#you shall have your day in the sun soon king

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Hi, could you please do one where Baldwins wife and Sybilla absolutely hate each other, complete rivals you know. The reader was a queen of another country who willingly married Baldwin, and once she arrives in Jerusalem men pay much more attention to her than Sybilla, and Sybilla is bitter and jealous and she was really mean to the reader, but the readers is NOT a passive person and fires back at her. Thanks! ❤��

♧ Family Drama - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE!!! Good lord this took a while to write, I really hope you enjoy this Anon💖. Thank you so much for the request!! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

P.S. I spilt nail polish remover on my laptop while finishing this off and had a level 10 crashout. Pray for my computor guys 😭

Sybilla knew from the moment she laid eyes on her that y/n was trouble. From the moment she stepped one of her elegant, perfectly shaped feet from the carriage, all eyes fell on her.

Queen y/n/l/n.

A queen from a distant land who had come to marry her brother Baldwin. When Sybilla found out that her brother was being married off, she laughed. She did not mean to laugh, per say. It was only a reaction to what she believed to be a joke.

There was simply no way that any queen would be willing to give up her virginity and her dignity to wed a man plagued by such a horrible disease.

But she was wrong.

This beautiful, elegant woman was willing to give her brother a chance at a new life and rule by his side. Sybilla’s only explanation for the phenomenon was that she wanted Jerusalem for herself and her people after her brother's death.

Despite this, Baldwin was ecstatic the day she arrived. The two had been exchanging letters to one another for months now and he was beyond excited to finally meet his future queen.

The king went forward to greet y/n as she stepped down from the carriage.

“Hello” he said softly, barely being able to contain the smile on his face. Y/n grinned, “good evening your majesty” she replied with a small curtsey.

Sybilla cringed from her place behind Baldwin, perfectly keen to walk back into the castle and shut herself in her chambers until dinner was served.

“I must say my lord you are even more beautiful than I could have imagined” y/n stated with a smile as they began walking towards the castle.

Baldwin stuttered bashfully at her comment, “w-well thank you madame”.

No one had ever said such kind things to him before, he was truly lost for words. His bashfulness only made Sybilla cringe more. It was one thing that she wanted Jerusalem for her own after her brother's inevitable death, but to mock him with false flattery was another thing entirely.

Only it wasn't false. Y/n did indeed think he was beautiful. The way his silver mask shone in the sun, framing his stunning blue eyes was truly the most lovely thing she had ever seen.

She was not surprised or taken aback by his appearance at all, as he had described it to her through the letters, and he couldn't be more grateful.

The wedding was to be held tomorrow at dawn and the couple were beyond excited. When the small group of guards, Sybilla, the king and his soon to be queen entered the castle, they were informed dinner would be served in an hour.

Baldwin was delighted at this news since it meant that he and y/n could spend time talking and catching up before she had to go and sit with everyone else (since the king ate alone in his chambers).

“Shall we go to my rooms, y/n?” he asked, feeling almost shy at the simple question.

“Yes I would love to” she replied with a smile, Baldwin relaxed slightly at her acceptance.

“Before you go brother” Sybilla chimed in.

“I would like to have a word”.

“Oh of course, you go on ahead y/n” he replied, gesturing to a maid to accompany the queen.

Once she was out of sight and they were alone, Sybilla spoke.

“I don't trust her Baldwin” she said planley.

The king was shocked by her boldness.

“How do you mean sister?”

“I believe she only wishes to marry you so she can take Jerusalem… when you..” she caught herself.

Baldwin narrowed his eyes.

“Is it so difficult to believe, dear sister, that your ‘disgusting’ leperous brother has the capability to find a beautiful woman who will love him unconditionally?”

Sybilla’s breath caught in her throat.

“No- no not at all, I was simply-”

“that settles it then” he cut her off, turning to leave.

She didn't have the words to stop him. 

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

Baldwin retreated to his chambers where he was greeted by the lovely sight of his soon to be wife, standing outside on the balcony.

She turned to look at him when she heard the door close, an expression of warmth on her beautiful face.

That wonderful smile melted his troubles in an instant, and he was brought back to reality: This perfect woman was going to be his wife.

The two talked and played several games of chess before dinner was served. She was even more amazing than he could have imagined. 

Baldwin warned y/n of Sybilla before she went down to dinner.

“If she makes you uncomfortable at all, just leave the table and come get me okay?”.

Y/n agreed, but little did he know, she had no intention of anything getting between her and her Baldwin. She had fallen for the man hard, and nothing was going to keep him from her.

As y/n sat down at the table, she couldn't help but feel the eyes of men all over her.

She did her best to ignore it, but it was impossible to unsee.

The whispers of “is that the king's finance?”, “is she really going to marry him?” were deafening in her ears.

And she wasn't the only one who took notice of the prying eyes. Sybilla watched from across the table as eyes wandered to y/n. A pang of jealousy stung her as even her husband, Guy's, eyes landed on the woman's beautiful carved body.

After the food was bought out and a prayer had been said, Sybilla was the first to break the silence.

“So, y/n. Is there a particular reason you have decided to embarrass yourself and marry my brother or do you have a decent explanation?”. Thinking back on it, it may have been harsh but it needed to be said.

Y/n was taken aback by the question, but did not show it. Instead she took a deep breath and replied.

“So, Sybilla. Are you bitter and jealous because your leperous brother has found someone to love him more than your own husband loves you? Or are you just looking for a fight?” The room went silent and mouths fell agape.

Y/n just smiled and raised her eyebrows, expecting a reply from the princess.

“How dare you!” she stood, hitting her hands against the table.

“No! How dare you assume that just because your brother has an illness that it makes him unlovable” y/n yelled back, standing to meet Sybillas eye.

“I Baldwin told me what you said, that you believe I am only marrying into your family because I want your land. Well I have bad news for you, I am a queen of my own land, I have more than enough wealth on my own and need not anymore. I am marrying your brother because I love him. No more no less and nothing you do can stop that”.

Taking her seat again, y/n waved the other people at the table back to their own business.

They obliged and continued eating and Sybilla was left standing and looking like a fool as casual conversation resumed.

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

At the conclusion of dinner, y/n was looking forward to telling Baldwin what happened. How she had finally put Sybilla in her place.

He listened with surprise and excitement as y/n recounted the details from the dinner. By the end of the story, the pair were nearly howling with laughter at how the snooty princess had been pushed down.

“It serves her right, you know,” Baldwin exclaimed. “She has always tried to control my life, claiming that she was "protecting me" but in reality, she was just making me miserable and then avoiding me at all costs whenever something was going right, claiming that ‘she can't bear to look at me’. Maybe this will finally set her straight and she will learn to be more supportive".

Y/n sighed, wiping her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief, “we can only hope my dear. We can only hope”.

Baldwin thought for a moment.

“Y/n?” he said, suddenly becoming shy.

“Yes?” she said sweetly, making him feel guilty for asking.

“You.. you really do love me, yes?”

Y/n was shocked by how suddenly this came,

“yes of course. I fell in love with you before we even laid eyes on one another. And now you're here infront of me and I couldn't be happier” she said, placing a hand on his covered thigh gently.

The simple affection made the king's heart swell.

“Why do you doubt me?” she asked.

“I don't doubt you at all.. Just.. Sybilla must have gotten to me. I apologise” he put his head down in shame at being such a fool. Here was this lovely woman who loved him and he was about to go and mess it all up by doubting her-

His thoughts were cut short by a gentle hand coming to rest against his masked cheek, turning his head to face y/n.

“Don't ever apologise for needing to reassure my love. I completely understand but you must also understand that I really do love you. Nothing is going to change that. I couldn't care for the land that you rule. I would love you if you owned no land at all!, because I am in love with you” her kind eyes and her soft words were so lovely.

Baldwin choked back a small sob as tears formed in his eyes.

He nodded and did his best to fight the tears as y/n pulled him into a gentle embrace. It had been so long since he hugged anyone, he almost forgot what it felt like. It was so nice.

Y/n rubbed small circles onto his back as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He buried his masked face against her shoulder, quite content to remain in her arms for the rest of his life.

“Thank you” he whispered.

“I can't wait to marry you Baldwin” y/n said softly.

“Likewise, my love” he replied, closing his eyes and melting into her embrace.

[aishangotome]

Chevalier Michel: Even If You Die

From A Hidden Oath: King of the BEAST (2024 Election) - Collection Event

Thank you @dark-frosted-heart for providing the SE video!

—

All was dyed crimson in the evening–

???: ...Excuse me.

The setting sun mercilessly illuminated the figure that entered the room soundlessly.

It was the secret agent who was always assigned to guard Emma.

Lucien: Lady Emma has returned.

Chevalier: ...You may leave.

Lucien: Yes, sir.

The secret agent bowed and left the room.

Chevalier: .............

With a light sigh, he gathered the documents he had spread out on his desk and stood up.

-

Emma: Prince Chevalier...!

As soon as she entered the room, Emma opened her eyes wide, which she had been wiping with linen.

Emma was dressed in black - mourning clothes.

Emma: I'll make tea now.

Emma, with her tear-stained eyes, put on her usual smile.

(It's not a situation where you can force a smile.)

Chevalier: There's no need.

Emma: But... ah.

I grabbed Emma's arm and pulled her to sit on the sofa.

I sat next to her and embraced her shoulders, and Emma quietly leaned against me.

Emma: ...I apologize for my unsightly appearance.

Chevalier: Did someone say you looked unsightly?

Emma: No, no one...

Chevalier: Then there is no need to worry.

(Those tears are not the kind that should be forcibly stopped.)

Emma: ...Y-yes...

Her small shoulders trembled with a sniffle.

(It's been a while since I've seen Emma cry this much.)

(You cry like this even for the death of someone who isn't even your family.)

Today, Emma attended a funeral.

The deceased was an elderly man in town who Emma had known since she was a child.

When attending the funerals of nobles and knights as the next queen, Emma maintains a resolute demeanor, but it seems she cannot do so at the funerals of old acquaintances.

(In the past, I would have dismissed it as trivial...)

Suddenly, a memory from the past flashed through my mind.

*flashback*

Clavis: Chev, if you're heartbroken, shall I offer you a word of comfort?

Clavis: The death of your mother must have affected even you.

Chevalier: ...No?

Chevalier: I have knowledge of human emotions from books. I thought I might feel something...

Chevalier: I feel "nothing."

*flashback over*

(I still feel nothing about that woman's death.)

(But... if you were to die before me...)

( ............ )

An indescribable discomfort ran through my chest, and I pushed away any further thoughts.

Chevalier: ––Speak.

Emma: Huh...?

Chevalier: About the deceased.

Chevalier: He must have been someone you cared deeply about, to make you cry so much?

Emma looked at me with a slightly surprised expression, then awkwardly smiled and began to speak haltingly.

Emma: ...He was a lively old man who everyone in town knew.

Emma: He was baking sweets until just before he passed away, and took his last breath surrounded by his family.

Emma: He woke up at 4 a.m. every morning to bake sweets, and if you went early in the morning, he would always give you extra.

Emma: The other day, I went to buy some secretly, and he remembered me and said, "I'm glad..."

Instead of words, large tears fell from her reddened eyes.

Emma: I'm sorry...

Chevalier: There is no need to apologize.

Emma: But... even though Prince Chevalier is by my side, I'm showing you such a pathetic sight...

I lifted her chin as she tried to look down.

No matter how much she wiped them away, tears kept spilling from her wet eyes.

Chevalier: I do not think your current appearance is pathetic.

Emma: ...

I placed my hand on her cheek, and Emma placed her hand on top of mine.

The sight of Emma, her eyes closed as if feeling the warmth, seemed incredibly endearing.

Emma: Being pampered by Prince Chevalier makes me happy and cry even more.

Emma: But please, just for today, let me indulge in your kindness.

Emma: If I keep being sad, the old man in heaven will worry.

(Heaven, huh?)

(Prayers for the deceased are usually a waste of time. No matter how much you pray, that person is no longer in this world.)

(It would be far more rational to carry on the will of the deceased and move towards the future, rather than wasting time praying.)

(But... if it were you, I would also dwell on my thoughts.)

(It may be meaningless, but I don't think it's worthless.)

(Because you taught me that loving someone, like being loved, has meaning.)

Chevalier: Emma.

(Even if you die, I probably won't shed any tears.)

(But... I swear I will continue to love you for the rest of my life.)

Emma: Mmm...

I kissed her tear-stained lips.

As if to envelop her heart, shaken by loneliness, I continued to hold Emma until the curtain of night fell.

FIN

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Memento Mori

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: strong language

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, I hope to make up for it in the following one, which is planned to include more moments between Daemon and the reader. Enjoy!!

Daemon found you standing in front of the Weirwood tree the next morning.

“Do your people not sleep?” He asked as he approached you. “Or is it something special to you?”

A soft giggle left your lips as you turned to face him, your long hair swaying with the wind. “Everyone needs sleep, Daemon Targaryen, even us,” you responded, your eyes meeting his purple ones. “Though you are right that I did not sleep last night. There were things to be done.”

“Are you going to inform your King of these things you are talking about?” Daemon asked with an arched brow, you could tell he was trying to test the waters, to see whether your loyalties laid blindly with him.

You spoke with a warning tone. “As I told you last night, I have no king, Daemon.” Only a fool would fail to sense the wind changing around you as you spoke, the words left your lips sharply. “I am no men, hence I am neithersubject to your customs nor to your monarch.”

From the way he clenched his jaw, it was obvious that Daemon was trying to keep his temper under control – from what you had seen the night before in your visions, even the slightest bit of effort he gave in the name of anger management was a tremendous step. “Even you cannot roam the Seven Kingdoms, doing what you please, without answering to the monarch, Lúthril – if you live in these lands, you have to obey its rulers.”

He spoke the words with a hard tone, putting emphasis on almost each one, all the while his huge frame towered over yours, in an attempt to assert his dominance. Of course, such a manner could have very well worked in the past; however, you were an ancient enchantress of the purest and the mightiest race the world has ever seen – no men could intimidate you. Not even the Heir of the Dragon.

As a response, you took a step towards him, looking up to meet his gaze with determination in your eyes. “I do not intend to stay long,” your voice was low but your words carried a different kind of power. “You are my last mission in this world – afterwards, I shall join my brothers and sisters in the land of eternal peace and harmony.”

Daemon looked at you for a while before speaking, his warm breath was licking against your forehead each time he exhaled. “You are a strange kind of woman.”

You did not say anything.

Upon hearing the footsteps approaching, you stepped away from Daemon as both of you turned to see the person. As soon as her emerald eyes found your graceful figure standing beside the King Consort, horror was visible on Alys Rivers’ face. “No, no, no, no!” her voice was becoming louder each time. “This cannot be true.” Quickly, the witch turned her gaze to Daemon. “What have you done?!”

In the blink of an eye, the Dark Sister’s sharp blade was against Alys Rivers’ throat, pinning her at her place. “Watch your tongue, witch.” Daemon spoke with an ice-cold tone, resembling that of a king at that very moment. “Do I have to remind you whom you are talking to?”

Gently, you placed your left hand on Daemon’s arm, causing him to lower the Dark Sister as his gaze travelled to your face which seemed to shine with an unearthly glow under the rays of the sun. “We both have known for long that this day was coming, Ingolme.” You addressed Alys Rivers as witch in the language of your people. “You should have prepared yourself better.”

Alys Rivers shook her head in disappointment, her emerald eyes traveling to Daemon. “You have no idea what you are tempering with.”

Before giving Daemon the chance to talk, you started walking towards Alys, causing her to straighten her back, standing in an alarmed way. “I do not recall having harmed you, Ingolme.” You spoke to her with a voice sweeter than honey, the air circling around you was causing the skirts of your dress to move around your feet. “I have given you no reason to fear me. You have another motive.”

As the wind got stronger, messing with both Daemon’s and Alys’ hair, it started whispering in your ear everything you needed to know – it was a gift from the Gods. The wind told you what was motivating Alys Rivers in keeping you locked away and you had to admit – she had every reason to fear you. As long as you were alive, free and by Daemon’s side; only the one-eyed-death would visit her on her path.

“Such a pity,” you muttered after the strong wind left its place to a soft breeze. “All these years of experience and yet, you still believe you are capable of changing the fracture points in one’s destiny.” You tilted your head to the side. “Has the story of how my people vanished not taught you anything at all?”

The shadows started to grow under Alys’ feet, becoming taller with each passing moment, making their way towards you. “You think you are so clever, enchantress,” Alys spat out the words as if they were venom, “but you are not one of us – you are a stranger to the games that are played here. Your magic alone cannot win the game of thrones.”

With a swift movement of your fingers, you let the celestial light radiate off your body so strongly that not only the shadows faded away but Alys and Daemon had to shield their eyes. Before the conflict between you two could get any further, Daemon interfered, his strong voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Enough!” His voice echoed around you, scaring away the birds. “I will not allow this nonsense any further. Witch, leave us alone.” His last words were directed at Alys, who sent you one last deadly glare before hurrying into the castle. Her words, however, flowed into your mind, only for you to hear.

You may have his ear for now, enchantress, but no one holds a dragon’s loyalty for long.

It was hard to resist the urge to roll your eyes – it was clear that at some point in the future, the witch of Harrenhal was going to bother you to a great extent – unless you somehow found a way to put shackles around her powers.

As soon as Alys Rivers was gone, Daemon turned to face you with fury in his purple eyes once again. “I do not need your magic to win any game – the throne will be mine through fire and blood.”

Your voice was tranquil as you spoke, the celestial light was gone now. “I never told you that I intended to win the throne for you, Daemon.” A strand of hair was falling in front of your eyes. “My sole purpose here, right now, is to advise you, guide you through your path but only if you will let me.”

The stubbornness was dripping from his words. “My fate is not something for you to shape.”

“The Gods have already woven the threads of your destiny, Daemon, but your choices will determine which path you follow. I can only help you see the way away from death and misery —if you are willing to look.”

Your words seemed to take Daemon by surprise, he was unable to hide the fear falling onto his eyes as he put away the Dark Sister. “You have seen what awaits me?” He asked with a low voice, the sudden change in his attitude was almost scary. You nodded. “Can you… show it to me? The way you showed me your past?”

A bitter smile formed on your lips as you took a step towards him, resting your left hand against his right cheek. Daemon didn’t push it back. “It is forbidden to speak of those I have seen, let alone show them to you.” You took a deep breath. “When the time comes, the Gods will show you everything you need to know.”

When he felt that you were getting ready to pull your hand back, Daemon placed his right one on your own, caressing the back of your hand. You pressed your lips against each other. “If I allow you to guide me, what guarantee do I have that you’re not leading me to ruin?” Daemon’s words were nothing but a mere whisper now – the fierce man was gone.

“There are bigger things at stake – bigger than you and me, than this hateful war of your family… Leading you to your ruin would have echoes far beyond you yourself, Daemon. It would be the first step in unleashing chaos on all of us, I cannot allow that to come pass.” With much willpower, you pulled your hand back, only to miss Daemon’s touch right away. “If it is more to your liking, you may think of me as your advisor -as all kings should have one.”

The edge of Daemon’s lips curled upwards, wind playing with his silver hair. “I believe everyone else here, in this cursed castle, shall know you as my advisor as well, Lúthril.” You both started walking towards the castle with slow steps. “If anyone should ask where you are coming from…”

You didn’t let Daemon finish his words. “I shall tell them it is none of their concern.”

A small laugh left Daemon’s lips, a sound so pleasant to the ear that it left you yearning to crawl into his arms to let his laugh embrace you. “This attitude of yours,” he said, “I find it amusing.” You sent him a warm smile, unaware of how Daemon carved that smile in his memory to recall it each time he found himself missing your company. “As my advisor, what do you suggest I should do next?”

“Your first step should be gaining the support of the riverlords by making up for the massacre William Blackwood and his men wrapped around your neck as an amulet of guilt.” You responded, not realising the way Daemon stopped abruptly as you walked through the corridors of the castle. “You need their bannerman – there is no other way to raise an army here… What is wrong?”

The absence of the footsteps following yours caused you to stop as well, looking back at Daemon, who stood a few meters behind you. He had a troubled expression on his face which was quite difficult to decipher.

“How do you know about William Blackwood and the massacre?” He asked, keeping his voice low. “You were still invisible in the dungeons when all these happened.”

The edge of your lips curled upwards. “The Gods reveal what they will, past and future alike.” You responded, causing Daemon to frown. “Nothing is hidden from their gaze—or mine.”

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[calisources]

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.

All of these sentences are mostly taking by my own mind and i'm not joking. It was hard finding material quotes regarding tournaments in historical or fantasy setting. Some are from shows or media but eighty percent is all from my own mind, please give credit if use these. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit. All of these involve the medieval event of a tournament and what happens around them.

I fear I am already bending far too many rules just by taking you, my young princess.

Show me your hands, you will have blisters soon.

Lady Eglantine doesn’t believe in love, only lust.

In the world of competition, only the strongest shall prevail.

A true champion is not defined by their victories, but by the obstacles they've overcome.

Victory is sweetest when it's earned through sweat, hard work, and determination.

Will you not participate in the tourney, my lord? 

May I have the honor of wearing your favor today, my lady?

Good luck to you, my Prince.

The tournament is not just a test of skill, but a test of character as well.

Is it always this bloody? Will those poor men die? Someone must see them.

I want him to wear my favor.  Only him. 

If he wins, the knight has the right to name his Queen of Love and Beauty. And at the feast, they shall dance.

Be careful. A tourney is a grand place for courtly love, but also, for blood to rise and affairs to appear.

Call me what you like, say I'm without honor, I don't care. I'm not getting on any more horses to whack you people with a stick.

Kings may be chosen by God, but they still make the mistakes of men.

When even those who rule can sink this low, it is not possible to change anything.

It's my lucky charm, be sure to bring it back to me.

My favorite blue ribbon. Take it.

It will bring you good fortune and you will return from joust unharmed.

I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor.

How about a kiss, for luck?

Courtly love was the culture around the performance of love at court.

And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual.

The knights take on the duties of shadows with pride.

Whoever wins the tournament, shall become the prince/princess’ new betrothed.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

Petyr survived only because I begged Brandon not to kill him.

When Petyr heard of my engagement, he challenged Brandon to a duel. 

You do qualify to marry my daughter.

What matters most is who she will give her favor to. 

Her face is one that can create dynasties or crumble empires.

I was hoping for a word before you rode on the tourney, my Prince. 

My brother is the one competing against you, please be gentle with him.

The games are done for the day, please, feast and drink as you wish. 

You have been staring all day, my lord. I was beginning to wonder if I had something in my face.

Any damsel that's in distress - she'll be out of that dress when she meets Jim West.

Great men do not seek power... they have power thrust upon them.

My daughter seems. . .infatuated with you. I have yet to see why.

The princess is naive and thinks any man who is kind means well. A tournament will only show her the reality of life.

You honor the arena with your combat. May your swords and shield preserve the peace.

In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.

I will be brave for Princess Pea.

As a squire, your first duty is to your knight’s armor. Your knight’s armor is more important than your own life. 

You will be knighted and you will have earned your knighthood.

You are hurt. At least let me tend to your wound.

The men laugh and fight and the ladies search for husbands.

Nothing like a good tournament to find a husband, or a companion for the night. 

Rumors are always spread with ease in these.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?

You say I'll never get your blessing till the day I die.

We're married now, but we still haven't told your dad. This is the right time.

Are you promised to someone?

My sister's getting married. It's a love match. A rare thing. I’m not so lucky. My husband is to be chosen by who can hold a sword the longer.

Why can’t women participate in the games?

There are games for the ladies, Your Grace. But they are less. . .gruesome. And of course, the dancing.

Princes and Princess all over the realm and across the sea are coming for this event. You must shine brighter.

Let me help you with your armor. It appears loose.

As I promised, I return your favor to you, my lady. 

The Prince never loses a joust. He will crown his queen and then all will be well.

I do not understand the appeal of this. 

I spend days making these favors, let me stay a little longer.

My lady, I do not need your favor to win, but perhaps, a kiss of good faith. 

I do not care who wins these games, your hand is already arranged for another.

Men are scoundrel, specially when blood runs hot after a good battle, stray away from them.

These games are done in honor of the king’s heir.

The lord’s daughter is said to have bloomed, and the man chooses to announce it like this. 

A tournament is for men to boost their strength, fathers sell their daughters like mares and for affairs to happen.

I saw you on the stands today, my lord. But you did not participate on the games.

My brother wishes to dance with you, my lady. He is all too shy to ask himself.

You were injured. Have you allowed someone to heal them or are you too stubborn to let them?

Princess, you must not stray too far away. 

Mother is too drunk and annoyed to care, she won’t mind. 

[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 12)

Contains: smut, dub-con, HIGHLY degrading, oral (m receiving), spanking, very submissive reader, mentions of words like whore and slut, possessiveness, angst, crying, dark content so read with caution!

Wordcount: ~4.06k

Masterlist of this story

The next day Maera and Daemon got up late when the sun stood already high in the sky.

It was a lazy morning with the two of them dozing off again only to then cuddle each other while the sunlight shone down on their lying figures. Maera almost wondered if her father would send for her soon but then Daemon softly slapped her bare arse.

"We should get up. Or otherwise you'll get this tight cunt of yours fucked sore right here and right now."

His niece smiled slyly and leaned down to kiss his shoulder but then quickly and smoothly jumped off the bed.

"Let's go then."

Daemon smugly watched his niece while she put on a nightgown.

"I shall call for the handmaidens. Do you want me to tell them they are to prepare a bath for you?" she asked and Daemon lifted his eyebrows.

"Yes."

Maera smiled and then quickly opened the door to call for the servants. An hour later the couple was ready to start the day so Daemon guided her down to the dining room. Everything was exactly the way it was before she had left the castle and yet it felt strange. How many times had she walked past the stone engravings in the hallway, had rushed down the staircases although her father had told her that it was too dangerous. How many times had she knocked at the door of the dining chamber to wait for her father's "Come."

This time the door was opened for them before Daemon was able to make a sound and when they were inside Maera spotted her father sitting by the table but with an empty plate.

"Father. Good morrow," she said and put her kindest smile on her face. She just hoped that things would finally be more relaxed between her husband and father.

"Maera," he nodded but his face hardened at the sight of his brother.

He merely tilted his head a little which Daemon took as an invitation to pull his niece with him to the table and sit down. She anxiously watched Daemon and prayed to the gods that he would restrain himself rather than provoking the king further. He caught her gaze and questioningly raised his left eyebrow. In respone Maera gave him her biggest puppy eyes and bit her lip. Please, she mouthed at him which her uncle commented with a scoff and he turned away.

She remained stiff and tense the next couple of minutes but soon the girl assumed that her words might have had an impact on Daemon. He even had started to talk about some meaningless boring topics such as the cotton trade with Pentos and how the prices had shot up over the past months and though Viserys had narrowed his eyes at his brother in the beginning, a few moments later he had actually answered him.

Maera wasn't certain whether her father's openess, if one could call it that, was caused by his manners and the fact that a good host was supposed to treat his guests with kindness or if he genuinely had the desire to speak with Daemon about this now. Either way, she felt relieved and contendly sipped on her cup while zoning out. As much as she liked this development, there was no way she could bare listening to their conversation about cotton trade at this moment.

~~~~~~~~~~

To her regret Maera learned that her son and their servants and handmaidens would need another two days until they would arrive in King's Landing and so in the noon there was nothing left for her to do but to make herself feel more homely in Daemon's chambers.

He had told her that he had planned to meet some of his old friends of the gold cloaks so Maera was alone in their chambers. Additionally her husband had told her to preferably stay in their chambers but soon she wasn't able to anymore. Being back in the red keep excited her and she just had to see her septa Julvra, the stables, the library, the armory and all the other things again. It had been a year. Things had changed during her absence and she intended to see everything.

To her misfortune Maera wasn't able to locate her septa but she promised herself she would find her in the morrow at the latest. She did pay the library a visit though and the familiar scent of parchments and leather, ink and wood overwhelmed her. There was a library at dragonstone as well but compared to the one here, it was disappointing. On top of that, there was that characteristic smell of violets, the source of which Maera had never known but it made her skin tingle.

She almost spent 3 hours browsing through books both familiar and new and she would have had lost the feeling for the passing time if it hadn't became so dark outside that the letters swam before her eyes. That was why she put back her books and decided to search for Daemon.

But just when she was walking around a corner in the dim light of the corridor someone big suddenly appeared in front of her and Maera didn't have enough time to dart to the side.

"Forgive me!" she quickly spoke and then her eyes wandered up the person's body. Her jaw dropped and a happy and exciting feeling spread throughout her body.

"Harwin!?"

The tall man chuckled and his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Little princess," he whispered and a warm shiver ran down her spine. He had always called her that name and when she was younger his words combined with his raspy and deep voice had made her blush oftentimes. Harwin took her hand and bowed his head to press a soft kiss on th back of it.

"I was delighted to hear about your safe return, little princess. I hope you are fine."

She had a genuine and wide smile on her face while nodding a few times.

"I am. And I am happy to be back too."

Maera had missed him a lot, she realized now. How many times had they wasted their time by the sea, flipping stone on the water's surface, laid beneath the sun though the knight originially was merely supposed to protect her. But it had been inevitable. She had liked him so much that after weeks he had become her closest friend. That was why she was incredibly relieved that Ser Hawrin seemed fine and the prospects of seeing him more frequently from now on made her insides flutter. The knight placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed her gently.

"I'm actually very busy at the moment but I'd be happy to see you soon and preferably for a longer time. Maybe you would give me the honour and accompany me on a walk through the gardens?"

She happily nodded. "It would be my honour, Ser."

With these words Harwin bowed his head and Maera couldn't help but admire the young and decent man. She was married now of course and felt drawn to her husband only but no person with two functioning eyes would disagree with the fact that Harwin was a handsome and charming man. Her eyes followed him until he had turned around a corner and then Maera finally made her way back to her rooms.

To her surprise Daemon wasn't inside and she felt disappointed. But since she didn't have anything else to do the girl sat down on the bed and grabbed a book off her nightstand to pass the time by reading. In any other case she probably would have gone to have supper preferably with her father but she wasn't hungry and also wanted to be in their chambers when he returned. Maera craved being held by his arms and just desired a lazy evening with him.

She was almost worried about his whereabouts when she finally heard steps outside and suddenly the door sprang open. Her excited expression faded though when she noticed his narrow eyes and tense mouth and the way he hasted towards her. Maera gasped for air in surprise as he grabbed her upper arm and forced her on her feet.

"You little whore," he hissed and his niece felt fear taking control of her body. She was frozen, tears welled up in her eyes and he suddenly scared her so much that her breathing was restricted. Maera couldn't even bring out a word and ask him what the reason for his fury was.

"You dirty little slut. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? I was expecting to see you on your fucking knees when I return. Begging for my forgiveness."

She whimpered because her uncle had wrapped a hand around her neck and squeezed tightly.

"Stupid whore. You thought I wouldn't find out about your slutty behaviour here while I'm out? You thought you could get away with it? You thought now that your uncle is gone you can throw yourself on other men? Act like a disgusting little wench and offer every breathing creature around here your spread legs?"

Maera tried to free herself from his grip because she had to talk to him! She didn't know what Daemon had heard and why he thought she would ever do something like this but it was untrue! She never would've spread her legs for anyone that wasn't him and he should know that. She squirmed in his grip let out a moan to tell him that she had something to say but her uncle fully ignored her.

"It's really unfortunate that you can't fucking behave. How many times did I tell you that you're not to speak to any male servants or knights. And especially not Harwin Strong, this pathetic cunt of a knight."

Maera widened her eyes because she slowly started to realized what Daemon meant. But she merely talked to him and he was an old friend, an exception. Again, the girl intended to calm him by assuring him that all he had done was welcome her back in the castle but her crying and shifting didn't change anything.

"Stay still. You will have enough opportunities to apologize to me but now I want you to shut this slutty mouth until I tell you otherwise," he hissed and Maera could literally feel the anger in his voice as a brush over her skin which scared her.

Although she kept still Daemon slapped her cheek softly and then stepped towards the bed while dragging her by her hair. The prince sat down on the bed and pulled Maera until her stomach hit his thighs and she found herself bent over his lap. Panic flooded her system and she desperately attempted to slip away which Daemon replied to by smacking her arse.

"Stay. Fucking. Still," he growled.

"But I didn't do anything, please," she pleaded now that his hand had left her throat and she finally had been able to inhale some fresh air. Daemon's hand came down once more and she let out a painful whine.

"Please uncle. I swear it, we only talked. Please, believe me. He's a friend and I wanted to greet him kindly."

He chuckled sarcastically. It was a sound that didn't give her any comfort at this moment and the blood in her veins freezed.

"You will count, little one. If you'll mess up I'll start from zero again. And after each slap you will say 'Thank you' and 'Forgive me'."

She dropped her head but Daemon didn't take it as further resistance so he skillfully pulled up her skirts and removed her underwear. Her arse was bare on display for him and he roughly slapped her cheek. He listened carefully for the words he had expected to hear but Maera stayed silent and besides her gasp and the sound of skin slapping against skin he couldn't hear anything. That was why he forcefully yanked her head back so he could look at her face that was drawn with fear.

"I told you to count," he spoke coldly. "Use that sweet voice you used earlier to seduce Harwin Strong and beg for my forgiveness. I know that you can do such lovely things with your voice, isn't that right? I witnessed it myself. You will beg now. Beg like a pathetic common whore that knows her place."

With these words his hand smacked her again and this time it was harder.

"I'm sorry," she cried out and simultaneously her uncle let go off her hair so her head could fall down. He repeated the motion and Maera let out croaked 'Thank you's and 'Forgive me's and 'Please, I'm sorry's while also counting his slaps just as he had told her to do. She jumped every time his skin hit hers and soon her back was so sore that the simplest touch made her whince. Inbetween his slaps he soothingly caressed her skin, which was a great contrast to the way he was abusing her arse at the moment.

When Daemon was finally done the skin of her arse burned and ached and she wished someone would throw a bucket of cold water over her. His hand came down to her back only that this time he traced the handprints on her skin and he seeminlgy wanted to calm her but given the circumstances it was a cruel action. Tears coated her cheeks and by now Maera was a mindful mess on his lap. She sniffed and cried and felt incredibly small and degraded.

"Shh, babygirl. You know that you deserved it. Don't act like the innocent victim."

Daemon delivered one last soft slap to her arse which made her jolt and then pulled her body up until she stood in front of him. Maera anxiously watched him as she didn't know if he would finally release her but when he pushed her down to the floor she knew that he wouldn't let her get away with it so easily.

"On your knees. You're gonna make it up for me. Gonna make me feel really good, kitten."

She sobbed but didn't resist when he made her kneel in front of him. The stoney ground hurt her but she knew better than to complain.

"It's quite poetic, isn't it? Punishing your mouth that you have used to seduce Strong."

He wrapped his hand around her throat once more and pulled her a little closer until his center was in front of her face. He single-handedly managed to free himself off his breeches so Maera stared directly at his hard and large manhood. As much as she enjoyed tasting him and letting him slide into her mouth, she always felt so degraded and humiliated when she had to kneel for her husband. That was why she prefered it when he sat on the bed and Maera could crouch between his legs rather than experiencing the shame of kneeling on the hard ground while looking up to Daemon. That was what commone whores did. Not a highborn noblewoman.

But of course she wasn't in the position to demand anything at all right now so she kept her mouth shut while he guided his tip to her soft lips.

"I don't care how much you'll cry and beg. You're gonna take it and swallow every last drop until I'm content. And if you'll have to stay on your fucking knees all night. You're a little slut and sluts don't deserve any comfortability. I want you to apologize and behave and only then I'll be willing to think about forgiving you."

His hand that had previously squeezed her neck wandered to her chin and he made her look up to him.

"And I want this to hurt for you. Feel free to scream and complain, I won't care. I'm doing this to punish you and give myself a little treat. But this is supposed to hurt you. I want you to think about what you've done and what happens when you disrespect me like this. Do you understand me?"

Maera nodded because she was unable to do anything else. She was anxious about what would happen now because as much as she liked it when her uncle thrusted his cock into her throat he was so upset with her right now that she knew there wouldn't be anything pleasant in it for her. He eagerly tapped the tip of his member against her lips and gestured her to open them. Once she had offered him entrance Daemon pushed inside of her mouth and was welcomed by the familiar comfortable warmth that never failed to make his stomach tighten.

His movement was far from being gentle or patient because he immediately went all the way and didn't stop to push even with his niece was choking and using all her physical power to pull away. He had a hand in her hair which was enough to make sure that she couldn't escape and he just held her head in place while enjoying her wet throat until he backed away a little. Maera used the space to inhale greedily but it was cut off when Daemon snapped his hips forwards again and started to fuck her mouth.

He set a cruel and aggressive pace. He was able to fully ignore his niece's struggle and actually used her like a toy that merely served as a way to make him come the fastest. She knew better than to try to fight him off because he would surely just take what he wanted and complaining would only make him angrier. This was the kind of Daemon that didn't know anything about mercy. In this state he had no problems assaulting her throat until she was crying and that was exactly what he was doing at this moment.

Maera felt like she might suffocate with him barely giving her one second of peace but somehow whenever she thought she was gonna pass out now there was fresh air getting to her lungs. Without Daemon's hand in her hair she would've fallen down to the ground but he made sure to keep her up in order to use her throat to his satisfaction.

He grinded his teeth while looking down at her and her tears of pain didn't move anything in him. She deserved this. She had acted like a cheap whore and disrespected him. He could clearly remember the image of her smiling up to Harwin Strong as though she had just seen what she had been searching for for years. But she was his. His alone. This cunt shouldn't even look at Maera for a second. He wanted her all to himself and somehow Daemon felt like whenever a man had his eyes on her she was a little less his. 'Gods, why couldn't she just behave?'

The memory of the recent events fueled the fury in him again so he tightened his grip around her hair.

"You're my fucking property and I thought that I've taught you this already many times."

He could feel her trying to nod and she stared up to him with her glossy wide eyes.

"You know what I'll do next time, little slut?" His eyes flashed. "Next time I'll make him watch. You'll get down on your knees and I'll fuck your mouth until you're nothing but a pathetic mess and he will watch every second of it. Perhaps he'll then see who you belong to and that he's not to mess with what's mine."

The imagination alone made him even harder and he felt that he was about to burst. That was why he let out a deep groan while his thrusts became sloppier but then Daemon finally exploded in her mouth and his seed filled her throat. Maera had problems swallowing everything but of course her uncle wouldn't accept anything less so he kept her head in place until he was certain that she had swallowed every last droplet of his hot seed.

But Daemon still wasn't done. His hand stayed in her hair as he slid his cock out of her mouth. Her face was red and wet with her tears and suddenly the rogue prince was torn apart between his anger and the desire to cuddle his little girl. He had just released and therefore was in a special post-orgasm-state and even in his upset temper Daemon felt protective over her. But first he had to state something again and so he yanked her head back, a little softer now, and came closer to her.

"I want you to tell me that you have understood what I have told you. And that you know why I had to punish you," he hissed.

Maera coughed a few times, her voice nothing but a croaked sound but then she answered him with her shaky voice.

"I-I understand, uncle… I spoke to S-Ser Harwin though I w-wasn't allowed to…"

She had lowered her eyes to the ground while speaking but Daemon wouldn't have this so he put a finger under her chin that was covered with his precum.

"And what have you learned these past minutes?"

"I will not do it again. I swear it."

He smiled. "No you won't. Because you didn't like what I've just did, did you?"

Maera anxiously glanced at him, gulped loudly and then shook her head.

"Right. So you don't want me to repeat it, mhm?"

"N-No…," she whispered and Daemon gently caressed the side of her head.

"I don't want to do this again either. But if you'll disobey me again I'll have no choice. So you'll best do as I say or your pretty little mouth will get fucked like this again. And you don't want that."

With these words he finally let go off her and Maera sank to the ground at once. New tears escaped the corner of her eyes while she crouched on the stoney ground. Daemon observed her for a few seconds, sighed and then decided to take care of her rather than make her feel his anger for a little longer by ignoring her.

So he kneeled next to her, grabbed her under the arms and picked her up. Maera let it happen and pressed her face to his neck while her uncle walked the both of them to the bed. It had gotten late and he knew that a good sleep would calm his niece. He gently put her down on the mattress, climbed on the bed himself and then she was fast to crawl to him.

"P-Please…," she whined and gestured him to wrap his arms around her. Daemon chuckled softly but granted her her wish.

"I l-love you, Daemon, I'm s-so sorry, I didn't mean to-to upset you. Please don't be mad, please. I will be good."

He exhaled loudly and lovingly ran his finger over the area under her eyes.

"I love you too, little girl. It's good that you're sorry. And you took your punishment so I'm not angry with you anymore. But you know what happens if you are disobedient again, right?"

Maera nodded rapidly and her hands gripped his arm tightly as if she was afraid he would leave her if she didn't hold on to him.

"I know. I will get punished again. But I won't be disobedient, I swear it to you."

"Good girl," Daemon praised and gave her a genuine smile. As a reply the girl tried to move closer to him which was physically impossible but her uncle pressed a kiss on her brow.

"Please Daemon…," she pleaded.

"What is it, little one? What do you need?"

Well, if only she knew… Maera didn't know what she was asking for so instead of giving him an answer she moaned and stared at him with round eyes. He chuckled and was filled with an infinite love for his wife. If only she was always this tame. To be fair, Maera really had improved her behaviour and he rarely had to teach her a lesson like he had done today anymore but some days she still acted defiantly and Daemon found that it was just unnecessary. Things were going so smoothly when she did as he said and let him take control.

He stroke her silky hair and saw how she closed her eyes.

"Sleep, sweetling. I'll watch over you. I'll always keep you safe."

Maera hummed contently and snuggled into his arms. And then Daemon caressed her hair until she was fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@smashee0789 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @hangmanscoming @ninihrtss @coffeebooksrain18 @aleemendoza2425-blog @chiminies-noona

[torchwood-99]

'No niggard are you, Éomer,' said Aragorn, 'to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!'" Then Eowyn looked in the eyes of Aragorn, and she said: 'Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer!' And he answered: 'I have wished thee joy ever since first I saw thee. It heals my heart to see thee now in bliss.'

This interaction is really quite interesting.

Eowyn's personal will is something that is a point of conflict between Aragorn and Eowyn. When Aragorn instructs Eowyn to stay, Eowyn asks why she may not do with her life as she wills it, to which Aragorn responds few are able to do so, and includes himself in that.

May I not now spend my life as I will?' ‘Few may do so with honour.'

However, Eowyn turns the tables on him by pointing out how his situation as a man is different to hers as a woman.

'Shall I always be chosen?' she said bitterly. 'Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?' 'A time may come soon,' said he, 'when none will return. Then there will be valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defence of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.' And she answered: 'All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.'

She points out that as a woman, her will is never her own. Whereas need dictates what Aragorn does, how he responds to that need is for him to determine. His voice matters, his guidance is asked for, his cooperation is required. Plans are not made for him, as they are Eowyn. And while there are times a person has to be chosen to do something against their will, for Eowyn, that is her life.

Notably here, Aragorn cannot make a re-buttle. He has to shift the conversation towards Eowyn's fears, because he cannot tell her that her situation, the denial of her will, doesn't hinge upon her sex, as is proven by Aragorn himself later in the chapter.

"Then wilt thou not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?" "I will not, lady," he said. "For that I could not grant without leave of the king and of your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow. But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell!"

He feels he needs Eomer's permission as well as Theoden's to let Eowyn ride with him. Theoden at least is Eowyn's king, she is hid subject and therefore owed authority over her, as with everyone else. Yet Eomer is not Eowyn's king, nor is she under his command as a member of his forces. In Aragorn's eyes, she is his sister, therefore she is his to command.

Despite Aragorn's efforts, despite Eomer and Theoden's lack of permission, Eowyn resolves to do as she will, and rides to battle, and she takes Merry with her, as she tells Merry;

“Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say," he (Eowyn as Dernhelm) whispered; "and so I have found myself."

These words are repeated by Theoden, after she and Merry defeated the Witch King, to the good of all. Eowyn embraced her will, and because of that, a great good was achieved.

Faramir doesn't need schooling as to the importance of Eowyn's will.

"Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes.”

Where they go, the life they will live, hinges on Eowyn's will.

Eowyn herself we see take charge of her life.

'I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun,' she said; 'and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.'

She has chosen life over death, she will no longer seek death in battle or look for happiness only in war, but she will become a healer and help rebuild the world. None of this is contingent on anyone else giving her permission.

And Eowyn said to Faramir: "Now I must go back to my own land and look on it once again, and help my brother in his labour; but when one whom I long loved as father is laid at last to rest, I will return."

No one gives her the order to leave Gondor, to leave Rohan, to return to Gondor, to return to Rohan. She is stating, without room for disagreement, where she is going and what she is going for, and on what terms she can return.

"I will" "I will" "I will". An insignificant phrase in itself, but for Eowyn, who has been told all her life "you will", to be saying "I will" at least is a significant shift in the power dynamics between herself and others.

Eomer is part of that shift.

"Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Eowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all."

Eomer, Eowyn's king and head of her family, does not speak of their marriage as something Faramir asked him for, and that he granted permission for. Eowyn granted it "full willing", Eowyn agrees, and "therefore" they shall be married.

But Aragorn doesn't seem to be in on the memo, hence the quote above. Here, he rather reduces Eowyn to an object, a gift, a fair treasure to be passed from one kingdom to the other. He calls her a thing, and comments on Eomer's generosity to "give" Eowyn away, when Eomer himself only spoke of the match in terms of Eowyn agreeing to marry Faramir.

Eowyn's response is friendly, but it's also direct, and in her response she makes a demand of Aragorn.

Then Eowyn looked in the eyes of Aragorn, and she said: "Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer!"

Rather a departure from the last time she asked something of him.

Then she fell on her knees, saying: "I beg thee!" "Nay, lady,"

On her knees, begging, using terms of intimacy that he will not return. Desperate pleading met with dispassionate refusal. A use of "thee" met with a cold sounding "lady".

At her troth plighting, she looks him in the eye, making no show of submission or deference to him. She addresses him respectfully and with warmth, as her future liege-lord and as the man who healed her, but she isn't backing down or taking a submissive stance. She doesn't ask Aragorn to wish her joy, there is no "please", no "will you". She tells him, she instructs him, what to say, what to give to her.

She is centring herself, she is instructing Aragorn to direct his comments at her. Once more, she brooks no refusal.

It is direct, it is confrontational in manner, it is an order.

And he answered: "I have wished thee joy ever since first I saw thee. It heals my heart to see thee now in bliss."

Eowyn gets what she asked for. Aragorn wishes her joy, and he uses "thee". Double win.

[ibrithir-was-here]

The Goblin King's Huntsman

Ok so, I have been unable to draw or write for a few weeks now, so here's an old thing for the sake of feeling like I'm sharing something :/

Ages ago, I had a dream where Sarah went back to the Labyrinth with an older Toby, and got chased around by a masked figure sent by the Goblin King to capture her and take her prisoner. But eventually, as one does in dreams, the sense came that this persuer was just as much a prisoner of the Labyrinth, and when I woke up I started trying to craft a story for how he ended up as the Goblin King's Huntsman (I think I actually ended up headcanoning he was also the guy with the Muppet Blind Pew type mask at the Goblin Ball who keeps showing up watching Sarah and Jareth)

Long ago, when the mountains we know were no more than mole hills, and our mole hills were taller than the tallest mountains, a king’s daughter lay abed, wasting away from Melancholy. Her one true love had gone away to war, and had never returned. Now it looked as if she would soon follow him. 

Her father, the king, was distraught with grief and worry. He called all his wizards and wise women to help the princess, but none could discover a spell to cure her. They tried all manner of  weird and worrisome things, slime and snails, puppy dog tails, thunder and lightening. But nothing they tried worked. The princess grew paler and paler and weaker and weaker each day.

Finally, her father could bear it no longer, and in his grief, made a rash bargain. Now, this kingdom bordered that of the Labyrinth, ruled by the fearsome Goblin King, who would grant you  a wish if you said the right words, but never without a price. It was to him that the king turned. If the Goblin King would help his daughter, he promised to give him anything his heart desired. And the Goblin King agreed.

"But you must keep your word”, He warned, or terrible things would befall the king’s house.

 That very night, the Goblin King flew to the castle, entering the chamber of the princess in a beam of moonlight, as she lay motionless upon her bed. Taking her by her cold hand, he asked her what would be the first thing she would do if her heart was light once more. Thinking that she dreamt, the Princess replied that if the cause of her sorrow were taken away, she would dance away the night until the sun filled the sky.

With that, the Goblin King lifted her right out of the bed, declaring that they would do just that. And in the blink of an eye the Princess found herself in a beautiful ballroom, dressed in a gown made of tears and moonlight. There, amid a throng of strange and wondrous people, she danced away the night in the arms of the Goblin King. This went on every night for a month, and each day the Princess’s eyes grew brighter, and her cheeks more rosy, and she began to smile more and more.

The court was delighted, and none more so than the king, who had quite forgotten he still had yet to pay the Goblin King’s Price.  The day soon came, however, that the Goblin King presented the glowing Princess to the court, as fresh and lively as she had been before her One True Love was forced to leave her.

“Your daughter is well once more, neighbor.” said the Goblin King, “And now I would name my price, and I ask for the Princess Seraphine's hand in marriage.”

A cry of shock rang through the court, and none were more stunned by this request than the Princess herself. For though she was grateful to the Goblin King, and now considered him a dear friend, she did not love him,and could not think of anything she had said or done to make him think otherwise.

 “Sir, I will always be your friend, but I cannot marry you. My heart still belongs to Prince Meander, and ever shall until the day I too shall die, and be with him again.”

“ But the Prince is gone, my lady,  never to return. And besides, your father promised when he sought my services to grant whatever request I should ask of him. In my kingdom, you will never die, and as my wife, you  have to ask, and I will turn the universe upside down for your sake.”

Again, the princess repeated her assurance of gratitude and friendship, but stated that no matter what her father had promised, she had made no such bargain, and was not bound to uphold it. She did not love him, and would not marry him. At this second refusal, the Goblin King grew angry, and might have done something in his anger that he would have regretted, but at that moment, the doors to the palace burst open, and a stooped and haggard man stumbled into the hall.

His hair had grown long, and a patch covered one eye. His clothes were tattered and torn, and his armor had long since rusted. But the Princess knew him at once, and rushed to his side before he could fall. It was her One True Love, come back to her against all odds. 

They fell into each other arms, and kissed as only those who have walked beneath the shadow of death and come back into the sunlight can. And their kiss was so pure, and so true, that though they did not know it, the Goblin King’s claim upon the King and the Princess was utterly broken, for this kiss had healed her far more than any of his magics had.  For a long moment after, the Prince and Princess simply held each other, overcome with joy upon being united. Then the Prince’s eye fell upon the Goblin King.

“Ah! You dare show your face here villain?! You whose fell creatures aided the ranks of our enemies, and you whose dark fogs of forgetting spread out across the fields, ensnaring those trying to return home after? Many a dark and dangerous road I’ve traveled to find my love again.  I know not what mischief you do here, but it ends now!” And he drew a rust cankered sword upon the Goblin King.

The Goblin King did not move, or speak, he simply stood, staring at the lovers. The half-blind prince, with one arm around the Princess, who was holding the shivering, shaking man up as best she could. Her eyes had grown wide as she heard the Prince’s tale, and now they were dark and cold as they looked upon the Goblin King. Finally, with a sweep of his cloak, he bowed to the couple, sneering.

“It seems your ladyship need not wait till Death’s embrace to reunite with your lover. As you’ve made your feelings quite clear, I shall respect your wish, and pursue my suit no further. However, remember this--” 

And in a flash quicker than a strike of lightning, he was by the Princess’s side, whispering into her ear, with all the spite and malice he possessed:

 “The Price is still not paid…”

And then, he was gone.

The kingdom did not see nor hear anything of their worrisome neighbor for many a year, and by and by the unease left by the Goblin King’s threat was lifted. The reunited Prince and Princess were soon married, and in time, the Princess, now the Queen, gave birth to a healthy son, who grew into a fine young boy. He loved nothing more than to wander the fields and forests that lined his kingdom, making friends with all he met, noble or peasant, animal or fae. He was a kind and gentle boy, loved by all who knew him, so that he was never without a friendly eye watching over him, which eased his parent’s worries.

And then one day, when he was seven years old, he wandered farther than was his want, as though drawn by some strange and silent music. Past the orchards and fields, past the forests and falls, up the airy mountain, down the  rushing glen, into a strange waste land of bracken and gorse, until suddenly, he came upon a gate, bound to a stone wall that seemed to stretch endlessly out across the horizon. 

There was something odd and foreboding about the place, but the young prince was not afraid, for he had never before had need to fear. All the world was his friend. And so without hesitation, he pushed upon the heavy gate. It swung open easily, and the prince skipped inside as it shut silently behind him.

And from that day, his grieving parents never saw the young prince again.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Loving Memory: A Retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon

The woman striding across the ballroom floor takes my breath away. She is perfection in human form--regal and statuesque, with hair like a raven's wing, skin like a fresh fall of snow, and ice-blue eyes that can captivate a man's heart.

And the gown! It makes her beauty seem almost divine. It shimmers and swirls like rivers of gold, making the icy-white marble of the floor and walls glow with the light of the sun that has not shone here for a month of days. I nearly fall to my knees, but I am a prince--soon to be a king--so I merely bow over her hand, lead her into the dance, and thank heaven for our impending marriage. Jorunn knows I do not love her, but at moments like these, I have no doubt that I shall.

We whirl through the dancers, the lords and ladies assembled for our upcoming wedding, all of them flawless in form, wearing suits and gowns of impossible beauty--a rainbow of velvets and silks, gold and jewels. My betrothed outshines them all. I feel clumsy and common in comparison, and marvel yet again that I am deemed worthy to join--and soon rule--this court.

When the dance ends, I bring Jorunn to the refreshment table, where we take glasses of sweet blue punch.

"You should drink your tonic, darling," Jorunn says, removing a small silver flask from a pocket in her skirt.

"Must I?" I ask, glancing to the watching crowd. I usually take the tonic before bed, in private. I don't relish my future subjects knowing that their king is an invalid.

"You must have your strength tonight," she says, pouring what looks like a double dose into my punch. The icy blue liquid turns a murky amber.

I down the drink in one gulp, cringing as the bitter aroma fills my head. I swear I can feel it coursing through my limbs. They feel heavier than they had a moment before. My head feels murkier.

It passes in a moment, and once again I'm overjoyed to be here, with her, in this impossibly beautiful realm.

I kiss Jorunn's cheek and thank her for her watchfulness. I feel as if I could dance all night.

The music starts up--an enticing melody of flutes and strings--but just as I pull Jorunn into the dance, a commotion starts at the other edge of the crowd. The music stops, and the crowd parts to reveal...something...crossing the floor. Some kind of animal has entered the ballroom--smaller than a bear, larger than a dog, with patches of fur in every shade of white and black and brown.

As it comes nearer, I see that it walks upright on two legs--two human legs, with two small, white human hands poking out from the folds of the fur.

"What is it?" I ask Jorunn. "Who let it into the ballroom?"

"I did," Jorunn says. "She is my invited guest."

I bow my head in embarrassment. "I'm...certain she's quite charming."

Jorunn pushes my shoulder, gently urging me toward the girl. "Dance with her, Eirik."

"I?" I yelp. How could a prince--a future king--demean himself by dancing with such a creature before all his subjects. "Why?"

Jorunn tilts her head toward me and murmurs, "Because I keep my promises. This girl is the one who gifted me this dress, and in return all she asked was a dance with you."

"A strange boon to demand from a woman about to be married," I say. Stranger still that Jorunn granted it.

"We aren't wed yet," Jorunn says playfully. "I can't keep you all to myself, no matter how much I may wish to." She urges me toward the girl. "Go on, my love. It's not too much to ask."

Despite myself, I feel a pang of pity for the creature. She gave away a dress fit for a queen and had to appear in this ballroom in a bundle of furs. Such unselfishness merits a few minutes of kindness. "For your sake, my dear," I say, bowing over Jorunn's hand. "And for hers. I assure you I'll take no joy in it."

Jorunn smiles. "I've no worries on that account."

#

Fighting a feeling of revulsion, I approach the girl, bow, and offer my hand. "Might I have this dance?"

The girl--she barely reaches my shoulder--looks up at me. A white face appears from within the furry hood--a pointed chin, high cheekbones, a determined mouth, and defiant green eyes.

The woman faintly smiles, and my heart stops. In this palace of perfection, she seems so real. Not ice and gold and glamour, but sun and earth and, oh, a million ordinary, beautiful things I haven't thought about since I came to this place.

"Who are you?" I gasp, the words slipping out before I can think.

Her eyes go wide--confused and dismayed. She throws back her hood, revealing yellow hair. Not golden or raven or mahogany or any of the awe-inspiring shades that make the people of this realm so beautiful. Just yellow. But it is braided into a crown about her head that suits her better than any jewels.

Those green eyes meet mine. "You know me," she says.

I stare into those eyes, which seem to hold something I haven't known I've lost. If I know this girl, I can't remember her. My past before this palace is a murky haze--standing in such brightness makes everything else seem dim.

I shake away the threads of memory before I go mad from trying to grasp them. "Forgive me," I say, "but if we've met, I can't recall."

I signal to the musicians to start the music, and I sweep the fur-clad maiden into a waltz. She is silent as we dance, gazing up at my face as if trying to memorize me.

I say, trying to be kind, "That's a wondrous cloak you wear. I've never seen its like."

It's not a lie. It seems to be made of the skin of every beast there ever was. I see white fur, black fur, brown fur, some solid, some speckled, some striped, all stitched together in a haphazard pattern, as though someone was desperate to make use of every scrap.

The woman looks down. "It is all I had left to me, after..."

I kindly wait for her to speak.

"I've had a great loss," she finally says. "I have searched ever since to find you."

"If there is anything I can do for you," I say, "you need only ask. You have done a great service for my bride."

The girl stumbles.

I catch her and help her upright. "I am sorry. Did I trip you?"

"No," she gasps, grasping her side. As we slide into the dance again, she looks up into my face. "Do you truly not know me?"

"I wish I could say otherwise," I say, and I mean it with all my heart. There is something about this girl that makes the world seem larger than I realized. "Perhaps if you told me your name?"

She shakes her head. "I can't. Even if I could, what good would my name do if you've already forgotten my face?" She bows her head with a strangled noise, and I see tears streaming from her eyes. "I spent so many months imagining this moment. I hoped you'd be overjoyed to see me. I was afraid you'd hate me. But I never imagined...this. That I meant so little to you that you've already forgotten me."

"There is much I have forgotten," I say, before I can remember that none are supposed to know of my affliction. "This place, it...dazzles the mind. There are many things I wish I could recall about the world beyond this realm. If I knew you there, I am certain you were well worth remembering, and it pains me to say that I do not. But whatever we had before, I am glad to know you now."

She wipes her face against the fur on her sleeve. When she looks up at me, her eyes hold something like hope. "Do you think--"

The music slows to a stop, and before we can finish the step, Jorunn steps between me and the girl. She places one hand on the girl's chest and pushes her away. "You've had your dance," she says. "Now trouble us no more."

The girl steps away, but she takes a hesitant glance back at me.

I smile gently. "Thank you for the dance. I will remember your face next time."

Those words put a determination into her gaze that seems instantly to dry her tears. "I will see you again," she says and disappears into the crowd.

For the rest of the night, I dance with the queen of the realm at the top of the world, a peerless beauty with the radiance of the sun who lays a kingdom at my feet. But my thoughts are on a girl with green eyes, wearing a coat made of all kinds of fur.

#

At the next night's ball, Jorunn wears a sleek gown that gleams with the silver radiance of the moon. It makes her seem ethereal, a woman of wondrous mystery. But she is not the mystery I find myself pondering.

"You seem distracted tonight, Eirik," she says. "Have you taken your tonic?"

Upon my denial, she pours a dose into my punch glass. After one swallow, my racing thoughts begin to slow. What does that strange girl matter? I can be happy here, with this incomparable queen at my side.

A commotion begins on the other side of the ballroom, and the many-furred girl appears among the crowd. I take a hasty swallow of the tonic, but set down the punch glass while it's still half-full.

I look to Jorunn, whose eyes are narrowed toward the girl. "Another dance in exchange for tonight's dress?" I ask.

"Two," Jorunn says. "She drives a hard bargain."

I squeeze her hand. I know my duty with this marriage. She has no need to be jealous. "I will do what I must," I say. "We must keep our promises."

I smile as I approach the girl. She smiles in response, and it makes her more radiant than Jorunn's dress. Again, I am struck by how real she is, practical and solid in a world of wisps and dreams.

"You returned," I say, as I whisk her into a waltz.

"I said I would," she replies.

"I'm glad to know you keep your promises."

She winces, and tears spring to her eyes.

"Forgive me," I say. "I don't wish to cause pain."

"No," she says, shaking her head and wiping her tears into a furred sleeve. "It is no more than I deserve."

"You have broken promises?" It seems cruel to ask, but I think she might welcome the question. It could shed some light on the past that she wants me to remember.

"Only one," she says. "But it destroyed everything."

I remember what she said about her cloak last night. It was all that was left to me. I have suffered a great loss.

"We all break promises sometimes," I say, trying to soothe her.

"Not like mine," she insists. "I did the one thing I was asked not to do. I betrayed the man I loved, and now he is lost to me."

"And he is why you have sought me out? You think I can convince him to forgive you?"

She looks into my face for a long, long moment, step after step, turn after turn. "I don't think," she says at last, "that he knows there is anything to forgive. And that's the worst thing of all."

How can this man be lost to her if he doesn't know she betrayed him? Has she run from her failure, rather than face disgrace?

I know well the temptation to hide from dishonor. Don't I hide my own affliction? This girl has no kingdom to run, but she still has pride to protect.

"Tell him," I say.

Tears flow freely down her cheeks. "I can't."

"I can help you."

"You can't!" she says, dropping my hand. She buries her face in her sleeve. "I don't know why I came."

I place a hand on her shoulder, and fight the strangest urge to turn it into an embrace. "Forgive me," I say. "You come to me for help, and I only cause you pain."

She wipes her face and swallows down a sob. "It's not your fault," she says. "Here I am, wasting our dance by crying."

The song fades to a close. "I still owe you another." I find myself panicked at the thought she won't take it.

"You do," she says, with a wet little laugh. My heart leaps at the sound of it. "Will you give me a chance to compose myself?"

"Take all the time you need," I say, leading her to a seat by a towering window that looks out upon the vast snow plains and a gorgeous spectacle of northern lights. She sits in the soft wing-backed chair and looks out the window, while I stand behind her leaning over the headrest. Despite knowing Jorunn for months, I have yet to have a moment with her that feels this...comfortable.

In the blue-black night, ribbons of violet, blue and green dance and flicker across the sky. The girl snuggles into her robe and gazes upon them with wonder.

"Have you ever seen such lights?" I ask. No matter how many times I see them, they never lose their appeal.

"Many times," she says. "Perhaps not quite this beautiful. Though they are lovely when seen from outside." She lays her head contentedly on her arm rest, using her furs as a pillow.

Her phrasing surprises me. "Do you often travel at night?"

"Night after night after night," she says. "Day after day after day. I never stopped. I climbed mountains, crossed rivers, rode the backs of all four winds."

"To find me," I say. "To find the man you love."

She startled and sits up, looking me straight in the eye. "Yes," she breathes, quivering with excitement.

"I wish I knew how to help you," I say. "You must love him very much."

Her shoulders sink. She sighs. "More than you may ever know."

"I only pray my wife and I can know such love."

She examines me closely. "You mean the princess. Do you mean to say you don't love her?"

It seems improper to speak of such things, and yet I find myself able to tell this girl things I couldn't tell anyone else. Why should I speak less than the truth? "Ours is a political match," I say. "I find her beautiful. I respect her strength. I appreciate her care for me. Love can come with time."

"What would she need to do to make you love her? What would you want in a wife?"

Someone who can come into a ballroom clad in furs and not feel shame. Someone who knows how to laugh and cry. Someone who loves to watch the northern lights. Someone who travels night and day to apologize to a man she betrayed.

In the end, I choose the diplomatic answer. "I don't know that I can ask for more than what I already have."

#

The girl is quieter during our second dance, carefully content. Her tears are stored away and she will not risk letting them out again.

Now that I'm not distracted by the mystery of her identity, or my lack of memory, or her sorrow over her lost love, I am able to focus on the dance itself, and I find that she is a marvelous dancer. Not so supernaturally graceful as Jorunn, but surprisingly easy to dance with, especially considering that she is wrapped in furs. The woman follows at my every touch, stepping smoothly through turns, patiently waiting if I stumble. I don't stumble often. My limbs feel lighter tonight, my head clearer--strange, given that I've had only half a dose of tonic.

"How did you come to have such wondrous dresses," I ask, "when you have only furs to wear yourself?" The question that had been easy to dismiss last night now seems impossible to ignore.

"You meet lots of strange people when you travel the world," she says with a smile. "They were gifts from some of the most marvelous old women I've ever met. Of course, I've had no occasion to wear them."

"A royal ball is not reason enough?"

"Not if I can't get inside. I'd rather have the dance than the dress."

A dance with me, worth more than a gown of celestial wonders? All for the chance I could help her reconcile with her lost love?

"I am sorry to have been such a disappointment."

"You're not that," she insists. "It's been wonderful just to see you."

"Worth a trip around the world and two wondrous dresses?"

"Not quite," she admits with a smile. "But enough for now. There's still time."

The music slows and falls silent. I bow her out of the dance. "Not for us, I'm afraid. I can give you no more dances."

"Tomorrow, then," she says, smiling over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd.

Something about her glance--the twist of her hair, the angle of her head--sparks what might be a memory in my mind. Those green eyes flashing. That mouth open in a laugh. White flakes flashing around her as she runs through the snow, while I follow her--strangely--on all fours.

I cannot explain the memory or remember her name. But I do know, whatever her name is, or whatever she was to me, that somewhere in the past, in some way, I have loved her.

#

The next evening, the last night before our wedding, Jorunn wears a deep blue dress that shimmers with the light of the stars themselves. It is breathtakingly beautiful, but coldly, distantly so--like the woman who wears it. She doesn't smile like the girl with the furs. She doesn't converse while we dance--we can't think of anything to speak of. I can think of no part of my heart I could share with her as I did with the girl last night. I wonder how I thought I could ever grow to love her.

Tonight, Jorunn's offer of the tonic seems, not considerate, but overbearing. Last night I had only half a dose, and I felt better than ever. After Jorunn pours a dose into my punch, I barely sip at it, and when her back is turned, I dump the rest into a potted plant. There will be no more dances after our wedding tomorrow. If I'm to help the girl find her lost love, I want my mind to be as clear as possible.

The glance Jorunn gives the strange girl as she enters the dining room is cold enough to freeze. The girl doesn't seem to feel it through her furs. When Jorunn hands me off, her behavior toward the girl is sullen and hostile.

The girl smiles and curtsies. "The dress is stunning on you, majesty."

"It ought to be, for what it cost me." Jorunn starts to stride away, but then turns around and levels a fierce finger toward the girl. "Not a moment past the stroke of midnight."

The girl bows her head. "I know the bargain."

"Until midnight?" I ask, as I lead the girl into a dance.

The girl smiles. "For tonight, at least, I have you all to myself."

We dance a few dances, while the girl asks me on occasion if I remember anything about my life before. I have flashes of images that might be memories, but nothing that will help the girl in her search. After a while, the girl grows warm in her furs, and we leave the ballroom for the cold quiet of the balcony.

Together, we gaze at the stars and across the vast plains of snow. I remember seeing her like this, on a sunlit balcony in a faraway palace. I wanted to kiss her then, but I couldn't. Probably because she loved another. Just as I am promised to another now.

"Please," I ask in a low whisper. "Can't you tell me your name?"

She shakes her head with tears in her eyes. "Please stop asking. If you don't know it on your own, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It is part of the bargain."

Does Jorunn know who this girl is? "The queen isn't here."

The girl squeezes her eyes shut against some memory. "I have seen the consequences of breaking promises to her. I will not risk it again."

It destroyed everything.

"Your lost love?" I ask.

She nods.

How could that great queen separate this woman from the man she so faithfully loves? What role could Jorunn possibly have in this spat between lovers?

We start down a staircase that leads to a stone path through the snow around the palace. The light from the ballroom windows pours out over us, shining on the girl's furs. The cloak I wear is mostly decorative, and I find myself wishing for furs of my own.

I wore a coat of white fur, thicker than thick.

The flash of memory has no bearing on the mystery I'm trying to solve.

I ask the girl, "If Jorunn knows of your lost love, why do you come to me for help? Why do you not ask her?"

"Allowing me to speak to you is all the help she is willing to give."

I do not begin to understand the complicated politics of this realm. When I am king, I will have to learn, but I will rely on Jorunn for a long while.

"After our wedding, perhaps, I can ask her to help..."

"After the wedding, it will be too late!" She storms down the path. "You'll be married to a woman you don't love! She'll have trapped you forever!"

I try to soothe her. "She won't be able to stop me from speaking to you."

She throws her hands in the air. "You don't understand! You'll never understand!" She is sobbing now. "It was hopeless from the beginning! You can't see the truth about her, or me, and I've no way to tell you! I've doomed us all! I don't deserve redemption, or mercy, or even compassion! I'm the faithless wife who threw away love!"

As she speaks the last words, something flies off her hand, flashing golden as it spirals into the snow. The girl flees down the path, silently sobbing.

I dive for the divot in the snow where the item fell. I pull out a small golden ring set with amethysts and emeralds and ice blue diamonds--the northern lights captured in stone. The ring glitters on my palm, round and flawless. I remember its every facet.

By the One who made the sky and stone, I pledge my heart and soul to you.

Clutching the ring, I race after her and call out, "Karina!"

#

I stood outside a cottage, trapped in the form of a white bear. The girl with a crown of yellow hair faced me fearlessly and agreed to be my bride, sliding the golden ring upon her left hand.

#

Short sunlit days on a beautiful tundra. She would ride on my back for hours, laughing for sheer joy as we raced across the snowy fields.

#

For nearly a year, she shared my bed. I was man by night and bear by day. She was forbidden to see my face and did not mind.

#

A year and a day, and the curse would be broken. Eleven months after our wedding, I woke to hot wax dripping on my shirt, from a candle she held over my face.

#

The palace dissolved into dust, and the troll queen arrived to claim her lawful prize. My wife screamed my name as I disappeared into a whirlwind of magic and snow.

#

In the shadows and snowbanks far from the palace, I grip Karina's shoulders and gaze deep into her familiar, beloved face. "Karina," I breathe. "I remember."

"Everything?" she asks, as tears stream down her face.

"Everything," I say, and kiss her senseless.

#

Karina and I sit huddled together beneath her coat of furs. I have told her of my months of imprisonment, of the magical tonic the troll queen forced upon me until I thought myself a willing captive. Karina has told me of the harrowing journey she has taken--the three dresses she received from three magical women, the way she rode the backs of all four winds to find me. If there was ever anything to forgive her for, the devotion she has shown in finding me more than absolves her.

I kiss her again as she finishes her tale, finding joy in finding her so real, in knowing my own mind and knowing her.

My own.

My beloved.

My wife.

It is like falling in love all over again.

"I'm so sorry," Karina says again. "I should never have listened to mother. If I hadn't burned that hateful candle--"

I silence her with another kiss. "If you hadn't betrayed me, I wouldn't have this moment. Meeting my wife all over again." I press her to my heart. "I could have no greater joy."

"But you're getting married tomorrow," Karina says. "By the terms of the curse, you must wed Jorunn."

"Trust me," I say, "and all will be well. So long as you will let me borrow your wedding ring."

#

In the bright light of midday, the ballroom has become a wedding chapel, filled nearly to bursting with lords and ladies and lesser subjects. I now know them for what they are--trolls whose perfect human appearances are nothing but glamours over huge, thick, ugly faces. My would-be wife is ugliest of all, her cruelty coming out upon her in black boils upon her snow-white face and long, pointed nose. The glamour hides her face for now, but it cannot hide the malicious triumph as she gazes upon me--her pet and prize. Her wedding to me will give her dominion over a human realm, and allow her kind to wreak havoc across the world of ordinary men.

She wears the golden sunlight gown, but in daylight, it seems dim and colorless. Even her flawless glamoured face is ugly when I compare her to my ordinary, beloved Karina. My wife is somewhere in the crowd, I know. She has promised to be here, and I trust her to keep her promises.

I do my best to play the magic-addled prince as the highest-ranking of the lords reads aloud their marriage ceremony--endless lists of the glories this alliance will bring to our two realms.

At last, the high lord cries out, merely for form's sake, "Is there any impediment to the marriage between this man and woman?"

"Only one," I shout, stepping away from Jorunn.

Jorunn's expression is black. I can almost see the troll's face beneath the glamour. "Eirik, what is this?"

"Under the laws of troll-kind," I tell the crowd, "Queen Jorunn can wed me if she keeps me here for a year and a day. But there is another law--as would-be husband to the queen, I have a right to set a standard for my bride. If she fails to meet it, all bond between us comes to an end." I stride across the dais to stare into Jorunn's black eyes. "All bonds," I say. "Matrimonial, moral, and magical. Isn't that right?"

Jorunn seems a heartbeat away from tearing out and eating my eyeballs, so I turn to the lord performing the marriage rite. "Isn't that right?"

The troll lord blinks at me. His human form looks like a jittery old man. "That is... technically correct," he says. "But I don't believe this is the right time."

"There is no better time!" I say. "The very last moment when I can see if she is worthy to be my bride."

Jorunn is proud, regal, icy. She steps toward me. "What is your challenge?" she demands. "Make it anything, and I will meet it."

No doubt she thinks she can. I have seen what her magic can do. If I set an enormous challenge--moving a mountain, emptying a sea--she will accomplish it easily. Fortunately, the challenge I plan is impossibly small.

"In the human realm," I say, "we marry under another law--older and more sacred. This marriage rite is bound by the words of a man and woman, and symbolized in the exchange of a pair of rings." I brandish the Karina's ring and hold it high. "By that law, my lawful wife is the one who fits this ring, and I can wed no other."

I search the room for Karina, but I can see her nowhere in the teeming, agitated crowd.

Jorunn stride toward me and snatches the ring from my hand. "Is that all?" she sneers. "Any woman can do that."

Her glamour has fooled even herself. She has forgotten that her hands only appear slender. Trolls can change the forms of others--into a white bear, for instance--even addle the minds of others into believing in changes that aren't real, but their own bodies are impervious to magic. Any alterations to themselves are mere glamours. Beneath her glamoured image, Jorunn's hands are as thick and blocky as any troll's.

Jorunn is unable to slip the ring onto so much as a fingertip.

In rage, she throws the ring onto the floor. It bounces down the stairs and lays flat at their base. "A trick!" she cries. "He has set an unfair challenge! Find me a woman who can fit that ring, or else the challenge is void!"

In the snowy plains outside, I hear the wind building in strength--a whistle, a howl, and at last a roar that bursts open the wide doors of the ballroom. The wind blows the crowd of trolls toward the walls and down to the floor, leaving an open path down which a tiny, yellow-haired girl, clad in a cloak made of every kind of fur, strides fearlessly toward the dais.

I climb down the stairs, pick up the ring, and go down on one knee to offer it to Karina. This time, I can do it with human hands.

"My lady," I say, gazing up into her smiling eyes. "Will you take this ring?"

I slide it upon the fourth finger of her left hand. It fits perfectly.

I kiss her in triumph as Jorunn roars with rage.

Her roar is soon drowned out by the roar of a wind that surrounds me and Karina, lifts us into the air, and carries out the ballroom doors. Soon, we are soaring over snow-covered plains, and before I can fully understand that I am free, the pointed towers of the troll's icy palace have disappeared from sight.

Karina lays on her stomach, the pale blue currents of wind keeping her aloft. She helps me to do the same. While I marvel at this miraculous wind, she is perfectly at ease, and I realize she has done this. My ordinary, unmagical, entirely human wife has saved me.

"Eirik," Karina says, "I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine."

#

The North Wind takes us far beyond the tundra where I lived with Karina as a white bear, beyond even the cottage where she lived with her parents, and to a castle in a rocky mountain range that I remember from my boyhood. As the wind sets us upright on the ground before the main doors, I laugh for joy.

"Am I...?" I ask, barely able to believe that I'm standing in this place, where I can recognize every rock and flower that emerges from the melting snow of the springtime ground.

The North Wind now looks like a man--huge and old, with an impossibly large beard. "Prince Eirik," he says, "I have brought you and your bride to the lands of your family."

The full understanding of my freedom comes upon me. Not only am reunited with my bride, not only am I free of enchantment, but I am home, able to move about in the ordinary world like any ordinary man. After so many years of magic, I can think of nothing more wondrous.

I sweep Karina up in my arms and point her gaze toward the door. "Come, my love," I say. "I've waited a very long time to take you home."

[ramayantika]

The Guard Awake

Shankara was a newly recruited guard appointed by the defense ministry of Mathura, under its new ruler, the tyrant Kamsa, who had forcibly imprisoned his father and the former ruler of Mathura, Maharaja Ugrasena, and usurped the throne.

In addition to this folly, he had made his dear sister's life a living hell. The young and beautiful daughter of king Devapa, Princess Devaki had tied her nuptials to the handsome son of Shurasena, Prince Vasudeva, and was about to begin her marital life when a holy voice boomed from the blue skies announcing Kamsa's death by the hands of Devaki and from that day onwards, Mathura saw torture, pain and bloodshed, every day, every moment and every breath.

Shankara had been married to a wonderful girl from his village a month ago before moving to Mathura for work. Shyamala, his wife, a doe-eyed innocent beauty was in awe of the grand city, and had slowly begun blending with the people here.

It was late evening when Shyamala realised her husband hadn't arrived their humble cottage still. The sky had donned on the dark shades of purple and blue. The moon in pale silver was slowly illuminating the sky, and her eyes restlessly roamed outside the doorway searching for her husband.

"Shyamala, are you inside?" Shyamala hears Bharati at the doorway.

Bharati was the wife of Mahendra, their neighbour who worked with Shankara at the palace.

"Jiji... yes." Shyamala wipes her hands with a small towel and jogs towards the door.

Bharati looks up at Shyamala and says, "My husband had sent a message to you from Shankara bhrata. Bhrata has been assigned night shifts starting from today at Mathura's prison."

Nodding her head in understanding, Shyamala replies, "I see. That is why he hadn't come home by evening. He generally sends me a letter though if he shall be late home, but he didn't today."

Bharati sighs. "Well it might be because, your husband is tasked with holding the two new hostages in tight security. Devaki and Vasudeva have now been moved from house arrest to the dark prisons."

Shyamala's eyes widen in shock. "What!"

"Yes. The king is afraid and obsessed with the divine forewarning about his death, so he decided to shower all atrocities on his one's dear sister and her husband."

"Poor woman!" Shyamala laments. "A princess reduced to a prisoner. A newly married woman has so many dreams, but look how cruel her fate crushed it all."

Bharati rests her hand on Shyamala's shoulder. "Anyway, we mere citizens can't do much. Let's pray that the newly weds are delivered of their suffering. You take care of yourself." She looks around at the dark skies. "It is getting dark now, and well thievery and dacoit activities have been on a rise."

"Sure. Thank you." Shyamala smiles and closes the wooden door. Locking the door from inside, she double checks the lock before heading inside towards their single bed chamber.

Shyamala sits on a thin mattress. Her eyes drift towards the pale silver moon. Closing her eyes and folding her hands in devotion, she mutters an earnest plea. "Oh Vishnu! Take care of Devaki."

A gentle breeze blew by carrying the fragrance of sandalwood.

--xx--

Shankara stretches on the bed for a good moment until sleep and exhaustion evades from his limbs. His eyes automatically squint at the afternoon glaring sun causing him to rub his palm over his face.

"Shyamala...?" He calls out.

Shyamala enters their room. "Oh! You are awake."

Shankara tiredly smiles and nods at her. "I felt so tired that I couldn't wake up early. I feel as if I have slept an entire day."

Shyamala sits beside her husband, and presses her soft palms over her husband's shoulders. "I figured it out that you were exhausted. That is why I didn't wake you up." Looking at her husband's reddened cheeks from his deep sleep, she continues, "Why don't you freshen up? Lunch is prepared. You will have to leave for your duty soon."

A groaning Shankara replies, "Yes, those dreary dark dungeons await my presence."

Shyamala passes a small smile and gets up to go towards their kitchen when she hears Shankar speak. "By the way, Princess Devaki is pregnant with her first child."

"Oh," Shyamala mutters. "Such a shame that she must experience the journey of motherhood in a dark and dingy cell."

Shyamala heads to her small kitchen. Peeling of the lid from the cooking pot, her mind thinks about the Yadu princess and her pregnancy. A mother to be forced to be a prisoner.

She takes in the aroma of rice and dal. She wonders if the princess would be properly fed or not to support the existence of the foetus as well as to nourish the mother's body to sustain new life.

"I am done. Let's eat together. I can feels the rats hungrily running inside my stomach." She hears her husband.

"Coming." Shyamala thanks her stars. Sure, she did not lead a very luxurious life like the royalty. She was just a simple village girl, slowly blending in with the city. Far away from politics, throne usurpers, and brothers who attempt to jeopardize their sisters' lives.

She often thinks of the princess sometimes especially when praying to the tiny idol of Vishnu. Maharaja Kamsa had banned the worship of Vishnu. Shankara had asked Shyamala to hide all images of the deities in case some eager follower of the king would report them for committing treason against their king.

Shyamala had sculpted a tiny idol of Vishnu and placed it under her sarees.

She gazes at the ceiling and mutters another prayer for the poor couple. "Chakradhari, take care of the mother and the child."

--xx--

Shankara blinks his eyes and averts the sweet call of sleep when a shrill baby's cry wakes him awake in both body and mind.

The guard beside him runs off to alert the other guards to carry the message to Kamsa.

Shankara looks at the tired body of Devaki. The thin white sheets are drenched in blood and maybe a few dark coloured tissues, he marks, before sadly muttering to himself. "There isn't even an healer to check upon the princess."

He looks at Vasudeva who pats Devaki's hair. He gently kisses her head and looks at the baby boy cradled in her arms. The baby is still crying out loudly, as if, he is fearful for his life ahead.

Devaki coos at the crying child. Gently laying its head on her bare chest covered with her now patched saree, she tries calming the baby.

Vasudeva's eyes meet Shankara's who quickly flits his gaze to the ground, and turns his back to him.

Kamsa's booming footsteps alert the guard. Shankara immediately holds his spear in his hand and straightens his spine. Kamsa stands near the iron bars with a servant unlocking the small prison door of their cell.

Devaki sits up and holds the child tighter in her arms as Kamsa bends down towards the crying child. A menacing maniacal look harbours in the king's eyes, as he comments, "You gave birth to a beautiful baby indeed, my sister. Alas! He isn't blessed to live a long life like his parents."

Snatching the crying child by his leg, he laughs. Devaki shrieks and pleads, "This is the first child, Bhrata!. The warning had mentioned the eighth child not the first one. Leave him, please!" Her hands are outstretched to her brother who smirks evilly.

"The gods always have some trickery up their sleeves. I don't trust them. Every child of yours shall be killed by me, sister. Let me see, who shall then defeat Kamsa then."

Devaki stands up holding her bloodied saree. Shankara's body had gone cold hearing Kamsa's plan on killing every child of Devaki's.

Doesn't he have a heart at all? Who kills an innocent baby that too of one sister's? Shankara wonders but keeps his thoughts quietly to himself.

Kamsa dangles the child like a toy in his burly arms. Devaki cries and screams for her brother to let go. Vasudeva holds his wife to his chest, fearing if Kamsa decides to kill Devaki for asking her son back so he may prove the divine voice wrong of their prediction.

Devaki hits at Vasudeva's chest."Do something. He is your child too. He will kill my son. Why are you standing like a statue?"

A tearful Vasudeva embraces Devaki tighter in his arms.

Kamsa brings the baby in front of his eyes. Shankara turns his head back slightly to check on Devaki and Vasudeva only to meet a gruesome murder of a baby.

Kamsa had banged the baby's head against the wall.

Thud thud.

Devaki screams until her voice turns hoarse. Shankara catches Vasudeva's gaze causing the former to gulp.

Devaki had expressed her rage and grief but he noticed that Vasudeva nursed only a silent rage as he caressed Devaki's back with gentle hands.

Kamsa haughtily carries the dead baby's corpse in his hands and laughs with glee as he walks through the exit doors.

And soon the Yadu princess looses her consciousness. She lies on the dirty sheet drenched in her blood as well as her lost child's. Vasudeva sits down on the ground, his dejected eyes pinned to the flowing blood of his child's from the wall to the prison's floor.

The prison dungeons were lit by fire torches at night. Shankara looks at the burning flames and prays to Vishnu.

"Come soon, my Lord. Come soon."

--xx--

"I saw the king kill the child, Shyamala."

"But the voice had mentioned the eight son, hadn't it?"

"Looks like he doesn't want to take any chances."

"How is the princess?"

"Can you lend me a few of your sarees? We have an extra blanket too. That shall suffice I think."

"Sarees and blanket for what, swami?"

"For Devaki and Vasudeva. I can't free them, but I can help ease their dreadful days a bit. Not even a healer was made to visit, Shyama. I saw her lay on bloodied clothes.

"I will pack a few nutritious meals too then."

--xx--

A loud wail makes Shankara turn towards Vasudeva's cell.

He sees thick blood drip down her legs as she presses her palm to her lower stomach. Vasudeva helplessly stares at Shankara and shakes his head at him.

Devaki had miscarried.

The seventh born had died in her womb itself.

Vasudeva makes her sit against the wall. He holds her hands in his and whispers something in her ears. Shankara can't hear him but his eyes moisten too at their plight.

He had seen how the evil monster of a human Kamsa had killed six of her children. Sometimes he would bang the child's head or if he felt too malicious, he would slice the little one in two with his sword.

And this man called himself the strongest warrior. A warrior whose sword is drenched in the blood of innocent children.

Vasudeva with great difficulty had made Devaki go to sleep. Shankara observes the exhaustion on Vasudeva's face.

"Aren't you tired, my prince?"

"Of what?"

"This. Why bring in children when you know what fate they will meet at the end. Kamsa spared none. Why must you both go through such grueling moments. It is only bringing you pain." Shankara points at Devaki. "How more pain must a mother go through? Losing seven children. Seven!"

Vasudeva answers, "This pain is written in our destiny. The only reason we want to bring children is because we both still believe that He shall come. He will take revenge for harassing the mother, my Devaki and for the lost innocent babies. I know that one day I shall see that Kamsa die. He made a spectacle of my children's death. I shall see Kamsa's death be a spectacle too. The Gods need a mother to enter the mortal world. Devaki and I must do our part." Vasudeva's eyes light up with a surge of energy. "The path to reach God has never been easy for a devotee. Then how can the path be easier for the ones who shall bring the God to our world, Shankara."

Shankara goes quiet. The light in Vasudeva's eyes raises goosebumps on his skin. He quietly fidgets with his bag. Looking around to avoid any snooping guards, he passes a bundle filled with fruits and nuts to Vasudeva.

"My wife sent it."

"Thank you, my friend."

"Only doing my duty, my prince."

A small smile curves into Vasudeva's lips. He places the bundle in the corner before heading to rest near Devaki.

Devaki's tears have left dry paths over her cheeks. Vasudeva wipes them off and whispers, "Our Lord shall arrive soon, my dear."

--xx--

Lately Shankara had been noticing a different glow on Shyamala's face. She was humming some melodies under her breath, would secretly smile to herself while fondly gazing at his face in the early hours of dawn, and was now eating a lot of sweets these days.

The rooster crows at the onset of dawn as Shankara makes his way towards the narrow lane of his house. The sun is barely up in the sky. It looks pale as if the Sun God himself is slowly rising from slumber.

Some parts of the sky are shrouded in darkness with the faintest hues of blue diverging from the dark blanket enveloping the skies. The moon still illuminates his path ahead and Shankara rubs his arms for warmth as a gentle cold wind brushes by.

It is the month of Margashirsha, the first month of the winter season. He observes how the days have grown slightly cooler. The temperature at night feels just the same everyday thanks to the desolate prison at the hill top. The lonely hill and the surrounding forest cover always feel cold. The hundreds of fire torches don't bring warmth to the prison ever.

This is why he carries a shawl with himself, and now with the beginning of the winter season, he had decided to smuggle a shawl for Devaki and Vasudeva too.

He makes a mental note of that thought and walks ahead, his eyes waiting to land upon the walls of his home and the familiar presence of his wife waiting for him.

The high pitched crowing of the rooster reaches his ears again, but this time Shankara has reached the dusty path of his house. To his surprise, he notices his wife standing at the doorway, her eyes immediately finding his and brightening.

With hurried steps, Shankara stands in front of her, asking, "Why are you standing here? It is cold. You should be inside." He holds her hands and checks for the temperature. "See, your hands are cold now. You fall sick easily, priye."

Shyamala laughs. Shankara looks at her laughing face. The sound of her laughter is music to his ears. It takes away all his dark and dreary moments from his rounds at the prison cell.

He observes how glowy her face looks this early in the morning and wonders how he must look with sunken and reddened eyes from lack of nightly sleep.

Shyamala stops her hearty giggles and pulls him inside the house, shutting the door with an excited slam. "I have some news for you, husband."

"News? What kind of news?" Shankara asks. Marking the constant smile on Shyamala's lips, he says, "It definitely must be a happy one which is why you are smiling and giggling so much."

Shyamala nods her head rapidly in agreement. "Indeed it is. You will be happy too. Joyous even."

Squinting his eyes in confusion, he looks at his wife, wondering what wonderful news could she bring to him that made her wait for him so eagerly.

"Okay. Go ahead."

Shyamala shyly smiles and looks to the floor. Shankara tilts his head thinking what is making his wife blush like that at dawn.

'Surely, I am not looking handsome enough after work this way which might make her want to-' All his thoughts come to a halt, when he feels Shyamala take his hand and press it to her stomach.

She looks at him with a bashful gaze and bats her eyelashes at him, her eyes look at his, searching for the look of realization in those tired eyes.

Shankara looks at the hopeful and love-filled gaze in his wife's eyes and then at his hand over her lower stomach, at her womb.

Realization strikes him like a thunderbolt.

"You..." He holds her by her shoulders. "Pregnant?"

Shyamala beams at him. Shankara immediately brings her into a bone-crushing hug.

"We are going to be parents!" Shankara exclaims before peppering Shyamala's face with kisses.

Happy tears spring up in her eyes as she nods at him. "Yes, and I have conceived in the holy month of Margashirsha. Vishnu's month."

With all the love and warmth, Shankara could muster in his eyes, he gazes deeply into Shyamala's eyes. Holding her face as gently as he can, he says, "Let's hope our child is born healthy and in the time when God walks on earth again, annihilating sin and vice."

Shyamala leads him to their bed. "Come, rest, swami. You must be tired."

Shankara closes his eyes as soon as his head hits the soft pillow. Shyamala darkens the room by drawing the curtains over the windows. He can feel his wife gazing at him, but he pretends that he has dozed off.

The sound of anklets lull him to sleep as Shyamala hums a morning melody to herself. Her feet exit the room, and he slips into a comfortable dreamless sleep with no thoughts of bloodied babies and wretched motherhood.

--xx--

In the quiet hours of the night, Vasudeva beckons Shankara closer to the iron bars. Some other nearby guards were dozing with loud snores, and the soldiers meant for hourly rounds still had an hour left to come back for checking.

Vasudeva whispers to Shankara. "The eighth child. Devaki is pregnant."

Shankara's eyes drift to the sleeping form of the Yadu princess. Unlike her previous pregnancies, Devaki looked the most healthiest and happiest in this pregnancy.

Her face suffused with a divine glow. She looked as beautiful as the motherly form of Shakti. Her frail body, a consequence of the poor diet and nutrition standards of the prison had plumped up. She was happier now, Shankara observed.

The primary motto of her previous pregnancies had been to quickly bring the children to the world, watch Kamsa kill them and patiently wait until the one who would avenge her would finally take form in her womb.

Of course, she would be heartbroken each time Kamsa mercilessly slaughtered tiny babies in front of her, but with time, the gods had blessed her with enough mental strength to push through and bring Kamsa's killer to earth.

Shankara quickly scans the guards behind him. Some were idly chatting while the majority had dozed off.

"Perhaps, God will descend soon now. It's only a matter of time." Shankara bows his head, his mind thinking of Shri Vishnu, the Preserver of the Universe.

Shankara opens a pouch and fetches a small ladoo. Offering it to Vasudeva, he says, "My wife is with child too, prince. I would like to offer this sweet to you." Motioning to Devaki, he hands over the entire sweet containing pouch into the hands of Vasudeva. "Please feed the princess too and share the happy news with her too."

Vasudeva's eyes soften. Not one soul in the prison except Shankara had shown kindness and compassion to him and Devaki. Some would pass a few sympathetic glances at them, but that was all. A friendship had blossomed between the guard and the former Yadu prince.

Vasudeva wanted to embrace the guard, but the large iron bars proved and obstacle. He shakes his hand with Shankara, saying, "You have shared a happy news with me, Shankara, as a friend. I would like you to feed the ladoo to me as a friend."

Shankara stutters. "Me as a friend?" He smiles but his shoulders shrug uneasily. "Kamsa may have imprisoned you, but to me, you will always remain my prince. I am a mere guard, a commoner."

"Oh, Shankara, what joy has being a prince brought me? You are the only soul who has shown kindness and compassion to the both of us." He passes a glance at Devaki and then turns to Shankara. "We will forever be indebted to you and your wife."

Vasudeva eats the ladoo from Shankara's hand. "May your child be healthy. Take care of Shyamala and send our regards to her."

Shankara bows down to Vasudeva and turns ahead. Grabbing the spear in his hand, he assumes his role as a guard once again.

--xx--

It was the eighth day of Krishna Paksha in the month of Shravna. The morning had been bright, but as the day progressed, the skies had grown overcast.

Low breezes blew throughout the evening, telling everyone the news of the incoming storm that was making its way ahead.

Shankara hears the wind howling around the prison. The sound is eerie, and he is reminded of scary ghost tales which the old grandfathers of his village often narrated to the kids at night.

The large fire torches feel the brunt of the wind too. The golden flames dance to the wind as dust blows in. Shankara hurries back to the prison to check on Devaki.

To his surprise, he sees every guard fall to the ground, their eyes closed in deep sleep. Not one being is standing awake except Devaki, Vasudeva and him.

Devaki however clutches her stomach and crouches on the floor. Grabbing Vasudeva's arm, she yells, "My eighth baby. He is coming."

Vasudeva begins assisting Devaki in giving birth while Shankara decides to check for any soldiers nearby for their hourly rounds.

Not one soldier in sight.

"Strange," Shankara thinks to himself. "It is as if everybody passed out."

He walks back to Vasudeva's cell and rubs his eyes in shock.

A beautiful baby boy lay beside Devaki.

"No way, did a baby come out so fast." He looks at Vasudeva. "I was away only for mere moments some time ago. How come-?"

In the loud rumbling sounds of the thunderstorm, a sweet breeze carrying the smell of sandalwood fills the prison cell. Shankara hears the divine sound of the conch in his ears, and he wonders if it is the loud thunder or has he lost his mind.

The prison cell glows in golden light. On the brown wall of the prison against the golden light cast inside the prison, a tall shadow forms.

The four armed lord, each arm holding a conch, a discus, a mace and a beautiful lotus, stands in front of the trio.

Shankara's eyes grow moist in devotion until the divine spell breaks. Vishnu vanishes and he hears a charming boy giggle.

A beautiful baby boy with the complexion akin to stormy clouds beams at him. A smile equal to the radiance of a thousand suns light his face.

The baby coos and Vasudeva's chains fall to the ground.

Vasudeva holds the baby in his arms. The prison lock falls to the ground with a loud clang, yet not one eye drifts open.

"I must make way for Gokula and hand him to my friend, Nanda. This boy shall be safe there."

Devaki kisses the baby's forehead for one last time and bids farewell to her child.

Shankara bows down and presses the baby's tiny feet to his forehead. "Om namo Narayana."

--xx--

Shankara doesn't drag himself to his house. He rather sprints the entire way back, to eagerly tell the news of Devaki's eight born to Shyamala.

He notices Bharati stand at the doorway. Ushering him inside, she leads him inside his room. He spots a sleeping Shyamala, her face bearing a peaceful expression. Sweat beads shine on her forehead.

Beside her lies a little girl wrapped in a cloth secured tightly around her.

"Ghar mein Lakshmi ka aagman hua hai, Shankara bhrata."

--xx--

@krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @krishakamal @ma-douce-souffrance @jukti-torko-golpo @prettykittytanjiro @thegleamingmoon @krishna-sangini @chaliyaaa @kaal-naagin @ramcharantitties @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic

I guess this was a long post. I had this idea on janmashtami. I actually have my internal exams going on. Still squeezed this through hehe so here you go. I hope you all like it.

I never wrote on krishna's birth and i began thinking of some good guard helping out devaki and vasudeva. Then somehow added shyamala as his wife and provide glimpses into their life. Hope you all enjoyed it.

Would love to listen to your views. I am sleep deprived and academically well.. slayy is struggling but i will definitely end up doing something nice there too. See you soon

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Before - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Twenty-Four of Pedrotober: Sundance Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E for Every time I think about Marcus Acacius I want to fling myself into the sun because of his big hands and massive shoulders but instead of doing that I wrote this. Oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v, Marcus the choking king is back, (kind of) semi-public sex.

Word Count: 1776

a/n: Just wait till you see how I incorporated the prompt into this one. Blink and you miss it. This is for my Marcus sister wife. Ask and you shall receive. This is firmly set in the same universe as "Fate" but you do not necessarily need to read that to understand this.

"Marcus," you giggle as he backs you against the wall, peppering your face with kiss after kiss. He's been at it for what feels like hours, large hands grabbing at your waist, twirling you around, touching every part of you he can reach as he guides you through the arena. It's already well into the night, late enough that he has no qualms about lurking in the shadows, making a place so riddled with death feel so full of life.

The moon is shining brightly overhead, illuminating his curls and the way they stand on end when you rake your fingers through them as he buries his face in your neck. You feel lighter than you ever have before, the burdens cascading from your shoulders whenever you're fortunate enough to find yourself in his arms.

And, you ponder, if this is what your grandmother meant when she spoke of love.

You push lightly at his shoulders when he bites down on your skin, marking you for the whole world to see. "Marcus, stop." It's a plea, but it isn't a serious one, and you can feel the way he's smiling against you. He halts his movement regardless, pulling back to gaze down at you with stars in his eyes.

He says nothing, his mouth falling open and then shut as he tries to form the words you long to hear. But you understand why they don't fall, the intensity of the magnetism that keeps you in his orbit rendering you speechless more than once, too. Everything had happened by chance, a rare feeling for someone whose entire life had felt so incredibly set on a singular, pre-written path. One riddled with death and despair suddenly shifting to an existence blessed with light and love. It had been his horse that brought you together, skittish when confined by the walls of the bustling city but calmed by your patient hand, his rider captivated from the moment you appeared in his world.

The days since have been filled with stolen moments, although it does little to diminish the whisper of rumors that float through the streets. The gossip that the soon-to-be general has his eyes set on a commoner. You must admit, it is difficult to conceal the blossoming relationship you and Marcus share, but you do your best to shelter it from the public eye, all too aware of the fate that might await you should something be confirmed.

Marcus does his best to convince you otherwise, assuring you now with murmurs against the shell of your ear that you would be protected. That he would marry you tonight if you would let him. The thought is tempting, the appeal of lounging in his bed for the remainder of your days, of washing the evidence of battle from his skin in song, languid strokes. It's an easy image in your mind, the life you would lead at his side, but it is also one that is constantly tainted by the darkness that follows wherever you go.

For your grandmother had also spoken of loss.

He paves a trail down your body, lips setting you ablaze as he parts your tunic and exposes your dripping center to the cool night air. "I will take care of you," Marcus vows as he guides the rough pads of his fingers through your folds, and you know instantly that he only speaks the truth. He slips a long finger past your entrance, easing you open with careful movements, and his name flows freely from your lips when he adds a second, your back arching against the hard brick. The delicate skin of your shoulders burns as it grazes over the coarse surface, but you would rather bleed than have him stop the practiced motions between your thighs.

You try to ground yourself, tugging on his hair when he parts your legs further and directs you to drape one over his broad shoulder. It opens you to his waiting tongue, eagerly latching onto your clit as sparks fire behind your closed eyes. In the bathhouses, you'd overheard the complaints of other women, their needs unmet during emotionless encounters, but you struggle to relate. With Marcus, you only know pleasure, and under a moonlit sky, he guides you toward the heavens.

A hand covers your mouth at the same moment you feel the scream rise in the back of your throat, and it shifts down to close around your neck in a silent command to remain quiet. The arena may be devoid of roaring crowds in the dead of night, but it is not without its dangers, and yet Marcus continues his ministrations. You reach your peak, shuttering in his arms and melting into his kiss, your taste lingering on his tongue once he's crawled back up your body.

There's a distant sound, one that causes him to crowd you further against the wall, enclosing you both in the shadows completely. The evidence of his desire presses firmly against your stomach, and when combined with the aftershocks of the climax still flowing through you, it only heightens your need for him.

"Marcus," you whisper breathlessly, grasping at his neck to draw him closer, encouraging him to continue.

He kisses you firmly, silencing you with a promise of all that is yet to come. "Not here," he returns, waiting for the din of footsteps to fade. When the silence settles around you, he pauses to reach above your head, delicately grasping a small bud that has found a home between the cracks. With a cautious hand, he plucks the rose and tucks it behind your ear, lust fading when his touch ignites another emotion entirely. One that you are more certain of with each passing second.

The dim streets feel hollow as you pass through them, your hand tucked safely in his. The faint blossom of the sun is already beginning to paint the sky, tainting the darkness with brilliant hues of pink and purple. Marcus rarely rushes when it comes to you, but his pace is steady as he leads you to his quarters. The humble abode is a far cry from the chambers he will receive upon his promotion, but is even further from the dingy room you call home. The elaborate furnishings are a stark reminder of the distance that separates you - the wealth, the status, the commission - everything that should keep you apart that means nothing when you're together.

You stand facing the bed as he locks the door, heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. The heat radiating from his skin is apparent when he steps behind you, tracing along your shoulders until the straps of your tunic slide down your arms, leaving you bare. Hands circle your body, charting a path that leaves air caught in your lungs. One stems lower, back toward your wanting center, the other higher, reaching for your breast and binding it in his firm grasp.

It's startling how quickly he works you up, the mess at the apex of your thighs a testimony to the way he knows your body better than perhaps you know yourself. Mere moments pass before your knees begin to give way, a strong arm clutching you against him until he can tenderly lower you to his bed. He towers over you as you watch him undress, removing the ornate garments from his frame piece by piece until he, too, stands naked before you.

Something echoes in the back of your mind, the complaints of women far more experienced than you. You cannot refrain from running your tongue along your swollen lips at the sight of him, far more impressive than anything the gossips could dream of. When he closes in on you, molding your body into the plush pillows at your back, seething his length into your waiting heat, you allow yourself to smile for just a moment because you get to experience this. You get to feel him. No one else.

Marcus grunts softly as he begins to rock into you, sliding out almost completely before thrusting home, his hips flush with yours. It's entirely too much when he hesitates, stilling as something unspoken passes between you again. The sun appears on the horizon, flooding his chambers with dull light as passion races to the front of your mind, spiraling out of control until you can feel the words on the tip of your tongue. You itch to grasp something, hands running along the sheets that surround you until he's lacing his fingers with yours, pinning your hands above your head and lowering to kiss your forehead.

"I love you," he breathes, lips brushing your skin at the same time that everything erupts. Warmth spills over your body as the morning light highlights the deep color of his eyes, and you know that for all the pain you have experienced in your life, you would live it all again if only to return to this moment. He doesn't wait for you to return the sentiment, immediately setting a persistent pace that has you digging your nails into his hand.

A thread coils in your stomach, tightening when he changes the angle so he covers you completely. You're surrounded, enveloped by him physically and emotionally, and the second he releases your hands, you're holding him against you, whispering your affirmations in his ear.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

The words don't feel adequate, the same way the time you manage to claim never feels long enough, and the way the distance between you always appears too far. You repeat them anyway, soaring higher until you feel his seed fill you, Marcus sighing in a final plea for you to follow him over the edge.

"Release."

You clench around him, pleading with the universe to surrender as you do. To allow you this. To let you remain in his arms despite the barriers that threaten to keep you apart. To grant you a lifetime of his love regardless of the trials that await you beyond the walls of these quarters.

You're aware, however, that it's a futile effort. The fates determined your futures long ago, and you cannot dispute their intent. Not even as the sun dances across the waves outside his window, threatening to dispel the darkness that lingers at the edge of your vision. Soon, he will go somewhere you cannot follow, and it causes you to hold him tighter. To wonder if when death comes, it will be gracious enough to take you both.

Because, as your grandmother once said, if you must die, may you die with the one you love.

Read the entire "Fate" Trilogy | Fate | Before | After

[huntersrequiem-if]

The Pantheon

The Gods of Atmos take many forms and roles. Chief of them all is Sun, of course, accompanied by his Beloved Bride. Behind them stands Night, the Warden.

Together they form the Celestial Triad, reigning over the skies and the life of mortals alike.

There are other gods, far below them. They deal closely with the affairs of mortals. Nonetheless, it shall be explained below in order of importance and how you may please them.

SUN – The King of Gods, Lord of the Skies. He reigns supreme over all life, able to control the rise and ascendance of the sun with a mere wave of his hand. He is not an overly harsh king with humans, for they are weak and imperfect. Even so, he requires perfection from your worship and your craftsmanship.

Many would consider him the god of life, craftsmen and fire. For his fire can be soothing on a winter night, but just as powerful as a cleansing flame. His warriors, the Hands of Sun are known to use the sacred flame to punish evildoers, for Sun abhors those who take the law lightly. You pray to him when you require a guiding light and skilled hands for a sculpture or various forms of art or craftsmanship.

Gold is his favored offering, be it a gold coin, figurines made of gold, or...even gold teeth (desperate people have been known to offer this – but the priests urge you to find something else. Especially if it isn’t your tooth to give! Please consult the nearest priest for alternatives.) If nothing of such is available, he is known to accept artwork of any kind. “Sun’s light guide your path with blinding clarity.”

MOON – The Beloved Bride of Sun, their marriage has been a long and fortunate one. Moon, while she controls the pearl in the night sky, she is also considered the goddess of love. To her, you go when you have problems with love, of all matters. Be it a mad child, a cold lover or a bothersome relative, Moon brings you clarity so you may see unperturbed by the shadow of worry.

She is easy to please, be it a small poem you penned while bored, a song dear to you or even a flower found on the roadside, Moon adores all things pretty. You have plenty of options to offer her.

While she is the goddess of love, she is not of childbirth – and as such, she can’t bless you with children. For that, you must pray to Caisa and I will get into it soon.

“May the moon watch over you.”

NIGHT – not much is known of the Eternal Warden, for they have little clergy and they’re a secretive bunch. Instead, I shall tell what is known. The Eternal Warden stands atop the throne in the Underworld, guarding the shades.

There, the shades await the day they will be reborn.

Now, Night doesn’t offer blessings or such things. They turn their gaze away from the living, but I have been informed that this doesn’t discourage people. Instead, they offer them crow feathers as gratitude for another day lived and breathed.

In the darkest nights, the ones where Moon is absent and the stars clouded, that is when you can tell the night your deepest secrets. The Warden will not care for them, but they will be safe.

“Avert your gaze, o’ keeper of night.

“Stray your steps, o’ quiet death.”

CAISA – Our Green Lady, where her great steps fall, plants and greenery sprout. To her, the farmers pray to bless their harvest, for their animals to give birth to many young things. Caisa is the goddess of nature and as such, abundance. She can give you the most delicious fruits and vegetables known to mankind, but she is a capricious one. Her clergy is few, not from lack of trying though.

No, she has rather strict tenets you shall adhere to if you even want to gaze at her.

Thou shall not cut living, breathing trees.

Thou shall not fell living creatures.

Thou shall not feast on flesh.

Thou shall abandon all mankind to tread my path.

She is liked by many, but adored by none. Except of course, for her clergy, the Greenmen who abandoned all their kin for a chance to walk upon the Evergreen Glade.

It is said to be the most pure place on this planet, divine fruits in abundance. A simple bite would transcend you to godhood. You shall not step into it, if you know what it is good for you. Unless invited by Caisa herself or one of her druids, stay away.

But she isn’t needless cruel, for she blesses pious mortals with many children. If you are particularly desperate for a child, it is recommended to follow the first three tenets for at least a year before she can look kindly toward you. Her worship requires nothing, except to follow her tenets. If you are unwilling – then she accepts crops grown by your own hands, only yours! Market-bought ones do not count, do not waste your money on that!

“Green Lady, we beg of you – touch our crops. Bless our land.”

ZEPHYR – The Tempest, the Master of Winds, Zephyr is many things. They ride the ever-shifting winds in search of adventure and fortune. They’re the god of wanderers and travelers, of those that thread uncharted ground in search of a better life. Of merchants in search of riches.

For the gods, they have a clear role – a messenger between the Celestial Triad and the ones who walk the earth.

Still, they have an almost strange fascination with humans, for Zephyr is the one who walks the earth the most. Traveling through the cities and villages, be careful of whichever pretty stranger captures your heart. For they might leave you heartbroken, flitting away in the night.

You pray to them for safety on journeys to come, for luck in the following endeavors.

Now, it seems that no one is clear what they prefer in offerings. Sometimes money is accepted, and sometimes it is rejected. But most had favorable outcomes with trinkets from afar, by places traveled by their own feet.

“May the winds bring you to fortune. May they forever caress your cheek and never blind you with their harshness.”

RAU – The Lord of The Depths, he who controls the sea. He is generous with his bounty, be it fishes or treasures.

You pray to him when you wish for safe passage over the sea, rich bounties in your nets. Rau isn’t demanding his offering, his wishes are simple. Your first catch, no matter how empty or full, must be released back from whence it came. Do so and you will be rewarded tenfold.

Ignore his wish and drought will find you, hunger will hunt you.

Whatever falls over the boat’s edge, it belongs to the sea now. To retrieve it means inciting his wraith. Yes, that includes you.

Pray you never catch his eye, let alone his heart.

“Wavebreaker, catch me should I fall. Tidebreaker, never let me go.”

What is a grim poem for you and me is the death call for his people. The devouts, those who feel death approaching walk willingly into the sea and never return. Instead of being buried in the dirt like the rest of the world, they want to be embraced by their god. And he does, I saw it with my own eyes. The sea rises to catch them all.

THE HUNTER – The noble Hunter, the patron of all wild things and the men who seek to hunt them. They’re a horned god, rarely seen by those away from Wyldewood.

For my dear readers who count themselves fortunate not to know what this place is – it is quite simple. As the name implies, it is wild and untamed, full of beasts made of flesh or wood. Fey creatures roam the land, looking for flesh to feast. But the danger doesn’t lie only in the beasts, no, the trees are alive too.

And they rarely take to visitors. Despite that, there are records of villages nestled in the woods itself.

Now, you pray to the Hunter when you have a quarry to hunt down, be you a hunter, a ranger or mercenary with a bounty. Your offering should be, ideally, fresh prey – blood spilled upon the earth.

If nothing of that sort, you can use whatever you have at hand, though blood is greatly favored for its thought The Hunter will track you down easier.

“May your presence guide our chase in the deepest woods.”

LORNA – I will be honest, I was skeptical of including this, for there is little to nothing about this figure. But there have been enough anecdotes from people who brushed past death, only to be brought back to the land of the living to take account of this. They all said they saw a young girl holding a lantern while shaking her head at them.

One even said her name was Lorna – but it is hard to be certain of. Who is this? Another god or a powerful shade? We know nothing for the gods have made no announcement of there being another one in their fold.

[goodlucktai]

name your courage now

one piece word count: 2k pairing: usopp & luffy my piece for the @opfluffzine ! @beasttrash drew some absolutely lovely art to go with my fic, go take a look if you'd like ! title borrowed from the moon will sing by the crane wives read on ao3

x

When Usopp was seventeen, he met a man who made him feel small. 

It wasn’t the first time in his life someone looked at him and found him wanting. But it was the first time elevator eyes and a sneer had caused a deep pang of uneasiness to take up residence in his gut.

“This guy?” the stranger had said to Luffy, incredulous. “Come on, you can tell just by looking between us that I have more to offer than he ever could.”

He was trying to cozy up to the rookie captain already making a name for himself across the blues. He wanted to tag along, take the easy street to adventure and infamy. He couldn’t seem to understand why Usopp, of all people, had a spot, while he didn’t. 

Until that point, Usopp had never had any compunctions about his own physicality. He had a runner’s body, lithe muscle that got him from Point A to Point B swiftly, and the excellent cardio required to scream every step of the way. He would never try to go toe-to-toe with someone like this man—a little taller than Zoro, a little broader in the shoulders, more muscled than the nineteen-year-old former pirate hunter by virtue of being about a decade older. 

But Luffy’s first mate had a devil in him that made him an actual walking natural disaster. This stranger just seemed like the type of bully who was used to using his size to get what he wanted, and his handsome, chiseled face when brute force failed him. 

Luffy had looked at the man the way Usopp imagined the sun might look at a satellite, a glancing interest in this tiny, inconsequential thing that decided to cut boldly across his view. 

Then he looked at Usopp and the shape of that regard changed completely, all warmth and light and safekeeping—the sun looking at one of its planets, Luffy looking at someone who was his. 

Usopp knew how special it was to have that sunlight in his life. He knew better than to think, even for a second, that the special one was him. 

“Who are you?” Luffy said plainly, as if he hadn’t been present for the introductions that had happened literal minutes before. 

The stranger’s face flushed with humiliation, and Zoro’s low chuckle rumbling around them like thunder certainly didn’t help. 

“Shall I get rid of him, captain?” Zoro said with a courteousness that felt dangerous in the moment. 

Luffy, as petulant as any spoiled little brother or soon-to-be king, said, “Just get him out of the way! Usopp was telling a story.”

The stranger chose to take himself out of the way, proving he was at least a little smarter than most wannabe big shots they bumped into. Even after he had disappeared down the road—even after the encounter had drifted back into the company of one thousand other encounters that wouldn’t even make it into the footnotes of their crew’s grand tale—that oily uncertainty remained in Usopp’s stomach. 

Looking back, it was stupid. But it was the first time Usopp felt worried that his place could be snatched away; that someone more deserving could take his spot. 

He knows that he’s lucky, that fate decided to be kind to him that day it brought his future right to his front door. He knows he never would have mustered the courage to go meet his destiny on his own, because Usopp was a runner, and a coward, and only as strong and fast as he needed to be to race away from danger, not towards. 

Then his family was ripped apart. Then Luffy suffered, alone and out of his reach. Usopp clutched a newspaper in hands that shook and imagined, for one second, a world without Luffy’s sunny smile. 

He needs me, Usopp thought. It wasn’t a lie to bolster himself in a moment of crippling insecurity. It wasn’t an act of silly, self-important grandeur to make Nami scoff or Chopper giggle or Sanji roll his eyes. It was a frightening, heavy thing to hold, something he was halfway tempted to put down, and that’s how he knew it was the truth. That’s how he knew he had to keep holding it. 

Usopp worked hard on himself in those two painful years apart, let himself go and then dragged himself back kicking and screaming. He has plenty to show for it, his body a machine as trustworthy as the ones he and Franky build together in their workshop. Just let someone try to take his nakama away again. 

I could carry any one of you, he thinks sometimes, gazing at them over drinks or under the stars, feeling settled in his skin and bones in a way he never was before. If you needed me, I'm strong enough to carry you now.

They meet that man again one more time, when Usopp is twenty.

On the main street of a city they’re poking around for the afternoon, they stumble upon a seaside restaurant's soft opening. Sandwich board menus planted in the street boast cheap specials for couples due to some local holiday. 

Usopp and Luffy lock eyes, and grin, and slide into each other’s space with the ease of people who have put their lives in each other’s hands on the regular. When they amble up to join the queue, they don’t get any second glances.

The shape of Luffy against Usopp’s side is familiar. His hair is stiff, starched with sun and sea salt, but it bends to Usopp's whims when he finger-combs it back into waves. 

Luffy isn’t handsome in a textbook way, isn’t pretty the way people like Vivi and Cavendish are, but he stops strangers in their tracks regardless. Gazes linger where he goes, maybe because humans at a base level can tell when a god is walking with them. 

Or maybe it’s his huge brown eyes. Even odds, Usopp decides, grinning when Luffy pushes into his touch like a pampered pet monster. 

“If we don’t have enough for the bill we can just run away,” Luffy says none too quietly, because he’s very much a product of the two half-feral older brothers who raised him.

“We’ll have enough,” Usopp reassures, even though he’s not entirely sure. Things will work out one way or another. He's learned from the best, after all, and while he’s no Nami, he can charm a few hundred bellies off the bill at the very least. 

Their chatter attracts attention. One of the two girls holding hands in line ahead of them scoffs, good-humored, and her partner giggles. A man walking down the street does a double-take and stops in his tracks.

Usopp recognizes him, even if it takes a minute. He’s smaller than Usopp remembers. The years haven’t been kind, weathering away his roguish good looks. Now he wouldn’t stand out of a crowd one way or another. 

In a split second, Usopp can see the spark of something like blame in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to start a fight.

“Hey, Lu, I bet they’ve got free samples up at the front,” Usopp says, giving his captain a nudge. “Get us something good, I'll save our spot in line.”

“Good idea!” Luffy’s off like a shot, thankfully barreling around the queue of customers instead of through it. Usopp spares a moment of sympathy for the waitstaff if there aren’t actually any samples up there and then turns his attention back to the stranger. 

Usopp folds his arms and sets his shoulders back, a broad wall between Luffy and this guy who thinks he has a right to ruin their fun day off. 

“For all you know, we’re on a date,” he says dryly. “Make it quick.”

“I just don't get it,” he says, jaded and unhappy with whatever turns his life has taken. “Why did he take you with him? What makes someone like you so special?”

“Yeah, you really don’t get it,” Usopp replies, not unkindly. 

None of us were special until he picked us out of the blues and made us that way, he could say. He saw something in us that no one else did, that hadn’t even existed yet, he could try to explain. Maybe we just got lucky. 

But there’s more to it than that. That’s only half the truth. 

They chose Luffy, too. And that’s not a small thing. It’s not simple, or easy, or a choice they only had to make once. Luffy picked them, and they picked him right back, and all the hard work that came with him. 

Every so often, when his friends are being noisy and annoying, Usopp thinks I would do anything for them and he means it . He would fight tooth and nail to stay at their side. He would cling with his last breath to Luffy's flag. Even when it hurts. Even when he’s scared. 

There is nowhere else that he belongs, Usopp realized one day, and it’s the truth. It’s something he made true, over and over and over again. Maybe he did get lucky that day Luffy happened to meet him. 

But maybe Luffy got lucky, too. 

“I put in the work,” Usopp finally settles for saying. “This is how far it got me. I’m nowhere near done yet.”

The man scoffs, but it doesn’t have the condescending edge it did the first time they met. When he sizes Usopp up again, it’s not nerve-wracking the way it would have been once. 

If Robin was there to make it really funny, Usopp would say excuse me, my eyes are up here, like he does in dive bars when flirty strangers get a little too close for comfort, only to shriek in alarm at the extra ice blue eyes staring unblinkingly at them from Usopp’s face. 

The man glances over Usopp's shoulder and quickly withdraws himself from their conversation. Usopp didn’t need his obvious reaction to tell him that Luffy is scampering back, because his passive observation haki is finely tuned to his captain’s presence at all times. That, and the audible oof from a stranger in the crowd who didn’t dive out of Luffy’s path in time not to get trampled over was kind of a giveaway. 

“Oh, score,” Usopp cheers when he sees what is probably six times the suggested number of samples for any one customer clutched in Luffy’s hands. 

Luffy is watching the stranger depart, a confused frown on his face. He looks back and Usopp meets his eyes easily, a smile already curling the edges of his mouth because he knows what’s coming. 

Sure enough, his best friend says, “Who was he?”

The line moves up and now they’re within line of sight of the hostess podium, so Usopp resumes their fake date by slinging an arm around Luffy’s waist. He squeezes playfully, and Luffy actually squeaks in surprise like a rubber monkey, then bursts into bright peals of ringing laughter. 

It settles over the street the way sunlight falls on everything, casting the world in warm, rich gold.  

“He was nobody worth worrying about,” Usopp says, wishing he could say it to himself at seventeen.

Usopp used to be a liar and could even trick himself into thinking he was somehow worth standing next to his friends, the brilliant, incredible people that they were. 

Usopp is still a liar, when it suits him, and even a coward, but only when it’s good for a laugh. More than that, he’s an inventor and a storyteller and the best sharpshooter in the New World. Maybe sometimes he still flinches from danger, but he doesn’t let his crew run to meet it without him. He builds things and helps people and nobody has the power to make him feel like anything except what he is.

He’s someone worth betting your last beli on. Somehow, Luffy knew that from the very first moment they met. Usopp took the long way around, but he caught up eventually.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Day.9 ~ What is Christmas? ~

Karlheinz x fem!reader

warning : fluff/ comfort, kissing

Summary : Two brothers who both fought for a woman a story as old as time itself. But the older one had won, golden eyes surrounded by love when he looked at her but he had no idea why that pretty heart of hers was so sad when snowflakes weren't in hell...what was this Christmas?

info : It's been a long time since I wrote for Diabolik Lovers, let alone Karlheinz. I hope you enjoy reading it anyway ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the moment he saw her, the King knew he wanted her, he had to have something as beautiful as her. She was not like his three “women”, she was different, her heart was still beating, making a beautiful sound that enraptured him whenever he heard her, whenever he smelled her blood and her heart was an instrument of feelings.

His golden eyes took her form, a form that would be fleeting in the human world, which is why after he took her to hell, he made her a realm of her own there, ,,Only for you, this place shall be ours forever,” he said softly as his hand laid on hers.

As much as she was initially afraid of everything he was, of what was to come, she felt so flattered and attracted to him, to this being who had chosen her from all living and dead, ,,It's so different” she had said when he had cast his spell instead of the usual appearance of hell, the other world, he gave her a home with a garden and open space with many rooms.

He wanted her to feel at home, which she did when he helped her to find her way around and vice versa, until he saw her standing at the window looking up at the bright sky more and more often, ,,Are you not well? Your sadness upsets me, what can I do?” he asked his form standing behind her, hands resting on her shoulders.

Time didn't matter to him or down here in general, but it did to her, he knew he was simulating the weather down here a little, not the seasons, ,,Karlheinz...do you know Christmas?” she asked, turning away from the fesnter to look at him, golden eyes looking at her unknowingly.

He knew the customs of people who came and went throughout the seasons, but he didn't have a complete idea of this Christmas, ,,You give each other presents, don't you?” he asked carefully, seeing her nod and eager to learn more, despite his strength and wisdom, he still had things to learn.

But what she told him made him sit up and take notice over a cup of tea that they both enjoyed as she explained to him what it was all about, how much more there was to it and, above all, why all this was starting to creep her out.

She was like a bird in a cage standing in a room, initially big and curious, the bird soon found no change because always doing the same thing was tiring in the long run, ,,Do you understand? I love you with all my heart but none of this is possible without a rhythm,” she confessed, putting down her teacup and sighing.

She hadn't left much behind back then, she had no family and the new world here held nothing for her except for Karlheinz who gave her everything she wanted, ,,I understand completely dear” he replied and gave her a gentle kiss before rising and disappearing in the blink of an eye, wherever he went he seemed to have a plan, a plan that suited her.

Only a few days later, when she woke up once more and looked out of the window of her bedchamber, she saw that instead of the sun, the sky was cloudy, puffy clouds making snow that already covered the garden, ,,Darling! Oh look how pretty!” she exclaimed as she wrapped herself in her dressing gown and went out into the hallway to get a better look.

The breeze that came up and the arms that wrapped around her pulled her close, ,,This winter and Christmas is truly pretty,” he murmured, pulling a plate of cookies out from behind his back, snowflake and reindeer shaped cookies that he also tasted, a satisfied smile on his lips.

While she dressed herself in a coat and her beloved stayed that way, they went for walks through the snow-covered garden, the ice-cold hand holding her warm one and she was happy to finally have her favorite season.

He might be a bloodsucking god, a monster to some but to her he was her love who would do anything to make her happy and that was all that mattered as she felt the snow fly down on her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sapphire-writes]

Winter Rose

pairing: Aemond x Stark!Reader

summary: Raised among wolves, and raised among dragons; throughout time Targaryens and Starks seem to find their way to each other.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 2.3k

note: this is mostly fluff! enjoy my loves 💙

You had been a small child when your father died; when your elder brother Cregan was named Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Though he was just a boy of three and ten at the time. You remembered the funeral of your father, the way Cregan held your small hand in his own.

“You need to be brave, sister,” Cregan had whispered in your ear. 

Your eyes were wide as saucers, gazing upon the still body of your father. You expected his chest to rise and fall, as though he were simply in a deep sleep. He remained motionless. You had only seen one other corpse in your life, that of your mother.

The image of her flashes in your mind. Beautiful, wild, and gone. Petals in the wind. Your father would lay beside her for eternity in the crypts of Winterfell. The thought comforted you, your parents in the earth below you, and your brother. Simply sleeping beneath the mighty fortress of Winterfell.

Cregan squeezes your hand. 

Your uncle, Bennard Stark, was to rule as regent until Cregan came of age. A feat that does not bode well when Cregan reaches adulthood. But Bennard succeeds nonetheless. 

You grow alongside your brother, both of you fierce, both of you spitting images of the First Men. Both are haunted by the ghosts of wolves before you. You and Cregan are one and the same until you come into your maidenhood.

That is when things seem to change between you, suddenly you are thrust into the role of a soon-to-be mother, though still unwed. Lords vie for your hand, present themselves to your brother for the chance to bed, and breed you like a prize mare. You are having none of that. 

“Lord Umber is a fine choice!” Cregan yells, running after you as you flee from the great hall.

“You heathen!” you snap at your brother.

You stop, causing Cregan to nearly run into you, glaring at your brother. 

“You’d ship me off to Last Hearth, is that it?” you accuse, “who’d do your booking then hmm?”

Cregan flushes with embarrassment. 

“I’d make do without you,” he says.

“You’re shit at bookkeeping,” you accuse. 

“You’re a lady, it’s your duty-”

“My duty!” you scoff, “How very convenient to you!”

Cregan frowns, visibly frustrated by your angry disposition.

“You like Lord Umber.”

You look at him incredulously. 

“He is my friend, Cregan, it does not mean I wish to bed him.”

“Sister, you must listen!”

But you are off already, across the yard, angry tears wet on your face. They do not last long as you hastily wipe them, crystalized in the cold air they fly like diamonds to the gravel below. 

The news comes to Winterfell when House Stark is invited to the capital to represent the North at King Viserys nameday. Evidently, all the great houses are to feast in the capital, with tourneys and celebrations to last for several days. 

“Allow me to represent our house, and when I return I shall not fuss about marrying Lord Umber,” you tell him, bile rising in your throat as you panic at the thought.

Cregan senses your hesitation. Brothers are like that, sensing your lies. 

“You shall?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. 

“I shall.”

The journey to King’s Landing is long and tiresome, taking the better part of a month. Layers of clothing are shed the closer you get to the capital, as the air around you warms, snow melts and flowers bloom. It is as though you are blooming as well, pushing through the soil and towards the sun.

You are presented at court, as unwed ladies often are, to the king and the royal family. Though King Viserys is not in attendance, represented by the Hand instead. 

The first of the festivities you attend is a tourney. 

“You do not wish to participate, my prince?” you ask, out of courtesy.

“I do not care for tourneys, my lady,” the one-eyed prince tells you, “I believe them to be a foolish waste of time.”

You smile slightly at his honesty.

“They are said to prepare men for the battlefield,” you tell him, “though I do not know whose enemy would wait for his opponent to pick up his sword.”

Aemond glances at you as you take a sip from your cup. He glances at the tourney field, understanding your jest as he observes two knights waiting to fight. A flicker of a smile appears on his chiseled face.

“Most knights simply wish for the attention of those of court,” Aemonn tells you, “Fame and glory; to be a page in a song.”

“To have the favor of a pretty girl,” you agree.

Aemond looks at you once more. A pretty girl. You meet his eye, smiling. Aemond looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Have any of these knights won your favor, my lady?” Aemond asks.

You shake your head.

“No, I am afraid not,” you tell him, “I prefer a real warrior to a pretender.”

Aemond watches as you excuse yourself and walk away, a curious expression on his face. 

The feast later that evening is boisterous and full of merriment and delight. It makes you miss home, an ache appears in your chest that you cannot shake. No matter how many lords you dance with, how many ladies you chat with. Though you wished for an escape, you so miss the walls of Winterfell. Cregan’s hand in yours. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the North is where you belong. Winterfell, Last Hearth. Did it matter which castle, truly?

“My lady,” the voice of Prince Aemond pulls you gently from your thoughts.

He is kind, you can tell. Though his exterior is cold, reptilian almost. Like the snakes that slither in the greenhouses of Winterfell, searching for warmth and life in the frozen ground. Simply trying to survive. Aemond bows to you, offering his hand, violet eye scanning your face. 

You want to ask him about it. But you bite his tongue. You know all too well how people enjoy poking the bruises of others, teasing out the memories of pain a person holds inside them simply for their own selfish curiosity. You shall not be like them.

You take his hand and allow him to lead you to the dance floor. You cling to the young prince for the rest of the evening, finding calm in his cool presence. It is nice, standing beside him feeling as though there is no silence you need to fill. Feeling as though he simply enjoys that you are there. 

When you return to your chambers, a blue winter rose rests its petals on your pillow. You pick up the flower, inspecting it carefully between your fingers, the cerulean petals catching the moonlight. A reminder of home.

The remainder of your visit to the capital is spent on Prince Aemond’s arm. In the library, on walks through the gardens. He even entertains your passion for hawking, joining you as you travel into the Kingswood. It is nice to have a friend among so many dragons. Someone to talk to, someone who enjoys your company. 

As the days pass, you have collected a bouquet of winter roses; they sit beside your bed in a glass vase, the first flower only just beginning to lose its petals. They scatter across your chambers like freshly fallen snow. 

A raven arrives, confirming your brother’s visit to the capital. Cregan is often impatient and comes to the conclusion that he must join his sweet sister in the capital, bringing Lord Umber with him. A determined pup, your elder brother can be. 

Aemond senses a shift within you as you wait in anticipation, though he cannot quite figure out what the cause is. When your brother arrives, you avoid his presentation at court entirely. Though Cregan is relentless, and spots you as you attempt to escape to the gardens. In your haste, you nearly run into Aemond. You clasp his arm.

“Quickly,” you say nervously, shifting on your feet, “I must go, quickly.”

“It is your brother,” Aemond says, looking over your shoulder, “why do you wish to run from him? Have you not missed him this time apart?”

Aemond knows you have been missing him, missing home. It is why he took such care with the flowers left in your chambers. He had enlisted Helaena for help; winter roses are fickle plants that require delicate care outside of the North. 

“Of course I have,” you tell him, trying but failing to hide behind his tall frame.

Aemond smiles slightly as you grab his arm. Cregan has spotted you, a determined grin on his face. Lord Umber has joined him on his journey to King’s Landing. He has brought the wedding to you. There’s nowhere to run anymore.

“Then why do you hide little wolf?” Aemond asks, chuckling.

“He wishes to marry me off,” you tell the prince, “ship me off to Last Hearth.”

Aemond’s face falls slightly, he glances over his shoulder as your brother comes closer with each passing second. Aemond turns back to you, eye scanning the distressed expression on your face. 

You bring your gaze back to the prince, an idea coming to you. 

“My prince,” you say suddenly, “do you trust me?”

Aemond frowns, not fully understanding what you are asking.

“Of course my lady-”

“Then kiss me.”

Aemond’s jaw slacks as he looks into your eyes. 

“Quickly, please,” you beg, “Aemond.”

His eye flickers from your lips to your eyes.

“Trust me,” you say softly.

The one-eyed dragon prince needs no more convincing. He bows his head to your height, and you stand on the tips of your toes, hand caressing the back of his neck bringing his lips to yours. Aemond is gentle with the kiss, as though he has never kissed someone before. He nearly pulls away after the first peck, but you secure your hand on his neck, opening your mouth against his, deepening the kiss.

Something comes alive in Aemond as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Fire curls in his belly, desire lodges at the base of his spine, and his cock strains against his trousers as your nails scrape his scalp. 

You pull away when the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you from the prince’s trance. Lips reddened by the hasty kisses, Aemond’s violet eye is wide as it meets yours.

“Sister,” Cregan says awkwardly, “It is good-”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Stark,” Aemond interrupts, nodding to the young wolf.

“Your grace,” Cregan says, bowing slightly.

“Delightful to be surrounded by kin,” Aemond tells him.

“Kin? I do not understand,” Cregan tells him.

“My betrothed has missed her brother for too long now,” Aemond clarifies, much to Cregan’s and your surprise. 

“Betrothed?” Cregan asks, looking between you two. 

“Yes,” you tell him, sliding next to Aemond, pressing your body against him, “Prince Aemond has asked for my hand. And I have accepted.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“Without informing me?” he asks.

“We wished to surprise you,” Aemond says softly, “your sister was so excited by your arrival, she wanted to tell you in person.”

You nod eagerly as Aemond speaks, and Cregan raises an eyebrow at you in question. You smile widely, showing too many teeth. A she-wolf, daring him to question you aloud. 

“Tis true, brother,” you tell him, “Who am I to deny a dragon prince?”

“I suppose if you did not want to, you would not,” Cregan says, sighing, “A stubborn woman, my sister is.”

“One of the many reasons she is so charming,” Aemond agrees, his words causing your heart to flutter inside your chest.

Warmth pools in your belly as the prince smiles down at you. Cregan raises an eyebrow, nodding in approval. 

“I dare ask, what else has entrapped your attention, my prince?” Cregan asks, “It is my understanding the Queen wished for you to take a wife for some time now, to no avail.”

Aemond nods.

“Your sister is a rare find, much like a winter rose south of the Wall,” Aemond begins. 

Your heart leaps in your throat. Though you had expected it, now it is confirmed. It was he who left you the flowers. He who took such care with them. 

“However, did you do it?” you ask, eyes wide. 

Aemond smiles at you knowingly. 

“Precious flowers take time to bloom, they require special care,” he tells you, “but they are well worth it.”

You flush at his words, believing he means more than just the flowers. 

“A marriage must be treated with such care as well,” you agree, lacing your fingers through his. 

Aemond’s hand is rough from training with the sword, but your hand fits perfectly in his. The warmth of his palm settles the flurry of nerves in your stomach. 

“Are you prepared to give this union such care?” Cregan asks, his voice hardening, “This is my sister you are marrying, and she deserves nothing but the best.”

Aemond smiles, looking down at your intertwined hands. His thumb rubs against the back of your palm. 

“I would gift her the world if I could,” he admits, “I promise you, I shall spend the rest of my days devoted to making her happy.”

Your eyes well with tears and your heart swells with pride at his words. You tug him closer to you, taking his other hand in yours.

“You must excuse us brother,” you tell Cregan, “though I have missed you, I require a moment with my betrothed.”

You lead Aemond away from Cregan, away from the curious eyes of court, until you are in a secluded area of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Aemond asks, a smile playing on his lips.

You tug him closer once more until you are pressed up against him.

“I wish to kiss my betrothed unwatched,” you giggle, bringing his mouth to yours once more. 

This time, you do not stop.

______________________________________________________________

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[mybiasisexo]

holdddddsupppp you got a drabble game open HOW DID I MISS THIS. if you’re still accepting may i kindly request 33 & 36 with chanyeol please and thank you!

Fantasy 🎀

Genre: smut | nonidol!au Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Length: 1.8k Warnings: language | phone sex | explicit sexual scenes

a/n: this is lowkey nassssty 👅 but why do i find it wholesome??? lol. anywhooo writing stuff like this is not good for my thirst yall see what i do for you???? lmao

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

“Who shall I be for you tonight, Mr. Park?” You ask into the phone. You lean back into the pile of pink pillows on your king-sized bed.

“I want to switch it up tonight, if you don’t mind.” The sexily deep voice on the other end of the line had your stomach doing backflips. It’s easy to do your job whenever you have to deal with this client, especially with a voice like that.

“I never mind when it comes to you, Mr. Park.”

The sound of his sensual laugh makes you bite your lip. “You’ll need to bear with me. It’s not my normal request.” “I’m all ears.”

Mr. Park is your most loyal customer. He calls every Thursday night. You don’t know much about him. You don’t know what he looks like or what he does for work, but you know he’s a busy man–too busy for a physical lover. That’s where you come in. You fill that empty role for him, allowing him to seek the intimacy he lacks in his real life. Unlike most of your customers, who only call for a quick nut, Mr. Park is into roleplay. You never know what scenario he’ll create for you to bring to life and you find it exciting. You find the mysterious man very exciting. It helps that he pays handsomely for your service. 

He’s somber when he speaks again. “I’m currently away on a business trip, and as I take in this stunning view out the window of my hotel I can’t help but feel….” he pauses as he searches for the right words. “Lonely.”

You remain quiet. He’s setting the scene, but you can’t help but think he’s being vulnerable with you.

“I’d like for you to help with that. Can you make me forget my loneliness? Just for tonight? Could we pretend that we’re in love?”

You gasp at his request. You’re sure it goes against sex work code to blur the lines like this, but on the other hand, it’s your job to cater to his whims. If his sexual desire is to be romantic, to be loved, then that’s what you’ll provide. Honestly, you could use a bit of intimacy as well.

Curling onto your side, you cup your phone against your ear. “How’s the view?”

You must have startled him, because it takes him a second to answer. You hear the shuffling of sheets as he also adjusts in his bed and hear a smile through the line. “It’s gorgeous. The sun is setting now, and the ocean is sparkling…. You’d love it.”

“Send me a picture.”

You imagine him shaking his head. “I did take a few. Doesn’t do it justice though.” He sighs wistfully. “I wish you were here to see it for yourself.”

You smile softly. “I wish I was there too.” It’s your turn to sigh. “I just wish I was with you.”

He lets out a husky chuckle. “Does my baby miss me that much?”

Your heart lurches at the pet name. It takes you aback and you can hear him laugh at your shocked silence.

“More than you know,” you choke out. “When will you be back?”

“Soon, Baby.”

“You’re supposed to say that you’re getting on a plane right now because you can’t bear another second without me.”

He barks a laugh, it’s loud and genuine, causing you to giggle from its sincerity. “I’ll get right on that then.”

“And what are you going to do when you return?” You ask, pushing the conversation in the direction you get paid for it to go.

“First thing I’m going to do is take you out on a very expensive date.”

“Ooh,” you purr. “Ilike where this is going.”

“I thought you would. After that, we’ll go back home and take a hot shower. Clean the day off.”

“Okay,” you encourage.

He hesitates for dramatic effect. “And then I'm going to make love to you.”

“You will, huh?”

“Uh-huh. Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll forget I ever left to begin with.”

“That’s quite the plan you got there,” you say. It’s meant to be teasing, but you’re too breathless. It’s a dead giveaway to your growing desire.

“Aw,” he coos. “Got you a little worked up?”

“A little,” you admit.

“Let me help with that.” His voice drops a few octaves, vibrating against your ear. You can’t help but moan at the sound, having grown a bit obsessed with his voice. It’s the only physical bit of information you have of his real identity, and it drives you crazy.

“Please,” you beg.

He then proceeds to direct you to touch yourself. He always makes you build your pleasure, makes you tease yourself until you’re begging him to let you finger your throbbing, soaking core. He teases himself as well. It’s not until he hears your wonton moaning and the squelching of your wetness that he even bothers releasing himself from the painful confines of his pants. The sound of him unbuckling his pants is another thing about him that drives you crazy, and he’s fully aware of it.

You aren’t sure how much time passes as you both chase your highs. The only things that can be heard are heavy breathing, moans, and encouraging words.

“Let me see you,” he suddenly asks. “Please. I have to see your face when you cum.”

That has you freezing. Your anonymity is a part of the fantasy. You can be anything Mr. Park wants when he has no image to compare you to. It works both ways. It’s a form of confidentiality, of protection for you. That being said, you’ve always been curious about what Mr. Park looks like.

Blame it on the lustful haze, but you succumb to his request. “O–okay.”

Your phone instantly vibrates, the screen revealing a facetime request. Your heart is hammering so hard in your chest you can feel it in your ears. With a shaky hand, you answer the call and close your eyes, terrified of his initial reaction of finally seeing you.

It’s silent for an unbearably long time. Just as you’re about to hang up, he lets out a whistle. “You’re more beautiful than anything I could’ve conjured.”

Shocked, your eyes spring open. And then your jaw drops at what greets you.

Mr. Park is dangerously handsome. Not to stereotype, but you always feel only unattractive incels pay for phone sex. But with a voice like that, you knew Mr. Park couldn’t possibly be ugly. You’ve wondered numerous times what was wrong with him to have him resort to phone sex, but then remember it’s his job. 

The first thing to captivate you is his large dark eyes that currently are hooded over with desire. His olive skin is tinted pink and gleaming with sweat. His dark silky hair is pushed back, revealing the lovely shape of his face as well as endearingly large ears. He has a strong nose that your lust-filled mind wants to immediately ride, as well as full devastating lips you crave to taste and feel all over your body.

“So are you,” you let out without thought, too engrossed in his image.

He chuckles, and the sound has your empty core aching. “Well, thank you. I’m glad you find me attractive.”

“I always knew you would be.”

He hums and leans back against the headboard, staring.

“What?” You whisper, feeling self-conscious.

“Nothing.” He grins and it’s so boyish and playful, you fight back a shiver. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“I–er, sorry.” You slide down your bed so that you’re lying flat on the mattress, instead of propped up on the pillows, and hold your phone high over yourself. This allows him to see your body cladded in sexy lingerie. You pan the phone lower, to where your other hand has disappeared into your panties. Mr. Park doesn’t even blink as he watches the show, taking everything in as he starts to slowly pump himself.

“Can’t believe you were hiding all this from me,” he grunts. “Don’t get me wrong, your voice definitely does the job, but fuck, Baby. You’re perfection.”

His words have you blushing. “I wish you were here to touch me.” You lift the phone up so that your face is back in the frame. “To taste me. I want to show you just how perfect I can be.”

He groans and it sounds so devastated you can’t help but giggle.

The two of you start back where you left off. It’s intensely intimate with the way you both lose yourselves in each other’s eyes. You’ve never done this before and can’t deny the little thrill you feel at being able to see the man on the other side. Trust Mr. Park to keep things adventurous.

You come first. With a sharp gasp, you start convulsing, nearly dropping the phone with how powerful your orgasm is.

“That’s right,” Mr. Park praises. “Come on those fingers for me. So damn beautiful.”

He’s right behind you. A growl is ripped from his throat as he’s hit with his own release. His hips buck as he paints his exposed abdomen.

You’re both panting heavily in the aftermath. With some effort, you rearrange your pillows so that you can lean your phone against them instead of holding it. Laying on your side, you watch as Mr. Park dips his finger into his mess, lifting it up to watch it stretch out.

“Lemme taste,” you say, opening your mouth like you’re accepting food.

He laughs that sincere loud laugh from earlier and shakes his head, dropping his hand lifelessly at his side. “Freak.”

“That’s what you pay me for,” you say with a wink.

He shakes his head again. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Get off to my face?”

“Yeah,” he nearly moans. “There’s a reason why I keep coming back, you know?”

You purse your lips. “I thought it was my way with words?”

“That too. But, I just… I’ve always felt drawn to you.”

You smile and he tilts his head, the action feels affectionate.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I really needed that today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you say as seductively as you can post-nut. Growing just as serious you admit, “I needed it too.”

His expression softens with understanding .

“Our time is up,” you tell him, trying to brush off this new affection growing between you both. “Good night, Mr. Park.”

“It’s Chanyeol,” he says right as you’re about to end the call.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name.” he clears his throat nervously. “It’s Chanyeol.”

You blink at the revelation. The name suits him, you decide. It’s better than anything you could’ve guessed it to be. Feeling you have to return the favor, and leave him with a thankful parting gift, you reveal your real name as well.

His smile is blinding as he repeats it. “Gorgeous. Just like you.”

“Always laying it on thick, Chanyeol.”

He smirks. “I just wanted to hear you say my name.” You narrow your eyes at him and he’s laughing again. “See you next week.”

You hang up, stomach fluttering from what you just did. You know it’s wrong, but you’re way too eager for your next appointment with Chanyeol.

[raayllum]

i'm gonna break down the poster later but for now I wanna talk about the poem

As others have noticed the first letter of each line, read bottom to top, spell out "The Red Wedding" which is likely the episode title, so I'm not going to speculate too much on that.

Like we know at this point hardly anything is accidental in TDP especially when there's blatant opportunities to hide clues, so with that in mind, I want to look at stanza by stanza to the best of my ability.

Gnash your teeth, O Dragon Fierce! Night’s not far away

"Gnash" is an aggressive reference to teeth, which makes me think of "ivory draconic" for the Nova Blade, but also of scenes yet explained (the arc 1 intro of human warriors gathered on one side of the border, and Thunder's display of power). However, I think it's likely that what the poem is referring to is even farther back in history, given that "night" might refer to a time period (i.e. the stars leaving) happening soon.

In the sky that watchful eye Does weep and stare and pierce

"White as the star's heart it pierced" and we see eyes in reference to dragons' ire against Elarion. That said, this "watchful eye" could belong to a long ago Startouch elf (Aaravos, Laurelion, Leola?) who cared about what was happening, hence being 'watchful.' Pierce has a less peaceful connotation, but this section of the poem definitely reads as "in the past to me" (I say, preparing to eat my words in the future)

Dance away, O Golden Queen! Eternal fiery flame While shadows jeer into your ear Don’t forge a blade from shame

This, meanwhile, feels like a pretty straightforward reference to Janai in present day. She is both queen and the Golden Knight of Lux Aurea. Dancing is a part of Sunfire proposals, she has fire powers, and she's planning a wedding. "Shadows" could be references to her nightmares from Aaravos and the shadow monster creatures Karim's army is probably going to accidentally turn into thanks to Pharos' lingering corruption. She wields a Sunforge blade, of course, and has doubt/shame surrounding her choices and status as queen as it moves back and forth... so maybe "don't make a harsh choice out of shame/fear of unworthiness?" But we shall have to see.

Now onto what's probably my favourite stanza:

Eight in a line, O Chosen Mine! Ready for a war Endlessly burning Hopefully yearning That love will triumph once more!

"Eight in a line" makes me lose my mind because there's 8 pieces across the board in chess (2 rooks, 2 knights, 2 bishops make 6, + 1 king and queen make 8; as well as 8 pawns, of course). "O Chosen Mine" also makes it sound like Aaravos is the speaker of the poem, which given that he's someone poetry has been written about up until now, is deliciously meta.

"Ready for a war" might apply most straightforwardly to the Sunfire elves, but I don't think we even have eight named Sunfire characters in show, so it must encompass more main players. Perhaps unrest in the Pentarchy, and of course, the Dragang taking steps to try to go to war against and defeat Aaravos.

"Endlessly burning" has a couple different meanings, given that 1) fire cannot burn forever, 2) it seems humans were gifted sun magic first way back when, and 3) fire/burning has a more positive association with light. "Hopefully yearning" has a positive connotation, even if people on both sides can have hope for various reasons ("There is one weird hope" from Claudia in 4x01 vs Ezran's "There is a hope" in 3x03, etc). To yearn for something is to have "a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily" and we know that wishes and wants are something that can go from good to bad in TDP's world, especially when it comes to Aaravos.

The characters are hoping/working/wishing that "Love will triumph once more," the way it did for them in 3x09. This reflects back into love > control, narrative of love > narrative of power, etc. It also caps off this stanza of "eight in the line" having the game motif, and then triumphing also indicates winning the game.

But, of course, they can't. Not in S6, anyway.  😈