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arcielee · 1 year ago

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At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name.

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.”

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response.

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again.

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow.

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed.

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense.

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away.

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust.

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns.

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again.

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed.

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow.

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see.

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity.

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige.

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair.

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Please,” his voice was thick.

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.”

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him.

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched.

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.”

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim.

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips.

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again.

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his.

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight.

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?”

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

arcielee's masterlist

#ser erryk x you #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smutty smut

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caramelcleopatraa · 11 months ago

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First Appointment (Suit & Tie Revised)

Word Count: 1.9k

x: this fic idea won in the polls :) this series was inspired by kayjayxchar on wattpad ( she's A1 ) and then while writing, I decided to make this into sort of a series. no smut in this part ( I know I know, its such a tragedy! ) but don't underestimate what I got in the works :p not proofread... yet

xx: hello :) new caramel typing here. I wanted to revisit this series and fix it up now since I've written more work since I started this. Now enjoy the New and Revised SUIT & TIE <3

Content: Mafia!Roman Reigns x Designer!Reader, fluff, suggestive themes ( gets a lil steamy ;) ) 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!!

Your fingers type away at your computer, responding to emails from your clients. Your employees are setting up the shop, quickly preparing for another busy day. You were one of the top rated designers in the state of Florida. You’ve been able to travel around the country teaching classes, working your magic for top notch celebrities, and make public appearances. To cut it short, you were living your best life, truly. You got to do what you were passionate about and go against the standard of your families’ traditions and values. And to your surprise, they still supported you. You were proud of yourself that you are successful as you are. There was too much work that you have done to downplay your status, work ethic, and talent.

The chime of your door occupies your attention as a group of people walk in before opening time.

“Wassup biiiiiittch!” One of your closest friends, Trinity, was the first to make herself known. She throws herself on you, and you welcome her sudden embrace. She often visited you at your shop to check on you in her free time, and you always welcomed her company, especially on busy days. Today however, was one of those days where she was coming to you as a client. Because she was your friend and today was one of your busiest days, you told her to come an hour and a half early before you opened. That gave you plenty of time to fit your friends, clean up, and open on time. You scan the group that entered through the door with her. You saw Trinity, her husband Jimmy, his twin Jey and his wife Talia. Your eyes shifted to the larger man that stood behind them, that was accompanied by a shorter, voluptuous woman. It was someone you knew too well. Anyone that lived in Florida had to know his name. Roman Reigns. standing next to him, was what looked like a model. She looked too familiar, and you swore you've seen her somewhere, but you couldn't call it at the moment. The group of six admired your shop, casually walking around and scouting different designs that were displayed on the walls.

Men’s Side

Women’s Side

“No matter how many times I come in here, I'm always shocked. Is this new?” Jey says, pointing to the gray suits on your model displays. You knew he would gravitate to those pieces as soon as you came up with the idea a month ago. He always liked black and gray when it came to suits. “Yeah, new in stock. Ya like it?” You sing shakily as Trinity rocked you to death. “Can I take this off ya hands?” “You can after i fit you” You chuckled at his eagerness.

“Anyways..” Talia says, pushing her way through Jimmy and Jey. “This is Roman. I told him that I know a really good designer that can whip up an amazing suit. So he’s here to get fitted as well as the rest of us.” Talia explains to you, looking up in his direction to find him already staring at you. You notice his chocolate brown eyes and brown skin that complimented each other. You try your best to not let that distract you as you reach your hand towards him. You didn’t think he would shake your hand at all. Cold and Dismissive. The two words that would always get thrown around when Roman's name was mentioned.

But he subverted your expectations. You contentedly grinned when his warm hand engulfed yours. “Nice to meet you, beautiful” “Nice to meet you too, handsome.” His voice was smooth and calming. On top of his charming attitude. The perfect voice to coerce someone into doing something illegal. ‘oh my god he’s fine... how am i supposed to stay professional around this man...’

Still, your poker face stayed true as you continued to engage with your client. His partner stayed close to him, latched on at the arm. Almost child like. She pulled on his arm to get his attention, but he simply dismissed her by saying, “Wait over there for me sweets”, and she happily obliged.

“So how does this whole thing work?” He says, tugging at his black tee. “You’ve never gotten fitted here before and my place runs a little differently than most. We have our scheduled appointments set up so that we can fit our clients, try on potential outfits for you, and send you home with them hours later. There’s a huge inventory that I have attached to this store so as soon as I get done recording your requests, we can get your order started as soon as possible. Any questions?”

Roman smiles smugly and looks at Talia. “She’s good.” Talia retaliates with “I told you so.” You smiled at their comments. To you, it didn’t seem like much. You were simply explaining how your company works so that your client has a basic rundown of how things work. Trinity nudged your shoulder as soon as she noticed your flustered state. You covered your face and did a quick spin, a little habit that formed when you get flustered. The group laughed at your small action. You snapped back into business mode and called your assistant to help you distribute the party of five.

“Aahkilah, can you help me with this party of five?”

“Coming!” She galloped out to the main area with a work outfit that was damn near cutting dress code, but you didn’t have time to deal with that shit right now. “You can take the couples since they have been fitted before. Be flexible enough to make changes on the spot if our presets don’t fit like they’re supposed to. I’ll take Roman and do the whole process since he’ll be new information in the system.” She was fairly new, and you didn’t trust her just yet with doing an entire fitting appointment on a new client. Plus, you could tell everything that you were saying was going over her head as she basically eye-fucked Roman. Absolutely no work would be done. “But that’s not fairrrruuh! why can’t I take him?” she says, almost mimicking a complaining child. Your eyes close slowly as you sigh and respond, “Because you’re not ready to give a full fitting appointment yet.”

You wanted to put a nail in this conversation so you could do your job. But, this woman had a damn mission. “You just wanna get him in your private fitting room and fuck him!! You’re not slic-"

“He came here for a fitting! A fitting done by me girl! Please don’t make me have to deal with a child right now.” You were starting to get loud, so you didn’t go back and forth with her like you usually would to whip that bitch into shape. The twins were barely succeeding at hiding their laughter as well as Talia. Roman and Trinity wore smirks on their faces as you reprimanded Aahkilah. She finally buckled down and made sure that the room was ready for the couples. You called in another employee, Gio, to help you with your workload online while you fit your client.

“Oh my god who is that-“ You hit her and stop her sentence and she looks at you like you're crazy. “What!? He’s fine as fuck!” You mentally facepalm as she tries to whisper to you, that ends up more like a whisper scream. “Mhm” You said, as you went behind your desk and pulled up some work for her to do. Sadly, you couldn't stop her when she got to talking. “Oh don’t tell me you don’t think he’s fine! isn’t he right up your alley? Tall? muscular? deep voice? beard? The whole nine?” You took pride in the fact that you took time to know your employees on a personal level and vice versa. You did not think she was going to air out all of the information you told her however. You gave Gio a look that screamed ‘shut the FUCK up’ and she responded to your look by playfully rolling her eyes. You turn the computer towards her. “You’re here to get a bag, not play matchmaker” She groans in response and says “Whatever.” to your dismissive comment. ‘she did not have to embarrass me like that. OMG WHAAT THE FU-‘

“The whole nine huh?” You hear a deep voice mirror your employee’s statement. You turn around to face Roman, the corner of his lips still curled into that mind melting smirk again. He motioned up and down his body, trying to fluster you. And it worked, as your eyes drift over his muscular body. “Little ole me?” ‘LITTLE?’

“Little?” Your face contorted into a confused expression, that earns a laugh out of the tall samoan. He starts to walk towards you, decreasing the amount of space between you too. Your momma ain’t raise no bitch so you stood your ground. Well, you tried. You could clearly distinguish the height difference between you and him, and your head raised as your eyes met his. Your hand rested on your hip and your head tilted, slightly sizing him up. “Sir, I will let you know that this is a professional business.” You said, ending off your sentence with an eyebrow raise. Just as you expected, he challenged you back, “Well I'm not invading your personal space, am I?” He said, letting his eyes drift over your body. Anyone in the room would have felt the tension and both of you were desperately waiting on someone to make a move. “Nah, i just don't want a wannabe gangsta playboy fucking up my reputation.” His eyes fluttered closed as he laughed at your statement. You had amused him and peaked his interest. He closed the gap between you two. His breath ghosted over your lips as he said, “So you must know i’m good at fucking something else up, huh?” His eyes glazed over your soft lips, coated with lip gloss. As much as your mind told yourself you had a job to do, his words you had you distracted. It was honestly embarrassing how quick he got you off course. But you wanted to entertain this a little bit. You took a moment to gather yourself before prompting another response. ”Well I wouldn't know cause it’s just rumors.” You shrugged your shoulders looking off to the side.

“You know how those be.”

“Mhm” He licked his lips. From how close you guys were, you were surprised that his tongue didn't make contact with your bottom lip. “What they been saying about me ma?”

“That apparently you’re good in bed” You raised your pointer and middle fingers bent to imitate quotation marks.

“Mhm, keep going”

“Boy ion know, I really don't be concerned with you.” Your hand returned to your hip. Your attitude started to shine through.

“Maybe it’s because I haven't taken care of you yet sweetheart” He leans down to whisper the sentence in your ear. You feel his lips lightly touch your ear and your entire body froze.

You huffed, and said “You say that like you're so sure of yourself.” You challenged his boldness, but nothing could prepare you for what he said to you next.

“Maybe when we hit this fitting room, I can show you how sure I am”

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@potatosackk

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thewhitewitch-bitch · 6 days ago

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In Astris Supra (Chapter 5: Circulus Insutus Fato, Portas Abditas Resera)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

October 1710

There is no amount or combination of words sufficient enough to capture the true horror of war. Even those who avoid the front face of conflict are subject to the cruelty and tragedy that befalls men at arms. There is heartbreak, sorrow, and a pain so immense that it blankets the battlefield and all that surrounds it like a straitjacket, constricting everything until it chokes both sides of the conflict and creates suffering.

I had not truly known suffering like that. Not even when I left Salem behind in pursuit of a nobler calling, one that would hopefully allow me to one day return to Agatha Harkness and offer her a solution. At the time, I could only assume that she had remained in Salem, carving out her own place in the town and wreaking havoc on those who dared to get in her way. From what I could gather, based on the cries of newsboys from Boston to Philadelphia, the Witch Trials had come to an end, the town nearly destroyed by their own paranoia. It made me wonder just how much influence Agatha had gained in just a few short months, made me try to recall if I could have had the opportunity to see the signs of her inevitable descent into power mongering.

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to think that she had done so willingly. The love that I had for her remained, despite my best efforts to suppress it. At night, I dreamed of the days we spent together, when there was no barrier between us, no coven driving a wedge between her and her potential for good. Those memories would bring on what ifs that were as blissful as the feeling of her touch on my skin. What if we had left Salem before her mother had found us out? What if I had told her of my love for her before it was too late? What if we could have been happy simply being together, with no magic to get in the way?

"Lots on your mind this morning, eh, Ms. Stuart?"

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the voice of the man I was traveling with. Looking over at him from the back of my horse, I smiled wistfully and nodded. Dr. Rupert Kingsley was a rather handsome and kind young man, who came straight off the boat from London proper, with wide, dark eyes and light brown hair the shade of molten bronze. Had my interests been aligned with his, I likely would have married him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he was well aware that our paths were parallel to each other, never meant to cross but rather to guide each other to the right destination. So, as a talented young physician, with no ward or servant, he accepted me as an unofficial student and permitted me to travel with him as he moved from Boston northward along the coast of the colonies and into the wilds of French-controlled Acadia.

"There's always a lot on my mind, Dr. Kingsley. Today though, the thoughts are just a tad bit louder than usual." I replied, tightening the grip on my reins. My gaze fell from the doctor to my hands, buried in the black mane of my mare.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rupert said solemnly, "But I'm afraid you're going to have to silence them. There's no place for loud thoughts on the battlefield. If you want to be a doctor, and I know you do, you have to calm your mind and senses. Leave no room for distractions, they only lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death."

"Of course."

We did not speak again after that, instead allowing the silence to be filled by the beat of our horses' hooves beneath us as we urged them forward to a lively trot and continued on the path northward. It had been a week since we had crossed into Acadia, and with Lieutenant-General Nelson on the move with nearly 2,000 men intent on laying siege to the French at Port Royal, we had little time for dawdling.

The troops were meant to make landfall at their destination any day now, a cohort of doctors and their associates not far behind. From there, it was simply the task of removing the French, an objective that had proven surprisingly difficult for the British forces as of late. But the British were unwilling to cave, which was why Dr. Kingsley thought it the perfect opportunity to 'break me in' to the world of mortal medicine. I was thankful that he remained blissfully unaware of my magic, the late nights spent practicing healing spells on wounded animals or patients that had come into his Boston office seeking extended treatment.

In combination with his medical prowess, I found that my magic was sufficient enough to reduce treatment time by nearly half, even with the most basic of spells. And while my power continued to fluctuate with the phases of the moon, I came to the discovery that at different phases, my spells reacted differently with the wounds and diseases they came into contact with. During a dark moon, I might be able to stop a person's vomiting with a simple digestive potion, but the same potion would have no effect on a patient with the same symptom if the moon was waning or it might make matters worse if administered during the full moon. Trial and error, as crude as it may sound, was the only way I was able to make any headway. The results of said experiments were all jotted down in a small black leather book that was tucked in the belt around my waist, a protective rune hidden just under the cover, making it impossible for anyone but myself to read its contents.

Kingsley thought nothing of it, mostly because he didn't know that I had anything to do with sudden improvement or worsening of conditions amongst his patients. I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could, or at the very least until the end of this war that Queen Anne was so insistent upon waging.

We trotted onward, surrounded on either side by pine trees and fog, dense and chilling in the early autumn air. The sun was hidden behind a heavy layer of gray clouds, the smell of petrichor hung over us warning of the impending autumnal rains that were sure to hit the shore at any time. The encampment for doctors and their associates was just past the bend in the road ahead, supposedly nestled amongst the pines beside the sheer cliffs of the Acadian shoreline. The not-so-distant sound of crashing waves roared and receded in its powerful, natural rhythm as we trotted on.

As we moved to the right of the road to take the bend, I felt a sudden presence, ancient and dark, reaching out to me from within the darkness beneath the trees. I tugged on the reins, bringing my mount to a halt as I scanned my surroundings. Under my breath, I muttered, "Mater divina me defendat hodie."

A seductive chuckle echoed in my ear, though I couldn't tell what direction it came from. My head began to swivel back and forth, trying to find the source, only stopping when I came face-to-face with a woman dressed in hues of black and green. The cloak she wore seemed to fade into wisps of smoke as she stood not but five feet from me, a crown that appeared to crafted from fossilized thorns and obsidian resting atop the hood she wore. She had an entertained half-smirk upon her darkly painted lips, her eyes deep brown as the earth as they met my hazel gaze.

"Prayers aren't going to get you anywhere, princess. Not here, at least." she said with a bit of a laugh. My horse snorted and began to spook, shuffling away from the woman with a frightened snort. Not wanting to agitate her further, I slid from her back and let my boots land softly on the grass, keeping the reins in one hand as I tilted my head at the woman before me.

"You seem... familiar to me, and yet I know I've never seen you before in my life."

"I get that a lot."

There was a change of the light for only a moment, but in that brief time, I saw that the attractive face of the woman in front of me had changed. The lower half of her skull was exposed, no sinew or flesh to cover it, no blood or muscle to keep it living and the exposure spread down to her throat, where her esophagus sat nestled between two walls of cartilage. Just as quickly as the change appeared, it reverted back, and recognition hit me like a wall of stone.

"Lady Death." I whispered.

She smirked again, "In the flesh."

I should have been terrified, scared to... well, death. But there was something about her that told me there was no need for fear. She wasn't here for me. So why was she standing in front me now?

"Why reveal yourself to me?"

She shrugged and began to circle me and my horse slowly, "There's something about you... you're important. And as much as I hate having Lunar witches walking around, you need to stick around for a while."

"That’s not an answer."

"Are you sure?"

I glared at her. She continued to smile back. When I wouldn’t relent, her grin dropped and she rolled her eyes.

"You do know that most Lunar witches don’t live longer than a century, right?"

"I’m aware I’m on a doomed path.” I replied, trying to mask the slight tremble of my voice with a sharp edge, “A Lunar witch comes around maybe once every three hundred years. They never live long enough to teach the next one. Though I know you’re well aware of that."

"And yet, here I am, telling you that you’re the odd woman out."

"Why? What do you have to gain from my survival?"

Death scoffed at me, as if the whole concept of existence was amusing to her, "Nothing, actually. I'll lose more than I gain with you in the picture. But greater forces in this universe seem insistent on keeping you alive, so alive you’ll stay for now. But I must say, I'm looking forward to checking in on you over the next few centuries."

I paled, there was no way to hide it, "What do mean?"

"You're going into war, Aislin!" she exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious, "My favorite stomping grounds! We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I wager. Though I'm sure you'll be sick of me soon enough."

She stopped her circling and looked to me full on, the intensity of her earthy eyes feeling as though they could bury me beneath the soil with just a hard enough glance. The around me seemed to shift, the petrichor smell growing steadily stronger. With a final smile, she offered me a sultry wave and said, "Te veo."

And suddenly, I was alone in the clearing.

--------------------------------------------------

The doctors that had been summoned to serve did not take kindly to women in their presence. Of course, they had to tolerate the caretakers who sacrificed their white linens to the spatters of blood and fragments of flesh, but to have a woman stand among them as a student of the art, was far less palatable. After all, women had no place amongst the respectable ranks of surgeons and physicians, nor did the Iroquois healers who offered their services as their own warriors joined the British forces gathering on the coast, though given the choice, I'd have taken care from the Cayuga over Charles Cromwell any day.

Kingsley found me as I led my horse on foot through camp aimlessly with my saddle pack and bedroll tucked under my free arm. He had taken no notice of my sudden absence, nor had he been subject to a surprise meeting with Death herself, but simply kept on riding to camp, claiming his large-framed tent and a much smaller one beside it.

"Ah, did you get lost, Miss Stuart?" he asked me with a charming grin, "Or were you simply taking in the scenery?"

"A bit of both I suppose." I answered honestly. I took my horse to the hitching post and tied her there, allowing her access to the trough and a bale of fresh hay before turning back to the young doctor. "Have I missed anything?"

He shook his head, "Nothing at all. Lieutenant-General Nelson won't make landfall 'til midday on the 'morrow, at which time we'll board a smaller vessel and cross the channel to wait for incoming wounded and dead. I should warn you though, this siege may take weeks, months even. You still have time to return to Boston-"

I held up a hand to silence him, sending a sharp glare his way, "As much as I respect your offer, Rupert, I simply must decline. Despite the maliciously loud whispers I've heard about this camp already, I am most certainly needed here, so here I will stay. I do not shy away from the sword when it is flashed in my face."

Kingsley's grin softened in understanding, a small nod rocked his head back and forth, "Spoken like a true fellow of medical academia, Miss Stuart. I suggest you take the evening to study, and if you're so inclined, I'd write to your family. Simply because we bear the caduceus, it does not mean we are immune from cannon and gun fire. You'll find all you need for the night in your tent."

Overhead, the skies finally broke, the satisfying drip of rainfall pattering against the trees and the waxed canvas tents. A few of the horses snorted in discontent but continued to eat away at the hay in front of them. As the heavy drops landed on our shoulders and heads, chilling us to the bone, we gave each other a silent farewell and retreated beneath the cover of our tents for the night. While I had no doubt that Kingsley's tent boasted all the necessary equipment he would need for operations and examinations, not to mention cigars and cheap liquor to numb his mind to the horrors incoming, mine was much reserved, containing only a camp bed with several woolen blankets, a pair of white cover aprons, and a small bedside table with a pair of lit candles.

Rupert must have placed the small stack of parchment on the table, along with an inkwell and quill. There was no way the other doctors would have extended such kindness to me, not when they didn't even want me there. Heaving a loud sigh, I dropped my bedroll and saddle pack onto the ground at my feet. I slumped onto the camp bed and let my head fall into my hands, my interaction with Death replaying over and over again in my mind.

She had told me that I was important, though at the moment, I couldn't possibly see how. And the way she had looked at me, as though I were a fresh piece of bloodied meat and she was a ravenous wolf... it was unsettling, though I suppose she always intended to be.

"Oh, Divine Mother, what have you gotten me into?" I whispered, so softly that even I could barely hear myself. I dropped my hands and let my eyes wander back to the parchment on the small wooden table. I don't know how long I sat there staring at it, but by the time I had come to the conclusion to write, the gentle shower outside had increased to a torrential downpour, the weight of the water pounding against the roof of the tent as I dipped the quill into the murky black ink. As I took hold of the topmost sheet, I paused, wondering if sending a letter would make any difference. But then I thought of her, and the doubt melted away. I put the quill to the parchment and began to write in my most elegant script.

Darling Agatha,

I hope that this letter finds you in suitable spirits after we departed on such egregious terms. Not that I fear for your well-being; I know you are certainly capable of taking care of yourself. I write to inform you that I have undertaken a task most unbecoming for women of our talents and station, serving as the student and assistant of one Doctor Rupert Kingsley of Boston. We, in response to the request made by the British Crown, have joined a cohort of other physicians and surgeons at a posting in Acadia, not thirty miles from the French stronghold of Port Royal, and are awaiting the order to cross the channel to provide medical assistance during the attempted siege of the fort.

Having not heard from you in well over a decade, I am certain that you did not intend to seek me out again, and in truth, I was hesitant to write. But I am told that we, like the soldiers who will march onto the shore, will be subject to the shock and awe of war, and at the risk of walking into the next world without having settled the grievances between us, I found the courage to pen this letter.

You may no long care for me, you may no longer wish to think of me, but I think of you often. And I shall be thinking of you on the 'morrow, when cannons roar overhead and the blood of dying men coats my hands. I shall be thinking of the days we spent in the peaceful solitude of the forest, relishing in the quiet hours that we spent together. I shall be thinking of you not as someone I once knew, but as someone I know and care for. For a witch should never abandon her coven and I, in my own anger and fear, have abandoned you.

It is my hope that upon my, with any luck inevitable, survival, that we may cross paths again, and I will once again be able to relish in peace with you as we once did. Until then, I shall think of you, darling, and hope that you think of me.

With all my love,

Aislin Stuart

I set the quill down and folded the parchment carefully once the ink had dried. Muttering a simple sending incantation, I lifted the letter to the candle on the left and let one corner light, before repeating the gesture with the candle on the right. I gripped the parchment tight between my fingers as the flames inched closer to my hand until I could no longer hold it. As I released my grip, I whispered, "Agatha Harkness."

The ashes scattered in an invisible wind, drifting beneath the canvas walls of the tent and carrying my message to wherever she was. I lay back on my bed, and started at the roof in the eerie quiet, only drifting off to sleep when thunder finally began to roll in.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x oc #agatha harkness x reader #marvel cinematic universe #rio vidal

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princess-geek · 4 months ago

Text

White Peonies (Part I)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)

Summary: Another peek into the past, this time to lift the veil on Mary’s life and three generations of fascinating women of the Howard family.

Main Pairing: Vincent Foredale x Mary Howard.

Word Count: +/- 7280

Rating: General (but with light mentions to adult/violent situations, sickness and death).

Notes: 💖English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. 💖Special thanks to @rosesnink for proofreading.

💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations ‘Fics of the week’

(December 1945 )

After the war, the Captain James Arthur Howard returned to Grovershire, his hometown, with the love and saviour of his life, his Italian fiancé, Elena Moretti. They got married on December 24th of that year.

The couple settled in James Howard's small cottage. The war had interrupted the works, so it needed a lot of love and sweat to make it comfortable again.

The first few months were hard, but that didn't discourage the newly-weds. Together, they finished the works on their modest home.

Taking advantage of the skills honed during the war, James opened a small automobile repair shop. Elena worked at home, but no less hard. She baked cakes and biscuits in the Italian way for the village tea shop and sold the vegetables she grew in her garden at the market.

They had two children: Thomas, born in 1947 and Sophia in 1950.

At the beginning of the 60s, the Howard’s future seemed promising: James had a lot of work and had to take on an employee to help. Thomas was showing interest in mechanics and was already working as his father's apprentice on Saturdays. James had high hopes for his son. He dreamed of Thomas becoming a mechanical engineer. Besides continuing to make cakes and cookies for the teahouse, Elena had started to cook pizzas to order a few days a week. She got Grovershire hooked on her Italian flavours; Sophia had passed her Eleven-plus with flying colours.

However, the summer of 1961 was shadowed by tragedy. Thomas caught pneumonia and could not resist the consequences of the disease. He passed away on September 1st of that same year, leaving a deep scar of loss in the family.

This caused two very different reactions: James became more demanding towards Sophia, and Elena became an overprotective mother.

Sophia finished her studies with distinction. James Howard's sister, who lived in London, tried to convince her brother to send her niece to London. She was planning to get Sophia a job at the bank where her husband was working. Despite the aunt and niece's pleas, James and Elena refused to be apart from their daughter.

Nevertheless, Sophia was determined to not let her parents' fears stop her to blossom. Even though there weren't many job opportunities in Grovershire, she found a position as the doctor's secretary.

She was a quick learner, so in a short time, Sophia was helping the doctor with some procedures, showing great competence. Dr Morrison encouraged her to become a nurse.

Despite her parents' reluctance, Sophia liked that idea and was saving money for nursing school. Becoming a nurse would not only allow her to do something she enjoyed, but also conquer her independence.

Therefore, besides her job at the doctor's office, Sophia never missed the opportunity for any extra work.

However, one of these extra jobs would change her life completely.

Mr Oliver Paterson, a handsome and clever young lawyer, arrived in the small town to take over his great-uncle's office. As there weren’t many legal disputes in regions like Grovershire, Mr Paterson needed a secretary only for a couple of hours a week, so, on the recommendation of Dr Morrison, he hired Sophia.

Among legal proceedings books, letters, stacks of papers to organize, tea and Italian biscuits, the cordial relationship between employer and secretary didn't take long to become something more. Sophia didn't expect to fall in love, but in a few months, she couldn't think of anything other than a future with Oliver.

She was so confident in a life with him that within a few months, Sophia introduced Oliver to her parents. His charm won over the Howards, who welcomed him as a member of the family.

Thus, when she found out she was pregnant, Sophia wasn't too worried. That would speed things up, and soon they would get married. Even though she couldn’t work for a year or two, Oliver made enough for their little family and her nest egg would allow them some extra comforts.

Her dreams and her heart shattered when she told Oliver she was expecting a child. Upon hearing the news, he not only refused to take on the child, but also announced that he was moving to the USA, quoting the bastard, ‘to work at an important international law firm'.

If that was true, Sophia never bothered to confirm. Overnight, the charming Mr Paterson disappeared without a trace, owing her money and leaving a child without a father.

Disillusioned, ashamed and fearing her parents' reaction, Sophia fled to London to her aunt's house. Upon learning of the rumour that Oliver had gone to the USA, the Howards feared that Sophia had run away with him. The couple was losing hope when James's sister called to say that her niece was there. James and Elena came to London to join her daughter and the rest of the family for the holidays.

Despite her fears, with her aunt's help, Sophia told her parents she was expecting during the holidays. Those were the saddest holidays since Thomas' death, but her parents reacted better than Sophia expected.

They had already lost a son, so even though they were not ecstatic about their daughter's situation, they assured her of their love and support every step of the way.

Sophia returned to Grovershire with her parents. Ignoring the scandal caused by gossipers, the family prepared to welcome the baby.

This time, it was her parents who were making plans for Sophia to go to nursing school. They would take care of the baby for as long as necessary.

On August 8, 1970, Mary Helen Howard was born. The labour went well, but Sophia caught a serious infection at the hospital, and died a few weeks later.

It was another terrible loss for the Howards, but this time, they had a beacon of hope to hold on. Baby Mary became the reason for their lives. James and Elena decided that they would not let the shadows of the past dim their granddaughter's light.

Mary was a lively and healthy child. There was some drama in her teens, nothing that wasn't normal and that they couldn't deal with.

Since childhood, she had revealed a natural talent for music, dazzling everybody with her voice and piano skills on Sunday services and school plays.

Full of pride, the grandparents bought Mary a small piano, making her promise to keep good grades though. She kept her promise and finished high school as one of the best in her class.

Nevertheless, from an early age, Mary showed signs of wanting something different. Elena could understand her granddaughter's heart. Before the war, she had dreamed of becoming an opera singer. In fact, Elena had tried to escape to Milan a couple of times during her adolescence.

In addition to her talent, Mary had the aura of a diva, like the Italian prima donnas. Elena saw how she fascinated everyone who listened to her, as if her voice could cast a spell. Such enchantment power could give her much success, but it could also open the door to some heartbreak. As a grandmother, she could only prepare Mary for life the best she could…and prepare James too.

When Mary turned 18 and told them she was going to move to London to pursue her dream of becoming a singer, her grandparents buried their fears and let her fly.

Unfortunately, Elena and James didn't live long enough to see the first fruits of Mary's labour.

********

Even though she was aware it wouldn't be a fairy tale, some obstacles along the way made Mary’s heart waver.

During her first few months in London, she lived with a great-aunt. Mrs. Lee knew her great-niece's talent, so more than just a house, she wanted to help her pursue her dream. Even at short notice, she managed to get Mary to apply to the Royal Academy of Music and get an audition. Mary was not accepted that year, but her great-aunt encouraged her to take a sabbatical and prepare to apply in the following year.

Sadly, her grandfather's sister died suddenly, and her cousins sold the house immediately.

As if she had predicted what was going to happen, her great-aunt had found her a job as a live-in maid. It was far from perfect; however, it gave her a roof over her head. The job was allowing Mary to save some money but depriving her of enough time energy to dedicate to the music.

On one of the nights off, Sophia and Dahlia, one of her coworkers, went to a pub in another part of the city. It was a cosy place; the people were nice and there was live music that night. They were having so much fun that the girls didn't notice the time passing until the first ring of the bell. They asked for one more pint.

“This one's on me, girls. It’s my last night here, and you're my last clients. Cheers!” The waitress said, drinking a pint with them.

As she drank, Mary found herself watching the musicians arranging their instruments. One of them was particularly attractive, but it wasn't what lit her spirit. Mary had an idea. “Do you know if they will hire someone to replace you?” She asked the waitress.

“My boss interviewed some candidates today. I don't know whether any of them were selected.”

“I am interested in the position. I have some experience. Besides, I'm also a singer. I would save your boss some money by performing on nights like tonight.” Her experience was limited to a summer job at the town pub, though, but she tried to sound as confident as possible. It was a long shot, but at least she could do what she loved for a couple of hours a day.

“After making money, Mr Brown's favourite thing is saving money.” The waitress laughed. “I'll meet him here in the morning to settle our accounts. Show up here, maybe he'll fancy you.”

With Dalia’s help, Mary called sick day. Pretending to leave the house to go to the doctor, Mary went to the pub and presented her proposal.

“Miss Howard, are you aware that I won't pay you not a penny more for singing, right? At least, not until you give me evidence that your performances will make a profit.”

Mary nodded. Mr Brown asked to take a pint and prepare a couple of drinks. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel the sweat running down her back. Then he asked her to sing a song. From her point of view, it didn't go very well, but he didn't seem to hate it.

“You're not very fast, but you look like someone who learns quickly. Very good, Miss Howard. I'll hire her for a month to see how she goes. No guarantees! You start tonight. Welcome to ‘The Black Panther'!”

Even with guilt on her conscience, for the first few days, Mary pretended to be sick and sneaked out to the pub. After a week working there, Mr Brown showed no signs of being unhappy with her work, so Mary resigned.

She was without a roof over her head again, but she managed to persuade Mr Brown to let her sleep for a few days in a sleeping bag at the back of the pub. Dahlia let her shower and wash clothes secretly at her former bosses' house.

A few days later, Mary found a room in a flat shared by college students who hung around the pub. They were noisy and even more messy, but that wasn't what kept her up at night.

It's been almost two months since she had started working there and Mr Brown still hasn't allowed her to perform, not even a song in karaoke night. Every day she took the guitar with her in the hope of having an opportunity.

Dahlia offered to try to get her job back as a maid. Mary was tempted to accept.

Arriving at the pub in an afternoon, Mary found Mr Brown very distressed around the karaoke machine.

“This is a disaster! The machine will never be ready in time for tonight! ‘The Golden Lion’ will feast on my clients tonight!” He mumbled dramatically to himself.

Mary saw an opportunity in his drama and volunteered to perform. After thinking for a while, Mr Brown concluded that it was better to have an amateur singer than to run the risk of clients swapping him for another feline.

Mary barely had time to feel nervous over the next few hours. While carrying out the evening's tasks, she chose what she was going to sing and reviewed the chords in her head. Dahlia hurriedly brought her a change of clothes and some makeup, so Mary could get ready.

Minutes before going onto the small stage, nervous butterflies invaded her body. She was so tense that could barely open her mouth. Playing with the gold necklace that her grandmother had given her, a familiar melody began to play in her head, calming the butterflies. Although she couldn’t speak Italian, Mary had heard her grandmother sing it so many times that the verses flowed like a Milanese diva: ‘E quest' è il fiore del partigiano /O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao/E quest'è il fiore del partigiano / Morto per la libertà”.

Feeling warmer in her heart, Mary picked up the guitar and sang to the pub's customers as if she were singing at a packed opera.

She did not remember how many songs she sang that night, for as soon as the first notes left her guitar and her lips, Mary lost track of the world around her, only occasionally being awakened by applauses.

“Not bad for a girl from Grosshire.” Mr Brown said counting the money at the end of the night.

“It’s Grovershire, but thank you. I hope there will be more nights like this.” Mary tried to decipher his intentions.

Mary started to perform once a week at the pub and hosting the karaoke nights. Mr Brown was cheap, but he was fair, sharing part of the profit with Mary. Thanks to the extra money, Mary could leave the chaos of the students’ flat and rent a studio. It wasn't big, but to her it was her own Buckingham Palace.

For months, customers old and new came every week to listen to the nightingale of ‘The Black Panter’.

One night, after her concert, a woman gave her a business card. She asked Mary to stop by her office the next day. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can put you on a bigger stage.”

‘Lemay Events

– Your dream, come true’

Intrigued, Mary showed up there on the next day. Mrs. Lemay, the woman who had approached her the night before, explained that their event organisation company was growing, and they needed a full-time singer at their service.

“Your voice, Miss Howard, is divine and deserves more than weddings and corporate parties. I'm sure someone with more power than me will listen to you and take you where you deserve.”

Even if that didn't happen, at least she wouldn't have to share the songs with the beers. Despite the salary wasn't much higher, it would allow her to save up for a demo.

Working with Mrs. Lemay, Mary travelled around the British islands, singing for all kinds of people and occasions... even funerals. Wherever she went, Mary enthralled all who listened to her and made Mrs. Lemay prospers. Over time, Mary and Mrs. Lemay had become close friends. After her grandparents were dead, Mrs. Lemay was the closest thing Mary had to a family.

At times, her charms attracted some unwanted attention. Not all of them were drunk wedding guests. Some of those who tried their luck were decent and handsome guys. However, Mary ignored any advances, whether drunk or sober. Except if they brought flowers. Mary always accepted the flowers. Especially if they were peonies.

Not that her mother's unfortunate affair with her boyfriend (or ‘The Piral’1 as her grandmother referred to him when she thought Mary wasn't listening) made her sceptical about love. Her grandparents' example had shown her that true love was real and wonderful. Mary had a sweetheart in high school, but she had decided long ago to prioritise her dream over romance.

One morning, Mary and the musicians were preparing the repertoire for a wedding, when Mrs. Lemay arrived at the office ecstatic. An obscenely rich guy had hired them to organise his party at The Trafalgar St. James.

“He hinted that there will be royalty among the guests. I promised him nothing less than the pinnacle of perfection.” Then, Mrs. Lemay turned to Mary “Take care of your voice over the next few weeks, Mary. Take a vow of silence if necessary. This is a lifetime opportunity!”

Mrs. Lemay hardly slept for weeks to get everything to beyond magnificent.

*****

Mary had never been there before, but the hotel certainly never had shined as brightly as it did that night.

She was determined to shine as well. Mrs. Lemay told her some important names in the music industry were among the guests. She rented an exquisite burgundy dress for the evening so that Mary's figure would not pass unnoticed in the opulence of the room.

Before the party starts, the hosts went backstage to greet the musicians. Although obscenely rich, the Sinclaire’s did not match to the stereotype of the rich snob people. The husband was clearly the more extroverted of the pair shaking hands with everyone and exuding a good mood. Though more discreet, the wife seemed to be a very sweet person. She was holding a cute toddler in her arms. When Mary tried to play with the little boy, he hid in his mother's red hair.

Behind the curtain, the sumptuous room was intimidating. There were many famous faces among the guests, including musicians and singers she admired. She felt a knot tightening her stomach. Mary thought she was going to throw up before getting on stage.

“Head up, dear Mary!” Mrs. Lemay encouraged. “This night will change our lives forever.”

Despite the applauses from the audience at the end of the first part, Mary came back to the dressing room very frustrated with herself. Her nervousness had gotten out of control, woken up her parodic perfectionist side.

“Mary, that’s fine, no one noticed got the lyrics wrong. I didn't notice it myself.” Mrs. Lamy quickly prepared some tea to calm her down. Mary was her main asset that night, she couldn't let her lose control.

Mary was about to take the first sip, when she was interrupted by a loud noise. The loud knock on the door only irritated her even more. Annoyed, she set the cup down with such force that she broke it, staining her dress with tea. “Shit!”

Mary gathered herself as best she could to open the door. Standing t the door, there was a young man. He was very tall with an aristocratic bearing.

“There is no need to attack the door. You scared me!”

“I…I’m sorry, Miss Howard, it was not my intention.” He said in a rather posh accent. Despite his imposing appearance, he seemed to be very nervous as he faced her.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“How do you know…?”

“I didn’t know for sure, but I noticed that you seem to be very close to Mr Sinclaire, so there was a high probability that you had some title.” She made sure her words had a harsh tone. She didn’t like to sound like a diva but the last thing she needed that night was a playboy looking for an unwary girl. Men like him only brought problems to women like her.

She looked him straight in the eyes to be sure he was understanding that he had no chance with her. That technique had worked on other occasions. Nevertheless, looking at him more carefully for those seconds, she couldn't help but notice that he was very handsome, with all the attributes of the charming princes. In addition to a breathtaking shade of blue, Mary noticed something else in his eyes that was pulling her towards him with an overwhelming force.

“Vincent Foredale, at your service, Miss Howard.” He kissed her hand gently. “I have to say I’m bewitched… my body, my soul… your voice is divine…Would you be so kind as to agree to go out with me after your performance? There’s a lovely place near here that’s open until late…”

“You can stop right there! This isn’t my first fancy party, so I know how this end with men like you…or rather, how you want it to end… and I’m not interested. Did you really think you would convince me with a Jane Austen paraphrase? Points for erudition, but no thanks.” Mary closed the door in his face, scared by what he was making her feel at that moment. She leaned against the door, trying to process what had just happened.

Despite her harsh words, the young lord didn't give up and remained at the door, declaring his good intentions. “I’m sorry if some called gentlemen took improper liberties with you, Miss Howard, but I assure you I have the best of intentions. If you are still listening, Miss, I’m just asking for a chance to get to know you better. I feel your voice is just the pale reflection of your beautiful soul. Please, I will do anything to prove my pure intentions. I will be at your disposal all night if you change your mind.”

“He seems to be a very decent guy, Mary.” Mrs. Lemay smiled.

“You can’t be serious, Mrs. Lemay! I don't have time to play Cinderella!”

"Cinderella never asked for a prince charming. She just asked for a night off to have fun. You are already at a glamorous party and wearing a beautiful dress. Why don't you have some fun? I can see that you liked what you saw and heard, Mary, don't deny it. I know you better than you know yourself. Bonus, he's very handsome.”

“He is, but I can’t…” Mary was torn between following what she had set in her mind or following the impulse of her heart.

“If you have doubts that are just sweet words, why don't you test it?

“Mrs. Lemay, how am I supposed to test him?”

Mary glanced at the clock. The break was ending. She had to calm her heart and mind quickly. The singer thought that if she asked him something ridiculous, he would stop bothering her, ending the torment. “This is a terrible idea, but here I go…”

Mary opened the door, almost slamming Vincent with it. “Oh… you are still there!” Mary blushed. “It is not polite to eavesdrop behind doors. Someone like you should know that.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, Miss Howard… I…” Vincent got flustered.

“I will accept your invitation with one condition: You will have to sing tonight. You will open the second part of my concert.” She smiled playfully.  

“One song, one date?” Vincent repeated, “Do you mean, right here and now?”

“Yes, on this very stage.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t sing very well, Miss Howard.”

“You said you would do anything… I thought gentlemen always kept their word.” Mary turned her back and closed the door. She heard footsteps moving away. Problem solved. Mrs. Lemay left her alone to get ready.

Her time was coming, so she walked towards the stage. As she got closer, Mary heard the notes of the piano resounding on her body. Peaking behind the curtain, she saw him bravely facing the shame. The fact that he has accepted the challenge baffled her.

“Wise men say/ Only fools rush in/ But I can’t help falling in love with you/ Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin/ If I can’t help falling in love with you?”

As he sang the first song verses, an intense shiver ran through her body, making her heart pounding fast.

He wasn't a nightingale, but he wasn't terrible. Although she couldn't hear, she could guess from the looks and the whispers he was going to be the laughingstock of the night among his peers.

For a moment, his voice lulled her to dreams of the love that the song promised. Could it really be true?

When he finished, the musicians hurried him out, and Mrs. Lemay hurried her entry. They just had time to catch a glimpse of each other.

Mary resumed the concert as if nothing had happened. Minutes later, he reappeared, sitting at the tables in front of the stage.

In some songs, Mary invited the audience to dance. Vincent never left his seat, even though some women invited him directly.

*********

At the end of the concert, Mary assumed Vincent was waiting for her outside the dressing room but there was no sign of him. Could he just be playing around with her? Whatever the case was, she decided to take a walk around the hotel to see if she could find him.

As she walked through the never-ending corridors, Mary crossed paths with Lydia Sinclaire. She was walking back and forth with her son in her arms. The boy was crying desperately, and his mother seemed about to start to do the same.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Sinclaire? Is the boy sick? Would you like me to call someone?”

“No, Miss Howard, thank you. He woke up grumpy and is throwing a tantrum to go back to sleep.” Lydia sighed. “He's usually a calm baby. I don't know what's going on with him today.”

“Maybe it's because he woke up in a strange place for him and not in his comfy crib.”

“I know you must be tired, Miss Howard, but...Could you sing for him, please? I have been here for almost an hour. I have tried everything.... not even breastfeeding is calming him down.” She vented in despair. “I think he likes your voice because he fell asleep before the end of the first song.”

Mary didn't have the courage to refuse a desperate mother. Bringing back her babysitting skills, Mary gently took the boy from her mother's arms. “Shhh, my, my, why are we so angry, little angel?” She stroked his curls. “What are you up to? ‘Beatles’? ‘Elton John’? ‘Oasis’? No. I think ‘Queen’ suits you better.” Mary smiled. “I was born to love you/With every single beat of my heart/Yes, I was born to take care of you/Every single day,” She sang, rocking him softly. The crying decreased with each verse until the little blue eyes began to close. Once the song was over, Mary hummed the melody until he returned to the world of dreams.

Mrs. Sinclaire was very grateful. “Thank you so much, Miss Howard. I will make sure your kindness will be rewarded.”

Mary continued with her quest. Almost giving up, she called the elevator to go back to the dressing room. When the doors opened, she came face to face with Vincent.

“Miss Howard!” He gasped. “Thank God you are here! I was afraid you were gone!”

“I thought you would be…” The two spoke at the same time, both trying to explain themselves.

Vincent invited her to 'The Red Lion'. They walked there, all the way in silence, arriving almost at closing time. Fortunately, Vincent knew the managers and they let them stay after hours.

After ordering something to eat and drink, Vincent tried to make conversation, but all his eloquence stammered before her.

“Something tells me you don’t have much in the way of picking up a girl!” Mary laughed.

Vincent turned red. “No, I don’t have. My friends tried to give me speed lessons tonight, but as you may notice at your door, they were useless.”

“Good thing I like Jane Austen.” She smiled. “Which is your favourite?”

“’Persuasion’. It's not a popular choice, but I like the idea that true love always finds a way.”

“Good choice of words. You should try more often. With practice, you will certainly be able to persuade more women.”

“I mean it when I say I would very much like to know you better. I don’t want to just ‘pick up you’, Miss Howard. You or any other woman. I collect pens, not lovers.” Vincent fidgeted nervously with his glass.

“Does that mean you see me as a potential lover?” She teased him.

“Miss Howard, that wasn’t…I...” He almost dropped the glass.

“Or I am not handsome enough to tempt you?”

“No, it's quite the opposite...You are rather alluring... I'm sorry, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words this time.”

“You can call me Mary and it’s okay, I was only teasing you.” She took his glass and put it on the table. “If it’s not a lover, what are you looking for, Viscount Vincent?”

“I have never wanted a lover...I have always wished for someone who I can share all my secrets with.”

“Don’t you have a best friend for that?”

“I do, but...Miss Howard...Mary... My soul has been dormant, and you awakened it with the first note you sang. I have felt nothing like this.”

“How can you say that? It hasn't even been a couple of hours yet since you met me!”

“Singing the way you sing, with that passion and depth... I can feel that you are certainly the sharpest and most ardent woman I will ever meet.”

From those first sentences on, the conversation between them never stopped, extending from the pub for the rest of the night at The Green Park. The young viscount's embarrassment faded into conversation, allowing Mary to glimpse an intelligent and sensitive man. Although his noble bearing never wavered, Mary found no trace of vanity or pride in him.

Despite the obvious gulf between their lives and some of their ideas, he never, even for a moment, seemed upset or irritated by what she was saying, listening to her with respect and attention.

He obviously put on his coat on her back before she even felt cold. Even in that moment of closeness, Vincent didn't try to touch her, he didn't even look at her cleavage, despite the dress exposing that area.

Mary was truly enjoying her time with him. Maybe enjoying too much, as the voice in her head was warning. She had a plan for her life and was determined to stick to it. And her plan didn't include falling in love.

However, the more they talked, the more she wanted to know about him, to be closer to him.

Mary didn’t remember falling asleep, but somehow, she woke up with her head resting on his chest, snuggled on his body. They were surprisingly warm under his coat at that hour. She inhaled the soft scent of his shirt. The last few hours had been a beautiful dream, but it was time to come back to reality.

He insisted on driving her home. Mary accepted it. She would sing at a wedding mass in a couple of hours and couldn't be late (and being with him a little longer was a bonus).

Vincent got out of the car and helped her out. ‘God, why you have to be so nice?’, Mary thought to herself.

“Thank you for this lovely night, Mary.” He kissed her hand. “May I hope to see you again?”

Her head said no, but her heart went ahead. “That depends.” Mary flashed him an enigmatic smile.

“Of what?” Vincent had an adorable, confused look on his face.

“If you kiss me. I have been waiting for it all night.” Mary had wanted to kiss him since he left the stage. Vincent cupped her face. She felt his hands shaking. “And promise me that we won’t fall asleep on the grass again. Even the peasants back don’t survive a night on the ground.” His arms gently circled her body. Mary’s hands instinctively grasped his shirt. “I am not a crystal glass, Vincent. I will not break.”

Vincent bent down, his lips against her cheek, brushing it lightly. “I am afraid if I kiss you, you will vanish in the air.

“I am not Cinderella, and we are a long way from midnight, my lord.” Mary smiled sweetly, reaching up and pulling him closer to her.

Once, she had read in a book that after a first kiss, there is no going back. It changes both people. At that time, she thought it was exaggerated. It only took a few seconds to change her mind. Kissing Vincent was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t just the touch of two lips. It was the meeting of two souls. And they talked, through the lips, the heart beatings, the soft sighs… Mary tried to deepen the kiss. Reluctantly, Vincent pulled away, whispering against her lips. “If I don’t stop now, I will never be able to let you go from my arms.”

“Is that a promise, Viscount?” She grinned at him, dizzy with the intensity of what his lips had told her.

Vincent peaked her lips. “So, I suppose that this opens the door to a second date?”

“What are you doing to me, Vincent Foredale?” Mary thought aloud as she caressed his face.

From that day on, there were not many days when they were apart, both arranging their lives to spend as much time as possible together. For almost two years, Mary felt like she was living in heaven on earth.

It didn't matter if it was a romantic weekend away, a Sunday lazing around on the sofa, an afternoon playing cards, making him coffee in the early hours of the morning while he wrote down new ideas for his novel or a morning trying to teach Vincent how to cook... all these moments were precious and only made her fall in love even more.

Besides Vincent’s heart, Mary had caught someone else's eye on that night at 'The Trafalgar St. James'. A music producer contacted her sometime later, offering their services to book her some concerts at small festivals and opening the concerts of some renowned singers. He also asked her to write some original songs to record. If they liked it, there could be good news soon.

As the months passed and their feelings deepened, Mary found herself wondering when Vincent would introduce her to his family. When she asked about it, he avoided the topic. He justified the delay with the need to prepare both sides.

Like most noble families, his parents would certainly still have many of the old prejudices. The encounter between their worlds would be a shock for them and herself. Mary had agreed that the moment would require preparation and patience.

Besides, it was also in the interest of Mary's career to keep a low profile for a while. A malicious article in a tabloid would be a damage difficult to repair.

Although Mary understood his reasons, she noticed there was something wrong with her boyfriend. Over the last couple of months, Vincent looked tired and worried all the time. He was spending less time with her and, sometimes, when they were together, she could say his body was there, but his mind was away.

In those moments, she felt the shadows of doubt take over her heart 'Would Vincent be ashamed of her?' 'Did he truly intend to take her to his parents?' 'Was she just a rich boy's entertainment?

On the holidays in 1993, Vincent whisked her away for a surprise travel. At first, she was a little disappointed upon arriving in Scotland. She hoped his surprise would be Christmas at Edgewater, not a cottage in de the middle of the fields.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Vincent asked her to dress warmly, let him blindfold her, and follow him. Although Mary found it a strange request, she followed Vincent. After walking for some time, they were climbing a small hill. When they reached the top, Vincent removed her blindfold.

Opening her eyes, Mary was lost for speech, enraptured by the northern lights above them. On the night they met, among the many things they said, Mary had commented that she would love to see the northern lights one day. Mary didn't know what made her happier: if she finally saw the lights, or if Vincent remembered that little detail.

“They are so beautiful…so magical! Don’t you think, Vincent? Aren’t they the most wonderful thing?” Mary beamed at the sky.

“No, they aren’t.”

Mary turned to him, staggered by his response. Then she saw him kneeling before her. He gently took her hand and kissed it. “You, my dearest Mary, you amaze me every day with your heart, the wits of your mind. When I met you, my soul was almost extinguished, but you became the light of my life. People say that I was born with the best life has to offer, but in reality, it is with you that I discovered the best life there is. Neither lands, nor treasures, nor titles have done in years what you have done in these months... You make me a better man with your love. My Mary, would you be so kind to accept me as your husband?”

The intensity of what Mary felt at that moment raptured her. She was shaking, laughing, and tearing up all at the same time.

“My dearest Mary, please say something…even it’s not what I wish to hear…” Vincent was getting worried.

“What your family will think? I am just a…” Mary stammered.

“You are the most important person in my life. I will find a way for us; whether like it or not.” Vincent hugged her tenderly.

“No, Vincent. We will find a way.”

“That means…”

“Yes, my love. My heart has no choice but to love you forever and furthermore.” Mary caressed his face.

Vincent twirled her in the air, deliriously happy. They kissed wildly, reasserting through their lips all the affection, admiration, devotion and passion for each other.

In the intensity of the moment, the ring box slipped from Vincent’s hands. Fortunately, it fell at Mary's feet. Vincent took it out of the box and gently placed it on her finger. It was made of gold, with three flowers. The central flower was made of small pearls and adorned with a discreet diamond.

“It’s stunning, Vincent.” Mary beamed.

“I designed it myself. I know it's simple... I tried to make it look like a peony...at least it's white...You deserved a bigger diamond... I can’t afford it now, but I will spend my life making up for it.”

“I don’t care about what it’s made of. It means hope, a promise of a future with you. Nothing else matters to me. Our love is the is the greatest treasure of all.” Mary kissed his hand devotedly.

*****

The following weeks were crazy for Mary, between services for Mrs. Lemay and some scheduled concerts. Vincent had something prepared for Valentine's Day, but it was impossible to be with him. Her concert ended too late for his plans.

To make up for him, Mary convinced Mrs. Lemay to give her a weekend off to “rest her voice”. They didn't do anything special. They barely left their castle (aka Mary's flat). Not like they needed anything else anyway. Their hearts always had a lot to tell each other.

It was a mild February Sunday morning. Some rays of sunlight coming through the window woke her up. Vincent was still sleeping soundly. The morning light illuminated her hand resting on his chest. Every time she looked at her engagement ring on the hand her heart skip a beat with so much happiness. Mary had never spent much time fantasizing about wedding plans, but after singing at so many, she had some ideas.

She planted a kiss on her lovers’ chest. Maybe they could discuss it over breakfast. It was time to go get bread.

Mary rarely had any problems getting up in the morning, but for a few days now, she's been struggling to get out of bed. Mary was exhausted, but she couldn't stop now that there was light at the end of the tunnel for her music. Rolling her body off the bed, Mary felt her head heavy, and for an instant, the small room was spinning around her.

After coffee, Mary was sure she would feel better. Nothing was more wrong. The coffee tasted horrible that morning.

As usual, there was a queue outside the bakery. With no coffee to sip, Mary bought 'The Sunday Times' to entertain herself. She was so distracted reading some trivial news that she almost dropped the newspaper when a lady asked her if she could see the headline.

Mary opened the newspaper wider so the woman could see better. The woman seemed shocked by the headline.

Intrigued by the woman’s reaction, Mary turned it to her. There was something controversial about Princess Diana, but that was hardly new lately. Then, her eyes reached the bottom strip of the headline.

‘Viscount Foredale and Mrs. Marlcaster announce their engagement! - Read everything about the wedding of the year on page 20.’

She couldn’t believe what her eyes were reading. That couldn't be true. Mary ran out of air as a sharp pain coursed through her body, making her throw up.

When she could breathe again, Mary flew back home. Fury, disappointment, anguish, fear... hope. She was feeling everything at once. Although it was difficult to think through the hurricane of emotions, something inside her was screaming it was true.

Her mind wanted to get home as quickly as possible to find out, but her heart was terrified.

Vincent was still in bed. Mary couldn't say anything right away, frozen by dazedness. She was clutching the newspaper on her hand, trying to come back from the shock.

“What happened, Mary?” Vincent asked, feeling that something was wrong.

His question made her blood boil. Mary threw the newspaper at him, hitting her fiancé hard in the face. “Congratulations on your engagement, Viscount Foredale! Wishing you a lifetime of joy, love, and happiness. Now get out of my house immediately!”

Vincent picked up the newspaper and read the headline. “Mary, I know what this sounds like, but believe me, I have an explanation. I should have talked to you earlier…” He stuttered, losing his colours.

“I don’t want an explanation! Look me in the eye and tell me it’s a lie!” Mary cried.

The moment Vincent looked her in the eye and admitted it was true, her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. Mary loved him more than life, but she refused to be the other woman. She had given him her soul and body and would accept nothing less from him than the same commitment. It would be better to live without him than to live in the shadows.

To show him she was kicking him out of her house and her life, Mary tried to take the ring off her finger. Vincent knew her so well that the ring was just the right size, making the task more difficult.

“I mean what that ring symbolizes. You are my true betrothed.” He tried again.

Hurting her finger, Mary snatched the ring and threw it at him. Her hand was bleeding, but what were a few scratches on a finger compared with the abyss that he had opened in her heart?

Vincent took the ring from the floor. “Mary, my love, please, don’t do this.”

“Don’t dare to call me that ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

@jeanele ❣  @missameliep ❣  @regencylady1810 ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex ❣@rosesnink @rosesnink ❣  @gardeningourmet ❣ @paisleylovergirl  ❣ @dailydoseofchoices ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices ❣   @lorircreates ❣ @lorirwritesfanfic

❣ @walkerduchess ❣ @indiacater

❣ @kinkypot ❣ @ezekielbhandarivalleros @anotherbeingsworld ❣ @hellooliviaolivia ❣ @pixel-writer19  ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @ezekielbhandarivalleros ❣ @marlcasters ❣ @bhartigat81 ❣ @lyannacyrill706 ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury ❣ @secretaryunpaid ❣ @allisonreilynn ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight ❣ @kingliam2019 ❣ @iloveethanramsey ❣ @surewhyynot ❣ @yvettegolx ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry ❣ @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf ❣ @spookycolorpeanut ❣ @peonierose ❣ @quixoticdreamer16 ❣ @lilyoffandoms ❣ @tessa-liam

@storyofmychoices @rosesnink @lorirwritesfanfic @gardeningourmet @dutifullynuttywitch @ladylamrian @rosesnink @storyofmychoices

#desire and decorum #unspoken desires #desire & decorum #oc: beatrice foredale #choices desire and decorum

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dany-is-my-queen · 2 years ago

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A Question of Loyalty X

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 2k

Note: Sorry if it’s very short ;(

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

“I’ll apologize to him, aunt Y/N. I never meant for him to lose his eye.”

“Oh, my handsome Lucerys. He might not have your hair but he sure has your gentle heart.” Rhaenyra would breathe.

Your heart swelled, for though you knew he was not your brother's, you saw them as your rightful nephews, as your own flesh and blood.

“You’ve grown.”

“I wish we were more alike. People wouldn't look down on me if we were."

“Hey, hey. You're perfect just the way you are, Luke. Don't ever let anyone make you feel less."

“I'm afraid."

“You don't have to be, sweet prince."

“No one wants me to precede Grandfather. I— I don't want to disappoint you. I really don't."

“You are not and never will be on your own. We'll teach you and you'll learn. Everything will be fine, I promise."

“I've missed your presence, aunt. Why didn't you visit us even once after my father’s death? You just— forgot about us."

"I would never forget about any of you, Luke. Never."

"Then why did you neglect us for so long?"

"I— it's hard to explain. But I should never have. How I wish I could go back in time and be there for you."

"It's all right. There's nothing to forgive. I… we, Jace and I understand that mother and you had your own personal issues. What matters now is that you showed you still care."

"You are what matters. So does your brother. Joffrey is still very young but he is very dear to me too. You three, my beloved princes."

Luke found a den inside you, he clung to you so tightly that you could feel your brother in that snug embrace.

He was well protected, no harm would come his way.

—

What happened next was tragedy.

Aemond’s return was amidst pure shock. And your heart stopped when he confessed his crime.

“I didn’t— I—“ He mumbled with redden eyes. He knew what this meant.

So did Alicent.

So did you.

The thread of peril was at hand. But your soul felt even heftier, as you commenced to fathom Rhaenrya's pain. Nothing weighed heavier, for there is no greater pain than outliving your children.

Aemond was reluctant to talk about it. He was heartbroken, too ashamed to face you. Yet he gathered courage and tried to do the right thing. Even when he couldn't reverse his wrong.

"Vhagar disobeyed me. It wasn't my—“ He paused for a second. "I only meant to scare him. To taunt him. And Vhagar—“

“That’s enough.” You spoke up.

“Do you hate me?” He tremulously asked, never meeting your glance. Tons of guilt already harbored within.

“He was only fourteen.”

"He gouged out my eye when we were much younger. There was no justice."

"This was justice for you?"

"I'm sorry."

“Are you, Aemond?”

You left him alone with his mind to torment him. A part of you wished you could offer him comfort. However, you couldn't.

You just couldn’t.

—

In the small council chamber, you were officially granted a seat. The Greens discussed what would happen next, and how stupid Aemond was. Aegon wore a proud grin, even congratulating his brother for "getting rid of one of those bastards," though he knew better than to mutter those words in your presence.

“The bitch will strike anytime. We have to be prepared.”

You wanted to be anywhere but there. Your heart sank and collapsed.

“She might. She might not.” Truth be told, you wanted to believe that she would still refrain from attacking, but now that her son had been taken from her so brutally, there was no way around it.

“She will! She’ll seek revenge. We’ll brawl dragon against dragon. Her children's are still small, too weak to fight. Vhagar, Silverwing and Dreamfyre will crash them."

“Your Grace, you do realize of all the lives that are at stake if the dragons quarrel over the city? Thousands will suffer the repercussions."

"Is that it or are you determined not to fight them?"

"They have strong dragons too. Caraxes and Syrax, Meleys. Queen Helaena doesn't even ride Dreamfyre, how are we supposed to match them?"

"You're forgetting Sunfyre. We'll summon Daeron to join as well. We'll use every damn dragon at our disposal. You'd rather stay out of it, wouldn't you, Y/N?"

"I would not advise your wife & little brother to take part in actual dragon-on-dragon combat. It is far too dangerous. Daeron is only thirteen."

"He must learn the ways of war.”

"No." You firmly said. The young King scoffed.

"You have always overprotected my brother, my lady. No wonder he’s still a soppy wean."

"That's enough, Aegon." Alicent interjected.

You stormed outside the chamber fuming. Honestly, what the hell? You couldn't begin to understand where all this hatred against his nephews came from. They used to be little kids scampering around and laughing together. It made you very sad to see that they had long since forgotten that and that it had come to this.

Larys subtly stepped out to trail after you.

“My lady, you ought not to defy our young King in front of his councilors. Poor choice of words if you ask me though. Still, I agree with him, Prince Daeron must indeed come join his brothers, now more than ever before we are outnumbered.”

“Why did you follow me, my lord?”

“Near Queen Helaena you must remain. Filthy rats come crawling both for fresh bread and leftovers. They prowl in the dark cellars, they leave a trail of red, a trail of ugly yellow."

“What the hell are you babbling about?”

“Be aware, my lady. You don’t want to fail them, do you? But you wouldn’t want to steal their chance either. A nonviable dilemma.”

“I’m not to solve any puzzles. Whatever it is, spit it out, Lord Larys - and what's it got to do with Helaena?"

“Life’s a puzzle. Haven’t you heard? You put one piece together, and if one is missing, you’ll never get to complete it. Meaning you go phut. And you’re the bravest there is, are you not?”

That echoed in your mind. You wanted to be a hero, wanted to save your whole family, and that included both parties.

—

King's Landing continued to hold its breath as the years flew by and no male heir to its rulers was born.

People whispered that they might be cursed. For all the miscarriages had proved it so.

However, the Capital was filled with a pampered face full of beauty, courage & stubbornness.

The Realm’s Delight.

Whose heart you just broke not long ago.

You were certain she held a grudge against her other former companion, not that it was in Rhaenyra's nature to be bitter towards anyone, but after the talk you shared you literally fled from her. Too embarrassed to even look at her, for when you stole a glance at her without her noticing, your still vulnerable heart would creep back to her.

It’ll go away, you would repeat night after night.

Alicent wore the appropriate attire for your trip to the Reach, and a grin as large as the Narrow Sea appeared on her features as soon as she spotted yours.

You were taking her home.

Alicent was still a teenager in love. She was not only infatuated, she was genuinely in love with you.

She was terrified as hell, but once you settled in your saddles and took flight a rush of adrenaline blootered her heart, thwacking hastily, threatening to break free.

She had to conceal her feelings, she had to..

“You’ve been quiet.” You uttered smoothly. The wind was inviting and so was your voice.

“Should have brought a book with me.” She quipped.

“Books are dull.” You replied nonchalantly. You could feel Alicent rolling her eyes at your dismissal. “But you are not.” You snickered.

“What am I then?”

“A gorgeous lass.”

She flustered at your praise, which you sensed from the heat irradiating off her body.

Not gorgeous enough to make you see me, she would thought.

“Issi ao ēdrugī yet, hāedar? (Are you weary yet, girl?)” Meekly you asked Silverwing, she yowled in a way Alicent couldn’t make sense out, but you seemed to understand her noises perfectly.

“How do you know what that means?” She curiously inquired.

“It’s our bond. It’s like.. I can nigh feel her emotions, as she does mine. A connection that runs through our veins.”

Alicent was mesmerized, she clasped tighter onto your waist, you didn’t mind at all the contact.

“Would you teach me some Valyrian?” You smiled sweetly as you turned to look at her.

“Let’s try this: “Silverwing, jiōragon īlva ilagon va se parmon”

“Whoah couldn’t you start with something easier?” She countered and you tittered.

“You are one intelligent lady, my lady. You can manage.” You encouraged her.

“Uhm, come again please?”

“Silverwing, jiōragon īlva ilagon va se parmon.” You spelled it slower so that she would catch the words, she dallied a few seconds before repeating after you.

“Silverwing, jiuragon ilva ilagon va se parmon.”

“Alicent you just told Silverwing to joggle us!” You yelled, simulating trepidation.

“What? No no no! I said the sentence you told—“

You dissolved into laughter too loud you were sure every flying creature could hear you, Alicent frowned before comprehending she had been gullied.

“Why are you laughing at me? I’m sorry I’m not fluent in your tongue.”

“You’re a natural, you nailed it.” You cheered.

“You’re mean and a terrible teacher.” Her tone gave her away cause soon after she was chuckling along you.

Silverwing started to descend the sky steadily.

“You asked her to get us down.”

“Ah, did I? You are a liar Y/N!”

“I am not. Well, partly. And yes you did, my lady. But she obeyed you. She really must have taken a liking in you.”

“Did you coax her to?”

“No. You simply seem to get along well.”

Alicent smiled happily at that. You landed on a meadow full of lots & lots of colorful plants. The grass was a soft green, a river was near sight, complete with sparkling stream.

“Come.” You offered your hand and climbed off your precious dragon to stretch your legs and stroll the peaceful place. You tangled your arm around Alicent subtly, and she leaned on you.

“Never imagine it could be this much variety of flora in one single spot. It’s.. beautiful.”

It was undeniably a pretty view; but not as pretty as the one Alicent had before her eyes.

“These ones are called Meadow Daisies.” She pointed to the white ones with yellow in the middle. You collected up a few as you passed by. Alicent was too focused on them and her explanations to notice you doing so.

“These ones Rapeseeds.” Now signaled to those yellow flowers with four petals.

“Woolly blue violets.” The air blowing tepidly on them.

“They also do have a charming scent.” You both giggled.

“And last but not least, wild poppies!” They were deep scarlet, flared shape.

“I’m so impressed right now. You know your way around, it’s so.. wow. Fascinating.”

“Do you still think my books are dull?”

“Syt se prettiest rūklon konīr iksos.” (For the prettiest flower there is) You improvisedly embossed them together and handed them over to her as the sun was still at its hilt.

Alicent stole the spotlight, for all the wild flowers scattered around were unequivocally jealous of her.

She complemented the landscape so perfectly.

“Only got “prettiest”. Alicent skittishly giggled again.

“It’s up to you if you start learning Valyrian.” You jested and Alicent didn’t push it. Instead, her healt melted at your pick-up flowers, & flushed at your must-be compliment.

A kiss.. what Alicent wouldn’t surrender for a kiss.

—

The lingering ache for your nephew pounded over & over, and so did Lary’s riddles.

You almost scuttled to your dragon but the image of your redhead flashed immediately, you wouldn’t abandon her now, would you? Nor your dear Helaena. Despite Otto’s threat you still stayed because you wanted to stay.

Rhaenyra had done nothing but mess with your heart, with your feelings. Rhaenyra was off limits.

Alicent has always loved you and you alone. That much was clear to everyone.

You were needed here, not there.

Tagging: @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @lesbicentism @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @bugwritesstuff @letlovee-in

#game of thrones fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #got

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pitroig · 4 months ago

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GoUta FIC 5

This is the end!

Ha ha - I managed to post it this week. I am very proud of myself.

Read, share, comment. every option is great!

"I could just wrap you, you know?" Gojo mutters as he scribbles on the flap of a moving box. "It'll be quicker."

Utahime scowls at him, eyes barely lifting from her phone. He looks ridiculously handsome tonight; it makes her guts liquid.

“The taxi will be here any minute,” she shows him the screen to make a point, “I’m sure I’ll throw up if you just shake me around.”

It used to happen at the beginning. When Gojo would appear at night to take her on a date to a ryokan in Ito, when he would transport her from her bed to Kyoto so she could make it to a mission on time. By the time she got used to it, she no longer wanted to go anywhere with him.

“You had fun at the party,” Gojo chuckles and perches on the arm of the sofa opposite Utahime’s. He looks at her with short-lived friendliness. “Lots of alcohol? SanFrecce decorations? Worst karaoke singers in the world?”

He would know if he had made an appearance, Utahime thinks. A braver version of herself would remind him of that. But a braver Utahime wouldn’t be crossing the world to escape from him, so all she has left is a barricade of empty words.

“It was great,” she admits. “It could have ended better if Geto had minded his own business.”

She stares at the wall. It used to hang a photo of them back in the day when tragedy was something that happened to other people.

“It could have been better if Geto had minded his own business,” he echoes, and hums, his cheek resting on his palm. “So Kusakabe finally made his move on you, hasn’t he? You should have just ignored Suguru. I’ve seen Atsuya in the showers; you’re really missing something big there.”

He’s shameless, always has been, but it doesn’t stop Utahime from flushing. It’s still a wonder how he manages to anticipate her movements, to control and analyze everything that happens around him, and to act on it. It’s unsettling at best; she hopes he doesn’t consider something to be proud of.

“You are very fond of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” He smirks as she leaves the sofa. “The guy has been after you for years; it was now or never. Can’t blame him.”

#gojohime #gouta #gojo satoru #jjk #utahime iori #gojo x utahime #fanfic #jjk manga #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk gojo #jjk utahime

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unholywriter · 2 years ago

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So glad you asked! Pffft.

I would love an enemies to loves with beloved Percival! The more angst the better! :P

Plot can be whatever you wish!

Have a wonderful day!

We love the enemies to lover’s tropes! That’s actually what was gonna be a base too what I was gonna write for my fanfic~ 👀 So I guess here’s part one.

Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III

Warnings: None.

“We’re all Runways.”

Chapter One - The Tavern and the Job of Ironheart.

Being a runaway Monk fresh out in the open world left Nor’i to no full extent to the freedoms she tried to reach. She knew one day they’d find her, but what went on behind those closed doors made her stomach churn with absolute horrid disgust. So she left.

She didn’t stick her nose into any business that could follow and travel back to her, wanting to keep a clean trail as short as possible. But being a Water Genasi, pointed fingers could be inevitable. With that - for those first couple of years she was a ghost. Then she met people. People that got her into the trade, brought her into a business that made coin and lots of it. She did jobs for money, smashing abominations of creature’s heads in. She’d admit there came a kind of thrill that she couldn’t quench. Although that thirst nearly (did) get her and a lot of her party members killed. Learning was the easy part, the hard part was remembering with regret. Once she saw the light leave the eyes of some one who trusted her. It stayed with her, burning - never leaving with a gnawing ping of pain at the back of her head and in her heart.

It was the third year of being a Mercenary. The sixth year that she left. For now she traveled by her lonesome, pack on her back, hood over her head as she entered a village with snow spitting heavily to the ground. Griping the fur of her cloak, she soldiered on entering a tavern in sight at the edge of Ironheart’s city line. The snow at her boots was kicked off as she felt the warm air tickle her neck, pecking her nose and slowly creeping down her spine. A warm-felt, welcoming shiver made a sigh leave her lips.

She scoured the inn as she shuffled to an empty small table near the back of the room. She didn’t need sleep, it was nearly seven AM in the morning and from a cave not to far she camped at, Nor’i managed to catch enough for the time being.

“Early drinker my fine friend?” A tavern keeper came by with a fresh tankard of what could possibly be water, ale or some kind of hard liquor. She sat it down easy, eyeing the new traveler with a delicate gaze.

“Early wander.” Nor’i piped back, beckoning a small smile.

“You’re the adventuring type then huh? Got any fine stories to pass around?” She cleared a few other late night drunks messes as she kept her ear out for a reply.

“Only if you have any fresh jobs up for grabs. Maybe I can start a local tale.” Nor’i cracked a larger grin sitting down and bringing the drink to her lips.

A small laugh came from the barmaid, she then pointed to the wall closest to the bar side of the Tavern. On it stapled high with help wanted’s, some crossed out, some nearly torn to shreds. A few fresh and left be. “There are many to choose from. Although a very frightening, recent accident happened. A young boy had gone missing and his remains were found scattered from here up into the mountains. He was a noble man’s son, so the money would be paid handsomely for your trouble for hunting down who or what nabbed that poor little trouble maker.”

“Did you know the kid of the father well?” Nor’i didn’t leave her violet eyes. They were like the southern lights and it fascinated her.

“Lord Euston’s son would pop around here with a few older kids time to time, his father was a frequent. Lost his youngest daughter to a yellow fever a couple years ago. Tragedy never seems to leave that family alone.” She sighed with sorrow, whipping the table down now. Nor’i brought the drink too her lips again as she slid the washcloth right underneath.

“He lives further in Ironheart I assume?” Nor’i questioned for some more info. This could be the job that could bring her to the streets of Emon if she wanted it too. Becoming a well known mercenary? It sounded good to her alright, she needed the break. Especially with all the past baggage from last year.

“Yes, a secluded noble home on the far left side before you hit the main square.” She grabbed the handles to quite a few tankard’s that bewildered Nor’i with how her tiny, little hands could hold that many at a time. “I do hope I was some help. The Euston’s deserve some resolve.”

Nor’i grabbed at a small pouch at the side of her belt, grabbing at some gold to pay for her drink and a room. “Actually, if could grab a room and pay for this fine ale - I can be on my way to see what I can find out.”

“The ale is on the house.” She let a soft emotion cross her features. One that told Nor’i thank you for taking an interest. She seemed genuinely worried, and Nor’i suspected she cared for the boy more than she let on. Maybe even Lord Euston himself. “Eight pieces for as long as you need. Just please do be careful. I’d hate to hear you’ve become scattered across the mountains next.”

“I’ll certainly try to keep all my limbs attached.” Nor’i dropped the pieces in her hand and got up. Grabbing her pack, she was led to a room up the stairs at the second floor. The barmaid waved a goodbye as Nor’i entered. Dropping her pack on the small desk she began to pull out her items. Rations, a journal. A spare set of light clothing and a nightdress. Along with that was her full wooden rose staff, a piece of ingenuity as it folded into itself to make it easier to carry. But once it was in full, it was as sturdy as a rock and hit like a brick.

Another sigh left Nor’i’s lips. Being a drifter was lonely, and she didn’t know what laid ahead. But, she knew she still wasn’t ready to find another group so soon. She then snapped the staff to the side like a whip and out came it in full. Slamming the end down to the wood floor creating a thump she smiled at her trusty friend. She was down for anything though, eventually this loneliness will be all to much to bear. But for now, a family needed some Justice. Maybe more people in Ironheart are apart of this mystery one way or another. And one way another, she would find out.

Exiting her tavern room, she wanted to go find some shop keeps and prepare for this dreadfully possible, morbid adventure. Before she could take a step to the left to close the door — she slammed straight into this tall, lanky stranger. The impact hit her like a falling meteorite. Falling down to the floor, Nor’i’s ass hit hard. Her staff clanked to the floor next too her, and shortly after she looked up she peered into the eyes of the most vibrant greenish set she’s ever seen in her life. “Pardon me.”

A soft accent was heard as he past her. Getting up she watched as he grabbed a key, and entered the room right next door.

What a jerk. Couldn’t even help her up and apologize? A narrow of her eyelids, and a huff through her nose was all that was seen and heard in the hall after she began to head back downstairs and leave the tavern.

Into Ironheart she went this frigid morning.

Chapter Two

#percy de rolo #taliesin jaffe #the legend of vox machina #vox machina #percy de rolo x reader #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #dnd oc #dnd character #dnd shenanigans #dungeons and dungeons #critcal role

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peachymilkandcream · 9 months ago

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Break Me Slowly|Part 30 (Finale)|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: We've made it to the end of the series. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported this it means so much to me. It's probably going to be a short chapter but you'll see why at the end. This was once just a silly little idea rattling around in my head but now it's been fully written out and hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I'm still taking requests for oneshots, questions, and headcanons though, so please please feel free to request more. For example, maybe some oneshots of after the series ends with his older kids? I don't know the choice is up to you. I hope you loved these two as much as I do. (Also if you know the artist of this please dm me with their name and socials and I'll edit it to put in credit!) Thank you so much for reading <3)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

============================================

Hange's arrival was the last piece to the the puzzle of Levi's perfect life. He was better off now than he had ever been with countless allies and supporters backing him up once more, reinstating his untouchable reputation that had kept him safe from all suspicions thus far. His wife had come around to his advances and gave him the son he had always wanted. Truly he was king of the world.

==============================================

"King of the world." Evelyn repeated softly to herself, slowly moving her eyes from the manuscript in her lap to the fire's glow.

She had written down everything that had happened to her over the past few years, in the spare moments when Levi was gone. Her intent back then was to write everything down to portray just what kind of a character he was, that he wasn't this great hero that women swooned over. He was a monster through and through that shouldn't be celebrated. Levi is just a handsome face and a reputation used to hide his heinous actions since no one would touch him.

Her plan had been to expose him once she wrote everything down, when the behavior started, who it effected, and most importantly what it had come to.

Life had gotten in the way, a tragedy of events leading up to their current state of the world, so finishing what had happened was put on delay. She didn't have the time she once had now that her son was becoming a toddler and her stomach was already swelling with another child, this time they both hoped for a daughter.

The world was on her side, Evelyn could have exposed Levi before Erwin gained a position in the new world government and before Hange returned so that Levi had no supporters. If she played her cards right Levi could have been in a prison cell for the rest of his life or executed. As the surviving spouse all of his money and assets would have gone to her, her excuse of needing him for the sake of Furlan would have been out the window. Even now if she pulled away support the same outcome of Levi's fate would happen even with Erwin and Hange's support, she could be rid of him with enough money to live for the rest of her life.

So why didn't she?

That was the question that still burned in her mind. The one that had planted itself in her head from the moment she left him to the mercy of Eren and Zeke. The first time she questioned her hatred of him. Back then it had been a shock but now it was a part of her everyday life.

What had she become? What had she allowed herself to do? Willingly becoming the plaything of a horrible man and she was just giving him what she wanted? He was getting his happy ending. Because she had let him.

"But the records of your crimes, he has you trapped, remember?" Spoke her mind.

"No, he doesn't." Her voice replied. "All Levi said was as long as it exists we're stuck together, but if it's destroyed I'm free, but he's free to come after me."

For the first time in a long time a sense of rebellion burned bright in her heart. That flame had been kicked down over and over, trampled until she thought it had gone out.

But here it was, burning bright in her chest.

What was she after all? Evelyn had asked that question to Levi before and been met with the answer that she existed for him and him alone. But before all of this that's not what she was. She was a Scout, a soldier, a person. Not a possession.

After all this time it dawned on her that this silly tell all book of hers would do nothing. People would still applaud him as a hero, or even say that his possession of her was hot. That they wished to have a man so obsessed with them. How lucky was she?

There was nothing lucky about this. Nothing lucky about being a slave to the whims of a madman.

Eren had wanted freedom for all Eldia, she wasn't free. She was just like her ancestor Ymir, the one who's soul burned bright in her. A prisoner of a man who had more power than she. Levi was her King Fritz, and she his Ymir. She would never be free under him. Furlan would become a prisoner of him.

"What of the child? How can you take the child and leave? All those failed attempts, how would this be different?"

It would be, back then no one would come and save her. She waited for someone to help her out of this, but nobody came.

She had to save herself.

The fire burned hot as she fed it those papers, come and find her if he dared.

Evelyn Ackerman would be free.

============================================

Levi returned home to a quiet house, this second pregnancy was hitting his wife hard, and she required more rest. And with the state of training up a toddler from hell a nap didn't sound too bad for him either. Perhaps he would join her.

The door opened but his wife was not their, neither was she in the bathroom.

"Odd." He voiced.

For some reason the house felt slightly colder and empty. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as he got a bad feeling about this.

Each room he found empty made him more frantic, shouting her name over and over. Combing the woods, the towns, everything. She had done this before, so why couldn't he find her?

Then it hit him like a bucket of water dumped on him.

"Allies." He pondered. "Who helped her... Someone helped...And hardly any staff to watch her- I gave her too much- too much!"

He kicked a chair over in the sitting room, watching it topple over. Anything he could get his hands on her broke, the last time he'd been this out of control was when Evelyn tried to kill him.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He seethed. "You're a damn fool Levi! How could you be so fucking blind- she's just the same as she's always been. Plotting, scheming little bitch!"

The room was thrown into absolute chaos as he let out his fury, not only was his only true happiness gone but she took his child with him.

"She can't get away with this. Who does she think she is? Thinking she can run from me and take my son with her? I'll show her, that little whore will pay!"

With his temper spent he broke down into a sob, running his hands through his hair as the anger and fear of losing her forever sunk in. He had done everything, everything for her. Making sure to go t o the best physicians in the country so that he could walk as well as he could again. Even going so far as to get metal replacements for his fingers. Just to be able to remain as much the same as he always had. And this is how she repaid him? Oh she didn't want to see his face when he found her.

A scrap of slightly burnt paper brushed against his foot, making him look down.

Picking it up, the words he caught before it faded into burnt edges told him it was the file of his crimes, the only thing that had kept them both tied to the island.

So she had burned it? Interesting.

It was a challenge, a dare. Levi had warned her that burning the file meant he had the freedom to come after her, and she'd done it regardless. Evelyn was challenging him to come after her, the thought brought a smirk to his face.

"Ready or not wife, here I come."

(A/N: I know I know! It's a very unsatisfying ending! Which is why I'm going to announce a little mini series coming out after this chapter posts which will be Levi's hunt for Evelyn and his child. It will be a very short series (maybe 10 chapters at the most) but I went into this thinking this would be the end of the end, but it just felt like it needed something that wasn't another few chapters but something all on its own. There will be a bit more of Evelyn and Levi to come!)

#break me slowly #levi x oc #attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader

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tinemilk · 1 year ago

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This is just my opinion. I am lazy so detail details are not included. I am a Daemyra shipper, suck it.

This honestly just me rambling.

Daemon and Laena marry out of convenience. Because looking at how their union came to be, it is not actually a romance story. Both Daemon and Laena profit from the union and their respective families do too.

House Targaryen now has Vhagar back under their house, which significantly strengthens their military power. House Velaryon, of course, has great individual political power, however, Daemon brings them even more because he is a prince of the blood. He ties the families ever tighter; he is also a good military asset. So, their union is very advantageous for their houses.

Not only do their houses benefit from the union, but they themselves also do. Laena has been betrothed to a man for about 10 years, a significant amount of time for a girl in Westeros. Especially since she is 22 years old when she and Daemon marry. In other words, Laena escapes what would be a bad match in every way. Instead, she gains a husband who is handsome, charming, courageous, and a prince. Daemon who has been sent away from court by his brother, been denied his niece's hand and recently freed from a marriage stands much to gain. He first gains a place to live, yes he has friends all over, but he gains a more permanent place of living. He gains a wife that is of his choice, someone he can start a family with. Because even though Laena is a blank character, she most likely is someone whom he would at least be friends with if they had not married. That is going off that Rhaenyra and she were friends and that she claimed Vhagar at 12.

Though did they marry for love? I would say no, they did not. However, I would say they grew to love each other and had a good marriage. Though it was more a great love for Laena than Daemon. Daemon and Rhaenyra have a love that goes beyond lovers. They represent so much to each other and have a love that sort of covers all aspects. Familial, platonic, and romantic. A love that has overcome them being separated by circumstance. Overcome them finding love with others, yet inevitably in the end being free to love each other fully and openly. They are each other's great love because they share an undeniable bond, that leads to them being married. Living happily for 10 or 9 years on Dragonstone. Before some people decided to just fuck it up.

This is why in my eyes it is so sad the way their story ends, a tragedy. The war causes Rhaenyra to have a break mentally because, in a short span of time, she loses her father, mother-in-law, 4 children, trust, and a crown. She becomes a broken version of herself, who trusts no one else or even herself. Someone who only believes that betrayals and horror are the truths of the world. Yet their end does not define them as a couple. Just as Daemon and Laena aren’t defined by their start.

I don’t know if it is a hot take or not, but I firmly believe Daemon and Rhaenyra started that throuple. They rekindled and they brought Laena into it. Why? I cannot say, it just makes sense in my head.

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon x laena #house targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targeryan #laena velaryon

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thebawdybaldurian · 9 months ago

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BG3FicFeb Day 16

SFW: Inspired by your favorite song, poem, book.

I struggled a bit with this, as it is hard to pin down a specific media piece that I don’t just hyper fixate on for a while (Hi Baldur's Gate). By wonderful chance, one of my favorite full albums is The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists. It is a rock opera, that already tells a tragic story throughout the entire album, and the more I thought about it, the archetypes in it would fit very well into an AU story with characters from Baldur’s Gate 3.

This story is a tragedy, so beware that it is much different and darker than my usual angst and smut. I’ve cried like a baby in public listening to this album and cried writing the final song drabble. And sorry if this makes you hate Astarion a little. He is such a complex character, with a lot of potential to be good or evil.

Content Warnings: Sex, philandering, infanticide/filicide, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, miscarriage, death/suicide. Nothing is written in graphic detail and is as concise as possible in its descriptions.

youtube

Prelude Margaret Tavish (AKA Tav) was promised to the Goddess Chauntea and lives in the cloister in Baldur’s Gate, as a young initiate. William Halsin was abandoned at birth by his impoverished wood elf parents and was discovered by the cruel Goddess Talona, who raised him as her child. She granted him Druidic powers as well as immortality.

The Prettiest Whistles Won’t Wrestle the Thistles Undone (The Hazards of Love Part 1)

Tav borrowed a horse from the cloister stables, intending to go for a short ride. She hated the coldness of the city, even though the cloister of Chauntea was covered in nature. She put a gray cloak over her white and green initiates robe, and sat side-saddle, riding at a soft gallop past the walls of the city, heading to the small forest nearby. She found a good spot to tie up her horse and went to explore the forest, hoping to bring back some medicinal plants for the Mother Superior.

As she gathered a handful of thistle, she saw a flash of white in her peripheral vision. She glanced over, seeing a pure white fawn struggling to walk, its hind leg maimed by a hunter’s trap. The fawn caught her glance, but did not run, staring back at her. “Don’t worry,” Tav put up her hands, setting her thistle down. “I won’t hurt you.”

The fawn’s ears twitched in response, as if it could understand her. “I know a healing spell,” she eased to her feet, hoping the creature would let her approach. “I can try to heal you.”

She approached it slowly, its eyes fixed on her with curiosity. It had laid down, its breath rapid from its struggle to walk. “It’s alright,” she knelt beside it, reaching her hands out to begin weaving the healing spell.

As the magic flowed around her hands, the fawn suddenly began to change, its white fur turning to golden brown skin and growing to the size of a man. He was handsome, with long brown hair that was half pulled up around his pointed ears. He had a sturdy frame and eyes that shone with kindness. Tav felt a heat growing over her as the man stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, taking her hands gently in his.

“Are…are you a Druid?” She asked, feeling a blush across her face. Her life in the cloister was fairly sheltered, but he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in all her time in the city.

“Something like that,” he nodded with a smile. “What is your name?”

“Margaret…but everyone calls me Tav.”

“You can call me Halsin,” he responded, her hands still held in his. They blushed at each other awkwardly, their eyes fixed on one another.

“Will you be alright?” she finally asked, looking down at his ankle, still red from the wound he’d sustained in his wild shape.

“I think so,” he tried to stand up with her help.

He stumbled a bit, pulling her close as he did. They looked into one another’s eyes again, both utterly and completely smitten. “I have never met anyone more beautiful in my entire life,” he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“You are the most handsome man I have ever seen,” she reached up to caress his cheek, already feeling her body collapsing against him. Their connection was magnetic and instant.

He bent down to kiss her, softly at first, but feeling an immediate ardor and lust for her, engulfing her in a long, slow kiss. When he was finally able to wrest his mouth from hers, she looked up at him with that same ardor, her heart racing along with his. He pulled her in for another kiss, their bodies melting into one. They found their way to the forest floor, slowly pulling their clothes off. They made love gently, under the canopy of the forest, their moans joined by birdsong and the soft whisper of the wind. At the end of their ecstatic joining, they lay nestled together on Tav’s grey cloak. “I’m sorry, Halsin, but I have to go,” Tav looked up at the fading daylight. The Mother Superior would already be upset that she’d been gone this long, if she didn’t make it home before dark, there would be greater consequences.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” he gazed into her eyes, but understood that she couldn’t just disappear.

“Will I ever see you again?” She asked as she reached for her clothes.

“I wander through these forests quite frequently. If you ever find yourself here again, just sing for me, and I will come,” he kissed her again.

They both dressed and shared one last kiss, promising each other they would meet again soon. He left her at the forest’s edge, watching her ride back towards the city. He felt the darkness of the forest creeping in on him, a waft of decay filling the air. His mother was calling for him to return. He shifted into his wild shape, ambling away as Tav’s figure grew even more distant.

A Bower Scene

When Tav returned to the cloister after dark, the Mother Superior gave her an earful, revoking her stable privileges for three months. Tav sulked back to her room, but as she lay down in bed, his warm seed still inside her, she felt it was worth it. She thought about him every day, clasping her hand to her thigh as she remembered the wonderful moment they shared.

When her bleeding didn’t come a month later, she felt both panic and elation. The Mother Superior would be livid to find her with child, but Tav didn’t care. She just hoped she could hide her pregnancy for the remaining two months and then she would just disappear with one of the horses.

Secrets weren’t easily kept in the cloister, and by the second month all the other initiates were gossiping behind Tav’s back. When word reached the Mother Superior, she called Tav into her chambers. “So, Margaret…I’ve heard talk that you’ve missed your bleeding two months in a row…I assume it was the wretch that kept you away until dark?”

“He’s not a wretch, Mother Superior! I love him,” Tav confessed.

“Love, my sweet child? Has he ever come to see you here? I know you haven’t had visitors in the past two months, unless you have been sneaking off. He bedded and forgot you and left you in a bad way. You will not be able to raise a child here. It will be put up for adoption as soon as you deliver it.”

“You can’t take my child away,” Tav clutched her stomach, her small bump just beginning to form.

“I can and I will,” the Mother insisted. “You were entrusted to my care, to shape you into a loyal servant of Chauntea. I will do just that.”

“Damn you!” Tav swore, running out of her chambers in tears.

She went to her dorm, crying on her bed, cradling her stomach in her hands. “I know Halsin loves me. I felt it in the way he looked at me, and the joy I felt with him,” she cried to herself. She brooded for a while, hatching a plan in her mind as her tears dried. She waited until dark, sneaking past the older clerics who kept an eye over the initiates and sneaked into the stables. She left everything behind in her room, aside from her robes and cloak. She didn’t even bother saddling the horse, riding it bareback out of the city and towards the forest.

Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga)

Margaret left the horse, leaving it untied so it could wander its way back to the city. She conjured a simple Light spell and began to make her way into the forest. She had no idea if Halsin was near, but she was determined to keep walking until she could find him, singing a soft song to herself. Exhaustion eventually overtook her and she lay down in a patch of Columbine flowers, wrapping her cloak around her. When she awoke in the morning, greeted by the sweet song of a mistle thrush, she continued her journey.

Halsin had returned to the forest many times in the past two months, hoping to see Tav again. He also sang as he walked, hoping to call his true love to him. He couldn’t imagine what had kept her away, knowing in his heart that they were destined to be together. Just as he’d almost lost hope, he heard a quiet voice drift along the wind. He followed the sound, finding Tav wandering the forest, half-starved and weak from exhaustion.

He ran to her at once, lifting her off her feet with a happy shout. “Tav, my heart, I knew you would return,” he set her down, planting a kiss on her lips.

“Halsin,” she smiled up at him. “I’m so sorry it took me so long…the Mother Superior would let me…”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he kissed her again, holding her close. “You are here now…and…” He felt the slight roundness of her belly against his. “You are…pregnant?” He beamed.

“I am,” she smiled as he dropped to his knees and kissed her belly.

Wager All (The Hazards of Love Part 2)

Halsin whisked her away, finding her food and water and making a soft bed for them among the clover. They made love again, remaining in their lover’s repose until the birds called the dawn upon them. He weaved flowers into her hair as they walked among the trees, already making plans for themselves and their new child. They would somehow make a life for themselves among these woods, their love the only thing that mattered.

The Queen’s Approach

They had no idea they were being watched by dark and pestilent eyes.

Isn’t It A Lovely Night?

Tav and Halsin settled in for another night in the forest, a cloud of fireflies shining down as they lay nestled against one another on a thick carpet of thistledown. Halsin lay with his head resting on her stomach, singing softly to their unborn child. “I knew from that first moment, when we lay together, that I loved you,” he looked up at her, gently stroking her skin.

“And what a wonderful gift that moment gave us,” she smiled down at him, her fingers interwined in his hair.

“I hope to give you many more,” he found his way up to her lips, kissing her softly. They made love once again, oblivious to the dark shadows creeping around them.

The Wanting Comes in Waves/ Repaid

Halsin awoke in the middle of the night, the cold, cruel air disturbing his skin. He once again smelled decay and heard the quiet cracking of twigs underfoot, like bones snapping out of flesh. He got up carefully, wrapping Tav in her cloak so she would not wake. He walked towards the void in the forest, that was bereft of all sound and life. “Mother…I know you are here,” he spoke into the darkness.

The hiss in the wind answered him. “This is how I am repaid?”

“I owe you everything, Mother. My entire life and my powers. But…I love her.”

“I gave you everything, my son. I saved you from death, made you undying, let you wander at your will. But you find yourself wanting more. This is how I am repaid?”

“I did not mean for this to happen…but how can I turn my back on her now?”

“You would not exist without me. You would have died in your crib. It is you who have turned your back on me. This is how I am repaid?”

“Please,” Halsin begged. “Just allow me one more night with her. Let me take her to safety. I have served you for so long, you owe me a life. Just one night.”

“And if I grant this request? I will keep you forever afterwards, never to return to the mortal world.”

“Fine,” he nodded, knowing he would never return to her.

“Consider your debt repaid,” the wind howled, pulling his immortality and powers from him, the darkness seeping away.

An Interlude

Halsin returned to Tav, still sleeping peacefully. He lay down beside her, wondering how he could escape his mother. She might not even allow him to escape, her powers reaching far and wide. He would enjoy all the time left he had with his love, pulling her bundled frame close to him. He slipped an amber ring onto her finger, a trinket he’d found during his time wandering the forest. If his mother managed to take him, she would still have a small reminder of him.

The Rake’s Song

Astarion had been afforded every luxury in his life, the son of a noble Upper City family. He was already a magistrate at the young age of 21 and could have anything he wanted. One day his eyes set upon a beautiful woman and he married her at once, bedding her nightly, even when she became heavy with child. They named their firstborn Isaiah and soon enough, his wife found herself pregnant once again. He still enjoyed the fruits of other women, returning to berate his wife for losing her figure and otherwise ignoring his infant son.

When his wife gave birth to twin girls, Charlotte and a terribly colic Dawn, he felt himself suddenly trapped in his own personal Hell. His lust for his wife had been the only thing on his mind when they’d married and now he was stuck in a house full of screaming children. His wife grew frail and overwhelmed, him continuing to bed her as often as she had the energy for and even sometimes when she didn’t. She found herself once again pregnant with their fourth child.

By some miracle of a cruel God, or just his constant neglect and abuse, his wife passed in childbirth along with their unborn daughter, who he barely even bothered to name Myfanwy. Now a widower, he found himself caring for three unwanted children with an armful of servants to do what they could. It wasn’t enough and he began to plan for their untimely deaths. He poisoned one of his daughters with a sweet laced with foxglove. Dawn, who had developed asthma due to her colic, drowned easily when she was left in a bath unattended. Isaiah was the trickiest to get rid of, old enough to avoid his cruel father. He fought back when Astarion tried suffocating him with a pillow, managing to crack one of his ribs with a sharp kick, but still he passed and Astarion burned his body in the fireplace.

Astarion returned to his old life of philandering, bedding whoever he wished, without a second thought or regret about his dead children. His cruelty caught the eye of an equally cruel Goddess, who came to him one night with a proposition, which he accepted. He left his manor in Baldur’s Gate and rode towards the forest that lay outside the city.

The Abduction of Margaret

Halsin had left Tav to sleep some more, wandering the forest in search of food for her, still trying to figure out a way to escape from his mother’s clutches. Guided by the whispering voice of Talona, Astarion found his way to the sleeping woman. He seized her with a firm hand as she slept, clapping his hand over her mouth and pressing his body on top of her to bind her wrists and ankles. “What are you doing? Who are you?” She cried before he gagged her and slung her rudely across the back of his horse. Talona guided him again, this time towards the Chiontar River.

The Queen’s Rebuke/ The Crossing

Talona would see her son returned to her, no matter what. Margaret would be the one thing that could keep him from her, so she offered the woman’s life to Astarion to do as he pleased. There was little that could stop her powers, commanding all the cruelties of nature. When Astarion arrived to the raging river on horseback, with Tav bound and gagged, she parted the waters for him to cross safely. Halsin would never be able to follow them across the rapids and it would take more than a day for him to find a way around. By then, she would be able to reclaim him, as dawn came and his promised night of freedom was over.

Annan Water

Halsin had heard Margaret’s strangled cry and had run back to the glade he’d left in, only to see her being carried away by a white haired elf. He followed as quickly as his legs could carry him, managing to steal a pair of horses from a nearby homestead. He rode furiously in pursuit of the rake who had stolen his beloved, but found his path blocked by the raging river in front of him. He rode up and down the banks, looking for a safe place to cross but found none.

He tried to summon any residual magic, so he could wild shape into a bird, but his mother had taken everything but his life from him. “Margaret!” He screamed into the air, praying that some other deity might grant him the favor of seeing his beloved again. He swore he could hear her calling him, her voice strangled by some force. He collapsed onto the bank, beating his fists into the ground, his tears flowing into the river. “Please,” he begged. “I will offer you my life in return. Just let me cross and see her again.”

Margaret in Captivity

Astarion pulled Tav rudely off his horse, setting her down on the ground without a care. He sunk onto an old chair and grinned at her terrified eyes. “Now, what to do with you, my pretty thing?” He looked her over. She was barely clothed aside from the cloak wrapped around her. He looked at the round of her stomach with disgust. “Already ruined I see,” he sneered at her. His divine employer had not mentioned that fact. “Oh well,” he sighed, pulling out his dagger. “That just means I won’t keep you around for long, but we can still have some fun.” He took his dagger to the binding on her ankles, pressing himself on top of her as she screamed and thrashed against him, calling for Halsin to find her. “No one can hear you, darling,” he began to cut off what clothing she was wearing. “And the more you struggle, the more I’ll like it.”

She closed her eyes as his knife torn away her clothing and his hands groped her vulgarly. She called to Halsin, to her former Goddess Chauntea, to anyone who could bring her true love to her side and rescue her from the rogue’s cruelty.

Revenge! (The Hazards of Love 3)

Astarion reached down to unbutton himself, the woman no longer struggling against him. He’d almost hoped that she would, but perhaps after the third or fourth time she would. He felt a chill run down his spine as he pulled at his buttons, looking back towards the whisper he’d heard in his ear. “Father…the pie…it burns my belly…father,” he heard a quiet, child-like voice whisper.

“What?” He looked around, seeing nothing around him. He’d nearly turned his attentions back to Tav, before another voice whispered to him. “Papa, my bath, the water is too high, and I have no breath…”

“Who’s there?” He climbed off Tav, seizing his dagger again.

He saw the faint red glow of a fire down the hall, figuring there must be some other squatter in the ruined fort. He gripped his dagger tightly. Perhaps he would get to kill two people today. He crept quietly down the hall, approaching the glow, and seeing it form the figure of a small boy. “Isaiah?” he dropped his dagger, the fiery figure having the visage of his murdered son.

“Father,” the boy smiled, holding out his glowing hands to his killer. “We’ve returned to you.”

Astarion felt two tiny, icy hands grip his wrists, looking down to see the wraiths of his dead daughters holding him tightly. “The hazards of love, the hazards of love,” they sang to him, dragging him into the fire as he screamed in agony.

The Wanting Comes in Waves (Reprise)

Tav heard nothing for a while, after the screams of the man that had abducted her faded. Her hands were still bound, but she managed to get to her feet, still unsure if he was still there. She managed to pull her cloak around her and peeked tentatively down the hall. She was no signs of the man, aside from his dagger that sat on the ground. She went to retrieve it, finding nothing else aside from a slight scorch mark on the floor, as if someone had made a fire there. She picked up the dagger and cut her bindings, hanging onto the weapon when she heard footsteps.

Halsin rounded the corner, seeing her crouched in her cloak and seized her in his arms right away. “My heart. My one true love,” he held her tightly as they both cried.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she wiped his tears away.

“I had to tell you I loved you first,” he squeezed her tighter.

The Drowned (The Hazards of Love Part 4)

They left the ruined fort, huddled against one another, finding an old boat pulled onto the bank. “My mother will never stop pursuing me,” Halsin held Tav tightly against him. “And I swore a promise to this river…if it allowed me to cross…to hold you one more time…in return for my life.”

“I don’t want to leave you…” Tav cried. “I can’t leave you. Let us give both our lives to it then.”

“No,” he hugged her against him. “You should live…for our child.”

“I think…the child is gone,” she cried, showing him the blood on her thighs. She had felt the loss as the man had carried her away.

“Then let us make this river our bed, forever…married under its waves,” he looked down at her.

She joined hands with him and they pulled the boat into the water together, climbing into it before it was swept away by the rushing current. It began to flood almost immediately, water gushing into the holes in the bow and over its sides as they drifted down the rapids. They held onto each other tightly, saying their silent vows, their lips sharing their final breaths.

“These hazards of love, never more will trouble us.”

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 au #halsin #astarion #ao3 #the hazards of love

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shcttered · 2 years ago

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𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴 ⸻ 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙵𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 , 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.

╰ cs female , she + her ☆ 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 … we’re introduced to ELEANOR FRESNE , the 27 years old MAID at MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S INN from enchanted falls who bears a striking resemblance to PHOEBE DYNEVOR. the whispers in the wind tells us of their FORBEARING and IDEALISING reputation, that’s why the townsfolk often are reminded of shards of shimmering glass shattered across a marble floor , ill-intent mistaken for affection and love , a melody once enchanting now turning sweet dreams to nightmares , a cream white apron soiled with cinders , purple shaded bruises on porcelain pale flesh from a pea sized discomfort. they are often haunted by dreams of a life lived as ELLA TREMAINE ( CINDERELLA ) + THE PRINCESS ( PRINCESS AND THE PEA ) .

a study in : pretty privilege , people pleasing , forgivenesses is the biggest strength , a fear of asking for help again , romanticism of everything as a way to cope , a little white lie and the guilt that followed

BEFORE THE CURSE ( vague abuse mention tw )

as the story goes , there was a girl who lost her mother at a young age , a once happily family plagued by the loss of one so dear. the girl a spitting image of her mother with a sweet temperament that would put even the sweetest flowers to shame. ella , as the girl was called , clung to her father in lieu of the tragedy as he was all she had left — though in some ways it could be said that the chateau greatly reminded ella of her mother ( as it is said a homemaker is truly who makes a house a home ) and perhaps the only tangible thing that brought her comfort.

it was only a short while before ella's father had remarried , attempting to once again find love as within such a short time he'd grown tired of the loneliness. in truth , ella thought he was attempting to replace her mother , but she took in the new step-mother and step-sisters with all the grace of that of her late mother. then he passed , and as the story goes ella became a prisoner in her own home. a maid servant pushed to the attic where a winter's cold chill often left her to sleep by the fire where embers would dirty her face , and thus cinderella. the death of the only other person she had left in this world that truly loved her broke ella. she retreated into herself more and more and each day came to romanticize her situation to provide little relief in the torment she faced both internally and externally. cooking , cleaning , sewing , it all busied ella and so it was when she was alone at night that her mind was tormented. rare was her sweet dreams , the ones that kept her hopeful for a family like she had once upon a time. it was also the reason ella had so hastily fallen for a man she didn’t know. his face was handsome and his words were sweet , but there was a bitterness under it all , a rot. he was no better than the carriage that had turned back into a pumpkin.

so when the stroke of midnight came upon her marriage , it all came at once. that familiar grief fell upon her once more. was her step mother right? was there truly no one left to love ella in this world? maybe such a sentiment had truly come to plague her more than expected for when she found another , love was tainted. a knock on the door and promise she was a princess left her with a restless night , not for the pea placed under mattresses for a test but the guilt that ate at her for a lie , the first time she'd done such a thing. had her first marriage truly soiled her good nature? it certainly had left her waiting for this prince to do the same , and maybe he would , or his mother would.

AFTER THE CURSE

eleanor's father was a man well off with a chateau he had placed in eleanor's name before he passed , but the papers had been lost . . . misplaced and instead she found herself working to get by. now , she was a lucky girl as pretty privilege and a sweet disposition had given eleanor more than she would have gotten otherwise. unfortunately , she romanticized what she thought was to be love with her now ex-husband , perhaps it was just infatuation at the time but it did cost her a decent job and with the connections she'd lost , eleanor was left to fall back on what she could afford — a maid at the midsummer night's inn.

it was there she came across another in need of a room for a night with a mother who was displeased at everything the inn had to offer , and while this man might seem like a prince charming she's afraid , very afraid. the illusion of what love is has been tainted for eleanor in which she finds dreaming about the notion far safer and maybe , just maybe she doesn't trust her own judgement — far too naive to the ways of others.

i'll be making this part more detailed in time!

HEADCANONS

her home. glass objects commonly around her home. maybe a bit of miss havisham about her , the start of it anyway.

from years of working , eleanor has begun to develop an acute form of fms aka fibromyalgia which explains the bruising and restless sleeping habits that have formed , though the latter could also be a product of guilt

romanticism , her favourite way to cope with anything that might even so much as slightly displease or upset her.

LIKES & DISLIKES

favorable: dreaming , singing , piano music , dancing , attending parties , pumpkin soup , beautiful dresses she cannot afford , afternoon tea , kindness from a stranger , floor-length windows that allow the sunshine in

unfavorable: being locked in a room / locked doors , people will ill-intent , raised voices , uncomfortable mattresses and sleepless nights

#ef.intro #❛ ELEANOR ‚ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙸𝙳𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 3 months ago

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Pairing: Aleksander Moroza x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Summary: Alyra Koshkova has always lived in the shadows, concealing her true nature to survive. But when tragedy forces her into the heart of Ravka's Second Army, she finds herself under the watchful eye of General Kirigan, the Darkling—a man as enigmatic as he is powerful. Struggling to come to terms with her newfound role, Alyra must navigate a world of hidden threats and dangerous alliances. As secrets unravel and the Darkling’s intentions grow ever more unclear, Alyra’s choices could reshape the fate of a nation—or lead to her own undoing.

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Language, Depictions of Violence, War, Political Intrigue, Horror Elements, The Darkling has a Heart, Grisha!OC, Grisha Sympathetic, Alcohol, The Darkling was right about a lot of things

Chapter 1: Drüsje

The ancient floorboards groaned under Alyra’s boots as she stepped into the dim sanctuary of Obratsov’s Apothecary. The mingling scents of incense, spice, and damp greeted her like an old friend. Behind the counter, Pavel Obratsov was too engrossed in his work to notice her.

Alyra watched as he, gray-speckled mustache twitching in concentration, fought a battle of wills with a stubborn root. Armed with a pestle, he hammered the tuberous tendrils against the stone mortar until a piece finally broke free. A triumphant grin spread across his face.

A soft chuckle escaped Alyra, drawing his attention. Pavel pushed his spectacles up his long nose, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as he looked up.

“Good morning, Alyra,” he greeted, setting the mortar down on the worn wood. “Back so soon?”

Alyra slipped the moth-eaten scarf from her hair, tucking it beneath her arm as she stepped forward. “It’s afternoon,” she corrected, a teasing lilt in her voice as she rifled through her canvas bag. She produced a small satchel of fresh herbs with a satisfied smile. “Slow day?”

Pavel shrugged, accepting the satchel. “Mrs. Yeshevsky came in earlier for a poultice.”

“For Vlad’s gout?” Alyra asked, leaning against the counter and blowing a flyaway hair out of her face.

He nodded. “He loves his liquor too much. Her son Leo is on leave, staying for at least a month. Always a handsome boy, that one.

Alyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes, leveling him with a skeptical look. She had known the baker’s son since they were twelve. And while Leo, with his soft blue eyes and dimples, had undoubtedly grown into an attractive man, it was soured by his own acute awareness of his looks.

Pavel chuckled, raising a hand in supplication. “I just wanted to see you happy, Alyosha. And with Mash in Os Alta, who else’s life do I have to meddle in?”

“Lucky me,” she sighed but planted an affectionate peck on his cheek. “Anyways, Andrei should be landside soon,” she added, ignoring the disapproving snort he gave in response. “Now that the ports are open…”

Orbratsov, who had upended the satchel and spread the contents on the counter in front of him for inspection stilled, his eyes locking with hers. “The ports are open?”

The news had been the talk of the town from the moment Alyra set out this morning. Bracing either side of the Sokol River, Ryevost was the largest of the Ravkan port cities. Resting in the southern foothills of the Petrazoi with Os Alta only a short journey east, it had become an economic center. With the country sundered in two by the fold and entrenched in war on two borders, its importance had only grown tenfold. Merchants and military alike relied on the waterways for a constant flow of supplies, while fishermen and netmakers made their living off the river’s steady through.

Three months ago, the cycle of life around the Sokol came to an abrupt stop. The arrival of summer meant safer passage through the mountains and with it came an uptick in Northern raids, which quickly escalated from shelling into full-blown armed conflict between Fjerda and the Ravkan First Army. In a desperate attempt to protect supply lines and cut off further hostile expansion into the country, the mouth of the Sokol had been damned. Trade ground to a standstill and no one from the quayside fishmongers to the Silk Quarter elite was spared the effects. In the last months as resources grew scarce and men desperate, hollowed cheeks and sharp knives became the latest fashion. The city had been holding its breath ever since.

“Early this morning. They’ve been working since dawn to clear the rubble.”

“How? Why?” Pavel mopped at his bald head with a patched kerchief, his face creased with confusion.

Alyra leaned closer, lowering her voice. “The king must have realized Fjerda is better equipped. Word is they sent in the Second Army and it was quick work after that.

Pavel’s expression darkened. “It is always in when the Black General is involved.”

She hummed in agreement. “First ship came through just before noon.”

“And the cargo?”

Alyra’s finger traced the rough woodgrain of the counter. “Would definitely interest you.”

Pavel’s lips pressed into a thin line as he eyed the front door. “You trust this information?”

She nodded. “Paid Dima a full vlancka and a favor for it. But you know his father’s worked the docks his whole life. If he says it, I believe him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Pavel, that’s not all. There are rumors of Druskelle raids a few miles north.”

“It hasn’t stopped me before,” Pavel replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone.

Alyra placed a hand over his. “Pavel, with the added security at the gates, it’s riskier than usual. And if they catch you…You remember Yelena—“

“Of course, I remember,” he said sharply, then softened when he saw the worry in her eyes. “I’ve done this a hundred times. We just need to be extra cautious.

She followed his gaze to the wall behind him, where shelves lined with glass bottles reflected the afternoon sunlight filtering through the filmy window. As she watched the sun motes dance in the light, she tried to not think of Yelena Volskya’s screams when the Druskelle dragged her from her home.

When she turned back to him, Pavel’s gray eyes were pleading. “No, Pavel. Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head. “You know I don’t mix myself up in that business.

“The Satrinov job—“

“Was a one-time deal and nearly a disaster,” she countered, her voice firm. “Besides, the night watch doesn’t try me the way they do you.”

Memories of that desperate nighttime flight flooded back—damp air clinging to her skin, the sharp jolts of fear when the guards nearly caught her. She fought down the urge to shiver.

“Alyra…”

She sighed, shifting her weight onto her forearms. “If you need a message delivered or someone to keep an eye on Galina, you know I’m your girl. But I can’t risk it. You know I can’t.”

Pavel squeezed her hands between his own, voice gentle. “Alyosha, I understand. But Galina’s health has been so poor this summer, and I’m hesitant to leave her. Tironsky was picked up last week for brawling, and Vikhrov is with her mother in Adena. There is no one else.”

Alyra’s resolve wavered as she thought of Galina’s frail form, coughing through the night. She tried to pull away, but Pavel’s grip tightened.

“This is bigger than you or me. And you can’t hide in the shadows forever, my darling girl. That is no life.”

His words hung heavy in the air, filling every corner of the room. Alyra stared out the window, her jaw clenched, fingers drumming on the counter. The weight of her plea bore down on her, and finally, she sagged, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” she muttered, resigned. “But never again, Pavel. I mean it.”

Pavel’s eyes misted with gratitude as he rounded the counter, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Thank you, zaika,” he whispered, planting a kiss on each cheek. “Thank you.”

---

It was long past dark when Alyra limped back to Lowtown, exhausted and sore. Curfew had come and gone, and slipping past the guards had been a nerve-wracking ordeal, fitting for the chaos of the last three days.

The first snag in Pavel’s air-tight plan had been the late arrival of the Wave Viper. Known for its speed and the captain’s discretion, the barnacle-laden fishing vessel had docked hours behind schedule due to an impromptu inspection. Waiting by the river, Alyra’s breath had caught, fearing the worst, but the captain assured her the cargo—a handful of Grisha families seeking sanctuary—had gone unnoticed. The summer storm that followed drenched her and her frightened charges to the bone, emptying the busy streets she had counted on for cover. Forced to change course, she led them out through the east gate, far from the bribed guard at the south. A small fortune she would never see again. But they made it out, passing the group off to Pavel’s contact in a small village south of the city. Her involvement should have ended there.

Now, as she navigated the narrow streets of Lowtown, the paranoia of discovery still gnawed at her. Her legs felt leaden, her heart leaping at every moment as if each shadow hid an enemy.

Rounding the corner, she almost wept with relief at the familiar warm glow at the end of the street. Her salvation—a chipped, plum-colored door—was in sight. She was already imagining Pavel’s gratitude, a hot cup of tea, and a cushioned chair when a resounding crash shattered her thoughts.

The front window exploded into a million pieces, glass raining down, and a man stepped out, his uniform dark and silver-trimmed. Alyra’s head leapt into his throat, recognizing him instantly— a Druskelle.

Heavy footfalls echoed as he was joined by another man. Inside, she heard barked orders in a language she didn’t understand. They had been found out.

Flattening herself against the nearest wall, she prayed the shadows would hide her. Her mind churned with possible actions, but each led to the same dead end. There was no one to call for help, no one would risk their lives for Lowtown apothecary and his family. So she watched.

The first Druskelle scanned the street, his cold eyes passing over her hiding spot. She held her breath, sure he’d seen her, but then he turned away to murmur something to his comrade.

She took a cautious step away from the scene, only to collide with something solid.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?” a voice growled in fragmented Ravkan. Alyra spun around, her heart thundering as she met cold blue eyes. Panic surged. She darted back, but he snatched her arm, grip like iron. Without missing a beat, he dragged her towards the shattered window, her struggles an exercise in futility.

No matter how she kicked and wrenched, trying to break free, she was no match for his strength. Even when the heel of her boot met his shin, his grip only tightened.

The first thing she saw was Pavel, bound and bloodied, a deep gash on his forehead. When their eyes met, she saw fear and regret mirrored back at her.

“Let her go,” Pavel begged the two uniformed men flanking him. “She’s just my apprentice, she had no part in this.”

One of them laughed harshly as they frog-marched her inside. A kick to the back of her knee nearly sent her sprawling, but she managed to stay upright, defiant even as she was forced to her knees beside Pavel.

A shadow loomed over her. The sandy-bearded man towering above them exuded authority, his coat finer than the rest and adorned with medals. The leader.

“Be careful what lies you tell, old man,” he warned, voice smooth and deadly. “We have been watching your operation for some time.”

“And what operation is that?” Pavel asked, voice steady.

“Smuggling drüsje into this wicked country is a crime against the King of Fjerda, as well as Djel.”

It didn’t matter that they were neither Fjerdan citizens nor followers of their religion. Pavel stared at him, chin high. “We’ve done no such thing.”

The commander’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “Do not take me for a fool. We know about the Grisha you’ve been hiding, the ones you’ve helped cross the border.

Anger flared in her, a white-hot knife slicing through the fear. “It’s easy to find conspiracies where there are none, especially for witch-hunters. Isn’t it funny that your big, bad target is a healer and his sick wife?”

“Alyra, be quiet,” Pavel snapped, his voice sharp with a conviction she had rarely heard from him.

The commander’s smile was thin, cruel as he turned his attention to her. “A sharp tongue will bring you nothing but suffering, genta,” he sneered. “I would cut it out, but I need for a least a little longer.”

Alyra swallowed hard as she met his gaze, defiance warring with the fear that twisted her insides. Her hands trembled, but she kept her jaw set. Pavel, however, was quick to step in.

“Leave her be. She’s just a girl.”

The commander raised an eyebrow. “A girl you used to help smuggle grisha into your country. Now talk, or we will make you.”

Before Pavel could respond, the door to the upstairs apartment creaked open, and Alyra’s heart sank. She knew who she would see before she even turned her head, but the sigh was no less painful.

Galina Obratsov, Pavel’s wife, stood in the doorway. Her hazel eyes, wide with shock, narrowed as she took in the scene before her. Her fingers turned white around the handle of her walking stick.

“What is the meaning of this? Let them go immediately,” she demanded, all five feet of her radiating the authority of a woman who a run a shop in the slums for years.

Laughter rippled through the ranks of the Druskelle, their leader amused at the sight of her. “And who are you to give orders, old woman?”

Galina’s lined face hardened, exhausted eyes hardening. With a swift motion, she raised her hand, and the shattered glass littering the floor began to stir. Shard lifted into the air, tiny, shimmering daggers glinting with menace. With a flick of her wrist, they shot forward, tearing through flesh. One of the men staggered, clutching his arm while another less fortunate fell to the ground, a fragment buried deep in his throat.

“Alyoshka,” Galina called, moving towards Alyra with surprising speed for her age. Her face was flushed from exertion, strands of gray hair escaping the confines of her braid to hand in her face. “Get out of here.”

“What?” Alyra asked, bewildered as the Druskelle dodged the last of the broken glass. “I’m not leaving you—“

“Do as you're told, child,” Galina growled. “Now, go.”

Alyra hesitated, torn between staying to fight and obeying Galina’s command. The decision was made for her when the Druskelle recovered, expressions shifting from shock to fury. She couldn’t waste the gift they were giving her—this final kindness.

With a last lingering look at Pavel and a squeeze from Galina, she dove between bodies and broken glass, avoiding grasping hands and angry shouts. The night was calm, beyond the shouting and shuffling feet that followed her out of the apothecary’s shop.

But Alyra did not stop running, not even when she heard the punctuating bursts of gunfire. All she could do was muffle her choked sobs as she fled into the dark, tears streaming down her face.

---

The canals glistened in the morning sun as Alyra pressed through the bustling market crowd. The intermingling aromas of sweat, salt, and fish assaulted her senses, but she pushed on, ignoring the stiffness in her legs and the ache in her joints. She had been hiding in a back alley since the night before, terror and grief rooting her in place until the morning brought a better chance of escape. Now, she knew she had little time with the Druskelle hot on her trail once more. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she counted three of them, their silver-trimmed uniforms flashing in the daylight as they pursued her through the maze of streets. Alyra’s boots skidded over the dusty cobblestones as she rounded a corner, slipping into a narrow alley between the butcher and the tanner. The passage was cramped, filled with shipping crates and refuse, but she knew it well. Under the cover of darkness, it was a spot for late-night trysts and below-board transactions. In the light of day, it was barely more than a shadowy crevice. She shimmied between the splintered crates, hugging close to the damp wall, trying hard not to think of the grime beneath her hands, clinging to her skirts. Salvation lay at the other end of the alley, where it opened onto an interior street. From there, she could disappear into the anonymity of the square, cross the next canal, and head for the gates. Freedom was so close, she could almost taste it. But the Druskelle were close now, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Her heart pounded as she heard one of them shout, “Drüsje!” Panic piqued, and she scrambled forward, her skirt snagging on a protruding nail. With a curse, she yanked the fabric free and emerged from the alley, blinking in the bright sunlight of the square. The High Street marketplace was teeming with activity but offered little sanctuary. Her auburn hair, tumbling free from its style, was in a beacon in the crowd. Still, she was not a tall woman by any means. She ducked between stalls, dodging vendors and patrons alike, but the Druskelle were relentless. A rough hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist. Alyra recoiled, adrenaline coursing through her as she prepared to fight, but she was met with the rheumy dark eyes of an old woman. “Red is all the rage in Os Alta this season,” the merchant croaked. “I’ll give two whole vlachki for your lovely curls.” Alyra wrenched herself free, ignoring the woman’s cursing as she fled deeper into the crowd. She skirted around a vendor hawking love potions and ducking past a group of lacemakers, chest heaving. The center-town bridge loomed ahead, her last hurdle before the gate. But as she approached, her heart dropped through her boots. The bridge was out, reduced to a pile of rubble and broken planks. Workers swarmed the site, hauling materials to repair the damage. She hesitated, then surged forward, hoping in her desperation to scale the debris and clear the gap. But a broad-shouldered man blocked her path, his leather face scowling down at her. “Bridge is out,” the foreman growled, shoving her back towards the crowd. “Go around.” Terror clawed at her, but she had no time for detours. The Druskelle were closing in, their shouts growing louder. With a last glance at the wreckage, she made a decision. She bolted for the bridge, but the forearm’s arms caged her in, dragging her back. “Did you not hear me? Bridge. Is. Out,” he snapped, tossing her down onto the cobblestones. “Find another way around, you daft bitch.” Frustration boiled over, and she scrambled to her feet, fists balled at her sides. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she took a menacing step forward, but the man only laughed, incredulous. “Drüsje!” The cry snapped her back to reality. She shot the foreman a withering glare before sprinting away.

The sun tipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the buildings as she ran. Her lungs burned, every breath a struggle, but she couldn’t stop. Not now, not when death was licking at her heels. She crossed the next canal and darted into a narrow wynd, hoping the lose her pursuers in the labyrinth of streets. But when she reached the end of the alley, she bit back a sob. A stack of massive crates blocked the exit, leaving her trapped.

Alyra spun around, searching for another way out, but the Druskelle were already there, advancing on her with a grim determination. They pushed her back until her heels met the wall of crates, and there was nowhere left to run.

The formation shifted, parting to allow the lean figure of their commander to step forward. “There’s nowhere else to go, genta,” he said, extending his hand out like she was a frightened animal that he might soothe. “It will be better for you to come quietly. Djel is forgiving to the repentant.” Her chest was heavy and sweat plastered tendrils of hair to her brow. The sting of weariness thrummed in her bones, curled up in the space behind her skull. It would be easy to surrender, to let them take her. But as the commander stepped closer, her eyes flicked to the gun at his hip and she remembered the feeling of Galina’s hand on her shoulder, the sound of gunfire echoing off the streets. Djel may be forgiving, but she was not. She waited until he was within reach, then closed her eyes and focused on the steady beat of his heart. In one fluid motion, she raised her hands and tightened them into fists. The commander choked, stumbling to his knees. She didn’t hesitate, twisting her hands to the side. He cried out, clutching his chest. “Grisha bitch," he spat, blood bubbling at his lips. The alley erupted into chaos as the Druskelle rushed to their leader’s aid. Satisfaction flared in Alyra’s chest as she watched him fight for breath in the muck, but it was short-lived. She was still outnumbered, one woman against a throng of trained hunters. The fastest of the group was rapidly approaching. With a tug of her wrist, he lurched sideways, clutching the wall for support as he wheezed. “Sounds like a collapsed lung,” she said. “Pity.” Two more advanced. Her eyes drifted closed, her focus on drawing on a well of power. Nothing happened. Panic surged as she realized her power was faltering, drained by disuse and exhaustion. They were nearly upon her. One of them seized her by the wrists, yanking them apart and pulling her close. She shrieked, kicking and thrashing like a wild animal in his grip, but she was no match for his strength. Her nails collided with flesh. There was a hiss of pain, the hold on her loosened. A fist collided with her ribs, driving the air from her lungs. She gasped, the world tilting on its axis. Her arms dropped to her sides as the Druskelle’s arms wound around her waist, solid and unyielding. The air above her whistled, and she looked up just in time to see the club descending. “Fuck,” she whispered before everything went black.

#darkling x OC #the darkling x ofc #aleksander morozova x oc #aleksander morozova x ofc #grishaverse fic #darkling fic #aleksander morozova fic #general kirigan x oc #general kirigan x ofc

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