#you would be wondering there were ANY aristocrats left at all

[strechanadi]

Naïs Duboscq, Mathieu Ganio

Mayerling

photo Julien Benhamou

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: i forgot it was friday SOBS i got distracted reading a new book so we're a little late but anyway <.< its time also i’m gonna answer asks tomorrow i promise 😭

THE DOCTOR

You sighed softly, smoothing out the cloth draped against you as you took a look in the mirror again. There was nothing left to fix--your hair was done, the jewel of your necklace laid neatly in the middle of your chest and your gown was fitted perfectly. You thought you should be alarmed, you didn’t know how the masked person had all of your measurements. You assumed that they had been the one to drop off the gown at the inn you were staying at in Snezhnaya City so you could be properly dressed for the event at Zapolyarny Palace. 

You rose to your feet, gnawing at your bottom lip as you looked into the mirror one last time. They had given you a purple gown to wear--and not just any purple, the color of your family, the exact shade. You didn’t like it. You wondered if it was on purpose or just a coincidence but you figured that nothing about this person was a coincidence. They knew everything about you from who you were to the reason you came to Snezhnaya, a secret that you thought had been kept safely between you and your grandfather. 

Your eyes turned to the window, catching a rather fancy looking carriage making its way down the stone road in the direction of the inn you were staying at. You figured that was going to be him--whoever the aristocrat was that the masked person had said would be bringing you to the event.

How?

The events were invite only, strictly moderated, how this person had managed to get you in was a mystery. You didn’t know what to expect--you didn’t know how many people would be there nor did you know if all of the Harbingers would be attending. You assumed that they would so you could prepare for the worst case scenario but you hoped that they didn’t. 

You didn’t know much about the Fatui Harbingers, just what your grandfather had learned from one of the few networks of intel he had access to that weaved through Snezhnaya. There were eleven of them, but only ten were active--ranked by strength, they struck fear and awe in the hearts of their subordinates. There were rumors that some of the higher ranked ones could rival even the Archons in power. Your grandfather warned you of a few before you left for the north: the Doctor, the Balladeer, the Fair Lady and the Friar, all brutal and dangerous and unforgiving, should they learn of your plans in the north, you would quickly find yourself a fallen pawn in whatever game of chess they were playing against the rest of Teyvat. 

You thought your best bet might lay with the Regrator. Evidently, he was the most recently promoted Harbinger of the active ten and focused more on the economy and politics than anything else… or so was assumed, at least. Snezhnaya had prospered since his promotion--the creation of the Northland Bank and its expansion across Teyvat had catapulted Snezhnaya to match the wealth of Liyue, they were even trying to set one up in Fontaine but were failing miserably. You were sure he was just as cruel and vicious as the rest of them but you thought that at least you wouldn’t be dealing with unfamiliar topics.

How you were going to ensure that you were placed with him… or even placed at all instead of being killed on sight, you didn’t know. You figured that was something important to know before you stepped foot in Zapolyarny Palace but you excused the lack of preparation by telling yourself there was no way for you to prepare for something when you didn’t know what to expect. You would figure out the plan as soon as you got there and knew who was there, what the event was for, and what you could do to ensure your survival and success. 

Your head hurt but the carriage had come to a stop at the steps of the inn you were staying at and you knew you had to get moving. You let out another heavy breath as you took one last look in the mirror before making your way out of your room and down the steps of the inn.

You gave a soft smile to the elderly man working the front desk as you made your way through the wide lobby, hesitating only for a second when you saw a tall figure ducking out from inside of the carriage. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the doors open, wincing at brisk air stinging your face as soon as you stepped outside. 

A brown head of hair whipped around at the sound of the doors shutting behind you, an awkward smile pulled at the lips of your date for the night, warm brown eyes focusing on you, “Hello,” he said, his voice was a bit hesitant and nervous, holding his hand out toward you. “I’m Artem.”

You placed your hand in his, watching as he bent his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Artem interrupted, then flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, they… already told me who you were.”

They, you repeated silently as a particularly harsh wind swept through the city, the streets eerily silent. 

“They…” you murmured to yourself but Artem suddenly looked nervous, brown eyes flitting around before he motioned for you to join him in the carriage. You inhaled the bitterly cold air as you stepped forward, taking his hand as he helped you up into the carriage before following you in, shutting the dark door behind the two of you. 

“You shouldn’t talk about stuff out in the open,” Artem said quietly. “There are always people listening.”

Great, you thought to yourself, gaze twisting around outside. The streets were barren but even you knew there was something off about this city that you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you caught sight of a figure standing in the window of one of the apartments across the street. You couldn’t make out their features against the backlight but you knew their eyes were directed toward the carriage. 

You’d been in the city for two days now and it felt eerily similar to the streets of Fontaine. You didn’t often leave the palace of the Hydro Archon, everything you needed was within it: food, water, libraries, the gardens, but every once in a while, you would escape to go watch a show at one of the theaters. The Hydro Archon liked to keep the nobles of the nation ignorant to the perils of the rest of the civilians and it worked when you were in the ivory tower of the palace but when you were down in the streets, it was impossible to miss how the civilians were on edge, eyes constantly darting around in an anxious panic. There were eyes everywhere--in every window, in every alley, in every corner and crevice and no matter how aware you were of them, there was no hiding from them. 

Snezhnaya City was just like that. 

Oppressive. Tense. Heavy. Cold beyond just the air around you. But unlike Fontaine, Snezhnaya was not your home. Your name and title held no weight in this city and the threat of the Fatui and what they could do to you weighed on you like the sky had fallen. 

“What is this event?” you finally asked, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as you watched Artem from the corner of your eye. 

“They’re filling the last spot,” Artem responded, staring ahead. He didn’t look excited or pleased and you couldn’t help but wonder what the political climate was like here, the relationship between the Snezhnayan aristocrats and the Cryo Archon and her followers--maybe it was something you could use to your advantage… or maybe it would be something that would just damn you even further, showing up with one of them. “For the Harbingers, they’re promoting someone to fill the Eleventh seat.”

Oh, you realized what exactly he meant by filling the last spot, an intense dread sweeping through you because that meant that yes, all of the other Harbingers would likely be there. Instead of dwelling on the subject, you said, “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

Artem turned his head to look at you, evaluating you carefully before shaking his head, “What’s there to be happy about?” he asked dryly. “The stronger they get, the weaker my family gets.”

They’re not united, you realized, and they’re not afraid to admit it. 

That was interesting. Artem’s face didn’t twist in regret after he said that nor did he look ashamed, if anything he looked resentful… but then doubt began to stir. If the Fatui knew about the dissent, why would they invite them to their elite events?

“They let you guys into their events knowing… that?” you asked, side-eyeing Artem, wondering if you had dug yourself a bigger hole by showing up with him.

“They don’t know all of it,” Artem said, “and even if they did, it’s more of an intimidation tactic than anything else. They bring us there to show us their strength, scare us into submission. That’s all it’s about.”

“All of it as in?” you pushed, figuring that if he was going to be so open with information, that you might as well get as much as you can so you knew exactly what you were walking into.

Artem gave you a look as if you should know what he meant. “They think that the Triglav was the only organization we had to fall back on--the Regrator tore it apart a few years ago.”

Why are you telling me all of this? You wanted to ask, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Brown eyes met yours at the silent question, he knew what you were asking. 

“They told me who you were,” he said again, except this time, you felt a bit more cold, realizing he knew more than just your name. “I figure they want you to fumble around in the Snezhnayan courts for their amusement but it’ll get you killed--I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” you questioned. You didn’t know if you could trust him or believe his words and you felt so damn alone and lost that a part of you wanted to jump out of the carriage and flee back to Fontaine--you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were a damn noble girl not some secret agent, super spy who could successfully infiltrate one of the most dangerous organizations in all of Teyvat.

“You want the same thing as I do, don’t you?” was all Artem responded with. “No one knows what they want, what their goal is or anything, but they promised to restore the aristocracy and to do that, the Fatui needs to be weakened… so I figure the more people working for this, the better.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You aligned with these people without even knowing who they are or what they want?” you asked in disbelief.

“Didn’t you?” Artem countered sharply.

You felt hot, called out for your hypocrisy, “That’s not the same. I was desperate.”

“So are we,” Artem said, lips pressed together as he turned away. 

The carriage was approaching the palace, as large as the one back home in Fontaine and just as magnificent. Where the one in Fontaine City was lined with gold, stunning beneath the rare show of the sun, Zapolyarny Palace glittered white beneath the moonlight, like a million diamonds coated the surface--beautiful, but possibly the most daunting sight you’d ever come across. The sky that weighed on you tripled in weight, you thought you might throw up. 

“What should I expect in there?” you asked quietly, breaking the sudden tension between the two of you. You figured it was not the best idea to antagonize your one ally in this place. 

Artem sighed, looking back over at you, “Just stay by me,” he said. “Of all the aristocratic families in Snezhnaya, mine is one that’s heavily aligned with the Fatui… at least in their eyes. We’ll probably have a few of their more important subordinates coming over to talk to us but the Harbingers will be focused on the more antagonistic families to make sure they don’t pull anything. We’ll keep away from them and hopefully, keep their attention off of us. As long as we skate by without having to deal with any of the Harbingers, we’ll be good… I’ll try to find some opportunities for you to slip away and do what you need to do.”

What I need to do, it echoed in your head. The palace was right before you and you still had no idea what you needed to do to prove your stepfather’s hand in your father’s death. You had to find evidence. But how? You figured that there weren’t a lot of Fatui spies in Fontaine--too many would draw too much attention, it would be easier to just have one embedded deep in the courts… which would make it an important, covert operation. They had to have records of that somewhere. 

“Do you know what each of the Harbingers do?” you asked.

“Like what they oversee?” Artem questioned, brows furrowed, you nodded. “Vaguely.”

“Intel?”

“Internal intel? I’d say the Regrator or the Rooster. External? The Knave, the Marionette and the Friar all deal with it, as far as I’m aware.”

You went quiet, letting out a shaky breath at his words. Three different Harbingers who could be overseeing your stepfather in Fontaine--the Fourth, the Seventh, or the Tenth. You shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. The palace would be crawling with Fatui operatives, how the hell were you supposed to sneak through them all and figure out where the information might be. 

Instead of letting yourself become riddled with anxiety, you asked the last question that had been weighing on your mind.

“How don’t the Fatui know about these people?” you asked quietly. “I figured they knew everything that goes on in Snezhnaya, you’d think an organization with this much influence…”

Unless there’s someone hiding it from the inside? But what were the chances of that?

“I don’t know,” Artem admitted. “Maybe they do and we’re all just getting played, or maybe the Harbingers are blind to a rat right beneath their noses.”

“You could do something beyond just standing there,” a cold, dry voice said from behind him. 

Dottore didn’t even bother to turn around and face her, instead watching the scene before him carefully. The aristocrats had been steadily arriving for an hour, filling up the ballroom, mingling with one another. Most kept a wide berth from the Fatui who had come out for the event. It was the largest event the Fatui had hosted in decades, twice as big as Pantalone’s promotion because it was signaling the completion of the upper echelon, the start of what would be the final preparations for war.

“I don’t see you rushing to join in the celebrations,” Dottore responded, gaze finally shifting from the wide double doors to Arlecchino, who had come to stand next to him, arms crossed against her chest as she watched Columbina’s fingers fly across the piano.

“I plan to,” Arlecchino told him, “I have a feeling tonight's going to be more interesting than we think.”

Dottore eyed her carefully as he digested the cryptic comment, trying to figure out what exactly she meant, before simply saying, “I hope so, at least then it will be an entertaining waste of my time.”

Arlecchino only let out a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement behind the action, “What do you think of the boy taking the Eleventh Seat?”

“He’s a child.” Dottore waved off the question, he cared not for the boy. 

Capitano evidently saw potential in him but Dottore only saw an unpredictability that they shouldn’t be risking this close to the beginning of their real purpose. He only advocated for him because he thought he would get the chance to study him but Pulcinella was being careful to make sure that he was never in the capital long enough for Dottore to get to him. The only boon that came along with promoting him was that he was eager to please, willing to take on the jobs that none of the rest of them wanted to deal with as a means to prove himself.     

“Then his moniker is fitting,” this time there was a scathing sort of amusement in her tone, “but even a blind man could make that observation. I asked you for your opinion of him.”

Dottore’s lip twitched in irritation. “That is my opinion of him,” he said coolly. “He is a child. He is immature and foolish, abuses the technique he learned while in the Abyss. He will die soon because of it. I would like to run some tests on him before then but I suppose life isn’t particularly necessary for them anyway… just more convenient.”

Arlecchino scoffed. “All you care about is your research, hm? Not even a hint of concern for those whom you call comrades?”

Dottore leveled his gaze on her. “No,” he said firmly, “and do not pretend as if you do. We both have seen what lies beneath that false face of yours.”

Arlecchino smiled, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the ballroom, “Fair enough.” 

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother me, Knave?” Dottore asked, a sardonic tone seeping into his words as he continued, “like to go fetch your pet before he makes an embarrassment of us again.”

He turned his attention back to the ballroom floor, pointedly looking in the direction of Brighella, busy trying to woo the daughter of one of the aristocratic families who was giving Pantalone a hard time. 

“Speaking of pets,” Arlecchino said, a mocking tone to her voice that Dottore didn’t quite like, “do you plan on getting rid of yours because of his failure to get you the funding you wanted? … I overheard your conversation with the Jester the other day, shame to hear about how poorly all of your projects are going.”

Beneath his mask, Dottore’s eyes hardened, turning his head to the side to look at Arlecchino again. He wasn’t sure what he was more annoyed by: the fact that she had listened in on his conversation with Pierro and he hadn’t even noticed or the fact that she was making a dig at his research.

“Not quite as poorly as the decline of the House of the Hearth. How many of your orphans have gone missing in the past few years again?” Dottore countered lowly, watching as Arlecchino’s eyes flashed with fury for just a moment, needling right through her cold mask.

It wasn’t even like his research was going poorly. It was just the typical pattern of adjusting to failures to find the right set of combinations to perfect the formula. Pierro was just impatient because he did not want to send three of the Eleven out to their missions with delusions that were still sapping their vitality. He had made enough progress so that they were no longer life-threatening with significant use, and as far as he was aware, the Balladeer was going to bring the old, faulty delusions down to Inazuma once Arlecchino’s agents wove their web through the Commissions. 

Dottore didn’t even understand why this was all necessary, frowning again as he looked out at the aristocrats. Pantalone had already torn the Triglav apart at its seams and the aristocrats were floundering with no shield to protect them from the Fatui. There was not much consolidation of power left to do in Snezhnaya. If anything, this was just excessive—making sure they knew just how strong the Fatui was so that they didn’t get any bright ideas when they began to focus on obtaining the Gnoses. 

“I have the House of the Hearth under control,” Arlecchino said, voice icy. “Can you say the same about your segments?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Yes.” 

Especially now that he had finally made contact with her. If he had known that the barest conversation with her would lead to even the Theta segment doing as he asked with little pushback, maybe he would have reached out sooner.

Maybe.

An odd feeling settled in his chest as his thoughts fell to her again. He didn’t like thinking about her for too long but he hadn’t heard anything from her since that night Rho lost her. He knew she wasn’t dead, the thread still hung from his finger and the mark between his shoulder blades was still a bright purple. He wondered if she was just ignoring him or if there was something else going on. He had tried to look into it but hadn’t been able to find any previous examples of something interfering with a bond… which led him to believe that she was ignoring him, maybe as payback for all of the years he went ignoring her. 

Either way, he didn’t like it.

Arlecchino abruptly stepped forward next to him, eyes narrowed. Dottore followed her gaze, eyes falling on the livid expression that Sandrone wore as she spoke to Capitano, standing near the piano Columbina was playing at, motioning in the direction of the double doors of the ballroom. Dottore tried to figure out what had her so angry but nothing stood out--Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one to set her in a foul mood by insulting her automatons, otherwise it wasn’t often that her temper was set off because she simply did not care for anything else. 

Arlecchino immediately set off in their direction and Dottore, curiosity piqued and hoping to make the night pass faster but entertaining himself with whatever had Sandrone set off, followed after, watching in amusement as their subordinates and the few aristocrats who had crossed the floor to intermingle scattered at their approach. 

Capitano raised his head once he caught sight of the two of them, motioning them over. Sandrone pressed her lips together, staying silent until they were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Columbina’s fingers still flew across the keys of the piano, focused on the sonata, but Dottore knew she was listening too: there was a soft smile gracing her face, one that screamed amusement and not the mere enjoyment that came with playing the instrument. Dottore thought that if Columbina was amused by something, then it might spell trouble for all of them, the eerie comment she made about his soulmate a few months back suddenly ringing through his head. 

I would like to meet her when she gets here.

Dottore felt unsettled, raising his head to look out across the ballroom floor to look for something but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. All it took was Sandrone opening her mouth once, and the entire world around him froze and shattered.

“One of the aristocrats brought one of the Hydro Archon’s dogs to our event as his date,” she spat out. “This needs to be handled now.”

There were eyes on you. 

You didn’t dare to turn to look so you could figure out who was watching you, the last thing you wanted to do was bring more attention to yourself but you couldn’t smother the growing anxiety. You kept your back to them, feigning interest in whatever conversation Artem was having with one of his cousins so that they didn’t know you were aware of their scrutiny even though every inch of you itched to look behind you. 

The ballroom was packed to the brim, you thought that every aristocrat in Snezhnaya must be attending this event. It almost reminded you of the balls back home in Fontaine City. The paintings lining the walls were stunning and the ornaments glittered prettily beneath the dim lighting. No one had made their way to the smooth hardwood floor to dance yet despite the quintet of musicians playing in the corner of the room, a beautiful symphony that was not quite harmonious with the eerie piano being played somewhere behind you. 

If you weren’t so nervous, you might be able to appreciate the beauty of it… but Fatui lined the room--agents and mages and captains, they were unarmed as far as you could tell but you had a feeling that could change in a moment’s notice. 

You felt trapped, like a cornered animal.

There was no way for you to slip away, not when you were being watched and not when the Fatui seemed to be guarding each and every exit. Everything was crumbling around you and you had only been there for a half hour. You tried to calm yourself down, force yourself to think and figure out a plan but every time you tried to do that, you were interrupted by some Snezhnayan noble who wanted to greet Artem. 

What did you expect? You spat at yourself angrily. For the Fatui to leave holes in their defenses right at their heart? For you to just walk right in and be given the information you wanted by your stepfather’s superior?

You would leave empty-handed at this rate--the one opportunity handed to you on a silver platter slipping away like water between your fingers. You had to figure out what to do now because there was nothing you could do if you left the palace without the evidence you needed. Zapolyarny Palace was impenetrable, everyone you had come across had made that clear, you would not get another chance like this. This was your easy way into the palace but what could you do? Even if you managed to slip past the guards into the hall, making an excuse to use the bathroom or freshen up, it didn’t change the fact that somehow, you had already drawn attention to yourself. 

How? What had it been? 

You had not made any sort of scene. You were not overdressed or underdressed, nor did your colors stand out. There were people dressed in bright red gowns, different shades of purple and blue and green, blacks and whites. Artem was not from a contentious family so there was no reason for him to have drawn attention. 

What had done it? Was Artem unaware of some conflict between his family and the Fatui? Or was it something else…  

Did someone know who you were?

You felt a bit sick at the thought, smile faltering as your grip on Artem’s forearm tightened. You noticed him cast a brief, worried glance down at you but you were too preoccupied to reassure him that you were okay. 

Did someone know who you were? 

The question echoed through your head over and over again and you realized, slowly, that it was very, very possible and it was something that you had not even considered could be an issue. Your stepfather shouldn’t know where you were going, you hadn’t even confirmed to your mother that you were leaving for Snezhnaya--you had insisted it was Mondstadt--but if he had taken a picture of you and sent it to his superior in Snezhnaya as intel he was passing along about your family and they recognized you when you walked through those doors with Artem…

Suddenly, the urge to turn around and pinpoint who was watching you skyrocketed because if it were true, then that was how you were going to know which Harbinger was supervising your stepfather’s mission--the first step in finding the evidence. 

You let out a quiet breath, about to turn your head to the side just a bit to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was staring at you but before you could, a hand brushed your forearm. You masked the irritation you felt as you turned your attention back to Sonia, Artem’s cousin’s wife. She smiled at you, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she asked:

“So how did you and Artem meet?”

You smiled, leaning into the man and looking up at him, hoping that the gesture came across more adoring than the brief spike of panic you felt. The two of you had intended on going for a simple story: you had met while on the Snezhnaya-Fontaine border and instantly fell for one another, love at first sight, a classic romance… but now you weren’t sure if admitting that you were from Fontaine was the best course of action. Artem was confused, you could see the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled down at you, and you didn’t know what to do. 

The split second that had passed since Sonia’s question felt like eternity and finally you responded with a soft laugh, “We met on the border between Snezhnaya and Fontaine. I had gone a bit north to find a nice present for my siblings, their birthday is coming up. I ran into him while shopping and he helped me find the perfect gift. I thought all of those romance books were exaggerating when they talked about love at first sight but I became a victim of it just like that.”

You were only half listening as Sonia cooed and leaned into Artem’s cousin, talking about how the two of them met at a seaside village in western Snezhnaya. You decided that going with the original story was for the best. If, by chance, the Harbingers did happen to know that you were a noble from Fontaine already then it would only draw more suspicion if it got around to them that you were claiming to be a Snezhnayan commoner or even from another foreign nation.

So many ifs. You hated uncertainty. 

Lost in thoughts, you were only drawn back to reality as your forearm stung--the telltale sign that your soulmate was reaching out, again. Your lips pressed together in annoyance. 

He had been persistent the past two weeks. Every day, he would ask where you were and what had happened but even if you wanted to, there was no way of telling him where you were--he should know that--but the thing was, you didn’t want to. You thought that he had no right suddenly caring about where you were and if you were okay and you were mad at yourself for giving in and responding when you were hurt. He went twenty years ignoring you when you tried over and over and over again just to get to know him, the person that Celestia had tied you with, and he constantly disregarded and even rebuffed you. 

You had never heard of someone being rejected by their soulmate until yours had rejected you. It was humiliating, even if only the two of you were aware of what had been said, but more than that it hurt. You dedicated years to him, your whole life was centered around him from having to hide the fact that you had a soulmate to the years you spent in libraries trying to understand him in hopes that it would somehow make him care about your existence, years that you could have spent with your father.

You looked down as discreetly as you could, reading the scratchy words painted on your forearm: 

Where are you?

You barely withheld the roll of your eyes as you turned your gaze back up to Sonia, smiling as she laughed at whatever Artem’s cousin had said. 

Artem looked as if he was about to speak up but before he could, there was a sharp rap of metal against glass from the front of the room. Instantly, conversation silenced and all heads turned in the direction of the noise--finally, you could turn to see who was staring at you but it was too late; whoever they were, they had already looked away. 

“We are here today to officially announce the occupation of the Eleventh Seat,” a low, male voice announced. Your eyes shifted to him--half of his face was covered by a black mask, white hair long and slicked back--you weren’t sure who he was, you hadn’t been given descriptions of the Harbingers, but you figured he was high ranking if he was making this announcement.

“The Jester,” Artem said under his breath. Your eyes widened just a bit. The Jester, you recognized, the leader. “The rest are…”

All around him, you finished silently, your throat closing up as you caught sight of the daunting figures standing around the stage at the front of the room. You didn’t have to know what they looked like to know who they were, their presence and way they held themselves was evidence enough. An unnerving woman with long black and pink hair leaning on the piano, a man wearing a helmet where the face appeared to be an endless void, a woman with an empty expression, silver hair and a blade strapped to her side and…

“A recruit who has proven himself time and time again: felling our enemies without question when we were faced with the threat of a Natlan tribe on the southern border, protecting our people when the Great Wyvern of the northern caverns awoke from its slumber to terrorize our villages, and defending our integrity when called into question by the former Duke of Costesov…”

The Jester was still talking but your gaze had focused in on a familiar man standing off to the side, a bit aways from the small group at the piano--masked and with wavy blue hair, the Fatui subordinates in the area kept a wide distance from him. 

It was him, you realized, a cold feeling settling over you, the man who had attacked the inn you had been staying at. 

It was her. His soulmate. 

Dottore was barely able to mask the torrent of emotions tearing through him. He had known it even before he reached out to her to confirm it, watching her look down at her forearm as soon as he had asked her where she was, and he didn’t know what to think, or do, for that matter.

Around him, the other Harbingers were still talking amongst each other--Arlecchino making snide comments and Sandrone’s letting loose livid remarks about the sheer audacity the Hydro Archon had to a spy so blatantly to their main base. They were talking about handling her and Dottore knew very well that the only way the Fatui knew how to handle things was by getting rid of them. 

Getting rid of her. He couldn’t let that happen--he didn’t know how it would affect him and… Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable tugged hard at his chest as his eyes fell back on the girl in the purple dress, watching as she leaned into a boy from one of the Snezhnayan noble families, listening to Pierro’s speech. This was why he didn’t like thinking about her for too long but now he didn’t really have a choice.

“How are you so sure that she’s a noble from Fontaine?” Dottore asked, cutting off Arlecchino mid-sentence as he looked at Sandrone. 

Sandrone’s lip curled up, not even bothering to hide the irritation and disgust as she spared Dottore half a glance. “I’d recognize a member of the five families anywhere,” Sandrone said coldly, nose turned up at him. “I was born into one of them.”

That’s right, Dottore remembered vaguely. Sandrone had come from Fontaine. The Harbingers had long given up their names and old lives, they rarely mentioned their pasts--he wasn’t even sure some of them remembered their pasts, he sent a short look toward Capitano at the thought. 

“She’s part of the third family, the one that controls the prisons. You know what her family’s talent is?” Sandrone asked sharply, looking back in the direction of his soulmate. “They learned to utilize their hydro vision in a way that lets them twist up peoples’ insides. They usually use it for interrogation but do you know what else it can be used for?”

The third family. Dottore knew enough about Fontaine’s structure to know what that meant: Fontaine had five aristocratic families that were held above the rest, each one of them controlling one of the five main institutions of the nation. No wonder she had to hide her mark. 

“Assassinations,” Capitano finished, voice low. 

Dottore scoffed loudly. “Her?” he asked dryly, nodding in the direction of his soulmate, dismissing their deductions instantly. “An assassin? She looks like a newborn deer, not a killer.”

She did, Dottore noted offhandedly, eyes drawing back to her for just a moment. She was trying to hide her anxiety and she was doing a good job at it but every now and then, she slipped up, hands shaking just a bit more than they should, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked around. Dottore thought a bit of fondness might’ve been stirring the longer he looked at her so he immediately looked away and quashed it, forcing his attention back to the other Harbingers. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, Dottore,” Capitano said quietly. 

Not hers, Dottore wanted to spit right back—the girl that spent hours on end trying to talk to him and get to know him, undeterred by his lack of response, was no damn killer but he had no way of explaining that to them without admitting who she was to him and he simply refused to open up that weakness to them.

What should he do? He had to interfere but he didn’t know how to do that without making them question why he was stepping in. Dottore cared for nothing but his research--if this was any other person, Dottore wouldn’t have even bothered to give input into the conversation and he was sure that he was already making them suspicious.

“Whether she’s a threat or not, this has to be handled quickly,” Capitano finally said and Dottore felt cold, mind racing to piece together a plan but nothing was feasible. “We can’t afford to risk anything, not here and not now.”

Dottore’s anxiety began to shift into anger the more he dwelled on it and realized that he was backed into a corner because of her, wondering just how stupid his soulmate was showing up to this event on the arm of some random aristocrat. Livid, his gaze shifted to the side again, watching as she leaned into the man’s arm and smiled up at him.

Betrothed, Dottore suddenly remembered one of the things he had recalled from one of the dreams he had of her life. Is this…

“Who is the man she is with?” he interrupted abruptly, voice tense.

“Artem Melnyk,” a new voice said from behind him, Dottore glanced over his shoulder as Pantalone came to stand next to him. “I take it you all are discussing our unexpected, foreign guest.”

Pantalone looked at Dottore as if he knew exactly who she was--maybe he did, Dottore didn’t know if that was for better or for worse. He felt like a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the first perceived attack.

“He will have to be handled,” Dottore said tightly. “I’ll deal with that.”

Dottore thought he would enjoy having this particular new subject in his labs.

“The more pressing matter is the girl,” Sandrone spat out, her one-track mind stuck on Dottore’s soulmate. “She needs to be taken out.”

Dottore thought this might be it, he was about to lash out, but before he could, Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “A bit rash, no?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How will that make us look? Executing a foreign noble for no good reason besides attending a ball with her lover?” 

Lover, Dottore was appalled, turning his head to look at Pantalone. Pantalone, evidently, was incredibly entertained by the situation, smile widening just a bit as Dottore looked at him, making him feel as if he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“What do you suggest we do then, Regrator?” Capitano questioned. He did not sound half as amused as Pantalone did.

“Send someone out there to feel her out,” Pantalone said as if it were obvious. His voice took on a more exasperated tone as he continued, “Snezhnaya is in such a poor diplomatic position already specifically because you all tend to kill first, ask questions later. Have we not been trying to rectify that? In what world is killing her the best course of action?” 

Sandrone did not look happy, lips pressed together tight, and Pantalone was looking at Dottore, violet eyes expectant as if he was waiting for Dottore to offer to be the one to go talk to her. Dread began to build in his stomach again, realizing that if he went to go talk to her, it would be the end. All of the time he had spent ensuring they would never meet, all of the years he was working severing the bond, it would all be for naught.

“Fine,” Arlecchino said before Dottore could open his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Dottore didn’t speak as he turned to look at Arlecchino, barely catching the frustrated look in Pantalone’s eyes. Arlecchino was staring right at him, the red x’s in her eyes boring right into him as if she knew something that she shouldn’t, expression cold and unreadable. 

Dottore suddenly felt as if he had made a mistake not speaking up immediately.

Just as Arlecchino moved to make her way to his soulmate, Columbina finally spoke up, long, pale fingers wrapping around Arlecchino’s wrist. “No,” she said. “The Doctor will handle it. You promised to play a song with me.”

Dottore thought he liked that even less than Arlecchino’s immediate offer to speak to her but he wasn’t going to give the Knave any time to argue with Columbina, scoffing as he took the opportunity to turn on his heel and walk in the direction of his soulmate and her date. 

Pierro’s speech had ended and the musicians were picking up the volume of their piece--soon, couples would make their way out to the ballroom floor to dance but for now, they parted as he crossed the hardwood floor, giving him a wide berth as he walked directly to her. 

What was he going to do? 

He wondered if this was her plan all along, if she had somehow figured out who he was and what he was a part of so she could throw herself into a dangerous situation and he’d be forced to act. Not for the first time, Dottore felt like he was being played as a puppet except now he didn’t know if it was Celestia holding the strings or her. He had half a mind to let her deal with the consequences of her own actions, let her face one of the other Harbingers and try to convince them she was no threat, but he couldn’t risk letting anything happen to her because it would affect him. 

He would have to make sure she knew who he was to her. The last thing he needed was her making a scene if she realized it mid-conversation, assuming she didn’t know already. 

She was oblivious to his approach, back turned to him as she talked with Artem Melnyk, but he was not as oblivious. He caught sight of Dottore over her shoulder, expression shifting into one of fear—something that ordinarily would have had him amused but now, just as for the past half an hour, he could only focus on her. 

She turned as she noticed Artem’s change in attitude and Dottore wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting the anger that followed the confused expression on her face, eyebrows knit together as she stared at him, a hint of anxiety painted in the rage but just that, only a hint. 

No recognition and no familiarity--not a type that signaled that she knew she was meeting her soulmate, at least.

Dottore wondered if that meant she had no idea who he was to her and if that was the case, what the hell was she doing there?

For the first time, Dottore’s eyes traced his soulmate’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that even with the anger, her eyes were still gentle and her expression was still soft. You don’t belong here, he wanted to say, not in this place and not with me, but instead, he only held his right hand out to her and watched, waiting for her to take his hand and finally take notice of the thread that connected the two of them.

She hesitated only for a second as she glanced down at his hand, placing her own in it and Dottore watched the double-take, the way her eyes widened just a bit as she looked down at their connected hands, at the thread connected to his thumb that she could see. His grip tightened just enough to force her attention back to his face before she could make a scene. 

There was still anger as she looked up at him again but it was diluted beneath a type of astonished adoration that had never before been directed his way. He knew it was just the shock of finally meeting him and that the anger would return when she remembered the years he went ignoring her but it didn't mitigate the unwelcome feeling rising in his gut. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable under the affectionate gaze and uncomfortable even just touching her because he knew deep down that it felt right and he refused to give into this bond. 

He refused to play Celestia’s game. 

He leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles, “Dance with me?” he murmured, loud enough just for her to hear. 

He figured that once people began to flood the dance floor, he would be able to speak with her without as many unwanted ears able to listen in.

“You’re-” she began, breathless and stunned--distastefully, he noticed that Artem was still holding her arm, as if to protect her from him. The thought itself would have amused him in any other circumstance but now it only irritated him even more.

Dottore cut her off, giving her a thin smile: “The Doctor, Second of the Fatui Harbingers.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXVIII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Lucien stayed close to the forest’s edge, the treeline thick and providing him with some much needed cover from the guests milling about the open space. The sun had already set, the last rays slipping past the horizon without his notice. There were countless lit lanterns hanging from sturdy branches and tiny fireflies floating and glimmering in the dark. The moon was hidden behind the dense canopy of leaves, but its glow could still be seen reflecting on the stone path leading towards the temple.  

Lucien had always thought it was fitting for the Autumn court’s oldest temple to be nestled deep in the middle of the woods, near enough to the Forest House and the capital city to make its location ideal. It had been built out of wide trunks, carvings sharing the story of the Cauldron and the Mother in excellent condition on the ancient panels. 

The wood was so pale it resembled bone, the red leaves along the steps like drops of blood, disarming. Lucien could see the expression of wonder and uncertainty on the faces of each guest that approached, how they paused, hand hovering for a moment before at last holding onto the railing, knuckles white. 

There were representatives from most of Prythian’s courts present for the reception, all of them dressed in colours traditionally associated with Autumn. Lucien still thought they seemed out of place amongst the aristocrats of his childhood home. He frowned when he was unable to see any of his brothers in the crowd, his golden eye whirring as he searched for the members of his family. 

Lucien absently tugged at his shirt through the sleeve of his velvet jacket, thinking about his father and the brief interaction they had shared just before he had left his chambers. Elain had already left with Cora, laughing as she had kissed him, ordering him to stay away from the dressing room. Eris had stopped to check on him for a moment, but Lucien had been getting ready himself when the High Lord had knocked on the door. 

Lucien had sensed the powerful magic, and had known who it was immediately, even before he had heard his name. He had faced his father, the laces of his sleeves still undone, hanging limply at his sides. 

Beron had gestured with his hand, closing the space between them. Lucien had successfully avoided flinching as he had offered his arm, but his father had been surprisingly gentle, slowly tying the laces with practised fingers. 

“Of all my children,” he had started, voice soft, “I did not think you would be the one to marry first.” 

Lucien had hummed, otherwise remaining quiet. His golden eye had clicked into place as he had stared at the faint scar cutting across the High Lord’s cheekbone. He had always wanted to know the story of how he had gotten the permanent mark, but even in his youth, it had never felt like the right time to ask. Lucien had bitten down on his tongue as he switched to the other hand, letting his father do those laces as well.

Beron had elegantly tied two bows, each cross of the string identical to the one before, perfect. “Always interesting to see what the future holds,” he had finished, leaving the room and saying nothing more, boots echoing as he had walked into the corridor. 

Lucien kept considering the exchange, each action repeating in his mind. He was still lost in thought when he felt a broad hand falling onto his shoulder, making his teeth knock against each other painfully. He turned sharply, cursing himself for not paying attention to his surroundings, but he relaxed when a familiar pair of bright green eyes looked at him apologetically. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Tamlin had dressed for the occasion, looking every bit the High Lord in a jacket made of the finest emerald material. There was golden thread stitched in the shape of oak leaves detailing his collar and cuffs. 

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, careful not to tangle any strands. “I thought you were Ronan.”

Tamlin scrunched his nose in distaste, the dusting of freckles along the strong bridge shifting upwards. It was an expression Lucien had always thought made him look a little lupine. “You’ve been alright?” The tone he used was one of concern.

Lucien frowned as he fully faced his oldest friend, the familiar mix of emotions in his chest rising upwards, making him a bit uncomfortable. “You could have checked in before showing up on my wedding day.” 

Tamlin raised a brow of burnished gold. “I don’t know why I expected Eris to tell you I’d gotten right to the doors of the Forest House before he sent me home, swearing to me you were engaged and just fine.”

“You definitely should have known better,” Lucien could not help but breathe a soft laugh, the old rhythms of their friendship falling into place.

“So I guess he hadn’t lied about that,” Tamlin said as he gestured around them with an arm. 

“And you came?” Lucien wondered if Beron had sent invitations to Vassa and Jurian, hoping that they would have the good sense to stay away if that were the case. 

Tamlin shrugged, his broad shoulders rising. “I wasn’t going to miss your wedding.” There was an emotion in his voice, one that Lucien could not entirely place, but he figured it seemed oddly like a shadow of regret. 

“Feyre’s going to be here.” The statement hung between them, her name hardly ever being uttered in his presence. 

Tamlin winced. “I’m sure seeing her will never be less awkward.” He glanced around them, clearly not wanting to discuss her further. His eyes danced over the assembled crowd, searching. “Where’s the bride?” 

Lucien smiled, patting Tamlin on the back. “Human tradition, it's apparently bad luck to see her before I’m at the altar.” 

Tamlin hummed, obviously not familiar with the custom. “You’re going to have to tell me what happened between you and your mate in such a short amount of time.” 

“Long story,” Lucien answered, acknowledging that he would not mind sharing the tale with Tamlin. “I’ll come for dinner in Spring one of these days and tell you everything.” 

Tamlin flashed a smile in his direction, sharp canines bright in the glow of the moon’s light. “I’ll bring out the good barrels of wine, you can complain about your brothers, too.” 

“Thanks for coming, Tam.” While things had been better between them for years, they were still not as they once were. Sometimes Lucien missed how close they used to be, and looked back fondly at the decades he had spent in the manor, but he could admit that it was perhaps best to leave the past where it was. 

Tamlin flushed a deep scarlet, clearing his throat as he spoke. “I wasn’t going to miss your wedding,” he repeated, looking away from Lucien just as the Night Court made an appearance at the opposite end of the large and cleared space of the woods. 

Although Tamlin looked entirely unbothered by the Inner Circle’s arrival, he squeezed Lucien’s shoulder, moving away from their hiding spot. “I’ll see you inside,” he said, smiling briefly before he steadily made his way towards the temple. Each patch of grass he stepped on seemed a bit more alive, the green a little brighter. 

As Lucien watched Tamlin’s departing back, Cora winnowed into the spot he had just left. She was close enough to Lucien that the dark brown fabric of her skirts touched his boots, golden beads fading up towards her bodice in a way that made her waist appear smaller than it actually was. 

“Elain is ready, so once your father joins, we can start,” she announced. 

“You look lovely, Cora,” Lucien offered as he started walking towards the small group from the Night Court. The dark coal around her eyes gave her an air of mystery, but she fit in quite well with the mingling courtiers now that she was dressed like a lady. 

The answering smile Cora cast in his direction was one that suggested she was well aware of her beauty. “You don’t look too bad, either.” 

Lucien shook his head, amused, as he chuckled. Feyre heard the sound first, breaking into a wide grin as she spotted them approaching. She dropped Rhysand’s hand, throwing herself into his arms for a hug, her words the buzz of a bee’s wings as she asked him a flurry of questions. 

Lucien answered each one patiently, still paying careful attention to the reactions of the assembled guests to ensure his father had not yet arrived. 

Azriel and Morrigan were nowhere to be seen, but Lucien would not have been surprised if the shadowsinger was lingering in the woods somewhere to keep watch. Cassian stayed close to Nesta, his hand resting protectively on her lower back. She glared at Lucien when she caught him looking, but said nothing biting. “This court makes me uneasy,” she declared, her voice cold as ice. 

Lucien furrowed his brows.

“Why?” Cora asked curiously when no one else did. 

Nesta turned silver eyes on her, the glare of the lanterns making it seem like there were dancing flames in her gaze. “It feels like death.” Cassian ran a comforting hand along his mate’s back, but no one seemed concerned other than Cora. 

Feyre rolled her eyes, gripping Lucien’s arm. “It’s much prettier than I was expecting.”   

Lucien would have asked the High Lady if she had been expecting him and Elain to be married in the dungeons, but he gently took his hand away from her. He excused himself from the chatting group when he saw his mother and Callum winnow right where the sharp edge of the trees began, Felix walking with purpose towards them. 

Lucien approached them warrily, hearing as Felix asked their mother a question. “Where’s Eris?” He said it sharply, enough so that the Lady of Autumn frowned at him disapprovingly. 

“You better not start a fight,” Callum warned, mirroring their mother’s expression. 

While Felix did not apologise, he did clarify. “I need to speak with him,” he said, his face pulled into a scowl. 

“He’s with Elain,” Lucien interjected, meeting his brother’s glare. Flames danced in the deep russet of Felix’s eyes, nearly a perfect match to his own. 

“It can’t wait?” Callum asked, not unkindly. 

Felix curled his hands into fists, but before they could argue further, the Lady of Autumn stepped in between them. “I’ll help you find him,” she offered. All the fight drained from him as he nodded, turning on his heel as walked towards the far end of the temple.  

There was a moment of silence as Lucien waited for them to be out of hearing distance, raising an eyebrow in question as he faced his older brother.  

Callum did not seem to have an answer, but his expression softened. He had always been the kindest of the Vanserra, and when he reached up with a gentle hand, Lucien had thought for a moment that he was going to brush back his hair. A memory flashed in his mind’s eye, but Callum simply removed a leaf from where it had fallen onto his shoulder. “Ready?” 

Lucien nodded, taking a deep breath as he made his way into the temple and towards the altar, waiting once more for Elain.

[differenteagletragedy]

vampire Baxter lol

Baxter had lived for centuries -- though, of course, "living" was a term he used loosely. He'd traveled the world, dined with aristocrats, philosophized with beggars, seen a long string of new innovations and ideas promised to propel society forward while watching it crumble all the same.

But in all that time, he'd never found anything to truly cherish until he met you.

His life was fun by any definition of the word, but it was a cheap, empty sort of fun. He'd found ways to while away the decades, but nothing ever really meant anything. The people he met, the lovers he took, they were all just means to an end. When he felt lonely, when the weight of his own immortality weighed heavily on him, he found a friend for a season. He shared his bed for a night. It was never anything more than that.

When his endless travels found him renting a seaside home in Sunset Bird for a summer, Baxter never expected anything to change. Even when he saw you for the first time, standing beside Cove, the two of you looking so young and beautiful in the moonlight, he didn't have the slightest inkling that you might somehow be different. You could be a warm body to keep him company, and that would have been wonderful -- he did know that then. But what else could you be?

Everything. That's what you could be. That's what you became.

It happened slowly over the course of the summer, over night walks on the beach and afternoons spent in the safety of his home. Stolen kisses during which he was careful his fangs didn't nick your lips, and gentle embraces where the warmth of your body soothed him so deeply that he thought maybe things could stay like this. That for once, he could stay.

And he did -- eventually. His old self doubt and infernal restlessness kicked in when the summer came to an end, and he left you, crying and confused, at his door. You deserved better than him, he knew that much, but then five years later, fate brought you back together again. It was five years of growth for you and barely the blink of an eye for him, and it was the first time that fate had worked out in his favor. He was helpless to refuse, and you were all too willing to take advantage of that.

Years flew by, the decades falling around him as he did everything he could to imprint every last bit of you in his memory. He'd never change you, even if you begged -- which you did, sometimes, when your hair began turning grey and wrinkles began creeping up on your face. Baxter didn't want that for you, even if it meant having you by his side forever. He loved you just as you were, hot-blooded, human and, unfortunately, heartbreakingly mortal.

He knew the end was coming for a while before it happened. In the weeks leading up to it, he held you even more than he normally did, your body feeling weak and brittle against him. As you'd aged, you worried about how you looked to him and with him, a withered old person beside the eternally beautiful Baxter. But he never cared. Whether it was you at 18, bright and young with life having barely begun, or 80, breath rattling painfully in your chest as your heavily lined hands clutched his, you were still you. And you were always the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

It was morning when you left. He'd spent the night curled up with you in bed, and he watched your chest rise and fall as you slept, rise and fall ... then nothing. You went still, and slowly, you went cold. Even though it wasn't a surprise, the grief was still shocking. He thought he'd experienced everything that the world had to offer, but nothing had ever been as exquisitely painful as this. Not even close.

Regrets played in his mind. Maybe he should have turned you when you'd asked -- maybe instead of grasping onto some unfounded sense of nobility, he should have made it so that you could spend forever with him. Part of him knew that that wasn't right, that he could never put you through what he'd been through, even if you wouldn't have been alone like he was. A bigger part of him knew that none of this mattered. You were gone, and you weren't coming back.

The moon rose as he remained lost in thought, but by the time morning came again, his anguish was replaced with a sense of resolve. He couldn't stay here forever with you, that much was clear. But he couldn't imagine going on without you, either. Promises he'd made you rang hollow then -- he told you he'd carry on, that he wouldn't wallow after it happened, but you were the best part of him, and you weren't there to hold him to it.

As gently as he could, he stood from the bed you shared. He gave you one last long look -- he could recite every inch of your body like a favorite poem, every line, every curve, but even if you'd lived a thousand lifetimes together, it would never be enough.

And then, for the first time in over 200 years, Baxter walked into the sun.

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Our Flag Means Death Costume Designer Breaks Down Season 2's Punk-Pirate Looks

Gypsy Taylor explains the surprising historical details that influenced the 'rule-bending' comedy's costumes

Rhys Darby, Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

[Warning: The following contains spoilers for the Season 2 finale of Our Flag Means Death.]

Packing a ton of plot twists and emotional upheaval into a tightly paced eight episodes, Our Flag Means Death just concluded its tumultuous second season. Season 2 ends on a heartwarming note, with Ed "Blackbeard" Teach (Taika Waititi) and Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) settling down to open an inn together. This gives fans a satisfying happily-ever-after if the show ends here — although showrunner David Jenkins intentionally left things open for a potential third and final season, teasing a team-up between Stede, Blackbeard, and pirate queen Zheng Yi Sao (Ruibo Qian).

Along the way, Our Flag Means Death continued to deliver its unique brand of historical storytelling, offering a chaotic mash-up of 18th century sources and modern themes. Working in tandem with theatrical visual effects and a soundtrack featuring Kate Bush and Nina Simone, costumes play a key role.

To cap off the season, TV Guide spoke with costume designer Gypsy Taylor. Among other topics, we discussed Stede and Blackbeard's evolving wardrobe, the historical research behind characters like Zheng Yi Sao, and Taylor's favorite unsung costuming details among the supporting cast.

This season there's a lot of journey to the costumes. Characters are experimenting with self-expression. I'd like to talk first about Stede, who starts as a caricature of a foppish aristocrat, but looks a lot more practical this season. What was the vision for that look?

Gypsy Taylor: The story is that he's lost everything. Blackbeard's gone on a heartbroken rampage and he's destroyed everything that looks like Stede on the ship — which would include that wonderful wardrobe. You know, like how you'd throw your boyfriend's clothes in a box out the window.

Stede was on his boat heading to the island at the end of Season 1, just wearing this one outfit. We see him in a filthy version, he's been living in it for two or three months. Rhys [Darby] was a little bit disappointed because he was like, "Do I get to wear any rings?" And I was like, "No! You've lost them all!" Then as the season starts to go on, he starts stealing some other pirate clothes and he starts to get really sexy and come into his own gorgeous pirate self.

And he gets that cursed suit.

Taylor: The cursed suit was so much fun! That's the first time in months that he's seen something beautiful like what he used to own. It's on this Spanish ship, so we went with a dandy matador look. Rhys put the calico version of that on in the fitting room and instantly embodied this character. He was flicking the tails and spinning around and he stood up straighter and his butt clenched… It was magic to watch.

I love that dandy side of him. There's a lot going on in terms of gender presentation with the main guys. They're both trying to escape toxic masculinity, but Stede's also chasing this idea of being a badass, and then Ed is doing the opposite because he abandons his leathers. I'd love to hear your thoughts on that, and how Ed is for half the season wearing things like sackcloth and linen.

Taylor: The leather is very constraining, and it's very much his persona of Blackbeard. To lose all of that means he's lost his toughness, and that exterior that's sort of like armor. So we went straight for the opposite end and just put him in a rice sack that he'd made into a jumpsuit. The idea behind it was that Wee John had sewn it because he'd started to learn to sew and knit — the concept being that there [were] rice sacks below the decks, which was very common in pirate ships.

Once Buttons turns into a seagull, his clothes were left behind on the ship. So Blackbeard takes those linen clothes, and he's like, "This feels right, this is kind of light."

I don't know if you're able to speculate about Season 3, but given the symbolism of Ed's leathers, do you think we've seen the end of that outfit, or is it going to stick around?

Taylor: I can't say anything to Season 3, but I do know that in the finale the leathers magically come back. I had a conversation with [showrunner] David Jenkins because he says, "Well, we have to end the show with him wearing his Blackbeard leathers, that's what we all know of him." And I was like, "How the hell has he gotten them?" You know he's thrown them off the boat, into the ocean, never to be seen again. And David just turned to me and went, "He's Blackbeard, he can do anything." I thought that was pretty funny.

Taika Waititi, Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

That's exactly the kind of fairy-tale logic the show thrives on.

Taylor: We often refer to it as Looney Tunes. It's not exactly historically correct. Funny sh-- happens and we all sort of took on that Looney Tunes theory of like, episodes change and something appears and then it doesn't.

The good thing with costume and pirates is that the way they get their outfits is they just steal them. So whatever we came up with, I was like, "Oh well, they run into a French ship and they've stolen a great leather jacket." Costume elements could appear based on that rule that pirates steal anything.

I'd love to hear a bit about the crew's looks. The show does a really good job of illustrating their personalities, but this season a lot of them also have this makeover where they start out wearing Blackbeard's goth/punk outfits, then change into something more comfortable.

Taylor: Characters like Izzy and Fang were already established in the Blackbeard gang, so we didn't change them too much. With Fang I added extra sperm whale teeth and extra studs. I got rid of his shirt and we covered him in tattoos. Time had passed and he'd evolved a bit. Izzy was very classic, so we didn't need to change him at all. He was pretty adamant not to be evolved as the other guys had been.

Frenchie and Jim, which are the biggest transformations we see, they've spent months at sea with Blackbeard, who is a tyrant. He's made them wear head-to-toe black, and they've had to piece together outfits from around the ship. So Jim is covered in all these ropes to make them look tougher, and their belt is a giant fish hook. Frenchie's an artist, and he's stolen a beautiful leather jacket — he's brought the little flag element into the back of his jacket with some embellishment. Then Archie just looks like she's picked out of a crowd of pirates from the Republic of Pirates.

As far as the other characters go, we continued on from Season 1 and just kept their same outfits, but three months later. They were stuck on an island, so I gave Wee John a little necklace that he'd tied out of old rings that he'd found. And we gave Olu some shells and pieces that they could've crafted on the island.

Once we see them all go to Zheng's ship, I wanted to keep elements of the Zheng uniform. So you see with Black Pete, he kept the shirt but ripped off the sleeves and got some new pants, and Roach kept the pants. It starts to become like a mesh of all the little adventures that they've gone through, or the trauma that they've gone through.

Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

I love the contrast you mentioned between Izzy and the others. All the other characters are having fun experimenting with their looks, and Izzy is so static. Do you think he's more sure of his identity?

Taylor: Definitely sure of his identity, you nailed it there. He's also very sentimental, like he's got his mother's ring around his little scarf. You know his glove on his hand, he wanted to keep it on that hand and I was like, "Shall we add some studs to it?" And he was like, "No no, keep it as it is." He's just very much about routine and rules and sentimentality.

Even for Calypso's party, I was like, "How far do we wanna go?" Everybody's dressing up and covering themselves in flowers. Once we learned that he was singing La Vie En Rose I was like, "I think we should keep it classic." Just put a little rose here, and Wee John's done your makeup, and you'll look classic and beautiful.

This show has a really fun relationship with historical accuracy. I was interested to read that you do a lot of historical research, maybe more than other members of the creative team. How do you decide which characters should look more historical and which ones are more anachronistic?

Taylor: I always started with the historical first. I actually didn't know much about Captain Zheng, so I got really into the history of pirates. I would always start there, with that 18th century historical moodboard of the paintings that were done of them, or the etchings. Then I'd add our rule-bending concept, which was to make everything a bit more rock 'n' roll and a bit more streets of New York in the '80s.

I was able to push completely out of the historical, and put things like safety pins and screen-printing and bleach. You know, zips and studs, and all these things that are very 20th century costume elements, but on an 18th century silhouette.

Is Zheng based on a specific 18th century outfit?

Taylor: There's one really specific [etching], she's wearing those Chinese pants. I looked at a lot of 18th century Chinese work uniforms as well, I looked at one from a collection from a museum. We copied that exact neckline of an 18th century Chinese smock. The same with the shoes. I looked at some workers' shoes from the 18th century, and they had those kind of black ballet flats with a woven bottom and little white socks.

I was using beautiful Chinese silks and Japanese embroidery techniques that were used in the 18th century, and sort of mish-mashing it all together because she would travel the Silk Road through Egypt and Morocco, and collect all these fabrics.

Same with Anne Bonny. Again, there's some etchings of the real Anne Bonny — quite a famous one with her gun and her pants. I was like, "Oh yeah, I wanna start there and then I wanna sex her up a lot," because her and her girlfriend have a really great S&M relationship, really sadistic. I wanted to bring that fetish element into her. That's where the corset came from. We based that on an 18th century corset, but made it leather because it was more pirate-y.

The twist on her was that David Jenkins came to me and said, "This episode is basically Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" And I was like, "Great, I love that movie!" So I went home and watched that movie, and noticed that Elizabeth Taylor has this beautiful necklace and this patterned blouse. I was like, "Let's recreate this pattern on Elizabeth Taylor's blouse," which is set in the early 1960s. So we recreated it and then made an 18th century blouse.

Driver Minnie and Rachel House Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

I feel like this season the villains are the most historically accurate. There's this contrast: Ned Low and Prince Ricky have a formal look, like with the British naval uniforms, and then the good guys have this anarchic vibe.

Taylor: Yeah, I never really wanted to mess with the uniforms. That was actually a really fun one to get historically correct. We had the proper frock coats and the heavy wools, and the heavy brocade. Ned Low and Ricky were very much straight out of an 18th century historical book. But then with Ricky, I gave him the one black lace Madonna-meets-Michael Jackson glove, just to mess with it a little bit.

With Ned Low, once we had his beautiful Paganini-inspired 18th century suit on, David Jenkins was like, "I just picture him being silver." We painted his suit silver, and then art department and props came up with a silver violin, and makeup put these silver teeth in. So he's instantly turned into a rock star.

Finally, are there any little details that you'd like to highlight for viewers?

Taylor: One of the background characters that I love the most is one of these pirates when Stede is the maitre d' at Spanish Jackie's. His first encounter with a customer is this horrible swearing pirate. I'd been listening to a pirate podcast that morning on the way to work, and I was learning all about how many rats were on board. I was like, "I reckon that pirate should just have a whole jacket made out of rats." That's what you'd do with all the dead rats, right? You'd have a little fur bolero.

I asked one of my team members to make me like a hundred little fur rats. She'd hand-sewn all the tails and little feet and ears. Then we built this vest and they covered it in blood and dirt, and made it all like wet rats that had been living at sea for a hundred years.

That's the kind of thing you might see a fan wearing at a convention, a really specific background character.

Taylor: God, I hope so. You'd have to get in real close to see there's actually little tails all over the whole thing.

I'm trying to think of another really sweet thing. That whole Silk Road thing was really interesting to me. I found this museum piece of a necklace that was all these little leather satchels that collected little pieces along their travels. We started making this beautiful piece, and we ended up giving it to Auntie. It's these little trinkets from Japan and Egypt and Morocco; she wears all her souvenirs around her neck close to her heart. There's a lot of little things like that where we go into great detail and I give a little backstory, but maybe no one will ever notice. Or they might! You never know!

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 is now streaming on Max.

Source: TV Guide

[jinmindeulle]

twenty one petals | do kyungsoo

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 commoner!do kyungsoo x princess!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 8.2 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, romance | love at first sight, forbidden love

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angsty, fluffy

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 none

requested by @kyungseokie, thank you again! hope it's what you were looking for 🥰

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚

Twenty-one had always represented more than just a number to y/n.

She could finally obtain her freedom to go out of the Palace with only one guard, have her friends over more often, begin her self-defense classes, and learn more about the women she admired the most. Of course, y/n had always had history lessons for it was of utmost importance for a royal like her to be knowledgeable of her roots and ancestry. However, there was one particular Queen whom she had the most curiosity about. No teacher had dared to tell the story of Jeon Mindae, a royal who had vanished after eleven years of rule, and no one ever talked about what had happened to her.

As much as she was joyous about all those new possibilities, y/n was also terrified. Turning twenty-one had also meant that she was of age to finally get married, and the King was well aware of that. Her sister, barely a year older than her, had been married two months after her twenty-first birthday. Consequently, y/n was not expecting any other future for herself.

A week after her celebration, y/n found herself looking out of the window of her chambers, wondering how life went about for people whom she probably would never see ever again. She liked to contemplate all those various faces and create whole identities and characters, imagining stories, often romantic, for each person that called her attention.

Y/n envied them sometimes. Their lives could be different, more challenging, and less privileged, but at least they had certain freedoms to enjoy, even if they did not realize it. They could go out and about whenever, wherever, and with whoever they liked, they could lead an independent life, and above all, they could marry the person they loved. Those aspects of life were what y/n yearned the most, and ironically, was deprived of them. Her only alternative was her newly gained escapades. And she desperately needed to go out. 

Even though she had been able to leave the Palace for a couple of hours already, the guard who accompanied her was pretty annoying and watched her every step. He made sure people knew who she was and made her feel out of place, which was the opposite of what she had wanted. So, this time, she had asked the King to send another guard with her.

“Sir Sehun must accompany me this time, Your Highness”

“Why is that so, Princess?”

“I do not intend for people to recognize me when I leave the Palace. Sir Taehun was not fit for that role”

“For I trust Sir Sehun, I will assign him this duty. Await him by the gates”

“Thank you, Your Highness”

The woman could not help but smirk as she made her way out of the Crown room. Sehun was a dear friend of hers and she knew he was both, laidback and protective. She was the safest and most confident under his care. 

Y/n had to laugh when, after some minutes of impatient little walks around the gates, Sir Sehun approached her with his thick right eyebrow raised “Ma’am, may I ask why I was requested as your guard?”

“Well, Sir Sehun,” she interlaced her left arm with the soldier’s right one as he was offering, and began their walk out of the Palace “Taehun is a prick” she let out once they were out of sight, and a good distance from the nosy masses of the royal community.

“Nothing new. You just want me to let you live, then” he dropped off the formalities, as they usually did when together and in private — or at least away from those who could not live a life as anything else than aristocrats. 

“You know me so well”

The walk to the Cherry Blossom Market was quiet but pleasant. They both liked the silence and tranquility that the forest offered, and it was well known between them that it had to be savored each time, as opportunities like those were usually scarce. Upon reaching the first stalls, y/n sent a smile in Sehun’s way. That was her call for him to just let her go around but always under his careful watch, as she had promised. 

The beauty that y/n found there, she was sure could not be found anywhere else. Just the sight of people all dressed up in colorful yet comfortable ropes, some simple, some fancy, brought a new wave of giddiness to her body. The thought of being able to walk with them, passing as one more of the commoners, was what made her the most thrilled. She could pretend, just for a couple of hours, that she was one of the people she usually fantasized about through the glass of her window. 

A pair of the prettiest shoes caught her attention, and she had to stop to just admire them. Soft peachy colored silk embraced the pair, both adorned with delicate pink cherry blossom petals on each side. Sadly, she could not have them. The guards would snap them away from her the minute she went inside for the check-up. Commoner things stay with commoners. 

A light breeze took her out of her thoughts, and as she placed the shoes back where they belonged with a small bow to the stall owner, her eyes met a wooden bridge, which went over a quiet river. Cherry blossoms surrounded the area, their petals dancing their way to the ground, mimicking a snowy afternoon. After taking a look back to Sehun, who was well aware of her movements, she enthusiastically skipped to the beginning of the bridge, feeling the glee that the soft petals caressing her cheeks provided her with.      

The walk to the viaduct was calmer, yet never less eager. The middle of the bridge had a smaller number of people, so y/n decided that that was the right spot to rest a little and contemplate the delicateness of the running water, and how the pink petals bathed in it as if tired of hanging from a tree.

Although her hood was bothering her sightseeing, she knew people would recognize her out of paintings and written records, so she had the need to hide her face as much as she could. The risk was high enough with her hood up. 

Noticing how someone stopped right beside her and leaned their forearms on the railing, she took her gaze away from the river and to her other side, pretending to observe the cherry blossoms dancing to the rhythm of the wind. When the woman was about to walk away, she heard the person speak.

“Is it not incredible that there are over a hundred varieties of cherry blossom trees?” 

The deepness and smoothness of the voice that she now knew belonged to a man, had her stood still in her place. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt how her cheeks imitated the color of the most intense pink petals.

“It certainly is,” she replied, clearing her throat, still giving her back to the stranger. Though she was aware of the hazard that that man could represent, she physically could not move from her spot. It was as if the man’s voice had put a spell on her. 

“Are these your favorite?” he asked, and y/n could not help but crack a smile. 

“Fortunately, they are” 

Her body was moving without her taking notice, and suddenly she was no longer facing the trees but the very man who had interrupted her alone time, away from royalties, away from turmoil. And the sight in front of y/n had her sigh. 

A round face, giving him a youthful and friendly appearance, was complemented by brown almond-shaped eyes, which seemed captivating, warm, and inviting. His well-defined, thick eyebrows framed his eyes and added character to his face. The man sported a small, button-like nose that went well with his soft jawline. Though she tried to avoid looking at his lips, it had become an impossible task. Plump, well-defined, heart-shaped. Flawless. She last noticed that his dark brown hair was up in a topknot, all secured by a simple linen headband.

“Have you ever seen the Shirotae variety?” when his eyes met hers, y/n felt what she could only associate with what her romantic novels described as love at first sight. If it existed or not, she couldn't care less. For her, a man like him talking about her favorite tree and flower, looking at her in what seemed to be undivided attention and care, had to be hard to find — and that had her over the moon in just a couple of seconds.

“I have never left the Kingdom” she admitted, finally able to unglue her eyes from his. Overly conscious, she looked down at her feet, hiding her face as much as possible with the gray hood.

“Hwanggeum is known for having them all, though it is true that the Shirotaes are well beyond our borders. Are you from here, Agassi?”

It was the first time that someone had addressed her as a commoner, and rather than displeasing her, it encouraged her to keep talking to the man. He had not recognized her after all.

“I am, Seonsaengnim”

“So you are well acquainted with the Pink Shell” his faint smile had her melting right on the spot, but she somehow managed to conceal it. 

“It might also be the reason why they are my favorite. Though I have read about the other varieties, I have not had the chance to see them in person yet”

“Would you like to?”

If it meant that he could take her away and hold her hand for the rest of the afternoon, she would have yelled ‘Please!’. However, the sight of Sehun waiting for her by the end of the bridge, right behind the enticing man, had her come to her senses “I am afraid my father is not very keen on me going out often, especially out of the city”

“That was not my question, Agassi. Would you like to?”

“I would love to,” she nodded, and with all her might, bowed to say goodbye “It was pleasant to converse with you, Seonsaengnim. Have a good rest of your afternoon”

Walking past him, she tried to reach her guard friend as fast as possible. Her efforts, no matter how big, were cut short by a hand around her unclothed wrist. The warmth he transmitted was able to soothe her uncontrollable heart, just a little bit, for his hand over her skin, was not something her heart was expecting to feel.

“I still do not know your name” he recited, not letting go. “I am Kyungsoo. Do Kyungsoo”

“Pardon me Seonsaengnim, but I am not allowed to disclose my name” 

As if he sensed that that was all he was getting from her, the man she now knew to be named Do Kyungsoo let her hand go, and she was finally able to walk towards her guard. “Let’s go” she murmured over her breath, not stopping on her way back home. Sehun rapidly followed, not wanting to discuss what he had witnessed. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Do Kyungsoo stayed on her mind for the following two days, as if he had nowhere else to be. It was surprising how she could not just shoo him away. No matter how many classes she took, how many conversations she had or the piles of books she read, the man with warm eyes and plump lips would always come back. She was aware of the fact that the King would announce her inescapable marriage in the upcoming weeks, hopefully, months, and having met him, she did not want that day to come any time soon.

Three days had passed, and y/n could no longer bear it. She had to see Kyungsoo again, at least one last time.

“Indeed, Sir Sehun is available for you. Where are you heading to?” the King asked, and y/n raised her head.

“To the Cherry Blossom Market, Your Highness”

“Again?” With his eyebrows raised, he observed her every movement.

“I am truly in love with the cherry blossom trees, and these are the last days of their bloom. I yearn to admire them as long as I can”

A nod was the only permission she needed to perform a deep bow and leave the Crown room, looking for Sehun with her eyes. She spotted the guard standing next to the room’s entrance, already informed of his next duties. There was no need to say anything.

With her cloak on and hood already up, silence remained untouchable until they surpassed the main gates of the Palace. The discretion she continuously made sure to have had become sacred at that point. No one except Sehun could know about Do Kyungsoo. 

“Are you sure he is going to be there?”

“I am not, but this is the only way I can find out” she sighed, letting him walk by her side. 

“Why do you want to see him again?” he asked.

“Honestly, Sehun, I do not know,” the woman admitted “He has not left my mind ever since we met. The only certainty I have is that my heart is longing for him.”

“Do you like him?”

“It is hard to say. I have never felt this way, so I cannot compare it to anything other than what I read romantic in my novels”

“Not a great source, may I say” Sehun giggled, looking at her with small eyes. 

“I am sorry, Sir all-the-girls-love-me” her laugh synced with his, heading the conversation in a more relaxed direction. 

“Not only girls love me!”

Though tranquility had embraced her as they walked their way through the forest, the sight of the first market stalls made her heart race once again. He could be anywhere, but he was surely closer than before. 

When she felt Sehun squeeze her shoulder, she looked his way to find a comforting smile. She nodded. Words were not necessary between them.

Calculated but unconscious steps led her to the bridge where their heartwarming exchange had taken place. The trees were still there, now calmer than before. Petals were still falling, but their dance was more controlled and stable. The bridge itself had fewer people, and she thought that the stillness of the water could not be attractive enough for the masses. It was for her.

A deep breath was all she had to do to muster the courage and find the place where Kyungsoo had approached her. All she had to do was wait. But oh my! It was a true challenge. As she hummed a song that her sister had sung to her while she was little, y/n closed her eyes and let her mind wander around dangerous paths. His cute smile had popped up once again, and it was impossible for her not to smile back. The effect he had had on her in only a matter of minutes was incomprehensible. 

“Is it me that you are waiting for, Agassi?”

The feeling that her heart was about to jump out of her chest came back upon hearing his honeyed voice once again. Nothing could have prepared y/n for that moment, regardless of how many times she had imagined it.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning to him with rosy cheeks. Because she had expected to see his gentle smile, the seriousness of his expression took her aback “Oh… Is there something wrong, Seongsaengnim?”

“I now know why you did not want me to know your name, Your Grace”

Her surprise could not be veiled. How had that happened? Was she not careful enough? She would not have come back if she noticed any trace of recognition in his eyes. She could not risk her outings like that. 

“You are mistaking me for someone else” Her voice faltered, but her forehead was still up.

“I am not. You are Princess Y/n, daughter of King Younghee and sister of the future Queen, Princess Hara. I apologize for the boldness with which I addressed you the other day, Your Grace. It was only after our encounter that I realized who you were”

So that settled it. Her outings were over, her freedom was over. Seeing him was also over. She understood that good things only lasted for a short period, but she did not see the end coming so fast. 

“Why are you here?” y/n had to know at least that. Was he back to solely ask for forgiveness?

“I had wanted to see you again, Your Grace. I came back here the day following our meeting, but you were not here. That same evening, I traveled to the Grand Market to buy more merchandise to sell at the Market, and I saw the big portrait of your family at the entrance. How could I not know who you were?” the calmness with which he uttered his sentences had y/n in a trance. His eyes had not left hers, as if he had rehearsed for that exact instant together.  “After learning about your true identity, I knew I had to stop myself from expecting this encounter to happen again”

“But it happened” she murmured, feeling her chest expanding with a deep breath. 

“I genuinely tried, Your Grace” he shook his head, still not moving an inch from his spot “But it proved to be impossible.”

The silence that followed his statements permitted the woman to process her sentiments, one by one. There was nervousness. Uncertainty. Fear. But there was also expectancy. Excitement. Bliss. 

“We are not supposed to do this” he continued “A commoner can only dream of meeting a royal and give her the life she deserves. I know I am not able to do so. However, I am here. And you are here too, Your Grace”

“I needed to see you again,” she admitted, taking her hood away from her view. She had to see him in all his plenitude because it had to be the last time “only one more time. My mind was playing tricks and my duties could not be fulfilled if I had you in my head every hour”.

“I understand,” Kyungsoo nodded, and for the first time that afternoon, his fingers touched hers. Her lifetime seemed to pass right in front of her eyes as the caress of his warm skin against hers filled her senses. It was overwhelming, yet y/n wanted more. “I want you to have this. We cannot interact in person anymore, but I consider letters to be a very effective way to communicate. If that is what you want, Your Grace”

The eager nod she gave him made Kyungsoo show the first smile of the afternoon. His relief could be sensed, and that also gave her the reaffirmation she had been desperate for. With a discrete hand movement, she took the folded piece of paper, keeping it inside her cloak’s pocket. 

“I also know you will get married in the near future” his forehead furrowed, and y/n felt how her eyes welled up. That was a topic she was not ready to face, especially with him “Although that makes it even more dangerous and unfeasible, I am still willing to do this. Are you, Your Grace?”

Not following her heart was not an option. She would allow herself to be selfish this time.

“I am”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your Royal Highness,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I write to you with the utmost humility and respect, fully aware of the immeasurable distance that separates your world from mine.

Since the moment I first had the privilege of glimpsing your radiant presence from afar, my heart has embarked on a journey it had never before known. It is a journey filled with profound admiration, deep respect, and, dare I say, love that transcends all boundaries.

I am but a humble commoner, a mere speck in the grand tapestry of your Father’s noble kingdom. Yet, as I go about my daily toils, I find myself endlessly enchanted by thoughts of you. Your delicateness, your kindness, your voice—all of these qualities have illuminated my every waking moment from the second you answered my inquiry.

Please understand that I harbor no illusions of grandeur, nor do I seek to intrude on your world. My affection is a silent and solitary affair, a secret held close to my heart, and now to yours. It is a love that has to remain unspoken, for I am painfully aware that my place in society precludes any dreams of an impossible union.

I am content to serve my kingdom, my family, and my fellow commoners with all the devotion and diligence I can muster. In doing so, I hope to honor the same virtues that have earned you the admiration and adoration of all who have had the privilege of knowing you.

May your days be filled with happiness and prosperity.

With the utmost reverence and eternal devotion,

DKS.

His neat calligraphy imprinted in liquid ink had perfectly accompanied what he had expressed in that letter. Kyungsoo’s well-thought-out words had her heart leap in excitement and yearning. The man had probably spent an afternoon ardently writing, employing careful words and admiring sentences. 

In return, she had to let him know what he had done to her as well. The impossibility of their reunion could not make their days heavy with misery.  

My Dear Kyungsoo,

I wish nothing but good health and spirits for you in return. Your words have touched my heart, and I am deeply moved by the sincerity and humility with which you express your feelings.

Your admiration and respect have not gone unnoticed. I am grateful for your kind words and the sentiments you have shared with me. It is rare to encounter such genuine devotion and honor in this world, and your letter has brought warmth to my heart.

I must confess that your unwavering dedication to our kingdom and your fellow commoners resonates deeply with me. Your commitment to serving our people is a testament to the qualities that make our realm strong and resilient.

It is with a heavy heart that I must acknowledge the realities of our respective stations in life. The traditions and responsibilities that come with my position demand a life of duty and sacrifice, which I am still unable to come to terms with. Your affection is a gift I shall cherish in my heart, but I also have to understand the limitations that bind us.

I encourage you to continue your path with the same steadfast determination and honor that you have shown thus far. Your devotion to our kingdom is a treasure, and I have no doubt that your contributions will be felt and appreciated by many.

Please know that I hold your words and your spirit in high regard. 

With the deepest respect and warm regards,

y/n. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Weeks had passed, and letters had come and gone. What had first started as a timid and knowingly-impossible romance, was now a tragedy that only found its way to the surface through words of passion, endeavor, and selflessness. 

The only one who knew about their exchange was Sehun. Since he was made responsible for her outings, no matter where they were, he had soon suggested delivering the letters back and forth, as he had understood how hazardous their short encounters could be. Seeing each other from afar from time to time was not enough, but was the only thing they could do for their growing affection. 

When she did not go with Sehun, their letter exchange was not done over the bridge. The men had made up a system unknown to y/n, but extremely effective in turn. Despite knowing how she was putting herself at risk each time she hid her letter in Sehun’s sleeve, she trusted her guard. Because receiving Kyungsoo’s letter was the only time of the week she felt purposefully happy, she neither wanted to nor would stop.

But alas, as she had learned, everything came to an end. However, that was not the way she had wanted it to happen. 

“Kyungsoo was not there this morning” Sehun’s forehead creased, worrisome written all over his face.

“What?” she had to stop herself from actually yelling, and shielded her mouth with one of her hands “Not any trace?”

“None”

“He has never done this”

A knock on her chamber’s door startled both of them, and Sehun had to take a step back to allow her to reach the hatch next to him. She looked at him, puzzled, and with a deep breath opened the door. 

“Your Grace, Your Highness is requesting your presence in the Crown room”

“Is it urgent?”

“It is, Your Grace”

Thanking the maid, y/n closed the door behind her and hugged Sehun “I have a bad feeling about this”

Call it third eye, intuition, or merely understanding. The woman had not failed to see what was coming. 

“You are to get married next week, y/n. Everything has been settled, and I am glad to announce that your future husband is the best prospect I could find for you. You will meet him in three days when he comes to formally propose to you.”

When she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears that had shimmered them traveled down her pale cheeks. Y/n could only see Kyungsoo reciting his letters to her in his mellowed voice, promising her to find a way to be together, not caring about social boundaries anymore. She only wanted to hear his whispers, to feel his tender touch, and to experience what would be like to have his inviting lips caress her own.

But now, the King was taking that away from her. The possibility they had built through their letters had to remain impossible. 

“Why are you doing this to me, Dad?”

It was the first time in years that y/n had called the King dad. She had felt that he no longer deserved that title, no matter how painful it was to lack that figure in her life. After her mother’s passing, he changed. His anguish for his loss had duplicated hers and Hara’s. He had forgotten that he had two daughters who had lost a mother and had only started to care for his heartbreak. 

“You are more naive than I wished you were.” he declared, unmoved by her emotions “I could have waited some weeks, some months even. But your recent behavior was proof enough that you need someone to discipline you”

“What are you talking about?” a mess already, y/n felt how her future with Kyungsoo vanished little by little. The love they had both developed over months through words and glances from afar was coming to an end, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening.  

“Twenty-one is the prime of your life, and albeit you are not becoming Queen, you have duties to fulfill. Disregarding that, you have been frequently meeting a commoner, y/n. Please, do not tell me that that is not accurate, because I have eyes all over my kingdom. The greatest way to get you back on track is to give your hand in marriage to someone who is well-versed in our world, and knows how to treat you”

“As a trophy? As garbage? As a scum?” 

“Has your sister protested like you are? How do you know you will be treated badly if you have not crossed glances with him?” his harsh tone would not scare her away.

“I do not have to do that to understand that he will make my life miserable. The one person who is able to make me happy is not him” Rage was getting into her quite rapidly. She had to fight for what she wanted. But how?

“The one person you are so sure about making you happy is no longer available. I am sorry, daughter, but this is your life.”

“What have you done to him?!” 

“Return to your chambers, y/n. That was all I had to say”

“Dad?! What have you done to him?!” 

The sorrow was unmeasurable. She had put Kyungsoo at risk, she had made him suffer the consequences of loving her. She had selfishly walked him to a dark place, which she did not even know what it looked like. Where was he? Was he even alive? 

The pressure that was building in her chest was somewhat relieved when Sehun went inside her room, with no knocking in between. He was the only one she had allowed to do that in case of an emergency. And God knows she was in need of what Sehun could provide to her, be it a hug or simple reassurance words. But luck was on her side — if one could say that after what she was about to go through — and he was there with more than just that.

“I know what happened” Taking her hands into his, he began to share the information he was able to gather “Taehun has been following us, and he was the one who told your father about Kyungsoo”

“That bastard!” y/n’s eyes flooded with tears as she squeezed Sehun’s hands harder.

“I have never liked him, but that just crossed the line” he admitted “The King sent his soldiers to capture Kyungsoo, and now they got him in the dungeons” “Oh my Goodness” the fear multiplied, and the sudden relief she had felt upon seeing her best friend disappeared to make room for that familiar pressure, this time coming back twice as bad.

“I have a plan” he nodded, placing his big hands on her shoulders “Jaemin is watching over him during the night shift… and he owes me”

Y/n could do nothing else than cry on his shoulder and thank him over and over again. She truly did not know what she would do without her loyal guard, without her Sehun.

—

With her fingers tightly gripping her dress sleeves, the princess followed the guard down the spooky stairs of the dungeons. Though not too far away from the Palace, they had to ride a horse to make it quicker — and she was not a fan of horses. However, this time, she did not really care. Kyungsoo was her only priority. 

“Why is this so smelly?” she whispered, coughing when the damp odor reached her nostrils.

“Do you think they would bother to clean this?” 

“Too busy standing next to the King, I guess.”

Just when the flight of stairs started to appear endless, y/n saw light coming from one of the corners, and she could finally breathe “He’s here, right?”

But the woman did not have to wait for Sehun’s response, because he was right there. Sitting with his back resting on one of the rusty cell bars, Kyungsoo looked drained. His face was pale and smeared with dirt and sweat. His clothes were ragged and mucky. Because his eyes were closed, she could only guess — and hope — that he was sleeping. 

“Stay back. I’ll talk to Jaemin first”

As Sehun walked towards the light, she could sense how the movement around him was slowly waking him up from his slumber. His eyes had lightened up when he recognized her best friend and a sense of easiness travelled down through y/n’s spine. 

“Come, y/n”

If Kyungsoo’s eyes had lightened up when he saw Sehun, the instant his gaze met hers he appeared to hold the stars and the moon altogether in his orbs. “You are here”

No time was wasted when the master key let him out of the cell. They embraced each other for the first time, and the relief that they both felt upon finally having their love in their arms was indescribable. Letters were incredible, but they lacked contact, they lacked tangible affection.

“I am so sorry” she cried, taking in the feeling of his arms around her waist, and how his left hand caressed the back of her head with soft strokes.

“None of this is your fault, my love” he whispered, and being able to hear his sweet voice calling her that endearment sent her heart jumping out of her ribcage “We were aware of the risks. And I am still delighted with the decision we made”

“How?” 

“Because I get to have you in my arms now” he let her go, only to place his hands on her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if they held the universe. “We will be fine”

“Why are you so confident about that?” y/n could not help but be hesitant about everything around her now. She had only questions in her mind, no clear answers in sight. 

“Because” he brushed her lower lip with his thumb, his eyes traveling down with it, and back to her orbs “what we have is not easily broken. They can try, but we fight back. And if it is not now, it will be then. We will be together, my love. Trust me”

And with that promise, Kyungsoo pressed his lips onto hers and sealed the deal. The initial surprise had her frozen, trying to figure out what was actually happening. But when everything was clear, y/n closed her eyes and let him in. His passionate way of kissing her was more telling of his love for her than any of his letters were, and that was a lot to say. He was an excellent writer. But when it came to kissing…

Their romantic moment was cut short when Sehun fake coughed in an attempt to get their attention. When their lips were mere centimeters away from each other, he was quick to intervene “I am really sorry to interrupt your… moment, but she cannot stay much longer”

“What do you mean stay?” the woman looked at her best friend, baffled by his statement “Is he not coming with us?”

It may have been a dumb question, but she did not see how they could not just let him go, at least to hide somewhere far away.

“That would be an overly bad idea” Kyungsoo uttered, interlacing his fingers with hers “That would get everyone killed. Me, Sehun, the other guard. We cannot risk it” he shook his head, and rapidly let her hands go to brush the tears running down her cheeks “We will find another way, my love”

“But…” she sobbed, suddenly feeling like a little kid in his arms “I do not want you to die, my darling” 

“I am not dying anytime soon. I have to become your prince first” he giggled, and that sent the butterflies in her stomach on a wild flight.

“Guys…”

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo apologized and pressed a kiss on her forehead “Go back to your chambers and wait for Sehun to tell you what to do next. Whether the plan takes a week, two months, or three years… we cannot know for sure. The only thing I know for a fact is that we are meeting again, and we will have our happily ever after. I promise you, my love”

y/n would recite those exact words for the following two years, be it aloud or in her mind. Kyungsoo’s vow was not to leave her soul anytime soon, and she decided to use it as a way to have him close to her heart every day. 

She had had to get married. She had had to share a room with someone she did not love. She had played the trophy wife role for too long for her liking. But Sehun had continuously reassured her that the plan was going smoothly, and if everything happened according to it, she would meet Kyungsoo in a short time.

“Hajoon wants me to become pregnant” she confessed, a halo of panic in her eyes “I cannot deal with this anymore” Her cheeks, very familiar with her tears by that point, wetted the beginning of her bluey sweetheart bodice.

“When are you heading to the tour around Hwanggeum?”

“In three days”

“Hold on for a week. We are getting there”

Do you know that feeling of time slowing down when what you only need is the wait to be over? That was what y/n was experiencing ever since she left Kyungsoo in that horrid dungeon, hoping that seeing him again would be a matter of days. Her heart was hopeful, but her mind was not so much so. She knew that rushing into what your feelings dictate never brings good results, but the urgency had become tangible as the months went by. 

He was in the back of her mind most of her days, but very much present when her husband pressed kisses on her forehead, and occasionally on her lips. Despite not liking him much, she had to admit that Hajoon was clearly not the worst. He had respected her boundaries and only touched her when she let him. She was suspiciously sure that he had a lover way before they had gotten married, and that was a strange relief for the woman. However…

“I truly wish things were different, y/n… but we have to produce an heir soon”

“It sounded like you really want that” she sarcastically replied.

“Your Father…”

“Of course” she nodded, putting her hairbrush away to look at him “I will tell him we are trying. A child is not part of my plans right now”

The only person in her plans was Kyungsoo, and the wait was becoming heavier on her. In order to relieve stress, she took the first book she could get from the history section of the library and headed out to the gardens. It was nice to just feel the breeze clash with her rosy cheeks, and just let it calm her nerves down. The copy she had blindly chosen was one she had never seen in the years and years she frequented the library, and that encouraged her to go through the yellowed pages before choosing a story. Y/n had to stop on page one hundred and thirty-six, one with its edge slightly folded. There, a sketched portrait of an elegant woman caught her attention. Her stern look was emphasized by a set of well-defined curls that framed her clear face, big eyes, and slim nose. Her lips were pressed in a soft line as if they had been like that for a long time.

Jeon Mindae.

The one and only secret that the royals were good at hiding, but could only conceal for so long. She had noticed how even after turning twenty-one, no one was mentioning her, not even to highlight the great advances that had happened during her short reign. But now, she was about to discover the truth.

In the annals of Hwanggeum's rich history, there exists a chapter of intrigue, love, and profound change that transcends the centuries. This is the tale of Queen Jeon Mindae, whose reign is forever etched in the hearts and minds of the people, for it was marked by an extraordinary love affair and a subsequent transformation of the kingdom's destiny.

Queen Mindae, known for her benevolence and wisdom, ascended to the throne during a time of prosperity and unity. Her rule was celebrated for the well-being and happiness it brought to her subjects. Nevertheless, behind the façade of a perfect queen lay a hidden love that would change the course of Hwanggeum's history.

Unbeknownst to her court and subjects, Queen Mindae had fallen deeply in love with Kim Beomseok, a commoner she had encountered during a secret exploration of her kingdom disguised as a humble citizen. Their love, while genuine, was forbidden, as royal protocol dictated that a queen must wed a nobleman from a neighboring kingdom.

For years, Queen Mindae and Beomseok carried on their love affair in the shadows, yearning to be together openly. The burden of the crown and the expectations of the kingdom stood as barriers between them.

The climax of this tale came during a grand ball in the palace, held to celebrate Hwanggeum's prosperity. On this fateful night, Queen Mindae mysteriously vanished, plunging the kingdom into a state of chaos and confusion. Wild rumors swirled about her fate, from kidnapping to assassination, as the people sought answers.

The official proclamation, issued by the royal council, declared that Queen Mindae had forsaken her throne to elope with Beomseok, her commoner lover, relinquishing her responsibilities. Her disappearance was thus presented as a voluntary act. Hwanggeum was left in the hands of Princess Miyoung, a distant cousin, who was chosen to rule in Mindae's absence.

Yet, the official narrative failed to quell the suspicions and doubts of the kingdom's citizens. In secret gatherings and hushed conversations, the people of Hwanggeum rejected the notion that their beloved queen would willingly abandon them.

The queen's true location was never found, and a network of loyalists worked tirelessly to erase Queen Mindae of Hwanggeum’s history. However, the people of Hwanggeum yearned for her return, not to rule, but to be a symbol of love and unity. 

To this day, the last of us are patiently waiting to get a glimpse of her once again, to see her next to her beloved Beomseok, and to thank her for her transparent and wealthy rule. Queens like her are not made any longer. 

She had to be more sensitive than usual because as she read each word, the tears were uncontrollably running down her face. It was like seeing herself in the mirror, but only seeing one difference: she had been unable to run away with her true love. 

How had been Jeon Mindae’s life after vanishing? Had she been happy?

She truly hoped she was. She knew the feeling of loving someone who you are not supposed to and fighting for it to be alive even after years of waiting. It was exhausting, yet worth it, if by the end of the line she got to see him again.

Y/n kept the book pressed against her chest to the third destination of their tour, as a way to keep Jeon Mindae’s story close to her heart. If what Sehun had promised a week before was true, she was about to see Do Kyungsoo after two desperate years of sharing a bed with a stranger, pretending not to die a little with each passing day. That was not the life she had wanted for herself, but what could she do? 

Just wait, said her best friend every day. So she did just that.

But now, seeing the premises of Gyulcheon, it was like the sun was finally shining for her. Its citizens were slowly gathering around their carriage, waving at her and Hajoon, who had sported the same fake smile for the last five days. 

The city center was prepared to receive them, and the line of people who had gifts for them kept on growing as they got closer to the Palace’s entrance.

Her husband leaving the carriage first, y/n waited for Sehun to open the door for her once it was safe to do so. High-end families and generals bowed at her as she walked all the way to the Palace’s porch, and she could only smile at them with faked enthusiasm. Hajoon, awaiting her at the first step of the staircase, took her by her elbow and led her to the seatings decorated with golden and ancient figures. For the next two hours, they met Gyulcheon’s citizens who had to welcome them with gifts and offerings, a long-held tradition which the princess found pointless. Why would rich people need presents from poor, unprivileged ones? How was that even fair?

“I have to apologize My Prince, but I was only able to afford an honorable gift for My Princess”

The voice she had longed to hear for so many days, months, and years, reached her ears in an unexpected place. Her gaze pinned to her lap slowly raised to meet the eyes she had yearned to see, and the knot she had had in her throat ever since that night in the dungeons, tightened. He was as beautiful as she remembered, like time had stopped as soon as they met. Fighting back the urge to throw her arms around him, she bowed at him with her head and took a deep breath.

“You do not have to worry. I am content if my wife is.” and with that, Hajoon turned to the next peasant, who was offering him a wrapped-up gift.

“Thank you, Seongsaengnim” In a murmur, she took the laced box from his hands, trying to at least brush his fingers with hers. The shiver that she felt traveling down her spine was a sign of how strong her love for him was, even after all those years.

“Please try them as soon as you can, Your Grace. I would be devastated if they did not fit you”

His low buzz had her dancing in a cloud of her own. However, the guard that was next to him made it clear that he had to move quickly. More people were waiting behind. 

“I will, Seongsaengnim. I thank you again. It was nice to meet you” Pressing the box to her chest, she bowed at him once more, Kyungsoo copying her with an even deeper one. When they slowly rose, it was as if they had already blended their thoughts. “I love you” was whispered from both ends and a soft smile graced their faces when the man departed. 

Later that day, and alone in the chambers she was offered for her stay, she quickly headed to the corner where all their offerings had been placed. Hajoon was in a meeting, so she had time to find the only one that mattered. The laced box was hidden under the hundred packed gifts, so she had to make a big effort to retrieve it once it was on her radar. Once in her hands, waiting was no longer an option. Not even taking her time to appreciate the decorations around it, she removed the cover and tore through the white tissue paper wrap. What she found took her back to that afternoon, the afternoon that had changed her life.

The pair of shoes she had caught sight of that day were in her hands. She would never forget that soft peach silk that embraced the pair, and how those pink cherry blossom petals adorned them so delicately. With a cheeky sigh, y/n concluded that he had seen her from the moment she had set foot in the Cherry Blossom Market, when she had run to the stall, too entranced by the shoes to even care who noticed her. 

His words from the morning popped up in her mind as she ran her fingers around the shoes, and she rapidly put them on the floor to try them on. She knew he had meant something with it — the plan had to be resumed. As soon as she put them on, a relieved giggle left her lips. They were about to be together, once and for all. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“All set?”

She nodded to her husband and took Sehun’s hand to step into the carriage. Once inside, her best friend winked at her, and she had to suppress the smirk she wanted to give him in return. Nothing could make her happier than seeing him ride his horse by her window, Hajoon too preoccupied with his book to even spare her a glance.

Their long conversation was interrupted when the carriage made an unexpected stop, and her husband looked out of the window for the first time in hours “What is happening?”

As Sehun yelled “Ambush!”, everything seemed to occur in slow motion. Half a dozen men all covered in black from head to toe surrounded the wagon, one of them violently opening its entrance door as the rest engaged in physical fights with the horsed soldiers, less in number and not so much prepared to respond to such a sudden attack.

The man who opened their door was quick to take her by the arm and shove her out, not even caring to check if her clumsy fall had caused any harm to her body. Indeed it had, but she was too busy screaming for help to even notice that her wrist had twisted under her weight in her landing. “Please!” she yelled as the stranger dragged her to his horse and effortlessly sat her on its saddle. 

“y/n!” She heard Hajoon’s voice muffled by all the swording around them. When she looked behind her, the stranger had already taken his own weapon out of his scabbard, waiting for her husband to get closer. However, he was never capable of doing so — another one of the ambushers had his blade pressed to his throat. 

“Do not move.”

“Hajoon!”

Her cry was followed by her kidnapper gracefully jumping on his horse, slightly adjusting his position in front of her. Triggering movement with his heel, the brownish animal began his race right into the woods, the carriage quickly disappearing from sight. 

It was only about half an hour into their ride that y/n let herself breathe in the fresh air. His addicting scent reached her nostrils in the process, and a chuckle escaped her lips as she strongly wrapped her arms around the man. 

“I missed you” she whispered to his ear, and he squeezed her hand in his. 

“I missed you too, my love”

[missbubblesoda]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (26)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 3k

Perfumed breeze tickled your bare shoulders and sweet wine swayed inside clinking glasses, soft music lured twosomes to the dance floor, and the golden midday sun shone brighter than ever, as if making some sort of grand entrance, stepping into the courtyard like a guest of honor, blinding your eyes until they could no longer see anything around. Only the shadows and the shapes, and the bluest sky painted behind him.

And speaking about the sky, it had evidently dressed to match him that morning, from the cobalt pocket square peeking out of his morning coat to the corresponding silk tie obediently waiting on his chest; without forgetting, of course, about the crystalline sapphires embedded in his face, because in all honesty, who could forget? How could anyone overlook that heavenly blue of his eyes, iridescent at times, dreamily reflecting back all your favorite colors whenever they stared into yours. Just like they were right now, opportunely reminding you of secret moments spent inside some mountain castle down south; and the pleasant warmth that radiated from your chest at the thought made your lips curve into the same kind of smile his were wearing: knowing and conspiratorial. And you wondered if he found it overpowering too, the need to melt into each other’s arms.

His fleshy lips, appetizing as ever, parted slightly at the sight before him, his eyes methodically exploring first your features and then the colorful flowers on your dress, as if counting them, as if you were a coveted treasure seized from an enemy beyond the walls; his chest expanding as he took the type of deep, steadying breath that usually precedes life-altering statements. And then, when a labored ‘wow’ was all that left his lips, an amused chuckle escaped yours. You found it funny, to think those were the same lips that always knew what to say, the authors of the compelling speeches he used to motivate his men out there on the field or secure funds from closefisted aristocrats. And now, those same lips that not too many seasons back, had convinced a bunch of frightened kids to dedicate their hearts to a suicidal cause, had stopped working with nothing but a smile frozen on them. But that wasn’t a problem, given how eloquently his eyes were, instead, delivering the biggest compliments a lady could ever receive.

“Commander Smith.” You smiled teasingly, sending a courteous nod his way as you extended a hand for him to take.

“My lady.” He greeted back, his unusual wording eliciting another chuckle from you, because suddenly, it felt as if you were meeting for the first time again, as if you were the center characters in one of those romance novels your mother kept hidden under her mattress, as if some sort of magical encounter was taking place in the middle of Lord Koch’s garden.

He took the hand you were offering and brought it to his lips, where it remained for what, some would say, way longer than tradition stipulated. And all the while, you could feel him smiling against your fingers, his soothing breath keeping them warm, and the gentle stroke of his thumb against your skin sending a playful shiver straight to your core.

Some would say, probably the same people whose eyes were currently glued to the two of you, that ten thirty in the morning was too early for one’s mind to drift to the kind of inappropriate places yours was; but the thing is, they didn’t know about the wonderful things those lips could do nor the incredible delight those thighs could provide: muscular, well-developed, gift-wrapped in grey silk…or was it wool? If you could touch them, you’d be able to tell. But then again, that would be highly inappropriate for a garden party, wouldn’t it?

When his lips reluctantly let go of your hand, his fingers decided not to, choosing to stay wrapped around yours instead, gentlemanly accompanying them as if to see their safe arrival to your lap.

“Forgive my lips.” He smiled dazedly, eyes still lost in yours. “But it’s in familiar tastes where they find the greatest pleasure.”

That kind of apology suggested that he’d also noticed the inquisitive stares emerging all around you, stares that, at the moment, you didn’t have the mental disposition to concern yourself with, not when his words, as well as the evocative tone used to deliver them, were making your insides bubble in a dangerous cocktail of excitement and pleasure; a pleasure that quickly began to drip from deep within, like champagne spilling from the glass, drowning any other thought until all you could think about was how bad you wanted to pull him to a secret corner, sit on his lap and glide your fingers through that perfectly smooth hair of his, slicked back and neatly combed, desperately asking to be messed up.

“My lady?” He smirked playfully, a gesture that suggested he was probably very aware of the mess he was causing between your legs, a mess you hoped he would be so kind as to take care of later.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Commander Smith.” You replied calmly, your lips curving up in mischief. “At the moment, I feel like overindulging in familiar tastes myself.” You held his gaze boldly, unashamed to acknowledge all the things he could do to your body with his words only.

“Is that so?” He asked enticingly, taking a step closer and then another, his eyes locked so intently on their target as his face came just mere inches away from yours. “My princess shall never have to wait.” His lips whispered softly, only for the two of you to hear. “To indulge in whatever pleasure she craves.” He concluded, his husky voice more animalistic than human, the tantalizing woods and musks of his cologne intoxicating your senses, numbing them, clouding your mind until you could no longer think about anything, at least not anything that wasn’t his lips or the forbidden nights you spent together with them in his office, under the covers of secrecy. Was he about to pull those covers down with a kiss?

The logical part of you was certain he wouldn’t, but logic and rationality were not enough to stop the rest of your body from wishing he would. Especially your lips, they didn’t care that your parents were around somewhere, they didn’t care if they fainted the moment they saw their darling daughter kissing a man she had not been promised to; they didn’t care if, for the following weeks, you became the topic of the conversations all those fine ladies, who were now attentively staring at the two of you, would be enjoying with their afternoon tea. You and your lips cared about none of that.

But you knew he did.

And you knew him too well.

That’s why you weren’t really surprised when his fingers ignored the blushing cheeks he liked to hold when he kissed you, and reached for the back of your head instead, gently hooking the butterfly pin like a crown on a princess’ head. What surprised you, however, was that he knew the exact same spot where your mother had placed it that morning. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time he’d seen you today. And you wondered if that could be the case.

But before your mind could start speculating, he took a step back, a disarming smile painted on his handsome features as he offered you his arm to hold.

“May I?”

You smiled with delight, not hesitating a second to wrap both hands around the hard, unyielding muscles of his arm, letting them guide you to the other end of the courtyard. As you made it past grey-haired gentlemen who nodded back at him and blue-blooded ladies who were trying to exchange discreet glances with each other, you stroked his biceps subtly, eager for everyone to know that you were with him today, and that no, he wasn’t available for discussing work-related matters at the moment, much less dancing with anybody else. The gentlemen would have to wait until he was back at the office on Monday; and the ladies, well…their business would have to wait even longer. Because today, you looked up and smiled back at the man beside you, today he was with you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite contrarian!” Lord Koch’s exclaimed overjoyed once you reached the north pavilion, his tall frame approaching his friend with open arms. “Erwin! Glad you could make it.”

“Hansel.” The Commander patted his back congratulatory. “Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to celebrate a good friend.”

“My lady.” Lord Koch nodded politely at you once he was done greeting his friend.

“I came to greet you earlier, but Lord Angert told me that you and Madam Augusta were yet to arrive.” The Commander turned to the plush, jovial-looking lady beside his friend, who you assumed to be Mrs. Koch. “Madam Augusta.”

“Erwin! I’m so glad you could join us!” She exclaimed, also overjoyed and using the exact same tone Lord Koch had, albeit a few scales higher. According to your mother, the Kochs had been married since their academy days, and engaged since even before that. No wonder they sounded exactly like each other. “I asked Hansel if you’d be joining us this morning.” She smiled beamingly, taking the Commander’s hand in hers. “I warned him that if he didn’t go deliver the invitation in person, you wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to go at first, but I ma-”

“Augusta.” Lord Koch cleared his throat, flashing an uncomfortable smile at the Commander, who looked at you amusedly, gifting you with one of those light-hearted chuckles that always sounded like honey in your ears, and you giggled back.

“You’re never too busy to visit a friend.” Mrs. Koch said, smiling beamingly and naively, her expressive eyes making you realize she looked exactly like the fairy godmothers they drew on picture books. “Your father knows that very well, dear.” You blinked in confusion, thinking about the Commander’s late father before noticing she was looking at you instead. “He never misses a Wednesday, that conspiracy theory club is going to cause the demise of so many I know.” She squinted her eyes at her husband.

“Augusta.” Lord Koch cleared his throat again.

So the club was still a thing, only they moved it to Wednesdays instead.

“Oh Hansel, please. You don’t believe there is someone, even a single soul, at this party who doesn’t know about that little society of yours. Do you?” She chortled giddily when she saw you nodding in agreement. “Anyhow, it both pleases me and surprises me that someone has at long last managed to conquer this man’s heroically large yet forebodingly rebellious heart.” She said contentedly, smiling at the Commander and then at you.

“Augusta, the lady is his assistant.”

“Oh, my bad!” She feigned embarrassment, her eyes darting from the Commander to you, and then back to him, a knowing smile blossoming on her lips as soon as she caught glance of the comfortable way in which your hands were wrapped around his arm, almost as if they were more than fairly acquainted with his body. “What a shame, her angelic smile and Erwin’s dreamy blues would make for beautiful offspring.” She said with mirth, giggling enthusiastically as her expressive eyes awaited a reaction from you.

But you had nothing for her, at least not anything you could show her without incriminating yourself, so you just lowered your head, looking down at the glossy marble tiles in an attempt to hide both your burning cheeks as well as the little smile that started to take over your lips at the thought of their chubby fingers tugging at your skirt; their angelic blue eyes gleaming with happiness whenever their cute button noses caught a whiff of the little somethings you loved baking for them; their excited little feet making the cabin’s floorboards creak on their way to the front door, your way of knowing that he was back.

No, Mrs. Koch wasn’t the only one. You had thought about it too. Goodness, your pen knew just how much; she remembered about every single time you had forced her to stop right before she could tell your journal about it, because your mother always said that telling your dreams to someone else was the most effective way to curse them into never happening.

“The infamous Nile Dok in the flesh!” Lord Koch’s jovial greeting startled you out of your thoughts, making you raise your head just in time to see Hitch’s boss striding towards you. “Today is really one for the books, isn’t it? It’s not every day you get to see both your favorite commanders together in one place.” He said delightedly, giving the lean, black-whiskered man a welcoming hug, a gesture that showed you just how close they were.

“I just hope Commander Pixis doesn’t find this statement too aggravating.” The Military Police commander said in a monotone voice before turning to Mrs. Koch. “Madam Augusta.”

The feeble smile he had managed to put on for her quickly expired on his lips as soon as he was done shaking her hand, and you couldn’t help but smile when you remembered Hitch’s words: ‘he permanently has the face of someone who hasn’t been able to poop in years.’

“Good to see you, Nile.” Mrs. Koch smiled heartily, her eyes turning into the same crescent moons Leon’s did whenever he smiled, confirming your suspicions that it was indeed a family thing. “Hansel still resents Dot for outsmarting him at the regionals last summer.” She explained amusedly. “A sore ego and a thin skin make it difficult for anyone to forget, never mind forgive.”

“Oh I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Saw him near the brandy earlier.” Lord Koch motioned with a lazy flick of his hand, the indifference in his otherwise enthused demeanor proving that the hurt ego his wife had mentioned was pretty much there. “Dot did win but I wouldn’t say I was outsmarted. Calling his performance ‘brilliant’, like the press did, would be a stretch.”

“Oh I’m sure this year’s regionals will grant you the rematch that you and your ego so desperately crave. I believe in you, darling.” Madam Augusta rolled her eyes, silently contradicting her words. “Hansel will only accept defeat to this man right here.” She explained, pointing at the Commander, who was now shaking Commander Nile’s hand. “Erwin is truly in a league of his own. Hansel is lucky he doesn’t have the time to compete at the regionals.”

“It is my desire to keep a solid friendship with Hansel what keeps me from playing at the regionals, and not lack of time, Madam.” The Commander said, eliciting joyous laughter from everyone, including Lord Koch himself. “How are Marie and the kids?”

Marie and the-

‘I don’t understand how someone like her ended up marrying my boss.’

Hitch’s voice started ringing somewhere deep inside your head, reminding you of the one thing you’d hoped you could forget.

‘She could have married anyone she wanted.’

She said, the warm spring breeze turning unpleasantly bitter all of a sudden, bringing back memories of that snowy winter afternoon spent with your best friend, not too long ago.

‘Eyes bluer than the summer sky, porcelain skin. A goddess.’

She continued, as if listing the participation requirements for a very prestigious competition, one you really wanted to win, but felt you’d already lost.

‘Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to describe her-’

‘…beautiful falls short-’

‘…stunning doesn’t do her justice.”

Her words grew louder the more she spoke, eventually turning into a sharp hissing that threatened to break your skull into a million pieces.

‘Apparently, they used to be close friends back in the day, all three of them…’

No.

‘Both, your boss and mine..’

No. You didn’t want to remember.

‘…were completely smitten with her.’

The last sentence painfully reverberated in your ears, each word feeling like shards piercing through your eardrums, like an unpleasantly loud and very discordant crowd of cicadas making your ears bleed, as they announced the end of the most beautiful sunset you would ever get to see.

‘Did you know…’

No. You were just fine living in ignorance.

‘…she was this close to…’

No. Please don’t say it.

‘…marrying your boss?’

You held his arm tighter, something similar to a heartbeat violently jolting your entire body, the aftershock sending painful shivers throughout your skin, all the way to the deepest, darkest part of you, where your chest stung and ached in a type of pain you were already growing quite familiar with.

And you wondered if Commander Nile was acquainted with it himself because, although his inexpressive eyes were difficult to read, you could have sworn that you saw them narrow, the mild bags beneath them darkening even more at the mention of his wife’s name.

His wife’s name…

You looked to his right abruptly, your heart racing as if to match the crazed speed of your thoughts.

If Commander Nile was here, then probably his wife…

You looked to his left, and then around; your eyes embarking on a journey of anticipation and uncertainty as they navigated the sea of faces surrounding you, each little glance holding the potential of familiarity for any wistful eyes wishing to spot her, or the dread of recognition, in your very particular case. The dread to discover, among the countless expressions, the telltale features Hitch had so poetically described, the golden hair, the porcelain skin, and the blue eyes that had stolen his heart all those years back.

-

next chapter

buy me a ko-fi?☕️ ^^

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[1v31182m5]

Ooh, you have a Wish rewrite/alternate story in mind? You open to sharing anything about it?

Ohh boy jcudbfjd yes! These were my ideas before the movie came out. I don't know if anyone will read it it's long but oh well writing them down makes me think more clear

Magnifico:

So the concept of him experiencing with colonizers is still there expect it happened BEFORE he was born. İn an old kingdom. Only the aristocrats could survive it and they came to where Rosas is in right now for safe place. Expect in their time the survivers were much silent? Like there was nothing to celebrate for nothing to smile about, they just ran away from a genocide caused by horrible magic.

And because all the survivors were aristocrats they didn't had any peasents to boss around, their status meant nothing right now since the left alone people are now equal. They didn't even had a proper leader, which is where Magnifico comes along. He pulls them together, becomes king, brings laws, builds houses, Medical care camps, schools, draws the lines of the kingdom, literally makes it a whole country born by it's ashes.

As much I don't like to bring up the film we can see that kid Magnifico is floating on the picture. He had magic back them but we never got explained how? So I came up with the idea that Magnifico's parents were one of the top duke and duchesses who made a wish upon a star for the best kid they could ever have. Which lead to the child getting the best ever genes it could possibly grab from generations behind. The healthiest, handsomest, most magical coming from the ancestor's stardust's.

He was the best thing that ever happened to the people of survivers, he could bring them stuff, stuff they wished to have.

Magnifico was like the Messiah. They adored him, he was their everything. He was spoiled by the whole aristocrats of course, he's a wonder kid.

He and his parents also look different in my headcanon, this is how I imagined them to look like before what the film gave us with 3 😐😐😐 heads. İgnore the art quality I just wanted to point out how I just imagine them to look like, it's a doodle I scribbled on phone

A tip to tell the difference between my version and Disney's is,Magnifico is a natural white hair in mine along with his parents. Also is actually tan like in the concept arts. Amaya also has actual brown skin, like in the concept arts.

And before you ask no no other aristocrat could wish upon a star, only they could, this is why Magnifico is so important to them. He does what the stars couldn't automatically.

His parents died of an old age, at the same time, expect they tried their best with every single kind of potion and chemicals to keep them alive because they were scared of if Magnifico is their wish, would he be gone if they be gone? They stayed alive for about 120 years which is almost the limit of the human body, gladly enough he didn't died when they did. They wished for their kid to be the best for everyone, not just for them.

They looked like zombies when they died, it really hurted everyone to see them that way.

And for the million dollar headcanon

Trumpets

Drum drum drum

✨Amaya is a Wish✨

Magnifico wished upon a star the day his parents died just like Asha on the tree at the end of the cliff. His parents died and got buried at 6AM he made the wish at the end of the day, 11PM. Magnifico had to deal with so many things for the whole day now thay they were offically gone, they didn't even let him rest even if they wanted :(( he was exhausted at the end of the day when he was finally alone, and even though he knew that this was a forgotten miracle that only happened one time in the history, he wished upon a star,

Saying that he wanted someone here for him, to bring the best of him, whatever he could imagine and could not, ..and it came true!!!

He was in ultimate shock to see Amaya. Now unlike in other cartoons when they have a "perfect" partner it usually goes so smoothly like ohh they're obsessed with them and so clingly. Okay no that didn't happened, yes Amaya is the perfect woman for Magnifico and Magnifico is the perfect match for Amaya but she is still a human?? not just some customized girlfriend. Like why would she still stay there if he treated her like garbage?

Amaya was a human who could be the perfect wished person for Magnifico if he played his cards right and actually worked on their realationship, so it's not instant love. I hate the instantly in love without a thought tropes. They have a slow burn.

Asha:

She did got accepted as the King's apprentice.

And for the Queen's. They make her do works like Cindirella and they mutually annoy eachother time to time. The queen is slightly mean too for the funsies. They 3 got a we may be sometimes mean to eachother but Asha would ask for realationship advice to us type of realationship.

Charo is still there, their cat. Which Asha had enough of. (They make her clean after him a lot, spoiled cat 😼)

The Star boy is a boy, like in the concepts and exists. Expect I thought he would be more of a 15 year old than looking like a 20 year old to get more of his childish personality.

He's not useless like in the movie where the only helpful thing he did was opening the elevator's door and nothing else other than being Asha's new pet.

He can do magic, so does Asha. This is what gets on Magnficio's nerves. He doesn't knows about the Star boy's existence but later he finds out. He'll need to accept them both

🔥Valentione nevers speaks🔥

He was so cute as a goat who could only talk in goat language, you don't need his "low voice"

[gemsofgreece]

What was women's position in the Byzantine Empire? I haven't searched that much, but it seems like her position wasn't any different from Ancient Greece, where they were expected to be modest, silent and it was generally preferable not to be heard (at least, women from aristocratic families).

Well you won’t find easily a medieval state which did not want women to be modest and quiet.

In spite of that, no that’s not true. The place of the woman in the society improved considerably in Byzantine times compared to the Classical era. As a sidenote, perhaps we should not generalize about Classical Greece either, especially when we apply the reality of Athens to all the Greek world without enough evidence that this is historically accurate, at a time when Athens was extremely obsessed with ¨male perfection¨.

Based on our view of things nowadays, it might seem counterintuitive, however Christianity played a huge role in this improvement. You see, the Bible through its scriptures and also the very example of Virgin Mary, whom the Byzantines (and later the Modern Greeks too) worshipped almost equally to Christ, as well as the church’s acknowledgement and veneration of women martyrs indiscriminately from men martyrs, made it clear that women were spiritually equally capable of achieving “théosis”, meaning resemble the image of God, in other words; sainthood. It was thus deemed important that women would be able to read and study the scriptures. As a result the Byzantine empire had the highest literacy rate of women in the Middle Ages.

Intercepting for those who might wonder: "But the Ancient Greek religion had gods and goddesses alike, so why wouldn't that improve the social status of women?". The answer is because in the Ancient Greek religion there was no concept of théosis, meaning any human's strive to achieve a moral perfection to resemble the image of God. The dynamics of gods and godesses were separate from those of the people, where women were left to be evaluated by and versus men alone.

Women were nowhere as confined as the women of classical Greece. Of course they should be good wives and mothers catering to their household first and foremost but they could participate in social events, festivals, go shopping, lather in the baths and have fun like men did. As wives, their status was also better, as according to Christianity all god-fearing men were supposed to be loyal to their wives and have no concubines. So, if a man really had no intention to be faithful at all, neither to his wife nor to the Christian teachings, he at least did it discreetly, and if he did not do even that, then he did not escape the judgement of the society. Divorce was hard for either spouse to ask, of course waaay more for women, but for example Justinian enforced an iconic law that if a couple wanted to take a divorce then BOTH spouses should go to monasteries and be celibate for life lol So you know, be cruel, but at least be indiscriminately cruel! 😂

Financially, dowries and inheritance remained a woman’s property after marriage unlike in classical times. If the husband died, it was the widow’s choice whether she would marry again or not and she was in charge of her children on her own whereas in classical times women had to marry their husband’s closest relative (to “protect” them and the property that had now passed on their own family). So, really no contest there. Women owned and ran businesses and signed contracts. They were employed in a wide range of professions.

As for the aristocrats, they had it much better than classical aristocrats. They did not work like lower class women, obviously, so they filled all that extra time by being pampered by their servants (female and male, sometimes eunuchs), who were usually exclusive to them. Depending on the lady’s interests, the servants would keep her entertained by playing music, reading to her, gossiping, grooming her etc Some women hired teachers to improve on their education on their own accord. Wives of important men were usually involved in political and diplomatic affairs and they were very interested in such matters. Educated women could be doctors (for women).

Nuns, who did not have the burden of taking care of the children and a husband, often became studious and pretty educated, with artistic concerns, like Kassiani. And to go back to the ask, there are accounts of Byzantine princesses being perceived in West Europe as “too talkative” and “too concerned with themselves”, so apparently Byzantium gave its aristocratic women a lot more liberty than, say, Classical Athens and also more than Western Europe did.

And then of course the Byzantine Empire was the only medieval state to have ever been reigned by four women on their own, and some of them were very consciously and ambitiously pursuing the throne. But even the empresses consorts, meaning the wives of the emperors, were also expected to be well acquainted with all the matters of the empire in case something happened to the emperor because they had to stand in his place temporarily or even serve as regents. From the 22 pages in Wikipedia about Byzantine regents, the 7 are about women, so one third, at least from the well known ones.

Women were also interested in their appearances and really took matters in their hands. Rich women would have special gardens cultivating flowers and spices to create their own perfumes. Michael Psellos writes about how Empress Zoe had essentially turned herself into a chemist, making the basements of the imperial palace a lab for perfumes and elixirs to maintain her youthful appearance.

And let’s end this with some quotes from Anna Komnene’s Alexiad (inspired by the Iliad she so loved), the chronicles of her father’s Emperor Alexius exploits in war.

12th-century manuscript of the Alexiad

The Alexiad is invaluable because it remains one of the richest sources of information historians possess about the military, social and imperial history of the Byzantine Empire.

Ah I had written before about that stuff and I meant to write something short this time but I just can’t do it when it’s about Byzantium my love adefefajdhhajhf

[communistkenobi]

hey there! I was wondering if you have any contemporary Marxist/even just leftist book recommendations for an annoying professor dad? he’s conscious of the, uh, enormous human suffering all around him, but unable to imagine anything outside capitalism. I am unfortunately not as academically educated as he is, and the more basic stuff I read isn’t impressive to him.

anyway I know you can’t magically fix my shitty dad, but any book recommendations you’ve got would be greatly appreciated. And thanks so much for all of the excellent Posting, I’ve learned a lot from you.

Academic doomers are the fucking worst! They read the material and concede the basic fact that this current system is rotten but turn that into a wholly negative outlook, refusing to imagine anything beyond it by painting all left wing politics and movements as uniformly “unrealistic.” It is pure cowardice. They are perhaps my least favourite kind of liberal, someone who mistakes their own (ivory tower, western) cynicism for pragmatism. They often tout the more ‘progressive’ version of “liberal in your twenties, conservative in your forties” to students, assuring any young person who makes demands for a better world that their pie-in-the-sky thinking will be beaten out of them one day. I have found historic accounts of past revolutions to be the most helpful for my own politics. Knowing about communist history keeps me from despair. Communism is not untested, it is not abstract, it exists in this world and it continues to exist despite the endless tide of imperial violence of capitalist countries trying to wipe it off the face of this earth. The conclusions the proletariat & all oppressed peoples continue to arrive at about their own exploitation cannot be destroyed, only delayed, and only for so long.

I would recommend reading up on a couple different revolutions - the Haitian, Cuban, and Russian Revolution. These are all proletarian revolutions, meaning they are worker revolutions (in contrast to the American or French revs, which were bourgeois, meaning property owners revolted against their own aristocratic/monarchical system for economic independence). For the Haitian Rev I would recommend the book black jacobins, and for the Russian rev I recommend the Russian Revolution by Walter Rodney. I don’t have any book recs for the Cuban Rev right now sorry! It’s on my to-do list of shit to read up on. Additionally, The Jakarta Method by Vincent Bevins outlines the anti-communist violence the US conducted around the world during the Cold War - I find this history useful to know as it helps counter the claim that communism “works only in theory but not in practice” or is “outright unrealistic,” as all communist programmes have been subjected to incredible amounts of violence and political & economic & social suppression by western countries in general and the US in specific. They have never been allowed to grow and learn on their own merits. finally, this isn’t a reading but a general recommendation, the podcast blowback is very good, it outlines the imperial history of the United States (a central pillar of that imperialist violence being anti-communist programmes). They cite history books and specific scholars in the podcast if you want to read more on specific events (their second season is about the Cuban Revolution!). I find it to be accessible, meaning they don’t use jargon, although the subject matter can be pretty horrific at times.

anyway I don’t know if any of that will help, I personally am skeptical of being able to save those types of people (ie people who have access to more critical scholarship than virtually anyone else on the planet but refuse to take it seriously - education is not a cure-all and the class interests of professors do a lot of work to inoculate them against left wing views), but who knows!

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Read on AO3

Cadmus returned a few hours after he’d left her, appearing in the door she hadn’t bothered to close. Ever immaculate, the second born son smiled that wolfish grin as he stepped into the room.

“Sister,” he crooned, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Don’t say that so loudly,” she warned, all but bouncing off the bed. Elain was bored. It had taken her ten minutes to unpack her things and Arina had never returned from wherever she’d gone with Eris. Elain knew she shouldn’t be frustrated but she was. Stupidly, she’d believed she and Arina were in this together.

But Elain was on her own, at least when it came to navigating Autumn. And clearly Cadmus was going to be her unofficial guide through it all, smirking like his older brother—like his younger brother, too. It must be a genetic thing, she decided, because she knew she’d seen that arrogant look on Lucien’s face more than once. 

Elain sighed. She missed Lucien which made her feel a little pathetic. She was certain he’d found ways to entertain himself and by the time she returned would have a whole host of stories for her. Elain didn’t believe for a second he was pining the way she was.

“Ashamed?” Cadmus asked, leaning casually against the frame of the door. She bet the ladies of Autumn went wild when they saw that. He was handsome in an aristocratic sort of way, with elegant, sharp features that could slice as easily as any knife. He was the only one of the Vanserra’s to have hair that was more brown than red, still coppery but in a darker, warmer sort of way. His features skewed toward his fathers and she wondered how that made him feel when he looked in the mirror.

She liked him, though. Liked him much more than she was sure to like the High Lord, at any rate. 

“No, I’m not ashamed,” Elain replied loftily, poking him in his broad chest when she reached him. “I don’t need you broadcasting what I told you all over the palace.”

Cadmus arched one elegantly groomed brow. “And when you return?”

“Would you like to be penpals?” Elain asked him with syrupy sweetness.

Cadmus’s expression shifted for a moment. “I’d like to see my mother more often.”

Ah. Elain mouthed a wordless oh, because she understood what he was asking—would she use her influence on Lucien so his half-brothers could visit without so much animosity. Elain’s heart ached at the thought of how little they must have gotten to see her and what it was like knowing she was happy without being able to see it for themselves. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Elain murmured softly. Anyone who stumbled on the scene at hand would think something intimate was happening between them which was better and safer than the truth. Killain would be irate but he was always angry when another male was in her vicinity. 

Cadmus exhaled a breath Elain hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders slumped for only a moment before he straightened himself back out and offered her that same arrogant smile.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” she lied. Elain wanted to meet everyone who’d come and get a sense of what she’d be doing. Lucien had given her a rundown on the rather boring piece of policy Beron wanted to debate.

Which was shattered the moment Cadmus casually said, “Atticus is trying to rally the seasonal courts into strong arming the Night Court into war. They’ll see you as an ally.”

“Is she a prisoner?” Elain asked, certain there was no one and nothing that could keep Feyre if she didn’t truly want to be there. Not even the fearsome North and their Daemati powers were enough. 

Cadmus shrugged casually, falling into step with Elain. His smoke gray pants and navy blue jacket were a rather lovely combination against his complexion, and made him seem more naughty prince than anything. “No one knows. There is a rumor Feyre sent a letter, but no one has seen it so whether that's true or lies from Night Court, well…you’ll have to take Atticus at his word.”

“Atticus is…” A liar, though she didn’t dare say that. Not when Cadmus likely was, too. And she knew too well that these males often pulled rank and protected each other, regardless of the circumstances or female wishes. If Feyre was saying no, but Atticus was saying yes, Cadmus and Tarquin and maybe Lucien, too, was likely to fall in line. After all, if one female said no and they were forced to honor it, what stopped the rest of them from saying no, too?

Cadmus raised both brows. “I’m interested in your reaction specifically, princess.”

Elain narrowed her eyes, though she supposed princess was better than sister. “Is Tarquin here?”

“Yes,” Cadmus murmured, fingers brushing her back as he led her down a flight of stairs. “Viviane, too.”

Viviane felt like a dream to Elain. Had she once been jealous of Lucien dancing with the Winter princess…or…whatever she was? General to the High Lord who’d been unable to drag his eyes off her, at any rate. Elain wondered if Viviane would be an ally or if she’d side with the males. 

Reaching between them, Elain grabbed Cadmus’s hand. “Don’t let Atticus take me out of here.”

Cadmus paused. “Are you asking for sanctuary?”

“No, I—”

No. She couldn’t get stuck in Autumn and didn’t think the High Lord would ever let her leave. She’d become leverage in his silent war against Helion, made worse when he realized he had the prince's mate. 

“I’m asking you not to let Atticus take me out of Autumn.”

“I can’t stop him if he’s your prince,” Cadmus reminded her. Elain loathed all these rules that bound females unfairly to males and their territory. She hadn’t claimed Lucien and he hadn’t claimed her, hadn’t renounced her home in Spring. Cadmus’s steps slowed, his eyes burning the skin of her cheek. “Is he?”

“So I say you are—”

“You say my brother is,” Cadmus murmured, his voice so soft she felt like he was speaking directly in her mind. “And force me to honor our blood.”

Lucien would kill her for this. She knew he wanted his brothers to learn about his bond at the same time everyone else did. Was she foolish to trust the Vanserra’s when conventional wisdom told her not to? No one in their right mind would entrust the second born Vanserra to a secret of this magnitude.

“Lucien is my mate,” she breathed. Cadmus’s eyes widened for only a moment, bright with wonder. 

“I ought to spend more time in Day,” he finally said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “No one knows?”

“Eris does,” she said, grateful he’d kept that secret when it might have served him better to tell his family. Cadmus didn’t seem surprised to hear that. “And Lucien, of course.”

“He hasn’t claimed you—”

“He can’t,” she hissed, forgetting that in Autumn, males owned their mates. If Lucien had been born in Autumn, he could have declared it before court and culturally, the expectation would be that Elain would accept. Spring was the exact same way, but Day, like the other solar courts, allowed females to decide whether they accepted the bond. She could see Cadmus chewing on this knowledge. He knew it in theory—but he was watching it play out in practice and it clearly confused him.

“Are you?” he finally asked, his face a strange mix of wonder and vulnerablity. 

“Maybe,” she replied, poking him in the ribs. “Feeling sorry for Lucien, are you?”

Cadmus scowled. “No.”

“That’s good to hear,” Elain said with a smile, gripping Cadmus’s arm once again. “I promise he is not suffering.”

A cruel smile spread over Cadmus’s face—the sort that told her he was about to ask her something wildly inappropriate. She was spared by Atticus, who rounded the same corner they were coming down only to nearly crash into Cadmus. She’d forgotten how tall and imposing the future High Lord was. He halted, his severe, tan face eyeing them both with distaste. He knew, now. And there was no doubt in Elain’s mind that Killian would be informed at some point. 

Those pine green eyes landed on her, lip curling with distaste. “What are you doing here?” he asked roughly, the demand clanging through her.

“She’s Day Court’s emissary,” Cadmus snapped, speaking when Elain’s mouth opened silently. Heart thudding, she didn’t think she could speak to Atticus. Not without making herself look small and foolish.

Atticus smiled, then, his whole face lighting up as though Cadmus had told a particularly funny joke. “Of course she is. Just as you and I are newly crowned High Lords. My brother is looking for you.”

“He knows how to find me,” Elain said, but the waver in her voice betrayed her. Atticus’s smile was undimmed.

“Mm.”

And then he was gone, swanning past the pair of them like they were little more than an annoyance to him. Cadmus watched, fingers clenched to fists at his sides. “Don’t know where he thinks he’s fucking going,” Cadmus grumbled, placing one callused hand against her back. “Dining room is this fucking way.”

“He’s going to call Killian—” 

“So?” Cadmus interrupted impatiently. “You knew that.”

But knowing it and being confronted with seeing Killian, who was going to try and drag her home, were two entirely different things. And Elain didn’t know how to navigate this situation. Grabbing Cadmus roughly, she pulled her toward a shadowy corner just outside the twin doors carved with the image of a long-dead dragon. 

“I kissed him, once,” she said. Had she told anyone that? Maybe Arina—definitely not Lucien. Cadmus’s brows furrowed, struggling to understand why it mattered. “Killian has been kissing females his whole life. Surely—”

“But he wants to be married, and he’s…you know….how they think about these things.”

“Are you suggesting I think every female I kiss belongs to me?” he asked archly.

“No,” she snapped in response. “You only think they belong to you if you want them for longer than a night or two!”

Cadmus smiled. “You’ve got me there. This is a serious gathering Elain and not an engagement party. Killian still needs the permission of the High Lord to attend and father famously hates everyone. He’s not letting the second Spring son into his home when he didn’t want the first one.”

“Are you sure?”

Cadmus shrugged. “No. Father does things for his own reasons more often than I can count. But I would bet he’s not half as interested in your personal life as Killian is, and he’ll want everyone out just as soon as he can manage.”

And for some reason, that made Elain feel a little better. Everything felt as though it revolved around her and hearing Cadmus say no one was half as interested in her as she was felt reassuring, if nothing else.

With that in mind, Cadmus tugged her toward the doors that would take the pair of them to dinner. With every new step, Cadmus seemed to fade into a male she didn’t recognize. Straight spine, bored expression, and an almost lazy gait. He was every inch one of the Autumn bastards then, leading her into the high ceilinged dining room as though she were of no consequence to him. 

Eris was already there, sitting at a high table at the far end of the room just beside his father. Arina sat beside Viviane, her back to the Autumn prince a few feet away. The two blondes were smiling brightly, ignoring a table of nearby Autumn court males watching them with wolfish expressions. 

From behind them, Tarquin shoulder checked Cadmus. “Excuse me,” the handsome Summer prince murmured, winking once at Elain before making his way toward Viviane. Slipping away her arm, Elain did the same, taking the last chair at the little table already laden with food. Cadmus sauntered off, seemingly unbothered. He didn’t so much as look at her, even when Elain stared him down. He merely joined his brothers away from the high table where his brother and father sat, eating and making rude gestures at a table of nearby giggling females.

“What are you two talking about?” Elain asked, turning back to Viviane and Arina. 

“The Hybern General,” Viviane said, blue eyes crinkled at the edges. She was, if Elain recalled correctly, one of the Winter High Lords most trusted soldiers. A General in her own right, not that she appeared so in her soft, wintergreen dress. “She’s in Spring right now.”

“Atticus is here, though,” Elain said with surprise. She’d seen him in the hall—surely he’d want to stay with his father if a foreign dignitary was joining.

“He was forced here to deal with the Feyre Archeron situation,” Viviane said blithely, forgetting that Feyre was related to Elain by blood. “And I suspect the High Lord doesn’t want an audience to his meeting with her.”

“Or he’s showing her the wall,” Tarquin said casually, picking at a strawberry from a bowl. “Rumors swirl, princess, that Hybern is after more territory.”

“He’d have to be short sighted and stupid,” Arina chimed in, watching Tarquin with an unreadable expression. “Where does he think Hybern will turn once he’s slaughtered the humans?”

“Maybe he hopes to work out some deal. Make himself regent–”

“The High Lord of Spring would never rule under someone else,” Elain interrupted, thinking of that proud, haughty male. “He’d be aiming for High King.”

“He’ll die, just last,” Viviane whispered as Atticus stomped back in, his face twisted with anger. “But not before damning us all to a war on two fronts.”

“Three,” Tarquin replied, popping a grape into his mouth. “He’s been looking for a fight with the High Lord of Night for centuries. He’s finally found it. Just something to think about as we decide Feyre Archeron’s fate.”

“Lucien Spell-Cleaver is doing that already, is he not?” Viviane asked, eyes turning to Elain. Elain had no idea what Lucien was doing while she was away, and thought it was a trap to admit she had any interest in his coming and goings. She shrugged, taking a page from Tarquin’s playbook. Arina, of course, knew better—she knew better than any of them what Lucien might be doing.

She said nothing, drumming her fingers against the table.

“So the seasonal courts agree Night has stolen a Spring Court princess and…what? We force her back—”

“And put the prince on trial,” Tarquin murmured, leaning forward on his elbows. “Draw out his father from his mountain court where he’s much easier to assassinate. Kill the son, see the power transfer to someone more…aggreeable. Like the High Lord’s brother, for instance.”

“A stupid plan,” Arina hissed softly. “Stupider if he thinks someone like Beron would ever bend the knee for him.”

“One thing at a time,” Viviane said cooly, reaching for her fork. “Feyre Archeron today, Prythian’s politics tomorrow. How are you planning to vote?”

“I’ll be waiting to hear what Lucien Spell-Cleaver has to say,” Tarquin replied, glancing at Elain. “He’s honorable—and if she’s been forced, he won’t pretend otherwise, Solar Court alliance or not.”

Tarquin’s gaze slid to her, and Elain knew he was thinking about the night on that pleasure barge when Lucien by rights could have taken her. She’d been throwing herself at him. Begging him, even. And Lucien had locked her up, had put her to bed, and hadn’t touched her any more than was required to keep her safe. She wondered if that was what kept Tarquin from saying anything else. Lucien had mentioned Tarquin suspected what was happening between them when he’d warned her who might be in Autumn. 

Elain was grateful for his silence. 

“I heard she wrote a letter renouncing her home in Spring,” Viviane said, looking once again at Elain. “And if that’s true, I won’t be calling to bring her back, and neither will Kallias.”

“Very progressive of you,” Tarquin said with a slick smile. Viviane’s answering smile was just as vicious, lethal in its beauty. Like she knew some secret about the prince none of the rest of them did—a secret she, too, was choosing not to divulge, at least for now. Elain didn’t care. Sitting at that table, Elain could only think of Feyre.

What trouble have you gotten yourself in this time?

LUCIEN:

“What are you painting?” he began, well aware she’d been working on a portrait of Rhysand. That didn’t seem to bode well for the Spring Court princess—was her mind consumed with him? And if it was, had Rhysand been the cause of that. He could scent nothing unusual about her. Not even sex, which he would have assumed would be present had Rhysand so much as touched her. That’s what Tamlin was alleging, at least partly. Feyre’s compliance was all forced. 

Scanning her form, Lucien couldn’t detect a spell bound around her. A bargain shimmered against her forearm, but that was hardly a secret given the swirling, black-inked tattoo was visible to anyone with a working pair of eyes. 

“Nothing,” she said, cheeks dark with embarrassment. Lucien was tempted to look behind him and see if Rhysand was still watching and didn’t think he’d like what he’d see. Feyre Archeron rose from her chair, fair skin splattered with multi-colored dots of paint. Planting her hands on her hips, she demanded, “Are you taking me back to Spring?”

“I could take you to Day Court, if you’re looking for sanctuary,” Lucien replied evenly. Feyre considered this for a moment, clearly not expecting him to offer an alternative. 

“With Elain?”

“Yes,” he agreed, picking up a dry paintbrush on a little stand by her easel. “I’m sure she’d be very happy to see you.”

Feyre snorted. “Annoyed, more like it. Nesta is here—no one is trying to drag her back.”

“I suppose they assume she plans to return at some point.”

“Well, that’s stupid considering she’s training with—”

“Feyre!” Rhysand interrupted, his smooth voice sharper than usual. “Manners, darling.”

Lucien did turn, then, sighing with exasperation. “You don’t have to watch, you know.”

Rhysands expression shifted, eyes wholly focused on Feyre. He said nothing for a period so long Lucien had began to wonder if he wasn’t going insane. Turning, he saw Feyre’s grinning back at him and— 

“Oh, Cauldron boil me! You’re doing very little to convince me she isn’t under your control, you know.”

“I’m not,” Feyre said with a sullen expression. “You don’t need to know everything.”

Great. 

Lucien caught how Rhysand flinched at Feyre’s declaration Lucien didn’t need to know everything. Lucien raised his brows and decided to play a little harder. “Alright. Take me back, then—”

“She means about my territory,” Rhysand said smoothly, pushing off the door frame he was leaned again. “Not about her stay here. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Oh, but of course,” she bit back sarcastically. “As I’m just a silly female, it makes total sense that the only way I’d be able to make my own decision was if another male was controlling my mind.”

Rhysand smothered his grin. “Play nice.”

Feyre rounded on him, arms crossed over her chest. “How is my sister? Do you boss her around, too?”

Lucien sighed. “Hardly.”

Feyre didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Good. I hope she’s giving you hell. She hates you, you know.”

“Yes, I am well aware of Elain’s feelings toward me,” Lucien replied dryly. He didn’t mention that those feelings had shifted because this wasn’t about him or Elain, but preventing an absurd civil war over one female Lucien was relatively certain had come of her own accord. “Why Night Court, Feyre?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, turning toward the window looking over the mountains. “Nesta was here and I thought…Elain is practically engaged, and I think she’s content with that. I worried if I came to her, she’d urge me to go back. I snuck in–”

“How did you manage that?” Lucien asked, genuinely curious. Feyre glanced at Rhysand, something silent spoken between them. Lucien caught Rhysand subtly shake his head no.

“Their mind control doesn’t work on me,” Feyre told him, defiance flashing in those silvery blue eyes. “I’m daemati, too.”

Lucien blinked. A seer and a daemati in the same family. “Does Spring know—”

“No,” she said quickly, defiance replaced with panic. “And they can’t. This is between us, Spell-Cleaver.”

He inclined his head. “So, you can’t be manipulated. You sneak into Night. What then?”

“Rhysand picked me up at the border and brought me here.”

Lucien very much doubted that was the entirety of the story. He’d seen the city below, though, and guessed the prince was keeping far more secrets than one beautiful city. That was fine—Lucien was, too. All the courts jealously guarded their territories, hiding it from others who might try and take it if they knew it better. Night was hardly any different. 

“I’m not going back and I’m not marrying him. I wrote him a letter saying as much,” Feyre finished, her voice icy steel. “I know Atticus is convening in Autumn to try and whip the seasonal courts into a frenzy.”

Lucien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, your sister is there on behalf of Day, so I suspect she’ll side with you.”

“You suspect, or you know?”

“I can’t predict Elain’s actions with accuracy,” Lucien replied in his most level tone. Rhysand rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she wants you to go back to Spring.”

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Rhysand finally said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Give it the illusion of fairness.”

That was the last thing Lucien wanted. He had to remind himself that going home wouldn’t bring Elain back to him any quicker and would only make him more restless. At least here he could pester Rhysand about Night and get to know Feyre a little better. He knew so little about her life before she’d come to him, though he knew the stories. Of course he knew of Feyre, but he didn’t know her well.

It was cynical, but maybe if he got in good with Feyre, Elain wouldn’t be so afraid to accept the mating bond—

“Mating bond?!” Feyre’s surprised gasp pulled Lucien from his thoughts. Even Rhysand’s eyes went wide, surprised by the news. “You and Elain are mates?”

Rhysand began laughing, pulling his hands from his pockets to cross them over his chest. “Oh, how funny, Spell-Cleaver.”

Lucien was tempted to divulge Rhysand’s secret right then and there. Careful with his thoughts, Lucien snarled, “My head isn’t an open play ground for you.”

“Forgive me for not trusting you,” she replied dismissively. “You were practically screaming them at me, besides.”

“We talked about this,” Rhysand murmured reproachfully. 

“Is he your teacher?”

“She has to earn her keep somehow,” Rhysand said smoothly. “Just like Elain does.”

“I asked him to,” Feyre said, defensive all over again. “You don’t know what it’s like to know everyones thoughts all the time.”

Lucien couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine. That seemed like a particular kind of hell, hearing what everyone thought of you as they were thinking it, even as they smiled to your face and lied. He wondered if that didn’t play a part in why Feyre was so desperate to get away from Tamlin. She knew exactly what he thought of her—what he wanted, what he expected, even if his lips said something different. 

“It’s quiet here,” she told him with a slump of her shoulders. “I feel like I can breathe.”

Lucien tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “How about lunch?”

Feyre’s eyes perked up. “Can I take him to—”

“Yes,” Rhysand interrupted smoothly, eyes twinkling like a thousand stars. “Don’t give it away. Lucien likes surprises. You two enjoy yourselves. I have to meet my mother at the border—mind what you tell the fox, hm, darling?”

Feyre’s smile was razon sharp. “As you say, princeling.”

Oh, Lucien liked her, even of Rhysand was wrong. Lucien liked nothing of the sort—at least, not the kind Rhysand found amusing. Still, he found himself charmed by Feyre Archeron and her easy, unguarded emotions. He sympathized with her.

And if she wanted to take him to lunch, well. Lucien was happy to tag along.

[bruh-myguy-what]

The Dance We Share

I took this prompt/idea to a little bit of a different degree, and I thought about waltzing as a more intimate form of spending time with Thrawn, so they’re still dancing, but it’s less showy than a classic ballroom waltz but with all the same intimacy.

I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Enjoy~

Requested by @vibratingbonesbis

Pairing- Thrawn x f!reader

Summary/request prompt- waltzing with Thrawn! You unfortunately don’t get to dance with him at the Coruscant party but later he spoils you anyway with his affection.

Warnings- none but huge big ol’ fluff

————————

Being at a Coruscant “ball” was every bit as fancy as you’d believed it would be (having never previously had the luxury or title to attend one) and the gilded columns were a testament to how affluent the people who appeared here regularly truly were. The source of your own appearance tonight was something that set your heart into a dizzying flutter, even still. It hadn’t been too long ago, maybe a few months, that your relationship with Grand Admiral Thrawn had been made public- and that announcement to the Chimera crew had probably been the most embarrassing moment of your life.

Of course, not because of any humiliation you felt for being in love with such a magnificent leader, however, the dry and professional manner with which he described the situation made it seem more of a mutual arrangement between the two of you to be publicly acknowledged as individuals who had benefits to gain from the other. The questions from the confused group afterward hadn’t helped either…

Though it was a completely contrasting experience to be at Thrawn’s side during such a glamorous and important event like this than just holding hands around the Chimera and stealing a kiss every now and then- when time allowed. To know that every Coruscant “royal” that passed you or looked at you knew you were with Thrawn, intimately, made your skin burn bashfully. Yet as the timidness crept over your body, your heart had never felt so proud to have such a wonderful man to belong to.

Even if you’d hardly seen him the entire time…

As fun and exhilarating as it was to be Thrawn’s date, it was frustrating to be left alone by him so frequently. You knew it wasn’t his fault, of course. Thrawn was always incredibly sought after at these events, not just by military men, but also Moff’s, politicians, and a few other aristocrats among the wealthy. Not all of them were necessarily interested in learning anything from him, you knew, most wanted to know what the “enthusiasm” over “Palaptine’s alien pet” was about and how Thrawn gained the title of Grand Admiral in just a few short years.

Every time you’d thought Thrawn was finally free from the prying onslaught of questions, thinking you’d finally have a romantic moment with him- as soon as his warm hand would touch your cheek- he’d be pulled away. And of course, you knew he’d need to address them, it’d be unprofessional of him to ignore the requests but a part of you wanted him to turn them away and sweep you out onto the ballroom floor to share a dance. It was juvenile and you knew that too, but you hadn’t stopped thinking about it since Thrawn asked you to join him.

So, instead of mentioning anything to him, you’d stood patiently in the corner of the room waiting for him to return to you once more. Watching a Grand Admiral from afar had always fascinated you, especially Thrawn. He carried himself with such esteem it almost made your own shoulders straighten. He always looked so intimidating in his usual admiral uniform and yet the royal naval admiral uniform made him look virtually statuesque if he stood still.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the man you were considering approach you. “My darling,” Thrawn’s warm voice startled you, pulling you back to him in the present, “are you prepared to retire to the Chimera?”

“O-Oh! Is it already that time?” Your cheeks stung with the warmth of your blushing. When he’d only responded with a nod, pulling out a digital watch with a chain attached to his stark white naval coat, and checking it for a moment, you wrung your hands nervously. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed your previous disappointment.

Putting away the watch, Thrawn smiled softly at you, “yes, it is. Besides,” he began as a hand slid between both of your worrying ones, then sneaking one up to his lips, “I have spent long enough being pulled away from you for the night. I wish to take you back to my quarters and spend the rest of our time together- just the two of us.” Soft lips met your knuckles in a gentle brush, the warmth in his eyes never faltering from your face. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”

Thrawn’s charming nature was all-consuming at times, and it left little room for disagreement, “I-I would love to join you, yes,” was all you could manage as your cheeks only burned angrier under his gaze. Nothing could keep your heart from buzzing madly against your chest at the grin that played on his lips as your eagerness was expressed.

“Marvelous,” Thrawn sighed against your knuckles as he placed another lingering kiss to them, “come then, beautiful, let us return.”

***

Once aboard the Chimera, Thrawn had told you to relax yourself, take a moment to use the refresher for a shower then join him back in his quarters whenever you were finished. With a kiss to the forehead and a parting smile from him, you took your time relaxing and unwinding from the night spent standing in the corner.

You realized, while in the shower, that you really were being a child about not being able to dance with Thrawn at the party and felt you needed to apologize if it seemed like you were pouting- though in hindsight, he hadn’t seemed to notice and Thrawn was generally on the nose about that. You couldn’t keep anything from him. But he wasn’t perfect, so maybe this one had slipped past him.

After an hour or so, you made your way to Thrawn’s quarters and smiled when you saw the lack of Storm or Death Troopers that guarded the door- his sign for you to join him freely whenever you were ready. It made your heart flutter at the minor ways he displayed his trust in you.

The door whooshed open in front of, then behind you once you’d stepped into the room. Thrawn had taken his own time to freshen up, as well, you’d noticed. He was wearing a regular while athletic shirt- resembling the kind you’d seen him sparing in before- and his uniform slacks. The blue in his hair accentuated by the dampness from the shower he’d taken, a droplet or two falling to his shoulder as he turned and smile at you. “Perfect timing, my angel, I just dressed.” He was so endearing in private, so warm and gentle. If you thought you’d fallen in love with him before seeing this side of him, you were certainly head over heels afterward.

Clearly appreciating his lean figure as he approached, you shivered as the warmth he radiated enveloped you- his strong arms circling around to rest at your waist. “You seem terribly quiet tonight,” he spoke softly in the silence of your embrace. “If I may be so bold as to assume that you are…. disappointed that we were not able to share a dance tonight, hmm?”

So, he did know.

Wincing at how immature it sounded coming from Thrawn’s lips, you lowered your head to hide your humiliation. “I’m sorry, Thrawn, I really was trying not to act like a baby about it. I know, it’s so stupid but I-“

Thrawn was quick to cut you off, “do not dare speak of your feelings that way,” he shook his head, lifting yours with a hand. “I shall tell you time and again, that if you are troubled by something, I wish for you to tell me. Even if you think I already know.”

“I just…” you sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself, “it really is so childish, but I had just been thinking about it all day. I was excited to be able to dance with you. It-It’s not something we’ve done before and…” your voice trailed off as you grew embarrassed again, “I just wanted that memory, I guess.”

There was silence between the two of you again for a moment as Thrawn studied your reddened cheeks and shinning eyes. “Then share a dance with me now, (y/n).” He said it so matter-of-factly that you were taken by surprise at first.

“…What?”

Thrawn stepped back from your embrace, leaving you cold momentarily as he keyed a few buttons on his data pad that sat on his desk. Soft music filled the quarters, the white light from the stars the only illumination from the large window beside you. Returning to stand in front of you again, then lowering himself to one knee regally, he took your hand in one of his- the other behind his back. Red eyes peered up at you, shinning in the dim starlight from under his dark lashes, “my beautiful lady, it would be an honor for you to join this undeserving man in a dance.”

Smiling at what seemed like an over-exaggerated display for something so simple, you laughed to yourself; as if you’d say no. “I would love to,” then after placing a kiss to your hand, he joined you standing again. “What was all that formality about?” You asked with a laugh as he placed a hand at your lower back, and he began to slowly sway with you.

“There are many nuances of my people that many will never know,” Thrawn said, almost regrettably, but then he smiled warmly at you as his hand caressed your cheek, “perhaps I will get the opportunity with you to express some of the more intimate practices we Chiss have, with our loved one.”

Your eyes softened at him, the dreamy gaze nearly choking the Grand Admiral up. He was so enamored by you, so often, that he’d almost forgotten who he was when lost in your eyes. “I would love to experience whatever you’re willing to show me, Thrawn.” Your voice was as soft as your eyes and he couldn’t help the growing smile as you continued to sway to the gentle music.

“The Chiss have a few very important rituals we follow for our special relationships, such as a married couple or a courting couple, as you and I are currently.” Thrawn explained as the hand on your back pressed further into the curve above your bottom, closing any gaps there any have been between the two of you.

Curiosity piqued, you laid your head against his shoulder, nose nuzzled perfectly against where his should and neck meet. “Tell me then, what am I to expect from you as my lover and confidant, Thrawn?” You truly were interested in these ‘courting rituals’ he had mentioned, but your mind was more focused on how perfect the moment was currently.

The way he held you, one arm holding your waist, rest just above your bottom, while the other now stroked your hair- almost subconsciously. Thrawn had rested his head atop yours now, snuggling you into him more. One of your hands tucked between your bodies, resting against his strong chest. The other migrating between resting on his shoulder and playing with the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. He smelled of fresh pine, assuredly from the shower he’d just taken, and his blue skin was perfectly warm.

It was just what you’d wanted. Just what you’d been dreaming about all week.

“Perhaps it shall remain my secret, until I am prepared to surprise you.” There was an obvious smile to his tone, as he was being mischievous now. You felt his chest tumble slightly with a small laugh as you hugged at his reply. “Come now, my love, you are not in favor of me revealing when I propose my idea of marriage to you, are you?” This time he had leaned away from you slightly to make eye contact, a playful grin on his handsome face.

Your eyes widened, he wasn’t joking about the marriage proposal though. He truly meant it… “o-of course not,” you choked out in surprise to his candid words. While you were certain he meant what he said, you couldn’t help but ask, “do you really mean to marry me?” Disbelief evident in your tone.

Caressing your cheek once more, his smile turned warmer, “would you agree if I were to ask for your hand?” His question came out causally, as if he knew the answer but wanted to hear your confirmation.

“Absolutely, yes,” you felt as if you couldn’t agree enough, “of course, Thrawn, I-“ then you paused momentarily, because you realized neither of you had said anything about it but then decided to be the first. “I love you.”

A sudden fire burned brightly behind Thrawn’s eyes and he surged forward, halting your lazy sway to kiss you. The fire that you’d seen just moments before in his eyes had traveled to his lips as his mouth ravished yours desperately. Your head was held protectively in place by his guiding hand tangled in your hair. The ever present fire now filling your lungs as Thrawn refused to let go, surprising you.

As soon as you felt like you couldn’t take anymore, Thrawn released your lips from his, almost regrettably. Just far enough away to open his eyes to meet yours, he whispered “and I am madly taken by you, (y/n).” Another quick kiss to your lips and he returned you to your earlier position of your head against his shoulder.

The slow and lazy sway of your bodies in the starlight, guided by the quiet music behind you making it all seem like the dream you’d been waiting for all week.

“Then I shall marry you in due time, my treasure.” Thrawn’s voice so soft it nearly escaped you, but you’d heard the deep sincerity behind the whisper.

You were wrong to be upset about not sharing a dance with him on Coruscant….this was far better than that. A far, far better memory.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XIII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere /

Lucien was glad that the night was finally over. 

The celebration had been too long, his emotions too forced, for it to have been enjoyable. 

The musicians had stopped playing, the courtiers had stopped dancing, and Elain was once again at his side. 

Lucien could feel Elain’s exhaustion mixing with his as she held onto his arm. Her grip was firm, perhaps a bit possessive, just the smallest suggestion of ownership as they walked towards the thick oak doors leading into the near empty corridor. 

Lucien had let his father know that he and Elain would be returning to their suite. He had made sure to tell the High Lord that they were both beyond grateful for such a warm reception and that they were looking forward to their fast-approaching wedding ceremony. 

Lucien had been lying through his teeth, the expression on Beron’s face suggested that he knew, the frown gracing his features had looked sincere as he had waved a hand lazily in dismissal. 

Other than the one interaction with his father, Lucien had managed to avoid his family for most of the night. He had not yet spoken to his mother, had not been able to catch her at a moment when she was alone, and he was careful to stay close to Eris so that Callum, Ronan, and Felix would resort to keeping their distance. 

Silent and watchful, Eris had remained by the dance floor’s edge for most of the night. Even in Lucien’s earliest memories, Eris had always asked very few of the court’s ladies to join him at such events, males were quick to shift out of his way as he walked by, and hardly anyone ever approached him first. 

Lucien had discovered as a child that if kept close to his eldest brother, everyone left him well enough alone. It had still come as a surprise when the same seemed to be true after all the time that had passed, that all the aristocrats still steered clear of their prince. 

In any case, Lucien was glad that staying close to Eris meant that most of the court was inclined to avoid Elain as well.  

No one had come to her, not when she was near the High Lord’s heir. Eris and Cora had remained by her side as Lucien had danced for a few more songs. Most of the females had been too young for him to recognise, although it had not stopped them from looking up at him through their lashes and blushing at his every word. In Autumn, it was always difficult for Lucien to tell which of them were actually charmed by him, or merely liked the idea of being near royalty.

Lethe had seen fit to join him for one of the more romantic dances, had practically bared her teeth at another young lady in warning as she saw her approaching. Lucien had not been able to stop the laugh that fell from his lips at the familiarity of Lethe’s behaviour. 

Like a bird of prey, as though she had heard the sound of his joy over the instruments, Elain had turned her head to glare at the back of Lethe’s head as Lucien had pulled the other female towards him.  

The weight of Elain’s slight annoyance as Lucien had twirled Lethe would be enough to get others talking about them, Lucien thought. Convincingly jealous, there was not a single doubt in his mind that the court had believed them. 

As Lucien and Elain continued to walk steadily towards the doors, he could see the same emotion in the eyes of every noble they passed. 

Mates and in love. 

Perhaps Elain did not understand the significance of such a thing, and he could not even blame her. To the fae, though, a mate was very nearly impossible to find, a treasure so rare, when you were only ever gifted with one. 

As he and Elain left the ballroom and the doors began to close behind them, Lucien had to hide his shock as he felt Elain rest her head against him. It was such a perfect final touch to their act, done just as the heavy doors slammed shut, offering those watching the smallest glimpse of affection. 

Lucien nearly scowled as they passed the guards, tired of the dangerous game he and Elain were playing. He placed his hand to the small of Elain’s back, all the warning she would get, as he winnowed both himself and his mate to their shared suite. 

The flames in the fireplace were dim, the torches had not yet been lit, and the only light in the space filtered in from the arched windows, moonbright. 

As if Lucien’s touch burned her, Elain let go of his arm suddenly. She instead gripped her emerald skirts tightly, knuckles pale, forcing distance between them. 

“That was…” She shook her head, Lucien watching as loose curls bounced around her shoulders. “That was humiliating,” she finished, embarrassment bringing a scarlet blush to her cheeks. 

Briefly, Lucien wondered what it was in particular that might have made her feel such a strong and negative emotion. “You’re a good actress,” he offered, hoping that none of his own annoyance at the night’s events leaked into his tone. “I’m very impressed.” 

Elain moved towards the vanity, pulling pins from her hair in a way that seemed to be painful. She tossed a few onto the wooden counter, and Lucien tracked each of her movements. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself,” she said over her shoulder. 

Lucien scoffed as he slowly undid the golden buttons along the front of his jacket. “So glad it came across that way.” 

Elain hummed as she took the comb carefully from her hair. She kept the accessory in her hand and traced some of the pearls on it so as not to look at him, Lucien guessed. “Especially when you danced with Lady Lethe,” the title rolled off her tongue mockingly. 

Lucien raised his brows at her, although she still did not meet his gaze. It was with great effort that he did not joke about the statement with her, still treading carefully with his words in regards to Elain. Instead he took his jacket off and left it on the foot of the bed. “I’ve known Lethe all my life, I suppose I did enjoy dancing with her.” With a shrug, he directed a question at Elain. “Does it matter?” 

Elain did not turn around as she ran her hand over her face. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

Lucien was surprised at the small spark of hurt that flared to life in his chest. “You really shouldn’t have,” he agreed, despite it. “Eris was wrong to ask this of you, and Feyre–” 

“I chose to come,” Elain snapped, whirling around to place the full weight of her heavy gaze on him. “But to marry you? I didn’t think...” Lucien watched as she paused to collect her thoughts, as she waved her hand in his direction, the weapon disguised as a comb flashing in the dark as she held it between her fingers. “I don’t think I can marry you.” 

Lucien looked at the panic evident all over her face, at the way her chest rose and fell as she took shallow breaths. He couldn’t help the short laugh that spilled from his lips at seeing Elain so dishevelled. 

“I’m being serious,” she hissed, taking a step towards him. 

Lucien raised his hands in surrender. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, still smiling despite his effort to remain expressionless. “I was under the impression we’d both accepted the fact that we’d be married in less than a fortnight.”  

Elain’s lips raised slightly at the corner, her eyes a bit brighter, before she took a deep breath. Lucien felt some of her nerves ease, watched as her shoulders lowered in relief. “Lucien, what are we going to do?” 

Lucien undid the laces at his throat, noticing the way Elain’s eyes flicked to his exposed skin. “We should go to sleep.” At his words, Elain turned her attention back to the pins in her hair. “We’ve had a long couple of days, we can figure out what we want to do in the morning.” 

Elain nodded in agreement, seemingly content. “Alright.” She lifted her skirts, moving towards the bathroom for some privacy.  

“I think you should take the bed, though.” Lucien spoke even though her back was to him. He felt her unease at the suggestion. He wondered about the feeling, but decided to ask her at another time. 

“No, no, I don’t mind the armchair.” Elain faced him, lovely as ever. “We’ll talk in the morning?” 

Lucien figured a conversation between them was long overdue. He simply nodded, his heart skipping a beat as Elain flashed him a small but genuine smile. 

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

"The Vanity Of Virtues" A CQL (Xue Yang x Fem! OC) Fanfic: Part 1

Lan Qiān Qiān had run away from her problems. Or, at least she had thought that was the case when she snuck out of Gusu and abandoned the Lan Clan and its many strict rules. 'No one will look for me. No one will miss me, anyway.' She thought, the sadness of failure settling into her bones as she wandered the streets of a town in the lush mountains to the south of Gusu. It was lightly raining, and the people in the market place hurried their transactions so they could return home before dusk. It became apparent that Lan Qiān Qiān was being followed. Her keen ears had been trained to recognize this, and she subtly dropped her hand to her side so it hung loosely next to her sword (which she called "Misfortune").

She turned around suddenly, coming face to face with a richly dressed young man, who she had seen a lot around that town. "You're following me. Why?"

"Is a man of my stature not supposed to take interest in such a beautiful girl?" The man spoke confidently.

Qiān Qiān scoffed. 'The audacity of this man. Its his first time speaking to me and he says this?' She frowned. "Your flattery falls on deaf ears. I'm not interested in aristocrats who follow around girls without dignity." Lan Qiān Qiān said sternly. It felt refreshing being able to speak her mind now that she had left the Lan Clan.

The man advanced. "Maybe I can teach you to appreciate me through other means. Would that interest you?" The man spat.

Qiān Qiān shivered, becoming aware that the other merchants and customers in the outdoor market had gone inside. It was just her and this ugly rich asshole who didn't look like he'd take no for an answer. She gripped her sword, and yet the man didn't seem at all threatened by this gesture. "Don't come any closer!" Qiān Qiān unsheathed her sword.

The man laughed, and approached her anyway. He went to bat the handle of the sword away with one of his hands, using the other to stroke her face.

'That's it.' Lan Qiān Qiān thought, boiling with anger. Faster than her racing heart, she spun away, and slashed the sword across the mans legs, so his knees buckled and he shouted in agonizing pain, collapsing on the ground. Her rage still filled her every breath, as flashbacks filled her head to when she was a child. How she had hated being beautiful, the way her wishes were disregarded. The way men had approached her... She slashed her sword again, this time completely slitting the mans neck. Blood spirted out and stained her blue Lan Clan robes, and she spat at him with distain. The town's guards came into view, marching around the corner. Realizing her situation, Lan Qiān Qiān made a run for it, tears welling up in her eyes as she used her cultivator skills that she had learned to set up a small temporary invisible barrier that halted the guards and delayed their pursuit.

She sprinted to the stables and climbed on a horse, spurring it forward and out of the town's back gate. She knew the energy barrier she had created would only last a few minutes longer. As she rode the horse into the darkness of the mountains, she wondered why she didn't feel guilt of any sort. Qiān Qiān had always assumed that if she were to let her temper get the best of her, the first person she'd kill would leave her riddled with regret. Instead, she felt something different. Almost... satisfying. She shook her head. It was wrong. It must be wrong, to feel this way.

Hours passed and the horse Lan Qiān Qiān chose was getting tired. She kept an eye out for another town, but instead only found a cave that appeared to be some sort of makeshift shelter. Wood boards patched up holes in the ceiling as she entered, but there was no sign of anyone . A hole in the ground served as a fire pit that had gone out many days ago. She hitched the horse to sharp rock, exhausted from the travel. Slowly but surely, Lan Qiān Qiān drifted off to sleep to the sound of water dripping into a puddle of the cave's floor.

The sun peaked through the cracks and opening of the cave, and Qiān Qiān's eyes fluttered open. She bolter upright, seeing someone sitting across from her, staring at her intently. She unsheathed her sword, but immediately after took note of this man's appearance. "You're injured!" She gasped, seeing the long gash in his midriff that he was clutching. His clothes were soaked in blood, but his dark eyes were shining with amusement.

"You're a long way from Gusu," He observed, glancing up at her headband.

"Aren't you in pain?" Qiān Qiān stuttered, flustered by the devious way he was grinning. This man was staining the floor with blood yet seemed un- phased by it. In fact, he was more interested in small talk.

"A little, maybe." He shrugged.

Qiān Qiān shook her head, starting to panic over his injury. He may be a stranger, but he didn't seem like he would do much in his current state. She took off the outer layer of her robes, tearing off a shred and advancing towards him.

"Mmm. Not so fast, sweetheart." The handsome man backed away gripping a knife with his other (partially gloved) hand. "I'll need a name before I let you closer."

She sighed. "Fine. My name is Lan Qiān Qiān. I'm only telling you that because I highly doubt you'd be the sort to go running to Gusu telling Lan Xichen of my crimes."

"Well then, you can come closer. I'm Xue Yang." He said in an alarmingly charismatic tone, taking in her appearance with more interest. He set aside the knife, and beckoned Qiān Qiān to come closer. She cautiously took a seat by his side, gently tying the long shred of her robe around his waist. She felt very aware of the her proximity to this "Xue Yang".

"This should stop the bleeding for now." She said, tightening the cloth until it was just right.

"Qiān Qiān. Your name suits you." He said, suddenly gripping her arm. "That's enough tightening. Its fine now." Xue Yang winced.

She sat back down, carefully leaning against the wall next to him. "The blood on your clothes," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "Its not all your blood, is it?"

Xue Yang laughed lightly. "Of course not. I'd be embarrassed if it was." He turned towards Qiān Qiān. "You said you committed crimes. I love a good confession. If you tell me who you killed, I'll tell you about my latest murders."

Lan Qiān Qiān's eyes widened, and she whipped her head towards him with shock. "You can't just say stuff like that!"

"Why not?" Xue Yang asked, genuinely curious. "You know I'm not wrong. I can tell a killer when I see one."

"You say that with pride. Don't you feel remorse?" She whispered, planting her face in her hands with distress. Mixed feelings coursed through her like lightning.

"No. Do you feel remorse?" Xue Yang asked.

Lan Qiān Qiān paused for a long time, face still in her hands. "I.... guess I don't.... either."

She felt Xue Yang's hand placed lightly on her shoulder. "Thats what I like to hear."

She looked up at him, and almost immediately blushed. Just the way he looked at her made her feel guilty. Absolutely sinful. And her thoughts... well, they were far from pure.

Thanks so much for reading Part One!!! Like, comment, and reblog if you want a sooner part two!

[tenebraevesper]

Analyzer - Félix & Emotion, Part 1 (Miraculous Ladybug)

So, now that Season 5 of Miraculous Ladybug has finally ended (and left us with an abysmal conclusion), I’m here to deliver my thoughts on how Félix was handled this Season. I have heard all kinds of reactions and opinions, but I’m here to present you my unfiltered thoughts in regards to him and his actions.

But, before I start, I’ll preface this with saying that I’ll be splitting this analyzer into three parts: Pre-Emotion, Emotion & Post-Emotion, mainly because of the shift that happened in that very episode.

So, let’s start the party!

Last we left off, I talked about Félix in Season 4 and basically praising him for being an unapologetic gremlin who causes chaos anytime he appears. Given how I felt nothing for the heroes in the Season 4 Finale, I frankly couldn’t care less about Félix’s “betrayal”. The only thing that annoyed me were the idiots who clowned on Maribug for somehow not having the ability of mind reading and realizing Félix was cosplaying as Adrien.

We’re starting off with Episode 2: Multiplication. There isn’t much to say, aside from the fact that Maribug has figured out that Flairmidable was Félix, while Adrichat was stewing in his own jealousy over Maribug having a team of heroes to help her to figure that one out. Not to mention, even after Adrichat mentions how Félix and Monarch might be connected, he completely forgets not only that Félix was interested in sticking around at the Agreste mansion, but that he found a spy glass which should’ve hinted that Félix was investigating something or someone - namely Gabriel. Great start!

So, here’s where we learn a bit more about Félix,... and why does he have a Wikipedia page? Also, I thought his surname was Graham de Vanily, but it appears he has retained his father’s surname rather than taking his mother’s.

Anyways, we find out that Félix is the son of the American billionaire Colt Fathom, who died the previous year, and his mother, Amelie, is actually the aristocrat Lady Graham de Vanily. He’s also a triple kung fu and horse riding medalist, chess prodigy and England’s youngest graduate. He’s also the only one who has any braincells in this show.

Skipping over the boring stuff, we learn that Amelie had been covering up for Félix, pretending that her son was not at home so Maribug and Adrichat wouldn’t search for him.

Behold, the only parent in the Rich Kids Club who actually cares about her child. Gabriel, Tomoe, André and Audrey could never!

We can already tell from the scene that Félix is up to something, with Duusu wondering if he’s her new holder and Félix responding with: “I’m much more than that, Duusu.” This is what we like to call “foreshadowing”.

Skipping ahead to Episode 18: Emotion, we finally learn what Félix’s plan is. To quote Red: “It’s murder. The plan is murder.” Ooops!

The episode itself starts off with an Adrinette scene and I’m gonna skip over this, because honestly, I couldn’t care less about the Love Square since it feels more forced than 8-year-old me mashing a Barbie and Ken doll against each other while shouting “Now, kiss!’’

Anyways, we see Félix, once again cosplaying as Adrien as the Diamond Dance and spotting a ring on Kagami’s hand.

Don’t worry, I’ll get to that. First of all, how do I know this is Félix and not Adrien? Because there is no way Mr. Oblivious himself would have such reaction to a ring on Kagami’s hand. Second, where the hell is Adrien even? I sincerely doubt he agreed to Félix’s idea of pulling another switcheroo. Did Félix kidnap him or something?

Anyways, Félix has a sudden realization about Kagami that I will address a moment later, while Kagami just glares at him. The tension is then broken up when Amelie barges into the building, yelling at Gabriel about how Félix is still missing.

Amelie Graham de Vanily: (struggles to make her way in through the guards) Gabriel! My son Félix has been missing for weeks now! (storms towards them) Not only have you and your friends been no help with the search! But now I'm not even invited to the ball?! You haven't been the same since my sister Emilie disappeared! Why are you rejecting us?

Parent of the year! No, seriously, even if she’s only acting, her giving a verbal smackdown to Gabriel is always pleasing to hear. Hell, she even questions Nathalie why the hell she’s still working for Gabriel despite his obvious cruelty.

Anyways, moving on to the actual Diamond Dance, which really is just a party for snobby rich kids (as established by Chloé, who has been really done dirty this season, turning her into a caricature of herself, because Astruc apparently can’t stand the thought of people being fond of her). 

We spot Félix and Kagami talking to each other, with Kagami still believing that the person next to her is Adrien. I have to say, while probably a bit awkward, I do like the interaction between them, especially how Kagami calls Félix more assertive and braver, and being willing not to go between “Adrien” and Marinette, because Marinette is her friend. Wait, wasn’t she gunning for Adrien in Season 3 regardless of the fact that Marinette is her friend?

Eh, who cares, because the writers certainly don’t.

Félix doesn’t care either, as he’s here to just play his role as Adrien, at least until the right opportunity. Kagami continues telling him how they don’t have to play as the puppets for their parents, and Félix counters with their parents still be the ones controlling them. Kagami replies that she, being a descendant of Samurai women, obeys orders because she wants to, which makes me wonder whether any of the writers ever did research on samurai. They didn’t obey orders because they wanted to, it was because they had to, even if it caused the samurai or their family to suffer. In fact, the word “samurai” means “one who serves”. Yeah, the implications are a huge “yikes” given what is revealed in this episode.

Félix, ever the charmer, dares her to leave the party, leaving a protesting Kagami stunned when he tells her that he can do that. Once again, pure cunning and gremlin attitude coming from him. Not to mention, Kagami is visibly excited about the idea of just getting away.

So, if all that’s needed for her to fall for a guy is for the guy in question to be rebellious, I’m seriously wondering why the hell she ever fell for Adrien, who has the spine of a wet noodle? I suppose she thought he was similar to her, a lonely rich kid who dreamed of freedom and would grow a spine and escape the expectations Gabriel put on him. That, or it’s because the writers said so.

Anyways, Kagami changes her mind, with Félix being disappointed.

Félix!Adrien: See? You're not as free as you claim. Don't you think we should be able to decide our future?

Keep in mind that conversation about freedom. It’s kinda fascinating.

So, before they can open up the ball with a dance, Marinette runs towards Félix, rambling about how “Adrien” could’ve told her how he went to the dance even tho he didn’t want to go to it... and seriously, couldn’t you send him a text message or call him to tell him that? Because you know what this is? This is more unnecessary drama to make fun of Marinette being “oh, so in love with her boyfriend” because no one in this show knows how to write actual romance unless it’s accidental. Honestly, what is with the writers’ obsession to clown on her every damn episode?

It did serve a purpose to Félix’s story, though. After all, Félix only knows Marinette as that one girl who sent Adrien a love confession on the anniversary of his mother’s disappearance/death/whatever. Now, he saw a girl who was willing to break into a high society party to tell her “boyfriend” she loves him. That’s some crazy dedication. After a little nod from Kagami, he starts dancing with her.

It gets even more interesting with this piece of dialogue:

Félix!Adrien: All eyes are on you.

Marinette: They're looking at me like I'm a monster.

(Adrien's face turns sour.)

Félix!Adrien: Look closer, Marinette. (stops dancing, and whispers in her ear) They're the monsters.

Honestly, this is leading to some really interesting characterization in regards to Félix, but I’ll get to that in a moment. Marinette figures out this guy isn’t Adrien, with Félix giving her a devious smirk.

I just love this little gremlin. Félix then proceeds to transform...

...in front of everyone? Has he not learned that, if your identity is revealed, your Miraculous will be taken away? Unless you’re one of Marinette’s classmates and not named Chloé, because screw Chloé.

I gotta say, the transformation is quite short, if snappy. Furthermore, Argos outfit is miles above Flairmidable. I suppose Félix spent the previous 16 episodes coming up with an outfit for his big reveal.

Now, here’s where I have to clown on Marinette. This girl sees Félix using the Peacock Miraculous to transform into Argos, a Miraculous she knows was last held by Mayura and then Shadow Moth. She also knows that Félix was the one who either gave the other Miraculous to Monarch or had them taken away. Yet, she still doesn’t put two and two together and ask Félix about what he knows about Monarch. Admittedly, she may have more pressing matters to deal with, given how Argos reveals the solution to all of his problems.

It’s murder. The solution is murder.

Long story short, Argos creates a Sentimonster named Red Moon and then uses it to Thanos-snap everyone he doesn’t care about out of existence - including Gabriel!

Argos: Good evening, uncle! You can call me Argos now. Gabriel: How dare you! I will never allow you to— Argos: Oh, I think you will, uncle! It's time for someone to finally put an end to your endless 'trying to control people'. Adrien, my mother, me; turn us into whatever you want us to be! I'm freeing us from you! (Argos snaps his fingers and Gabriel disappears into thin air.)

Wooo, end the episode right there! That bastard Gabriel is finally dead! Félix/Argos saved the day! Let’s break out the good stuff and party!

Yeah, considering how this wasn’t the finale of Miraculous Ladybug (too bad), it’s obvious Gabriel will be brought back, but let me enjoy the moment.

Anyways, I’ll end Part 1 of the Analyzer at this moment, and discuss instead Félix’s character up to now. In Season 3, we saw him being very reserved, showing disdain for Adrien and his friends, and willing to go so far to sabotage him. Season 4 showed more of Félix’s cunning side, as he was the only one to figure out that Gabriel is Hawk Moth/Shadow Moth, being willing to confront him even though Gabriel threatened his life. Not only that, but he also achieved his goal of taking possession of the Peacock Miraculous, fooling the heroes and making a fool of Gabriel.

It is established that Félix is a very morally grey character. He’s observant and self-serving, looking out mainly for his own safety, with there only being a few people he genuinely cares about, like his mother and Adrien. As shown in Season 5, he clearly cannot stand the people around him, save for Kagami and Marinette, calling everyone else monsters and desiring to be freedom, not only for himself, but for others as well, and even resorting to make everyone vanish to achieve that.

I know people consider Félix a villain, but I don’t think he can be called one. The title of Anti-Hero actually fits his character more. He’s selfish, having put the safety of Paris in danger by giving Gabriel all of the Miraculous, but here he just snaps him out of existence, ending the reign of Monarch once and for all, and Gabriel cannot do anything about it. Technically, he saved Paris, and he did it because he had enough of Gabriel being a controlling bastard.

Félix continues being awesome in his own way, and while the rest of the episode explorers who he is as a person, I’m afraid that his is the peak of his awesomeness.

Links:

#Analyzer - Félix & Emotion, Part 2 (Miraculous Ladybug)

#Up Ladybug (Masterlist)

[dyrewrites]

Find the Word Tag

Wherein @aziz-reads comes after me, specifically, with these word choices...

I'm tagging @rmgrey-author @illarian-rambling and @writingrosesonneptune

Your words are: Curl, Tap, Fall and Whisper

My words are: Yearn, Few, Tense, and Bounce

Yearn (tw: reference of child trafficking)

She laughed, at him, at me, but Lucient removed his mask and smiled. Wide and sharp he smiled at me before turning on her and, as I left the room, I was treated to the sounds of her screams. Now, I understand that those reading this tale might wish to know just how she died. After all I shared of her you may yearn for all the gory details. And that is a fair want, for who in that situation was the monster; the one renting a child out to horny aristocrats, or the one come to bite out her throat for it? But I didn’t see her death, and so I cannot relay it. Her life, deserving as it was, did not meet with my teeth that night. Her last breath was Lucient’s to take and, while I can say now that all the rest were his too, in the aftermath of those memories...it felt shared. I yearned to see each and every face that tormented him bloodied and screaming. I hungered for the taste of their life, their ragged, choking breaths dying on my tongue.

Few

“You certain, sogno mio?” the words earned another swoon before I could finish, and all my concern for why he was in that tub in the first place melted as I did, “I took so much...you could use a bite back.” “Mm, after,” he leaned forward, as much as the small tub allowed, welcoming the sponge I set on him and sighed at its touch, “we have a few days voyage still and I would test this new heat of yours as often as I am able before we arrive...” And while that definitely appealed, I wondered, “If all we consume is blood, and we can feed from one another—” “We can’t,” he cut, “not for long, or we will grow ill and become stiff as the corpses we are often compared to.”

Tense

So it is I you worry of? No eyes bothered us, none followed our closeness—and he held me so very close—but I noticed theirs. Men and women were partnered and attached to whomever they pleased, giggling loud and proud, there were even groups so closely entwined there could be no guess as to their intentions or relationship. The freedom of it sang to me, in a heady rhythm through the throng of them, and I couldn’t help the smile or the arm I wrapped around my own partner. He gasped at my tighter hold but leaned into it and I hated the cat face he wore for depriving me of his smile. Yes, treasure, he continued, you are in danger so long as we’re here. But we cannot die, I reminded with playful hope of a laugh, or some ease in his tense muscles. I earned a chuckle, tight and short, there are worse things. Just keep close and try not to talk to anyone without me near.

->under the cut is bloody and naughty, you have been warned<-

Bounce

With my gasped plea he swooned, squeezing his legs tighter around me, aiding the drop of his hips. And I met him in it, in the rougher, harder rhythm he took, rising to do it again and again, our moans shared as he offered his neck, “Take it, take me and be mine.” I needed no explanation for what he meant, no guidance, my lips worked without it. My teeth, sharpened then, longer than any man’s should be, sunk so easily into his skin, into the veins beneath. And that salt-sweet blood bubbled through tooth and gum and flooded my mouth, coating my tongue. Salacious the drip of it down my throat, the squirm of it through my veins that I moaned with more than the rhythm of his bounce, more than his nails in my shoulder, I ached and all but screamed into his neck with what filled me. “Yes,” He moaned through my draw of him, through my rougher thrusts into him as I gripped his back and the back of his head, aching to force more of him into me—more of me into him. “That’s it, treasure,” he whispered, voice weak, “take all of me…”