously that wasn’t meant to be based on the Disney version and rather Greek Mythologu, but the Disney version is obviously drawing inspiration from Greek Mythology and I am not getting any of that here.

It’s more of a renegade warlock type of look than it is a supposed god of the Underworld. The only good thing about the look is the colour because at least they’re right, the leather coat does kind of answer why Mal’s look is so dark in this movie but surely this isn’t just going to be a question of Mal siding with her father and therefore dressing like him.

Also I can kind of see Cheyenne Jackson and Kristin Chenoweth together in a sitcom or American Horror Story style setup, but as the Lord of the Dead and Mistress of All Evil...I just don’t see those two characters as a thing.

As someone who loves Greek Mythology and the Hades character James Woods portrayed so well, I am not getting any respect for either interpretation in this portrayal. I do think Cheyenne Jackson is the wrong casting choice for the character,

Overall I am not as hyped for these looks as I was for the Descendants 2 first look promos we got, I do think there is some good and surprising good but I do also feel nervous for some of my favourites. It’s not all about the fashion at the end of the day but it is part of what makes this franchise enjoyable.

So those are my thoughts on this first official look at the characters of Descendants 3, if they do release a set for the Auradon kids I will probably do another post to dissect them but until then post your comments on what you think about these looks and if you think the styling of these characters are a key component to these movies? Which are your best and which are your worst? Post your comments and check out more posts.

[wilwywaylan]

Drink me, and the bromos!

Okay that wasn’t really what you asked for, but I had an idea, so…. enjoy :D

Also on AO3 !

Feuilly turned another page of his book, and winced. He’d been studying for so long that his neck was stiff, his fingers were frozen, and according to the low rumbling in his stomach, he had once again forgotten to eat. With a sigh, he stretched, groaning when his shoulders gave a series of painful snaps. His eyes landed on the clock at his left. Quarter past… He blinked. And again. Rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sleep clouding his sight. But no. It really was quarter past two. He had been sitting there at his desk reading for four hours, barely moving, except to turn his pages. No wonder he was stiff as a board and his elbows were hurting.

He got up, trying to ignore the low burning feeling in his thighs. Maybe there would be something to eat in the fridge that he could quickly gobble before going to bed. Or at least lie down and tackle a few more pages. He opened the door, careful not to be heard. Bahorel must have gone to bed now. Except that, he suddenly realized, he hadn’t heard him come home. Usually, it was quite hard to miss. Bahorel signaled his presence by a series of loud noises : bag hitting the ground, shoes against the wall, grunts, opening and closing the fridge, loud singing, doors banging… A whole concerto.

That had been suspiciously absent that night. It wasn’t worrying, of course, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Bahorel had come home at the small hours of the morning, or even not at all. He was an adult, and didn’t need permission from anyone to party as much as he wanted to. And Feuilly didn’t frown at this, even when he learnt later that it included drinking his own weight in beer, getting into dangerous shenanigans with Courfeyrac (often fire-based), Jehan (in very strange places around Paris) or Grantaire (both). Or all three of them, usually ending in chaos, street fights and various acts of mischief. Three times this year already, Feuilly had had to go and bail them out. He’d been welcomed by four idiots way too cheerful for the situation or that time of the night, and he’d taken greatest delight in bringing those smiles down a notch by threatening to rat them out to Combeferre. All in all, there was no worry to have about Bahorel’s whereabouts. He’d be home in the morning for breakfast as if nothing had happened, with only a bruise or two more.

Feuilly walked down the hallway, trying to remember what was left in the fridge that he wouldn’t need for his lunch the next day, when he suddenly noticed that the light was on in the living room. Did he forget to turn it off when he left earlier ? He mentally slapped himself. Ecology and sparing ressources were huge talking points during the ABC meetings, and here he was, wasting electricity because he was too absorbed in whatever was currently piquing his interest.

He walked to the couch, and it was then that he realized that someone was lying on it. Someone whose huge feet were clad in Bahorel’s favourite neon socks. Feuilly was absolutly convinced that no one else owned such an abomination and his friend was the proud possessor of the only pair ever made. So the body lying on the couch was probably his. Now, why he had crashed there instead of his bed, Feuilly didn’t know. From the soft snores that he could hear, it was probably due to an alcohol-related balance impairment.

Since he was now assured that Bahorel was alive, Feuilly focused on his prime objective. A look in the fridge gave him some lunch meat and a bit of cheese that he stuck between two slices of bread. Now provided with a snack, he wandered back to the living-room, wondering if he should wake Bahorel up and kick him out of the couch to preserve his back, or he would be in for a world of pain the next day, and complain Feuilly’s ear off. But he looked so comfy, laying like that, a furry pillow held tightly against his chest, that he didn’t feel like…

Wait. A furry pillow ? Since when did they have furry pillows ? Feuilly hated those things, the touch was always off, like something that tried to pass as something alive but wasn’t, an abomination in the shape of a square. So what was one now doing in their flat ? All good will Feuilly could have mustered disappeared in light of this treason, and he poked Bahorel in the leg sharply. This was enough to wake him up. The eyes that landed on Feuilly after a few owlish blinks were softer than usual, probably due to the certainly incredible alcohol quantities drunk during the evening.

- Hello, squirrel, Bahorel managed to say with a huge grin.

Judging by the way his words were just a little slurred, he wasn’t drunk off his ass. Good. As much as he loved him, Feuilly couldn’t have lifted him even an inch off the couch.

- Did you have fun ? he asked instead.

- Yeah ! We went to that pub, y'know the one, the one with the weird key hanging on the wall, they have that awesome beer you like. (Feuilly nodded.) They have trivia night so Jehan wanted to play. A bunch of asses made fun of them, y'know, “girly stuff”, sissy, blah blah blah (he made a mouth gesture with his hand.) Jehan handed the whole of them their asses off at trivia. One of them even accused him to cheat. So they handed them their asses off again, but with fists. Of course, R had to intervene. And I did too.

- That may explain the bruises.

Bahorel lifted his hand to his eye, where the skin was an interesting shade of purple.

- Yeah. But we did good. Could have been better if the owner didn’t throw everyone out.

- So ? You decided to call it a night ?

Bahorel barked a laugh.

- Certainly not ! We found another bar, and since we still had some energy to spend, we got into an arm-wrestling contest. Kicked everyone’s butts. Or arms. Dunno.

Feuilly tried to picture built-as-a-stick Jehan in an arm-wrestling contest, pinning arms right and left. Not hard to believe, in fact. Never trust their frame, they were a powerhouse.

- And so,  I won that one, Bahorel annouced, gesturing to the pillow on his stomach.

- You won a furry pillow.

Bahorel frowned, seemingly confused by the distaste in his voice.

- No furry pillow here, squirrel. You hate them.

Feuilly was kind of charmed that Bahorel remembered, even in his inebriated state. But that wouldn’t save him, certainly not ! He crossed his arms, and looked pointedly at the furry not-pillow-but-still-weird-thing on Bahorel’s chest. The man followed his glance. A large grin spread on his face.

- This ? This is not a pillow ! he claimed, poking the thing.

Said thing gave a low groan and… stretched, emitting a strange “mrep” sound. It now had a head, two triangular ears, and large paws that kneaded Bahorel’s shirt. Or rather ripped it to shreds.

- What the…? Feuilly blurted. Is that…?

- It is ! Bahorel announced proudly, like he was giving him the secret of the universe. It is a cat !

Feuilly thought really hard about facepalming. Then he realized that the situation really deserved a facepalm. Count on Bahorel to always manage to spin his expectations on their heads and exceed them in every possible way. He glared at the other man, who was rambling on happily as if someone wasn’t trying to melt him by the sheer force of his look.

- I won him. Dude seemed very happy to get rid of him. Couldn’t free him in the street. Jehan couldn’t take him in because of the Montparnasses, Courf is not a cat person, and R thinks he can’t take one in because he’s not able take care of one.

The cat and Bahorel both looked at Feuilly with huge, pleading eyes, and he could feel his resolve melt. Count on his friend to always know how to sway him ! Of course he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a defenseless cat outside, alone, in the cold. And Bahorel was very aware of that fact. And of course, he was using it against him.

- Defenseless, really ? he tried, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the perfect imaage of reprobation. That cat could rip you in two.

He wasn’t just grasping at straws. The paws kneading Bahorel’s shirt - and stomach under - were huge, with impressive claws, and the cat was of way more than average built. In fact, it looked more like a small lynx that a cat.

- He’s a Norwegian Forest Cat, Bahorel announced proudly. Well, not a pure breed, or the guy would probably have asked for my liver as payement. But he’s more than half. Did you know that those cats fight bears in their natural habitat ?

- You’re really made for each other. Do you even know how to keep a cat ?

- Of course I do ! And if I don’t, I can always ask Jehan, or Enjolras, or Bossuet, or Joly. They wil be more than happy to help me dote on that sweet guy here.

Said sweet guy was now sprawled on Bahorel’s stomach, paws in the air, and was purring up a storm. Feuilly came to sit on the couch, or rather on Bahorel’s legs that were on the couch, and offered a hand to the cat, who caught it between his paws, bit lightly on his fingers, then rubbed his head against it. Feuilly could feel his heart melt.

- I’ve always wanted a cat, he mused. Or a dog. A pet. But you know…

Bahorel nodded. Feuilly had filled him and the others on all the details of his life in the orphanage when he spoke on budget cuts for all foster care services, and they had discussed at length later, during the small hours of the morning where alcohol and lack of sleep tend to lower one’s defenses.

- Does this guy has a name, at least ? he asked.

Bahorel caught the cat in his arms, sat up straight and deposited the ball of fur on Feuilly’s lap.

- Squirrel, let me introduce you to Fluffy the Terrible. Third.

Feuilly was torn between laughing and facepalming a second time.

- Don’t you think it lacks something ? he said, playing with the fuzzy tail. I mean, that cat is regal enough, we could add something at the end, like, I don’t know… Doctor ? PhD ?

- Esquire ! Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire. What do you think ?

Feuilly looked at the cat sprawled on his lap, took one of the large paws in his hand, and shook it.

- Pleased to meet you, Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire.

The cat batted at his hand playfully, then curled up on himself and promptly went to sleep. Which was honestly very tempting. Feuilly was very aware that he should be sleeping by now, or at least on his way. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, a big beast pinning him in place. A big, plushy, friendly beast. He thought about spending the night there, scratching the cat, letting him keep him warm. Very tempting too. But it pained him to admit, his ass was starting to hurt. And his boss would probably not be very happy to see him crawl to work the next morning.

- Hey dork, he called.

Bahorel, who was patting the ground to find the remote, looked up at him.

- Get your monster back, I need to go to bed.

Bahorel grabbed the cat again. The beast seemed to be quite annoyed at being manhandled like that, and stuck his claws in Feuilly’s leg to keep himself at the right place. When it wasn’t enough, he opted for scratching Bahorel’s arms. His owner didn’t seem to mind, and soon, they were comfortably settled as they were before, despite the red lines now on Bahorel’s arms. Well, they didn’t stand out with the bruises already there.

Feuilly got up, shaking his legs slightly to get his feeling back. He patted Bahorel on the thigh, scratched the cat behind the ears, starting the purring storm again, and retreated to his room for his much needed sleep. Tomorrow, they would have to get everything they needed for Fluffy. Feuilly wasn’t sure they could afford it (well he couldn’t, Bahorel probably could), but it didn’t really matter. He had dreamed of having a cat for so long, he couldn’t blame him. Already, he could see himself sit in the couch and read with Fluffy on his lap. That would certainly better his reading sessions. Maybe he could Bahorel something to thank him ? Maybe something cat-related. He would certainly love that.

(He almost went back on every positive advice he had when Fluffy came to wake him up at five in the morning to  be fed. Feuilly was very glad to free him in Bahorel’s room and close the door.)

[evolutionsvoid]

While winter is a season that has its beautiful moments, it is a time of hardship for many. The biting cold, the reduction of resources and short, bitter days of fading light. Many species spend the entire summer and fall preparing for such an ordeal, hoping that they have enough food and shelter to last the hard months. There are not many out there that find winter easy, but there are some who are hit harder than others. Dryads are one culture who loath the coming winter, and the cold, sunless months fill them with worry and fear. The frozen ground makes nutrient absorption difficult, the weak sun gives little energy and the sharp chill seems to carve through bark and rind. Many months are spent stockpiling and preparing, but even in the best circumstances, the cold times bring about depression and worry. In these trying times, though, there is a special day that many dryad towns and villages look forward to. A time when they can forget their worries and woes, and find sanctuary with one another. While its name may vary between communities, it is often referred to as Salicalia, or Salicalia's Feast. Salicalia is a holiday or gathering that many dryad settlements observe, and they celebrate it at the middle of winter. Some may hold it during the winter solstice, while others may hold it some time after. Regardless of timing, it is meant to be held midwinter, as the halfway point between fall and spring. When this day comes around, all the families and members of the village shall leave their homes and come together. These celebrations are often held in great wooden halls, or a large centralized structure where all can escape the bitter cold. They shall light lanterns and heat pods to fill the walls with warmth, and the village council will pull food from their stockpiles to cook up a feast. All shall bring something to contribute, and during this one night, all may forget the worries winter brings and just find joy and warmth in good company. All the saplings shall have time to play with one another, and the adults may chatter and catch up with each other. It is a holiday that is meant to bring unity and peace, where everyone can remember that they are not facing the brutal winter alone. With it being held during midwinter, it is also meant to uplift spirits and let them know that spring is indeed coming. The hardships are half over, and in time, the sun shall return. This message of community and hope is best seen during the giving of Evergreen Blessings. Prior to the holiday, villagers will be sure to check in on one another, and see who is having a hard time during the winter. Be it a family that is running low on food, medicine or having problems with shelter and warmth, their neighbors will take note and inform the village council. With this news, the whole town will chip in resources and supplies to make an Evergreen Blessing, which shall contain anything the family or individual may need to help make it through the winter. During Salicalia, these struggling families will be given these gifts, and will be offered any help they require. This is the true reason of the holiday, to give hope to one another and to let them know that everyone is in it together. With the festivities and joy that surround this holiday, though, such giving of gifts is done with a little extra flare. When it is time to give out Evergreen Blessings, that is when Parya Evergreen appears. Trudging in from the snow and ice, the door to the hall shall open and there shall be a dryad clad in furs and flowers. Colors of green, red, white and other brights shall cover them, as they stride through a time of gray. A mask of lichens and moss shall cover their face, but a voice of cheer and warmth shall fill the hall. With her is a large sack, from which she produces her blessings. To the families facing hard times, she shall bestow gifts of food, medicine and blankets. To the eager saplings, she shall give sweet treats for them to enjoy. When all is handed out, she will sit down and gather the children round. She will regale them with stories of her travels and all the adventures she went on, speaking of the many lands she visited and all the things she has seen. The tales shall captivate her young audience, while the adults get a nice break from tending to the young ones. When the night comes to a close, she will take her sack, give her goodbyes and vanish back out into the snow. Only when Salicalia comes back the next year will anyone ever see Parya Evergreen again. Or so the tales to the saplings say. While Parya is a figure of hope and giving, and treated like a holiday spirit, she is one that is not entirely fictional. In truth, certain villages have a certain someone who plays that role all winter long, and it is these folk who gave birth to the Parya legend. 

To those who do not know, there is a species of dryad that lives up north in forests of pine and ice. The Conifer Dryads are a tough and towering type, using their strength and hunting skills to survive in such a frozen place. Some times, though, the seasons may be too tough for even them to fully handle. In times when their communities have grown too big to sustain, individuals are selected from a lottery and are sent off into the wilderness. All they take with them are the clothes on their back, a small stash of food, their weapons and the three arrows. From then on, these exiled individuals are on their own and they must find their own way to survive. Some do so by themselves, some seek other Conifer Dryad settlements, while some may turn to warmer lands. A good chunk of these exiled dryads may head south, where the winters are less brutal and unforgiving. Down there, they find it possible to survive alone, but some have found a way to integrate themselves with the other dryad species. As all should know, winter is rough for dryads, but the Conifers have a lot of experience working during these cold months. Having survived many northern winters, the ones down below are much more manageable for them. So what some Conifers may do is go to a dryad settlement and offer to be their winter harvesters. The role of a winter harvester is one that only Conifers can really pull off. Their long legs make traversing the snowy lands easy, their built up tolerance allows them to stay outside for long periods of time and their experience makes them exceptional hunters and workers. What a winter harvester does is help supply and support the entire village during the chilly months. They will go out and hunt in the snow, bringing back their haul to help supply the village pantry. They will help in fixing up structures or homes that face damage from snow or ice. They may even travel to other towns to buy tools or supplies that they cannot gather or hunt themselves. In the end, the winter harvester acts as the village keeper, checking in on everyone and making sure they have what they need to survive the winter. When the spring and summer comes, the Conifer may relax and be pampered by the town they support. While exile from their tribe may seem brutal, many Conifers know that tons of southern dryad settlements would happily take them in, they just have to make the long trek first. It is from these harvesters that the legend of Parya Evergreen sprang. According to records, it is believed that Parya Evergreen was indeed an actual Conifer dryad at some point. She had been exiled from her tribe and had been employed by a village to be a winter harvester. It is said that during her winter work, she found that one of the most lacking resources of the village was joy and happiness. The lethargy brought on by weak sunlight and the trials everyone faced during the cold months made all the dryads sad and depressed. It didn't help that the winter was filled with only grays and whites, as all the color had died in fall. It didn't matter how much food she brought in or how many homes she fixed, many of her fellow sisters were always miserable and weary. So Parya took it upon herself to help bring some joy back into their lives. So she set out to make herself a garb that would hold the bright colors of spring, one that would shine on even the blandest of days. She made fake flowers and vines, and used dye to add some flare to her getup. She used her personal supplies to bake special treats and goodies that she could hand out to others, especially to the saplings. Winter was not a fun time for them either, as they were trapped inside at all times and unable to play with others. As a twelve foot tall dryad, Parya tended to frighten the young ones when she visited, and she decided she would fix this mistake. With a colorful garb, a cheery demeanor and treats to hand out, she made sure to give a bit of joy to each sapling she met. When Salicalia came around, she made it her duty to entertain the young ones and bring some fun to the party. In time, her upbeat attitude and ways with the saplings won a lot of people over, and stories about her soon traveled to other villages. Eventually, other winter harvesters were tasked with taking on this persona, and even towns that lacked a Conifer would find a town member to dress up and play as her. As the years went on, the name Parya Evergreen became one of legend and she lived on as a holiday spirit that visited every town each year. To the saplings, she was one who could take on many forms, make flowers grow from ice and capable of traveling vast distances in the blink of an eye. The adults know full well that this is just a fun little tradition to entertain the children with, but even they appreciate the warmth and joy it brings during such trying times.         ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Goodness me, now we are making freaking holiday figures now. Maybe I should stop making LORE ALREADY AND FREAKING WRITE SOMETHING! HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU NEED?! MORE AND MORE LORE AND MORE AND MORE EXCUSES! Also Happy Holidays, everyone!