#she hangs like a jewel upon the night

[soracities]

Theodore Roethke, from "All the Earth, All the Air", The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke [ID'd]

[fayes-fics]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind. 

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers. 

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy. 

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?” 

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre. 

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. ��Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight. 

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch. 

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!” 

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom. 

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?” 

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away. 

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure. 

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion. 

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Stolen Treasures (Pirate!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: When a mysterious woman surprises you in your father's garden late at night, you weren't expecting to meet a pirate captain. You certainly weren't expecting to find her so alluring. And you certainly weren't expecting to want her enough to run away from your perfect life to join her.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: none

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme@grilledcheeseandguavajelly

A nighttime walk in the garden was typically frowned upon by your father, but the air was heavy and hot, licking at your skin until you were drenched in sweat. Slipping out of bed, you moved on bare feet from shadow to shadow, avoiding the silvery moonlight begging to catch you. Your father’s men were stationed through the house, facing the windows, standing guard against the forces that might try to invade your home.

The sea breeze was a relief against your skin when you managed to sneak out into the garden. The salt on the air was familiar, a comforting hug after the night of tossing and turning under the heavy quilt you’d been forced under hours ago. Tilting your head back, you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. Your fingertips trailed over the soft petals of the roses your father had had planted, soothing after the heat of the night.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to find something so beautiful in this garden.”

Your eyes snapped open, your previous calm fleeing faster than you thought was possible. A hand clutched over your heart, you felt it thundering, loud in your ears. Stepping out of the shadows, like a demon from your most tempting dreams, a beautiful woman was grinning at you. Black hair half pinned, curling around her face, large blue eyes swept over your body. Your thin nightdress suddenly felt too flimsy to hold up under scrutiny.

Her own dress was as dark as her hair, cinched in at the waist, neckline lower than anything your father would ever let you wear. You found yourself staring. Her skin was pale, almost glowing in the moonlight, and you were given over to the sudden thought of running your fingertips over it just as you had with the roses. You could imagine her skin would be just as soft under your touch.

“Our roses are beautiful,” you said, as if that was a reasonable response to a stranger lurking in your garden in the middle of the night.

“And yet they still don’t come close to comparing to your,” she said.

“Who are you?” you managed to ask.

She took your hand, palm warm. Lips pressed to the back of your fingers, lingering longer than was appropriate. Looking up at you from where she was bowed over your hand, her blue eyes were twinkling, lips curled up in a small smile. Your heart skipped a beat, breath stilling in your chest, suspended in the moment.

“Agnes,” she replied, straightening up, breaking the spell, “Agnes O’Connor.”

Your brow furrowed. It didn’t feel right, the name, like she’d slipped on a skin that didn’t quite fit. Too loose. It wasn’t right but to suggest to her face within moments of meeting her that she was lying was horribly impolite.

Not that you thought the usual rules applied to a woman you met in your garden in the dead of night in your nightdress.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

A smile unfurled over her face and her eyes swept over you again. You shivered, curling your arms around your body. There was something about her gaze that set your blood on fire, a feeling you weren’t familiar with. No one had looked at you the way she did, like you were something interesting, an anomaly, but one that fascinated her.

“I am,” she replied.

“Why are you in my father’s garden?” you asked, the question hanging over you from the moment you’d seen her.

“Your father? That must make you the jewel of the town,” she said, “I’ve heard about you.”

“You have?” That sent a thrill of pleasure down your spine.

“And if I may say, the rumours don’t do you justice. You’re far more beautiful than they say,” she said.

“Who are you?” you asked again, wondering how one woman with a few well placed compliments could make your heart flutter when none of the suitors your father had paraded you in front of had managed to get so much as a second look.

“Someone hoping to take a walk through this lovely garden in the cool night air,” she said.

You stared at her, wondering where she’d come from, who she was really, what she wanted. She was everything your father had taught you not to be, brash and refusing to ask for permission to do anything, charming and beautiful, enticing in all the worst ways. If he saw her he would call the guards on sight.

So why did you want to give her anything she wanted?

“Take a turn about the garden with me?” she requested.

Her arm slipped through yours, tugging you along. You followed, bare feet on cool grass so different from the warm rugs inside. It wasn’t a surprise that she wasn’t following the carefully planned paths in the garden, but striding where she wanted. You let her without complaint.

“Your father should keep you under lock and key. Someone might be tempted to steal you away right from under his nose,” she said as she bent to look at some of the lavender you’d helped the gardener plant.

“No one is interested in stealing me,” you replied.

“No?” She looked up at you, her tongue dragging along her lower lip, making the fire in your veins reignite. You shook your head, “that surprises me.”

“Does it?” you asked.

“There will always be people looking to steal a jewel. Especially when one is owned by a powerful man,” she said.

“I think you’re overstating my reputation,” you laughed, “no one thinks about me like that.”

“You don’t hear how they talk about you in town,” she said.

“Then why am I still unmarried?” you asked as she straightened again.

“Perhaps your father isn’t ready to let his crown jewel go?” she suggested.

“He parades me around like a prize heifer in the hopes one of the men with bid on me,” you said, lips twisting in distaste.

You surprised a laugh out of her, face brightening, as if she saw some kind of potential in you. You preened, remembering how it felt, tucking it away to revisit later on when this enigmatic woman disappeared, leaving you in your little life.

“Then all those men should be taken to the local asylum,” she said, “I would empty my coffers to have you.”

Your cheeks heated with the pleasure her statement gave you. And the implication. To be married to this woman might not be so bad. It might even be enjoyable. Not that your father would ever consider it. She was the kind of match he’d believe would bring shame to the family. You were waiting for the news he was sending you somewhere far from home to ensure a match. Somewhere you didn’t have to meet the man before the wedding.

“I’m not property to be owned,” you said instead. It was the exact kind of statement that had turned half the suitors away from you.

“No, you’re not,” she said and the flash of pride over her face made your heart skip a beat.

“I wish my father saw it that way,” you said.

You had no idea why you felt comfortable enough telling this woman something you hadn’t managed to express to your own father. Perhaps it was the fact you were certain you’d never see her again. Or perhaps it was the way she turned your head fuzzy with how close she was. Her body was brushing against yours, her warmth seeping through the thin nightgown you wore.

You wanted to know who she really was.

Then she was dragging you into a shadow, her hand tight on your arm. Your back rested against the old apple tree, rough bark scraping through the cotton of your nightgown. Her body rested against yours, long lines pressed together in the shadows of the tree. You felt breathless, her own breath brushing against the vulnerable skin of your neck.

“What?” you tried to ask.

“Shh, love,” she said, her hand pressing against the swell of your hip.

At this distance you could see the faint freckles dusting her nose, the blue eyes every shade of the sea, her pink lips parted as she focused on you. The sound of two voices passed, a slow wander through the garden. Shrinking back, your hand on her waist pulled her closer into the shadows. You shouldn’t, a stranger breaking into your father’s property something you should report to the guards he paid to keep you safe, but there was something in you screaming to keep her hidden.

Her body relaxed as the voices moved further away, growing fainter with every passing moment. Still pressed against you, one had against the trunk of the tree by your head, the other still on your hip, you felt caged in but not trapped. It was a safe feeling, and yet you felt more alive than you had in years. It was like being in a carriage hurtling out of control. You wanted more of it.

“You didn’t give me up to your father’s guards,” she said.

“It’s not a crime to wish to walk through a garden,” you replied.

“Or to enjoy the company of a beautiful lady,” she replied, her voice husky, her gaze lingering on your mouth.

Your own eyes found her lips, wondering if they would be soft against your skin and what they might taste like. Her tongue ran along her lower lip again and you found yourself entranced. Her low chuckle was music to your ears as you found yourself leaning closer to hear better.

“Tell me, love,” she murmured, close enough her breath ghosted over your face, “did any of those suitors you spent time with manage to steal a kiss?”

“Of course not.” Just the suggestion was insulting.

“May I?”

Your father would crucify you if he knew. You would be ruined. But there, in the shadows and the moonlight, the cool sea breeze brushing over your skin, you thought the risk was worth it.

“Please,” you whispered.

Her lips brushed against yours, as gentle as a butterfly’s wing. You whimpered and she surged forward, her hips alining with yours, pressing you into the rough bark as she kissed you again. You’d never felt such fire, lit up from the inside out, burning up with every press of her lips. Her tongue licked along your lip in a mirror of what she’d done before. You opened to her, the way it felt so foreign and yet all consuming. It felt so good. It make you want more.

If this was what your father was protecting you from you could understand why. You’d give up everything for more. It was heady and addictive and all you could do was urge her on. She moaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper, pressing more insistently against you, possessing you. If this was the path to hell you thought eternal damnation might be worth it.

Only then she was pulling away, wrenching her mouth from yours, lips kiss swollen and eyes dark. You were breathless, your fingertips pressing to your own lips, a sense of wonder at the feeling. You wondered what it would be like to feel those lips everywhere, if they would draw such intense feelings in you. You thought they probably would.

“You are the jewel of Westview. Don’t let a petty criminal who won’t know your worth steal you. Hold out for the collector who will know exactly how precious you are,” she whispered.

And then she was gone, leaving you gasping for breath, hand pressed to your heart, leaning against the apple tree your father had so lovingly tended in your childhood. It was incomprehensible that one night in your garden could fundamentally change you. But you couldn’t forget. The door had been opened and now you knew what you were holding out for, the potential that was out there, the way you could feel. Your father had been keeping you sheltered, perhaps because he knew that if you knew the truth, there would be no stopping you looking for what you wanted.

You lingered in the garden, trying to get your heart under control. The cool air seared your skin, your knees weak, lips still tingling. When you finally returned to your room, you lay in bed, returning time and time again to that kiss. You pictured her face. You imagined her head on the pillow beside yours, dark hair spread over the white sheets.

By the morning, having only snatched moments of sleep, dreams filled with beautiful strangers in shadowy corners, you wondered if you could ever go back to the life you were living before. You knew it would be impossible. But your father would never accept this new reality for you. He would want you to go back to how you were before you knew all the things the world held.

There were whispers around the house, too quiet for you to hear but they followed you as you descended to breakfast. Your stomach churned the longer you went without hearing what the latest gossip was, wondering if someone had seen you the night before. If your father caught wind of your night time activity, you would be in such trouble.

“Darling.” Your father was already at the table, “did you sleep well?”

“Yes, Father.”

You sat at the table, a soft thanks passing over your lips when a plate was placed in front of you. You nudged the food with your fork, not sure you could eat. Your stomach was tying itself into knots.

“Did you hear any disturbances last night?” he asked, over the rim of his tea cup.

You froze before forcing your shoulders to relax.

“No, Father,” you said.

“You may have heard the servants talking this morning. We have been robbed and if the rumours are to be believed, Agatha Harkness’s ship has been sighted at the harbour,” he said.

You looked down to your plate, still pushing your food around. Agatha Harkness, pirate captain of legend, was a figure that had been scaring you since you were a little girl. It had been a great way for your mother to keep you in line. The threat of being carried away by Agatha Harkness if you misbehaved had haunted you.

Now, rather than fear, an overwhelming sense of curiosity was overtaking you. It would be too much of a coincidence for Agatha Harkness to be in town and a strange woman to be in your garden on the night your father was robbed. The two must be connected.

You slipped away after breakfast, sneaking out the way you’d learned to do as a child when the house became stifling. The streets were emptier than usual, the whispers of Agatha’s name following you as you made your way towards the harbour. You scurried past anyone who might try to stop you, a respectable lady out without any kind of chaperone or guards with a criminal on the loose.

The figure standing at the end of the pier was familiar. Long dark hair, unbound and floating on the breeze, one hand raised to her eyes as she gazed towards the horizon. The dress was gone, leather breeches and a loose shirt branding her as anything but respectable in your town of Westview. She was nothing like the wanted posters depicted, beautiful where they printed a monster. Dangling from the fingers of her other hand was a chalice you were intimately familiar with, having watched your father drink from it on every special occasion.

On slow footsteps you approached. Her head didn’t turn, her muscles didn’t clench, but you were sure she knew you were there. Stopping behind her, at her shoulder, you stared out at the horizon too. A ship swayed on the waves, the mast tall, a flag snapping in the wind.

“Agnes,” you said, “or would you prefer Agatha?”

“Worked it out, did you, love?” she asked.

“You robbed me,” you said.

“I robbed your father,” she corrected.

Finally turning to face you, you chose to drink your fill of her. She was beautiful, as beautiful as she’d been in the moonlight the night before. Wild and uncontrollable, not made to be contained, even in your mind. You wanted her. You were never going to stop wanting her.

“Why?” you asked.

“To prove I could.” She shrugged, “he was bragging that his house was impenetrable and that his greatest treasure could never be taken.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Although I’m beginning to think his greatest treasure wasn’t one of the objects in his home,” she said.

Your cheeks heated as her finger dragged along the skin of your collarbone and your breath was shaky as you drew it into your lungs. The smile she was giving you was predatory, like a cat with its sights set on a particularly nice bird. It was the exact kind of look that had you realising how much you wanted to feel this way for the rest of your life. You took a step closer to her.

“Will you steal me too?” you asked, breathless and desperate and not caring if you sounded desperate.

“What’s that, love?” she asked, head cocking to the side as her eyes dragged over you.

“Steal me from him too. Take me away. Make me yours,” you said.

Your hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her closer. Her hands settled on your waist, cinched in with the corset you’d been forced into that morning.

“I’m not sure about that, love. You’re not made for the pirate life,” she said.

“I’m not made for this life. I can’t stay here. Not anymore. Please. You said you would empty your coffers to have me. You don’t have to. Just take me,” you said.

“It won’t be the sort of luxury you’re used to,” she said.

“You mean the cage I live in,” you said.

“It’s not a pretty existence,” she said.

“I’ll be pretty enough to make up for it,” you replied.

“Indeed you will,” she said, eyes dipping down to your lips, “do you need to return home and pack a bag?”

“You’re the only thing I need now,” you said.

Her expression brightened and she swooped down, lips pressing to yours in a searing kiss. In the sun shining off the sea, salt on the air, you thought you might have found the suitor of your dreams without the help of your father. Certainly without his approval.

But when a pirate captain stole you away, there was nothing to be done expect enjoy the adventure.

[brunchable]

Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

[tylermileslockett]

Theseus #6 (The Abandonment of Ariadne)

Having succeeded in his mission to slay the Minotaur, breaking King Minos demand for yearly sacrifices of Athenian tributes, Theseus flees Crete with the Princess Ariadne in the cover of night. A terrible storm forces them to stop on the Island of Dia (Nexos), where they find rest and respite in the safety and warmth of each other’s arms. But that night, Dionysus visits Theseus in a dream, threatening death if he does not abandon the princess, for Dionysus has also fallen in love with her. With a heavy heart, Theseus sneaks away in the night and puts out to sea, leaving her behind. Dionysus takes Ariadne as his wife, eventually bringing her to Olympus, making her immortal, and begetting many children with her.

there are many different versions told of princess Ariadne’s fate. According to the cryptic passage in Homer’s Odyssey, on the island of Naxos, she was slain by Artemis with Dionysus as witness; suggesting a blasphemous act of lust within the god’s sacred grove (mirroring Ovid’s later ending for the Atalanta myth).  Plutarch, in his Life of Theseus chapter from his work “Parallel lives,” recounts an array of variations; from her hanging herself upon abandonment, to her settling down with a Dionysian priest. There’s even a version that tells of Ariadne being turned to stone by Perseus! Ovid says that Dionysus set Ariadne’s jeweled Cretan crown up into the night sky, becoming the constellation “Corona Borealis.”

Another fascinating version is the Roman poet Catullus’ “Poem 64”, which has a furious Ariadne calling on goddesses to curse Theseus for abandoning her, which results in the many tragedies that follow in the hero’s life.

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in Aug/Sept to kickstarter.  to get unseen free hi-hes art subscribe to my email newsletter

Follow my backerkit kickstarter notification page.

Thank you for supporting independent artists! 🤘❤️🏛😁

[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa! Reader and Shang Tsung in MK 1 (Part 1)

NEXT

SPOILER ALERT FOR MK 1 STORYMODE

A/N: I hope y'all like this as I've been hyped for this game since I heard its release!!! I was so excited for the possibilities that I watched the full storymode cut as soon as it came out to take notes! Be aware, given this is a new timeline, there ARE gonna be some changes from the other hc/s you've known, but rest assured that doesn't mean I have forgotten. Please enjoy!

You were born around the same northern canton as Shang Tsung, yet you would come to know him in adulthood. You were born as the second eldest to your village's apothecary during your childhood. You never knew your eldest sister, who was taken at infancy to become Umgadi; despite this, your mother always spoke highly of the daughter she never got to know. To the point of being grating to everyone around you, including yourself. On the other hand, your father had high hopes for you to someday take over the apothecary of your village, having seen your innate talent and intrigue for medicine from an early age.

You reveled in the pride your father expressed for you. Although, your mother gave you a different time of day despite your best efforts. Because of your frustrations, you would come across to others as prickly and shrewish. Although deep down, you just wanted a chance to make BOTH your parents proud.

That day came, but not in the way you truly hoped, when a plague struck your village from another nearby canton. Thankfully, it wasn't Tarkat, but that didn't make the one that came any less deadly.

You and your father worked day and night to help treat your village, giving them depleting medicine to ease their symptoms. However, that doesn't mean you didn't have your fair share of corpses you had to help burn to stifle the plague from spreading.

When your father became ill from overworking, you took it upon yourself to search for a cure. It took weeks of secretly digging corpses out of the burn puts and cutting them open (something that wasn't so hard for you to stomach, oddly) to find which combinations of elixirs were the most effective before you found a cure. Even then, it took weeks of trials and tribulations before you finally succeeded. However, to others, you seemed to have cured your village overnight by some miracle, making both your parents proud.

From then on, through the grapevine, it wasn't hard for the newly crowned rulers of Outworld, Sindel and Jerrod, to hear the word of an upcoming healer making a name for herself around the northern cantons by healing most ailments and diseases. Eventually, they would invite you to study at the palace to further your knowledge of medicine.

You were already stunned to hear of Outworld's rulers inviting YOU, of all people, to study at their palace. Imagine your amazement when you first saw the luscious and lively city of Sun Do. Yet the city seemed pale compared to the crown jewel of Sun Do Palace.

When you were escorted into the palace, instead of immediately heading into the throne room as instructed, you slipped away from Li Mei's watch to head toward the legendary Hanging Gardens. While exploring the garden's flora, you took the time to sketch out the plant life you've never seen to look up later. In fact, you were so caught up in what you were doing you didn't immediately acknowledge Empress Sindel when she entered. When she invited you inside for tea, did you finally look up from what you were doing and realize who you had spoken to the entire time.

You quickly bowed as you started to ramble out apologies for not properly greeting your Empress, stating how you meant no offense or disrespect. Sindel only gave a small chuckle and brushed it off, stating it was a relief to know the healer they invited to study here had so much potential. From there, after getting berated by Li Mei about how there won't be a next time for you to slip from her, you meet Jerrod.

Jerrod and Sindel watched you flourish into a benevolent and dedicated healer, eventually the Head Healer for the Palace, often treating the royal family, Imperial Guard, or Umgadi. While there, you were also trained by Li Mei herself to defend yourself, to prove that every member of the Imperial House is capable of defending Outworld.

You and Sindel grew to have a close friendship. In fact, you treated Sindel the most when she was pregnant with twins and watched as both came into the world. You, too, helped with the upbringing of Mileena and Kitana after Jerrod's death. Sindel found she could confide in you, knowing any secret with you is safe, assured in your loyalty to her and the royal house.

However, that's not to say your friendship with Sindel didn't get into trouble occasionally, specifically in matters concerning Tarkat and those afflicted with it, as your role as a Healer conflicts with Sindel's policies.

You took it upon yourself to become one of the lead researchers into Tarkat, including going to the colony of those afflicted in the Wastes. What you saw appalled you and sickened every part of you that is a Healer.

Yet, as Sindel continues to ignore your suggestions on improving Tarkatan's life, a wedge forms between you. That doesn't stop you from advocating giving Tarkatans better treatment than what they currently have. You and Sindel's skirmish reaches a crescendo when Mileena, infected with Tarkart, one day approaches you.

You tried everything you could to treat her in secret from Sindel, fearing the Empress would banish her own daughter. Yet neither of your efforts would be successful as Sindel and Kitana eventually learned about Mileena's affliction. You and Sindel argued about how Mileena's illness should be dealt with, with you calling Sindel a hypocrite for protecting Mileena when she doesn't do the same for the rest of her sick subjects.

Thanks to the new sorcerer, Shang Tsung, that Mileena found, she was temporarily cured before she could go on a bloody rampage. Immediately, you asked Shang how he figured out how to treat Mileena's symptoms. To which he answered by offering a partnership, stating that together, you both had a real chance to cure the princess and all of Outworld. An invitation you were not going to turn down, much to the Sorcerer's delight.

Thanks to Shang Tsung backing your argument, Sindel had a laboratory built near the Tarkatan camp so you could further your studies for a cure. Although, secretly, it may have also been a way for you to put some distance between you and Sindel since you felt you needed time away from her and the city.

Shang Tsung introduced you to Syzoth, who he claimed would work as an assistant. You were unaware of his enslavement to Shang. Although more at ease in your presence, you couldn't help but notice how twitchy Syzoth can be, especially whenever Shang is in the room.

You recognize Shang's mannerisms, dialect, and choice of clothing to be from the same area you're from. Despite the familiarity you two connected with, you were wary of Shang when he refused to indulge in what he used to be. While he finds your caution understandable, that would not stop him from trying to woo you.

At first, he wasn't quite successful in using honeyed words and shiny trinkets since you were too caught up in your work to care for them. Frustratingly for him, you struck a faster friendship with Syzoth over your interests in each other's cultures. Yet, it didn't escape Shang's notice that Syzoth would cringe at your dark humor and be unable to fully understand the theories you would share with him.

Shang Tsung changed his approach to you after taking note of you and Syzoth's interactions (and punishing Syzoth in private). He got this chance when you let slip a dark joke that some would say is in bad humor. You slap a hand over your mouth when you realize what you said. Yet, to your surprise, the sorcerer you saw as pretentious and full of himself let out a genuine laugh to the point he had to step back from his worktable to reorient himself.

Shang Tsung didn't fake finding you humorous especially when it meant seeing you direct your smile toward him. One small but genuine one he scarcely ever saw directed at him. He found himself wanting more.

Such a small moment led to a friendship that intertwined with your partnership. Shang got you talking about your work and what you hope to accomplish with it, occasionally encouraging you. You would find him sometimes jotting down notes when you share with him theories you developed about Tarkat, including how its mutative properties cause an excessive amount of bone to grow from a person and could probably strengthen a person if used right.

"Yet, I would never actually see if that's true. Not only would it be incredibly painful, but it would be an act against nature.

"Of course, yet shouldn't progress be something healers should strive for?

"Indeed we do, but not at the cost of lives."

Syzoth watched as your relationship with Shang Tsung flourished, thus leading you to share a few apothecary secrets your father taught you. The Zatteran wishes he could've told you about the man you looked fondly at, yet he kept his mouth shut.

Unbeknownst to you, Shang Tsung would take some of your ideas and theories with Tarkat and then make them into a horrid reality, all right under your nose. For all you knew, the basement level of the lab would eventually be used to treat patients.

Yet, you didn't think Shang Tsung could ever be so depraved. Not from the charming and intelligent man you came to know through long discussions and walks near the lab. However, you started to grow suspicious since you saw Syzoth often head downstairs, but Shang Tsung discouraged you from looking around below. This eventually spiraled into a confrontation between the two of you.

You argued that both of you are partners and thus are equals. Just, what was he hiding down there? However, when you confronted the Sorcercer and gave him a piece of your mind, that's when disaster struck.

Fed up with Shang Tsung dancing around the answer and his secretiveness, you marched right to the door leading to the lower levels of the Laboratory. Out of desperation, Shang Tsung then ran to your side to push you away from the door.

He only meant to push you hard enough to get you away from the door, but it was enough to push you directly into a shelf containing a glass jar containing proto-type Anti-Tarkat serum that fell directly on your head, followed by more unknown serums. You screamed at the searing pain of glass and the liquids entering your eyes.

Your skin started to peel away, leaving your entire body in patches of red rashes, and your hair fell out in clumps. Your screams filled the entire laboratory as you collapsed to the ground. You didn't see the panicked look on Shang's face as he instructed Syzoth (who saw the whole thing) to carry you.

A/N: Sorry, that's all for now, folks. I reached the word count limit.😅 Don't worry, part 2 is coming out real soon!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Would That I

Pairing: Otto Hightower x f!reader Warnings: Smut, age gap, keeping it in the family. Word count: ~1.1k Summary: Otto makes sure his pretty, young wife has absolutely everything she desires. Based on this request.

She is smitten with Otto the moment she lays eyes on him. Arriving in King’s Landing she anticipates a week of uninteresting jousts and tedious formalities, but as she sits in the stands, thoroughly uninterested by the spectacle of the two knights charging towards each other on horseback, her eye is drawn to the Hand of the King. He is older than her by at least three decades, but he is refined, tall and ruggedly handsome. While the potential suitors within the capital are seemingly endless, none of them compare to Otto Hightower

Using every excuse within her arsenal over the coming days, she seizes all opportunities to see and speak to him, and is delighted to find he is every bit as charming as he is handsome. He titters at her jokes and she is enamoured by the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles, the green of his iris appearing to sparkle as he does so. His voice is deep, yet velvety smooth and she hangs on his every word. He is intelligent, diplomatic and sharp as Valyrian steel.

Her desire for him intensifies as the days press on, and emboldened by one too many cups of Dornish red following a feast one evening, she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her heart fluttering as she feels the warmth of his large palm cup her cheek as he returns the gesture.

“I have not felt like this about a woman in years,” He tells her.

She smiles at his words. She has not felt like this about a man ever.

There is no need for her to leave come the end of the week, King’s Landing is now her home, and after a hastily put together ceremony in the Sept, Otto Hightower is her husband.

He surprises her with his virility on their wedding night, wringing peak after peak from her pliant body, leaving her exhausted but with a satisfying ache between her thighs the following morning. Otto spoils her beyond comprehension, she wants for nothing and has the finest of everything; jewels from Lys, gowns of Myrish silk and lace, wines from the Arbor. He is diligent in keeping her sated in every aspect of their marriage.

It is obvious his daughter, Alicent, does not approve, though she does not say it, and who can blame her? She has to admit that she’d be annoyed too if her father chose to marry someone younger than his own daughter.

It is not Alicent’s silent disapproval that bothers her, however, it is how the ladies of the court love to gossip. It is not unusual in Westeros for men to wed women much younger than themselves, yet she finds herself at the center of all manner of prying questions regarding the nature of her marriage to Otto. She supposes it is because of the responsibility he holds as the King’s Hand.

“What is it you see in him?” One bold lady dares to ask.

She bites her lip, considering her answer. She longs to say that it sends a thrill through her body to wait upon her knees for him, gazing up at him as he presses the head of himself past her lips. Such talk would cause a scandal, however, so she gives a tight smile and says that he is tall.

“Surely that can’t be all?”

“No, he is handsome too,” She says wistfully, thinking about how he gazes up at her from between her thighs, the softness of his beard tickling her soft flesh, the sensation causing her to clench around nothing.

“Is he kind to you?”

“Oh, yes, Otto is extraordinarily generous!” There is a particular necklace that Otto insists she wears, with nothing else to accompany it, whenever they are alone in their marital chambers. It sits tight against her throat, adorned with emeralds that gleam in the same shade of green as the Hightower house colours. It likely cost a small fortune, but in his eyes nothing is too good for her, not when he is buried to the hilt inside of her.

“Is that your favourite quality of his?”

“No,” She muses. “I adore his dedication to his family.”

The combined heat from the fireplace and lit candles that sit upon every surface of the bedchamber make the room stiflingly hot. She feels sweat trickle down her neck, disappearing beneath the emerald choker that sits snugly around her neck, every green gemstone glittering in the dim light as she rolls her hips against Otto’s.

His grip on her waist is vice-like, every sensation heightened by warmth, as the length of him nudges against a spot inside of her that makes her tense with every undulation of her body. She feels taut, pulled tighter than a bow string until it eventually snaps, sending her headlong into oblivion, waves of ecstasy rolling through her as she collapses against her husband’s chest, triggering his own release.

His fingers stroke gently over her dampened skin as he holds her close. Already, renewed desire throbs between her legs.

“Are you satisfied, my dear?” Otto asks softly.

“I will never have enough of you, my love,” Comes her playful response.

“That is not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” She lifts her head, eyeing him curiously.

“I have seen the way that you and Aemond look at each other, I am no fool.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It is nothing, I can assure you.”

“I do not mind,” He rises from the bed, pulling on a robe. “I wish for my darling wife to be satisfied, to have everything she desires, so I shall make it so.”

He opens the chamber door, uttering “you can come in now” and her eyes widen in disbelief when she sees Otto’s second oldest grandson hovering in the doorway. It seems outrageous to her that he would suggest such a thing, yet she cannot deny the way it makes her pulse race.

“I shall be back in an hour.” Otto informs them both, before leaving.

She is too stunned to speak at first as she takes in the sight of Aemond. He seems stoic and unaffected in his demeanour, until she studies him more carefully. She takes in how his pupil is dilated with lust, the prominent bulge that presses against the lacings of his trousers, and the slight parting of his lips as he struggles to control his excited breaths.

Arranging herself atop the bedspread, she relaxes knowing that he desires her just as much as she desires him. She beckons him to her with a crook of her finger. “Come now, don’t be shy.” He goes to her eagerly.

It is just one of the many perks of being Otto Hightower’s wife. He is nothing if not generous in every aspect of their marriage, and so dedicated to his family.

[fenharelsfang]

"I don't think I'm ready for this."

The Winter Palace loomed over the Inquisition agents as they stepped through the wrought-iron gate into the front gardens, a colossal silhouette against the twilit sky, crowned in gold and glittering with the setting sun. The soft yellow light of ornate lamp posts dotted the landscape like stars in the night. Violets and lilies adorned bushes in marble planters, their sweet fragrance permeating the air. A large fountain sat in an alcove at the back of the gardens, two sets of stairs curving up to the entrance of the palace proper. Cool, crystal clear water flowed gently over a circle of golden winged lions.

"It's too late to back out now, Inquisitor,” said Josephine, ambassador of the Inquisition. She wore an off-shoulder golden bouffant dress accentuated with embroidered flowers and vines. Her raven-colored hair, usually kept in a low-hanging bun, was now free and draped over one shoulder. She wore a delicate golden amulet adorned with a ruby in its center. Gold eyeliner complimented her hazel eyes.

“Do stop slouching, please,” she continued as she scrutinized the Inquisitor’s appearance. “How you present yourself is a matter of life and death when it comes to the Game. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness. Even more so when we approach the court. The Inquisition must not show weakness or they will eat us alive."

Ellana Lavellan, the Inquisitor currently being berated by her diplomatic advisor for her posture, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. None of what Josephine said made her feel any better about the situation, though.

"Correction: I know I am not ready for this."

Ellana was Dalish! They didn't go to fancy balls or dress in the latest human fashion. She didn't even own a dress! What she wore now was entirely too thin and fragile to survive a day in the forest. However, Josephine insisted she look the part of a proper Lady. Elves had an ethereal beauty to them and it needed to be flaunted if they were to impress Empress Celene. Ellana felt that would be easy, considering Celene used to have an elven lover, but Josephine's fretting over the downfall of the Inquisition's reputation would not abate.

Now, Ellana stood before her fellow agents in a white silk gown, cinched at the waist by a golden brooch with the Inquisition symbol etched into it. The gown had a plunging neckline, framed by a high collar that was tied with golden string at the collarbone. It was simple, but the added golden embellishments gave it an air of elegance that was hard to deny. With her light blonde hair woven into an intricate updo and accentuated by a golden winged circlet, she was the epitome of what the Herald of Andraste should look like.

... Aside from the pointed ears and the face tattoos honoring a goddess who was not the Maker.

As they were actually here in the Winter Palace to prevent an assassination, Ellana had alterations made to the dress. The skirt could be peeled off, revealing leggings underneath that would allow her to move without exhibiting her undergarments for all to see. The skirt was also long enough that it hid her feet. They sported bottomless sandals rather than the jeweled slippers that Josephine wanted her to wear. Ellana needed to feel the ground underneath her feet. Elemental magic was her specialty and shoes got in the way of channeling the energy of the earth.

"Smile, Inquisitor. Eyes are upon us," Leliana encouraged. Her smile, relaxed and confident, was entirely uncharacteristic of the usually cold and deadly demeanor of the spymaster. She almost looked at home among the elite of Orlais and Ellana had to remind herself that this was all a façade.

The Inquisitor flashed a smile at passing nobles that didn’t quite reach her emerald eyes due to her growing anxiety. Leliana’s own smile faltered and she silently shook her head to get Ellana to stop.

"Honestly, you aren't doing yourself any favors with the company you've decided to bring with you," Josephine muttered under her breath, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the Inquisitor’s struggle. The Antivan glanced behind them to take in their entourage. Everyone was dressed in fine red velvet suits trimmed in gold with blue sashes extending across their chests and wrapping around their waists. At least they were uniform in that regard.

Ellana tilted her head at the ambassador. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, an apostate elf? A Qunari spy? A spirit boy? Dorian at least has some exposure to the nobility, but he's from Tevinter!"

"I am technically an apostate elf, too, mind you," Ellana shot back defensively, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Solas has given me good counsel since the beginning of this whole ordeal." The slight curving of Leliana's lips did not go unnoticed by her and she quickly continued. "They won't even remember seeing Cole and Iron Bull knows how to behave in court. He wouldn't be a Ben-Hassrath if he couldn't blend into his surroundings."

Josephine sighed. "I suppose, but Madame Vivienne, Varric, Blackwall, or even Cassandra would have been a better choice."

It was an unspoken agreement that bringing Sera would be a catastrophe.

"As you said yourself: it's too late to back out now. Let's just get this over with."

She took one step before spotting Duke Gaspard weaving his way through the crowd of nobles in the garden. He wore a suit of teal silk brocade, adorned with silverite pauldrons. A red sash was draped over his broad chest. His face, as was Orlesian custom, was hidden behind a golden half-mask. Ellana could barely see his eyes through the slits and it unnerved her greatly. You could gauge an individual's intentions through their eyes, creature or human. Did he have something to hide?

"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Lavellan," he greeted in a thick Orlesian accent. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, the stubble of his beard leaving red scratch marks on her skin. She resisted the urge to wince.

"Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was a brilliant move," he continued and leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. "Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!"

Ah, so he was fishing for support. He figured he had an edge on the competition since she accepted his invitation to the masquerade. Arrogant man.

"Oh?" she asked and put a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "Which one was the rightful one, again? I keep getting them confused."

Gaspard let out a genuine laugh, the sound emanating from deep within his chest. "Why, the handsome, charming one of course, my lady!"

She could feel his eyes graze over her body appraisingly, lingering for no small amount of time on her chest, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The dress was definitely a mistake. Behind her, the air cooled considerably and Solas cleared his throat. The agonizingly long moment ended and Gaspard extended an arm for her to take.

"My lady, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper?" He grinned devilishly down at her.

She, playing the part of charming guest, smiled up at him, all teeth and dimpled cheeks. "I can't imagine that crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives," she joked. Gaspard laughed and placed a hand over the one holding his arm. He pierced her with his gaze through those slitted eyes.

"You are a woman after my own heart," he replied, voice husky. Oh no, she was making this worse. The hand resting over her own was pressed up against her breast, a rather sly way to grope her. The Game was not something she was adept at. Was this even part of the Game? All she knew was that she couldn't part from him soon enough.

They ascended the stairs towards the entrance of the Winter Palace and, along the way, the whispers of the nobles did not go unnoticed.

"Is that the Inquisitor?"

"An elven savage? Maker forbid!"

"Andraste would never choose a knife-ear as her herald."

"Is this Gaspard's idea of a joke?"

"Perhaps she's his whore. She certainly dresses like one."

"Those marks on her face are hideous."

Each comment was a dagger to her pride. Her cheeks burned with shame. They had a point: why would Andraste choose an elf to save Thedas? Ellana didn't even believe in the Maker. Their opinions shouldn't have mattered, but they did. It wasn't just because they were directed at her. She was the face of the Inquisition and a negative opinion of her would reflect poorly on her people. They deserved better than that.

The walk to the front entrance stretched on for an eternity. Ellana did her best to keep her composure and block out the horrible remarks, with little success. She was vaguely aware of Gaspard speaking to her about his concerns for the night, namely that Briala, the elven ambassador, was up to something with her legion of servants. Ellana’s jaw tightened.

"Tell me there's more to your suspicion than 'the elves were acting dodgy'," she interrupted, her tone taking on a sharp edge. Gaspard was taken aback by her sudden change in mood. Of course he didn't notice what was being said about her. Or he did, but didn't care. Elves meant less than nothing to humans.

"Briala used to be a servant of Celene's," Gaspard argued. "That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up a political mistake. If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it's that elf. She certainly has reason."

Right, the assassination attempt. That's what really mattered. Why should she care what those idiot nobles thought of her when the fate of the world was at stake? And yet it gnawed away at her from the inside all the same. Perhaps she was afraid those remarks were mere echoes of her own thoughts.

"I'll look into it," she said, deflated.

Gaspard sighed. "Be as discreet as possible," he warned. "I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains."

He relinquished her arm when they entered the vestibule and left to mingle with a few of the guests. Ellana breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face her entourage.

"When you meet the empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you," Josephine reminded her. She smoothed out a crinkle in Ellana's dress and adjusted her collar. "You were safer staring down Corypheus, I'm afraid. The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards."

A wave of nausea swept over Ellana. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a war drum. Outside, she had fresh air, but in the palace the walls seemed to press in, threatening to crush her. Through it all, the disparaging remarks of the nobles were building to a crescendo in her mind, drowning out all other noise.

"You're just full of joy and light this evening," she managed to croak out when Josephine continued to stare at her. It was supposed to be a light-hearted jest but lacked the substance.

"Everything will be fine," Josephine said, to herself more than anyone else. "Andraste watch over us all."

The group broke apart then, Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana ascending another set of stairs to scope out the perimeter before the festivities started.

"I’m headed to the buffet,” said Bull as he patted his growling stomach. "I'm starving."

"Vishante kaffas, don't just shovel it in your mouth like a savage, you oaf," Dorian grumbled. He followed after the Qunari to try to prevent a disaster.

Cole had already vanished.

The anticipation of the night's events threatened to overwhelm Ellana and she tried to quickly and gracefully descend another set of stairs that led into a storage room. She just needed a moment to collect herself, a place to catch her breath. There was a mirror in the storage room with a great golden frame, a lion head jutting out on either side of the arch. She caught her reflection in it as she paced the small space and stopped. Her hands went to her knife-shaped ears, traced the hideous marks on her forehead and cheeks, the Dalish version of a mask. The sudden hatred that consumed her spilled over and she tossed the feathered circlet off of her head, yanking her hair out of the updo that took Josephine hours to do. She tried to style her hair so it would hide her ears. On a table next to the mirror sat a few discarded masks. She picked one up and placed it over her face to hide her vallaslin.

There, now she looked more human. Acceptable ... right? So why did her stomach continue to churn? Why were hot, angry tears threatening to spill over?

"What are you doing?"

Ellana gasped and spun around. She was so caught up in her emotional turmoil that she didn't hear the door open or even see the elf behind her in the mirror.

"Solas! I was just--"

His brows knitted in concern as he took in her wild hair and covered face. 'I'm fine,' was her instinctual response, but it never reached her lips. It was impossible to lie to him. He was wise beyond his years and though they had only known each other a short amount of time, she felt he knew, intimately, the depths of her heart.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted in a whisper, her bottom lip trembling as the tears finally slipped down her cheeks. "This isn't --- Did you hear the things they said? I don't belong here."

He slowly approached her until they were mere inches apart. There was fire in his eyes, a righteous fury. For her? Or maybe he thought her foolish. His fingertips slipped under the edge of the mask, grazing her wet cheeks before gently removing the mask from her face. He tossed it aside, never taking his eyes off of her. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away.

"They are not worth your tears."

His hands cupped her face, wiping her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Her breath hitched in her throat. His hands were rough, calloused, but the gesture was tender. He cradled her face like he was holding the world in his hands, his gaze so intense it was as if nothing else existed in that moment but them. The echoes of the nobles' words faded away as she hung onto every one of his.

"I'm the Inquisitor," she protested. "I'm supposed to represent the Inquisition. This meeting hinges on what the court makes of me and they just see me as an elven savage--! If I were human--"

"You are Elvhen," Solas declared, cutting off her downward spiral. "Our people built an empire that spanned all of Thedas. We created wonders the likes of which no other race has ever accomplished and never will."

This was the first time he had ever referred to her as one of his people. When they first met, he showed such scorn for the Dalish and didn't associate himself with city elves. He stood apart and above everyone else. His name meant 'pride' in the elven language, but she only ever saw him as ... lonely. Now he was including her in his world, the world of the true elves. Who knew whether he was right, but the meaning itself meant everything to her.

"Beyond that," he continued as he circled around behind her, "you are the Inquisitor." His fingers brushed against the nape of her neck as he started to gather her hair into his hands, handling it like it was made of the finest silk. "You command an army that makes nations tremble.” Her scalp tingled as he continued to brush his fingers through her hair. “Ferelden, Orlais, the Free Marches, they hang on to your every word and beg for the salvation that only you can deliver. You stand defiant against a would-be god and his archdemon. Be proud of who and what you are."

He leaned in close to her, lips a hair's breadth from her ear. "And you are the most beautiful woman in this entire palace," he murmured. Goosebumps erupted down her arms and the back of her neck, making her shiver, but unlike with Gaspard it was thrilling, not revolting. Desire sparked in her core and she fought back the urge to spin around and crush her lips against his. He was tying her hair up into a bun, not the complicated braided crown that Josephine had created, but loose and elegant, leaving her ears visible for all to see.

"These nobles fear the power you wield. Your beauty is a height they can never hope to reach. Envious, they must try to tear you down instead. Do not let them."

The bun was finished and he stepped back around to her front, his hands planting firmly on her hips. His words stole the breath from her lungs and set her heart fluttering. No one had ever spoken of her that way before. Not her clan, not her friends, not even her former lover. The words rolled off of his tongue so easily like they were waiting to be said.

"Sweet talker," she managed in a breathless whisper.

There was a spark of amusement in his eyes, though it was quickly covered by a solid determination. "I speak the truth," he said and she believed him. Even if it wasn't objectively true, it was to him and needed to be said.

Fear creeped into her voice as the weight of the words made her falter. He held her in such high regard. Maybe too high. "What if I fail?" she asked.

"You won't."

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. "You have such confidence in me."

"It is well-deserved."

Ellana swallowed, all too aware of the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her dress. She tilted her head back to get a better look at him and tried to take a step closer, but he held her in place. There was a storm churning in his steel blue eyes, a flurry of emotions warring inside of him. Excitement. Adoration. Desire. Then regret, resignation. Behind it all, a sorrow so deep and endless she felt she might drown in it. He was always restraining himself. In the Fade, on the balcony of her room, his heart and mind were at odds with each other. There was an obvious attraction between them. He had already kissed her twice before, but still something kept holding him back. The chains of a past she knew nothing about. He spoke of his journeys through the Fade, but never of himself. All of those pretty words and no follow-up.

"You're always so detached and self-controlled, Solas,” she observed. Her hands rested atop his and felt them tremble as she gently pried them away. "But you don't need to be ... not with me."

Fingers danced along the velvet fabric of his suit before resting against his chest. She could feel his erratic heartbeat through his jacket and knew then that her words were true. So she did have the same effect on him that he had on her. A hesitant step forward closed the distance between them further.

"This is dangerous," he breathed, eyelids drooping. His resolve was faltering.

"I like danger." She gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer. They were mere inches away from each other now.

"Ellana," he warned and a thrill pulsed through her at the sound of her name on his lips.

"What are you so afraid of?"

He struggled to find the words, eyes glossed over as if trapped in a memory. She watched him for a moment, noting the light dusk of freckles across his cheeks and nose, the scar above his brow, the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. It was as if the gods themselves sculpted him. He was beautiful.

She rested a hand against his cheek to pull him back to the present. "Solas?"

"... I don't want to lose you," he finally admitted, leaning into her touch. His fingers curled around hers and her heart ached. There were such thick walls around his heart and though she chipped away at it, she still hadn't completely broken through. Solas was always looking miles ahead of everyone else or behind in his past, but never in the moment.

Her smile was kind, patient. "You still have me," she assured him and traced the line of his jaw down to his chin. "I don't know what the future holds for us. I don't know if we'll defeat Corypheus or what will happen to the Inquisition. I don't know if you and I will stay together or drift apart, but fear of the future shouldn't stop us from enjoying the present. What I do know is that you make me feel ... important. Like I matter beyond my titles. Me, Ellana. Not the Inquisitor, not the Herald of Andraste, not the Keeper's First. Just ... me. You look at me like I'm the only thing that matters .. like the world could crumble all around us and you wouldn't even notice." She glanced down, her cheeks tinged red. "Perhaps it's selfish of me, but I want to be the only one you look at that way."

She felt him take her chin and tip it up, his gaze a smoldering flame that slowly drifted down to settle on her mouth.

"You are."

Their lips met and everything he had held back from her flooded into that kiss. His adoration and desire burned against her like a wildfire. She grew lightheaded from the force of it, but craved the taste of him as a Templar coveted lyrium. They parted for a brief moment to catch their breath and his hands found her waist again, though this time it was to pull her against him. Her dress, so flimsy before, was now far too thick. She wound her arms around his neck, her tongue flicking against his lips. That elicited a groan deep in his chest that rumbled against her own. He was unraveling before her and it exhilarated her. The kiss broke again only for her to pepper more across his jaw and down his throat.

"Ellana," he groaned. It spurred her to start hastily undoing the buttons of his jacket, but he brought her face back up to capture her lips again. The kiss deepened and she felt his tongue in her mouth, gliding along her own. He gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her up onto his waist, her back hitting the wall. She braced herself against it and wrapped her legs around him for support. His hands slid up underneath her dress and caressed her thighs and she moaned. Her leggings were still in the way, but his fingertips teased along the waistline. That flame he sparked inside of her became an all-consuming fire.

"Solas," she whimpered as kisses traced her collarbone. Her fingers tried to find the buttons of his jacket again, but now his lips were at her breasts. She had awakened a wolf in him that lay dormant for far too long and it was ravenous for the taste of her flesh. He was struggling to bring himself back under control, but she didn't want him to. He brought his lips back to her jawline, his cheek brushing against hers.

"Ar lath, ma vhenan," he breathed and time stopped. She went rigid in his grip and he stared up at her as if surprised the words had spilled from his mouth. They stared at each other, fighting for breath and trying to make sense of the words through their delirium. He slowly lowered her back to the ground, though his arms stayed wrapped around her. She, too, refused to let go of him.

"...You do?" she asked. Her arousal, though definitely still there, was melting into something else.

His eyes searched hers, trying to discern how she felt about the words, but then he set his jaw, resolute. "I do."

The confession hung between them for an agonizing moment and he swallowed, his throat bobbing in anticipation of her reaction. A wide grin spread across her flushed face. There was attraction between them, yes, but she never expected that it went deeper than that for him ... that he loved her, that he would admit it first. She had been in love with him from the moment they met, when he first grabbed her hand and showed her the power that she wielded. He always seemed so lonely and sad, but he would positively light up when speaking about the Fade. She lived for those stories. His smile, as rare and fleeting as it was, could brighten her whole day. When he laughed? Indescribable. She only heard it once and it became her personal mission to hear it again. But her fears mirrored his: she didn't want to lose him either, so she never built up the courage to tell him how she felt. Now he admitted it himself. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him tenderly.

"Ar lath, ma vhenan," she declared in return.

He flashed her a crooked grin before pulling her back against him, intending to finish what they started.

Until the door to the storage room creaked open.

"There you are, Inquisitor," Josephine announced with no small degree of relief. "We've been looking ev- Oh." The scene before her finally registered and she blushed, averting her eyes respectfully. "Oh, do forgive me." she apologized, "I seem to have opened the wrong door."

"Josephine!” Ellana called out in surprise. Her face turned the shade of spindleweed and she let go of Solas, smoothing out her dress. “It’s fine, we were just–”

Solas glanced over his shoulder at the ambassador before calmly picking Ellana’s circlet off of the floor and placing it back on her head. How could he be so poised?! She was mortified, but he had an air of smugness about him, as if being caught making out with the Inquisitor in a closet was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yes, well, the court is ready to receive us,” Josephine said, her gaze still averted. “I will meet you upstairs.” With that, she slipped back out of the door.

Ellana released a breath she didn’t know she was holding and adjusted the brooch and her hair. “Right, well, I guess it’s time to meet the empress.”

“Remember my words,” Solas told her as he straightened his own jacket.

“How could I forget them?” She buttoned up his jacket and fixed the sash, aware that he was gazing at her fondly. “Save me a dance?”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps, as soon as our present business is concluded.”

“I'll hold you to that.” She grinned and headed out of the storage room to meet up with Josephine.

Thankfully, it seemed the nobles were so caught up in their own affairs that they didn't seem to pay her much mind. A few cursive glances her way and more whispering, but she found herself less bothered by them than before.

“Be proud of who you are.”

She lifted her head to stare down her nose at them and confidently strode upstairs and into the ballroom.

[thetormentita]

the bastard queen - chapter 1

the things we do for love.

Pairing: Original female! Targaryen/Arthur Dayne

A/n: au for Robert’s Rebellion. Enjoy!

Rating: Mature (+16)

The strangling tension can suffocate even the most strong-willed courtier. With the hint of charred corpses still lingering in the air, Arthur Dayne wonders if the king has changed his clothes since the last night, where he delighted himself with the pleading yells of two prisoners as wildfire devoured them and the rest of the people gathered in the Great Hall drowned in horror.

With the reliable Barristan Selmy guarding the meeting with him, his lilac eyes observe the men as they take their seats around the wooden table, only the naïve Qarlton Chelsted and the newly appointed Hand Owen Merryweather to not show grim faces. The tension is palpable, a heavy cloak of discomfort wrapping around each lord present. The king's recent actions have instigated fear and uncertainty, even among the most loyal men.

As matters follow one to another, almost the whole group of men trying to decide what is best for the realm, Arthur’s mind is partly elsewhere, honed by years of duty and vigilance. His gaze, under the guise of passive surveillance, catches every subtle shift and twitch among those gathered. All of them or too cautious or too coward to dare and defy the monster with the crown upon his brow.

“With your permission, Your Grace” lord Merryweather’s voice almost trembles with hesitation, fearful of the reaction of the king. “There is a pressing matter this council has to discuss” Aerys raises a pointy eyebrow towards him, and Arthur can spot the slight curl of the king's lip, an ominous prelude to his temper which could ignite over the most trivial of provocations. “Princess Valaena’s marriage.”

This mention of the Princess Valaena, the beloved jewel of the kingdom, causes a distinct shift in the atmosphere of the room. The council members exchange wary glances as the name of the only daughter of the monarches is put over the table. They all have witnessed during the years the mood swifts and the affronts of Aerys towards his own daughter, branding her as ‘bastard’, ‘dragonspawn’ or worse only because the colour of her hair is darker than the rest of her family, and they have developed various degrees of sympathy towards her. Arthur Dayne himself stiffens when Merryweather dares to speak her name, thinking of him as unfit to even think about his princess.

“We should wait” Rhaegar Targaryen, the Crowned Prince, also shows himself most uncomfortable in his chair with the idea of being separated from his beloved sister. “My lady wife is still recovering and she gladly keeps her company. It would not be wise to rush matters.”

The tension around the table is palpable. A quick glance from Rhaegar to both kingsguards looks more like a plea than he actually wants to.

“Nonsense!” the king screeches, the council apparently having passed over the menacing looks of the loon, with his nails more like claws pointing at his own son and heir and to his master of ships, who dares to agree with the prince. “That girl will be useful to the crown for once in her life.”

“Your majesty” lord Velaryon counterattacks, having properly made his work towards the eyes of the Mad King for quite a time, “with your permission, I would suggest the lady Valaena to get married to me. Houses Velaryon and Targaryen have had a shared history towards the centuries, and Driftmark would prove a safe refuge to our much beloved princess.”

Aerys, his gaze sharp as the blades his ancestors wielded, seems to consider consider Velaryon's proposal with a mixture of intrigue and suspicion. Leaving hopes for a response hanging in the air like a thick fog, he seems to find amusement in the pause, rejoicing himself as he crashes Lucerys Velaryon’s hopes with an acrid cackle.

“Do you think that I would allow my only daughter to be pushed to the margins of my realm, hidden away on Driftmark, while I sit the Iron Throne?” Aerys’s voice rises, filled with annoyance and madness, and it seems that the balls of every member of the council shake on their pedestals over the table “How dare you to even think of putting a hand on her!?”

It seems this time the protective father has taken the place of the abusive parent, and if it weren’t for the space between them both, with Aerys sat at the head of the table and the Lord of the Tides almost at the other side of it, the king would have easily thrown his wine cup to his face, or even worse.

“Your Grace” it is this time Lord Varys’ modulled voice to speak, and the whole bunch of men put their attention upon him, the Master of Whispers. The Spider. “I can think of a much more adequate suitor for the princess’ hand” his eyes dart towards Lucerys Velaryon, who just answers with a half lidded gaze behind his own cup. “Storm’s End.”

He was just a lad when the tragedy of Shipbreaker’s Bay took place, only a mere squire to prince Lewyn before he joined the Kingsguard himself. The death of the beloved Steffon Baratheon and his lady Cassana stroke the Red Keep, with queen Rhaella helplessly weeping for them in the Great Sept of Baelor and the Mad King descending upon madness more quickly even.

“Lord Steffon and lady Cassana died in a mission for the Crown, and the young stags would surely feel again protected by the Crown if their house would join house Targaryen again, like two generations ago with the arrival of princess Rhaelle.”

Both kingsguards exchange glances, almost like searching an explanation or even a support. If the only unsullied member of that wretched family was to be taken away, what could be awaiting around the corner?

“Storm’s End seems the most appropriate place, father” Rhaegar’s measured words leave Arthur and Barristan nonplussed. “Robert Baratheon is a force to be considered, and Valaena can be the most ideal way to make him bend the knee to the Crown’s wishes.” Both knights look at the prince, their expressions a mix of concern and understanding. They knew the politics of the realm as well as any, and the value of strategic marriages could not be underestimated, but Rhaegar giving up his sister, his only confident, the receiver of his hopes and praises, is something none of them can explain. “Besides, it is close to Kingslanding, with a safe passage through the Kingswood now that ser Arthur led the royal offensive and cleaned the road of thieves.”

As soon as the meeting meets its end, quickly Arthur and Barristan make their way towards Rhaegar, whose paces drive him to the Master of Whispers. Both knights carefully take their places behind them as the prince and the Spider talk about trivialities before the conversation takes a sharp turn into more pressing matters. The air around them thickens with tension as Rhaegar's tone becomes earnest, almost urgent.

“Do tell me there is a good reason for having placed that wretched idea on the table.” he grits, trying to look as calm and regal as always, the type of king Westeros deserves instead of Aerys.

“I seem to recall that you and I pursue the same interests, Your Highness. Our primary aim is to ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm,” the Spider responds, his voice smooth and measured, a stark contrast to the prince’s fight to keep his composure.

Barristan Selmy swiftly opens a door, half hidden at mere sight and the three of them end up pushing Varys inside, quickly closing it behind, making sure nobody listens to their clandestine meeting. The room, lit by a single flickering candle, casts long shadows across the faces of the men, adding an air of mystery.

“You have to be kidding, Spider” the Stormlander spits, arms crossed over his chest, clearly disgusted.

“We share a common goal, despite our interests being different” the bald man observes each and every one of them and Arthur finds it hard to not gut that man in that room and let his heart drive his actions. “With the temperamental Robert Baratheon linked to the crown, maybe one day he witnesses one of the King’s fits and surprises us. I find it surprising that none of you have reached that thought…”

“How sure you are that he will risk everything for the princess?”

It is not a question, but almost a growl that escapes his lips. With his wrist resting carelessly over Dawn’s pommel, Arthur’s lilac eyes observe the eunuch’s face with attention, ready to defend Valaena’s honour if he musts.

“She is a complete delight” a cunning smile upon Varys’ thin lips repulses him. “There are lots of young lords who would gladly risk their titles, their lands, even their lives for a chance to stand beside her. All she has to do is charm him, and he will do whatever she wishes, no matter the cost. Power, in its most intoxicating form, wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”

Arthur’s grip on Dawn tightens with the mere thought of his princess used as a mere tool in the dangerous games of court. The idea of Valaena, with her vibrant laugh and kind heart, being manipulated by those who see her as nothing more than a pawn in their quests for power fills him with a cold, seething anger. Yet, amidst this storm of emotions, a steadfast resolve takes root within him. He knows the challenges that lay ahead are daunting, but the thought of Valaena facing these alone is something he cannot, and will not, entertain. The fire in his heart, fueled by his love and unwavering determination, ignites a clear path forward. He vows to himself to keep her away from any harm, to guard her as long as he breathes, to stand by her side against the shadows that seek to engulf her.

Only when Rhaegar dismisses the Master of Whispers he allows himself to show the true depth of his concern.

“What happened to the vision, Rhaegar?” his voice, bitter, reflects the turmoil swirling within him. “We were supposed to protect her, to ensure her safety above all else. Have we lost ourselves that badly in the webs of the spider that we are unable to see the light with our own eyes?”

The vision. How hard it had been to handle the burden of such a prophecy, one who sealed the fate of the young princess to a loveless marriage, to the hopes of bearing a saviour, the future of house Targaryen depending on her fragile shoulders… At least she has Elia by her side. For a short while.

[cheezeybread]

Hello, I'm new to the blog and may I make a few requests? It's okay if you don't want to do all of them or even none of them. I just hope they comply with the request rules.

My first suggestion is a Twisted Wonderland x LP! Athanasia! Reader. The reader is EXTREMELY beautiful since she takes after her mother, Diana, and has her father's beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly jewel eyes. However, she was executed unjustly by said father due to being framed for poisoning her "lovely" older sister Jeanette whom she was always in the shadow of.

My second suggestion is a Twisted Wonderland x WMMAP! Athanasia! Reader. Again, the reader is gorgeous and has jeweled eyes, but this time, she is adored by all, including her father, who is SUPER protective of her.

My third suggestion in a Yandere! Diasomnia x Reader who wears iron to avoid them. The reader knows they're a psycho yandere and wears iron to protect themselves.

Again, it's okay if you don't want to do all or any of them, I just hope I've complied with the rules, I've followed good requesting etiquette, and that I haven't been a bother. Have a great day!

You haven't been a bother at all! I appreciate your effort into looking at the rules and everything! ^^

I saw the first idea and IMMEDIATELY thought of the reader being a mysterious ghost that haunts NRC, so I took it and ran with it, I'm sorry if that's not what you were looking for! But the Yandere Diasomnia is something that I'm definitely gonna have to write once I finish their book, eheheh~

Tws// Mentions of death (murder, specifically), spooky ghosts, too oooh

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There were tales of ghosts and ghouls, all being passed down to the freshmen late at night in their dorms. Tales that they eventually grew out of, but for their first year, it was terrifying.

There were evidence of ghosts all around school, of course. Some of the staff were deceased, and there were even ghosts infesting the old Ramshackle of a building just on campus. But those ghosts were all good and well, and didn't bother anybody who didn't bother them. These tales were more...horrifying ones. Ghosts that would stick around for centuries after their death for revenge. And once they got revenge on their killer, they'd still lash out in rage at anybody who happened to pass by...ghosts with no eyes, ghosts who could only scream...ghosts that could and would kill.

But the story that everyone collectively feared and loved the most was that of the Jeweled Lady.

Born to a wealthy family, Jeweled Lady (often called "Jewel" by those telling the story) was exceptionally beautiful. Her mother's heavenly looks, and her father's ethereal eyes combining to create a woman who had been receiving offers of marriage from a young age. As kind as she was lovely, Jewel was beloved by the entire kingdom she lived in...but one day her sister, Jeanette, died.

Jeanette was no one of note. She was average-looking, had nothing of interest to say, and did nothing to make people view her in the same lovely light that they did her younger sister. Yet despite all of this, Jeanette was her father's favorite daughter. So once she died, the father claimed that Jewel had poisoned her, and forced a court to execute her.

It was a terrible thing, and soon after her execution, the kingdom fell into a deep, dark depression without her light. Her father and most mysteriously vanished one day, either running away to a new land, or murdered by vengeful folks.

As the story goes, Jewel haunts NRC because the students remind her of better times, times when she had so much to look forward to in life. The students give her hope, it was said, and she hoped that one day she might receive justice for her terrible demise. It was said that one could stumble upon Jewel's ghost early into the morning, just before the sun rose. She liked to hang around the courtyard the most, under blooming trees. But, of course, one could also find her in the halls or the library, longingly looking at all of the stories she couldn't read.

It wasn't uncommon for students to go out and hunt for her, especially the freshmen (despite claiming they didn't believe in fairy-tales, a good many of them fell in love with the mere idea of her). Those who claimed to see her remarked on how lovely her eyes truly were....like jewels sparkling in the moonlight. Which is why, most likely, she was nicknamed "Jewel". Her true name might never be known, lost to the passage of time....

The Beloved Ghost of NRC

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[justchelleing]

Hello!! For the 100+ follower request

Id like to request cloud 9 (1) Chuuya and romantic if possible

Congratulations on over 100 followers <3

Cloud 9

Pairing: Chūya Nakahara x Fem! Reader

Type: Oneshot

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Not proofread

Synopsis: Chūya Nakahara grew to love his assistant just like how she turned out to loved him.

A/n: I'm feeling pretty useless and a bit suicidal right now :) semester starts on the 1st day of August so I'll be pretty busy after that. I am sorry if this isn't what you looked for..

Was in my drafts for who knows how long because Tumblr had an error and my drafts wouldn't save...

Event // PM.Masterlist // M.Masterlist

The five tall buildings in the center of Yokohama casted a shadow on the moonlit streets. It was the buildings owned by Mori corporation and where the rulers of the night lies, you are not foreign to them just as they are to you. The automatic door opened and you walked in, a few members showed respect by greetings and you did so too. Your black boots hit the tiled floor while walking towards the elevators, putting in the floor number, you took your phone out of your pocket and dialed a number. The phone in your hand slowly rang, and the elevator closed.

"Sir?" You called his name and could hear his slurs on the other line.

"(name).?" Oh how you loved to hear his voice, hearing your name slip out of his lips made your heart falter.

"Sir, pardon me but where exactly are you?" You tried fo gain back your composure. "Thank heavens he can't see my face right now" you thought to yourself, feeling hot in your face.

"I'm here at a bar, why?" He muttered between hiccups.

"The boss sent me a message to inform you about a sudden meeting. Osam-I mean the former executive Dazai Osamu is held captive in the dungeon, his execution is already on date" the elevator rang and opened, stepping out, you headed to your office; while he continued to listen.

You could feel his anger from the other line while he gritted his teeth upon hearing his former partner's name. You stopped by your office and grabbed a document before closing the door, releasing a thud.

"When's the meeting?" He asked, it seemed as if he really was sober now.

"About three days from now, but it's preferable for you to return the day after tomorrow. After all you do have some matters to attend to in Yokohama, boss said that he'll call you later" You entered the elevator once again and waited for his response.

"I'll return be there tomorrow, answer me if I call alright?"

"Yes sir, good night" You hung up, putting your phone on the pocket of your overcoat. Leaning on the elevator wall, you blushed. Excitement is an understatement of how you felt right now; you could finally see him after a few weeks during his trip overseas.

You put your hand over your chest and began to feel your rapid heartbeat.

"This is wrong.. I'm his secretary and he's my boss, nothing more.. nothing less.. a professional relationship" You struggled as you said the last words, and before you knew it you reached the dungeon.

Clenching the document in hand, you walked down the stairs, the smell of of blood reeking on the air. Your eyes fell to the captive, his arms hanging on the wall and wrists bounded in chains.

"How much do you plan to risk your life , Dazai?" You asked his 'asleep' form, walking near him you noticed the slight twitch on his finger before gently slapping his cheek.

"That really hurt" he opened his eyes to your form.

"Good." You rolled your eyes before brushing away the strand of hair on his face.

"You're so cruel... You do know that you'll be a traitor if you helped me"

"I know." You let out a breathless sigh before removing the bobby pin on his hair and handed it to his hand.

"Reach for my right pocket." His tone of voice was demanding but nonetheless you did what he asked.

"What's this.?" It was a bracelet, it had a flower pattern with a few glass-like-jewels was on top and in the color of gold, on the back it had his and your small initials written on it; as if to prove you it wasn't stolen.

"A bracelet duh!"

"No I mean why.?"

"I missed your birthday for four years didn't I?" He softly smirked before you lightly punched his shoulder.

"...you still owe me three gifts." You muttered before putting the bracelet in the pocket of your overcoat.

"Yeah.."

Silence engulfed the room before she decided to break it.

"Get your stupid ass ready, Akutagawa will beat you up for tomorrow once he knows that you're held captive. You have only tomorrow before that tiger gets captured" You turned around to the stairs after picking the lock of the chains on his feet.

"Ouch. So Akutagawa will come here after capturing Atsushi-kun huh." It was more like a confirmation than a question but yi still answered.

"Yes if that tiger's name is Atsushi"

"Hmm.. But how did you know I'll be here?" He smirked and you continued to go up the stairs.

"Because I know you" You said before you slowly fading into the distance.

"Thanks (name)"

You left the dungeon, went back to her office, and left your overcoat on the couch. Locking the door, you flopped onto your chair and started your computer, you typed and typed, before you knew it; it was already morning. Glancing at the bracelet, it shone while it was hit with the bright sun, then you decided to put it on. Your phone suddenly started to ring just in sync when you slid your arms on your overcoat. Looking at the contact caller, your heart skipped a beat.

"Sir.?"

"I'm going to arrive at the airport soon. Be there with the files" He ordered, his tone of voice was hoarse and demanding.

"Yes." You slightly nodded as if he could see you. With that he hung up, and you sighed. For you that call was more like a reminder that you are nothing but his assistant even if he never knew of your lingering feelings; but it won't make any changes. You left the building and went in your car, driving to the airport.

Chūya's POV

He hung up and his phone dropped to his lap. He heavenly exhaled and looked to the window, as if to hide the blush that crept up to his cheeks.

"How nice it is to hear her voice.." He thought to himself, he felt like pulling his hair out at how stupid he felt for extending his trip to not see her. How foolish he really was..

Ever since he met her a few years back, he grew to love her. He was enchanted by her intelligence, her beauty, her fierce nature, he loved everything about her. He was overcome with excitement when he finally became an executive because it meaned that she could be his assistant, and he would able to see her everyday. That was when he noticed that it was love...

Upon hearing her voice, he wanted to get drunk on it. He wanted to wake up with her beside, while shuffling through her hair just as she did back then to his former partner. He liked her and it was only an understatement, he wants to give her the world and everything she wants.. and now he could finally have his chance to finally do so.

He glances at the small blue box with a ribbon above it. It was a bracelet, one that was a souvenir from his trip, and a gift to you; his only hope for you to accept it along with his feelings.

~Time Skip~

You sat on a small bench and waited for Chūya. You tried to read a book but you couldn't focus because of how fast your heart was beating. No matter how you tried you couldn't get over him, flipping the page to a new chapter, you heard someone call out your name from behind. Looking over the bench, you could see your boss just behind you.

"Ah! Sir" You bowed lightly before continuing to apologize frantically. Ignoring your rambles, his eyes found it's way to your right wrist, and four capitalized letters shone and his eyebrows furrowed upon seeing what it was. 'D.O' and your initials.

"Sir.?" You asked him snapping out of his trance.

"hmm.? Do you need something?" He smiled at you, trying to hide the anger that built up when he realized whose initials those were.

"Uh. No.. I'm just asking if you want to go now" You fiddled with your fingers at the awkwardness.

"Then let's go." He tried his best not to sound angry but it came out more demanding and rude. He internally scolded himself at his pathetic attempt at covering it up, it was likely that you got upset by his actions. You laid your head down before fully responding with a quiet whisper.

"...yes"

The drive was quiet, you were focused on driving and he was looking out the window. You gave him quick glances using the mirror, his features is completely visible to you by such angle, the sunlight hit his ginger hair, it was a sight to behold. Looking away, you could feel your heart skip beats as you turned your focus back on the road. Just then, a pair of ocean eyes landed on you. He couldn't help but clench his fists tight when the bracelet was hit by the sunlight, making it shine. When he was about to look away, his eyes met your by the mirror.

"Do you need something sir?" You turned your eyes on the road, hoping he wouldn't see you blushing.

"Ehem. Yes.. I have a question for you." He tried to look away to hide his red cheeks.

"Ask ahead, sir"

"Why do you still call me by 'sir' and not by my surname or first name?" Truth be told, that was a question that lingered in his mind ever since he left for the trip. "and why do you call that bastard by his first name?" A question that he could never ask you since it may make you think that he was weird for trying to interfere with your personal life.

"I-its only proper for me to call you that since you're my superior" You tried your best to smile but to be honest you wanted to call his name in a honey-like tone, not that you knew he wanted to do the same.

"You've known me ever since I joined the mafia; besides, I call you by your first name for a while now and it's only fair for you to do the same" He nonchalantly explained, trying his best to convince you.

"Okay.. Chūya-san" Your voice was quiet and meek but enough for him to hear. His eyes lightened up before he cleared his voice and looked away.

"Just don't call me sir anymore. It's awkward" He tried to hide the smile that unconsciously crept up his lips, crossing his arms and legs he looked at you.

The drive was silent once again before you lightly chuckled at his reaction, the car was stopped with the heavy traffic, and you turned around to face him.

"I'll keep that in mind Chūya-kun" You smiled at him, your hair fluttering as you turned around. He blushed and muttered a small "whatever" before looking away again, his mind painted with the scene that happened moments ago.

Your mind was flooded with thoughts before you snapped out of it when you heard the traffic lights buzz.

"Oh! Also here" You reached for some files on the car's compartment and handed it to him. "It's a brief review of what you missed and some missions that the boss plans to send you to" You went back to driving after he took the files in your hand.

"Mhm" His expression changed and he looked more serious just as he looked at the files.

After that nobody spoke a single word. You drove to the mafia while he flipped through the documents. The silent breathing from you and the heavy exhales from Chūya is the only sound heard in the car, except the rustling of paper. You broke the silent by muttering a small "We're here" just in sync of you hitting the brakes. The car door released a small click when you opened it, you were about to step out until you felt a gloved hand pull you back.

"Chūya-san?" You stared at him with widened eyes before he let go of you and cleared his voice.

"Ehem! Here! I bought it because it reminded me of you" He reached for his pocket and handed you a small blue box.

"A.. gift.?" Your lips parted as you stared at the box in hand.

"I know that I'm very hard to put up with as you boss, and I realized that I want to—" He struggled to finally say the last words, a scenario playing in his head where you decline his feelings and things will become awkward with you and him.

"—I just.. I want to say say that I really appreciate you hard work" He thought that he finally had the courage to say those words just as he practiced in the mirror but something different came out of his lips.

"I see thank you, Chūya-san" You faintly smiled at before you came to a realization. "We should probably go.." "ah yes.."

That was how the day ended, no important events happened afterwards. You just went and arranged some documents and he attended to the boss's needs, you forgot to open his gift.

Chūya's POV

Another day passed and I was still not able to confess to her. I couldn't get my mind off the bracelet that was on her wrist. A thought that lingered in my mind for too long was"Why did she have a bracelet with his and her initials on it?" Yet, no matter how much I thought of it, I couldn't afford to ask her that, nor to ask her to be my lover.

I woke up in my bed, looking beside me was no one but a hope that I will be able to get the answers to my thoughts and questions. My driver picked me up and I headed to the dungeon, where my former partner is held captive.

"Well isn't this a sight to see... Don't you think so, hmm... Dazai?" Chūya emerged from the shadows and slowly went down the stairs, monitoring Dazai.

"Oh. It's you."

"Hey what's that supposed to mean?! Don't forget that you're the prisoner here shitty Dazai" He pulled his hair closer to him before letting go and turning around.

"Yeah whatever. What are you doing here Chūya."

"I'm here to give you a piece of my mind!" He said before kicking the chains the dangled above his head and punching him in the gut.

"Hmm" Dazai smirked before taking out a pin.

"So you could've escaped no matter what happens huh."

"Of course! And you're not here to give me a piece of mind aren't you?" He stated before Chūya halted and furrowed eyebrows.

"What the hell are you saying-" "You're here to get answers regarding (name) aren't you?"

"What are you on-"

"You want to know why she has a bracelet with my initials don't you?" He stood silent, and Dazai began explaining.

That was the last straw for Chūya. He barged into your office without a word with clenched fists.

"Chūya-san? What are you–" You stood up with widened eyes, but before you could say anything, he pulled you in for a tight embrace.

"Damn it! I love you okay?!" He pulled away, and turned to look at you with determined eyes. You stood still, not processing the words he said. The atmosphere became tense, he wondered if it really was right that he confessed to you, but before he would apologize and leave you blurted out something from shock.

"What. The. Fuck." You lightly slapped your cheeks and he sent you a worried look.

"Excuse me, can you say that again Chu?" The nickname made him blush but he complied nonetheless.

"I love you (name). I don't want to lose you to anybody else other than me. I want to make you the happiest woman and I-" He closed his eyes out of embarrassment but he quickly opened them as he felt your lips against his.

"If this is a dream I don't want it to end" You let out a breathless whisper.

That was the day that a love was formed. A few years passed since then. Dazai became the wingman to their relationship by planning it from the dungeon, and now it was their five year anniversary.

"Hey Chu sorry I'm late." You sat down across Chūya and he faintly smiled.

"It's fine doll. You look beautiful" He smirked before leaving his chair. His eyes fell to the bracelet that he gifted you four years ago. He unconsciously smiled, feeling proud of what he did back then. Now you were wearing a gift from him and not Dazai's, and that was enough to make him feel accomplished.

"oh. Thank you" You raised an eyebrow at what he was doing until he knelt and reached for his pocket.

"(name).. you are a blessing in my life that I thought I didn't deserve. Would you by wife and let me have the pleasure of having you in my life for the rest of my life?" He looked at you with glimmering ocean eyes.

"Chūya Nakahara.—" You said in an endearing tone.

"I feel at Cloud 9 with you, and I wish to spend my entire life with you beside me." You smiled at him before he put the ring in your finger and hugged you in a tight embrace after he kissed you.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck before whispering something that made your heart falter, "I love you—"

"I love you more" You kissed his collarbone before he pulled away and kissed the back of your hand.

"—and I will always continue to love you"

A/n: I am very sorry if that took a wrong turn... I'm currently bedridden right now so this took a long time to make.

[muffinsin]

Hey, this one’s less nsfw and more fluffy.

Could I request dani with an s/o that is an absolute romantic and literally treats her like a princess? Like I imagine when dani is in the library she reads all these fairytales about Prince Charming and she secretly wants someone to sweep her off her feet. And she finally gets it, someone who can keep up with her pace and match her energy. Surprise bouquets, serenading, reciting poetry, kisses her hand when they first meet, etc. Just spoiling the fuck out of her.

Omg absolutely. Dani deserves nothing less but the absolute princess treatment imo!🎀

Masterlist

Meeting you was the best thing that has happened to Daniela in her reborn life. She isn’t over-estimating this. It’s simply the truth

She was in the library as usual, reading her favourite book yet again. Although, this time, it seemed more as though she merely flipped the pages

Her back was set against a bookshelf, her head leaning back

It was then that she heard your unique voice. A voice she would never forget

“O she doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night. As a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear”

A quote, from the book in her hand. A quote of the moment Romeo expressed his feelings, his first impression of his dear Juliet. Daniela jumped from the suddenness of your voice

“You know this book?”, she asked, breathless

From then on out, Daniela had her eye on you. And, more importantly, she knew yours was set on hers

Each day she found a new, beautiful flower set outside the door to her room. Each time with strange initials written on a paper clip that was wrapped around the stem. Later on, she learned those were yours

And not only this, but as you gifted her rose after rose, she had noticed one thing; they never sported any thorns

“Because how dare they prickle the finger of such a beautiful, nimble creature such as yourself, Lady Daniela. No, it would be a vast crime indeed to harm a beauty such as yourself”, you had reasoned when she confronted you about this

She fell fast, but also, hard. And it was genuine. She learned to love your laughter and she loved being the reason for it

She blushed often around you, and kept a vase in her room, the most beautiful one, to hold all her dear gifted roses. It became a bouquet, the most beautiful one in all of Castle Dimitrescu, as time stretched on

Daniela had been called many things in her life- delusional, was one of the terms that struck her especially hard

Even Cassandra and Bela had used it on her

Delusional,

Such high expectations

A mutant’s life is not one of romance

Yet you proved them all wrong

You were raised from your low staff position to the one of Daniela’s personal servant in mere hours of her finding out about your identity. She couldn’t get enough of you

And neither could you of her

Daniela grew addicted to the way you treated her, loved her, and eventually to you

She found poems in her room after you were tasked to clean it, a note sitting on her bed inviting her to a date nearly every time. Secretly, she messed her room more often than normal, eager to see you more often

Upon experiencing your first date together, Daniela knew she was head over heels smitten, more so than the naive redhead often and normally was

You had taken her to a date in the opera hall, at night, when it had been just the two of you

Daniela had blushed bright pink when you bowed down and gripped her soft hand upon seeing her. She neglected her gloves and sickle, and it had paid off

She was sure she would faint when you held her hand softly and pressed a kiss, a sweet greeting, to her knuckles

How romantic

You knew your way around music, your fingers playing a steady rhythm as the two of you shared the small seat in front of the piano

It was refreshing to be with someone who’s heartbeat picked up around her for an entirely different reason than fear

Daniela was addicted to the feeling

She sung and laughed as you played the lovely tune, and giggled when you joined in, singing verse after verse,

Singing of auburn hair and golden eyes,

Beautiful lips and soft, pale skin,

A beauty in the distance growing nearer and nearer

It was then that she had kissed you. She never bothered holding back, and perhaps she was even in a rush, too used to the love she felt disappearing. To her lover losing interest

But you did not

In fact, in time your love only grew, as did hers

She was gifted bouquets and rare treasures and chocolates from the duke, showered in love and affection

And your attention? It was solely hers

She spent her days with you entirely, her head on your thighs as you read to her with a hand in her beautiful locks, or told her about the outside world and what you had heard of it

You had been the one to ask her to be yours, and she jumped at the opportunity

Never had she even taken this step. She had always claimed; and yet, never had she been claimed. Not until you

She had worn the dress you had gotten her with hard earned money, beautiful and green, matching the gemstone at her necklace and contrasting beautifully with her pale skin and hair

You made her stand out

That night, the opera hall was all yours once again

A servant of unknown nature playing the piano obediently as the two of you laughed and sang, danced and kissed the night away

She was sure she would faint when you pulled her onto the stage and danced with her, swirling her around and holding her tight

And then, when she laughed and sank to her knees after hours, and you did the same, and your hand held hers, you asked her

And she said yes, with tears in her eyes, the first time the young woman had been official. It felt good

Of course, your relationship did not go unnoticed by her family and servants

However, it seemed the closer you grew with Daniela, the more respect and power you earned. You were untouchable, fit for your queen

And as a queen she was treated,

Showered with gifts and cuddled whenever she wished,

Kissed and protected,

She smiled daily and blushed sweetly at every flower that was handed to her, as though it was the first

She was taken on dates frequently and cared for, carried when the floor was filthy and massaged in a hot bath,

Coddled and painted

She was your muse, as she had always been

She she wouldn’t have it any other way

{For sure got a bit off track, although I plan on continuing something, if not by far more than 1 thing, along the lines of Daniela getting her fairytale partner soon! Maybe even a proper story wohoo! I’ve had a Cassandra one once btw-} {I love Dani sm ;-;}

[princessimotep]

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 12

~*~ 18+ Content below. MDNI. Extra warning for Micah being a c*** ~*~

Shady Belle – A hidden jewel within the swamps of Lemoyne. The Van Der Linde gang had been pushed even further East thanks to the looming threat of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. The age of the new world was dawning upon them and yet Dutch still insisted on opposing the dangers striving towards them. Water and oil; a tragic tale of what will never be. A fusion to never co-exist.

Time was running out. Yet Dutch still held onto hope. Still. Was it hope? Or selfishness? Did he truly love the very souls whom he led astray or were they pawns in his game of deceit? In this moment, those questions could not be answered with confidence. There was still time. Time to make amends. It all depended on Dutch and those who stood by his side.

Hosea heavily influenced Dutch in the most mundane yet omnipotent way. Being by Dutch’s side all these years had kept the leader on the right path most of the way. He gave Dutch the wings he needed to fly. The voice he needed to preach. The knowledge to keep those they could alive. The love to keep everyone bonded. Hosea had a particular gift in these sorts of things. He was by no means an angel but human. He understood emotions well, having experienced a lifetime of his own trials and tribulations. The elder gentleman was one folk would go to for advice, the one who they approached without hesitation. Even those who hesitated would find themselves at ease after exchanging conversation.

This golden morning, Hosea decided to make his own approach to the one who perhaps needed his guidance the most.

“How you doing, Miss Miriam?” The doe-eyed woman looked up from her book. Upon seeing Hosea, she gave the man a warm smile, twisting her perched figure which sat on the edge of the stone fountain. She straightened out the creases of her dress, somewhat salvaging a respectable appearance despite the sweat which glossed across her skin. She had never experienced such thick, warm air like this before – much like many of the other camp members. The cold was something she thrived in. Frosty mornings and bitter nights had always been her preference.

“Good morning, Mr Matthews. I’m fine, thank you. And yourself?” He ignored her question. His way of words was always to put another in the spotlight. Selfless and soul searching.

“The heat is pretty unbearable?” A small quirk of her bottom lip caught his eye. It made him smile, knowing he was close to breaking down that barrier. Not that he wished to intrude – he only wanted what was best for each member. If that meant breaking down their barriers to help understand them more, then that was a battle he was willing to slowly win.

“It is really hot here…” Hosea pulled his fingers against the inside of his neck tie in agreement.

“I guess you’re not used to the heat.” His statement made Miriam hesitate. In the end, she shook her head with a small smile. The older gent’s eyes scanned her, piecing her together like some intricate puzzle just waiting to be solved. He had been a good judge of character. He knew there was nothing deviant about the young woman. His mind only wondered why she kept so many secrets. Something as big as her identity. To him, it made sense she had to be someone of importance or someone on the run for doing something bad. Or both.

Taking the opportunity, he pressed. “I suppose the cold is more to your liking?” She nodded. This prompted a chuckle from Hosea, thinking of a passing joke. “Then you would have liked it up in them mountains…” His thoughts trailed off, thinking back to that time of darkness for the gang. Letting his head take over, he subconsciously sat down beside Miriam, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands intertwined to lace his fingers together, his head hanging lower in thought. The silence made Miriam look closer at the man. She could read his eyes – how much hurt he had experienced from the past. The slight remnants of fear which resided within. The young woman understood that ‘the mountains’ were not a good time for anyone. She wished to offer words of comfort but how could she when she knew so little about the situation. About their history. It was not her place to. “You ever been up that way? Past Colter?” A shake of her head made Hosea lift his eyebrow. “Too cold for you?” The comment confused her and without thinking she answered.

“No. I love the cold. It’s just been a little too far West for me- the snow that is.” Placing the pieces together quickly in his mind, Hosea effortlessly chimed in leaving her little time to think.

“So East?” Miriam’s eyes opened wide in disturbance. A pause was set between his voice and her own.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re from the East then.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Goosebumps prickled over the skin of her arms. Her worry became evident to Hosea. He too could read people, just like her. He could do it perhaps a little too well. His eyes shifted down to the ground, not wanting his gaze to cause her any alarm. “I know the country well, Miriam. There are only a few places around here that accommodate to your preferred climate.” She felt herself becoming flustered. She could not allow herself to let him see it so she looked over her shoulder towards the marshy waters. Her eyes searched for something in particular to focus on but her worries made the task difficult. Miriam’s silence spoke a thousand words. Clouds which encased her were gradually starting to part; not without challenge. Thunder flashed through those clouds. Before that mysterious haze could ever clear, the storm would have to present itself. Only then would the suffocation of her secrets could be lifted at last.

Flickering his eyes to her hands, Hosea focused on the book she had been reading prior. He recognised the book cover and the intriguing engravings on the spine of it. “I’ve read that one.” The heat from her head dissipated once she turned her head back to her company. It took her a few seconds to realise what Hosea was referring to. The book offered her so much comfort, therefore a smile was always a response to its very memory.

“It’s my favourite.”

“I’ve noticed.” He stared down at the pages, a coy look present on his face. “You must know the book well if you’re reading it in Spanish.” As quickly as it went, the heat reappeared but this time across her cheeks. Dryly, she swallowed, hoping she could blame her reaction on the heat of the bayou. Hosea was not stupid. There was an aura of omniscience which surrounded him, nothing ever able to get past him. It was down to his caring nature. The want to help people do better and be their best selves. Honest and free.

Unable to fight her nerves, Miriam went to stand and close her book but Hosea’s hand went to her shoulder to stop her. “No – no – no. Please.” His free hand offered her old seat back, inviting her to stay just a little longer. His tone of voice proved to her he meant no harm. She accepted, denying her own departure. Not being too knowledgeable on the language, Hosea referred to the page the book was currently open on. “Which part of the story are you on?”

Breathing calmly through her nose, she settled back into the comfort of her book to accept its embrace. “When the Knight tells the Princess how he truly feels.” Her cheeks darkened yet somehow a smile persevered through to support her words. “You know, at the end?” Hosea nods.

“Ah yes, yes.” He leant over her, scanning over the Spanish text. Despite not knowing the language, he believed he could find the part he wished to enlighten. “The part where he says… ah! Here it is…” His brows furrowed as he attempted to read the foreign words. “Tienes… mi… corazón.” Hosea lifted his head, looking at Miriam with a smile of delicate purity and warmth. “You have my heart.”

“You have my heart.” Miriam repeated in acknowledgement. The Knight saying this to his Princess had always starstruck the young woman. She had wondered evermore what it would feel like to have someone confess their feelings like that. It was truly beautiful to her. To tell someone that they no longer own their heart because it had been claimed by their true love – it was words of poetry which came from the soul. To be so selfless to another. To love them so much you could trust them with something which could be broken so easily. One crunch of their hand could shatter the organ to shake their realm of reality. Such trust was so hard to come by. Although the very thought of having this much faith in someone was deemed as beautiful to her – it also scared her and to Miriam, there was something magical about that.

Observing the peaceful look of wonder which portraited her face, Hosea’s expression softened as he knew that look all too well. A look of yearning which he once held for Bessie. “And what a powerful thing to say to someone.” His eyes looked up to the morning sky, watching a pair of larks which flew over in blissful glee. “It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from – anyone can feel that moment of power. Only if they allow themselves to.” He turned his head and his eyes locked with Miriam’s who was intrigued by what he was saying. “Love holds no judgement, Miriam. Some would say it is the most powerful force on earth.” His words rattled her yet her heart thumped against her chest in a way which lulled her; as if it was telling her to listen. She shook her head.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, Mr Matthews.”

“Miriam.” He called her name firmly to silence her. The both of them knew very well what he was insinuating. “It takes a lot to completely destroy love. Sure – someone’s past may cause a few cracks, or – what they once did could hurt – but if that person also trusts you with their heart, then there is nothing to be scared of.” His words moved her. She could not deny the truth in which he spoke yet ever the same, her fear of rejection held her back. Shaking her head, she tried to search his eyes for an answer.

“But how would I know-”

“You won’t know unless you tell them.” Their conversation felt almost hypothetical yet underneath the mystery, they both knew who and what they were talking about. His answer held a double meaning. To tell Javier how she really felt… it also meant telling him the truth. Just like Sadie had once told her.

The thunder within her mind had stopped. Clouds were beginning to clear away and now, all that was left was her thoughts. Her head felt light, no longer heavy to the burden of what she must do. In a way; she felt ready.

It was time.

Seeing Hosea stand up from the fountain made Miriam mouth a quiet thank you to the older man. Hosea acknowledged this but being the man he was, he didn’t wish to pry and make her feel in debt. He brushed it away; another selfless act on his part. He had never once changed; always the man who wished to help others. Even as he began to walk away, he couldn’t help but pass by a comment to help encourage her that her past wasn’t as scary as it seemed.

“I hear Annesburg is lovely this time of year. Especially a little further up North-East from it.” He looked over his shoulder at Miriam. But before she could react, she read his expression which soothed her. In quiet understanding, she knew by the way he spoke and the look he gave her that he wouldn’t utter a word to no one. He knew.

A smile was left behind on her lips.

‘Thank you, Hosea…’

Night had claimed the land fast that day, much to the appreciation of the people. It had been the hottest day of the year thus far, so the night’s cooler air was welcomed with open arms. The clinch of coolness wasn’t the only thing which was welcomed that night.

After Dutch, Arthur and John had met with Angelo Bronte, their return to camp had to be celebrated – Jack had come back safe and sound.

Cheers and laughter encircled the campfire as Javier sung to the strumming of his guitar. A talent he possessed – not just the way he played or sang but his ability to bring his fellow camp members together. He was the glue which bound everyone together, almost completely unbreakable. How Miriam admired that part about him. Looking from afar, she watched him joyously express himself through the lyrics of his song, the others chiming into the chorus with theatrical delight. It made her heart swell to see how together everyone was. It was the happiest she had seen them all.

She wished she was nearer to Javier but she held herself back, wanting him to be with his family. After all, it was a bond she never wanted him to break – only solidify further. Even throughout the day, she had kept her distance from him; ever since her conversation with Hosea. She wanted to figure out the right words to say to him; it had taken her what felt like an eternity to figure out, but she knew she had to do this. Not just for herself, but for him. Javier deserved to know the truth. He had been so good to her.

He found her at her most vulnerable. Took her into the safety of the gang. Explored the Heartlands with her – he even took a bullet for her. Part of her really wanted to know how he felt about her before she could confess everything, however her need to be honest and give her heart to him was stronger. He had asked for her trust and that was what she wanted to give him. Her full, undying trust. No matter how frightening the thought of it was.

She loved him.

The very thought made her heart bubble in her chest like lava waiting to erupt. In the past she tried to push those feelings aside, in fear of the hurt it may cause, but now it invaded her entirely. It was undeniable and inescapable. The chains which encased her had finally rotted enough to the point she could finally break free. All she needed to do was try. And Javier deserved that at the very least.

Leaving the coolness of the night’s air, Miriam retreated back inside the walls of the house which stood strong in the middle of camp. Closing the door behind her, she leant against the wood to take slow, deep breaths. She knew the moment was close. Tauntingly close. Even now she struggled to think of a strong opening line to start this chaotic and somewhat dangerous confession. Knowing the gist of the conversation was easy, but as for what to exactly say – this was unclear. Trying her best to snap out it, Miriam walked through the hallway and into one of the rooms where a mirror hung on the wall. Cautiously she approached it, as if one wrong step could cause it to fall to the ground. That was the last thing she needed – seven years of bad luck. A superstition she most definitely believed in, perhaps even more so after Molly’s pocket mirror broke. Since then, it seemed the poor woman had never gotten a break. She would sometimes see Molly on the outskirts of camp, looking out into the wilderness, mumbling incoherent things about Dutch. It broke Miriam’s heart to see her this way. She had attempted to talk things out with Molly, but she pushed the woman away. She did not want anyone’s company other than Dutch’s; which was something he could not give her.

Looking into the mirror, Miriam’s reflection shone back at her through distorted cracks. The cracks were like veins which jaggedly etched their way along the centre to the corners of the frame. Subconsciously, she brought a hand to her hair, stroking down the fly aways. How humbled she felt about her appearance. Javier was strikingly handsome to look at, yet she felt the complete opposite about herself. She found it comical the idea of Javier finding her as attractive as she found him. In her irrational mind, there was just no way. She sighed, hopelessly. Yet her eyes wandered to the dress she was wearing.

After all this time, she had finally finished weaving together the dress she started making back in Horseshoe Overlook. Despite Javier’s kindness in buying her the dresses back in Strawberry, Miriam felt it a waste to abandon her project. The dress was made from silky, scarlet fabric which was made to fit her exact measurements. It held no long sleeves but her shoulders were crowned with the smallest black ruffles. The neck line had shaped a most magnificent V-shape which complimented her décolletage. Following the waist line down, the ruche of the skirt had been pinned up to create a gothic-style waterfall effect on the sides and through the opening of the outer skirt, black lace fell to the ground as the underskirt. The dress created a feeling of pride which was new to the young woman. She wanted this to be the dress. The dress she would confess to Javier in. It made her feel empowered yet vulnerable and that was something she felt fascinated by.

“My, my. Don’t you look pretty in that getup.” A chill ran down her spine, recognising that voice. Miriam whipped her head over her shoulder, fast enough to cause a couple strands of locks to fall from her clipped-up hair. Micah stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the wooden frame. He shifted his weight so he now stood straight, ready to approach. “Who’re you getting’ dolled up for, I wonder…” Not wanting to give him the time of day, she stayed silent. She knew all too well that people like him craved responses. Tauntingly, he stepped towards her which immediately caused Miriam to fully turn to face him to stand her ground. Much like the time back in the cabin, where she was cornered by the O’Driscolls.

The clicks of Micah’s boots echoed through the room like the sound of a ticking clock. Her shoulders tensed but never once did she break eye contact from him. He stopped walking once he was a couple metres away from her, wanting her to fall into a false sense of safety. One thing was certain – being alone in a room with Micah Bell was never something safe and she was smart enough to know this.

A snicker trickled past his lips, holding out his hands to gesture inwardly to himself. “Is this all for me?” A look of disgust shadowed over Miriam’s face. If only a look could really kill someone, he would be nothing more than a corpse before her. Clenching her jaw, Miriam remained composed before the serpent, still having no intention of giving in to his sick game. Micah tilted his head with his mouth slightly agape, soaking in her defensive state. That scowl she held for him… he found it utterly delicious. “Let’s take a good look at you…”

Before she could react, his hand grasped her jaw, the tips of his fingers pinching into the skin of her cheeks. In defiance she tried to shake herself from his grip by snapping her head to the side but he only squeezed her face tighter to make her heel. Not wanting to be permanently injured by his hand, she stilled, keeping her gaze away. His breathing was heavy, like he was fighting for crystal clear air. The smell of her was almost too intoxicating for him to handle. His eyes scanned over her features, looking at the shade of her glossy lips to the colour of her eyes and sighing in bliss when she would batt those pretty lashes which each blink. The grip of his hand loosened just slightly so he could angle his thumb up towards her waterline where black kohl had been carefully pencilled across. Wanting to taint the remarkable portrait before him, his thumb brushed across the bottom of her eye to smear the black eyeliner down past her outer corners. He snickered at the art he had just created.

Now she looked fragile – as though she had been crying.

“Ain’t you just… pretty.” He licked the top of his lip, his warm breath coming through his nose like a bull in heat. “Nasty little thing, dressin’ up for ol’ Micah…” His thumb went back to the start of her waterline to once again follow along, but this time, he dragged his digit downwards once he reached the middle. A smoky smear fell to the apple of her cheek. His thumb was rough and he had pressed hard, causing a streak of faint redness to appear behind the ashy smears. How appetising she looked like this. Like a forbidden fruit he so desperately wanted to take a bite from. Being so close to her, a couple strings of breathy laughter escaped him. He found it funny. The joke of it all; how easy it would be to take her right now whilst everyone was occupied outside.

The fantasy of her crying for help whilst all the other gang members would be nonchalantly celebrating, not able to hear her pleas at all. It was the perfect opportunity. Quickly, his mind pieced together a delectable scenario. He’d smash the back of her head against the mirror, just so show her how much fun he can be. Then he’d throw her like a little dolly onto the cold wooden floor before taking her from behind. Oh, how the sounds of her dress being ripped apart would stiffen his cock. He would be entertained for a long while…

His smirk disappeared at his next intruding thought. ‘Unless he interferes…’ Anger flashed across Micah’s face which resulted in his hand clasping round her jaw again and this time, forcing her to look at him. “Or is this all for that fucking greaser, hm?” Now it was Miriam’s turn to see red. Without even a second thought, she pursed her lips before releasing them to spit into Micah’s face. The action was so sudden it took him a back, making him let go of her in the process. She took her chance to escape and bolted through the doorway and towards the grand doors which would lead her outside. He didn’t attempt to chase after her, instead using his preferred tactic to hunt his prey – threats.

“If you don’t come back here… I’ll fucking destroy your world. I know who you are.” Gritting his teeth, he walked towards the doorframe once he wiped the spit from his eyes. “And what you did.” He stopped once he was back in the doorway. This time he had his fists held tightly in a ball and his posture was hunch over, as if ready to charge at her. “If you walk out that door, I’ll tell your little greaser everything.” She could no longer ignore what he had to say. It enraged her the way he spoke about Javier like he was some form of weapon to be used against her, calling him those horrible derogatory names. Silence was no longer an option.

Snapping her head over her shoulder, she hissed her words. “You won’t have chance. I’ll be telling him tonight.” Her surge of confidence caught Micah off guard. She had a mean bite to her and it replaced his anger with excitement.

“Oh, really now?” For the last time, she turned around to fully face him.

“Yes. You have no power over me, Micah.” It sent chills over his body the way she snarled out his name. If he played his cards right, he could still make the world around her crumble. Micah had always had a sick desire to see beauty decay. It was the most natural form of art to him.

Micah held his hands up, as if to surrender. “Oh, ho. You got me there, sweetheart…” His tone of voice leered over her, spookily, like he knew something she did not. “I’m just thinking about that Mexican’s wellbeing is all.” Her eyebrows knitted closer together, confused by his change of heart. He smirked, knowing his new tactic was working. He took a step towards her, his hands still raised in sweet surrender. “It would be such a… shame… to see him – burdened with such knowledge.” Now he took a couple more steps closer, almost halfway across the landing. Slowly, Miriam’s eyebrows softened as though she could see her victory being taken away before her very eyes.

“… a burden?” Micah stopped himself from grinning. ‘Jackpot.’ He thought to himself. He knew very well which direction to take this conversation.

“Of course. I mean, when I discovered what you were, well… I was shocked. And that’s puttin’ it lightly- I mean…” Micah lowered his hands. His tone changed. “… ya did some real nasty things after all.” The young woman flinched at his words. “What you did… oof-” The blonde dropped his head momentarily, only to raise it slowly to look at her through his messy strands of hair which cascaded over his brows. “No normal person could ever look at ya the same way ever again.” Her blood turned cold at the horrifying thought. It felt unbearable, the idea of Javier shunning her away after discovering her past. She felt her eyes begin to sting with tears but she refused to let them fall, especially in front of Micah. Such a sight could not slip past Micah. Those tears which threatened to spill only fuelled him further. His hands hovered over her shoulders but he didn’t dare to touch.

“Sweetheart… I know it’s hard.” He didn’t have the faintest idea. “Ya just gotta understand… that greaser had his family and friends drop like flies, one by one. Murdered in front of him… so…” Micah tauntingly tilted his head side to side, as though he was weighing the options of what to say. “… it only makes sense he wouldn’t react well to what ya did. He’d hate you.” Her blood felt as though it were ice. For a moment, it felt impossible for her to breathe. Micah’s words made perfect sense. She convinced herself then and there that she had gaslighted herself into thinking that everything would be okay. Of course, there was no way Javier would be able to look past the things she did.

Not wanting to spend another second in Micah’s presence, she went to open the door but Micah’s hand held onto her wrist to pause her action. “Oi.” He growled, bringing her close into his chest. The dark-haired beauty frowned, still fighting the sting of her eyes. He lifted his hand and instead of grabbing her jaw again like last time, he curled his index finger and softly petted it over her cheek. “Don’t ya worry, doll. Ol’ Micah will be here to pick up the pieces.” He leant close to her face, his lips just a couple centimetres away from her own. “If ya tell him.” And just like that, he released her and she immediately ran out, slamming the doors in his face.

Her feet pattered down the steps and across the grass until she could find shelter under the gazebo, just a little away from the camp’s celebrations. She tried to calm her breathing although not a sound of it could be heard due to the rambunctious singing from both Uncle and Pearson. Even Arthur could be heard trying to join in, carefully trying to not slur his words due to the amount of whiskey he had consumed.

Looking to her hands, the young woman realised the shake that now rocked them uncontrollably. Her ears burned hot; her throat too dry to be able to swallow. Attempting to steady herself, Miriam’s hands rested on the pale wood of the banister and sank her head low to calm her rhythm of breaths once she wiped away her ruined eyeliner.

She knew Micah was not to be trusted; his words were a sorcery of evil. Malice was something he thrived to express. He was like a disease, persisting to take over and destroy something once good from the inside out. Yet those very words he spoke only awakened Miriam’s once buried paranoia. Just as she had at last calmed herself into thinking her past could not break the bond she shared with Javier, a threat loomed in its grand return to make her back down. Deep down, she still wanted to tell Javier the truth. Uneasiness plagued her at the scenario.

What if…

What if Micah spoke honesty, no matter how hurtful it came out? Would it be a burden for Javier? Would he…

‘Would he hate me?’ She bit the inside of her cheek; the taste of iron spilling in slow droplets down her throat. Would he or wouldn’t he. A riddle she could not solve. It was a gamble. A leap of faith.

Being so lost in her troubled thoughts, she had barely noticed the familiar presence behind her whose hands rested on the plumps of her hips. “Hola, hermosa ángel.” Regardless of her agonising thoughts, Miriam couldn’t help but melt under his touch. She breathed out his name, savouring it as though it was the last time she would ever be able to say it.

His hands stroked her hips a couple times, like he was soothing her for something he wasn’t quite aware of in that moment. With a feather-like touch, Javier’s hands slid over the peaks of her hips to take their place over her belly. The feeling was welcomed for it offered a warmth she did not mind faltering to. His chin rested over her shoulder which allowed Miriam to smell the whiskey and cigarettes that came from his long breaths. It was a smell she found appetizing and often salivated for during steamy exchanges.

“I haven’t seen you all day…” He mumbled, now turning into her neck to smell the gorgeously scented perfume which he found suited her and only her. A scent of lavender and powdery notes. Miriam pressed her back against his chest to allow him to fully hold her. His eyes were shut with the lightest of smiles, appreciating the tender fragment of time that stood still for their sake. A snapshot of gentle peace.

“I was… lost in thought, today.” He hummed at her response, finding it an acceptable answer for the time being. The tips of her fingers lightly traced over the knuckles of his hands. Even now, her thoughts troubled her deeply – yet his aura soothed her, preventing her from breaking down to the corruption Micah had caused. “I- My mind has been all over the place. I’m sorry.” A low rumble came from Javier’s throat in an understanding chuckle.

“Mine too.” His hands snaked past one another, tightening his embrace. His cheek pressed against the length of Miriam’s neck where his lips dusted across her skin in a sweet whisper. “I can’t get you off my mind, mi amor.” His lips and facial hair tickled her skin, causing her to momentarily break away from her intrusive thoughts in soft laughter.

“You’ve been drinking.” Turning her head to try and look at his expression, she could see his cheeks were slightly glazed with a pigment of rosiness. His eyes held a mist of heavenly delight, finding all things around him pleasant. Not denying her words, he raised the depths of his focus by looking into her dark hazel eyes.

“I speak only the truth.” His eyes closed lazily to fall into a blissful realm, allowing his lips to dance across her jawline and then the corner of her neck, underneath her ear. “Mi amor…” He whispered this line over and over again with each feathery kiss. Goosebumps responded back to him, giving in to the enchantment he cast over her. She held onto his arms to keep her from stumbling, bending at the knees as though she was becoming limp like a doll held by its owner. “Look at me.”

Javier loosened his hold on her so she could eventually turn around to face him. There were things he wanted to tell her which had been occupying him all throughout the day. Perhaps longer. Delving into the wondrous pools of her iris, he felt his chest seize for a brief moment. It amazed him how this woman standing before him had such a hold over his mind, body and feelings. Never in his twenty-six years of being on this earth had he felt this way before. It was foreign, shrouded in mystery; nonetheless a hold he never wanted to let go.

“Listen.” Javier stepped back from her, tilting his head down to the ground and raising his hands in front of him as though halting any attempt to interrupt him. “I’ve been thinking- I’ve been thinking, a lot… and…” He lifted his head and in doing so he placed his hands on his hips before rapidly flickering his thumb over the tip of his nose to brush off the last bits of nerves that had held him back before now. “You and I- We… I think…” He stopped himself.

The way she looked at him. It captivated him. She without a doubt took his breath away; without even trying. Her mere existence was enough to shake the ever-winding staircase of his reality. She had always captivated him. Ever since he first looked at her within that cabin. A short exhale of realisation escaped him.

“I think we’re good together.” He said it so matter of a fact, that his awkwardness had successfully been disguised by his liquid courage.

Miriam’s eyes became wide with surprise, not expecting him to say such things. She kept quiet, unable to find the right words to say. Javier stroked the back of his neck, not knowing how he made it this far. However, he understood that he had to finish what he had started. “I mean, only if you want that too.” Now the Mexican found himself second guessing how he approached his words. He wanted to continue to plead his case because of course, she was someone whom he wanted to fight for. “Look-” He stepped towards her; his hands now being held out to gesture with each word that needed visual guidance. “What I mean to say is- I don’t care about what you did, who you are or where you came from. None of that matters.” Miriam’s eyebrows furrowed upwards, her mouth becoming agape – not believing what he was saying. Javier’s hand held onto hers. His fingers squeezed tight to the following words. “I want you. Only you.” With his free hand, he gently placed his palm over her heated cheek. “Just as you are.” The words he uttered cut through her like a welcomed wound. A wound which hurt but distracted her from her anxious thoughts. He made her heart bleed with sweet sorrow.

She wanted him too. To Miriam, Javier deserved the world and more.

Pursing her lips together, Miriam tightly closed her eyes to lean into the hand which held her cheek. He was so warm, like the water of a hot spring steaming against ice cold skin. “Javier…” Bringing her hand to his own, she pulled it down from her cheek. “I’m not the woman you think I am…” A pause of hesitancy followed before she let go of his hands to hold her own. Javier looked at her with hurt in his eyes, as though he had been shot through his chest. It pained her to do this, but the taunt of Micah’s words could not allow her to let her walls fall apart. She allowed him to have her heart, but she could not do the same for him. She feared so much that his heart would die by her tainted touch. Her bottom lip quivered before she looked at him with tearful eyes. She could barely choke out her words. “But I wish I was. I truly do.”

Javier averted his eyes from her. For the first time, he did not know what to do. All he could do was look at to her, almost in disbelief. With all his strength, he set his hurt aside and tried to reach through to her. “Miriam…” He made a promise to himself. “Eres tan estupida…” (“You’re so stupid…”)

A promise that he would fight for her.

Both of Javier’s hands held onto her face to bring her back to this dimension. “¿Cuántas veces tengo que decírtelo?” (“How many times do I have to tell you?”) Her watery eyes blurred her vision yet she could still see the intense look of truth he emitted. “I don’t care.” A smile returned to his face, his sharp gaze softening. “I don’t care, Miriam.” He frowned yet his smile remained. “Don’t you remember?” Before she could respond to his question, Javier pulled on her hand so she would follow him.

They left the shelter of the gazebo, walking just outside of Shady Belle by the water yet remained concealed by the trees and greenery. They couldn’t wander too far due to the main road only being just up ahead. Once Javier stopped, he pointed up to the night sky. The galaxy of stars twinkled back in response, shining through the grey clouds which surrounded the moon. “You remember, don’t you?”

The organ within her chest tightened at the memory of those beautiful words. Without saying anything, she nodded. But he wanted more. He wanted her to fight back – to succumb to the feelings they both could not deny. “Then say them.” Her eyes tightly closed, her lips pursing back together.

She could not bring herself to say those words.

Javier held onto her waist, bringing her towards him so their hips met one another. “Say them to me, mi amor.” Their foreheads touched, his eyes trying to find hers through her thick lashes – still her irises were averted from his.

He deserved the truth.

His fingers tightened on her waist. His whispers became more soaked with passion. “I need to know.”

And the truth is what she wished to give.

“Javier… Tienes mi corazón.” Those words ripped through him like a rainfall of bullets. He pulled his head back, looking at her with shock. At last, he could see her alluring cocoa eyes. Her hand went to her chest as if to soothe the pain and ache she felt there. “Tienes mi corazón, Javier.” Her tears spilt down her cheeks, uncontrollably. Her walls had fallen to dust thanks to him. She felt exposed and vulnerable. And she was so grateful. Somehow her revelation made her feel lifted; unafraid. “And it will always be yours.”

No longer did a barrier stand between the two thus the only thing to be done was to fall into each other’s reality. He claimed her lips with his own, not caring that it sucked the air from her. He could not help himself after she had told him such euphoric words. Never did he think he would hear her say those words to him, especially in his language. Those three words spoke a million tales, matching up to each star that dotted the galactic sky. His reaction made Miriam cry more, the lump in her throat becoming so painful she could barely breathe. To others it would seem as though she was in pain. Forlorn and distressed. But the two of them knew that it was an articulation of happiness and that was all that mattered.

Miriam fought for air but was unable to win due to Javier’s hand holding onto the back of her head, pushing her further against his mouth. His tongue tangled around hers, barely allowing room for her to inhale. A meagre jolt of panic naturally took over her yet her own body betrayed her, keeping her pinned into his strong embrace. Colourful spots sparkled behind her closed eyes, signalling her impending downfall. She murmured his name against his mouth, revealing her desperation.

Not wanting her to pass out, just yet, he pulled his lips from her and watched the saliva slip over the centre of her bottom lip. Perilously she gasped out for air but was immediately silenced by his lips. She squirmed in ecstatic delight. The very thought of seeing stars just by him kissing her sent waves of paradise towards her core. She trusted this man to do whatever he wanted, knowing he never would have an inkling if ill malice. Her hands ran through his hair, unconsciously pulling away the band which held his hair back. His velvet ebony locks touched his shoulders where his blue waistcoat hugged against the white fabric of his blouse.

“Tienes mi corazón…” She whispered against his lips, repeating those words he found so beautiful. His hand clenched, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She mewled in contentment at the rough action.

“Mierda…” He grumbled, the tightening feeling of jeans around his groin which became uncomfortable all too quickly. The way she said those words, it was driving him fucking crazy. Pulling the clip that held her hair back, her mermaid-like waves fell past her shoulders like unravelled silk. All those feelings which held him back before, those chains no longer claimed him. Instead, he was finally free to do as he desired. No restraints or second thoughts. Only what felt right to both himself and her.

Javier’s hands grabbed Miriam’s ass, crunching together the carefully woven fabric she had seamed and lifted her without warning. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his waist where her bare pussy caught his jeans just right, the tent of the fabric rubbing against her clit. The skirt of her dress covered the sight, but underneath, it was a vision to behold – one Javier could feel. The roughness of his jeans caused a friction which made her hips buck involuntarily. The sharp sparks of pleasure which flew through her like flashes of lightning made Miriam throw her head back, leaning her weight away from him so her hips had no choice but to force themselves harder against his concealed yet prominent cock. It didn’t take long for her slick to begin coating his jeans, as if her pussy was begging skin on skin contact. Without shame, Miriam bobbed her hips up and down the tiniest amount to rub her clit over the point of his jeans. Due to the ridged nature of his jeans, her clit became instantly swollen, enjoying the friction more than she imagined she would. Her wetness rapidly dampened the fabric and with aid was soaked further by his leaking tip. The thought of his precum seeping through to invade her pussy made her eyes roll back to see the stars.

The feeling of her hips rocking against his erection made Javier open his mouth to invite in the cool air in hopes it would help him re-centre himself – to stop him from fucking her so furiously that she would surely lose consciousness. Yet he reminded himself that all restraints were to be forgotten about. Just for this night at least. He wrapped an arm around her upper back and knelt down to the ground to place her on the grass, all the while keeping their hips connected like this. Her hips were raised, angled upwards over his thighs and he kept her like this so he could unzip his jeans to pull out his aching cock. In doing so, his fingers brushed over the area of his pants where their liquids seeped through. With the tip of his middle finger and thumb, he brought them up to his face and rubbed the slick together before retracting his middle finger away to watch the string of clear fluid stretch.

“Mi amor… if you keep doing things like this, I won’t be able to stop myself.” Through her flushed pants, she quizzed her lover.

“Stop yourself from what?” Innocently she blinked which caused Javier to arch over her, pressing his leaking head inside of her without warning. Not giving her a single chance to adjust, Miriam’s head fell back so her forehead was inches away from meeting the grass. Keeping her hips angled up towards the sky, Javier pressed a kiss to her exposed throat, growling against her skin.

“Fucking you until you’re full of my cum, mi amor.” The walls of her pussy clenched hard around the tip of his cock, milking him in response to his words. The two of them gasped in symmetry at the rapturous feeling. The tightness of her heat made it difficult to sheathe himself fully inside but once he did, he hung his head low between his shoulders, panting. His fingers dug into the earth to ground himself whilst Miriam tried her best not to make any sudden movements, still recovering from the brief moment of sheer bliss.

Soon, a laughter that was barely audible came from Javier. He lifted his head, looking through the messy strands of his hair to address his love. “You like the idea of that, hm?” With eagerness in her movements, she nodded her head to him; the memory of him almost coming inside her dancing around rent free in her head. She could still remember how hot the heat of his cum felt inside, even if it was only a drop. Her pussy spasmed again, wishing to be filled this time instead of it being wasted on her lower abdomen. He grunted, pulling his cock back until he was almost fully free from her.

Keeping the tip of his cock lined at her entrance, Javier pulled her thighs up and folded them back so her knees came to a beautiful bend. Her shoes slipped off her feet so her heels pressed into the rounds of her ass. He let go of her plump skin, watching her dress skirt pool around her chest – the sight of her pulsing pussy now on full view. That and her big doe eyes all tearful from sinful want, were a picture of perfection to the Mexican rebel. His hands traced over her knees, pushing them further apart before planting a kiss to one of them. He raised himself a little higher on his knees to get his angle right and once he was there, he slammed his cock deep and hard into her pussy; reaching depths Miriam didn’t even know was possible. The earth surrounding Miriam’s head sank lower, being pressed with great force by the back of her skull. A noise had left her mouth she didn’t even know could ever be recreated even if she tried. That very noise made her lover see red and repeated the violent snap of his hips over and over, earning a unique and satisfying moan from her each time.

The head of his cock abused her insides, forcing her heat to overflow with more of her slick in a pathetic attempt to soothe the overstimulation which was being invoked. Her head was dizzy, unable to think rationally whilst he pounded into her pussy like she was just some tight hole for him to let his frustrations out on. “Oh my God… Javier! Javier!” Her sanity was long gone, no care being present to fear what others might hear. She felt his hands pull harder on her knees, bringing her hips impossibly closer to his own; Miriam became a babbling mess. He hit depths within her that shot fiery sparks of gunpowder through her core all the way to her head. Her toes curled, bracing herself for his ruthlessness that would undoubtedly continue.

Already, her pussy squeezed his cock, ready to deliver its final chokehold. Javier placed an elbow and hand beside her head whilst the other rested in the same manner but above her head. Not once did his unforgiving thrusts change in pace. “Mi amor- Ah! Miriam…” His voice was quiet through the loudness of his grunts, yet as though the elements of nature respected their moment of union, Miriam heard him clear as day. “Te amo.”

‘Those words…’

She hiccupped, feeling the swell of her heart become unbearable. Javier kissed her forehead. “Te amo… te amo…” He never stopped saying those words. With every thrust, every pant and groan, he cooed those words to her. He would say it as many times as it took for her to finally understand. She felt her head ache, still unable to stop herself from crying. All she could do was place her hand on his cheek and kiss the corner of his mouth.

Even then, he still did not stop.

‘He loves me…’ The happiest smile she had ever conjured in her entire lifetime graced her features. ‘He really loves me…’

Being close to his release, Javier shuddered, his head falling lower to try and stop himself. He could feel she was close too. She could tell by his silence he was trying hard not to give in, selflessly wanting her to come before he did – yet each time it risked him coming inside. Breaking his concentration, Miriam brought her lips to his ear, begging him in a sultry voice.

“Please, come inside-ah! Javier! Please…” Miriam raised both her shoulders in a euphoric high, knighting each side of his face as his forehead now came into contact with the bottom of her throat. His nails scratched hard at the dirt, whilst her own snaked under his arms and latched onto his shoulder blades. Her nails pierced in through the fabric of his waistcoat, not realising she was in fact drawing blood. Even Javier couldn’t feel it, due to the feeling of his cock pulsating inside her becoming overwhelming. “Please…” She lowered the volume of her voice but kept a higher pitch than normal – something she naturally did when she wanted something bad. “Javier… I want you to come inside me. Make me yours.”

Like a cryptic code being cracked, it unlocked the shackles which bound him. A second wind of energy eloped through his body like an untameable hurricane. The rhythm of his hips became faster, more ruthless with no remanets of gentleness. He wanted nothing more in that moment than for her wishes to be granted. And for his own – to have her as his – whole and complete. Sweat glossed down the muscles of his back, sticking to his garments which caused an imaginary suffocation as his climax overcame him, spurting his hot cum inside her weeping pussy. He pressed his hips hard into her and stayed like that, as if his only goal was to make sure her womb became full of his fertile seed. Upon the first contact of his cum, her pussy clenched and pulsed around his length, milking each and every drop as Miriam experienced her own ascension. His cum felt excruciatingly hot but it only heightened her senses and made her journey to paradise all the more heavenly.

The feeling of her taking all of him so receptively was something he cursed himself for not experiencing sooner. He didn’t want the moment to end – even during the peak of his high, he slipped his hand between her thighs to rub his thumb over her clit in circles. The elation she felt from his unexpected action made Miriam snap her hips into his, forcing his cock deeper creating more room for his cum to splurge through. The overstimulation made the young woman shake violently, her pussy now refusing to release her hold on his cock. Javier groaned loud into her throat, the noise emanating from deep within.

Finally, with the last few rocks of his hips, he pulled his cock from inside her, the spoils of his climax spilling out with the friction of his length. Once he had fully unsheathed himself, due to her hips being pointed at a high angle, any droplets of cum which surrounded the circumference of her heat fell back inside. The sight of her cum-filled pussy made Javier’s cock twitch, threatening to become hard again. Her puffy cunt pulsed, drinking back every last drop until it was deep inside her warm cavern.

Attempting to wipe away her tears, the mundane fidgeting caught Javier’s attention, him only now realising just how badly she had been crying. Once he tucked himself away, he leant over her to brush his thumb over her watery cheeks.

“Hey…” He cooed. He thought her tears were a product of their love-making but seeing her continue spill them made the man feel genuine concern. A flash of hurt sparkled across his coffee-coloured eyes as she scrunched her nose and tried her best to wipe away anymore tears that were left behind. “Did I hurt you?” A crackle of laughter bubbled past her lips, shaking her head to him.

“No.”

“Then why are you crying?” That wide, close-eyed smile returned once more and this time he was there to witness her expression of joy.

“I’m… I’m just so happy.” A charming look graced Javier’s features.

“Yeah?” Miriam nodded, humming her confirmation. He closed his eyes in contentment. “Me too, mi amor.” Javier lifted her own delicate hand towards his face. With a look of faraway dreams, he placed the softest of kisses against her fingers. To finally hear her speak such honeyed words to him and he in return at long last came to terms with his deep-rooted feelings he held for her – the shadows within his mind felt less dark than before. His demons had been blinded by her luminescent light.

He couldn’t help but consider if she was an angel sent by God. Or a Saint sent to guide him through the darkness that threatened to take over.

Whoever she was, or whomever had sent her, he knew he had to appreciate every waking second with her. Time threatened all beings.

He vowed silently, on that warm summer’s night, that he would devote himself to her and strive for a life where they could be free.

Together.

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter XIII " A Gamepiece "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n makes her distaste for her father and for her duty as a woman known to her mother.

Warnings : Mentions of very young pregnancies, I'm pretty sure that's it? let me know if I'm wrong :)

Pairing : Eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 2.8 K

Jaeherys and Jaehera were perfectly content babes. Willing to rest in their wet nurse’s arms for hours at a time, just sleeping. Helaena did not like to hold them. Though, that wasn’t an issue. The eldest princess was four and ten years old, unprepared to be a mother to even one babe, let alone two. It had been seen as joyful news when Helaena’s maids and the maester said she was carrying a child, and although it seemed everyone else celebrated the matter, Y/n had not. Helaena had not been prepared for motherhood. It had snuck up on her not long after her wedding night. Y/n could clearly see how Helaena loved her son and daughter, she would hold them even though she did not like to. She would let them touch her though she did not like being touched and she would not react poorly. 

Was that motherhood? 

Y/n did not wish to know. But as the people of court become even more apparent to her now, she looked to Aemond for some sense of keeping herself grounded. Aegon was gone. Likely drunk in his chambers or out in flea bottom, far away from his newborn son and daughter. He had scarcely looked at them since their birth not long before Y/n’s nameday. He did not seem to hold love for the lives he had whelped upon his wife without Helaena’s say so. If he did hold any love for them, he did not show it. 

Was that fatherhood? 

She did not enjoy the new dresses she wore as of late. She did not enjoy the looks she received from the men at court. The dresses were always gorgeous, but she despised what they stood for. Her eligibility. 

The sapphire blue gown had been fitted to her over a dozen times to ensure the fit was right. The dress had been in the works for months leading up to her actually wearing it. And her growing chest kept changing the needed measurements for the gown. But they’d finally gotten it down, and she’d finally worn it to court. It caught the light of the sun shining through the windows of the throne room perfectly. Shining as though it were actually made of sapphires. The jewels around her neck, and hanging from her ears were. Her mother wanted everything to be cohesive, and hadn’t given Y/n the option in anything for the outfits she wore now. She wasn’t able to sometimes sneak a gown in anymore. Now that Helaena was married off, Alicent’s attention was purely on Y/n. 

The only thing Y/n found comfort in was the waist chain her mother had given her. It had once been Alicent’s mother’s. A gold waist chain with sapphires, and medallions in the shape of the seven pointed star. She would frequently find herself playing with the star on the part that hung down the front of her skirts when she had her hands clasped in front of her. 

Yesterday, she’d been gallivanting through the kingswood with Theobrand, bow in hand, hunting. Practicing. She’d been able to be at peace. Away from the Red Keep. The only peace she ever found now, was when she received letters from Rhaenyra, when she was with Aemond, or when she was at prayer with her mother. She had grown accustomed to the feeling of the stone digging into her knees when she prayed, she had grown used to the smell of strong incense, and the wax from candles. 

Y/n knew that Otto had told many people of the court that she was now eligible for marriage, and courting, but she did not expect some of the suitors that came her way. Lord Adrian Sunglass had been married twice before, and had nine children already. He was in his forties when he approached her. His eldest son had also approached her. 

Lord Lychester was closer to Y/n’s age, but she did not care for him. She did not find his ‘love’ for Targaryen history to be an endearing quality. Not when all he ever spoke of was dragons. He likely only saw her as an opportunity to gain more power and status. The wish for potential for any children to have a dragon. 

Aemond was preoccupied with Helaena and the babes. He had been curious about their new niece and nephew since they had been brought into Helaena’s chambers to see them. He often commented that they were smaller than he had expected them to be. Both of them had been too young to remember Daeron’s birth, and the birth of baby Joffrey had been so long ago that she could not recall how large or small the Velaryon babe had been when Rhaenyra had carefully placed him in Y/n’s arms as she sat beside Luke and Jace on a loveseat, looking down at him curiously. 

She had not held Jaehaera or Jaehaerys since their birth. She had gazed upon them and made note of their existence, but she did not wish to hold them. She could still hardly look at Helaena or Aegon since their wedding night. 

As Lord Lychester continued to drone on about Y/n’s own house, and their dragons, she began to pick at her fingers. Her eyes nervously looked around the room, watching the lords and ladies converse with one another. She could see Lady Ceira Lannister in the corner, gossiping away with Lady Genna Yarwyck. She watched as Maris peacefully chatted with other young maidens of the court, and as Aegon took a glass of wine from a tray a serving girl was carrying, saying something that caused her to scurry away from him. 

She wanted so desperately to escape. To find solitude, away from prying eyes, alone with her thoughts, dreams, and the tune she could not seem to escape from in her dreams. 

“I met your sister, Princess Rhaenyra not long ago. My brother and I went to Dragonstone. She spoke of you frequently.” Lord Lychester informed her, finally saying something interesting for once in their interactions. 

“Rhaenyra?” Y/n asked, her eyes now on him, her head craned to look up at him. He nodded with a small hum that sounded more like a chuckle.

“Yes. She seems to be quite fond of you.” He added. Looking out at the hall as well. “You seem to be more alike to her than the ladies at court.” He then peered at her from the corner of his eyes, as if to gauge her reaction. 

“I do not know what you mean.” She tested. 

“Oh, Princess. . .” He began, looking around them before looking back down at her. “I see the way you look at them all. You wish to get away. . . I could assist you in that. If you wished to spend most of your days at Dragonstone with Princess Rhaenyra, I would allow it. I would not force you to stay confined to Lychester Castle.” 

Y/n blinked up at him for a second, before she opened her mouth to speak. “Pardon me, my lord.” And as she ended her sentence, she did not wait for a response, and instead turned away from him and began in quick strides towards her mother, who had now also joined Aemond, Helaena, the babes, and their nurse maids. 

As Y/n reached her mother, Alicent noticed her, and her face changed from that of joy surrounding the twins, to one of concern for her youngest daughter. 

But she did not say anything as she arrived, instead only standing beside her mother, watching as Aemond spoke to the twins in High Valyrian. They looked up at him without any thoughts behind their eyes. Only curiosity to do with the one eyed prince. 

She could not help but look at them as well. Silver hair like the moon, and pale lilac eyes following his every movement. She could see a hint of Aegon’s nose in Jaehaerys. She could not help but stare. Is that what her and her siblings had all looked like when they were fresh from their mother’s womb? Pale, and completely innocent of any sin or wrong doings, awaiting for the day when their innocence would be ruined?

Was that childhood? 

Were all babes so innocent? So unaware of the truths around them? Was that the truth of coming of age?  Finally understanding the cruel truth of the world they were born into without choice? How could anyone knowingly bring a child into the world with the knowledge of cruelty? Every potential terrible fate that could befall their child? How could a woman possibly bear the idea of carrying a babe of someone they did not like? Y/n did not understand how Alicent had done it. Or how Helaena could have done it at an even younger age than their mother. 

Y/n knew she would not be able to do it. Was that why her mother insisted that Y/n choose her own husband? Was it so clear who she would become, to those around her? Or was it a hope they had for her, that she would be unable to fulfill? 

Y/n felt a pain in her chest at the very idea. Looking at Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, she could not imagine looking down at her own child and not feeling guilt. Guilt for her child at who their father was, and who they would inevitably become. 

She did not trust any of the men at court. She did not truly trust the kingsguard nor did she truly trust the men in her family. Aegon was to never be trusted, Viserys could not be trusted to bring any justice, Otto was willing to marry her off to a stranger for his own gain, Daemon had not seemed worth trusting from the little she remembered of him at Driftmark. 

She only trusted her mother, Maris and Aemond. And what would Aemond become when those around them considered him to be a man? She did not know if he would still be kind and gentle to her, or if the tendencies to be cruel in the training yard would consume him. She loved Aemond, He was her beloved brother, and yet, she did not know if she’d be able to trust him once he was a man. 

“Let’s see you to bed, darling.” Alicent beckoned, guiding Y/n by her shoulder away from the crowds. And as Y/n sat in her nightgown on the floor, holding a seven pointed star pendant, staring out the window as Alicent brushed her hair free of knots and tangles. 

They had not spoken a word to one another when Alicent helped her undress, and undid her hair. They had been comfortable in their silence. The sound of the hearth cracking, and the brush running through Y/n’s hair was all that could be heard. 

“Do you hate Viserys, Mother?” She suddenly asked, not moving a muscle in her body as she continued looking out the window, her eyes darting from each bright dot in the dark night sky. 

Her mother’s movements halted, and she could practically see her expression. “Your father-”

“Viserys.” Y/n interrupted, running her thumb along the medal star in her hands. “He may have been the one who sired me, but he is no true father. I wish for you to speak your mind on the King.” She heard her mother exhale quickly through her nose, and when she turned her head to look at her mother, she saw a bittersweet smile on her face. 

“Mother?”

“He is our king, darling. I respect him as such.”

Y/n shook her head. “You still respect him? Do you even hold love for him? After his negligence on Driftmark? He made you out to seem crazed over Aemond’s loss, he did nothing to defend his own son.” 

It was not something that Y/n had attempted to keep secret, her distaste for King Viserys since Driftmark. She did not trust not respect him since his disregard of Aemond being mauled by their nephew. She did not wish for Luke to lose his eye in exchange, but she wished for him to be held accountable for his actions. 

“Y/n. . . I do not need to love him. He is my husband and king, he has my respect and loyalty.” Alicent spoke, reaching down to cup the side of Y/n’s face so gently that she could barely feel her mother’s touch, just the heat of her hand. 

“He does not respect you.” Y/n’s voice cut deep as she mostly turned to face her mother. 

Alicent’s lips went into a thin line as she and Y/n held eyecontact. Y/n had not intended to say it, but it had forced itself out from her mouth. Yet it was true. Viserys disregarded Alicent as though she were just another lady at court and not his wife and mother of five of his children. 

“It’s not fair. You and Helaena are expected to respect your husbands, and yet neither of them respect their wives. Viserys does not respect you even as the mother of his children, he does not even hold love for the children you gave to him, Mother. And if you were to pass Helaena’s chambers after Aegon has gotten drunk, you can hear her crying. He makes jokes at her expense, makes her out to be a fool to everyone else at court. Why is it only expected for ladies to respect their husbands but not for the lords or kings to respect their wives?”

Alicent sighed, shifting herself in her heat to lower herself down to the ground to sit eye to eye with Y/n. “Men do to not frequently care for the feelings of women. Most matches are made politically between strangers. I understand your fears.” Alicent grabbed Y/n’s hands in her own. “I wish for you to be happy. . . that is why I have allowed you to make your own match.”

Y/n’s brows furrowed as she looked down to where their hands met. Alicent’s thumb stroking the back of her hand in small circles. 

“It is Targaryen custom for a brother and sister to be wed to one another. . . I have two unbetrothed brothers, who you could marry me to. Why would you not just marry to Aemond or Daeron?” Y/n questioned, looking back up at her mother, who now looked rigid. 

Y/n remembered the conversation she’d had with Aemond. He’d once asked Alicent something similar, and their mother had shut it down quicker than he could even ask. 

“Yes. It is Targaryen custom. But you are not just Targaryen. You have my blood as well, you are also Hightower. Aegon and Helaena were married to keep Aegon. . . safe. I did not want to have them married, but it was the only option. I do not agree with the customs of house Targaryen, and I do not want you married to Aemond or Daeron because they are your brothers, and they should remain as that. I do not want you to be forced to follow the path of almost every other Targaryen because it is considered to be custom.” 

Y/n slowly nodded in understanding, though she did not understand. Yes, she had Hightower blood in her viens, just as Rhaenyra had Arryn in her’s, but she was just as much a Targaryen. But she supposed it was different in some ways. 

“What if you did not force me? Mother I am not comfortable with the men at court. I would much rather be married to someone I know and am comfortable with.” She tried to explain, but Alicent’s expression did not change. She would not waver on this matter, that was becoming clear to Y/n. 

“It is a sin in the eyes of the gods. You pray to them everynight, you go to the sept on Maiden’s Day every year, you carry the symbol of the faith. You know it is wrong. Please, Y/n, please tell me you know that?” 

Y/n did know. She’d known since she was young, the way the septa would always teach about the faith to her and Helaena. She knew it was wrong because everyone else in the seven kingdoms would not dare to marry their brother or sister. It was an ancient tradition from Old Valyria that the Targaryens received special dispensation to continue, because everyone knew it was wrong. But it did not stop her from asking. In the hopes that perhaps her status as a Targaryen princess would allow her to marry someone she knew she could trust rather than a man who would likely always be a stranger to her. 

“Yes.” Y/n replied quietly. 

She felt as though her fate had been chosen for her. She had no choice in the matter. She was just a piece in a game, being moved about the board at her grandfather’s will, and her mother was doing her best to keep her hidden from it. But it was not working. Y/n was well aware of the truth. Otto Hightower would advise the King to only accept a match that Otto had deemed acceptable, and then would manipulate the King to agree to it. 

She was utterly useless in the matter.

Add yourself to the taglist !!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality @strangersunghoon @shesjustanothergeek @floralsightings

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash

Chapter 25-31

Annotations/Quotes/Reactions/ w SPOILERS (up to KoA 31)

Chapter 25

“She drifted down again, into a pocket of the dark, where she told herself that story-the story-over and over.”

—There is power in stories

“Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom.”

“Who she was, what she was, what she stood to destroy should she yield to the near- airlessness of the box, to the rising strain.”

“My name is Celaena Sardothien and I will not be afraid.”

“You do not yield.”

“His Fireheart, shut in the dark.”

“And then the healers would return with their sweet-smelling smoke, as they had come these months, these years, however long it had been.”

—Then the sweet smelling smoke choking her in TAB — The gloriella reference in CoM — And then Kaltain who she might’ve been like same story same aches different endings — Then in ToD when everything’s way happier (never over the that’s my wife differences for Chaorene & Rowaelin😭)

And then the big thing that kills me the fact she doesn’t know how long it’s been anymore

And wtf do the “healers” make of this? (Later addressed lol book aging edits)

“But she'd seen beyond them, for an instant.”

Aelin, babe, get the fuck out & RUN!

ROWAN IS RIGHT THERE — THIS IS KILLING ME — AGH!

How dare they disgrace the “Old Language” with Cairn instead of Rowan’s accented pretty words

“His canvas had been wiped bare, ready for him to paint red.”

I wish the dresser was the ACOTAR one with Feyre’s paintings not Cairns evil dungeon of nauseating misery

“Aelin was ready, too.”

—Babe, please tell me you have a plan or are about to do an Endovier rampage or anything that doesn’t give me a heart attack

“For once, sleeping. Grief laid heavy on him, dulling his coat, dimming his bright eyes.”

—He was so tired too… his bright eyes… oh gosh Maas why do you do this to me😭 he just stayed with her all the time watching so she wasn’t alone in the worst punishment possible

“The way merchant might display his finest jewels.”

“The girl wore her scars the way some women wore their finest jewelry.”

—The times that quote comes up and full circle between Yrene, TAB, & KoA

“Aelin couldn't fight the trembling in her mouth at the night sky, at the pinpricks of light shining in it. Stars. Just two, but there were stars overhead. The sky itself ... it was not the heaviness of full night, but rather a murky, graying black. Dawn. Likely an hour or so away, if the stars remained out. Perhaps she would last long enough to see sunlight.”

Sobbing… her and Rowan are looking at the same stars & sky… there’s 2 stars just 2… ITS THEM — babe hang on he’s right there — HOW DID WE GO FROM A GIRL LOOKING AT THE STARS & at worst haunting dreams & finally escaping Endovier in ToG TO THIS😭🖤

Always dawn… or at least it gets me ever since ToD

“Offering a glimpse of fires and lightening darkness beyond. Nothing else.”

Wasn’t Fenrys forbidden to speak? Is he fighting the oath just to warn her with a single growl?😭

“Perhaps you'll burn like the rest of us.”

—Witch trials much Sarah? You’re triggering me for Yrene now.

Also stupid question: Aelin never gets burned externally from her magic but frequently burns off all her clothes yet her hair minus getting singed once stays fine even then… I guess that’s not a question I’m just separately hypothetically confused.

“No.”

Same as TAB a single word that echoed on. The trigger in it for her.

“This wasn't just a breaking of her body. But a breaking of her—of the fire she'd come to love. To destroy the part of her that sang. — Until she feared the flame, until she hated it, as she hated those healers who had come again and again to repair her body, to hide what was real from what had been a dream.”

—That’s the cruelty they keep using. And to take the thing she fought to get back, to no longer be afraid. The music, she loved the song, the thing Rowan heard all those years. To hate anyone who might help her. To break everything. —Including me while reading this… legit the most fucked up thing I’ve ever read… her fire😭😭😭

“Fenrys's snarl rolled on, endless.”

—Nothing.

It keeps coming down to that word.

I’m afraid of which one of them is Cairn talking to…

“She began fraying then, who she was and had been melting away.”

Why is this happening right now when Rowan is so close?!

“Please.”

The thing she never said😭

“And she wouldn't be able to stop it, stop him.”

“The hand she'd been dealt. It was the hand she had been dealt, and she would endure it.”

“You do not yield.”

“You do not yield.”

“You do not yield.”

“"Wait." The word was a rasp.”

—no. It all broke😭🖤 MAAS UR KILLING ME HERE

What is it with Terrasen and endure that’s always the words for the children of it they endure

“One last chance. She'd seen the stars overhead. It was as great a gift as any she'd received, greater than the jewels and gowns and art she'd once coveted and amassed in Rifthold. The last gift she would receive, if she played the hand she'd been dealt. If she played him right.”

—I miss the Throne of Glass days.—I have no annotations for like pages cause legit just cried & read

“Dawn neared, the stars dimming one by one.”

—ROWAN MY FUCKING GODS ITS NOT THE STARS DIMMING ITS YOUR WIFE — GO NOW

Half a camp between him & her … so close … so far

“How many would he know? How many had he trained?”

—these moments with the cadre hurt cause it reminds how many lives they've had before this

“That if they knew him, they'd be wise and stand down.”

—That if they knew him or what's good for them😅😂

“A killing calm had settled over him hours ago. Days ago. Months ago.”

—the moment she was gone. They both have that tendency. It’s giving tAB Celaena — very interesting the parallels she writes in for soulmates and oath bindings.

“Go, a quiet voice urged. Go now. — Essar's sister had advised to wait until dawn. — Go now. That voice, warm and yet insistent, tugged.”

—whatever annoying god is talking here is being helpful for once (& it better not be to kill Aelin later) but YEAH GO NOW

okay she’ll get to him save him from the battle ensuring & or vice-versa just MOVE PEOPLE/FAE

Is this the first time Rowan describes anything as warm without Aelin?

“Now, Prince.”

— not important side note I get so confused by the times he's called Prince and her Princess but I guess technically there's no coronation so she's not Queen & him King?

“He knew that voice, had felt its warmth. And if the Lady of Light herself whispered at his ear…”

— MALA … boom boom Fire-Bringer (Aelin at her most powerful ;-) cause it’s ✨Dawn✨

“…Rowan didn't give himself time to consider, to rage at the goddess who urged him to act but would gladly sacrifice his mate to the Lock.”

THATS WHAT I SAID I WAS ANNOYED ABOUT

“So Rowan steeled himself, willing ice into his veins. Calm. Precise. Deadly. Every swing of his blades, every blast of his power, had to count. Rowan speared his magic toward the camp entrance. The guards grabbed for their throats, feeble shields wobbling around them. Rowan shattered them with half a thought, his magic tearing the air from their lungs, their blood They went down a heartbeat later. Sentries shouted from the trees, orders of "Sound the alarm!" ringing out. But Rowan was already running. And the sentries in the trees, their shouts lingering on the wind as they gasped for breath, were already dead.”

Also he and Zoya Nazyalensky would get along especially with their magic and trauma😅

“The sky slowly bled toward dawn.”

—This better not be forshadowing symbolism

“It was an effort not to peer behind him, though Lorcan could not see her. They'd left Elide a few miles into the forest, hidden in a copse of trees bordering a glen. Should all go poorly, she'd flee deeper into the hilly woods, up into the ancient mountains. Where far more deadly and cunning predators than Fae still prowled.”

—YEAH WE KNOW WE READ HOF😅I DONT NEED SKINWALKERS COMING OUT RIGHT NOW OKAY?!

“She hadn't offered him a parting word, though she'd wished them all luck. Lorcan hadn't been able to find the right words anyway, so he'd left without so much as a look back. But he glanced back now.”

—NOT A GLANCE BACK — UGH MY SHIPPER SOUL😭

“Prayed that if they didn't return, she wouldn't come hunting for them.”

—“Good hunting, Lady.”

—NOT THE TIME ELIDE — we can't have a never ending circle of everyone trying to catch each other

“Death beckoned nearby.”

—that better be Cairns impending doom or… Rowaelin rampages… because if its Aelin or Fenrys I’m going to lose it — I can't handle more chapters like this, so, help me out Emo Lorcan

Chapter 26

“The portrait of uncertain fear”

—what does that mean? Is it false then? I feel like Maas uses that word portrait with Elide when she's lying…

"When you finish breaking me apart for the day, how does it feel to know that you are still nothing?"

—her voice cracking cause its the first time she's spoken😭 —that's a lil piece of my Aelin Fire-hearted girl. — OH COME ON

“She smiled back through the mask. "You were only given the oath for this. For me. Without me, you're nothing. You'll go back to being nothing. Less than nothing, from what I've heard."”

No, she’s a fire breathing bitch queen — how dare you say that derogatorily *later edit wait if Remelle said that and it got around is it like Aelin & the Rowan rumors that nickname caught on? Or did Aelin start it herself… agh I can’t remember… I need to re-read QoS*

“They forget I’m Fae too.”

—yes you are babe😭 claim it! … but also what’s the plan cause Fenrys & I are nervous … cause if she can’t stop it what’s the plan👀😅😭😬����🫥

“At least they agree with me on one front. You're spineless. Have to tie up people to hurt them because it makes you feel like a male.”

—“Inadequate.” — *Alexa play dumb & poetic* cause “just cause you act like one doesn’t make you a man”

“Aelin huffed another laugh, haughty and cool, and gazed toward the ceiling, toward the lightening sky. The last she'd see, if she played this right.”

—NO NO NO LIGHTENING THATS ROWAN BABE HES RIGHT THERE NO NO NO!!!! NO LAST SKIES!! NOPE! NONONONONO — also note: the more swagger she has the worse things really are; so re-read TOG with that (anyone who calls her selfish or immature or not caring. No.) No, the more she does that the more it means she’s covering up. It’s her tell a lot of times (I think).

“There had always been another, a spare, to take her place should she fail. That her death would mean Dorian's, would send those hateful gods to demand his life to forge the Lock...”

—I hate everyone that ever made her think her & Dorian are spares & feel like pons

“It was no strange thing, to hate herself for it.”

—THAT LINE IS GOING TO THERAPY

FRANTIC AND RAGING yeah me too

“Despite herself, her plans, she shoved back”

She still fought… she doesn’t want to die. She just doesn’t want this.

“RUN—”

—UH YEAH

“Something in her side snapped and she cried out, the sound small and broken, as she collided with the floor.”

Something forever snapped — not again — as she felt

“Fenrys had seen his twin drive a knife through his heart. Had watched Connall bleed out onto the tiles and die. — He'd sat in a stone room for two months, witness to what they'd done to a young queen's body, her spirit. Had been unable to help her as she'd screamed and screamed. He'd never stop hearing those screams. — But it was the sound that came out of her as Cairn hurled her into the chest of drawers where Fenrys had watched him arranging his tools, the sound she made as she hit the floor, that shattered him entirely.”

—NOW IM SHATTERED TOO—REALLY THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WE GET FENRYS PERPSECTIVE—OH GODS—NO—OW—I MEAN I DIDNT WANT IT EARLIER BUT DONT YOU DARE DIE ON ME LIKE THIS NOT NOW—2 months THATS HOW LONG — he called her the young queen

“A small sound. Quiet. Hopeless. He'd never heard it from her, not once.”

—As if a scream would bring no reprieve

a soul cracking in seconds

Cairn you are not worthy of a broken nose like Asterin the Queen no you deserve worse and less

“Aelin Galathynius stirred, trying to rise”

— “GET UP” — *later* fuck I didn’t mean it like that DAMN YOU CAIRN

“He pointed it at her like a sword. Fenrys strained against his invisible bindings.”

—he’s trying for her😭

I miss the TOG days😭 when stupid Cain was as bad as it got AND HE WAS HORRID

“Aelin glanced at him, toward where he'd sat for the past two days, in that same damned spot by the tent wall.”

—TWO DAYS

“Despair shone in her eyes. True despair, without light or hope. The sort of despair that wished for death. The sort of despair that began to erode strength, to eat away at any resolve to endure.”

—BUT SHES THE QUEEN OF THE ENDURING PEOPLE

“She blinked at him. Four times. I am here, I am with you.”

—those words and now I’m crying again

She doesn’t want him to feel alone without her because they’ve done this together

The language SHE created so he wouldn’t feel alone either the one she made to check on HIM not her and the one he made for her the six blink but the rest those were hers for them but for him too — THEIR FRIENDSHIP MEANS A LOT TO ME OKAY

“Fenrys knew it for what it was. The final message. Not before death, but before the sort of breaking that no one would walk away from.”

After before… before Maeve… Dorian did he’d survived the collar… but not this

“And Fenrys couldn't allow it.”

—Neither can I😭

BREAK THE OATH COME ON

“In his shredded soul, in what was left of him after all he'd been forced to see and do, he couldn't allow it.”

… and their about to be fucking wrong

The fact he says shredded soul because it already was that; while Gavriel and Lorcan describe the path breaking as that; Fenrys already felt it.

“The blood oath kept his limbs planted. A dark chain that ran into his soul.”

—that was the damned order… the cruelest thing… I hate Maeve so fucking much

“He would not allow it. That final breaking. He pushed upward against the bond's dark chain, screaming, though no sound came from his open maw. He pushed and pushed and pushed against those invisible chains, against that blood-sworn order to obey, to stay down, to watch.”

—That damned line was for him they had let him scream for her so he knew he could do nothing…

“He defied it. All that the blood oath was. Pain lanced through him, into his very core.”

Lorcan couldn't imagine doing it how it would happen

“He blocked it out as Cairn pointed the smoldering poker at the young queen with a heart of wildfire. He would not allow it. Snarling, the male inside him thrashing, Fenrys bellowed at the dark chain binding him. He shredded into it, biting and tearing with every scrap of defiance he possessed. Let it kill him, wreck him. He would not serve. Not another heartbeat. He would not obey. He would not obey. And slowly, Fenrys got to his feet.”

—more sobbing

“Stand down.”Fenrys snarled, deep and vicious. And still he struggled to his feet.

— get up

“Cairn pointed the poker at the rug. "Lie down. That is an order from your queen."”

—that’s not his queen anymore (never was)

“Fenrys spasmed, his hackles lifting. But he was standing. Standing. Despite the order, despite the blood oath's commands. Get up. From far away, the words sounded.

— who’s voice? Is that Aelin… Sam… Elena? Connall? Fenrys?

Cairn roared, "Lie down!" Fenrys's head thrashed from side to side, his body bucking against invisible chains. Against an invisible oath. His dark eyes met Cairn's. Blood began running from the wolf's nostril. It'd kill him—to sever the oath. It would break his soul. His body would go soon after that. But Fenrys put one paw forward. His claws dug into the ground. Cairn's face paled at that step. That impossible step. Fenrys's eyes slid toward hers. Neither needed the silent code between them for the word she beheld in his gaze. The order and plea. Run. Cairn read the word, too. And he hissed, "Not with a shattered spine, she can't," —

—NOOOOOOOOOOOOO—

— before he brought the poker slamming down for Aelin's back. With a roar, Fenrys leaped.”

THE WHITE WOLF LADIES AND GENTLEMAN👏👏👏

“And with it, he snapped the blood oath completely.”

—NEW OATH MAKE A NEW OATH AELIN — there has to be a way out of this😭

“Run.” Those words? Whose words? HoF ToG full circle

Chapter 27

“These were his last breaths, his last heartbeats.”

—HOW DARE YOU WITH THAT LINE—there has to be a way to save him — but she needs to run now

Fenrys don't die like this please

Fenrys commanded the queen to run so she did

The final code RUN

The sky again 🥹😭

COME ON RO—FIND HER NOW

“Turning them all to bloodied splinters.”

—Well that’s one way to do it

Chapter 28

“Aelin ran”

—Good listening

“Picked a direction, any direction but the river mists to her left, and ran. The sun was rising, and the army camp .. There was motion behind her. Shouting. She blocked it out and aimed right. Toward the rising sun, as if it were Mala's own welcoming embrace.

— Dear Reader; Pick somewhere and just run,

So many broken things and so much gone but here we are

It’s giving there were still flowers vibes

She is the rising sun

And that embrace is what Rowan had felt too

*hey siri play fresh out the slammer* now pretty baby I’m running back home to you… I’m running

“Still Aelin aimed for the eastern horizon. Toward the trees and mountains, toward the sun cresting over them.”

Mountains and oceans

Okay I hope that noise isn’t Rowan trying to get her attention but also bro best see SHES ALIVE

“And did not falter”

—there’s our queen

“Death sang to Lorcan.”

—Interesting how they always describe the magic as singing

"Someone's making a move this way," Lorcan murmured to Gavriel. "But Whitethorn's still over there.

—It’s HER

“Fenrys. Or Connall, perhaps. Maybe Essar's sister, who he'd never liked. But he wouldn't give a shit about that if she hadn't betrayed them.”

— You don’t know😭

“He pointed north.”

—She goes North (to the stag & home) it’s her TRUE NORTH

“Death glimmered. Whitethorn was nearly at the camp's center. And that force approaching their eastern entrance ...”

—glimmered or glamored?

—it’s just deaths bestie😅😬✌️ ya might call her Lady Death? lol crossover… plus idk I think Cassian & Lorcan would vibe + Elide / Nesryn & honestly all our favs would be besties

“To hell with waiting.”

—AGREED

Wild as fire and Endovier; if I had a nickel for everytime she went on a murder rampage escape

“Death flickered as the rising sun gilded the rolling grasses and set the dew steaming. Nothing. No indication of what, of who. He'd reached the first of the hollows that flowed to the camp edge, the dips narrow and steep, when Aelin Galathynius appeared.”

—flickered… to life? — WHO — Mala time

“Lorcan didn't expect the sob in his throat.”

—me too buddy me to, I forgive you, cause come on he just wants his besties happy & he’s thankful and aw buddy

“As he beheld the blood soaking her skin, the short white shift, her hair, longer than he'd last seen and plastered to her head with gore. His knees stopped working, and even his magic faltered at the sight of her wild, desperate race for the camp's edge.”

—babes rough; the hair note… why longer? how long has it been???

“Lorcan surged into motion, flaring his magic up and wide. Not to her, but to Whitethorn, still charging for the center of the camp.”

—lol he knows she got this Whitethorn needs a hand though

“She's here, she's here, she's here, he signaled.”

—another cadre code … plus more magic senses signaled.

“But Lorcan was too far, the grassy bumps and hollows between them now endless, as ten soldiers converged on Aelin, blocking her path toward the open field.”

Also like guys run she’s running for a reason go run for Fenrys and then from Caryn or kill Karen/Caryn and run from the soldiers FAST before Maeve or soemthing else comes back and

*Also yes I called him Karen cause Cairn is my least favorite Caryn*

“One swung his sword, a strike that would cleave her skull in two.”

—she’s got this COME ON GIRL

“The fool didn't realize who he faced. What he faced. That it wasn't a fire-breathing queen bound in iron who charged at him, but an assassin. Even as he ran for her, Lorcan could only gape at what unfolded.”

—holy fucking shit queen of the assassins & even Lorcan knows it: FIRE BREATHING QUEEN (he skips the derogatory🥹)

Foolish mortal

“She struck before they knew where to turn. Slash, duck, lunge. She got her other hand on one of their daggers. Then it was over.”

Certainly something to see

Very Whitethorn of her… the Whitethorn Galathynius’s have a way with swords

HE ran for HER😭 ok Lorcan u get a ton of points

—THE FACT LORCAN FINDS HER FIRST … *later edit* maybe it helps because she believes it’s real cause that’s too out there to believe & Maeve wouldn’t have known (side side note: how does that power work? cause she can’t read minds & the visions get messed up (hence why the Fenrys trick works) to know it’s real cause she doesn’t know the blinking code & Aelin can hear him whining in distance)

“Aelin didn't falter as they wilted to the ground. She charged past, aiming straight for the field and hills. To where Lorcan ran for her. He signaled again. To me, to me. Whether Aelin recognized it, or him, she still raced his way.”

she didn’t falter or wilt🥹 … did she know they would be here or just run and realize?

“She wouldn't make it, not over that terrain, not drained like that But she did.”

—HELL YEAH SHE FUCKING DID

“To her, to Whitethorn.”

—one in the same … could she hear the power flare? Is it another code or just HI

“Still more fired. Single shots this time, from so many directions he couldn't trace their sources. Trained archers, some of Maeve's best. Aelin had to- She already was. Aelin began zagging, depriving them of an easy target. Left to right, she darted over the hills, slower with each bump she cleared, each step toward Lorcan as he raced to her, a hundred yards remaining between them.”

—she knew, she made it easier with them too; she assisted in her rescue💅

“A wall of glittering gold got there first. From the north, leaping over the hollows, charged Gavriel. Aelin disappeared into a dip in the earth, and when she emerged, the Lion ran at her side, a golden shield around her. Not close to her—but in the air around them.”

—Aedion would be proud & Good cause she needs a little space — Ashryver gold?

—the lion

“Where it touched them, they died.”

“Blood oath or no, they were still his people. His soldiers. He'd prevent their deaths, if he could. Save them from themselves.

— oh Lorcy🥹🥺😭

“Aelin was stumbling now, and Lorcan cleared the last of the hills between them. He opened his mouth, to shout what, he didn't know, but a cry pierced the blue sky. The sob that came out of Aelin at the hawk's bellow of fury cracked Lorcan's chest.”

—mine too😭

“But she kept running for the trees, for their cover. Lorcan and Gavriel fell into step beside her, and when she again stumbled, those too-thin legs giving out, Lorcan gripped her under the arm and hauled her along.”

—a team… seems like HER cadre of you ask me😂😉🤷‍♀️

“Fast as a shooting star, Rowan dove for them. He reached them as they passed the first of the trees, shifting as he landed.”

—A star for his fireheart

Aelin sprawling onto the pine-covered ground.”

—Pine

“Rowan was instantly before her, hands going to the mask on her face, the chains, the blood coating her arms, her torn body—

—THE REUINION😭

Oh the times have changed😭

“Aelin let out another sob, and then moaned, "Fenrys." It took Lorcan a moment to understand. Took her pointing behind them, to the camp, as she said again, as if speech was beyond her, "Fenrys." Her breath was a wet rasp. A plea. A broken, bloody plea.

—her first words were to save him

Rowan turned from his mate. The rage in Rowan's eyes could devour the world. And that rage was about to extract the sort of vengeance only a mated male could command.”

SAVE HIM NOW

—And for her Rowan would to let her cry no more & for his brother

“Rowan’s canines flashed, but his voice was deadly soft as he said to Lorcan, "Take her to the glen." A jerk of his chin to Gavriel. "You're with me."

—a glen sounds nice right about now 😅🥹😭

With a final look toward Aelin, his frozen rage a brewing storm on the wind, the prince and the Lion were gone, charging back toward the chaotic, bloody camp.

—The way she uses ice for him and Dorian is great symbolism

GO GET OUR BOY NOW THAT WE HAVE OUR GIRL

Chapter 29

“That they'd found her. Or she had found them, it seemed.”

—as always they found each other HE FOUND HER

“I will find you.”😭

“And when Rowan had seen her, first from the skies and then beside her, when he smelled the blood, both her own and others', when he beheld the chains and the iron mask clamped over her face, when she was sobbing at the sight of him, terror and despair coating her scent-The rage that roiled through him had no space for mercy. No room for compassion.”

Cairn’s gonna get it finally

“Fenrys was with her. Or had been.”

“I am here. I am with you.”😭

She’s broken that box though... I knew it… while I never wanna see Cairn’s face cause I’d just wanna punch it his expression when she started breaking out must’ve been hilarious… also like does she have super strength then?

THANK THE GODS FENRYS IS ALIVE

Hurry though the path… there’s gotta be a double path… or magic or something😭 ELENA SHOW UP AGAIN PLEASE

“What had happened here, what had been so terrible that the wolf had been able to do the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it?”

“Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror. His Fireheart.”

😭😭😭

Well that metaphor got literal🤢… guess Cairn is rot

They both have that couples who get revenge together stay together thing down😅😅

Chapter 30

“First shivering in the dark, then watching the sky bleed to gray, then at last blue.”

—Good time keeping

Yes I write color words in the color they are it makes my brain happy when I can😂

“Elide didn't know what to do. With her body, her hands. Didn't know what to say as Aelin stumbled over root and rock, the mask and the chains clanking, blood soaking her. Not just blood from her own wounds, but those of others. She was thin, her golden hair so much longer. Too long, even with the time apart. It fell nearly to her navel, most of it dark with caked blood. As if she'd run through a rain of it.”

—cry happy tears is an acceptable option cause me too

& why does everyone keep mentioning the hair? What does it mean?

And yeah she kinda did run through bloody rain (not a midnight girlie I guess)😅😬

“But there was little recognition in Aelin's eyes, shadowed with the mask.”

Real or not real? — she’s giving Annie HG vibes

“As if her body didn’t quite belong to her”

—quote that hit home & will be going to my therapist cause this book represents and speaks to so much… it’s cathartic and utterly destructive

"Take it off."

—noooo this scene😭 not mentally stable enough for this

"Take it off." The queen's guttural words were swallowed by the moss-crusted trees.

"I'm trying," Lorcan said-not gently, though certainly without his usual coldness.

—be nice bruh

But I almost appreciate him being him & treating her normally… like eventually that’s gotta be a relief

And yet he is being nice and not cold not for the bleeding Fireheart in front of him

“Aelin stared at the broken blade, at the shard in the greenery cushioning her bare, bloodied feet, her breaths coming faster and faster.”

—something else broke

“Then she dropped the dagger into the moss. Began clawing at the shackles on her arms, the gauntlets on her hands, the mask on her face. "Take it off," she begged as she scratched and tugged and yanked. "Take it off!" Elide reached a hand for her, to stop her before she ripped the skin clean off her bones, but Aelin dodged away, staggering deeper into the clearing. The queen dropped to her knees, bowing over them, and clawed at the mask. It didn't so much as move.”

“He was frozen, eyes wide as Aelin knelt in the moss, as her breathing became edged with sobs. He had done this. Led them to this.”

—yes that’s what he’s thinking too

The queen's gauntlets drew blood where they scraped into her neck, her jaw, as she heaved against the mask. "Take it off!" The plea turned into a scream. "Take it off!" Over and over, the queen screamed it. "Take it off, take it off, take it off!" She was sobbing amid her screaming, the sounds shattering through the ancient forest. She said no other words.

—the heartache in this chapter made me cry because it’s known, that skin crawling insanity feeling

Pleaded to no gods, no ancestors. Only those words, again and again and again. Take it off, take it off, take it off.

—she’d long since stopped asking them for help

This is going to haunt us all

FENRYS BE OKAY PLEASE

ROWAN HELP HER

“Rowan had barely entered the clearing before he set down the wolf and stalked for Aelin. The prince was covered in blood. From his unhindered steps, Elide knew it wasn't his.”

“Aelin ripped at the immovable mask, either unaware or uncaring of the prince before her. Her consort, husband, and mate. "Aelin." Take it off, take it off, take it off. Her screams were unbearable. Worse than those that day on the beach in Eyllwe.

“golden skin pale as he took in the frantic queen.”

—even he felt it

“Slowly, Rowan knelt before her. "Aelin." She only tipped her head up to the forest canopy and sobbed. Blood ran down her neck from the scratches she'd dug into her skin, mingling with what already coated her. Rowan reached out a trembling hand, the only sign of the agony Elide had little doubt was coursing through him. Gently, he laid his hands on her wrists; gently, he closed his fingers around them. Halting the brutal clawing and digging.”

—officially in the all time list of scenes that destroyed my soul and made me legitimately cry and bring it to therapy cause this is something very real and raw and absolutely heartbreaking but understood

“Aelin sobbed, her body shuddering with the force of it. "Take it off." Rowan's eyes flickered, panic and heartbreak and longing shining there. "I will. But you have to be still, Fireheart. Just for a few moments." "Take it off." The sobs ebbed, tricking into something broken and raw. Rowan ran his thumbs over her wrists, over those iron shackles. As if it were nothing but her skin. Slowly, her shaking eased.”

—only he could get through to his Fireheart😭

“No, not eased, Elide realized as Rowan rose to his feet and stalked behind the queen. But contained, turned inward. Tremors rippled through Aelin's tense body, but she kept still.”

—something worse

“Yet something like shock, then horror and sorrow, flashed over his face, as he surveyed her back.”

His marks gone, her scars gone, all of it gone.

“Unthreatening.”

—they knew

“Fenrys remained out, his white coat soaked with blood.”

—SARAH ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MY VERY SOUL

“Elide only walked to Aelin and took up the spot where Rowan had been. The queen's eyes were closed, as if it took all her concentration to remain still for another heartbeat, to allow them to look, to not claw at the irons. So Elide said nothing, demanded nothing from her, save for a companion if she needed one.”

I love Elide🥹😭😭😭❤️‍🩹 she’s just kind. And good. She’s also quite good at reading people.

“Aelin began shaking again. Elide put a hand on her knee. Aelin had scraped it raw, mud and grass stuck in her blood-crusted skin. She waited for the queen to shove her hand away, but Aelin didn't move. Kept her eyes shut, her ragged breathing holding steady.”

—how gentle they all are😭😭😭this is why i love them

“They'd sever the iron if they had to.”

—JUST DO IT — DAM U MAEVE WHAT DID YOU DO

NOTHING.—DAMN IT

Also Fenrys😅😅😅😭😭😭😭😭

“They were empty. Wholly drained. A warrior accepting defeat.”

—but Elide didn’t😭🫶 — wise girl🥺🥹

“Two blinks. As if that meant something. — Aelin again blinked twice with that strange intentionality.”

*looks up chart* “No.”

Clever girl noticed it meant more *Then Rowan does too (cause he knows her)*

DONT TALK ABOUT THE SECRET KEY — but yes thankfully they do

"A Wyrdmark," Rowan said softly. "To open."

—He knew. He understood. She's lost. But he isn’t. Not with her.

“Kneeling before her, he extended his bloodied hand. "Show me, Fireheart. Show me again." He tapped her ankle-the shackle there.”

—Without thought he held that for her

“Her eyes lifted to his, like the scent of his blood posed some question. "I am your mate," Rowan whispered, as if it was the answer she sought. And the love in his eyes, in the way his voice broke, his bloodied hand trembling...”

—he knew… sobbing again… they never got that moment😭😭😭 & she knows Cairn’s gone… and it’s him😭

The fae side understanding

“Elide's throat tightened.”

—me too😭😭😭

“Aelin only looked at the blood pooling”

—not that memory please😭🖤

“Her fingers curled, the gauntlet clicking. As if it were another answer, too.”

"She can't do it with the iron," Elide said. "If it's on her hands. It interferes with the magic in the blood."

“A blink from her, in that silent language.”

“Yes.”—And again CLEVER ELIDE

It’s giving good thing hermione pays attention in herbology class

"It's why she put them on you, isn't it," Elide said, her chest straining. "To be sure you couldn't use your own blood with the Wyrdmarks to free yourself." As if all the other iron wasn't already enough.

—Swearing like Lorcan because whyyyy

“Another blink, her face still so hollow and cold. Tired.”

— so tired.😭

“Rowan's jaw clenched. But he just dipped his finger into the blood in his palm and offered his hand to her. "Show me, Fireheart," he said again.”

—Fireheart😭 I’ve missed them❤️‍🩹🥲

“Elide could have sworn he shuddered, and not from fear, as Aelin's metal-crusted hand closed around his.”

the beautiful, horrible gauntlets

“A flare of light, a click of metal, and then it slid free. Her face was pale so pale, all traces of the sun-kissed coloring gone. And empty. Aware, and yet not. Wary.”

"I'll do it," Rowan said, his voice still soft, still full of that love. He moved behind her, and Elide stared at the horrible mask, the suns and flames carved and embossed along its ancient surface.”

—I remember

GAVRIEL BOWED AT THE QUEEN

And she trusted him to go to a blind spot

Even as the flare of power contracted into an aura around the queen, a shimmering second skin.

—safe

“Rowan. Rowan, whose breathing became jagged, his swallow audible. "Aelin?"”

“The name, it seemed, was an unlocking, too. Not of the queen she'd so briefly known, but the power inside her.”

—Aelin Ashryver Galathynius the rightful Heir of Fire and lost Queen of Terrasen

“Elide flinched as flame, golden and blazing, erupted around the queen. The shift burned away into ashes. Aelin knelt there, burning”

“The flames flickered around her, though the moss, the roots, did not burn.”

—its all that magic

“Not a single scar. The ones Elide had marked in those days before Aelin had been taken were gone.”

—what did they do?

“As if someone had wiped them away.”

—they stole every trace

Chapter 31

“They had taken her scars. Maeve had taken them all away.”

—taken everything

“It told Rowan enough about what had been done. When he'd seen her back, the smooth skin where the scars of Endovier and the scars from Cairn's whipping should have been, he'd suspected. But kneeling, burning in nothing but her skin.. There were no scars where there should have been. The almost-necklace of them from Baba Yellowlegs: gone. The shackle marks from Endovier: gone. The scar where she'd been forced by Arobynn Hamel to break her own arm: gone. And on her palms ... It was upon her exposed palms that Aelin now gazed.”

—her oaths her memories her history… gone. Foreign. Forgotten. Even the story on the tattoo

“As if realizing what was missing. The scars across her palms, one from the moment they had become carranam, the other from her oath to Nehemia, had disappeared entirely. Like they had never been. Her flames burned brighter.”

“Healers could remove scars, yes, but the most likely reason for the lack of them on Aelin, on all the places where he'd once traced them with his hands, his mouth ... It was new skin. All of it.”

“Nearly every inch of her was covered in new skin, unvarnished as fresh snow. The blood coating her had burned away to reveal it. New skin, because they'd needed to replace what had been destroyed. To heal her so they could begin again and again.”

The canvas and the cruelty.

A worse scar was left. … Invisible and destructive.

"He doesn't have much longer."

No.

The fact she said “No.” In code

“He'd broken the blood oath. Through sheer will, Fenrys had broken it. And would soon pay the price when his life force bled out entirely.”

“From her hands, her horrifically pristine skin, to the wolf across the clearing.

“She blinked twice.”

—blinking code

“Unaware or uncaring of her nakedness, she took an unsteady step.”

—she doesn’t care… she is lost, somewhere else

“Rowan was instantly there—or as close as the flames would allow. He could push through, shielding himself in ice or simply by cutting off the air that fed her flames. But to cross that line, to shove into her flames when so much, too much, had been stolen from her ... He didn't let himself think about the distant, wary recognition on her face when she'd seen him-seen all of them. As if she wasn't entirely certain to trust them.”

—he gives her time

—let her feel safe

“Aelin managed another step, teetering. He glimpsed her neck as she passed. Even the twin bite marks, his mark of claiming, had vanished.”

—a certain grief

“Sorrow softened her face, even with that quiet distance. Sorrow, and gratitude. Gavriel and Elide remained on Fenrys's other side as she approached. Backed away a step. Not from fear, but to give her space in this moment of farewell. They had to go.”

—but they would give her this

COME ON THIS CANT BE THE END

“Rowan couldn't bring himself to say it. To tell Aelin that it might not be wise to draw out this good-bye the way she needed. They had minutes, at best, to spare before they had to be on the move.”

—don’t say it DO SOMETHING

“He'd make sure they didn't get close enough to disturb her. Gavriel and Lorcan seemed to be having the same thought, their eyes meeting from across the clearing.

—a small kindness

“Aelin knelt beside Fenrys, and her flame enveloped them both. The fire gave way to a reddish-gold aura, a shield that he knew would melt the flesh of anyone who tried to cross. It flowed and rippled around them, a bubble of coppery air.”

—safety. Protection. … maybe some plan😭

Blood bound… no, not to him.

NO SILBA

JOY FOR HER😭

“Aelin spoke again, the sound either contained or swallowed by her shield. No tears. Only that sorrow—and clarity. A queen's face.”

—the woman on fire and the wolf

— YES QUEEN DO IT!

—but she offered it. She wouldn’t make him. But it would be An oath for an oath. … Random nonsense: can only queens give oaths? … she wouldn’t make him live if he didn’t want to…

“Aelin spoke again, and Fenrys blinked once in answer. She deemed that answer enough.”

“YES.”

And thus it begins Aelin & HER cadre *alexa play you should see me in a crown*

"Holy gods," Lorcan breathed as Aelin extended her bleeding forearm to Fenrys's mouth. "Holy rutting gods."

—yep that’s what she is now

“For Fenrys's loyalty, for his sacrifice, there was no greater reward she could offer. To keep him from death, there was no other way to save him. Only this. Only the blood oath.”

—I KNEW IT… answers that question I guess😂

“As he swore a silent vow to their queen, blinking a few more times.”

—secret language comes in handy and saves lives once again!

I am here I am with you (probably… liar would be weird lol) yes also is a possibility

“Severing the blood oath to one queen had snapped his life force, his soul. Swearing the blood oath to another might very well repair that cleaving, the ancient magic binding Fenrys's fading life to Aelin's.”

“Aelin curled on her side next to him, flames encompassing them both.”

“Aelin mouthed a short, curt word. Fenrys did not respond. She spoke again, that queen's face unfaltering. Live. She'd use the blood oath to force him to remain on this side of life. Still Fenrys didn't stir. Across the bubble of flame and heat, Elide put a hand over her mouth, eyes shining bright. She'd read the word on Aelin's lips, too. Aelin spoke a third time, teeth flashing as she gave Fenrys her first order. Live. Rowan didn't breathe as they waited. Long minutes passed. Then Fenrys's eyes cracked open. Aelin held the wolf's gaze, nothing in her face save that grave, unyielding command. Slowly, Fenrys stirred. His paws shifted beneath him, legs straining. And he rose.”

—they do not yield. They get up.

Live.

love laugh

—it’s giving platonic than eat vibes

“But there was Fenrys, standing before their now-kneeling queen. And there was Fenrys, inclining his head, shoulders dipping with him, one paw sweeping before the other. Bowing. A ghost of a smile graced her mouth, gone before it ever took form.”

puppy bow🥹

OH THANK THE GODS

“His gaze met Rowan's, and Rowan smiled, bowing his head.”

—respect bruh

"Welcome to the court, pup,"

—gonna go cry now too😭

Oh poor Aedion😅😅 no one tell him till he gets the oath next😅😬 I MEAN YOU CANT BE MAD AT HER

Raw emotion rippled across that lupine face, and then Fenrys turned back to Aelin. She was staring at nothing. Fenrys nudged her shoulder with his furry head.

—and then she’s lost again😭ow

“Maeve had cleaved into Rowan's own mind to trick his very instincts. What had she done to her? What had she done these months?”

—that is the one that haunts us all

Where is her mind at?

“Fenrys slid dark, baleful eyes to Lorcan. Oh, that fight would come. That vengeance. The wolf gave him a curt nod.”

— *dundundun* (not gonna lie forgot over what though)

"The Little Folk."

—Iltsm—The calm childlike little folk moment🥹 fairy woods… what I expect when reading about faeries… though idk what they look like but the fan art is all over the place adorable

“A miracle-that's what had happened with the queen and the wolf.”

“Rowan's eyes settled on Aelin. "They saved her life once." That night Erawan's assassin had returned for Aelin. "They will do so again now."”

—true. and I still have questions so let’s go… since when r u mr hopeful Rowan?

“Rowan kept a step behind Aelin and Fenrys”

—her shield up

“Aelin had said nothing, done nothing except rise when they told her it was time to go. Rowan had offered her his cloak, and she'd allowed it.”

“A warm cloak in a cold dungeon”

— A cloak & a wolf her only trust

“She only walked on.”

—forward… is she power drilling? Or thinking it’s a dream? Or just lost?

“A vision of old, striding through the trees, the queen and the wolf.”

“So close--only twenty or so miles to the mountain house he'd built. He'd planned to take Aelin there one day, though it was nothing but long-vanished ashes. Just to show her where the house had been, where he'd buried Lyria. She was still up there, his mate-who-had-never-been. And his true mate... She strode unwavering through the trees. No more than a wraith.”

—he’d thought about this😭

“He prayed they had a place to stay for the night. A place where Aelin might sleep, and might remain protected from Maeve's eyes once she realized she'd been tricked.”

—he just wants her to have peace😭

“But Elide and Gavriel walked toward it, unfazed”

—sounds about right lol (trust the logics)

“And behind them, Aelin continued as well. So Rowan followed her, as he would follow her until his last breath, and beyond it.”

—my WYRD these quotes

“Aelin illuminated the space, bathing the black stone walls in a golden glow bright enough to see by.”

“Magic--old, strange magic, those lights. Like they'd been plucked from the night sky.”

—sounds lovely & also night court

“Aelin did not pause as she strode for one of the glittering walls. There was none of her usual caution, no dart of her eyes as she weighed the exits and pitfalls, potential weapons to wield.”

The story she told herself again and again even in this fairytale realm of little folk present

—too tired to care too out of it for sure and the weird habits gone and sadness in seeing it

“A trance--it was almost as if she had slipped into a trance, plunged into some depthless ocean inside herself and drifted so far down that they might as well have been birds soaring over its distant surface.”

—exactly — it’s how she had survived it — secret gardens in her mind

“Aelin's steps were silent on the stone. Fenrys halted nearby, as if to give her privacy. But he lingered in the center of the space as his mate paused before the shining, living wall. There was no expression on her face, no tension in her body. Yet she inclined her head to the Little Folk half-hidden in the branches and boughs before her. Her jaw moved--speaking. Brief, short words.”

“He'd never so much as heard of the Little Folk talking. But there was his queen, his wife, his mate, murmuring with them.”

—the awe he has for her🥹😭

“her wildfire eyes as flat and cold as the lake.”

—still gaining fire

“Safe. The Little Folk must have told her this cave was safe, if she now moved for the fire, her own sphere of it still burning bright.”

—safe.

— trust and pixie little folk dust?😅😂

“But Aelin paid them no heed, paid the world no heed, as she took up a spot between the fire and the cave wall, lay upon the bare stone, and closed her eyes.”

— To rest — his wish answered… how long has it been since she did this?

Well, it wasn’t a QoS reuinion but I can finally rest now too😅😭

[potatoobsessed999]

Trick or treat!

Happy Halloween! Have a complete draft of an appropriately ghostly fic that I didn't realize was a complete draft till I went looking for something to answer this with!

The tarn is mirror-smooth and starless. Andreth gathers her skirts up in one hand and lowers herself gingerly to sit on the bank. She falls the last few inches with a thump that takes the breath out of her. The tarn listens to her gasping; her heart pounds in her chest. Everything else is silent.

It occurs to her that she may not be able to stand up again. She decides not to let it trouble her.

Slowly her harsh breaths gentle. She takes steady draughts of air, tasting the night on her tongue. Always now the world has the flavor of smoke, but by Aeluin’s waters it is not so bad as it is elsewhere. She could almost make herself believe she can taste some remnant of the spring breeze from that long-ago evening – the sweetness, the life on the air.

The grasses beneath her are dry; they prick her ankles through their thin, worn stockings. She decides not to let it trouble her.

No loons call across the waters tonight; no crickets sing in the reeds by the shore. Are they dead, she wonders, or only frightened into hiding? The birds may have fled away southward, where perhaps the flames have not yet reached. The insects can have made no such escape. They belong to this place; its life and its death are binding on them.

Her breath, her heartbeat, are all that stir in the night.

The tarn’s roof of sky sags low upon the pillars of the trees. If this were that night, that night of sweet breeze and sweeter singing, then the stars would glimmer beneath the surface of the water like lost jewels. She would see her own face in the water, her black hair a shadow against the night, and beside it she would see another. He had said there was a star caught in her hair.

The sky hangs low, weighed down by smoke.

Andreth digs her fingers violently into the soft earth beneath her, blunting her nails against pebbles in the sandy soil. She jerks up her chin, more suddenly than her old bones make it wise to move, and stares wide-eyed and desperate over the empty tarn. Her breath is in her ears, hoarse and thickened with smoke. She strains her eyes in searching; she strains them at nothing, nothing. No echo, no memory.

“Aegnor!” she cries out, once only, as sharp and forlorn as the calls of the vanished loons.

Her voice rings out over the tarn; she fancies that it leaves the night-black water troubled in its wake. But the ripples smooth in a moment – if they were ever there. No one calls out to her in answer, neither bird nor beast nor orc nor Man nor Elf. The world is as still as the mirror of the water, and the mirror is clouded over with the smoke of the sky.

Andreth sinks back slowly against the slope of the bank. She rests her head among the dried and broken grasses. She shuts her eyes.

*

She wakes in the gray-lit hour before sunrise, and he is there.

She does not know him at first. He is a shadow, a wavering gleam at the edge of the water, faint as a half-remembered flame. She watches him idly, eyes half-open, not yet awake enough to wonder what it is that she is observing. Then – slowly, it seems, and yet all at once, with no warning – she sees his face.

She screams. It is a terrible thing in that moment, seeing him, when she knows he is gone and she will not meet him again in any world. He flickers in the sound of her voice as in a gust of wind; then, his red glow strengthening, he turns to look at her. For a moment, only a moment, he grows still as a painted flame; then with a roar like wildfire he rushes toward her.

“Andreth,” he crackles, and she is in his arms. He lifts her from the bank of the tarn. His closeness sears her skin; she hears her hair catch with the fire of him, smells it scorching as it curls and blackens in his heat. She hisses with the pain and holds him harder, tighter. He burns all around her. She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs. Here is she, ash-pale, wrinkled and weary, and here is he, a naked flame –

“Andreth,” he murmurs into her blackening hair. “Andreth.”

“Aegnor,” she whispers. “Why hast thou returned?”

“How could I leave thee?” he says. “Ai, Andreth!”

“Thy brother said –”

“My brother.” He scoffs. “What is my brother to me? Thou, Andreth –”

She frowns into his shoulder.

He seems to feel it. “I love him,” he amends. “But as I love thee? Andreth, he is chaff before thy flame.”

“Nay!” She shakes her head against him. “Thou art the flame. But, Aegnor –” she lifts her head to look into his searing face – “thou didst not used to speak so.”

“I am dead,” he answers her, and she shivers. “There is nothing left in me that may dissemble. I am thine, Andreth; I returned for thee and no other. Know that, and do not wonder.”

She feels the certainty settle into her bones as he says it. Once more she buries her face in his shoulder, and for a time she allows herself to feel that she is a young woman, dark-haired and strong, held by a living Elf whose fire is in his eyes. But his touch still burns her.

“Andreth,” he says after a while. “Andreth, why art thou here alone? What has become of thy people?”

“My people are well,” she answers at once, and then laughs bitterly at herself. “As well as anyone may be in these days! They have not perished, and I must content myself with that.”

“Then why art thou not with them?” he asks. “When I sought thee here I did not think to find thee alone.”

She laughs again. “Ai, Aegnor! Once I told thy brother I would not run after thee when I was old, to weary thee. And now behold me.” She steps back, fighting the clinging fire of his grasp. A moment passes, two moments, three – then he unwinds his arms from about her shoulders. She stumbles, hardly catches herself. A third time she laughs, breathless, and she gestures at herself, her shriveled face, her tottering legs. “What am I that I should run after my people, when they must run fast and far? What would I be to them but a burden, and perhaps death? I have been of great use to them in my time, but a wisewoman now is not what they need. They will be safer without me.”

“Nevertheless,” he says, “I know they would keep thee.”

Again she laughs. She has not laughed so much in a long time as she has done tonight, but it is no relief to her. “This I know!” she says. “And I withdraw, and I do not take what lies to my hand – adaneth I am!”

“Wouldst turn my words back upon me?” he says, dangerously soft.

Andreth raises her brows. “Were those words thine? Thy brother did not say so.”

“Did he not?” He shakes his head. “Nonetheless they were mine. Do not use them against me! I tell thee thy people grieve thee, and they would have thee back. Let me bring thee to them – let me see thee safe.”

“It is too late,” Andreth says, and feels something heavy burn in her chest. It is not altogether an unhappy pain. “Emeldir said she would tarry for none. I know her, and I know she spoke the truth. They have gone. They are safe.”

He is silent for a moment. The ember-glow pulses in his face. Andreth watches him. He is more beautiful now than he was the day she met him, she thinks, and that – that is a thorn in her heart. She sags where she stands, feeling the soft sand shift underfoot. She is weary; soon she will stumble and fall. He may catch her, or he may not. She makes no move to steady herself.

“Then,” he says at last, softly. “If thou art abandoned. If none now seeks thee. If none waits for thee – none but me –”

He reaches for her, but not because he sees her tottering. It is a possessive hand that grasps hers, raises it to fiery lips. She closes her eyes and tries to be glad of the burn.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs.

She knows what he is asking. She wishes she did not. Or no – she wishes he were not asking it, that they were not here, now, with her white hair and shaking legs and hammering heart. She wishes she were young again, and he alive, and the stars scattered among the waters. But she can have none of that, so there is no use in wishing.

“Stay,” he says again, his lips like hot embers against the back of her hand.

“If I were elleth and not adaneth,” she answers, “perhaps I could look at you and know whether or no you were Aegnor that I loved.”

He lifts his mouth from her hand, raises his gaze to hers. His eyes burn with some fierce emotion, but what it is she cannot say.

“I hope,” she tells him, “that you are not he.”

“Andreth,” he says. “Andreth, I –”

“Nay!” she cries. “Do not speak. For if thou art my love then thou art held in thralldom, and I cannot aid thee. And if you are not he –” now she draws back, heedless of the uncertain footing – “if you are not he, then you would use his face against me, my love for him, his love for me! You would use it to snare me in a lie, to cause me to bind myself willingly in the fetters of the Enemy and serve him beyond death, beyond all passage of time, until perhaps my spirit is burned so low that nothing can rekindle it, nay, not the remaking of Arda – ai, Aegnor! Moths should indeed pity candles – if you are he!”

She is gasping for breath by the time she finishes speaking. He regards her in open-mouthed silence for a few moments; then, just as she sways and begins to collapse, he catches her hands and drags her upright again. “Andreth!” he cries, as her fingers begin to blister. “Andreth, I beg thee, stay with me! Do not leave me to suffer here alone!”

“Thou art not he!” she screams back. “He would not ask me to suffer for his sake! He did not ask! I begged, and he turned away! Thou art not Aegnor!”