#sorry sabina you deserve better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sneakybananabox · 2 years

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Would it be ok for u to write a fic where Bea gets absolutely drunk (to rid of jealousy because seeing poppy with carter hurts her) at a bar causing her to makeout with another woman where said girl takes her to a private room to get intimate and Bea passes out in the middle of it? And Poppy happens to see this all unfold and…. U can decide what happens next

I got really into this prompt. Thank you for the request.

Warning: Cursing, drinking, SA

I'm sorry

Bea waited for her popcorn to finish and thought about what she would watch on Netflix, ready for her night in. She decided early on that night she just needed a break. Like every college kid, she was being crushed by tests, notes, and more tests. She was ready to watch some shitty show and enjoy some snacks that probably weren’t the best for her health. Not like it mattered much since her body was toned from working on the farm and her fast metabolism.

Staying in felt like a relief, she didn’t want to be around anyone, especially a certain strawberry blonde. It had been a week since their encounter and it took every part of her thoughts. Everything, in the end, led to her thinking about Poppy and she hated it. She wished that night never happened, even though it was the night she knew she had feelings for one Poppy Min-Sinclair.

“This is going to be a blast.” Sabina jumped excitedly in costume. She fixed her zoot suit hat and suspenders. The black button shirt and white suspenders with the gray striped dress pants gave her the perfect mafia boss vibe. She kept three buttons open to show off her chest tattoos.

“I guess.” Bea threw on her red puffy vest, she loved back to the future so when she found the Marty Mcfly costume she was ecstatic. She even found the Nike Bruins with the red swoosh.

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Bea.” Zoey came from her room in her Dorothy costume. Sabina couldn’t help but admire her. She looked at her smooth legs and the way the dress captured her figure.

“Wow Zoey. You look beautiful.”

“Sab, better pick up your jaw off the ground before you trip over it. Bea, I know Halloween isn’t exactly your thing. Tonight is about us letting loose though. We deserve a night to relax and forget all our problems. Now my gorgeous roommates let’s go.”

After arriving the trio went straight to the bar. Now with the strength of liquid courage, it was time for dancing. They were enjoying themselves, letting the music drown out everything. Sabina danced with one of the Zetas before disappearing with her newfound dance partner. Bea looked around for Zoey before seeing her talking to someone from one of her classes. An arm pulled Bea out of the crowd and was met with Veronica.

“Hey Hughes, follow me.” Bea was skeptical. Why was one of Poppy’s minions actually talking to her? She let the alcohol make the call and followed the Zeta anyway. Veronica entered a room upstairs and sat joining the circle on the ground. Bea looked and saw Chloe, Poppy, Carter, Ford, Liam, and Luis.

“Veronica what the fuck!? Why is Farmsville here?”

“Well, I figured the most attractive people should be here. Zoey and Sab were unfortunately busy or nowhere to be found. Plus Bea is hot as fuck.” Veronica winked at Bea. She couldn’t help but blush at the compliment.

“Whatever. Everyone just sit down. We are playing spin the bottle. The group will rate the kiss and if you get a low score then you do seven minutes in heaven with that person. The queen will go first.” Poppy spun the bottle and it landed on Carter. She pulled Carter by his costumes and they definitely made sure they got a high score.

Bea went next and the bottle landed on Veronica.

“Well, Veronicats I hope you enjoy the show. 'Veronica sauntered over to Bea and wrapped her arms around her neck. Their lips met, Veronica’s lips tasted like cherries, and Bea did love cherries. She grabbed Vi by her hips and pulled her closer. She wasn’t always this bold, she would have to thank the vodka for that. Veronica nipped Bea’s lip, but her soft lips soothed her immediately. Finally, they pulled back.

“Damn Bea. We should have done that a lot sooner.” Veronica smiled and pecked her lips one more time before going back to her spot.

“Shit that was hot.” Ford cheered on the two girls.

“Whatever, it wasn't that great,” Poppy mumbled. She didn’t know why everyone was impressed with Hughes. She had done nothing but ruined everything from the moment she stepped onto campus. Another feeling was bubbling in her chest. She decided to just push it down.

The time passed and almost everyone had kissed, even the Alphas had kissed each other. The only person Bea hadn’t kissed was Poppy. She was sure Poppy was using any telepathy to keep the bottle from landing on her, she wouldn’t have been surprised with how much she hated Bea.

Poppy spun and the bottle twirled, the only thing that could be heard was the glass on the floor. The bottle slowed and landed directly on her arch-nemesis. Bea looked up and wasn’t sure what emotion flashed across Poppy’s face. She got up and approached Poppy and offered her hand.

“Looks like you are unlucky tonight Poptart.” Poppy dreaded this moment but knew it would happen eventually. She grabbed Bea's hand and got up, she stumbled a bit and landed in Bea’s arms. “Falling for me already? We haven’t even kissed.” Bea smirked at Poppy.

“Let’s get this over with.” Poppy grabbed Bea’s shirt and pulled her close. Their lips met hard, but soon they found their rhythm. Poppy tasted like strawberry, way better than cherries. As quickly as it started they broke apart.

“Hm, I don’t know guys. I think Poppy and Hughes got the lowest score of the night.” Liam announced to the group.

“I agree Liam. Looks like you two have to do the seven minutes.” Luis agreed.

“You two are out of your mind.” Poppy complained while glaring at the Alphas. Everyone agreed with Ford and Luis.

They found themselves in a closet. Bea looked at Poppy and admired her devil costume. It made her look devilish and it made Bea want to sin.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Farmhand.” Poppy snarled, she would have to think of a way to get back at the Alphas for forcing this situation.

“Are we just going to stand here staring at each other?” Bea wanted to change the subject, she couldn’t help staring at Poppy otherwise.

“If you think I am going to kiss you again then you are out of your mind.”

“Okay, I am out of here.” Bea began to walk out of the room, but Poppy grabbed her hand. The room suddenly became ten degrees hotter. Poppy pulled Bea closer, she could feel her breath on her neck.

“I am no quitter Hughes and I don’t want it live-streamed on Veronica’s stupid channel.” Poppy kissed Bea, snuffing out any words that were at the tip of her tongue. This kiss was different, it wasn’t as angry as before. Poppy rested her arms around Bea’s neck and got closer. She could feel the warmth radiate from the Zeta queen. She pulled her close, emitting a moan from Poppy. Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest. Her tongue met Poppy’s lips parting her lips. Their kiss was more than lust, Bea could feel it. They heard a timer, reluctant to part from one another. Without saying another word Poppy disappeared out of the room. All Bea could do was look at the spot the woman once stood in front of her.

Whenever they would encounter each other after that time, Poppy would avoid her. Her words during their sporadic encounters weren’t as angry. It was like the ice queen lost her chill. She missed seeing Poppy as much. She was grateful that Sab and Zoey came to interrupt her thoughts.

“Hey sis. I know you have a date with popcorn and Netflix, but there is a party at this crazy house. I heard they have the best catering in the city and Lil Nos F is going to be performing.” Sabina hopped on the couch next to Bea, stealing her popcorn.

“No, absolutely not.” Bea snatched her popcorn back away from Sab.

“Bea, please. I am a huge fan of Nos and if I can talk to him maybe it can help with my djing.” Zoey pleaded while batting her eyes at Bea. She knew that her roommate wouldn’t be able to resist the power of her gorgeous brown eyes.

“Ugh fine. Only because you asked and not for Sab.”

“Hey! I am right here.”

Bea got ready and they all piled into Zoey’s Mercedes-Maybach GLS 600 SUV. They reached the new house at the height of the party. While coming in they greeted their peers as they passed, the trio had taken the campus by storm and were popular amongst the student body. There were waiters with different drinks on platters and different snacks. Bea thought this had to be the fanciest university party she had ever been to, that was saying something considering the school she went to. She grabbed a glittery purple drink from one of the trays to sip on. It tasted fruity but still had the burn going down.

She tried her best to mingle and enjoy herself, she should have snuck some popcorn into the party. She went to the kitchen in hopes of scrounging up her favorite buttery snack. She wasn’t prepared for what she walked in. Sitting on the counter was Poppy making out with Carter. Her head tilted up as he kissed her neck. The whole house could collapse and Bea wouldn’t be able to notice the difference, she had already been crushed.

Poppy looked at her, but before she could say anything Bea ran out the room. She tried so hard to hold back the tears but failed as they ran down her cheeks. She was mad at herself, of course, Poppy would never be with her. She only saw her as some farmhand. She thought Poppy and Carter had broken up a long time ago. It didn’t matter now, her chance at the ice queen was gone. Bea took another drink, this time a brown liquid, and downed it in seconds. She would do anything not to feel anymore. She needed another drink and quickly.

Four and a half drinks later and the only thing felt was spacey. The music seemed better and everything seemed more vibrant. She was having a blast dancing in the main living room. A girl caught her eye across the makeshift dance floor. She was gorgeous and she couldn’t keep her eyes off Bea. Tonight was a good night to try new things, so with all her courage, she went over to the woman. Walking wasn’t as easy as before, the drinks were doing the walking now, and Bea was just along for the ride.

“Would you care to dance?” Bea offered her hand to the mysterious stranger, only slightly slurring. The woman gave her hand and they went over to the dance floor. They danced closely, their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Bea felt thirsty from the dancing, downing two more drinks to quench her thirst. The stranger and Bea’s lips met messily. Things were getting heated quickly. The woman led Bea to a room upstairs, closing the door. Bea stumbled over to the bed barely able to walk straight. She landed on the bed and could barely keep her eyes open. The girl started kissing Bea and took off her jacket. Bea looked up at the woman and that was the last thing she saw.

Poppy just wanted to get Bea Hughes off her mind tonight. That night back at the costume party meant more than she knew. Poppy had felt something that night in the closet. What would it look like if she ended up with her arch-nemesis? She would lose any credibility she had built for herself. Her pride caused her to take a couple drinks back and almost hook up with Carter at the party tonight. She didn’t think she would run into Bea that night but also wished she would. The look of hurt would be ingrained in Poppy’s brain forever. She left Carter at that moment and just stayed with the Zetas. She watched Bea from afar drinking and enjoying the company of some stranger. The jealous feeling ran through her veins. She had no right to be jealous after the events earlier in the night. She pried her eyes away only to see Bea later stumble barely able to walk going upstairs. Something felt wrong. Poppy went to find Sabina and then get to Bea.

Poppy went to the first door and knocked and heard the girl. She couldn’t hear Bea though. Adrenaline took over Poppy’s thought process, and she was lucky her parents enrolled her in taekwondo. She kicked in the door and saw Bea passed out on the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The mysterious woman shouted. Poppy wasn’t going to let her get another word out. She rushed and threw a punch at the stranger, landing straight on her cheek. The woman fell to the ground out cold.

"Don't you ever fucking touch her again or I will ruin your fucking life," Poppy growled at the woman on the ground.

Sabina, Zoey and Poppy ran over to Bea. They helped carry her back to Zoey’s SUV and back to the dorm.

Bea woke up, feeling like she took a brick to the head. She looked around and saw she was back in her room. Sleeping in the chair in her room was Poppy. Maybe she was still drunk or asleep. She looked over and saw aspirin and water next to her bed. She drank the water with the aspirin, knocking over the bottle of pain meds when setting down the water. Poppy jolted awake and blinked sleepily.

“Sorry for waking you Pops.” Bea looked down instead at the blonde in front of her.

“How are you feeling Bea?” Bea shot her head up making herself dizzy, she had never used her first name before.

“I feel hungover and stupid. I drank way too much last night.”

“Do you remember anything about last night Bea?”

Bea felt sick as Poppy retold the events from last night and it wasn’t just from the hangover. She was grateful Poppy saw what was happening. She couldn’t help, but feel impressed at the thought of her throwing a punch. Bea looked over and saw Poppy’s lightly bruised knuckles, damn and she hit hard. Shuffling to the kitchen Bea got an ice pack wrapped in a napkin to help Poppy’s knuckles feel better.

“Thanks, Hughes.” A sense of disappointment washed over Bea already missing hearing her first name move past Poppy’s lips.

“I am the one who should be thanking you. You saved me.”

“Be honest with me Hughes. Why did you drink so much?” Bea didn’t know how to answer the question. She didn’t want to burden Poppy with any sense of guilt.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit Hughes. We may not always have been friends, but I know you well enough that you just lied.”

“Ok. Ok. I let my emotions get the best of me last night. I was um- jealous and hurt seeing you and Carter.”

“Shit,” Poppy mumbled under her breath, when would she stop hurting people.

“Don’t do that, Pops. I know what it’s like taking on guilt for other peoples’ actions. You carry that shit around with you and it will ruin you from the inside out.”

“I hurt you and you are still trying to console me. You are something else Hughes” They sat in silence for a moment. Seeing Bea in trouble made Poppy realize that she felt something for Bea. It was more than a kiss that night a month ago. It was time she worked on putting her pride aside. “Bea, what you saw in the kitchen with Carter was a mistake. I did it because I was trying to deny what I felt for.. you.”

Bea wasn’t sure if it was because of last night or all the emotions coursing through her, but she thought she was going to throw up. Poppy was admitting her feelings for her.

“Poppy Min-Sinclair, are you saying you like me? With this much luck I better try the lottery tonight.”

“Don’t ruin it Hughes. If you don’t feel the sa-”

“Poptart I feel the same way.” Poppy thought her heart exploded for a moment. Her smile beamed across her face. “I know a great breakfast place. I swear the omelets could solve any problem.”

“A date Hughes? Already?”

“I move quick.” Bea got up and offered her hand to Poppy. She was inches away from Poppy’s lips. “Maybe this kiss gets a better rating than last night?

“Don’t ruin it, Bea.” Poppy closed the distance and kissed Bea, her girlfriend.

#poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #queen b choices #pb choices #belvoire #bea hughes #thanks anon!#anon reply

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alinastracker · 3 years

Text

Infuriating: Part Two (ao3)

Part One was Mal and Alina’s camp love story. Now it’s Zoya and Nikolai’s turn.

For Zoya Nazyalensky, it was hate at first sight when she met Nikolai Lantsov at Kamp Keramzin. But as she learns who the spoiled blond really is through the years, Zoya has to sort out feelings she never expected having.

Before

Zoya Nazyalensky hated Nikolai Lantsov.

She hated him before she had even known his name. Perhaps hate was a strong word for someone she had only one, brief interaction with. But Zoya had always been more inclined to feel more intensely than most children, and so she found it a perfectly fitting description.

Zoya was bouncing in the back of her aunt’s beat up SUV the entire way to Kamp Keramzin. Up until two weeks ago, she had been preparing to spend another miserable summer with her mother and her alcoholic boyfriend, hoping that her father would visit her in between business trips. Then one afternoon, Aunt Liliyana had stopped in for an unexpected visit. Zoya had hoped she would take her back to the tiny coastal town Liliyana called home, at least until school started up in the fall, but she had come with something even better: a registration pamphlet for Keramzin.

Her mother had scoffed. “You know I can’t afford that shit.”

But you can afford the drugs, Zoya thought but didn’t say. Despite everything, she loved her mother. She wanted to make her proud. But it seemed like nothing Zoya did was ever good enough for Sabina to turn away from the allure of the drugs and the liquor, or worse, the abusive men she brought home.

“I’m paying for it,” Liliyana said. “That is, if you want to go?”

Zoya had absolutely wanted to go.

Though now that she was here, hugging her aunt for dear life, she found herself filled with nerves. She knew Liliyana had scraped together nickels and dimes to send Zoya to camp. Looking around, she could already see, just from the state of their clothes, that the other children here had more than she did. Could she even survive a whole summer away from her family? Maybe she had been naive, hoping to escape.

“My little storm,” Liliyana sighed. “This is going to be so good for you. Free that troubled mind of yours.” She tipped the young girl's chin up, locking eyes with her. “Remember, you are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.”

Zoya tried to hold the thought in her mind as she walked past the line of other cars and parents dropping their children off for the summer, her duffle bag of belongings slung over her shoulder. A bored driver waited in a car near the front of the line as a blond woman who reeked of money patted the head of an equally blond boy who looked to be around Zoya’s age. The expression on his face was as sour as spoiled milk.

“It’s not fair,” the boy huffed. “Vasily doesn’t have to—”

“Your brother has his horses, and you will have this.”

“I was fine at home! I wanted to spend the summer on—”

“Yes, on your little gadgets.” The woman sighed. “And how well did that work out last summer? Mrs. Ivanov’s dog needs anxiety medication now.”

“The thing with Feliks was an accident!”

“Regardless, you are here because of your own actions, Nikolai. This is your last chance, or next year it’s boarding school. No more hijinks, do you understand me?”

The boy — Nikolai — pouted, but grumbled out a semi-respectful, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now run along.”

Zoya, realizing she had stopped to listen, picked up her pace as naturally as possible. Mentally, she scoffed. How privileged this boy was, huffing and puffing. Didn’t he know how much her aunt had sacrificed just to send her here? How thankful Zoya was, and she hadn’t even stepped foot in the place yet?

She decided then and there that she would stay far away from the spoiled brat.

So naturally, he was put into her group for orientation. There were six of them in total, and as they went around introducing themselves, Zoya wasn’t sure she liked any of them. One girl, Marie, seemed tolerable enough, she supposed.

“Nikolai Lantsov,” the blond boy said when his turn came. A couple of the others exchanged glances that Zoya couldn’t interpret. If Nikolai was surprised by their reaction, he didn’t show it.

Her turn came, and she tried to remember what her aunt had told her as she said, “Zoya Nazyalensky.”

One of the boys frowned. “Nazyalensky? That’s a mouthful.”

She was half-ready to show him what a mouthful really was when Nikolai said with a casual shrug, “I like it.”

Maybe the boy wouldn’t be so bad after all—

Nikolai had turned to her then, a frown tugging at his lips. “You have something on your shirt, Nazyalensky.”

Zoya looked down at herself and sure enough, there was a stain, likely from one of her grandmother’s meals that were almost always served with a rich sauce. Most of her clothes had some kind of stain or little holes from the sheer number of years she’d owned them.

She was back to hating him.

Their first summer had been more of the same. Nikolai would say something almost nice, only to follow it up with something that made her want to punch him. Zoya ignored him as much as humanly possible, but like any invasive species, he kept popping up.

Regardless of the ever annoying Nikolai Lantsov, Zoya loved every second at Keramzin. She wrote multiple postcards to her aunt with updates, and even a couple to her mother. Despite not being as well off as most of the other kids, Zoya always kept her aunt’s parting message close to her chest.

You are Zoya Nazyalensky, and you are worthy.

And she quickly learned that half of being popular was believing that you should be. She walked through camp with her head held high, and if that made her a little intimidating to the others, so be it. At least when it came to her age group, Zoya found herself holding court. The girls wanted to be her, the boys (and some of the girls, too) wanted to kiss her — all the more so during her second year at Keramzin as she further grew into her looks. She was naturally gifted at most of the camp activities. Everyone wanted her on their team for games like kickball and tug of war. She could swim laps around everyone in the lake. Finally given the opportunity, Zoya simply thrived.

As the years went on, the only one who matched Zoya’s popularity at Keramzin was Nikolai, much to her dismay. But unlike Zoya, Nikolai hadn’t had to work for his level of adoration from the other campers. He wasn’t good at most of the activities, but everyone still wanted him on their team. He didn’t need to be good. Rather, Nikolai capitalized off of his good looks, his money, and his natural charm — though Zoya would dispute him having any of the latter. But she couldn’t deny his money. His father was some big shot in the business world, the Lantsov name apparently rather well known. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, he was attractive. Golden blond hair, hazel eyes that always held a wink of something mischievous. He was annoyingly smart and worldly, though she would never tell him that. She would never tell him most of her deeper feelings regarding him. For him.

Because despite her best effort, Zoya found herself by Nikolai’s side again and again every summer, like clockwork. Despite being well loved, neither of them had really bonded strongly with the campers in their year. It didn’t help that he was the only one who could handle her jabs and withering glares, laughing them off as if she couldn’t possibly mean anything she said. But she definitely meant every word.

Mostly every word.

Instead, they had found themselves entangled with a group that had formed in the year below them. Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev, the two most oblivious people to ever live. Genya Safin, so naturally gorgeous and put together that Zoya had let her jealousy convince her she hated the girl at first. But then Genya had shown her how to do her hair in more ways than Zoya's usual ponytail, and helped her make something out of her meager clothing selections, even going as far to stitch up holes in some of her more worn tee shirts. Why she looked at David Kostyk of all people with puppy eyes she would never understand, though Nikolai was rather obsessed with the genius boy, too. Nadia Zhabin, one of the funniest people she had ever met with an incredible amount of wit. Mikhael and Dubrov, two textbook definitions of himbos.

And if the group had looked up to Zoya and Nikolai as their cool older friends, at least for a couple years, they pretended like it didn’t go to their heads.

Zoya tried to explain to the girls why she hated Nikolai during one of the camp’s Sleep Under the Stars nights, ditching her group to pull her sleeping bag over to where Alina, Genya, and Nadia were camped out.

“He’s arrogant, spoiled rotten, and downright infuriating,” she’d said.

Genya had been the one to bravely raise a brow and ask, “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on him?”

“Absolutely not! I can't stand him.”

Zoya had kept up the same attitude, even as her traitorous hormones had begun to notice the strong line of his jaw, the hard muscles of his back when they were swimming at the lake. He was still an asshole — even if it was mostly accidentally. He was still spoiled. Cocky. Often deserving of a good punch to his pretty face.

Until her fourth year of camp, when everything in Zoya’s life changed.

When Zoya was called to the camp’s main office one day halfway through the summer, she assumed someone had ratted about her sneaking off into Maxim’s cabin last night. He was a year older and quite the kisser. But as soon as she had seen the look on Mr. Botkin’s face, she knew something was terribly wrong.

“Miss Nazyalensky, I’m so sorry to have to share this news with you,” he said in his thick accent, his face softer than she had ever seen it. “Your mother called. There was an accident involving your aunt.”

Zoya barely heard the next words out of his mouth. Drunk driver. It happened fast. Funeral in a couple days. Can’t afford the bus ticket for home and Novokribirsk, so—

She ran out of the office after that, all the way back to her cabin, ignoring other camper’s worried glances and calls for her. Of course, her stingy, selfish mother would only pay for one ticket. Zoya knew the woman expected her to stay at camp and use that one ticket to get home at the end of the summer. But screw that. Zoya would use it to go to her aunt’s funeral, even if she had no way home afterwards.

Zoya was in the middle of stuffing her bag, too frantic to care about folding her clothes or being gentle with fragile items, when the cabin door opened. She barely noticed. Zoya couldn’t stay here another second, the place she had come to love more than her own home, the place she had only been able to attend because her aunt had paid for her stay the past four summers.

Her thoughts were as panicked as her packing. Had Aunt Liliyana been driving home from an extra shift when she had been hit? Or from her first job to the second she had taken on? Would she have needed to do either of those if she hadn’t paid for Keramzin? Was her aunt gone because of her?

Zoya ignored the footsteps, assuming one of the girls was coming to grab a hair tie or change into a swimsuit. Or maybe one of them had seen her run from the office and had come to ask about her. She had no time for that.

But the hand that gently — albeit firmly — closed around her wrist, halting her movement, definitely didn’t belong to Alina, Genya, or Nadia.

“Zoya?” Nikolai said, his voice taking on a gentle tone she’d never heard from him before. “What’s going on?”

Zoya pulled away from him. “I don’t have time to pander to your needs, Lantsov,” she snarled.

Never deterred by her icy demeanor, he perched on the edge of her bed. “You’re quite capable of working and speaking at the same time, if all those insults you’ve thrown at me over crafts serve as proof.”

“Fuck off, Nikolai.”

He sighed. “Zoya, please,” Nikolai said, bringing her to a momentary pause. Please was not often found in his vocabulary, not in such a genuine manner. “The others are worried, too.”

The words came out in a tumble as she stuffed the last few items into her bag. “My aunt was in a car accident and now she’s dead and the funeral is in a couple days and I have to go but my mother will only buy me one bus ticket so I have to decide between going home or going to the funeral and of course I’m going to the funeral, I’ll fucking walk the miles home if I have to but I just have to go—”

Nikolai took hold of both of her wrists now, and only then did Zoya realize the zipper she was hopelessly trying to close was stuck. “Breathe, Zoya.”

She shook her head. Tears had been building behind her eyes since Botkin had said the words your aunt was in a car accident and at any moment they were going to spill over. She couldn’t cry in front of Nikolai Lantsov. “I can’t,” she whispered, and cried anyway.

Nikolai let go of her hands, taking a moment to carefully zip up her bag, before he pulled her into his chest. Later, Zoya would curse herself, but all she could do in that moment was let Nikolai hold her as her body shook with sobs.

“I’ll call my driver,” he murmured eventually. “He’ll take you to Novokribirsk and home to Pachina and anywhere else you want to go.”

“No—”

“Yes. I’m stupidly rich, Zoya. Let me at least do something good with it.”

The next morning, a friendly older man named Igor waited for her in a brand new Rolls Royce outside the gates of Keramzin. Botkin took her bag to the trunk while she said goodbye to the friends that had walked out with her. It was the most vulnerable she had been with them, and were the situation not so heartbreaking, she knew they would have teased her about it. Instead she only got hugs and promises of texts and pictures. To everyone’s surprise, she saved Nikolai for last.

“Thank you, Lantsov,” she murmured into the crook of his shoulder. Were she not so miserable, she might’ve noticed how good he smelled for a sixteen year old boy in ninety degree weather.

“Don’t be a stranger, Nazyalensky.”

To Zoya’s surprise, she wasn’t.

Now

Zoya Nazyalensky still hated Nikolai Lantsov.

At least, she pretended to, because admitting the truth was much more terrifying.

“Are you even paying attention, Zoya?” Genya sighed.

No, she wasn’t, because she was watching Nikolai bend over to tie his shoe, marveling at his ass. How he had only managed to get hotter through the years was a sin, and nineteen was already looking to be his best year yet.

Genya shifted, purposely blocking her view of Nikolai’s tight behind. “Focus! This is only going to work if we’re all on board.”

Zoya waved her off. “Yes, yes, I’ve got it. I’ll send Oretsev into the shed for you when the time arises. I still don’t think this is going to work. Both of them are too stubborn for their own good.”

“I don’t know,” Nadia countered. “They’ll never get over their problems if they keep avoiding each other. Never underestimate the power of forced bonding.”

“Exactly!” Genya said. Out of all of them, Zoya knew Genya wanted this plan to work most of all, convinced that Mal and Alina were destined lovers. And sure, the feelings between those two had been obvious — until last summer when they’d shown up hating each other. Personally, Zoya thought love and fate and all that sappy nonsense was utter bullshit. But she cared for Alina, too, so fine, she would help with this silly plan, even if she didn’t believe in it.

When they finally pulled it off a week later, however, Zoya couldn’t regret it more.

“Find somewhere else to sleep, I want the room to myself tonight!” Alina had barked as she stomped away from the activities shed, Mal grumbling off in the other direction.

“Wonderful,” Zoya deadpanned. “How long until she cools off?”

Genya bit her lip, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think we should give her the room tonight.”

“We should what?”

Nadia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we can sneak into the boys cabin. I can probably con Mikhael out of his bed.”

“I’ll just sleep with David,” Genya agreed.

“And what about me?”

The two of them gave her quizzical looks. “You’ve shared Nikolai’s bed before, Zoya. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Nadia said.

They were right, of course.

The dynamic of her relationship had changed with Nikolai after the year her aunt died. She had spent the rest of the summer in bed most days, barely able to get herself dressed. Surprisingly, her texts with Nikolai had been the bright spots of her days.

The service at Keramzin was horrible, so he must have been sneaking into Botkin’s office — the one building with wifi on the grounds — to send her stupid photos and relay all the goings-on of the day. Lost tug of war, again he’d captioned a photo of himself covered in mud. Another day he wrote, Group is discussing Alina and Mal’s “ship name” which is apparently something people do for couples????? (which they still aren’t, btw) Idk, Genya and Nadia are pushing for “malina” which is just so lazy to me. Oretskov is much more sophisticated, and as a woman of taste, I think you’ll agree.

For the rest of that summer — no, for the rest of that year, most of her laughs and smiles had been brought on by Nikolai Lantsov, which was absolutely fucking mind-boggling.

nikolai: nazyalensky you will not BELIEVE

zoya: this better be something actually unbelievable, lantsov

Nikolai proceeded to send a video of his brother, Vasily, getting absolutely yeeted off of one of his prized horses with the caption “MERRY FUCKIN CHRISTMAS TO MEEEEEEE.” Zoya only responded with you are going to HELL, but she laughed so hard her stomach hurt, so she supposed she’d be joining him.

Zoya worked her ass off during her junior year to be able to afford Keramzin in the summer. It felt good to be back with her friends after the painful year she'd had since losing her aunt, and she had found herself being excited to see Nikolai most of all. Though nothing on the outside had changed — Nikolai was still a pompous rich boy and Zoya still took jabs at him at every opportunity — there was plenty changing under the surface.

A week before the start of holiday break during her senior year, Zoya's phone lit up with Nikolai’s stupid face. She had made his contact photo one she'd taken over the summer after Dubrov had smashed an egg over his head, yolk dripping down his face. Zoya had a policy of not answering unplanned FaceTime calls. But for whatever reason, she made an exception, answering with a scowl on her face so he at least understood the offense.

“What the hell are you FaceTiming me for, Lantsov?”

“Hello to you too, Nazyalensky.”

Nikolai looked to be in the treehouse in his backyard. When he had first called her from the place, she had laughed, because what eighteen year old still had a treehouse? Then he had showed her around the place. It was more workshop than treehouse, a number of little inventions and other products of his mind scattered around the wooden structure. Couldn’t you have found a room in your mansion for this stuff? she had asked. Nikolai had shrugged. “I like being outside. And away from everyone.”

“Only psychopaths FaceTime with no warning.”

“Noted,” Nikolai said, entirely unbothered. “Anyway, what are your holiday break plans?”

“I’m working and finalizing uni applications.”

“Can you . . . not do that?”

Zoya’s glare would send most people running, even given through a screen, but Nikolai only waited for an answer. “I need the money for Keramzin.”

“What if Keramzin was taken care of?”

“Why are you even asking?”

“Ah, right. I was hoping you would come on holiday with me.”

She laughed, because surely he must be joking. But his face was serious. “What?”

“My family is going to Bora Bora. Sort of a work thing for my father. Anyway, all the families are going, and I got my mother to agree to me taking a friend, so . . .”

“You’re seriously asking me to go to Bora Bora with you?”

“Uh, yes?”

Zoya shook her head. “I have to work. And do my uni shit. Why are you even asking me of all people? You have other friends.”

“None of them are as pretty as you, Nazyalensky.”

“You know flattery doesn’t work on me, Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned, bringing the phone obnoxiously close to his face. “Please, please, please? I’ll go absolutely mental if I have to spend the whole week on my own with these privileged, white assholes.”

“Nikolai, you’re a privileged, white asshole.”

“Exactly! So you’ll come along then?”

“No.”

Naturally, Zoya went.

At first, she thought it might actually be a good decision, going with Nikolai. They sat next to each other on the plane ride there — in first fucking class — sharing Nikolai’s AirPods as they scrolled through stupid TikTok videos. It was strange, seeing him at this time of year when she had only ever seen him during the summer months. But it was nice, too.

And god, Bora fucking Bora! It was beautiful and warm and somewhere she never would have visited on her own. Certainly not staying at the fancy hotel that they were at, a stretch of the beach rented out for this company thing of his father’s. Privileged white asshole friends had their purposes, it seemed.

But she too quickly realized exactly why Nikolai had chosen her to come along.

She’d come back out from using the restroom on their second day there to find Nikolai standing with his father, another older man, and a girl that had to be around her and Nikolai’s age. Zoya had just decided to wait for him at their beachside table, having no desire to get caught up in whatever rich people things they were surely discussing, when she was waved over.

Had they not all turned to look at her, she might have ignored him. Instead, she put on her best friendly face as she joined the group.

“This is Zoya, my friend from camp.” As casually as if it were normal for them, Nikolai slung an arm around her. “We’ve been close for years now. Zoya, this is Rose, and her father, Ruslan.”

Rose glanced between the two of them, looking slightly disappointed. “Oh, I thought . . . Well, nice to meet you.”

Zoya smiled, seething on the inside. Nikolai’s father didn’t look too happy, either.

As soon as she got Nikolai alone, Zoya turned on him. “What the fuck was that, Lantsov?”

Nikolai sighed, “Look, Zoya—”

“You brought me here to what? Be the pretty thing on your arm?”

“No! I mean, that’s a benefit, yes. My father wants to set me up with that girl and I’m just not interested, so I thought—”

“So you thought, bring your poor camp friend! She’ll have to be grateful to live the rich life for a week!”

“That’s not it!”

Zoya shook her head. “To think I thought you actually wanted me here.”

“I do!” Nikolai stepped toward her, and damn the rocky wall at her back for not allowing her to move away from him. He took both of her wrists in his hands, just as he had that day in her cabin. But this felt different, intimate in a way that sent heat rushing through her. “I want you here, Zoya.”

Was he looking at her lips, or was she looking at his? Was he leaning in, or was she? The heat must be getting to her, because she didn’t let herself think the way she was thinking about him right now. Nikolai was cocky and spoiled and maybe she had allowed herself to begrudgingly become his friend, but this was something else entirely. Zoya couldn’t let him kiss her, so she didn’t, tugging out of his grasp and stalking down the beach. He didn’t follow, and she prided herself on being strong enough to resist his pretty hazel eyes and his stupid kissable looking lips.

Strong enough sober, anyway.

On their last night in Bora Bora, Zoya and Nikolai joined the rest of the kids on the trip, who indeed were privileged white assholes, for a boozy bonfire on the beach.

“So, your name is Zoya Nazzzalienski?” one of the boys slurred, screwing up her last name so badly she knew he wouldn’t have said it right sober, either.

“Nazyalensky,” she corrected sharply, too many drinks in to play nice.

“Mm, it’s a mouthful,” Rose, the girl Nikolai’s father apparently found ideal for him, said.

The other boy nodded. “So foreign.”

“She’s just as foreign as you or I, asshole,” Nikolai snapped.

Zoya was surprised to see actual anger on his face. Part of her wanted to punch him for playing the white savior, but another part was incredibly turned on by the way his eyes had darkened.

Vasily, who was as insufferable as Nikolai had described him throughout the years, laughed, disregarding the look on his brother’s face. “Aw, calm down, Niko. He didn’t mean anything bad about your little girlfriend.” Vasily covered his mouth in a mock whisper, “My brother has always had a thing for charity cases.”

Nikolai seethed beside her. “Watch your tongue before I remove it.”

“It’s okay, Nikolai,” Zoya said coolly, resting her hand on his arm. She needed no one to fight her battles for her. “I know your brother is still learning how to socialize with people, his usual company being those horses of his and all.”

The group cackled as Vasily flushed, but said nothing. Zoya stood, leaving them to their drunken bullshit. Nikolai followed.

Halfway down the beach, he stopped them. “Fuck, Zoya, I’m so sorry. I knew they were assholes but I didn’t think—”

Zoya cut him off with her lips.

“Oh,” he breathed when they pulled apart. It was the first time she had ever seen him speechless.

From there, they found their way to Nikolai’s room, stopping every now and then to continue their fervent kissing. The luxurious four poster bed became a mess as they sprawled onto it, working off their clothes, rattling the headboard well into the night. Zoya left Bora Bora with love bites on her neck and the best orgasm of her life.

After waking up sober with an ache between her legs the next morning, however, the first thing out of her mouth was, “It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything.”

Nikolai paused, then nodded. “It didn’t mean anything.”

So yes, Zoya had shared Nikolai’s bed before. Bora Bora had been the first, but not the last. They had spent last summer, their first as full on counselors — and therefore having the much nicer cabins that came with the position — fooling around whenever the flask came out. Drunken fuck buddies, that’s all they were. That’s all they were supposed to be.

But that was before the voicemail.

Zoya hadn’t told the girls about said voicemail, though, and apparently none of them had caught on to her and Nikolai subtly avoiding each other these past two weeks of their last year at Keramzin.

Before she could think of an excuse, the devil himself came around the corner.

Nikolai smoothly avoided eye contact with her. “Just passed Oretsev. Guessing the plan didn’t go over too well.”

Genya sighed. “Don’t you dare say I told you so,” she grumbled.

He held his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Perfect timing, Nik,” Nadia said, and panic rose in Zoya’s chest. “Alina’s demanding the room to herself tonight, so we’re castaways.” She sang the last part in the tune of that god-awful song that was plastered all over TikTok. “And Zoya needs a bed. You don’t mind sharing, right?”

Nikolai’s perfect face flashed with his own panic for the briefest second, fast enough that she might have just imagined it, and then he broke into one of his charming smiles. “‘Course not.”

That was how Zoya found herself in Nikolai’s bed a few hours later, the damned thing too small for any real space between them. She knew they were sharing the same thoughts. He could offer to take the floor, but then their friends would know something was off. And when Mal ended up leaving his bed to go camp in the woods for the night, they let Mikhael, who had given up his bed to Nadia, jump into it. Both of them pretending they were fine, that they might get any sleep like this. Neither of them had spoken much tonight, let alone the last two weeks, besides casual greetings and Zoya’s usual snide remarks in group settings to keep up pretenses. Nothing of the suffocating weight that had been crushing their relationship since New Year’s Eve.

While most college freshmen she knew had spent the night getting wasted, Zoya had worked a double and was so exhausted, she hadn’t even made it to midnight before passing out. She had woken up to a missed call and a voicemail from a very drunk Nikolai.

“Hi Zoya, it’s Nikolai!” He paused to laugh. “Guess you know that. Happy New Year! I’m so drunk.” Another pause, the sound of the phone hitting the ground as he dropped it, muffled music somewhere in the distance. “Oops, dropped the phone. Fuck, I had a really shitty night. My father won’t stop getting on me about choosing a major already, but he can piss off, because he wants me to do business and follow in his footsteps, but god I’d rather jump off this mountain. Did I mention I’m on a mountain? Nothing crazy, just snow and skiing and rich people nonsense. Anyway.” Another pause, accompanied with a hiccup. “You’re probably wondering why I called and I don’t know I just — It’s New Years and my family is pissing me off and the people at this party suck and I just want to kiss you. That’s what you do on New Years, right? You kiss someone. But I didn’t kiss anyone, ‘cause you’re not here. And if you were here, it still wouldn’t be right, ‘cause I don’t want to kiss you like in Bora Bora or camp last summer. I want to kiss you and shout about it to the world. I want to kiss you because you’re mine. I want it to mean something. I want—”

Zoya never learned what else he wanted, because the messaging system cut him off. She had listened to that voicemail about a hundred times since then, still not knowing what the fuck to say or feel. Exactly two messages had passed between them the next morning, and not a single one since.

nikolai: sorry, ignore the vm. was rather plastered, haha

zoya: right, ok

Now she had her back pressed to his front as if nothing had happened. When Genya popped up, apparently unable to sleep either, and suggested they go check on Alina, Zoya thanked the damn saints.

That is, until they barged in only to find Mal standing in nothing but his boxers, constraining an insane erection (wow, he was bigger than she’d guessed) and Alina hiding under the covers, clearly naked. Zoya was going to kill them.

“You little liar!” she spat. “You conned us out of our beds so you could get dicked down?!”

Genya seemed thrilled at the turn of events, and maybe Zoya would be too, if she wasn’t spending her night pressed against the chest of the boy who had confessed to — to something and left her brain endlessly screaming about it since.

Her anger at Alina and anxiety about returning to Nikolai’s bed must have shown on her face as they left their cabin behind, because Genya stopped them before they could reach the boys’.

“All right, what’s going on with you?”

“Yeah, come on Zoya, you should be happy for them,” Nadia said. “I mean, the plan worked.”

“I know it did and I am happy for them!”

Genya raised a brow. “Yes, you sound so very happy.”

Zoya let out a frustrated huff, and right there in the middle of the night, she finally spilled about everything that had happened between her and Nikolai. They knew about the friends with benefits kind of situation they had going on last summer, but in addition to not telling them about the voicemail, she had never mentioned Bora Bora, either.

“What the fuck, Nazyalensky!” Nadia whisper-yelled when she finished.

“You’ve been keeping all of this in for two years?!”

Zoya shrugged. So Alina wasn’t the only one with a secret. She had never shared what had come between her and Oretsev in the first place, after all.

“I can’t believe he took you to Bora Bora,” Nadia moaned. “Missing out on Nikolai is now the only time I’ve regretted being a lesbian.”

Genya patted Nadia’s back in comfort, but said, “And y’all never talked about the voicemail? Seriously?”

Zoya groaned. “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? It’s like, one in the morning.”

They agreed, albeit whining as they did, and when they made it back into the boys’ cabin, Zoya climbed into Mikhael's bed with Nadia.

The next morning, the three of them kicked Mal out of their cabin bright and early.

“Seriously?” he groaned.

“Sorry, dude,” Nadia said. “Girl emergency.”

He and Alina shared a hesitant look before Mal dropped a careful kiss to her lips, as if he hadn’t been railing her a few hours ago, and left.

Alina watched him go, then turned to the three of them with a growl. “Okay, I know I lied, but you had to kick him out so early?”

“Surprisingly, this isn’t about you, though we will get back to that.” Genya sat cautiously on her bed, as if the bodily fluids might have jumped from Alina’s bed over to hers. “Zoya shared some very interesting news with us last night.”

With a sigh, Zoya relayed the story all over again. The next hour was just a lot of screaming about the free trip to Bora Bora and Nikolai’s — in Alina’s words — very obvious love confession, which resulted in the three of them telling her she was the last person allowed to speak on obvious love.

“This all comes down to two things,” Genya said as they got ready, since they still had campers to take care of today. “How do you feel about him, and what are you going to do about it?”

Both were valid questions, but Zoya scowled anyway.

In true Zoya fashion, she spent the next week thinking about her answer. Every time the girls bugged her about it, she glared until they shut up. But it was good that they knew, because they helped her avoid him when she needed to, not that Nikolai was making it hard. She supposed her ditching him for Nadia’s bed hadn’t been very encouraging.

When she finally came to a conclusion, Zoya switched shifts with Dubrov one afternoon so that she was working one on one with Nikolai. Considering the shift in question, Dubrov had been more than happy to trade places.

The spot Zoya and Nikolai had found themselves in was shitty, so there really was no better place to finally have it out with each other than the horse stables on mucking duty.

When she reached the stables, Nikolai was already at work.

“‘Bout time you got here, Dubrov,” he said without looking up. “I was going to bring some horse shit back to the cabin for you if you didn’t — Oh.” He had finally looked up. “You’re not Dubrov.”

“No,” she said. “Not Dubrov. I switched shifts with him.”

Nikolai blinked. “You took mucking duty on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“Zoya would-die-before-letting-a-horse-sniff-her Nazyalensky chose—”

“Yes,” she growled. “And if you don’t shut up, I’m going to push you into the shit you're scooping.”

Nikolai shut up after that, and minutes passed as they worked in silence.

Unsurprisingly, Nikolai was the first to break it. “Why are you here, Zoya?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared of the answer.

Zoya swallowed the lump in her throat. “We can’t keep going on like this. Pretending New Years didn’t happen.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

She cleared her throat. “Nikolai—”

But he cut her off. “Must we do this here? Break my heart, Nazyalensky. Just don’t do it while I’m standing in a pile of literal horse shit.”

Break my heart, Nazyalensky. But the problem wasn’t Nikolai’s heart, it was her own. Zoya had always had a problem with feeling too much, the good and the bad. Her complicated relationship with love only made it worse. She thought of her mother, who’s love Zoya had tried so hard to earn only to come up short again and again. Aunt Liliyana, who she had loved more than life itself, taken from her far too soon. The desolation she had felt afterwards, wondering if she could ever dare love someone again. She had no positive examples of romantic love in her life, either. Liliyana had always been single as far as Zoya knew. Her parents had divorced, and Zoya could only ever watch as her mother brought toxic and abusive men into their home again and again. She wasn’t sure she even believed in love, or if she deserved it.

But then she thought of the people here at Keramzin. Of Genya and David, a couple that made no logical sense, but her gorgeous friend looked at the genius boy as if he personally hung the stars in the sky. Nadia, writing her love letters to her girlfriend back home. Even Mal and Alina, as oblivious they had been, were so clearly in love they were sickening to look at. They were all young, so maybe none of them would make it in the end, but wasn’t love still worth something even if it didn’t last a lifetime? Could she have something like what her friends had?

I am Zoya Nazyalensky, and I am worthy.

Zoya stalked across the stables and pulled Nikolai — pompous, entitled, infuriating Nikolai — into a fierce kiss.

Once he got past his shock, Nikolai kissed her back with just as much force. The tension between them finally snapped now that she had made her decision. They didn’t need to talk about it, Nikolai just knew. He always knew. This kiss was the answer to the voicemail she had never given him. Nikolai had wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted it to mean something.

And Zoya wanted it, too.

“Fuck, Nazyalensky,” Nikolai breathed between kisses, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. Zoya hummed her approval. “If we hurry . . .”

She understood, so as hard as it was to pull away, she did. They worked as if their lives depended on cleaning out the stables as fast as humanly possible. Had they not been literally handling shit for the past twenty minutes, Zoya would have gone straight to Nikolai’s cabin. Instead, she went to her own, aware of each passing minute as she changed and washed up.

Zoya had only taken one step into the boys’ cabin five minutes later before Nikolai pounced. Closing the cabin door, he pushed Zoya against it and kissed her like a starving man. She moaned against his lips, the surprise and force of it sending heat straight to her core. Her hands found his golden hair, his hands found her ass, and though they had been here before, it felt different. Besides being completely sober, the difference was in the way they held each other, like they had no plans of letting go. It was the way they kissed, desperate and deep, but knowing there were so many more on the horizon.

Nikolai scooped her into his arms, bringing her to the bed. The lack of space was no issue now. His lips started their descent down her neck, and she knew from experience that her makeup routine would have an extra step for the rest of the summer.

“I don’t know how much time we have before the guys get back,” he murmured. Zoya nodded, ready to tell him he’d better hurry up and fuck her then, when Nikolai continued, “But I’m still going to take my time licking you until you scream.”

Oh.

Clothes were discarded, and Nikolai moved down her body, murmuring about how he couldn’t wait to mark every inch of her. Then he was between her thighs, and quickly made good on his promise. Zoya couldn’t believe his tongue could be this good at something other than talking about himself.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

Nikolai popped his head up. “All in due time, darling.”

Growling, she pushed his head back down, and before she knew it, she was screaming into his pillow as her orgasm quite literally left her shaking.

Nikolai shifted, but before he could crawl back over her, Zoya used her weight to push him onto his back, taking her place on top. He still had his damned boxers on, so she quickly fixed that problem. His cock sprang free, and god, she could be drooling for all she knew. Never would she let him know that she mentally referred to his member as massive.

Needing to taste him, Zoya dipped her head and dragged her tongue up the length of him. Nikolai swore, then swore some more as she sucked him into her mouth. She would also never admit how much she loved sucking dick. There was something powerful about it that turned her on almost as much as it did the men she took into her mouth.

“Zoya,” Nikolai breathed, and she understood the warning in his tone. With a sigh, she let him fall from between her lips with an audible pop. Their limited time meant she’d have to wait until next time to let him spill inside her mouth. Shame.

Nikolai supplied a condom from his bedside drawer and Zoya rolled it onto him. Before he could get her on her back, she straddled him, making her intentions clear. He raised a brow, surprised, but didn’t object. Zoya braced one hand on the headboard, the other twining with one of Nikolai’s, and lowered herself onto his cock. They moaned in unison as she took in every inch of him.

Her rhythm started slow but quickly gained speed, her hips rolling and her breathing ragged as she brought herself down on him again and again. As she bounced, so did her tits, and Zoya didn’t miss the way Nikolai kept staring greedily at her chest. When looking wasn’t enough, he sat up as much as he needed to get his mouth on her breast, taking her nipple between his teeth and soothing the bite he gave it with his tongue afterwards. That damned tongue again. When Zoya tired, Nikolai was happy to take over even from underneath her, thrusting his hips against hers over and over.

It was perfect. It was glorious. Zoya was an idiot for waiting three weeks to figure out what she wanted. And she knew she wanted this — not just the fucking, but the exasperating boy beneath her, too. All of him. All of it. She had told Nadia that love was for suckers, and she supposed she should have known that included herself, considering how much she loved giving blowjobs.

It was perfect, until the cabin door opened and in walked Malyen Oretsev. He made it halfway inside before he caught sight of them on Nikolai’s bed and froze.

Nikolai groaned. “Malyen, does your timing always suck so much?”

Mal visibly swallowed, and Zoya realized he was making a concentrated effort not to look at her tits. Maybe she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Smirking, she said, “Payback’s a bitch, Oretsev. Now scram and tell everyone else to stay gone for a while, too.”

He nodded, still avoiding even the smallest glance in her direction, and ran out the door faster than she thought him possible.

Nikolai sighed. “Did that ruin the mood for you?”

In answer, Zoya lifted herself until only the very tip of him was inside of her, then took all of him in one swoop. Their moans mingled once more.

Breathing hard, she asked, “What do you think?”

Nikolai moved so suddenly, Zoya didn’t have time to process it until she was flat on her stomach. Behind her, Nikolai slammed his full length into her so hard, so deep that she thought she might come from that one thrust alone. He leaned forward, letting most of his weight settle onto her, pinning her down. It was oddly comforting.

Lips beside her ear, Nikolai whispered, “I think that I’m never going to have enough of this. I’m never going to have enough of you, Zoya Nazyalensky.”

Her twelve year old self never would have believed it, but she didn’t think she’d ever have enough of Nikolai Lantsov, either.

One Year Later

It was the start of the summer holiday, and for the first time in seven years, Zoya wasn’t making her way to Keramzin. Instead, she was lazing on the sofa in the flat she shared with her arrogant, spoiled (and funny and smart and a bunch of other things she would never admit out loud), always infuriating boyfriend.

Said boyfriend strolled into the living room, handing a piece of mail to her. “Looks like the lovebirds made it to Russia safely.”

Zoya groaned as she read the postcard written in Alina’s neat handwriting, the only evidence of Mal being with her the sloppy signature next to hers. “They just got there and they’re already sending out postcards? Saps.”

“Absolute saps,” Nikolai agreed, lifting her legs to make room for himself beside her, letting her feet settle nicely on his lap.

After a stressful second year of university and having their first summer outside of Keramzin, they planned to do absolutely nothing all break long. Except they both had internships starting next week. Nikolai had settled on an engineering major, though he was still dabbling on what to do for his minor. Zoya was studying climate science and had an internship with the local news station’s weather team, though she had no intention of being the kind of meteorologist that reported the forecast for the masses each night. How dull.

Nikolai had given his father an ultimatum at the end of camp last summer. He would stay at the university his father had chosen for him if and only if he accepted his choice to pursue engineering — and let Zoya move into the flat. Otherwise, he was withdrawing and enrolling into Zoya’s uni, which was not exactly the first, or hundredth, choice of the wealthier class.

Surprisingly, his father had agreed, but the joke was on him. Nikolai was never going to switch universities, because Zoya was transferring to his. Not in the name of something as sappy as romance, but because it had an outstanding climate science program and — most importantly — her excellent grades and extracurricular activities had earned her quite the hefty scholarship.

But at least for this first week of the summer, they were staying in their flat, vegging out as they caught up on Netflix and fucking until their neighbors complained on NextDoor.

“Should we do pizza tonight?” he asked, gently rubbing the soles of her feet.

Before she could answer, her phone rhythmically buzzed on the table. A FaceTime call from Genya. When Zoya went to answer it, Nikolai frowned. “I thought you didn’t do unplanned FaceTime calls.”

“It’s Genya,” Zoya said, as if that explained everything.

The red haired girl’s face filled the screen, albeit a little grainy from the less than stellar reception at Keramzin. She could see David beside her, nose in a book as usual.

“Guess what!” she whisper-yelled, a grin on her pretty face.

“Botkin has finally admitted his past as a secret ninja assassin?” Nikolai piped up from beside her. Zoya scowled in his direction.

“Oh, hi Nikolai. And no. Look!” Genya flipped the camera, and two children came into view, a boy and a girl studying a piece of paper together. From the look of it, they were in the crafts room.

“I haven’t forgotten what twelve year old campers look like, Genya.”

She turned the camera back so Zoya could see her eye roll. “No, smart ass. It’s Alina’s map!” Genya whispered the last part, apparently not wanting the kids to hear her. “She must have left it for a camper to find. And I swear, these two are like Malina incarnate.”

“Oretskov,” Zoya and Nikolai said together.

Genya very casually flipped them off. “Anyway, I wish y’all could see them. Running off into the woods and all that shit they used to do. It’s uncanny.”

Zoya shook her head. “No thanks, living that storyline once was enough for me.”

Nikolai, always thinking of the important things, asked, “Hey, what’s our couple name?”

“Zoyalai,” said Genya and an off-screen Nadia in unison. The latter continued, “And don’t try to give us shit about it, because there’s no way you’re coming up with something better out of Nazyalensky and Lantsov.”

Nikolai frowned. “Nazyalsov? Lantensky?”

Zoya wrinkled her nose. “Okay, fine, you guys win this round.”

She couldn’t deny it. Zoyalai had a nice ring to it.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya x nikolai #zoyalai fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #fanfic #writing #zoyalai fic #posted this on ao3 a few days ago and forgot to post it here lmao #anyway if any of yall enjoyed the first part and are interested in a zoyalai part!!!#or if you're just here for the zoyalai lmao #can be read without reading part 1 but you'll understand some of the events more if you read part 1 #okay enough rambling pls enjoy xx

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dreamermoonshine · 3 years

Text

A meeting with our Manager after we get our Number 1 and a surpise reward

Now United Dream The Next Level Episode 15 - The Big News

Fair Warning: bad language

Intro of the story

After we got our No 1 in Germany,Ireland and UK Yotill our Manager congratulate us for the single which is made it to no 1 single of "Dance Like That"a some big news to the Dream members

(Meanwhlie at the dorm at Tomàs's room they preparing a zoom meeting with Yotil also some excited news to share along with the American members of NJAS about Brazil).

Y/N: Tomàs will you hurry up will ya.

Tomàs: okay, I tried to turn zoom on my laptop.

Sina: try to get u log it in to your computer.

Tomas: Ok, I'll Try...

Joalin: How long is going log in on his account.

Alex: I don't know.

Tomàs: oh is on ok I'm going to put on a ID number and a password that Joshy sent me on the link ah perfect.

(So he puts his zoom code on his laptop)

Y/N interview: today we had a meeting with Yotill, Noah, Josh, Any and Saby we had some fantastic news to share so whlie we here as a unit and we had to tell them some excited news to share with them.

All: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Noah: Hi, you guys hello from L.A. Congrats for No1 for "Dance Like that"

Lamar: Cheers Man were appreciate.

Sofya: We miss you Saby, Josh, Noah and Any, I hope we could reunite together as a whloe group.

Sabina: We miss you too our European members we hope we enjoyed the new single that we listened and its the new version of it.

Y/n: ahh gracias Sab, anyways What Yotil has in store of us as a two units and she turned off her camera

(then Yotill turn the camera on and she blow a party blower)

Yotil: Congratulations, Now United Dream🥳🥳🥳🥳

Sina, Alex,Y/N, Tomas: YOTILLLLLLL

(Alex, Sina, Tomas and I were screaming her name we were shocked)

Joalin: Thanks Yotil and to you guys we worked our ass since day 1 we can couldn't with our friends in London for supporting us.

Y/N: And we can't couldn't without our beloved choreographers Kyle Hanagami and Nicky Andersen and the fans is well to keep them support of our track since the debut and yeah, let's move on shall we.

Yotill: Ok, I like your determination Y/N right so, have great news to the dream members as your reward for getting into the top of the charts... all seven of you tomorrow you all deserve a day off!

(We all glad and shocked, we deserve a day off and we work our arse off since realising the track in at least 25hr we super proud of ourselves and our careers is well to work hard as a European unit of Now United, then I grab Chill and we have a wee dance because I took a day off).

Y/N: Did u hear that Chili I'm having a day off buddy tomorrow day off. (Chili is happy do the happy dance whlie I cuddle with her while I'm in the middle of the zoom call) ok, Chill is tried (so she asleep on my lap wait for Vic to come back from the Måneskin boys at the rehersals)

Sabina: Wow, Y/N is that ur dog?

Y/N: No, is Victoria's, so we decied that we want Me, Hannah and Vic to bring our pets in into the dorm because its pet friendly area so I'm toy poodle sitting whlie she is working with the lads in the studio but we need to to be quiet because she sleeping

Sabina: Ok

Josh: that's cool, ok we have some good news that Yotill got in store for the two sub groups that were got debuted regarding American and Europe Unit Yotill.

Yotil: Thank You Josh, Dream and NJAS you guys in 4 days time you guys are going to perform Meus Prêmios in San Paolo in Brazil

(Everybody has shocked and screamed the news that in 4 days time they are going perform in Meus Prêmios in São Paolo in Brazil.)

Y/N: Any It's incredible, oh shit sorry Chill.

Tomàs Interview: I can't wait to go to Brazil with the group it is my first time to travel there to it is a greater country in the world are going to spend there for 2 weeks there but we will leave London soon is well Oh God, I'm going to cry.

Sofya: how long we at going to be there in Brazil for?

Yotill: Well, you guys are spending a week with a Bootcamp with Brazilian Biggest YouTube superband were....EVE, WIBE and Paradyzo they are trained popstars and kpop stars just like you guys and also they wanted to help to be a better global popgroup as you guys are

(the members were very curious about we are going to train in the bootcamp with 4 group before the big event)

Yotil: After this bootcamp for 2 days you guys are going to have a shoot on a new single on each unit it call......... Não Para.

(The members were very excited What plans ahead before the Meus Prêmios and shooting a Music video for two weeks).

Sina Interview: Não Para... wow (shocked of excited)

Y/n Interview: Não Para.... Now that's how we call Brazilian/Portuguese way nice one Yotill.

Yotil: Dream this is your 3rd single now so... put your act together and Nicky is away and not coming to Brazil in four days but, he still in London for 2 days to finishing this chero then Kyle doing cheoraphy the 2 days before you guys leaving for Brazil.

Josh: Yes, you guys only had in 4 days time has to be done no day offs, no miss outs and no distraction, Sina, Y/N and Lamar as you three as the captains you need to make sure the chero need to be perfect as soon before Kyle arrives in London, we had already done ours and now Nicky and Kyle will help you to get the cherograph perfectly.

Alex interview: two weeks has to be done before we fly to Brazil it is going to be a crazy ride.

Yotil: So, I know you guys need to go to Brazil so much I know the fact that y/n, Lamar and Tomàs are going to Brazil for the first time so Sina, Alex, Sofya and Joalin can you give some advice for the three frist timers about Brazil.

Sofya: We will, I hope we could plan this after the rehersals some food and Y/n is now currently learning Portuguese is well.

Yotill: ok, you four of you can do that so.. After this meeting come to a close and before tomorrow's day off as of today you all seven of to go to the recording studio this afternoon and evening for each recording on Não Para before the Dream members need to take a day off, I sent an email to Ail that they start recording on each members time is okay you guys, I will give the dates and schedule that you guys to be early before the time call start for any single unit it has.... Are there any question..

(you raised your hand on the the schedule for Brazil)

Y/n: How long we going to spend in the boothcamp?

Yotil: 2 days then the music video shoot will be on the following day is okay Y/n.

Y/N: yup, it makes sense.

Y/N Interview: I can't wait to go to Brazil this experience will blow out of my mind but I had to tell the girls the news but Hannah is on the UK tour I had to text her but I will have a surpise for Victoria is well

(After the meeting)

Sofya: So four days time this is it

Y/N: Yup, 4 days time lads 4 days time

Joalin: we had to go to the recording studio with Ail so shall we go guys.

Y/N: right let's go then

.....

To be Continued

tune in to our date to have a surpise for Victoria you wanna to miss this.

and I will tag later if I'm upgraded for taging

@unitericons, @angelboy1 @sinadeinertstuff @sinadeinert @nowunitedits @noahurrea-fan @joalinstuff @alexmandonbra @sofyaicons @sabinahupdates @anygabriellystuff @bidet-and-legolas @mywritingonlyfans @victoriadeangeliswifey @teatrodellavita @teatro-dira @teenyweenynightghost @chilifanacc @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @ethanesimp @ethaneskin @joshbaccess @damianodavidwife @damiaxvic @selenophiliaxx @oro-e-diamanti @nientedaridere @unitershy @its-me-im-coraline @its-afucking-mess @fandomfoodiedancer @ginny-lily @ilwiwbysmv @ilballodellavitaa @sinestezijaa @cantaraiilmionome

#now united talk #now united #Wibe #EVE #fanfic #brazil girlgroup #Måneskin #chili de angelis #sanja vucic #kristian kostov #uniters #paradyzo

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

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Do you only write Geralt? Because although I adore our dear Witcher, I am IN LOVE with Jaskier. If you are willing to write for Jaskier, could you do one where he’s a big puppy dog over the reader but she’s very insecure and doesn’t notice? I know it’s cliche, but I like it. If you aren’t comfortable writing for Jaskier, could you do the same request for Geralt?

notes: hi anon! i’m sorry this took me seventy years - i am always and forever at the mercy of my brain and what catches its attention. hopefully this is close enough to what you were looking for since i deviated a little bit!

(additionally! when doing even the vaguest hint of research for this i realized something i had always thought was a midsummer tradition for…everyone…is actually just something specific to russia/ukraine [which would be why my grandmother wanted me to know it] but also i’m often wrong so who knows. either way it threw me lol.)

pairing: jaskier/female reader

rating: teen

word count: 3k

——–

Jaskier finds you by the riverbank just before midday. You’re bedded down in the lush thickness of summer clover, sprawled indolently across the verdant carpet. “Ah,” he says, settling down next to you. “A four-leafed clover amidst the cloverbeds. How lucky of me to find her. Blessed for the rest of my days.”

You snort, shading your eyes so that you can peer up at him.

He grins down at you, his smile almost as bright as the sun that outlines him. “Too much?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him. You consider reaching up to sweep his chestnut hair back from his blue, blue eyes. Lapis eyes, Lidka calls them, because she is a merchant’s daughter through and through. She’s wrong, you think, but you hardly intend to tell her that Jaskier has eyes like a lake, the type of clear blue of a mountain spring, something fresh and pure. You know when something is out of your reach.

“So you keep telling me,” he says. “And yet it barely touches on the words you deserve.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Jask,” you say, shoving at his knee. “Don’t tease.”

Something passes over Jaskier’s face. It reminds you of a stormcloud on a summer afternoon, rolling through the sky to blot out the sun, swollen grey with rain. It passes like a summer storm, too, and that starlight smile of his blooms again. “I would never, dear heart.”

“Mhmm,” you say, letting your eyes drift closed again.

“Gods, has Geralt infected you? It’s bad enough trying to get him to use his words.”

“You use enough of them for both of you.”

“I use them much more prettily than he would!”

“S’true,” you murmur. “You use them more prettily than most everyone, though.”

The summer breeze stirs; it carries the scent of the season with it, soft grass and wildflowers, woven together into a fragrant bouquet. Beneath it all, the earthy tang of the soil, freshly tilled for summer sowing. The scent is not the only thing the breeze carries. The wind brings you the muffled joy of children, frolicking through the fields, and the steady song of a choir of hammers.

You roll over onto your belly and squint up at Jaskier. His cheeks are petal pink, the faintest hint of a flush coloring his skin, and you wonder if the heat is getting to him despite his open doublet. He reaches out and plucks a clover from your hair with his long fingers, the touch delicate.

“What, darling?” he asks, leaning close and teasing another clover from where it’s caught in your hair. The sun catches on the curve of his cheekbone, kisses soft against his skin, and you are frozen, a deer caught unawares, tail flicked high with nerves.

Darling, you think darkly. How unfair he can be, all without even realizing it. Women like you do not often hear anything but their name, and Jaskier seems to say everything but yours. You wish he would realize that sometimes it feels like scraping your knee against a river rock, to hear his smooth voice say that to you, knowing he means nothing by it.

Jaskier makes an inquiring noise, something soft and fluting, and you shake yourself out of the cobwebs of your thoughts.

You peer at him. “Are you trying to get out of building the summer shrines?”

“No,” he gasps, one hand flying to his chest. “How could you think such a thing?”

“Why else would you be out here with me?”

He blinks. “Why would I be anywhere else?”

You scoff. The clover crunches beneath you as you roll onto your back again. “Nevermind.” Why, you think. Why do you always ruin things, why do you open your mouth. Sometimes you think it’d have been better if you’d taken a vow of silence, had kept yourself from inflicting any attempts at conversation on unsuspecting folks. It’d be better than having them lie to you.

A hush falls, broken only by the far-off sounds of the village and the river’s quiet hum. You tear at the clovers beneath your hand, rip them up one by one as you squirm. Jaskier shifts beside you. You close your eyes again and tilt your face towards the sun. It is easier than being blinded by Jaskier’s light.

The bard sighs. He nudges closer, his thigh a warm streak of heat against your side, and you crack an eye open. His focus is solely on his lute, his eyes - the blue of the midmorning sky, deep and rich - trained on the strings. Better position to play, you think, nothing more, just another nip of unintended cruelty.

“Did Geralt tell you about the harpy?” Jaskier asks softly.

“Geralt speaks?”

The laughter spills from Jaskier like fine wine: everflowing and delicious. You gulp it down greedily, wishing your belly were a wineskin, so that you could carry some for later.

“You make an excellent point,” he tells you. “And how perfect. I’ve been waiting for a captive audience to test the tale on.”

The smile on your lips crumbles into dust. “Of course,” you tell him. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier launches into the story, tells it with twists and turns and beautiful flourishes, his voice a calligrapher’s pen. You listen intently, determined to be of use to him, knowing there is nothing else you can offer him. He spins his tale like a magic thread, spins Geralt’s exploits from straw into lustrous gold, makes the Witcher’s effigy something that is much more difficult to burn.

After he’s done, the two of you fade into idle chatter. You know you are boring him, can feel it in the way he shifts against you and the way his voice catches here and there, but you cannot help yourself. Finally, you fade into quiet and let Jaskier fill the hush with his lyrical voice. Beneath the sun’s warm kiss, you ride the edge of sleep.

“What does your crown look like?” Jaskier asks, his deft fingers plucking at the strings of his lute. Even his half-hearted chords meld together prettily to sweeten the air with their song.

“What crown?” you ask sleepily. You’re sundrunk, now, adrift in time, lost in a haze of heat and in the sweet perfume of the clovers. Sometimes you think the sun’s kiss will be the only one you ever keep.

“Do you have multiples?” he says, his voice laced through with laughter. “Your Midsummer crown.”

That washes over you like river water, runs cold over you like snowmelt.

“I don’t have one,” you say tightly, pushing yourself upright. You curl in on yourself like a nautilus shell, pull your chest snug to your knees, as if the arc of your spine can shield you. You’ve never made a Midsummer flower crown, could never bear to have the river whisper to you what haunts you in the dark of the night, what you hold in your heart. You’ll be alone, you know, plain little thing that you are. The river will carry your crown all the way out to the sea, and all of your prospects with it.

“What?”

“I said I don’t have one,” you bite out. “There’s no point.”

“Darling,” Jaskier says, his voice downy soft, “what in the godsdamned world are you talking about?”

“I don’t need the river to tell me my fortune,” you hiss. “And I don’t need it to confirm what I already know, that no one will want to catch it, that I’ll be alone.”

Jaskier wraps a large hand around your arm. He tugs you to face him, shows that hidden strength of his that had so surprised you all. Geralt makes him look small, but he is hardly delicate. “I would catch your crown, darling,” he tells you. That flush is back, peonies blooming pink across his cheeks.

The tears pool hot in your eyes before they spill over like rainfall, sweeping down your cheeks like a summer storm. You pull free of Jaskier’s grip and push yourself to your knees. “Don’t,” you say, chest heaving. “Don’t say something like that out of pity, Jaskier, that’s not fair.”

He gapes at you. You scramble to your feet, ignoring the grass stains bleeding across the front of your skirts, and wipe at your eyes.

“Darling,” he starts, and he is pushing to his feet, and you cannot take it, cannot take platitudes from a silver-tongued bard. Perhaps he’d thought it kind, to offer to catch your crown when no other would, that it would give you a chance to take part in a tradition that’s always scorned you. Instead, it reminds you of what you have always known - he is kind because he knows that you are to be pitied.

You stride off towards town, wiping at your eyes with a rough sleeve, and when Jaskier calls your name, you start to run.

—

“You’re such a godsdamned fool,” Sabina says, but her harsh words are gentled by the soft stroke of her hand across your hair. “The bard’s mad for you, everyone knows it.”

The two of you are tucked away in a patch of sunlight in a small copse near the river. The festival is blooming to life like a wildflower, cheers and music starting to lift to the sky. You’ll join them soon, you know, though you can barely stand the thought of it.

“That’s not true, Sabina,” you say.

She takes your cheeks between her work-rough hands. “He wrote you a song,” she says, her mahogany eyes flickering over your face.

The tips of your ears burn hot. “He didn’t,” you protest. “He wrote a song about the village!”

“Godsdamned fool,” Sabina mutters to herself, releasing you to throw her hands up in the air. She runs her fingers through her silvery curls. “Does the village have ‘a sunrise of a smile, lips that guide you to the warmth of day, a beginning unfurling across the horizon like a kiss’?”

“Those aren’t the words.”

“They very much are the words, I’ve just taken out the fluff in between.”

“Sabina, please,” you say, feeling the tears begin to prick. “Jaskier could never see someone like me as anything like that.”

She cups your face again, leans in to press her forehead soft against yours. “He can,” she murmurs. “And he does. Have you ever seen him sit at the riverbank for hours with any other woman? He asked you what your crown looked like because he wanted to dive for it, you ass.”

Sabina’s Midsummer crown is irises, you know, the deep purple of a fresh bruise to sit dark against her silver strands, and men will dive for it, will dive deep into the cold for the chance to place it dripping back on her head, to have the river bless their courtship.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” you say through numb lips, because - because you’ve heard Markus ask Lidka what flowers made up her crown, heard Iwo beg Tosia to use something unique so he knows which crown to pluck from the river’s fingers. Jaskier couldn’t have meant that. Not for you. You’ve never heard anyone ask about a crown for mere conversation, but - he couldn’t have meant that.

The sound that issues from Sabina would not be out of place in a filthy bar. But she knows you, grew up running in the streets with you, wove Midsummer crowns with you when you were both still far too young to actually sail them down the river, and she can see the crack in your stone. “He did,” she says. “He does.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say helplessly. “I didn’t make a crown.”

“I know.” She presses a kiss to your cheek. “Maybe next year.”

It’s for the best, maybe. Next year, Jaskier will be long gone, traipsing through the Continent. And Sabina’s confidence is not yours. She’s always been persuasive, always been able to convince others of her ideas.

“Come,” Sabina says. “It’s Midsummer.”

You follow her out onto the meadow that hugs the riverbank, into the flood of sunlight and cheer.

You dance, and laugh, and chase the children through the tall grasses, through the rolling fields of clover. The summer shrine sits regal in the distance. You think Geralt might be there, his broad form barely visible.

You stay with the children when the others flock to the river. Sabina plucks one of her irises from her crown and tucks it into the laces of your bodice, her deep brown eyes kind, before Anatol scoops her up and carries her off. The children dart about the meadow, barely minding you, which is fine. It’s Midsummer, and a festival, and also - you’re not sure why anyone thought you could corral them.

One of the older boys finally takes the other children in hand and guides them to a safe spot nearby in the meadow to play games. You sigh and flop back onto the soft bed of the clovers. The sun feels like a blessing against your skin, soft and warm, a lover’s kiss. You bask like a cat, stretch out in the sun, pillowing your head on your hands.

Eventually, you hear soft footsteps. The children are still howling in the distance. The footsteps slow, and then there is darkness cutting through the warmth of your sun. You open your eyes, pushing to yourself to sit upright, and go still.

“Hi,” Jaskier says. He’s soaked, his clothing clinging to him. Every inch of his wiry frame is outlined by it, and gods, he’s delicious, lean and hard with traveler’s muscles. The water drips from his pink lips, trickles down to his chest, beads in the thick hair there. You swallow.

“You dove for someone,” you say. The words creak out of you like an unoiled hinge.

There’s a flower crown hanging limp in his hand, dripping wet and sadly ruffled. He kneels not far from you and meets your gaze. Sometimes you think you have never known blue before you met him, before you saw his eyes. “I did.”

“Who?”

“You didn’t have a crown,” he says softly, raising the crown and presenting it to you, “so I made you one.”

It’s a crown of peonies, fluffy balls of petals pearl pink like the dawn. The petals are layered like ribbons over themselves, an unfurling promise of summer, and the soft color of them is all the softer against the hint of verdant green stems. And tucked in between the peonies like secrets, buttercups bloom gold, shining in the sun.

“Oh,” you say.

Jaskier shifts. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know. That you thought - that you thought I pitied you when all I wanted to do was slow down every moment with you, so that it could last through the ages.”

You make a small, hiccuping noise. It feels like there are words stuck in your spasming throat.

“It was never pity,” Jaskier says. “It was always so that I knew which crown to dive for.”

You reach out to touch the edge of a peony, let your finger trace over the delicate petal. It’s soft against your fingertip, even with the river’s chill still clinging to it.

“It’s yours,” Jaskier says. “If you want it.”

You draw back. Jaskier pulls in a tight breath. His eyes are like tidepools, deeply blue and glinting in the sun.

“I think I do,” you breathe. “You mean it? You aren’t -”

“Never,” he says. “It’s yours.”

“Alright,” you say, your pulse thundering like hooves, beating deep in your veins. You think you can hear your heartbeat. Even through the cotton that sits heavy in your head, muffling the roar of the river and the others as they draw close once again. “It - I - won’t be easy.”

“I don’t want easy,” Jaskier says, leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, slowly, testing the waters, “not if it means I can’t have you. I’m not easy, either, or so Geralt tells me. When he’s speaking to me.”

It startles a laugh out of you, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and Jaskier’s lips curve into something sweetly pleased. He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.

You push into him, catch his lips with yours, and he makes a noise before cupping your face in his large hands, pulling you closer. He kisses the breath right out of you, and for a moment - he kisses the fears from you too, teases them out of you with his tongue. You pull back panting, one hand knotted in the damp strands of his chestnut hair, and he coaxes you back to him.

He licks into your mouth with fervor, shifts so that he can pull you into his lap, and your chest is heaving as you press against him, as the cool river water starts to seep through your bodice. Jaskier is warm against you, and hungry in a way you didn’t think someone could be for you, not like the other men that have tumbled you. You kiss him until one of the children shrieks in the distance.

“Shit,” you say, pulling back, but Jaskier doesn’t let you go far. He presses another soft kiss against your lips before he lets you go so that you can fix your hiked skirts. He picks up the crown with his deft fingers, and sets it on your head.

The crown, you find, fits perfectly.

taglist (only including folks i know read jaskier/have requested all witcher fics): @witchernonsense @hina-chans-stuff @stretchkingblog97

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader

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musicallisto · 3 years

Note

11. favourite native writer/poet?

#11. Favorite native writer/poet?

I feel like I’ve already answered this question? maybe in another life? idk.

(THIS GOT LONG adjjdjd i’m such a nerd omg. anyway i’m putting this under a read more)

France: I have a handful and I’m sorry but I am going to get sappy over them. Man, let me rave about literature like God intended. Okay, my favorite author is Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, so I suppose that makes him my favorite French writer de facto. You may be familiar with him because he wrote The Little Prince, but I can’t encourage you enough to check out his other work. His writing style has immensely inspired my own, and he wrote my favorite book of all time as well as some of my favorite quotes. The irreplaceable “you’re beautiful but empty - one could not die for you” that I talk about all the damn time, his condemnation of marriage and how it kills young women - “And then an imbecile had come along. For the first time those sharp eyes were mistaken and they dressed him in gay colors. If the imbecile recited verse he was thought a poet. [...] And that heart which was a wild garden was given to him who loved only trim lawns. And the imbecile carried away the princess into slavery.”, his love for humanity in all its grandeur and patheticness and particularly his love for planet Earth. He was a well-traveled man who worked as a pilot for the French airmail service and knew South America and Northern Africa like the back of his hand. His descriptions of the sky, of the stars, of the land and solitary lights of shepherds beneath, when he flew, are my absolute favorite thing in this world. Everything he wrote is just so... ethereally beautiful?

“This day, as I fly, the lava world is calm. There is something surprising in the tranquillity of this deserted landscape where once a thousand volcanoes boomed to each other in their great subterranean organs and spat forth their fire. I fly over a world mute and abandoned, strewn with black glaciers.”

He was also a loyal man, who dedicated some of his works to his friends and their impossible survival stories, like Guillaumet who crashed in the Andes, or simply to the daily life as a pilot with his comrades, and how much joy he found in their friendship. He also worked as a journalist and covered the Spanish Civil War on the Republicans’ side with a faithfulness that I find extremely important as a Spaniard - he understood the tragedy of the conflict far better than many other French writers or politicians did at the time. During the Second World War, he joined the Resistance as a pilot, and was shot down in action - his remains were never found, and some debris of his plane only very recently. I truly appreciate how fiercely independent he was, though? He was dedicated to a cause, an ideal, and not to a person. He did not join the Resistance out of devotion for de Gaulle, for example, but for liberty and humanity. He kind of... did his thing and let no one tell him how he ought to do it. Despite being extremely famous for The Little Prince, he’s rarely talked about or discussed in French literature spheres? or I mean less than he could be. (some people have speculated that it is because he wasn’t one to cling onto de Gaulle and the Resistance kind of brushed him off for that but I don’t think that’s it.) of course, he has said some ice cold takes because ... early 20th century y’all know what it is but I find such modernity and comfort in his writing, his anti-war sentiments and his love for the planet, nature, and humanity as a whole. and of course he had a great sense of humor and a child’s spirit - as evidenced by the Little Prince. also I think it was kind of iconic of him to be a really good pilot despite being easily distracted and crash-landing all the time idk idk

BUT! he’s not my only favorite! (I promise this is going to be short.) I’m but an average person and Victor Hugo has a dear, dear place in my heart. I don’t think I need to expand more on it because everyone knows this man and everyone has read some quotes from Les Mis or something.

And lastly, another of my favorite French writers is Albert Camus. Because I don’t know shit about philosophy, I can’t really analyze it from a critical point of view but his conception of the human condition/the absurd, that he explains in The Myth of Sisyphus, truly resonates with me, because he doesn’t allow himself to be pessimistic about the mortality of man - “one must imagine Sisyphus happy”. What I can say, though, is that I absolutely adore his writing style as well, that The Plague and The Stranger are some of my favorite books, that I truly admire him for being a prominent figure of the political left in his time but still going like, “yeah, soviet concentration camps? hard pass” when everyone was jerking off to the USSR at the time - and I love him for his beef with Sartre because in this house we do not stan Sartre. Also, he was an adamant advocate for the abolition of death penalty, which is also a cause I feel strongly about. (Just like Victor Hugo was, one hundred years before him.) And he was also a Resistant so we love to see it <3 He also said some... stuff about Algeria that not everyone would agree with maybe? but like, he was Algerian so idk I can’t really speak for him.

anyway. if you have read this far you deserve a veteran’s discount

Spain: YALL I gave everything I had for the French writers and I’ve got NOTHING. No genuinely I’m so uncultured about Spanish writers, because all the Spanish-language authors i like are latin american? like Neruda and Garcia Marquez and stuff. I will say though that I really like contemporary poets and songwriters such as Joaquin Sabina. Also I’ve read a few quotes from Garcia Lorca and I’m kind of vibing with it. I need to read Bodas de Sangre asap. (and to know this play inspired my favorite Rosalia song! art imitates art.)

SOOO yeah that was a lot lmfao but I guess I was full of feelings. thank you bye x

#princess-geek #france #spain #french literature #spanish literature

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

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hello sabina my love, I just want to check in and see how you are doing and make sure you are taking care of yourself. I love you, please hydrate, please take breaks, and I hope you get all the hugs and snuggles you deserve <3 love youuuuuu you're doing amazing!!!!!

CHARLIE i love you - i’m sorry i’ve been so absent - i’ve been so busy. i’m trying lol - there is an attempt being made but i’m not doing a good job. i love you so much and i wish i could give you a hug

and right back at you - i know you were really tired before and i hope you’re doing better and i’ll definitely be messaging you as soon as things calm down. I value our friendship so much. i love you :)

#wftf answers #charlie tag #fkjnsfdjnk #i love you so much #duchesschameleon

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featherymalignancy · 5 years

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Like a Lonely House, Part VI

Alas, if only all updates were this swift! I am really excited to share this next installment with you, Part V was a good set-up, but I think this chapter is hopefully the pay-off. Also your support is what keeps me writing, so thank you so much. PLEASE ENJOY!

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story Of Betrayal and Redemption

“so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Till then my windows ache.”

-Pablo Neruda

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst. Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian is finally at peace. For Cassian and Nesta, animosity has turned to something more amorous, and they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

If you’re new to the story, please click HERE for the masterlist.

Part VI

Time—it seemed—had a wicked sense of humor.

It had dragged in the weeks after things had fallen apart with Cassian, even as had Nesta been desperate to see the incident washed out to distant memory. Now, as she waited with dreaded anticipation for the betrothal ceremony, time flew as if the flames of all seven hells were scorching its heels.

She didn’t allow herself to consider how Cassian’s absence this past month had affected things. She hadn’t seen him since the first day she’d arrived back from Illyria, and though her pride insisted it had been a relief to be rid of him, something deeper down despaired at it.

Not that it mattered; she still hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d done, and she was still intent on marrying the prince. Nothing had changed. Still, something about his absence set her on edge, as if something were...amiss somehow.

He’d still not arrived back on the evening the High Lords were due to arrive, a realization she forced herself not to dwell on as she sat getting ready.

She let her gaze settle into the middle distance as the twins attended to her, fastening a cuff of black diamonds around her wrist and twisting her hair into a voluminous knot at the crown of her head. She didn’t object when they tucked the јатаган into her hair as well, knowing despite everything that she’d feel better this evening if she were wearing it. Much harder to bear were the garnet earrings they offered her, their color so much like that of asgyir blood that Nesta found them hard to look at.

Nesta was just finishing slipping on her jeweled slippers when Feyre arrived, looking like a newborn star herself.

“Are you ready?” She asked, gaze cautious as she studied Nesta. “We need to be leaving for the palace soon.”

Nesta snorted, not wanting to have to lie and say she was.

“Are you?”

Feyre took a deep enough breath that crystals on her gown twinkled.

“It’s never—pleasant seeing him, I’ll admit. But I suppose we all have to make sacrifices now and again. Still...”

Her gaze was full of meaning when she turned it on Nesta again, and seeing where she was going, Nesta rose, holding up a hand.

“Don’t start with that, Feyre. Please, not tonight.”

Seeing her sister meant to ignore her, Nesta whipped the skirts of her velvet gown out from underfoot, starting down the grand staircase of the villa as Feyre trailed after her.

“Am I not allowed to ask how you are?”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said. “And would be better if you would stop pestering me.”

Feyre, it seemed, wasn’t to be deterred.

“It’s going to be a long evening. I just thought you might want to...talk.”

Nesta whirled, the tail of her velvet gown twining around her legs.

“Talk about what, exactly? Tonight is a stupid formality that doesn’t affect me one way or another.”

“And tomorrow?”

Nesta stiffened slightly.

“Tomorrow I will do what needs to be done for this family and this court.”

She picked up her skirt again, heading down the stairs in a effort to escape the conversation. However, when she was halfway down Feyre spoke again, so softly that even Nesta’s fae hearing could barely detect it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Nesta grit her teeth.

“For what?”

“For all of it. For asking you to marry him, for letting you accept his proposal. You deserve better, Nes. I’m sorry.”

Nesta swallowed, beating back the forgotten dream of what she’d once imagined her life would be. However, when she turned to see Feyre, she caught a flashed of the half-starved child Nesta had let her become before she crossed the wall and she felt her resolve hardening.

“Perhaps this is exactly what I deserve.”

Before Feyre could protest, she glided down the rest of the stairs to where the rest of their court waited.

She ignored both Rhysand and the Shadowsinger as she passed them, coming to Elain’s side instead and squeezing her hand. She didn’t let herself wonder at where Cassian still was, or if he’d be here at all.

“Are we ready, then?” Rhysand asked, adjusting the cuffs of the great coat he wore, long enough that it nearly brushed the tips of his well-polished boots.

Mor huffed.

“As ready as I ever am to see Eris, that little prick.”

“Would you rather have spent the evening with Beron?” Rhysand asked.

“May he burn in the hells,” Feyre muttered under her breath.

“They’re both awful,” Elain said, wincing a little as she pressed a hand to her belly in an attempt to soothe the baby’s kicking. “I still wish Lucien had taken the crown.”

“I know he’s your mate, love, but just how many courts would you like him to rule?” Mor said, laughing a little. “He’s already Prince Consort to Vassa, and unless Flaviana and Helion have another child, he’s their only heir as well.”

“I know it wouldn’t actually have worked,” Elain said, blushing a little. “I just...Eris is so—”

“I don’t disagree,” Rhysand said with a sardonic smile. “But it’s not a problem we can solve this evening. Shall we?”

“Yes. The others will be vexed if they arrive before we do.”

Nesta found her anxiety mounting as Rhysand nodded, his expression mirthful but his eyes somewhat solemn. Nesta looked away from him before he could catch her eye. If there was one person she didn’t want pity from, it was him.

“Meet you at the palace, then,” he said, kissing Feyre softly before simply vanishing.

Mor disappeared as well, and Elain paused to give Nesta a reassuring smile before letting Azriel wrap them both in shadows. When they were gone, Feyre turned to Nesta.

“Shall we?”

Nesta nodded without comment, but as she reached to take Feyre’s hand, she found the words she’d sworn she wouldn’t say tumbling out of her mouth.

“Will he be there tonight?”

Feyre didn’t seem to need clarification on who she meant.

“Do you want him to be?” She asked quietly.

Nesta fought to master herself, pursing her lips.

“Why would I?”

“Then why ask?”

Nesta tongue felt tacky in her mouth as she tried to bite out a retort.

“Let’s go,” she said finally, and though Feyre looked poised to argue again, she merely nodded, pulling Nesta to her as they both disappeared.

They arrived several minutes later in the grand hall of the moonstone palace, servants bustling all around them as they waited for the six remaining High Lords of Prythian to arrive.

Nesta had only been there a handful of times before, and she marveled at the grandeur of it even as her nerves began to fray. There was something so formal in the lavishness of this palace, and being here suddenly made the kilhamine feel so much more real than it had in her own room in Velaris. She remembered the look Adan had been giving her the last time she’d seen him, she felt her stomach tying in sickening knots.

The first of their guests to arrive was Lucien, who dismissed the page rattling off his formal title of Prince Consort of Farrolien and Day Court Heir-apparent as he swept Elain off the floor into a merry hug.

“Gods, look at you!” He said, russet eye glittering as he held Elain at arms length. “Child-bearing suits you greatly, Enaid.”

Azriel gave an almost imperceptible snort as Elain blushed.

“You’re a liar, but a good one, so I won’t fight you. Where is Vassa? It feels its been ages.”

“She was attending a summit with the new queen in Faragast, but she should be here shortly.”

Before Elain could reply the doors boomed open again to admit a swaggering Eris Vanserra. The crown of rubies and canary diamonds he wore denoted his newly elevated station, as did the smug expression on his odiously handsome face. He came with a small retinue, none of whom Nesta recognized, though their rather sour expression told her they were less than pleased to be there.

Eris’s eyes glittered when they fell on Lucien and Elain, mouth curling into a sinuous smile.

“Hello, little brother. Good to see you and your mate reunited at last. Shame she’s now another male’s wife.”

Azriel snarled before a new voice called, “And where is your wife, brother?”

Eris turned to see Vassa striding through the gilt doors flanked by her cadre of guards, his expression souring as she flashed a cool smile.

“Ah that’s right,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You still haven’t got one.”

“Vassa,” Eris grit out by way of greeting.

However, Vassa ignored him in favor her husband, who she greeted with a soft kiss before turning to Elain.

“I should have known that you would wear pregnancy better than the rest of us,” Vassa said, beaming as she took Elain in. “I looked a whale with Sabina; you look like the Mother herself.”

“I think you’re looking lovely,” Rhysand said with a courtly bow. “Good to see you, Vassa.”

“Good to be seen, as always,” she said. “Is it just to be us, then?”

Eris flashed a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Am I not enough for you, sister?”

Vassa’s gaze was sharp as she turned to smirk at him.

“No, I can’t say you are, darling.”

Eris’s lip curled, but before things could go any farther, the door opened again to admit Helion and his entourage. He was dressed in a customary white chiton, gold sparkling in his ears and at his bicep, where he wore the same serpentine cuff Nesta remembered from the first meeting of the High Lords all those years ago.

Beside him, Flaviana— Lucien’s mother—dazzled in a draped gown typical of the Day Court, the diadem in her auburn hair matching the delicate gold of her wedding band.

She smiled at seeing her sons, letting go of her husband to open her arms to them. Lucien broke from Vassa’s side to meet her embrace at once, though Eris remained where he was.

“Mother,” he said simply, expression wary as he studied her attire. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

“Not an unpleasant surprise I hope,” she said in a mild voice, smiling at Vassa in silent greeting before letting her russet gaze wander back to her eldest son.

“Father’s not even ten years in his grave, and already you’ve out of mourning blacks and parading here in Day Court finery.”

The ten or so soldiers Helion had brought with them seemed to bristle at the insult, even as their High Lord gave a cool laugh.

“Bold words from the male who put him in the ground in the first place,” Helion observed dispassionately. “Show some respect, boy, or you’ll find yourself lying beside him.”

“Let’s not fight,” Flaviana said, and Helion relented, turning to greet Rhysand instead.

“Good to see you, old friend. You should have weddings more often.”

Rhysand chuckled as they embraced, and Nesta stiffened as the Lord of Day’s dark eyes fell on her.

“Congratulations, my lady,” he said. “Or are we meant to call your princess now?”

“What do you care?” She said sharply, ignoring Feyre’s pointed look. “Surely the affairs of Illyria are beneath your notice.”

Helion gave a cat-like smile.

“Evidentially they aren’t, or I would not be here. It’s good to see that time hasn’t dulled your high spirits, though. Where you’re going, I feel you’ll need them.”

Nesta only gave a soft snarl, and Feyre seemed ready to intercede when Kallias and Viviane, newly crowned as the High Lady of Winter, were announced.

Though Kallias eyed her as customary greetings were traded and Mor and Viviane cooed over one another, Nesta was relieved when he made no move to specifically address her.

The two females were still discussing the arrangements for Mor’s mating ceremony to Viviane’s sister Allaria—currently in preciding over Winter while Kallias was away—when Thesan and his retinue arrived, his consort at his side and a host of Peregryn warriors filing in behind him.

“You always were a bit dramatic,” Helion chuckled as he watched the thirty or so Peregyn fighters fall into sentry formation a respectable distance away. Only Thesan’s husband remained at the High Lord’s side.

Thesan rolled his eyes.

“It’s so rare an honor to be invited to the Night Court,” he said primly, even as he bowed his head to Rhysand. “It seemed a treat that ought to be shared.”

“You know they’d be no match for the Illyrians in a fight,” Eris added with a smirk. “If you don’t believe me, ask—“

He broke off as his eyes scanned the growing assembly before his gaze found Nesta’s.

“Where’s your Lord Commander, princess?”

She refused to let the comment’s effect show on her face, so she merely pursed her lips instead. Eris grinned, teeth gleaming bone-white.

“I would have thought he would be at your feet all evening, loyal dog that he is. Or is it too much for him to watch you mar—“

“Enough, brother,” Lucien drawled. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

There was perhaps more that could have been said, but just then Tarquin appeared, flanked by Cresseida and a handful of others. Varian, Tarquin explained, had already winnowed to Velaris to be with Amren, who was currently guarding the city.

Nesta fought off the twinge this news produced. For all their differences, Varian and Amren had always made it seem so...easy. Why Nesta had never been able to manage the same—even given how alike she and Amren were—had always gnawed at her.

Not that it mattered now, she supposed. Not with Adan arriving tomorrow, and Cassian nowhere in sight.

Tarquin nodded his greeting to Feyre and Rhysand before turning to Nesta and giving a bow.

She fought not to stiffen when he said with considerably less mirth than Helion, “Congratulations, my lady. I hope your marriage is a happy one.”

Nesta couldn’t bring herself to smile or to thank him and so merely nodded instead.

“Shall we, then?” Rhysand said, snapping his fingers as servants appeared bearing trays of sparkling wine. “The kitchens have been waiting all month to impress you.”

“Are we not still one High Lord short?” Thesan said, eyes grazing over Feyre as if by mere accident. “It would seem poor manners not to wait.”

Helion laughed.

“Always the politician, Thesan. Have things grown so desperate in your lands that you feel the need to court Tamlin’s favor?”

“I agree with Thesan,” Tarquin said. “We may have all had our—differences in the past, but he is still High Lord. We owe him our respect.”

“You can’t honestly be so naive that you think he’d show his face here, of all places,” Eris scoffed. “I sometimes forget how young you still are, Tarquin.”

“I may be young,” Tarquin said, voice colder now. “But still I’ve been a High Lord far longer than you.”

“Well this is going well,” Mor murmured from beside Nesta.

Nesta, for her part, felt her composure fraying as the back-biting continued. If there was this little diplomacy amongst the High Fae, what would it be like when the Illyrians arrived? The idea made her slightly queasy.

“How long do you expect us to wait, Rhysand?” Kallias cut in, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. “I’m starving.”

Helion snorted.

“I wouldn’t hold my breat—“

The door blew open much more violently than before, the harried page trailing behind and stammering titles as Tamlin strode in with a cadre of fully-armed guards and a delicate young female at his side.

“What an honor,” he drawled, eyes deliberately avoiding Feyre as he met Rhysand’s gaze. “To see your fabled territory at last, Rhysand.”

“And what an honor for you to grace us with your presence at last,” Rhysand shot back, lips curling into wicked smirk. “I feared you might be too busy to join our merry gathering.”

At this the female spoke, giving a little bow as she did. Her tone much more pleasant as she said, “The honor is ours, My Lord, truly. Please, forgive us for our tardiness.”

Everyone’s gaze slid to her at once, marking the fine lavender gown and the canary diamond sparkling at her finger. She seemed uncomfortable under the scrunity, only settling when Tamlin pressed a soft hand to her back.

“My wife, Céres,” he offered finally, and Nesta observed a collective effort among the assembled not to gawk.

Rhysand recovered first, the cruel edge sliding out of his smile as he turned his remarkable gaze on Céres.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You are very welcome here, my lady.”

Céres bowed her head in deference as a tense silence overtook the crowd, broken only by Vassa’s merry interjection.

“So it really is just you now then, brother,” she said to Eris, flashing him a bronzed smile. “How interesting.”

“This is happy news,” Helion said. “When did this come about? And shall I assume my invitation was lost in the post? It’s bad manners to keep secrets, Tamlin.”

“I don’t recall receiving an invitation to your nuptials either,” Tamlin snapped, jerking his head towards where Flaviana stood.

“Three months ago,” Céres offered, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “And it was very small affair. I’m afraid I’m simple country girl, and not much for pomp and ceremony.”

A commoner, then. Nesta couldn’t say quite why, but knowing that Tamlin had made a love match made her stomach ache.

“Unfortunately sometimes pomp is necessary, my lady,” Nesta replied.

Céres blushed, folding slightly into Tamlin as he fixed Nesta with a withering stare that had her feeling even more agitated.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you,” Céres said.

Tamlin gave a dismissive wave.

“Don’t trouble yourself with apologizes, my love. Nesta Archeron’s always been a barbarous creature.”

“Watch your mouth,” Feyre warned. “You may be High Lord, but you are still a guest in this house.”

At this Tamlin’s eyes flicked to Feyre, something dark and complex sparkling in them even as his lip curled.

“As the High Lady commands,” he said.

“Tam,” Céres said quietly. “Please.”

He seemed to settle somewhat at that, and it made Nesta want to scream. He loved her, and she clearly loved him. Even Tamlin, for all his sins, had been allowed to find his happiness. What did it say about her own sins that the Mother hadn’t seen fit to grant Nesta the same?

“Shall we dine, then?” Rhysand said, taking Feyre’s hand as they traded a long look. “I don’t want Kallias’s death on my hands.”

A ripple of laughs echoed as Rhysand led the group to a large hall that overlooked the mountains beyond, beautiful almost beyond imagining.

At first the conversation remained light as appetizers were circulated on trays and dancers performed to hypnotic music. However, when the hall had quieted, the High Lords and their consorts seated around a large round table with their vassals scattered at long tables farther down the hall, talk grew more serious.

“So,” Thesan began, accepting more wine from a passing servant as his dark eyes found Nesta and the others across the table. “Tell us about this prince of yours, Rhysand.”

Rhysand, never one to cede ground, only flashed a wicked, sleepy smile.

“What is it you want to know? I would tell you how young and handsome he is, but I’m afraid your husband may grow jealous.”

The male in question only pursed his lips as Thesan’s expression grew more serious.

“I admit it was—a surprise,” Helion added, eying Nesta more openly than Thesan had.

Nesta felt the fork bending in her hand as she fought not to unravel at the unspoken question dazzling in his eyes.

“I don’t know why,” Feyre cut in mildly. “We’ve long sought a closer relationship with Illyria, given Rhys’s heritage. Why shouldn’t my sister marry an Illyrian?”

Eris laughed, clearly unmoved by the deflection.

“I don’t think that was ever in question,” he said.

Nesta turned to sneer at him, a gesture he met with a lascivious smile. “Rumor often had it, my lady, that your affections lay...slightly lower in the Illyrian social order.”

“Eris,” Flaviana chided, but he ignored her.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Nesta said tightly, wondering how long she could last under this type of scrutiny.

“And yet Rhysand’s general remains absent this evening,” Tamlin pointed out, eyes the poisonous green of a snake’s skin. “Do you expect us to just ignore that? Considering the conquering army you’ve invited into our midst tomorrow, I would expect him to be here keeping order.”

When Nesta only clenched her jaw in response, Tamlin added, “Or is that a secret you’re hoping to keep from your Illyrian prince?”

Nesta felt her control snap like a split log, and she whirled on Tamlin, teeth bared.

“If we came to spill secrets, perhaps your new bride would like to hear some of yours.”

Céres paled at her mention, and gorged on the younger female’s timid reaction, Nesta pressed on.

��How you were so jealous and controlling a lover that you saw fit to lock my sister in your manor, your possessiveness driving her to the breaking point.”

“Nesta—“ Feyre interceded quietly, but Nesta wasn’t done.

“Or how you betrayed us to Hybern just so you could have her back under your insidious control.”

Tamlin snarled, and Nesta snarled right back.

“Tell her, Tamlin. Tell your sweet, provincial wife how you sought to destroy Feyre’s character when you realized she’d mated Rhysand. How you tried to ruin her reputation by humiliating her in from of this very assembly.”

Tamlin spit out a filthy curse, claws unsheathed as his lip skinned back to reveal razor sharp canines, long enough to tear out throats.

“You—“

“Before you finish that threat,” Nesta snapped, chest heaving now as she warred with all the unresolved aches Cassian’s absence these long weeks has caused. “I will remind you that when I am the Şezhana of Macar, I will have both the power of this court and twelve Illyrian legions at my back. Consider that next time you pry into my personal affairs.”

The table was silent when she’d finished, Céres pale and trembling as she reached to touch her husband’s hand, the claws retracting as she did so.

Nesta watched the silent exchange, so sick with envy and rage that she feared she would burst apart.

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” she said, still glaring at Tamlin. “Least of all you.”

When Eris snorted into his goblet, she fixed her gaze on him, glad for another target to dull the anger and pain before she had no choice but to turn it inward.

“And you,” she said, lip curling in disgust. “You may wear your father’s gawdy crown, but we all know that were your brother a fraction more ambitious, that title would be his, Vanserra blood or no.”

Lucien shifted in his seat, making eye contact with his mother across the table before looking down into his wine goblet.

Eris, for his part, only gave a slow grin. If he’d been insulted by the barb, he didn’t show it, eyes raking Nesta’s form as he drawled, “Such claws for so beautiful a female. It’s no wonder the General’s run off.”

Nesta hadn’t expected the comment to hurt, but somehow it struck at something tender she didn’t know how to protect, and she hated herself for the tears in her eyes.

“That’s enough,” Rhys said in a lethal purr, his power unfurling in an obsidian wave that rolled across the marble floor. “Eris, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth or I’ll have no choice but to rip it out.”

Eris gave an insolent shrug. “I’m merely stating what everyone else has already observed.”

“To the hells with all of you,” Nesta snarled softly, throwing down her napkin and rising to her feet.

She gave her skirts a hard tug as she stormed off, Feyre’s next threat to Eris bouncing off the moonstone walls as Elain leapt up to follow her.

Nesta was nearly to the rooms she’d been appointed when Elain caught up, grabbing Nesta’s arm.

“Nesta,” Elain pleaded quietly, reaching to wipe away the few tears Nesta hadn’t managed to hold back. “Please, talk to me.”

“No,” Nesta said, pushing her sister’s hand from her face. “Just leave me be, Elain.”

“I can’t. Not when I see you like this.”

“I’m fine,” she grit out. “It’s—fine.”

Elain bit her lip, gently brushing some hair from Nedra’s face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—didn’t see...Nes, there is something you should know about Cassian. He—“

“Don’t,” Nesta snarled quietly. “I mean it.”

Elain ignored her.

“I’d hoped to have more to tell you by now, but seeing you tonight—you cannot make any vows tomorrow until you hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t care,” Nesta said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—“

“Why does what I want never matter!” Nesta burst out. “I said no; let that be the end of it.”

“Nes,” Elain pleaded, tears in her eyes now, too.

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see? I’m marrying Adan; that’s final.”

When Elain reached for her again, Nesta didn’t think; she simply vanished. If this truly was to be her last night for freedom, she would not spend it like this.

When she appeared in the clearing Cassian had once shown her she collapsed to the ground, uncaring at her ruined gown as she began to sob.

Dinner was over by the time Cassian arrived back from Illyria, but he found Rhys and Azriel in the war room, drinking liquor and speaking in low tones.

“Anything?” Azriel said in greeting as Cassian went to pour himself a glass.

Cassian shook his head.

“I’ve been to every High Fae outpost in Illyria; wherever she is, it’s not there.”

Cassian tried not to despair at all the time he’d wasted, at the gamble that hadn’t paid off. His instincts had begged him to stay in Velaris after Nesta returned, to be near in case she changed her mind.

He knew Nesta too well for that, though. All the begging in the world wouldn’t have been enough to convince her. So he’d gone to Illyria instead, searching every tavern, trading post, and boarding house for a High Fae female matching the description of the one who’d drugged him.

It had all been in vain.

The Illyrians had by and large learned to respect him after the war in Hybern, grateful for the sacrifices he’d made to keep those under his command safe even where the fighting was the thickest. Still, obliging and forthcoming weren’t the same thing, and though he was met with less hostility than he might have encountered fifty years ago, no one had been overly eager to answer his questions, either.

Cassian took a large swallow of his drink and sank down on the couch, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Rhys said for the window. “I know you were hoping for answers by now.”

Cassian opened his mouth to ask what he was going to do, but unsure if he could handle hearing the answer, he promptly shut it again.

“How was dinner?” He finally managed.

He didn’t miss the look Rhys and Az traded over his head.

“What?” He demanded.

Azriel sighed.

“Nesta didn’t make it past the third course.”

Cassian fury roared to the surface at this, and he bared his teeth.

“What happened?”

It was Rhys who replied.

“Eris, mostly, though Tamlin certainly wasn’t helping, either.”

Cassian felt his mouth going dry.

“What did they say?”

Rhys winced.

“Jabs about you and her, mostly. I will say, there is a sort of grim pleasure to be had in watching Nesta use that sharp tongue on someone other than myself. She cut Tamlin to pieces in front of his new wife, and if Eris had any shame, she would have laid him low, too.”

“Tamlin is married?”

Rhys gave a sardonic smile.

“I know. Just giving the bloody title away these days.”

Cassian didn’t return the gesture. That Tamlin—sniveling, cruel Tamlin—had managed to find a wife was a whet stone to his rage. And when Cassian thought of the High Lord seeking to humiliate Nesta the same he’d once done to Feyre, Cassian wanted to shatter something.

She was his to protect, to defend, and he’d once again failed her. He never should have left, never should have forced her to endure it all alone.

“How is she?” He asked finally.

“Hurting, I think. She misses you, Cass, even if she’s too proud to admit it.”

Cassian blew out a breath, sinking back farther in his chair.

“What am I going to do? The Macarans arrive tomorrow. I’ve lost her.”

“A kihlamine is not a marriage ceremony. The bond could still be broken if the proper proof were presented.”

“And where am I going to find this proof? I’ve been everywhere. The female’s a phantom.”

“You haven’t been to Macar,” Az said quietly. “With Adan and his cadre here, I’ll be able to double the amount of spies in the North. Triple them, even. My gut tells me we’ll find her there.”

“And if we do?”

Azriel’s gaze went cold.

“I rip the skin from her bones until she tells us the truth.”

“What if she isn’t in Macar? What is she really was some traveler, and I really—“

“We will find her,” Rhys interrupted. “I promise. Until then, play your part. The Macarans are more likely to make a mistake if they think they’ve won.”

Cassian ground his teeth with such force he was surprised one of his molars didn’t crack.

“You expect me to participate tomorrow?”

Rhys’s eyes softened even as his expression remained firm.

“It’s the only way, brother.”

“No,” Cassian said. “Never.”

“Now isn’t the time to strike,” Azriel said. “We have to wait for the advantage.”

“In the meantime, we need to behave as if nothing is amiss,” Rhys added. “Besides, how will it look to the Macaran and Bakkarati legions if their Lord Commander is not there? This isn’t just about settling scores with the prince; it’s a battle for Illyria’s soul. I know it’s a lot, but please Cass, just stay the course.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Cassian said, running a hand through is hair.

“Yes,” Rhys said quietly after a moment. “I do.”

Cassian thought again of Amarantha, and of all the pain his friend had been forced to bear these many years in silence.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and Rhys’s shoulders stiffened.

“For what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“For her.” Cassian couldn’t bear to say the name aloud. “For what she did to you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m sorry, Rhys.”

Rhys loosed a breath, eyes glittering.

“So am I. I should have had more faith in you. I’m sorry I believed—“

“It’s not your fault,” Cassian said, bowing his head.

“We’ll set it right,” Azriel said.

“And Macar?” Cassian asked. “We might be heading for the very war we’ve been avoiding. There are rumors, you know. I heard them while I was in Illyria: that Adan is the Babasiz Prens; the one meant to unite all the tribes under a single banner.”

“The Prince of Bastards,” Azriel snorted with disgust. “It’s an Illyrian superstition. There will never be a united Illyria; not in a hundred lifetimes.”

Cassian wasn’t nearly so convinced. He’d heard the way Illyrians were whispering Adan’s name from Marmaris to the far north shores. Besides, if the last several months were any indication, the Mother had a very cruel sense of humor.

“If they’re right about him, removing him will be next to impossible,” he said, running a hand through his hair again.

“And if we’re right about him, we will be saving Illyria from the rule of a tyrant,” Rhys pointed out. “We will find a way to set it all right, I promise. Get some rest, Cass. We all have a big day ahead of us.”

Cassian nodded, draining his glass before rising to his feet. He bid his brothers good night and headed to his usual chambers, intent on drinking until he could forget. Still, he felt himself being called down an unfamiliar staircase. He knew where it must lead, and he warred with himself on whether he dared go there while he was feeling so wretched. However, his feet kept moving, and when he saw the door—felt her scent twining around him—he couldn’t resist.

Placing a scarred palm against the wood, he whispered, “Nesta. Are you awake?”

There was no answer, and though he hadn’t actually expected one, his heart ached. Resting his forehead on the oak panel, he forced himself on, knowing he had to say the words even if it killed him.

“I know you’re still angry with me, and I don’t blame you.”

More silence. Cassian grit his teeth, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he pressed on.

“And I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t betray you, Nes. At least, not willingly. I had hoped to have proof by now, to show you, but—“

He broke off, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t,” he admitted, fingers pressing into the wood of the door to keep himself from reaching for the handle. “The only thing I have is this: that I love you, Nesta Archeron. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I will love you until I am dust and ashes. If you believe nothing else, please Nesta, believe that.”

Again there was no answer, but a soft rustling told him she was at least awake. He rested his forehead against the door, taking a shuddering breath.

He swore he could scent her just other side of it, listening to every word. Tentatively, he reached though bond and felt her there, the bridge no longer so cold and dark. She was still too far to touch, but somehow he knew she was there, watching him.

He withdrew with a shuddering breath. It was enough.

For now, he had to let it be enough.

“Te cакам,” he murmured, giving the door a final stroke before pushing away from it. It was an effort of will to move away from the door, but he forced himself to do it. Forced himself not to listen for her as he retreated down the hall and out of sight.

Nesta didn’t speak a word as the twins dressed her the next day, replaying Cassian’s words in her mind as she stared down her reflection in the mirror.

I love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.

It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself as the Nuala dusted gold powder on her cheeks and Cerridwen lined her eyes with kohl. Whatever she and Cassian had once shared, it was in a different lifetime. Nesta was sworn to Adan now, and she would see that vow through even if it killed her.

For Elain, she told herself as the twins tightened her corset, enough she could barely breathe. For Feyre, she intoned as they gave her heavy earrings and an even heavier tiara. For the baby, and for the peace her father had died to give them. For them, anything. For them, everything.

She was drawn from her reverie by Cerridwen’s cool hand on her shoulder.

“Your gown, my lady,” she said, gesturing to where it had been laid out on the bed.

Nesta nodded, accepting Nuala’s help to stand as they began easing her into it. It was black, fitted through the sleeves and jeweled bodice before billowing out at the hips into a sea of silk nearly double the width of Nesta’s slim waist. The gown trailed a good six feet behind her as well, and weighed enough that Nesta wasn’t sure how she’d manage to walk in it. Still, the effect was undeniable. When she looked into the glass when the twins had finished, she hardly recognized the woman staring back.

No, not a woman, she realized, or even a female.

A şezhana.

There was a knock at the door as Nesta eased into the heeled slippers, and she gestured for Nuala to open it.

She was surprised to find the Shadowsinger there, his face expressionless as he drank her in.

“You too?” She snapped in greeting. She wasn’t sure she could stomach another plaintive speech reminding her she didn’t have to go through with it. “My sisters have grown desperate indeed if they’re sending you here to beg their case.”

“I’m not here to beg,” Azriel said. “Or to ask you if you’re sure. I know the measure your resolve.”

Nesta looked away, hating how much of Adan she could see in his strong Macaran features.

“Why have you come, then?”

The Darkbringer horns outside began to sound, heralding the late hour. Azriel didn’t move at hearing them, just stared at Nesta with unyielding focus.

“I came to tell you that you are not alone.”

Nesta spine stiffened, but he continued, tone cold and smooth as marble. Still, there was something in his eyes...

“During your kihlamine, and after, wherever that may be. One of my people will be with you. Always.”

His gaze met hers, and she saw a flash of the male her sister so loved, the one buried beneath all the ice.

“And if you should ever need me, I will come. You have my word.”

“Why?” Nesta found herself saying, throat dry.

He cocked his head slightly, as if considering. Finally, he spoke.

“Because there is a light inside you, Nesta Archeron, much as you like to hide it. I will not see the Macarans extinguish it.”

Nesta’s eyes burned. She wasn’t often at a loss for words, but this promise—so simple and frank—assuaged a fear she hadn’t fully acknowledged she’d been harboring.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

The Shadowsinger only nodded, offering his arm.

“Are you ready? It’s time.”

She nodded, accepting the gesture if for no other reason than she didn’t have a choice; the gown was unwieldy, and she was having trouble keeping the skirt from underfoot.

Azriel said nothing of her struggle as they exited the suite, waiting patiently for her to master the satin beast before leading her to a dais overlooking a grand courtyard.

All seven High Lords were already assembled, each decked in the full splendor of their courts.

Kallias, the farthest from her, wore an artic blue doublet, a crown of diamonds fashioned to resemble shards of ice sitting on his brow. Thesan stood behind him in a tunic the color of red dawn, his peregryn guard behind. Helion wore the same white robes he’d wore the first time Nesta had met him, the upright serpent twisted around his arm and the corona of golden rays atop his head. Tarquin’s surcoat was a shade not unlike Kallias’s, though were the former’s was icy, the latter’s was rich, like the azure waters of his territory.

Tamlin and Eris she both ignored, not watching to give them indication their comments the previous evening had found their marks.

Rhysand and the rest of their court were gathered as well, and Nesta forced herself to smile at both her sisters and squeeze their hands as they all fell into position, Azriel melting from her side to stand to Rhysand’s left.

Nesta didn’t have the courage to look at Cassian even though she sensed his presence. She was feeling brittle enough as it was, and when she remembered his declaration the night before—

She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Are you alright?” Feyre said from her side.

“This gown is very tight,” Nesta managed, forcing her pulse to slow with a caress of her deadly power.

“We can loosen—“

“It’s fine Feyre,” Nesta said. “Please, don’t fuss.”

Feyre nodded, and they returned to their vigil, waiting for the Illyrians to arrive.

“I see your vassals have adopted their master’s insolence,” Helion said to Rhys, shifting on his feet as they all waited. “Your princeling is late.”

Rhys smirked.

“Did you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I thought you loved my Illyrian males.”

Helion chuckled, even as the others seem to bristle.

No one else spoke as the minutes stretched on, the only sound the snapping the Nightbringers’ banners and the shifting of Peregryn wings. Still, Nesta could feel the tension on the dais rising.

From her right, she saw a flash of silver-tipped ivory as Tamlin’s claws slid from his knuckles before retracting and sliding back out. Beside him, Eris’s hand had strayed to the pommel of his saber, his caramel eyes flicking skyward every several seconds.

To her left, however, Rhysand and the Illyrians stood still as statues. Rhysand was dressed in Night Court finery, as beautiful and ornate as anything the other High Lords wore. However, Cassian and Azriel were both in full Illyrian battle regalia, each bearing a curved sword at either hip. They even wore silver hoops in their ears, a symbol of high Illyrian military rank Nesta had never seen either of them indulge in before.

She tried to look away from the formidable tableau the three of them made, the High Lord and his Illyrians, but she found her gaze snagging on Cassian’s profile as he stared straight ahead. His hair had been drawn back into three plaits along the top and sides of his head, and it bared his face in a way that made him even more handsome and fierce. He looked exactly as she’d remembered him on the battlefield in Hybern, and it made her heart thunder in her chest.

I have no regrets in my life, save this.

I love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.

As if sensing her gaze, he turned to look at her. His brows knotted as he studied her expression, and she quickly turned away, the heavy diamond and onyx earrings she wore jangling as she did. Given the pledge she was just about to make, she couldn’t afford to give him any indication she was less sure than she seemed. The die was cast, and no matter the cost—

A distant rumble sounded, and everyone looked skyward, tensing slightly.

“Is it going to rain?” Céres asked, her fingers digging into Tamlin’s jacket at the hip. “There are no clouds.”

Tamlin wrapped an arm behind him to pull her closer as the others tensed.

“That’s not thunder,” Kallias said, trading a glance with Viviane. Thesan’s Peregryn shifted into a more defensive stance as the sound grew louder.

“What—“ Céres began.

A gutteral war horn reverberated through the air, following by the tell-tale boom of Illyrian bone drums. It was a sound that Nesta still heard in her nightmares, and she felt a trail of cold sweating slithering down her spine.

“Whatever you do,” Rhys said quietly from beside her. “Try not to show any fear. Adan will consider it an insult.”

Before she could snap a retort, the Illyrians themselves appeared, falling from the sky like an obsidian rain. They landed in succession, lining the walkway below the dais and banging their spears against their shields in thunderous rhythm.

A moment later, the chanting began.

Nesta could feel the great drums beating in her very bones, and she straightened, determined not to lose her nerve.

“What are they saying?” She asked quietly, eyes still cast out over the assembly.

“An ode,” Rhysand murmured. “To the eternal glory of Illyria. And a warning to those who would cross it.”

All at once the chanting and the drums stopped, the silence deafening as they all waited, breathless. Then somewhere a great horn blew, an the drums began again in a less frenzied beat that echoed in time with the horn as it continued its low, measured hum.

Two riders appeared at the end of the aisle, both helmeted and riding fully-armored destriers.

“I thought Illyrians didn’t ride,” Tarquin said.

“Evidentially, they do,” Helion said. “Which is your prince, Rhys?”

Nesta studied the riders, once bearing emerald syphons, the other amethyst. Lazar and the Lieutenant Na’afeh.

“Neither,” Rhysand said, sounding somewhat bemused. “Though he does seem to love making a spectac—“

There was a terrible shriek, and they looked up the see an asgyir descending towards the ground, its wings beating in time with its rider’s.

“Gods be damned,” Lucien murmured when the beast let out another piercing cry just its hooves touched the ground, head tossing as it fought the bit in its mouth.

Its rider beat their wings to steady the landing, pulling the creature this way and that to keep it from taking flight again.

He wore an ornate helmet, his face obscured by a bronze mask sculpted to resemble his features. Two large rams horns curled from the back of his head, and he truly looked like on of the Old Gods; the ones ever Stryga had the Carver would have worshipped.

The agsyir reared again, and Nesta felt Adan’s attention on her has he wheeled the beast towards the Dias. The soldiers lining Adan’s path began to stamp their feet in time with the heavy drums, and Nesta could hear the Peregryns’ wings shifting in nervous agitation behind her.

Eris snorted as Adan continued his approach.

“Good luck, princess.”

Nesta bristled.

Enough of this, her pride snarled. She was Nesta Archeron, thief of the great Cauldron and slayer of the King of Hybern. She would not be cowed by this display, impressive though it was. She let the lingering fear—the memories of the Illyrian dead and dying—filter through her before pushing the notion aside. If Adan wanted to make a spectacle, she would give him one in return.

Nesta willed her heart to slow as she dragged at her power, drawing it up like water from a dark well. It made her palm itch and her eyes burn, but she ignored it, focusing on the frothing asgyir instead.

She felt her power slithering from her body like a python from a branch, silent as it sought its quarry. It took her a minute to find the beast’s pulse under the beating of the drums, but finally she felt it, thundering like a tempest.

She struck, wrapping her power around creature’s life-force and beginning to squeeze.

The asgyir reared with a shriek, but Adan managed to keep his hold on the reins as he called a command and the creature steadied.

Nesta tightened her grip, and the beast careened half a step to the left, nearing knocking into Lazar’s horse before finding its balance. Still, Nesta could feel it’s pulse slowing under her insidious grip. It stumbled several steps to the right this time, eyes rolling back in its head as it fought her.

Nesta grit her teeth against the strain, raising a clenched first to keep her power from slipping.

“Witch,” Tamlin breathed, but Nesta didn’t relent.

“If Adan wishes to play at power, perhaps he requires a lesson in what real power looks like.”

The asgyir keeled sideways like a drunken sailor, and Adan had to beat his own wings to keep from being toppled.

It was no use. As Nesta squeezed her fist tight enough for her long nails to dig into her palms, the beast screamed, stumbling to its knees. Adan only had time to leap off the creature as it slumped to the cobblestones, alive but unconscious.

Nesta could feel Adan’s eyes on her even though the mask as he glanced up to the dais, and she lowered her fist slowly. Let him see, she thought. Let him see her power and despair.

However, if the felling of his wicked beast bothered Adan, he didn’t show it. As soon as he was back in his feet, Lazar and Lieutenant Na’afeh were at his side. Adan tugged off the helmet as he sauntered forward, handing it to Lazar as the three of them knelt, bowing their heads.

All seven of the High Lords had loosened their grip on their powers, and Nesta could smell the bloom of fresh Spring flowers and hear the phantom rustle of an Autumnal breeze, taste the bite of snow on her tongue and feel the warmth of dawn’s rays warming her skin . However, it was darkness of Rhysand’s power that ruled over all the rest, and it poured from him like waves of heat, obsidian mist cascading down the dais steps until Adan and the others were nearly buried up to their shoulders.

However, none of them moved, heads still bent as their waited for their High Lord’s permission to rise.

Instead of addressing them, Rhysand turned to look at Cassian. The latter gave a solemn nod before breaking from where he’d stood behind Feyre and descending the steps. The Illyrian foot soldiers all came to attention as he approached, their heads bowed in deference as they pressed their fists to their hearts.

The Lord of Bloodshed. That’s who Cassian was as he made his way to Adan. Greater than any mere prince or warlord. The best of them, in title and in deed. Indeed, even with his nine syphons Adan seemed a boy next to the dreaded Lord Commander, because while the prince may have had power, Cassian was power.

Cassian finally reached where the prince knelt, and after something in murmured Illyrian Adan rose to his feet, a hand to his chest in the same deferential gesture his soldiers had given. Cassian cuffed him on the shoulder before pressing his brow to Adan’s, so close they were nose to nose. It was an old Illyrian greeting Nesta had seen used before, meant to symbolize the meeting of two equals.

She watched as they exchanged words, and she felt as if she were watching her future and her past colliding, what was versus what might have been. The male she was sworn to, and the male she—

It was Cassian who finally pulled away, face stony even as he gestured the rest of the Illyrians at ease with a flick of his wrist. He turned to survey the veritable army Adan had brought with him for the ceremony, hazel eyes keen as if he meant to mark every single face down the the last soldier.

His eyes moved over the crowd before seeming to snag. He stiffened, and Nesta felt a spike of oily wrongness slithering down her spine as Cassian’s wings twitched slightly. The feeling was unexpectedly intrusive, and her mouth watered as she fought down bile.

However, but it was gone before she could think to fully question it. Adan and Cassian were ascending the dais now shoulder-to-shoulder, and she tried to keep her breathing as she met Adan’s dark gaze. His expression was the same as it had been the last time she’d seemed him, eager and edged.

When she glanced at Cassian, however, she felt her blood go cold. His face was blank but his eyes blazed, and she felt a stab of ire course through her, so cold it burned. Whatever mental door that had been opened between them the previous evening seemed to have been blasted off its hinges, and Nesta could feel his anger almost as if it were her own. It was violent enough that she nearly swayed on her feet, and she had to fight to maintain a neutral expression as Adan approached, falling to his knees before the leaders of Prythian.

“My Lords,” he said. “It is an honor.”

They gazed down at him with hard eyes, each trying to assess just how much power it was that knelt before them now. Nesta felt the wash of each other their magics, potent enough to make one sick as they eddied together.

Still, Nesta found herself struggling to tear her focus from Cassian, whose thundered heartbeat she could still hear bounding in time with her own. She grit her teeth, fighting to tear herself from the whirlpool of his essence. She couldn’t give in to the temptation to abandon herself to it, not with Adan within scenting range—

She forced her gaze back to the prince in time to find Rhysand silently ordering Adan to his feet, arms wide as he announced, “Welcome, Adan Demir-Macar, to the Hewn City.”

Cassian could barely catch his breath as Rhys made the customary overtures, his vision going red at the edges.

He’d seen her, tucked among the crowd of Macaran gentry.

It had only been for a moment, but he knew it was her. He would know that face—those dark eyes—anywhere; he still saw them in his nightmares, could still feel them raking his bare skin as he’d struggled to get dressed the next morning.

He couldn’t breathe. After months spent scouring the territory to no avail, she was here, in the Hewn City.

And she was traveling in the Şehzade’s revenue.

Next Time on Like a Lonely House...

Cassian watched as Elain pretended to stumble, sending an unsuspecting Céres sprawling backwards—

And straight into Lazar.

Surprised, he grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the floor, turning his back to the female in question as he did.

It was enough. In an instant Azriel had disappeared from Cassian's side, reappearing as nothing more than a long shadow behind where the female stood, watching the exchange with frightened eyes. Cassian's heart thundered as they both vanished.

By now Tamlin was there, an abashed Céres scuttling behind him as he wrapped a protective arm around her and snarled at the younger Illyrian.

"How dare you," Tamlin began.

Lazar put his hands up, bronze skin paling at the teeth Tamlin now had mere inches from his throat.

"I haven't done anything!"

He looked somewhat helplessly to Rhys as he approached.

"My Lord, please!"

Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene with dispassion.

"Oh Lazar, you do like to make trouble, don't do?"

"I swear, My Lord, she fell into me!"

Tamlin snarled.

"You had your hands all over her!"

"Lazar, what's going on?"

Adan appeared at his cousin's side, subtly inserting himself between the Tamlin and the younger male.

"I'm afraid Lazar's found himself in a bit of trouble," Rhys purred, eyes glittering behind the mask of the cruel High Lord Cassian had seen him wear so many times before. "He seems rather good at that."

Cassian heard Rhys speaking in his mind, voice markedly less amused.

Azriel has her in the dungeon. Be discreet. Make sure you aren't seen, and don't be gone too long. I'll keep Lazar distracted.

Cassian needed no prompting. Casting a final look to ensure to assure the Illyrians were suitably occupied, he slipped into a shadow and out into the hall.

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pixelsbichoice · 6 years

Text

Ranking Choices series by how Gay they are

A review no one asked for but an important one nonetheless

EDIT: Updated for latest books 6/29/19

The Freshman - While Zack, Kaitlyn, Becca, and Zig make this a sweet Gay Squad, the book has prominent bi-erasure if you date a man and forces you to deal with toxic Het Drama for multiple books that leaves you begging for the sweet release of diamond death to never come - 4/10 Gay but at what cost

The Crown and the Flame - Kenna is a bisexual Queen, but the fact that they don't give Dom a male li until awkwardly at the very end is tragic - 5/10 Could be gayer

Most Wanted - Look Sam is a Lesbian Icon(tm) but the narrative pushes for Sam and Dave - 3/10 Pretty Het

Rules of Engagement - Forces the MC to be with a man, doesn't give Party Twin a female li until the third book, and older brother's het drama is insufferable - 2/10 Some gay but too much straight to try

Endless Summer - MC can be a guy or a girl. Pretty gay, but the female lis are not treated as well as the male ones, also there are a lot of straight couples and the fact that Pirate Queen Yvonne ends up with a man? Tragic(tm) - 5/10 gay but could be gayer

LoveHacks - Points for the bi black man and the lesbians, but the first book paywalls its only female li to shit, only has the MC date men, and has Brooke end up with a man instead of Seerena - 3/10 Gay but too Het to handle

The Haunting of Braidwood Manor - Nothing but love a respect for my lesbian ghost girlfriend, but you have to pay to stay together (but it is only 17 diamonds and that is a bargain these days) - 8/10 Lots of lesbian love but at a cost

The Royal Romance - Largely forced to spend time with a man, has only one female li even though Olivia is literally right there, and has Penelope get with Kiara's brother even though Kiara is literally right there - 3/10 Very Het

Hero - MC can be a guy or a girl. Kenji is a BIcon but it takes a while to meet the only female li, also the Poppy and Dax het drama is too much - 6/10 Decently gay and has potential

High School Story - MC can be a guy or a girl. Besides the fact that we have to deal with the Het Tragedy that are Brian, Max, Kara, the dumb Autumn love triangle, and what the ever loving fuck is that set up your Dad with Emma's Mom nonsense, these books give a lot of LGBT+ rep - 7/10 Gen Z is the Gayest Gen

It Lives in the Woods - MC can be a guy or a girl. Gay Icon right here, we stan our Trans King(tm) King Kang, Ava and Stacy are female li legends, Lily is our beautiful Lesbian Queen, nothing like the raw gay energy of swinging a barbed wire bat at the undead - 15/10 GAY ICON

Home for the Holidays - One female LI, but at what cost? Can't play as a guy and forced to have dated one (1) man. Don't even get me started on Nick Peralta - 1/10 Literally ever Het Hallmark Christmas movie ever so RUN

Red Carpet Diaries - It feels like it should be pretty gay between the BIcon that is Seth, the Lesbian Legend that is Teja, and the absolute QUEEN that is Victoria, but man does it throw that all away to be SUPER FREAKING STRAIGHT between Matt and Hunt and paywalling the fuck out of Victoria - 3/10 RIP Gay potential

Perfect Match - MC can be a guy or a girl. Can choose to have your perfect match be a guy or a girl. A beautiful array of lis to choose from and they can all be yours because PB said Polyamory Rights! Even though there is some Het stuff with Nadia and Steve, it is actually tolerable. The President can also be a black lesbian and that's the America I want to live in - 10/10 Living my best gay thot life

Bloodbound - Even love interests whom? Sure you get two wonderful female love interests, Lily and the ultimate BI QUEEN Kamilah, but forget ever hanging out with them. This is the JAX AND ADRIAN SHOW ONLY BABEEE - 4/10 Not even a cheap Priya scene can help, PB said fuck wlw

Veil of Secrets - MC can be a guy or a girl. Ms. Harlenay is a Lesbian icon. Kate is a true BI disaster and the fact that we can only get with her romantically at the end of the book is the Biggest Tragedy of Choices - 6/10 It's fun and gay until you die alone bc you don't have enough diamonds

America's Most Eligible - MC can be a guy or a girl. You can thot it up and kiss so many people, Mackenzie is the only female li you can hang out with most of the time and there was one weird scene where Adam and Derek were super "no homo"??? - 6/10 Gay potential but oof the Het

Desire & Decorum - Only one female li, but she is Amazing. Mr. Chambers gay ass is the real MVP. God bless our non-homophobic gay ally of a dad (rip). But still this book got a lot of Het nonsense bc of the time period - 4/10 Press F to pay respect to our gay ancestors

Across The Void - MC can be a guy or a girl. Even number of lis with even screen time and your siblings can be gay too if they weren't so annoying and stealing your screen time - 7/10 Gay but it's hard to read

Big Sky Country - MC can be a guy or a girl. If you are a wlw, there is a lot of Het nonsense and it is hard to be with the female lis. If you are a mlm, ooh boy is this book Really Gay. Like literally every guy wants your city dick. Still there is some Het stuff - 6/10 Average; Life is what you Gay it

High School Story: Class Act - MC can be a guy or a girl. You can choose the gender of the li you are forced to have a crush on so that is nice. If you play as a guy your twin can be a Lesbian Icon and Erin can like girls but if you play as a girl it's like super het. Don't even get me started on Natalie and Clint - 6/10 Gay but oof

It Lives Beneath - MC can be a guy or a girl. Great even bunch of lis and our gay little brother is the most wholesome thing - 8/10 Good gay content minus you know all the Gore and Death

The Elementalists - MC can be a guy or a girl. Let’s hear it for Ace rep! Except the imbalance of li scenes and how Beckett is constantly forced onto you continues to put this book on thin ice, especially with the lack of flirting options for wlw - 5/10 Gay but lesbian struggles

A Courtesan of Rome - Forced to kiss men. Female characters treated like shit. Sabina stans deserved better. But Gay brother can get his happy gay romance. Caesar/Cleopatra/MC threesome said bi rights. Parents are the biggest gay allies. The biggest disappointment is the untapped potential - 3.5/10 RIP to anyone who hoped to romance Cleopatra

The Heist: Monaco - MC can be a guy or a girl. Allows you to choose gender of one your lis. Has the potential to have 3 female lis who are all iconic. But makes you pay for not 1 but 2 women crew members so having an all women crew is a struggle - 8/10 Let's go Lesbians!

Update:

Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance - Everyone thinks you and Logan are dating even if you haven’t romanced him in the slightest. Gay rep in minor characters but at what cost. - 3/10 We been knew of the het nonsense since we saw the tagline

Open Heart - MC can be a guy or a girl. If you are guy this book is great. Seriously Dr. ER always down for the BJ (sorry homophobes he BI!✨). If you are woman, HAHAHAHa. Only one female li who is forced to hate you for a few chapters. Seriously Sienna and Aurora and Kyra are right freaking there just give the wlw something!!! - 4/10 Gay but could do so much better

Passport to Romance - MC can be a guy or a girl. Even number of love interests except for the fact that one of the female li has a boyfriend for 75 percent of the book. Still this book is dreadfully boring or annoying which is sad because Sumire and Ahmed are wonderful. - 7/10 Gay but forgettable

Wishful Thinking - Story has MC spend most time with the two male lis, but MC, Anna, and Ellen working together to take down corrupt politicians ala Charlie’s Angels is awesome! The fact that you can sleep with Ellen coming out of nowhere like a dark horse? Amazing! - 5/10 Gay potential

Nightbound - MC can be a guy or a girl. Even number of love interests, but recent changes make it obvious the book wants you to lean towards Nik. Barely any scenes with Vera or Katherine. There is a gay fae and rock troll love story but you have to pay for it - 4/10 A fun supernatural story PB is forcing to be the next great het romance

Platinum - Can choose for your two main love interests Avery and Raleigh to be male or female which means you are not forced to romance men unless you want to! The women are so pretty it hurts. Get to kiss beautiful women for freeeee. Shoutout to non-binary audience. Every song is bop that fills me with gay pride. Only major downfall is you can’t choose to play as a guy. - 9/10 Move over Hayley Kiyoko there is a new Lesbian pop star in town

And Sunkissed is still up in the air while The Royal Heir is on the thinnest of fucking ices.

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julia-highstorms · 4 years

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Choices ask game

Thank you for tagging me @tyrils-star ✨

1. What book(s) did you think were too overhyped but everyone loved?

The original trilogy of TRR was fun and I really enjoyed it, but that's it. It should just rest in peace already sorry not sorry

2. What book(s) do you think deserve more hype?

LoveHacks and Bachelorette Party were a fun read, with enjoyable characters and completely random scenarios.

3. What was a book series that you think did NOT need a sequel or more than 1 sequel?

Same answers as 1. TRR 👏 MUST 👏 BE 👏 GONE 👏 ALREADY 👏

4. What book(s) did you think needed a sequel/another sequel?

I honestly still can't believe that PB dropped It Lives Anthology after the way ILB finished. I can't accept. We need jusr 1 more book to wrap up this story, PB. PLEASE.

And Distant Shores, Perfect Match and Nightbound. They felt so rushed.

5. What LI(s) do you think are overrated?

*Cough* Every white male LI *cough* ahem, I mean Marc Antony, Becket Harrington, Thomas Hunt, Ethan Ramsey

6. What LI(s) do you think are underrated?Emerson Grant and Imtura. Sabina and Syphax. Zoey Wade.

7. Which LI's were most forgetable?

Those from the books I've eraser from my mind lol, like RCD, HftH and RoE (although there's one LI I hate in all these books). AME's but Jen. Unfortunately, some female LI's, because they're treated poorly by the writers and their arcs are bland so the white male LI can shine and feel forceful.

8. Who would be in your dream threesome 30 diamond scene?

Honestly, Jax's and Lily's threesome fullfiled it. I don't need any other threesome scene.

9. Finally, what book do you think would have been better/more popular if it WASN'T genderlocked? (This goes for both LI's and MCs)

Bloodbound would have been so interesting if MC wasn't genderlocked. And although I've never finished them, I didn't see the point why Platinum and Wishful Thinking had to have a female LI, differently from A Courtesan in Rome and Mother of the Year, for example. The books that have only one LI aren't genderlocked (I guess? Correct me if I'm wrong, I haven't played any of them) and it's good. And the problem with the books with more than one LI is how forceful the white male LI are prioritized over female LIs and LIs of color.

Tagging @thequeenchoices @le-cat-nipp @melodyofgraves

#tag game #choices fandom

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nikyiscreepy · 4 years

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Crushinggg

I’m not sure if I’ll ever post this because I’m insecure as hell, but if I do, then I’m sorry, this is going to be long and pretty cringe-y.

Since we all know at this point that Niky is a lesbian, let me show you her rollercoaster of random crushes through the years, because why the hell not.

First year Niky was a confused crybaby, because everything was new: new country, new magical life and new friends. This made her often feel uncomfortable and lost, but with her new friends around everything was a bit brighter. She has always been that kind of person that considers their friends as a part of their family and since her true family was far away, she got attached to them quite fast and easily. After a couple of months into this new world, one of her friends started to tickle her heart and that friend was no other than one of Hogwarts’ popular girls: Penny Haywood. At first, Niky avoided Penny because she still had the bad memories of her old muggle school hunting her mind, but she soon realized that, thank God, Penny wasn’t like the popular girls of her nightmares. Penny was very kind and prone to give a hand whenever she needed an extra one, always with a good pep talk ready and really, REALLY pretty. However, this mini crush lasted for about a few months before the end of year one. Niky never told Penny she fancied her.

Year three Niky started a bit numb, because of the “incident” of the year before. She really felt bad about it, so much that she didn’t wear her house colors the whole year (exept in her classes obviously, but even there she felt guilty of wearing them) because she felt like she wasn’t deserving of it. However, she soon puts this feeling of guilt in second place when she had randomly met Sabina Ivyash, a fifth year Ravenclaw, while serching for Bill. After a few days of asking information about her, she finally had the courage to go talk to her and soon became friends. It was actually quite easy to talk to her, Sabina was a very solar and silly person, confident, full of ideas and always ready for the adventure. But after a few months, Niky’s head got more focused on finding the cursed vault and on learning about buggarts, than thinking about her little crush on Sabina. Until Chirstmas break.

When the break ended, Niky was pleased to see a new face in her Herbology class. A very cute face. It was Persephone Palerosine, a second year Slytherin. Niky already knew Persephone, but only because she’s friends with Sabina, they never talked before. Likely because Persephone is very reserved and highly focused on her own success and ambitions, thus the reason why she, a second year, was having a few extra hours with the third year. She wanted to be the best of her year in Herbology at all costs, so that she could become a professional herbologiest outside of Hogwarts. At first, Persephone always tried to end every conversation with Niky as soon as possible because she knew about the “drama” that surrounded her and her brother and she didn’t want anything to do with that, but after a while of her insisting to chat a bit she gave in and slowly became friends. Niky’s feelings were in conflict between the two girls, but she then decided to at least tell them what has been going on, so that at least her conscience would give her peace.

So she did...

...but it didn’t end up very well. Nothing to worry about though, it wasn’t a big deal in the end, since her feelings towards them had becoming lighter and lighter, day by day, becoming only a silly memory.

On year four however...

Things started to become odd, very odd. Whenever she encountered Merula, she started shaking. Maybe it was still the feeling of guilt about the “incident” on year two kicking in, or at least that was what Niky hoped was about. Then, she started to find herself starring at her during classes, but “I’m just very distracted and since she’s always near to me, it’s the first thing that my eyes gets on...” was always her excuse. Then she started to draw her during Care of Magical Creatures, sometimes in a funny way, other times as a normal sketch of her that she kept with her, but that was all for fun and games it didn’t mean anything. However, when Niky slowly started to consider that maybe her actions towards Merula weren’t so random afterall, she received her final and crucial proof of what she hoped it wasn’t real, was actually happening: She started to bleed out of her mouth while thinking of her. For people who have a normal heart, that would mean that you’re about to die, but for people who have a bigger heart (literally) that means that you’re simply feeling a very strong emotion and your heart is just pumping faster, producing a bit too much blood. That was it, there's no way to deny it anymore.

She's crushing over her. She likes her, a lot that is and this time, it wasn't something light and easy to deal with like the other times before, oh no. Niky obviously didn't take the news very well at first (not that "Lilith" was doing any better), but after a while she accepted it and embrace it. She actually started to wonder what made her crush over her and she wanted to know her a bit better outside of the gossips, so she started to ""casually"" spend some time with her.

#Somebody call the circus they've lost a clown #I'm so sorry #This is bad #But I wanted to show the drawings #Aaaaaaaaaaaaah #Don't worry Sabina and Persephone are NOT only Niky's little crushes #Anyway #imma stop now #hphm #hphm mc #hphm jacob's sibling #oc facts #Niky dona #merula x mc #mc #penny x mc #oc x oc #Regà mi sta salendo il cringe in una maniera #Nicole Aradia Dona: a dumbass lesbian since year one

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greensconnor · 5 years

Note

i’m asking about your dragon age characters

molly i would KILL for u im ur personal hitman now

anyway i said my city now because the entire bioware writing team sucks shit xoxo and i’m so much smarter than all of them but also fully incapable of having a normal amount of ocs for anything (see: the time i made 20 rwby ocs in less than two weeks) so i have. five worldstates here r some assorted thoughts

uhhh so the worldstates r as follows

eira mahariel (two-handed berserk/champ spec), rhett hawke (two-handed berserk spec), alas lavellan (mage knight enchanter spec), romanced alistair/fenris/dorian respectively

shiv tabris (dual wield duelist/assassin spec), radella “rads” hawke (mage spirit healer spec), kat adaar (two-handed reaver spec), romanced morrigan/isabela/cassandra respectively because im a pc gamer and i think i should be able to date whatever video game woman i like because im infinitely better than cishet men

this world state said yeah i respect mens rights. mens rights to shut the fuck up

twins bronson (sword/shield reaver spec) & bryant cousland (archer ranger spec), carmine hawke (archer assassin spec), syracuse trevelyan (dual wield tempest spec), romanced zevran/anora/josephine/bull. if ur wondering how that works my city now and the warden, hawke and the inquisitor should all meet and so they do because i Said So

riva amell (mage arcane warrior/battlemage spec), graham “gray” hawke (mage force spec), hellathen “hela” lavellan (archer assassin spec); romanced cullen/anders and later blackwall because hawke only likes men who will break his heart. hela doesn’t have a romance because she’s literally 20. who let her lead the inquisition (me it was me). also it should be noted the version of cullen i have in my head only vaguely resembles actual cullen because i write better than dragon age writers ever could and i gave him an Actual Cohesive Narrative and he gets bullied relentlessly for being scrawnier than his mage boyfriend

malien “mal” surana (mage spirit healer/keeper spec), jules hawke (sword/shield reaver spec), ash adaar (mage rift spec), romanced leliana/merrill/krem because i should have been able to kiss krem and its a Crime that i am not allowed to

knight enchanter is a Very op specialization and by Very op i mean it makes a mage with their built-in low constitution stats able to solo the biggest baddest dragon in the game on nightmare mode in under five minutes so like. alas lavellan fist fights dragons for fun send tweet

i think lavellans should be able to hit ppl with bricks for all the shit they endure. thus solas gets pranked by mahariel and alas by which i mean they just tip buckets of water onto him from the rookery

kat might be my only competent inquisitor but she did also try to knock out the right hand of the divine and attempt to gap even tho there’s fucky magic burning up her hand so does she have a brain cell? you decide

also its fantasy land and i do what i want so kat has blue/gold sectoral heterochromia

gray “mage rights” hawke is best friends with fenris which surprises literally everyone. their friendship started because they got into a fist fight and then they were like okay i respect u now. hawke is like hey fenris give me ur sword i have a fun trick to show u [uses his sword as a foci to zap carver in the ass with lightning]

i am Always thinking abt like how cullen could have been one man anti-chantry propaganda machine if he hadn’t so blatantly been shoehorned into every game past origins so anyway bioware forgot about a wholeass moon i can write what i like. [holds up cullen by the scruff of his stupid armor] not only are you bisexual you are also a bottom

i also Hate the whole uwu mage haters get fixed by romancing a mage

unlocked secret dialogue option where my inquisitors verbally cuss out dorian’s dad instead of whatever sympathetic narrative the writers were going for cuz its bullshit.

riva is a showoff and a Menace about being as good as he is because he unabashedly loves being a mage and hes like oooh look at me im sexy i dont need to use my hands to cast magic because i’m just that good ;)) and you know what. hes right.

gray, on the other hand, does Not want to be mage. he wants to be a druffalo farmer and retire in the hinterlands and be left the fuck alone. unfortunately he is gay and has one brain cell and terrible, terrible taste in men. ribbed relentlessly for this by riva (altho does he have room to talk hes been hung up on cullen since he was like 13)

shiv is trans n kieran is the result of doing the dark ritual with her wife and he looks a Lot like shiv (dark skin pointed ears, shock-white hair) and morrigan always just Assumed she dyed it or did something magic with it so seeing their kid come out like that was a WEIRD time for her

leliana almost Murdered by cassandra in worldstate 5 because the warden is Actually There The Whole Time, but its been 10 years, mal’s cut off all her hair and gotten full facial tattoos and she’s like “no one will know its me its fine” and she’s right. she gets away with it. only cullen like, Knows, because he knew her before the blight but he doesnt have a death wish n he like. will Not piss her off

shes dalish by birth n she was stolen from her clan by templars and thus is vehemently anti-circle and anti-chantry in general

uhhh the vallaslin (elf face tattoos) of my 4 dalish characters are:

eira = ghilan’nain (chose em cuz shes rlly interested in the navigation aspect of the goddess)

alas = falon’din (god of the dead n he picked them because he’s Also the god of fortune and alas is like tee hee fun but also he can and will kill u if u fuck with him so yk its fitting)

hela = june (god of the craft bc she likes to Make things but june is also the god who taught the elves 2 hunt and hela is. a hunter.)

mal = elgar’nan (allfather/god of vengeance bc. she is Vengeful. she is Angry. but yk fucking with shem politics and fucking their divine is like. mal may have little a retribution. as a treat.) yes she has the full half-face solid colour tattoo she does NOT fuck around.

bronson and bryant r not genetically identical but they Look similar enough 2 anyone who doesn’t know them well enough 2 play spot the distance. anora and bronson think this is a super fun game to play, especially when nobles realize they’ve swapped out the king but they’re too nervous to say anything

eira mahariel has two hands. one is for holding hands with alistair and the other is for throttling elven gods, apparently. she’s killed one before so solas she’s coming for your bitch ass next. watch urself.

speaking of eira and alistair are married thru dalish tradition and humans don’t recognize it n alistair loves 2 re-propose to her with random things. he’ll just pick up like. a bit of cheese and be like “marry me ;)” and she’s like GASP but whatever will the chantry say!!!! all of their friends r sick of them

“vhenan if you love me bring me a sword” “you think i could do better than a sword made out of space rock?” “:)”

eira is my youngest hero at 18 at the start of her game and kat is my oldest at 32 at the start of her game.

none of my hawkes are under six foot. rhett is the tallest (6′8″) and rads is the shortest (6′2″).

syracuse trevelyan would have been the Perfect inquisitor if he were not a pretty boy himbo and a gay bastard who does Most Things just to spite his parents.

[corypheus pointing at syracuse’s visage in his crystal orb thingo] i want that twink obliterated

i love the companions from older games return thing i truly do so i make it a point for Every companion to return in inquisition so the gang rlly is all here because i am a Slutte for found family

i lie in my keep worldstates because i dont want to choose between hawke and alistair during here lies the abyss but i never make him king and every time i play inquisition and cole has the wicked grace line it makes me Scream. alistair baby im so sorry i did this to you but i didnt actually do this to you

yes this is my everyone lives au but like. all the time. i have never left hawke in the fade and i do not intend to.

fuck whatever nonsense about wardens not being able 2 have kids. by sheer divine power (me) anora and bryant have three daughters; eleanor, sabina & cecelia n both bronson and zevran make Excellent uncles because i think anora deserves good things because i’m tired of bioware being like women bad, actually,

so like most of the time i have the warden & hawke turning up after the move to skyhold n then staying on, with the exception of bryant, carmine & mal. mal is as mentioned previously just There the whole time with her girlfriend. bryant steps in as king of ferelden w/ interests in closing the big hole in the sky spewing demons in2 his kingdom yk. carmine shows up because she wants to help & she wants protection for bethany but she outright says she’d rather die than be inquisitor so cassandra is shit out of luck.

“CHANGE HER MIND VARRIC” “she once doubled down on insisting amaranth was a shade of blue because she didn’t want to admit to being wrong. no one’s changing her mind seeker”

alas is the middle child of eight and is thus very good with children and also bossing around people older than him. 2 of his older siblings come to the inquisition when stuff in wycome has been settled

i left ash with the basic canon background with Some variation (he grew up under the qun and left of his own free will when his magic was discovered n he realized he couldn’t take living as a saarebas

kat on the other hand was raised tal-vashoth and has bounced around basically all over thedas and leads her own merc company when the conclave blows up. she also speaks multiple languages. is there a language she doesn’t speak? probably not

just realized how long this got so im gonna like. stop my general rambling now but lmao yeah theres some basics. waves hands.

#sol.txt #sol.orig #long post #late night followers im SO sorry for this #but also like.#i love them so yall just have 2 cope w/ it #no thoughts head dragon age #peonydarling

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tigerlilliz · 5 years

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“Same Time Next Week”

Hi luvs,

kk So I was driving home a few weeks ago and thought this up. Pisces + traffic = lots of day dreaming. So I decided to make a story about it just for fun! It took me a bit to post because I was having trouble creating an external account. :( So I have to post it without the link this time. I apologize, in advance, if it appears long on the feed.

Disclaimer: All ACoR characters belong to Pixelberry (excluding Désirée/Desi and Maximus) and I do not claim any ownership of them.

Cassius rarely gets the appreciation he deserves. He was so well written too! I just wanted to cover a scene about him. Enjoy <3 PS It’s safe for work ^_^

Summary: A trip to the marketplace turned into the surprise reunion Desi was waiting for.

Desi arrived at the market taking in the heat as the sun hit her face. Caesar was satisfied with her performance as she showed little resistance to his advances. She had him right where she needed him, and he was beginning to trust her. After a few months, he permitted her to venture out during the day time. The market was busy this time of day, merchants were boisterous and flamboyant, displaying an array of talents and flattery to lure in customers.

She stopped at a few vendors, but none caught her eye as much as the on merchant just behind the trees. There sat an elderly woman carving a necklace from gemstones. Desi stood admiring the jewelry and trinkets spread across the table when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Hey, would you be alright if I left you alone for a little while?” She had never seen her Maximus as nervous as he was in that moment. He took a deep breath as ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes sparkled as he continued on, “I... uh, I had something I wanted to check out.” Desi peered around him, where she saw another bodyguard fidgeting, pretending to look at dress looking away as soon as her eyes met his. Her eyes returned to Maximus’ who was still staring at the guard. Desi tilted her head to the side, raising her hand slightly as waved at the guard. He blushed and returned her smile, placing a dress back on the table before he started walking over to them.

“I’ll be fine,” Desi asserted, “You should go head. He’s a cute one.”

Maximus couldn’t help but smile as he wrapped his arms around Desi lifting her off the guard in one swoop. “You’re the best,” he exclaimed spinning her around as he giggled in glee. “I’ll meet you back in an hour. I promise!” He rushed over next to the guard playfully punched his shoulder before kissing him on the cheek.

Desi hadn’t known Maximus for long, but he quickly became her best friend and confidant at the villa. He had a rough upbringing and faced a lot of loss too. She enjoyed hearing his stories and sharing hers as well. She remembered the times when she felt butterflies after meeting Syphax and Cassius for the first time. She was happy to give Maximus alone time too.

She continued to glance over the trinkets and figurines laid neatly on the table. One piece, however, took her breath away. It was a carved wooden figurine of an eagle perched on a branch. She couldn’t believe it. What were the odds of her finding another one so similar to the one she lost? Her heart began pounding as she floated into a memory of when she crafted one just like it with Cignerix. It was a rite of passage for the Arnajo (Ar-na-ho) tribe that once someone reached the age of 14, to be assigned a spirit guide. Hers was the eagle, a sacred animal which signified courage, wisdom and strength. She took it everywhere she went along with the dagger given to her by her father. With all worrying she did about Victus and Syphax, she managed to lose the very thing that reminded her of them.

"How much for the eagle?" Desi asked, hoping that she had saved up enough to purchase it. The woman replied, "Oh. I’m sorry child, but that one's not for sale."

It was hard for her to hear those words. She was so close to owning one again and yet she couldn’t have it. She figured maybe it had a special meaning to the woman as well and placed it back down on the table.

Desi turned to walk away as she lady continued. "What I meant was it's not for sale because it belongs to you." She sat the eagle in Desi’s palm closing her hand on top.

"But I don’t understand” Desi stood in disbelief. The woman nudged her to investigate further. As Desi eyes followed the intricate carving, she noticed a small chip on the wing of the eagle. Her eyes lit up as she realized, this was the exact one that she lost. She remembered the day she was running through the woods when she tripped and fell, the eagle chipping as it slammed into the tree in front of her. She'll never forget her father's face when he told her to be more careful for the eagle represented her journey. The eagle and its imperfections taught her to embrace her own.

Desi couldn’t believe this was happening. "How did you…” but before she could finish, the woman told her to look at the note underneath.

Desi flipped the eagle revealing a tiny piece of paper with the words "Turn Around" written on it. She quickly turned to face behind her and to her surprise, Cassius stood holding a single rose. Her eyes flooded with tears as this was the first time she had seen him since being sold to Caesar. His hair was cut shorter and he wore a dark blue tunic, with a green cloak. It was a change from the light colors she normally saw him wear. The deep blue bought out the color in his eyes. She had forgotten just how beautiful his eyes were. A greenish blue with a hint of brown, she easily lost herself in them.

"How? It's really you. You're here and...I" Desi couldn't believe her eyes. She missed him so much. She rehearsed what she would say to him if she ever got the chance to see him again, but nothing prepared her for the flood of emotions she experienced now standing facing him. Cassius lifted his hand to wipe away her tears, landing soft kisses on her cheek where the tears once fell. "I assure you I'm real," Cassius replied pulling her into his embrace. He lips collapsing into hers and without fail, she was overcome with a sense of calmness as all her anxiety melted away.

Cassius exhaled as he began to speak, "I just had to see you for myself. Sabina told me she saw you leave the market last week. If there was even the slightest chance that I would be able to see you again, I'd be a fool not to take it." With his free hand, he picked up the eagle off the table returning it in her hands. He nodded at the merchant slipping her some extra coin as who replied, "He really does know you, huh? I wasn’t sure if you'd come over, but Cassius never gave up hope that you would stop here and find it."

Desi smiled as she realized he still knew her better than most. A look of sadness came over his face as he continued, "After I heard about Antony giving you to Caesar. I blamed myself for a while. Maybe if I had attended the games with you, you would've had another option. I decided to head to the Scholae to offer comfort to Lena and to pack up your belongings. You lost just about everything after the fires in Gaul and I couldn’t let you lose what you accumulated here in Rome too. So I invited Sabina to come with me and we cleaned just about every inch of the place and that's…that's when I saw it." His eyes resting on the carving. "There is was hiding underneath the pillows by Artemis bed this whole time. It may have been thrown in middle of the chaos when Aquila came with his men. Artemis must’ve tried to bury it thinking she would be able to give it back to you the next time she saw you.”

Desi began to choke up, her voice soft as she managed to say, "That was so kind of you to do. I thought I lost it forever. It was one of the few things that I felt truly connected me to Isis."

Cassius held her close, he could feel the wetness of her tears fall on his shoulder. Cassius kissed her forehead as he replied, "I remembered and that's why I had to find a way to return it to you. I'd never forgive myself if you started to lose hope now."

Desi lifted on her toes, her hand behind his head, she pulled him near until her lips met his. "I always considered myself a lucky woman to be in the thoughts of a man so humble and kind."

Cassius smile broaden, his lips remained close to hers. "And I a lucky man to have you to fight for. You changed my life for there is no woman like you who loves as fiercely as she fights for others."

They stood kissing passionately before thanking the woman one more time. The two continued on throughout the market, stopping at a few more vendors here and there. Cassius was carrying a basket slowly filling it with fresh fruits, breads, and cheeses he purchased for Desi to take back with her. He made sure to fill it with a few of her favorite items when she wasn’t looking.

They walk hand in hand, Cassius pace slowly as he eyed a bench near the grassy area. As they approached, Cassius dusted the seat laying his cloak down before encouraging Desi to sit.

He stood taking in how beautiful she looked as she sat under the sun. He wanted to remember this moment because he wasn’t sure when the next time would be until he saw her again. Desi, unknowingly, was doing the same. She watched as Cassius cleared a spot for her, it was something only he would have done.

He joined her resting his hand on her thigh. “You look different” Desi said noticing slight changes in his mannerisms. Her hand running up his arm.

Cassius knew she was also referring to the bulk of his muscles naturally flexed as he rested his arm beside her. “I feel different. I decided it was time to reunite with Brutus. And that means, I have a lot of prepping to do to be ready for what we have planned.”

Desi sat up in curiosity encouraging him to continue.

“Thousands have died while I stayed back in Rome and countless more will lose their lives if we don’t act soon. I lost people who I called my friends. Men whose families are now abandoned as they took their lasts breaths believing their cause was just. They died having plans and goals that will never come to fruition. Dreams of a tomorrow that can only happen if Caesar and Antony’s reign was to end. And with Brutus by my side, their fight and your time with them would’ve served a purpose.”

She loved seeing the fire in his eyes when he spoke of things he was passionate about. He spoke with such conviction that it would make even the most doubtful want to follow him blindly. She gently squeezed his shoulder before running her fingers through his hair. “Whatever you have planned, I hope I’m there to see it because that look in your eye means you will not fail.”

Cassius leaned into her turning his body to face her. “I don’t plan to. He will pay for what he has done.” His eyes softened as he continued, “So I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about your time spent in the company of Caesar.”

Desi could sense a hint of jealousy though he tried to appear unscathed. She was cautious in her reply. “He is mere a boy in comparison to you. He lacks insight and his judgment is poor. I do what I must to get him to trust me. It’s not a duty that I take lightly, nor do I find solace in. I get no pleasure from being in his company. Every single day, I must talk myself out ending him where he stands. Timing is everything and I can’t afford to act irrationally again for a few minutes of joy only to risk my life, or worse, those I care about because of my negligence and haste. Syphax paid the price for my eagerness before and I promised myself that I can’t let that happen again.”

Cassius’s fingers now intertwined in hers, he squeezed tightly letting her feel his support. “You do what you must to stay strong.”

Desi nodded before replying. “It is the most trying period of my life, Cassius. I’m so close to getting vengeance for the hurt caused to my people, but also to those I’ve come to love in Rome as well. Antony is counting on me to spy for him and, in turn, it allows me to gather pertinent information of those in Caesar’s close circle. With whatever I find, I’d like to know that I can tell you and maybe help your cause for we share the same hatred for Caesar.”

Desi looked down at his hand in hers. “My biggest challenge is that I know it’s not practical or wise to act on my own, but the temptation is far greater the more time I spend by his side. I’ve seduced him to the point where he thinks about me even when he’s awake. He tells others about what he wishes to do to me, and he gets upset if I don’t tell him that I want him in return or resist him in any way. My friend, Maximus, is always telling me the stories he hears Caesar tell around the villa. I have him wrapped around my finger and it feels amazing, but torturous because I cannot yet act on how I feel.”

“And what of your agreement with Antony?” Cassius adjusted himself on the bench. “I may be vocal about my disapproval of how he’s managed things, but I know not to give him a reason to pay closer attention to me. He is a dangerous man if he believes he is being used or misled.”

Desi knew he spoke the truth, but she had seen Antony in a different light. Desi replied, “I’ve grown to like Antony over time. He trusts me and I him. I know the two of you aren’t fond of each other, but it isn’t a reflection of the respect you two share. Antony stood up to Caesar on my behalf a few weeks ago. He noticed that I hadn’t been myself for a while, I was a lot more distant than usual. Caesar wanted to spend every moment with me which angered me more. I didn’t know what path to take next and that wasn’t like me at all. I’ve always had direction. Caesar struck me and Antony did not hesitate to make sure that Caesar knew I was not to be messed with. I must allow Antony more time to see the truth about Caesar that you and I see. That Caesar is not the man of the people Antony thinks he is. He is an evil man and who would betray even Antony if it came down to it. I will not let that happen. Caesar will pay for what he has done. It’s just a matter of whose hands will be stained with his blood.”

Desi looked at Cassius nervously, waiting to see how he would respond. To her surprise, he had that look in his eye again, appreciation for all that she was. "You’re a woman who never ceases to amaze me. I have no doubt that you know what you’re doing and, I guess I owe Antony for watching over you when I cannot be there. I can’t tell you that I would’ve acted much differently seeing you hurting like that. I’ve always loved hearing your perspective and I’m here for you as best as I can be.” He then chuckled to himself, “But to be honest, I’d love you all the same even if you ended up sticking it to Caesar.”

Desi laughed as she was enjoying seeing this side of Cassius. He always accepted her for all that she was, whether bitter or kind. She knew she could tell him the truth and there wasn’t many people whom she could be like that with.

Time went by fast after that. She caught him up on the whereabouts of Syphax and her father while Cassius brought her up to speed about Sabina, Lena, and the rest of the girls.

Maximus rushed over worried that Desi was all alone. He couldn't help but laugh as he was surprised to see Cassius sitting by her. He was a lot hotter than Desi let on. He definitely wasn’t your average senator either. You could tell he worked out regularly. His tunic barely concealing his muscular arms. Cassius had some of the most dreamy eyes and a smile that stopped Maximus right in his tracks. Maximus found himself flustered as he found the courage to address him.

"Senator Cassius! What are you doing here?" Maximus extended his hand noticeably shaky as he went to greet him. Cassius shook his hand in return firmly, winking at Maximus as he pulled away.

Desi coughed as she noticed Maximus swoon over him looking him up and down. "Ut umm," Desi laughed as Cassius joined her. "We all have our secrets don’t we?" Desi said smiling at her friend who was still blushing.

Cassius stood and helped Desi to her feet. "I better get going and looks like the time has come for you to head back. I'd love to see you again though."

Desi turned to Maximus, and in unison they asked each other, “Same time next week?"

Maximus shook his head laughing, "Well, Obviously!" They couldn't stop smiling as they were like two little children playing off each other. They both had their reasons for wanting to return. He had his man and she had hers.

She hugged Cassius goodbye as he kissed her softly on her cheek before parting ways. Desi smacked Maximus on his arm as she realized his eyes locked on Cassius's back side as he walked away. "You're bad!" Desi laughed. Maximus looking guilty as ever. They left the market and decided to take the long way home. They couldn’t stop smiling, both blushing as they retold stories of what happened during their trip to the market.

@3pawandme Here’s 1 of 2 stories for ya. hehehe Hope you like it.

#choices #choices acor #cassius longinus

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leightaylorwrites · 7 years

Text

Leigh Dissects YA fiction: Fallen Kingdoms (Chapter Nineteen- Chapter Twenty-two)

Chapter 19 - Limeros

“I think you have the potential for greatness, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

The fact that Magnus literally means “great” in Latin makes this mini-splooge even more annoying.

“Are you sure? [...] I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not. What I am sure about is that I’d like you to leave my chambers.”

The way this is worded makes it seem like Magnus could be answering her question of “are you sure” when he’s actually saying he’s not lying. I feel like the editor should’ve caught this.

“I grow lonely.” Again she walked slowly around him. Her gaze felt weighted and uncomfortable. “And I know that you’re also lonely.”

What the fuck is up with this family?

“The same thing that I suggested to your father when he was not much older than you. I’m offering myself to you as a lover.”

White people.

“You’re old enough to be my mother.” “Age can be an asset, Magnus. With age comes experience. You are young and, apart from that maid and perhaps a handful of other meaningless girls, you have no experience.”

“You have no idea how much experience I have.”

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

“Sharing a mistress with my father doesn’t sound like a very good way to help strengthen our father-son bond.

I’m……

She kissed him until she realized that he wasn’t kissing her in return. She stepped back and looked up at him with confusion. “Is there a problem?”

Uh, you’re boning his dad????????

“I suppose for someone already lusting after his own sister, I’m not all that surprised.”

Drag him.

Here comes a rather long quote.

“My younger sister Jana was gifted with sight - a rare thing for a common witch. Within herself, she held the ability to read the tales the stars can tell. She believed in the prophecy, passed down from generation to generation, that one day a child would be born who would hold elementia within her greater than anyone since the original sorceress, Eva - she whom my kind worship as you worship your goddess [...] Sixteen years ago, Jana saw the birth heralded in the stars. Lucia’s birth. Together, my sister and I combined our magic to increase its power tenfold in order to locate her, knowing she would need our guidance one day when her magic finally awakened within her. My sister perished in the quest, but I brought Lucia here to Limeros to be raised as a princess… and as your sister.”

In ONE paragraph, we erased the need for the prologue so WHY is the prologue in this book still? The only difference between the prologue and this paragraph is that the prologue shows us Sabina killing Jana, whereas here, Sabina just saying Jana died. Given that Jana’s death only raises more questions that I know won’t be answered (why would Sabina kill the person who could teach Lucia the other two elements?), this whole thing is a jumbled mess of choosing tropes, cliches, and aesthetics over good writing.

“She’s not your sister.”

Cool motive, still incest.

[Sabina] lashed out and hit Magnus again. He snarled at her; his fist was so tight that Lucia was certain he would strike back. If Sabina was not a woman, she was certain he wouldn’t have hesitated.

Fellas, if a woman has hit you TWICE, you have the right to knock her ass out.

[Sabina’s] skull shattered against the hard surface [...] “Your… air magic… it’s even stronger than I thought.”

HOW IS SHE STILL ALIVE WITH A SHATTERED SKULL??

Her brother’s attention was on the door - now fully open. Standing there was her father.

With all this commotion and fighting, NOBODY heard anything until their father showed up? You were SLAMMING people around??

Chapter 20 - the sanctuary

In recent months, he’d despaired that he was wrong and had been following a girl who held no magic within her.

But before today, wouldn’t he know she was at least a witch, even if he didn’t know she’s a sorceress? He’s known she has magic for a while now.

It was another elder, Danaus. While all Watchers held the same eternal youth, the same level of beauty, Ioannes had always felt that there was something dark and sinister about Danaus lurking just beneath the surface. Danaus had never done anything that went beyond the unspoken rules of the Sancturary. But there was still… something. Something that Ioannes didn’t trust.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s named for a figure in Egyptian mythology and we can’t have the one explicitly black character be anything but sinister, dark, and shady.

What he’d discovered had to be protected. At any cost.

So he’s not going to tell his bosses that Lucia is an awakened sorceress because of SUBCONFLICT!

Chapter 21 - Paelsia

[...] to prove to himself that it couldn’t be Princess Cleiona.

How does Jonas know her full name? I get Magnus knowing it because they’re both heirs but Jonas is a peasant so what reason could he have for knowing the proper name for a foreign princess.

“A sixteen-year-old spy? Who is also a princess? Please.”

ToG is scared.

How bold and disrespectful she was - this princess who saw no harm in coming to the same place where she’d caused such pain and suffering.

Again, Jonas proves he’s the only relevant character in this story.

“What better than to have the king’s own daughter if the negotiations go awry?” Jonas said.

DEADASS THE ONLY SMART CHARACTER HERE. I know the author won’t put CEO in actual danger that she lowkey deserves to be in but if someone a bit more daring wrote this book, CEO being a hostage is exactly how this book would play out.

Chapter 22 - Paelsia

Time for hands down the WORST chapter in the book, where CEO finally is confronted by my angel son Jonas.

She would make sure that the old woman would be sent money and gifts for coming to their aid last night.

So a random old white lady gives you dinner and tells you some boring exposition and you’re going to shower her with riches but you’ll do nothing about the countless impoverished PoC you’ve seen? Cool.

“I’ll stay for a while. And I’ll do whatever I can to find information on this Watcher you’re convinced is hiding out somewhere in this land.”

LITERALLY, Nic just said what I suggested chapters ago, which SHOULD HAVE been the first plan. The only reason he didn’t figure this out earlier is because the author needed CEO to be there for the exposplooge ugh

“Very well. Have it your way. You can be the hero.”

Because we’ve got to let the man be the hero and think of this obvious solution. We couldn’t have CEO decide to send him to Paelsia when they were still in Auranos because then we’d have to acknowledge that men and women can be heroes in different ways and well, this book can’t have such nice things.

“Are you saying that you care for him? That his death might cause you pain?”

“Let him go right now!”

“Why should I?”

YES JONAS DRAG THAT BITCH

She had to remain calm so she could negotiate with this heathen.

You let his brother be murdered so you could keep your clean reputation.

“I can give you plenty of money if you spare his life.”

His expression turned to ice. “Money? How about fourteen Auranian centimos for each case of wine? Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

BODIED

“You won’t get far, but you can try. It would be a moment of bravery for such a cowardly girl.”

She glared at him. “If you think I’m cowardly, you know nothing about me.”

YOU LET HIS BROTHER DIE BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO MUCH OF A PUNK ASS BITCH TO STOP YOUR DUDEBRO

“And I was wrong not to stop [the murder] when I had the chance.”

Yes, hello, that’s called being a coward.

“Shocking,” he said. “Maybe there’s more to you than beauty and a shallow personality.”

There’s really… not.

“I’ve heard what happens to girls who are kidnapped by savages.”

This book is literally so racist.

“Is that really what you think of me? A savage? How Auranian of you. I could just kill him, you know. I’m bargaining with you because I’m no savage. Unlike you and your friend who killed my brother.”

Mortal Kombat voice: finish her!!!

“Now take that blade away from his throat or you’ll be very, very sorry, you scum-sucking son of a pig.”

Again with the racism.

Also, very, VERY.

What she despaired about wasn’t that she’d fallen into the clutches of a savage boy who was willing to kill without a second thought.

BUT HE JUST HESITATED TO KILL YOU

“I’m surprised you’d even bother to use my royal title. It’s obvious you don’t respect it.”

You’re not his queen, he has no reason to respect you, you helped KILL his brother.

“That term [savage] seemed to bother you. Why? Are you afraid it’s true? Or do you consider yourself more refined than that?”

He literally just told you that he’s above being a savage, you racist clump of white garbage.

“I’d think someone like you would relish any chance to spill blood.”

This entire chapter is one racist line after another.

Here’s another long passage.

A brown rabbit darted in front of them and into a meadow with tall grass - surprisingly green for this otherwise faded, dreary landscape. She didn’t ask any more questions. She knew he wouldn’t answer them. And she didn’t want to risk losing her tongue.

Finally, fooled by her suddenly calm demeanor, Jonas let go of her arm long enough to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she bolted away from him, feet quick as the rabbit’s as she left the path and burst into wide, grassy meadows.

Yes that entire section just metaphor-splooged all over this book, comparing CEO to a rabbit in a ~faded, dreary landscape~ running off to a grassy, green place. It wouldn’t be so bad if the author hadn’t LITERALLY compared her to the rabbit. We get it. You read a sparksnotes on metaphors and decided to put one in your book, even if it doesn’t serve any purpose.

[...] she stumbled, fell, and slammed her head against a chunk of stone protruding from the earth.

Yeah, no she’s dead. What’s up with these characters and surviving blunt force trauma so easily?

This girl was a snake.

Every time Jonas drags CEO, I just wanna smile.

He couldn’t deny that she was lovely… maybe even the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Jonas honey I’m so sorry this author wants you to be a splooge victim too.

Long passage alert

Then he felt her throat for a pulse. There was one.

“Too bad,” he breathed, although part of him was deeply relieved. He studied her face, pushing the silky hair back from it. She was tiny, a foot shorter than him and at least seventy pounds lighter. Her pale lavender dress was made from the finest silk - he’d never seen anything like it before. She wore tiny blue sapphires in her pierced ears and a green stone ring on her finger, but that was the sum total of her jewelry. Smart, since any flashier jewelry to go along with her fine clothes would have undoubtedly made her more of a target for thieves. Her face was free of the paint Laelia wore, but her cheeks were still bright and sun-kissed and her lips the color of roses. Unconscious, she didn’t seem nearly the cold, manipulative, rich bitch he’d fully decided she was.

My poor baby, my innocent sunflower angel, my sweet Jonas just spent a long ass paragraph having to splooge over CEO because we can’t have one man in this story not splooge over her. Someone save Jonas from this white hetero trash fire.

Just as he’d begun to think she was harmless and vulnerable, the beautiful snake had managed to sharpen her fangs.

Stop this.

She got up awkwardly, keeping the dagger trained on him, and retreated to the other side of the stone wheel that she’d fallen over.

HOW is she only walking awkwardly after hitting her head on a STONE????? She should be DEAD.

“But I’m planning to cut you if you come any closer.”

The girl’s tongue was a thousand times more dangerous than any weapon in her possession.

Because she said she’d cut him? EDGY!!!!!

He increased the pressure on her throat and stared down into the face of the girl who’d stood by her fiance’s side as his brother bled to death.

So he’s choking her to death, which she deserves, but we know she’s not going to die. However, if this turns into a romance later on, I’m giving up on YA books.

“All you look at me is something evil. But I’m not evil.”

Wow CEO it’s almost like you call him a savage every chance you get. So that’s cool but him LOOKING at you wrong is a problem? Cool.

At first glance, she appeared so small and fragile - but the princess possessed a fierce and fiery core that could burn anyone who got too close.

All she’s done since Jonas met her is whine, be a racist, hit her head, and threaten to cut him.

She was lucky she was only dealing with a bit of dizziness after knocking herself out. It could have been much worse.

She was unconscious after hitting her head on a stone and the author thinks the only problem she’ll have is being dizzy. If this comes back later on as a problem for CEO, I’ll give it a pass but it currently feels like bad writing.

“You are a horrible savage for keeping me here. My father will have your head for this.”

WHAT the FUCK

Jonas took hold of her throat again and pressed her up against the wall.

Stop teasing me and just KILL her already.

“And I’m not an evil bitch who rejoices in the deaths of others.”

You let an innocent man die so people wouldn’t know you’re not a virgin.

#leigh reads it #leigh dissects ya #falling kingdoms review

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