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barbieaemond · 5 months

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

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thelov3lybookworm · 1 month

Note

Lucien who now lives full time in the Day Court knowing the truth (think white robes and cold crown and makeup omg) and who has been in love with IC reader since getting to know her while he was there.

She's now visiting on some Night Court business (research, negotiation, etc.), and he's decided to put on his full Lucien teasing charm to woo her.

Sunlight in a Bowl.

Summary: Did he just... no. Of course not.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: I didnt realise how much i loved this idea until i wrote it 😭 thank you soo much my darling anon for sending in this request, i had soo much fun writing it lol, it was like it took no effort, came to me soo easy 🥹

also, posting this an hour early for funsies 🤭

i promised no angst so theres no angst @milswrites

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The day court was beautiful.

That was all Y/n could think of as a sentry led her towards Helion's private receiving chambers, all other adjectives having flown out of her head the moment Azriel had dropped her on the border of Day court, from where she'd winnowed herself to the palace.

The white houses, the red and gold roofs, the sunlight shining from above and reflecting from pools of water and the Palace right in the center of it all, the colourful market in the town square...

It was safe to say Y/n was ready to move to Day court, already having forgotten that she was here on a mission from Rhysand.

She was ready, bags packed, no questions asked.

So busy was she gaping at the beautiful architecture of the palace, the artwork reigning her in like some trick of hypnotism, she didn't realise the sentry had come to a stop outside two large oak doors.

Unfortunately, that meant she smacked right into his back before she realised.

Her cheeks blazing, Y/n stumbled back as she glanced up at the male, who had an amused smile on his face.

"I merely stumbled. My dress is a little long."

He nodded. "Never said you did not stumble. I believe it must be hard to walk around in your too long knee length dress."

Blood rushed into Y/n's ears as she looked down at the dress that... only reached her knees, realising he was right.

Fuck.

She cleared her throat, standing at attention, avoiding his eyes.

From her peripherals, she could see him grinning as he knocked on the door, waiting until a voice called out to let them in.

The male opened the door, holding it open for Y/n. She hurried in, resisting the urge to just die as he closed the door behind her.

So much for making a good first impression.

Y/n shook her head, trying to dislodge the lump now forming in her throat at the upcoming conversation.

Being an introvert and shy was a hard job, one Y/n was very good at.

But being introverted and shy while being an emissary? Now that was the job of someone that Y/n would consider god.

And exactly why Y/n had been so against the idea of her becoming an emissary when Rhysand suggested it, knowing she would rather live a life alone in the middle of nowhere and probably become the next Weaver than become an emissary.

Alas, she was the only researcher Rhysand had at his disposal, so now she had been sent to read through as many libraries and books in day court as possible to aid in Feyre's second pregnancy.

It hadn't been confirmed yet whether the babe was winged, but Rhysand and the inner circle thought it best to start researching in advance just in case the babe did have wings and to prevent the second pregnancy ending up the same way the first did, and this time with no one to save them.

"Y/n! Always a pleasure to see you!" Y/n met the warm honey eyes that belonged to Helion, a smile spreading on her face unprompted.

"Helion." She greeted, walking forward and directly into his open and inviting arms, squeezing him back when he wrapped his arms around her.

"I hope the journey was not too hard?"

Y/n laughed, pulling away. "All I had to do was winnow, Helion, why would it be hard?"

Helion grinned, then turned to glance at something behind him.

With horror, Y/n realised that it was not something, it was someone.

Her panicked eyes shot to Helion, remembering that Rhys said Y/n wouldn't have to interact with anyone other than the day court high lord.

"Ah Y/n, meet my son, Lucien. Though I'm sure you've met before."

Y/n swallowed, then let her eyes wander to Lucien. Which, definitely not a good idea, considering Y/n was suddenly drooling and looking away like he had burned her eyes.

She had only looked at him for a moment, but that moment was enough for Y/n to have taken note of how ravishing he looked.

Ravishing?!? Get a grip Y/n.

Y/n attempted to calm her racing heartbeat by taking deep breaths, trying not to think of all the golden skin on display that was not covered by the white robe, the gold crown adorning the head of fiery red.

Trying especially hard not to think about the way his skin glowed with happiness and the beautiful, flirtatious smile adorning those plush, soft lips.

"We- we have met before."

"That's amazing! So if introductions are not needed, I'll take my leave."

Y/n knew her eyes were bulging out of her head at this point, but she did not really care as she gaped at Helion's retreating back. She continued to stare until he reached the doors, then turned to wink at her like he was in on a secret she was not.

Bastard.

Y/n, not knowing what to do, glanced at Lucien, who, in the perfect son-of-bastard way, sent her a cocky grin.

Y/n glared at him at that, pretending like the blush on her face was because of anger and not because she was shy.

"I don't know if Rhys informed you, but I will be helping you out today with the research."

Y/n's eyes widened, staring at him like he'd claimed to have met the Mother herself.

Which, Y/n would have been less surprised to hear, but that was the talk for another day.

"I- no one told me."

Lucien shrugged, that infuriating smile still on his face. "It came up last moment when my father had to leave to handle some important matters."

Y/n nodded sadly, mentally encouraging herself that she could do this.

With a sigh, she gestured at him. "Lead the way."

•○🌑○•

"Are you hungry yet?"

Y/n reigned in her sigh of exasperation.

For the past hour, Lucien had been hovering around Y/n, bothering her with stupid questions and trying to get her to go somewhere else. Where, Y/n could not for the life of her figure out.

She glanced up at him, finding his arms crossed over his chest, a careless grin on his face as he leaned against the desk she sat at.

She also noticed how he stood a little too close to just be acting like a caring host, but she ignored it, just like she ignored the bulging, mouth watering muscles in his arms.

"I am sorry Lucien, but my stomach does not consider me worthy of food at the moment. I will let you know once it decides I deserve to eat."

He laughed at that, his head thrown back, his chest vibrating with how genuine the sound was.

Y/n's eyes dropped to the strong column of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he glanced back down to her, grinning. Y/n noticed the dimple that made an appearance in his cheeks, but she pretended she was still mad at his constant nagging and turned back to the thick bound tomes she had open in front of her.

Y/n got a moment of reprieve before he drew her attention again.

But this time he did not ask her if she was hungry or if she was thirsty.

No, he pushed off from the table, and Y/n watched him from the corner of her eyes as he walked to the back of her chair.

She was curious, of course she was, but also glad that he would let her do her studies.

Also sad that he was leaving, but no one needed to know that.

But suddenly, two arms were caging her in against the table, and Y/n startled at the sudden heat of being caged against the wood by someone who quite literally had the heat of autumn court fire in his blood and the warmth of day court sun in his blood.

"What are you doing?!" Y/n yelped, trying to keep quiet in the library.

His breath tickled the hair at the side of her neck as he leaned in.

"I am just wanting to inquire when your stomach will deem you worthy of eating."

"Oh my god." Y/n mumbled, her blood tinting her face red. "Stop it Lucien!"

"Not until you tell me you will go out to eat with me. Tell me, will giving you the sun in a bowl convince you?"

Y/n only kept getting redder in the face, and to try to cover it up, she slapped her hands over her face.

He tsked. "That sounded like it hurt."

Y/n paused for a moment, then mumbled out- "It did."

He laughed again, and something about having him so close to her, so free and vulnerable did things to Y/n. She spread her fingers, peeking out to find his eyes closed, his teeth glinting softly in the sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows.

She stared at him, slowly letting her hands fall into her lap, not realising she was staring.

Or maybe not caring.

His laughter slowly died down, the sound still ringing softly in Y/n's ears until it faded away.

He met her eyes, happier than Y/n had ever seen, and gave her a soft smile.

"So?"

Y/n sighed, the sound so exaggerated she would have laughed any other time.

"Fine."

For good measure, Y/n rolled her eyes at him before she turned back to the dusty tomes sitting on the rich wood desk.

She could practically feel his grin as he dipped closer, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Y/n's eyes flew wide, turning to gape at him as he straightened.

"So, a bowl of sunlight. In the receiving room before sunset?"

Y/n choked out an okay.

The bastard had the audacity to wink at her as he turned and strutted away, his careless demeanour already enchanting Y/n's malfunctioning brain.

She watched his retreating back until she couldn't anymore, then straightened to stare at the words that now made no sense to Y/n because she was so busy trying not to think about the plans she now had for the evening.

Did he just...

Y/n blinked, glancing once to the archway he'd just disappeared into.

Did he just ask me out on a date?

Y/n shook her head.

No, it was just not possible.

Lucien? Asking Y/n out on date?

Y/n wanted to laugh at herself for even thinking that. Lucien would never...

Fuck.

Despite herself, Y/n began to smile, and hope.

What have I gotten myself into?

It was going to be hurting her brain to think so much about it, but she couldn't care less about it.

Still smiling, Y/n returned to her work, now trying to stop focusing on him and start doing the thing she was actually here for.

It's going to be a long day.

•○🌑○•

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175 @starsinyourseyes @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady @lilah-asteria

Lucien Vanserra Taglist: @mirandasidefics @fell-in-luvs @tele86

whore hive: @clairebear08 @readychilledwine @riddlesb1tch @berryzxx @thehighladywrites @artists-ally

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dessertgeek · 6 months

Text

The Twitter Mari Lwyd saga (2019 - part two)

Since people seem to be happy that I'm copying over the Mari Lwyd sagas, have another transcription! This is for the second round of 2019, between @seananmcguire and @kbspangler. Part one is here, the source to this round starts here.

(Seriously, these aren't mine, they're the property of @seananmcguire, @tkingfisher, + @kbspangler, I'm just transcribing so extra records exist. Support their works!)

That being said, if anyone can find the 2020 Twitter thread, can you send me a link so I can transcribe it (or transcribe it and link me)? It has been found! Thanks to @dor-min for finding the thread, it's going to take me a bit to transcribe.

CWs for food, alcohol, and caps.

K.B.: SO YOU SAY YOU WANT A BATTLE? YOU'RE BRINGING NAUGHT BUT PRATTLE TO THIS FESTIVE DAY WE DESIGNATE WITH LIGHTS AND FOOD TO CELEBRATE THE SOLSTICE, DEAR, WITH ME AND MINE AND YOU AND YOURS AND HIS AND HERS AND THEIRS AND OURS A BREAKING DAY A FRESH NEW YEAR WE CALL SPRING UP AGAIN

Seanan: WE'RE PAST THE LONGEST NIGHT AND I'M ITCHING FOR A FIGHT IF YOU'RE COLD, WE'RE COLD, SO LET US IN. WE HEARD YOUR LARDER'S STOCKED, SO GET READY TO GET ROCKED THIS TALE'S OFTEN TOLD WE ALWAYS WIN.

K.B.: YOU SAY YOU'LL FIGHT THIS GARDNER'S MIGHT?! THE GROUND IS COLD MY PLANTS ASLEEP I'VE GOT ENOUGH STRESS TO PUNCH A SHEEP I AM WIGGING TO GO DIGGING AND HERE YOU COME TO STEAL MY PLUMS?

Seanan: I DON'T WANT YOUR PLUMS THE MARI LWYD COMES TO SAMPLE YOUR CHEESE AND YOUR BOOZE. YOUR GARDEN IS SLEEPING SO WHY ARE YOU KEEPING A SENTRY POST YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE? COME WASSAIL WITH US. THERE'S NO NEED TO FUSS. THERE'S NO SHAME IN CHOOSING TO LOSE.

K.B.: I'M NOT YET CONVINCED A DEAD HORSE HAS ENVINCED THE SPIRIT OF THIS WINTER'S PAST CAN YOU SWEETEN THE DEAL WITH A CAROLING PEAL? THEN MY GARDEN WILL HAVE TO HOLD FAST

Seanan: WE ARE NOT RETREATIN' THIS HORSE WON'T BE BEATEN, IT A BATTLE OF HOOVES VERSUS HANDS. THE JINGLE OF BELLS IS A SOUND THAT FORETELLS OUR CONQUEST OF ALL OF THESE LANDS.

K.B.: THEN I GOTTA SAY NO SORRY, CAN'T GO YOU SEEM LIKE A NICE HORSE AND ALL BUT MY HOUSE IS QUITE HAUNTED AND I AM UNDAUNTED BY YET ONE MORE SPECTRAL ODDBALL

Seanan: IT'S NOT REALLY RESPECTFUL TO SAY THAT I'M SPECTRAL. I'M CORPOREAL AS A GIRL COMES. YOU CAN PURCHASE MORE CHEESE SO JUST GIVE ME THESE. DON'T FORCE ME TO BREAK OUT THE DRUMS.

K.B.: (My parents are about to arrive so)

FINE, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE BIRD, DOG, OR MARE ON THIS DAY WE'RE SUPPOSED TO EMPLOY THE LOVE OF THE SEASON SO HERE, HAVE SOME CHEESE IN PRECUT SIXTY-FOUR SLICES OF JOY

Seanan: DESPITE THIS GRAVE LOSS, YOU'RE A SHEPHERD TO MOSS, AND I AM A CHILD OF THE GRAVE. SO I'LL GO NOW IN PEACE, AND I WON'T BREAK YOUR LEASE, THOUGH YOU DIDN'T ASK ME TO BEHAVE.

K.B.:

[Alt ID: A small Black child in a crowd. The child takes off his black baseball cap as if to say "I tip my hat to you dear sir," which has RE2PECT embroidered on it in white thread.]

#Mari Lwyd #Seanan McGuire #K.B. Spangler #Twitter history and lore #Getting the meter right this round was neat #You both did such a great job weaving in your styles #I am so not transcribing another tomorrow though #These take a bit to confirm meter and that nothing is missing #But it is nice to have a non-Twitter copy in the world now #food #food cw #alcohol #Mari Lwyd Project

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cherrycola27 · 12 days

Text

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 20: Right Where You Left Me

welcome home

Your brother's words rang in your ears, catching you off guard.

Home

Olympus

You were restored

But you weren't home. Olympus hadn't been your home in a long time—if ever.

Home was Earth. Home was a house in Coronado with your husband.

Home was Bradley.

You stood there, staring at Poseidon for a long while before taking a deep breath. "Si, this isn't my home." You tell him softly. "What do you mean? You're a Goddess. Olympus is your home." He questions you.

"This place may have been my home once, but not anymore. Not after everything—" You trail off, but your brother nods, knowing what you mean. He was the only one who took your side when everything happened with Persephone.

"My home is Earth now, with my husband." You tell him. "Husband?" Poseidon asks you.

"Yes, a mortal, his name is Bradley. He's the reason I'm here. There was an accident. I sacrificed myself to save him." You say, not wanting to tell much more.

"Does he make you happy, sister?" Poseidon speaks softly. "Happier than I have ever been." You smile. "Wonderful. I am happy for you." He smiles at you.

There is a beat of silence. "Well then, I would love for you to stay around, but I'm sure you want to go back to him. Promise to visit some, or I can come see you." Poseidon smiles.

"That would be wonderful, Si." You smile at him before hugging him. He hugs you back tightly before allowing you to take a step back.

You roll your shoulders back and touch your wedding rings. "Take me to Bradley." You whisper, waiting to be whisked back to him. Instead, electricity floods your body, jolting you with pain. You cry out and collapse. Poseidon runs to your side. "Sister? Sister, are you alright?" His voice heavy with concern as he helps you to your feet.

"Something is wrong. I can't, I can't travel. I can't feel Bradley." You stammer out.

"Your husband, are you tethered?" Poseidon asks you. "Yes, I checked, see?" You say waving your hand over your wedding rings, but instead of finding the golden string that once lived there, you find it dull and lifeless. It's been cut.

"Zeus." Your brother breathes out before you can. "He had Hera and Aphroditie cut your tether. He must have forced them because they would never do it willingly." He says. "I've always known our brother was wicked, but this—this is just cruel." Poseidon breathes out.

Your lip quivers as you look at the limp string tied around your finger as tears silently fall. But soon, the sadness morphs to something else.

Rage burns inside of you. Anger fills your senses as the centuries of animosity that you've choked back explode from you in a burst of white-hot flames as you scream.

Poseidon jumps back as the flames of hatred wrap around you, turning your white dress black with smoke and ash.

"Where is he?" You growl lowly. "Court, Zeus, is hold court today in the palace." Your brother stutters out, simultaneously terrified and in awestruck by you.

You nodded before vanishing in a flash. Moments later, you were in the middle of a white marble hall. Columns stood tall on either side of you. Flaming torches of gold lined the walls, lighting the way. Ornate carvings dripping in gold, silver, and precious stones adorned the high ceilings.

Beautiful busts, paintings, tapestries, and statues decorated the hallway. You didn't take time to stop and marvel at them as you marched by, though.

You were on a mission. Each step you took had a purpose. You quickly found your way to the Great Hall. The solid gold doors were manned by two sentries who drew back the moment they saw you.

"Open." You commanded. They nodded before each grasping a handle and pulling the doors wide. You could hear your idiotic brother speaking as the doors opened, but the moment you appeared in the doorway, silence fell over the hall.

"Zeus!" You yelled out as you charged at him, feet pounding on the cool stone.

"You! You bastard!" You shrieked as you launched yourself at him. You saw terror briefly flash across his face before two strong pairs of arms subdued you. You struggled as you turned to see Ares and Apollo holding you firmly.

"Hades! Sister! Welcome home! I am so thankful you have been restored!" Zeus taunted you.

"Do not vex me with your passive-aggressive words, Brother. You and I both know you don't want me here." You seethe.

"Sister, why do you say that? I mean, after you were restored, I had Hermes lift the charm that prevented you from traveling to Olympus." Zeus smirked as you still struggled.

"Yes, and then you made sure to have him create a new one so I couldn't go back to Earth, and you forced Hera and Aphroditie to cut my tether to my husband, you bastard." You gritted out.

"Hades, darling baby sister, you must understand why I did it. You've spent so much time on Earth. I thought it would be best if you spent some time here, at home. And as for your tether, you and I both know you can't be with a mortal. It compromises your loyalty to your family." Zeus says as he pats your cheek.

You cry out as you heat your body so hot that Ares and Apollo release you as they wince in pain from you burning them.

Zeus stumbles backward and calls for someone else to restrain you, but you produce the Soul Sword and everyone backs away.

You turn and see that Zeus has he bolt in his hand, ready to throw it at you. You stalk towards him.

"Loyalty? That's what this is about? Loyalty and family? Zeus, you wouldn't know the meaning of those words if someone slapped you in the face with them." You say.

"Where was family when Persephone falsely accused me? Where was loyalty when you imprisoned me in the Underworld? You act like you are doing me a favor by letting me come to Olympus when you are the reason I was banished in the first place! You flaunt there on your high horse acting like you have changed by giving me 'freedom,' but I am still trapped! I am still right where you left me all those years ago, trapped in my own personal hell that you created by taking away the one thing that I love!" You scream at Zeus. Through angry tears.

"Hades, please, calm down. I'm just trying to be a good brother and look out for for well being." Zeus says.

"You are not my brother. You're just some bastard keeping me from my husband. And mark my words, you will rue this day, because I will have my revenge. It will not be today, and it may not be tomorrow. But one day soon, I am going to burn you and Olympus to the ground and then dance upon its ashes." You threaten him before disappearing in a could of smoke.

Zeus lets out the breath he has been holding and lowered his bolt. The eyes of the other Gods and Goddess are all on him, none of them daring to speak until Hera breaks the silence.

"You stupid, stupid man. I told you that forcing Aphroditie and I to cut her tether would end badly, and Hermes warned you that taking her traveling away would have repercussions; but you didn't listen. Now all of us are going to have to suffer. I hope you're satisfied with yourself." Hera says before turning on her heels and walking away, the others following her.

................

The sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen downstairs alerted Bradley that it was time to get out of bed. He'd been up for hours, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying your last moments over and over in his mind again. It had been two weeks since the accident.

Two weeks since he had seen your smile, felt your touch, kissed your lips. Two weeks since he cut those ropes and watched you fall into the waves below without a trace.

Maverick had been staying with him in one of the guest rooms, trying to keep Bradley from drinking himself to death while wallowing in his grief.

Today was a day Bradley had been dreading. This morning, he and Maverick were going to meet with Cyclone to officially declare what Bradley already knew, that you'd been killed in action.

Begrudgingly, he swung his legs over his side of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He needed to shave. The stubbly beard he now had was well out of regs, but helped hide the way his face had thinned out some as a result of him being too sick with grief to eat.

After a shower and a shave, Bradley pulled on his uniform. The khaki material that had once hugged his frame nicely now hung loose and limp due to his diet and lack of exercise.

After trudging down the stairs, Bradley was immediately greeted by Cerberus and Hydra. He pet both of them before walking to the coffee maker and poured a cup of the scalding liquid before taking a long sip.

"I made breakfast." Maverick said, breaking the silence. "M'not hungry." Bradley mumbled over his coffee mug. "You need to eat something. You can't sustain yourself on black coffee and whiskey. Remember what Hades made you promise her." Maverick said.

Bradley turned to face his uncle and snatched the plate of eggs and toast from his hand before sitting down at the breakfast nook. Sometimes Bradley hated that Maverick knew everything about you now. He didn't mean to tell him, but the first night back stateside, Bradley had come home and drank almost a full bottle of whiskey. Maverick had come over to check on him, and Bradley let everything spill out.

Every detail about your relationship and your true identity and how you sacrificed yourself for him and the promise you had Bradley make you. Maverick was taken aback at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

After breakfast, Maverick insisted on driving to base. He and Bradley climb into the beat-up red jeep Mav had purchased on a whim a few years ago and made the twenty or so minute drive to base. It was silent the whole way there.

Bradley was stoic as he sat in the chair across from Cyclone and some other officers as they gave him the official declination of your death along with their deepest condolences.

After the meeting, he was flooded with questions about the arrangements he wanted to make for your funeral.

People were asking him what kind of service he wanted, when, and where. There were questions about flowers and speakers, but the one that broke him was when someone asked him what type of casket he wanted to pick out for you.

"Excuse me?" He spit out. "Did you just ask me about a casket?" Heat flooded his cheeks. The man sitting across from him stammered a reply.

"Why the fuck would I need a casket? My wife was killed in action, and they never recovered her body. Why would I need a fucking casket if I'm never going to get to lay her to rest and give her a proper goodbye? What kind of fucking question is that?" Bradley growled as tears streamed down his face.

"I don't give two fucks about any of this. The casket, the flowers, a head stone! None of it matters!" He roared before slamming his palms down on the table.

Maverick quickly helped him out of the room before Bradley collapsed against a wall and sobbed.

"Mav, what am I supposed to do? Bury an empty box? Am I supposed to get a headstone with her name on it and put it beside mom and dad with an empty casket under it?" Bradley cried.

"If that's what you want to do." Maverick said softly. "Do you want to put a headstone in Virginia?"

"We talked about it once. When we went other there. She asked me where I wanted to be buried, and I told her with my parents. But if I do that, I can't stay here in California Mav. I'd have to go back to Oceana." Bradley explained.

"If that's what you feel like you need to do, we can start the paperwork. I'll help you get everything taken care of with it. What about your house, though? Maverick asked home.

"I'll sell it. It doesn't feel like home without her it feels more like a prison because it's so empty. We were supposed to raise our kids there and grow old together. But instead, I'm right where I was before I met her, alone." Bradley sighs.

Maverick pats his shoulder and helps him to his feet. "I can't help you put together a nice tribute for Hades. One that she'd be proud of." Maverick gives him a half smile before walking Bradley down to his office.

A week later, Bradley is standing in a hotel room, preparing his dress blues for your funeral. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and flexes his bicep. The Roman numerals that are inked there now have a pair of angel wings beside them. He'd first noticed them a few days after he lost you. He knows that you had to have put them there as a way to make good on your promise to always be with him. He smiled as he traced them.

Bradley doesn't remember what people said about you at your service. It all passed in a blur. He'd written a speech but doesn't remember giving it. He was, and still is on auto pilot.

The realization of everything doesn't hit him until he is walking up to the empty golden oak casket that Maverick helped him pick out and pounding his his wings into it that this is happening.

As the gun salute rings out and jets fly overhead, he feels his heart shattering like a red wine glass over a white table cloth.

After the service, people disburse, but Bradley takes a seat on the freshly broken Earth and stares at the granite stone that reads your name. He stays there for hours, unmoving even as the sun begins to fade, and the first few leaves off autumn drop from the trees and collect on him like dust.

It's only when Maverick and the rest of the Daggers come back at sundown that they are able to coax him away from your grave.

Bradley gets dressed and leaves his hotel room early the next morning, getting to the cemetery just as the sun is coming up. He just wants to be alone. He hopes that maybe in the peace and quiet, he'll be able to feel your presence.

.............

Despite being away from the Underworld so long, you were able to fall back into your routine as queen quickly. It helped keep your mind busy and thoughts occupied. If you were left to your own devices for too long, your mind wandered back to Bradley, and you'd cry so hard that you'd make yourself sick. Honestly, you felt sick most of the time since you'd been back. You chalked up to a broken heart.

Minthe and Hecate encourage you to go visit Bradley's parents in their piece of Paradise, but you were afraid. What if they didn't know who you were or didn't like you?

Right now, it didn't matter. You had to put those thoughts on the back burner because you had a meeting with the Council of Fates. You'd donned a simple but regal black dress and were sitting at the head of a long mahogany table. When Théama, the leader of the Council, walked in with the rest of the Fates in tow.

"Greetings, Majesty." Théama curtsied to you before shaking your hand. "I believe you know the rest of the Council members, but I would like to introduce you to my younger sister, Mantisa. She has just come into her gift of sight.

A younger girl who looked just like Théama curtsied to you before extending her hand to shake yours. The moment her hand touched yours, her head snapped back, and her body froze. Everyone stood still until Mantisa came around.

"Sister, what did you see?" Théama asked her.

"Pardon my ignorance Majesty, all of ours really. We were not aware congratulations were in order." Mantisa spoke.

"What do you mean?" You asked the young Fate with a puzzled look.

"Oh, forgive me. Are you unaware, my lady?" Mantisa asks you. "Unaware of what?" You say, a tad harsh.

"That you are with child." Mantisa says with a smile. You feel your eye twitch before you reach forward and grab her roughly by the arm.

"What did you say?" You grit out. You nails dig into her flesh. "You are with child, my lady. I saw it in my vision." Mantisa trembles out.

"How dare you say that. I have not laid with my husband in weeks. I died before being restored, plugged into the ocean from a tall cliff, and drowned. No babe, could have survived that. The words you have spoken are treason, and I could have your tongue, or better yet, your head for it." Your voice is laced with venom.

"Majesty, please. Mantisa has just received her gift. She does not know how to interpret her visions yet. She is just a girl. Please. Mantisa, take it back!" Théama begs.

"No, I'm not wrong. I saw it. I saw you with a babe. Please, Majesty. Take my hand. Please let me show you." Mantisa pleads. You battle with yourself before deciding to humor her.

"Fine. Prove yourself." You say as you let her go.

Mantisa takes your hand and places it on your stomach and puts her over your own. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel." Mantisa encourages you.

So you do.

You close your eyes and relax. You think of Bradley and the happy times you spent together. The warmth and the love that he made you feel. And suddenly, you feel it. It's no more than a flutter, but it's there. The beat of a heart that isn't your own.

You gasp as a golden light surrounds you before wrapping around your hand and lighting up your tether, restoring it.

"My gods." You whisper as tears streak your face. "But how?"

"Demigod children are resilient, that have had to be." Minthe tells you as she hugs you.

"You daughter is perfect. She will grow to be a strong and healthy princess and a wise queen." Mantisa tells you.

"Daughter?" You say. "Yes. A daughter. Strong like her mother and father." She smiles at you.

"Thank you." You tell her. "Thank you for this gift. Forgive me for my behavior. I—" you trail off. "You are forgiven. I could not imagine what you have been through." Mantisa says as she hugs you. You and the Fates decide to meet again at a later date. You have something more important to do.

...............

You rocked nervously on your heels as you stood on the porch of the small farmhouse that looked exactly like the one from the photos Bradley had shown you.

After visiting with the royal healers, you found that you were around ten weeks pregnant. Once you realized it, it explained much of your sickness and feelings. You only wish you had a way to tell Bradley. But now that you tether was restored, maybe you could find one.

For now, though, you wanted to tell his parents. So, you changed into a simple black sundress and picked a bouquet of poppies and sunflowers.

You took a deep breath before knocking on their door. You could hear footsteps as you stood there waiting, going over the speech you prepared in your head again.

But the moment the door opened, and you saw Carole Bradshaw standing there, just as beautiful as she was in all the pictures you'd seen of her, you froze.

"Well, hello there." She said to you warmly.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Carole stood there, waiting patiently with a bright smile on her face.

"I—" you choked out. "I'm sorry—I should go." You say quickly, taking a step back. But before you can leave, Carole places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Nonsense. Please, come in. Goose and I have been so eager to meet you, Sweet Girl." Carole smiles as she guides you through the door.

"You—you know who I am?" You ask her. "Of course I do. Goose and I check on Bradley every day. And did you think I wouldn't recognize my own ring?" She asks you. "Oh." You say shyly.

Carole leads you into the living room that is filled with pictures that you know well. She offers you a seat and you offer her the flowers.

She takes them and calls into the kitchen. "Goose!"

"That's me, Honey!" A male voice calls back. "Get me a vase with some water and start some coffee. Our daughter-in-law is here for a visit!" Carole calls back to him as she walks in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Carole comes back with coffee, and Goose follows behind her with a tray of sweets. You're stunned at just how much Bradley favors his father. It's uncanny.

"Bradley looks so much like you." You blurt out before you can even think. Goose laughs. "What a shame. I was hoping he would get his mama's beauty." Goose laughs. "Goose, you and I both know how handsome he is." Carole playfully pushes him.

You stand up to shake their hands. "Now, Hades," Goose begins, "we are family, and families hug, Sweet Girl." He says to you before wrapping his arms around you. Carole joins him, and for a minute, everything feels normal.

It feels like home.

You spend all evening with Goose and Carole. They tell you stories about Bradley's childhood, and you tell them about how he is now. Carole makes dinner, and you eat with them, and it makes you feel so warm inside. You only wish Bradley were here. If you could travel to Earth, you could bring him here. Yet another thing Zeus had taken from you.

It's late in the evening when you tell them you have to leave. They offer you their extra room to sleep over, but you decline.

"Before I leave, there is one thing I wanted to tell you. It's the reason I came in the first place, actually." You say.

"What is it, Sweet Girl?" Carole asks you.

"You're going to be grandparents." You tell them. Cries of joy leave their mouths as they hug you tighly.

"Does—does Bradley know?" Goose asks you. You hang your head. "No, I found out today, and with everything I've told you, you know I can't go to Earth and tell him or bring him here. But I'm not going to give up. Bradley is going to meet his daughter." You say.

"Daughter?" Carole smiles. "Yes, daughter." You confirm. "How wonderful. Hades, you are smart. I know you'll figure something out. And we are here if you need us for anything." Carole reassures you. You hug her and Goose once more before traveling back to your palace.

It's late once you get back. You fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits your pillows. You find sleep easy for the first time since you'd returned. You were content to drift off and dream about you and Bradley and your daughter. But hours later, Minthe and Hecate burst into your room.

"My lady! My lady!" They shout, rousing you from your slumber. "What? What is it?" You ask, still groggy.

"My lady, the guards have reported a disturbance at the palace gate. You must come quickly." Minthe tells you.

You jolt up out of bed and wrap yourself in a long, flowing black robe. You run down the hall and down the stairs and through the castle until you burst out the doors. You make your way through the courtyard and through the crowd that has gathered at the palace gate.

You don't believe your eyes when you see what—well who is there. You blink a few times and a pinch yourself to make sure you are awake. Sure enough, you are. Your heart rate quickens, and your palms sweat. You place a protective hand on your stomach before opening your mouth and speaking.

"Bradley?"

...........................................

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bittermuire · 5 months

Note

if you are still taking requests may i humbly request absolutely anything neslin

this was my first time writing neslin and I loved it so much more than I thought I would💗💗💗 thank you for the ask!!!

They are married by the end of the season. She wears a long sliding gown of white and a veil that covers the whole of her with a kind of mist. She is beautiful, on this clear, gray morning, and looks as though she might be praying with those beads clasped between her hands rather than flowers, but that was never why he wanted her.

They are married, and Tamlin takes his bride home, lifting her with cool distance into his arms as they pass through the front doorway. He sets her down in the foyer. “Call, if you need anything,” he says, then offers a bow, and goes to his office.

She takes up residence in a small house near the gardens. It used to be an old sentry’s post. Half a year has passed by the time she permits him to see the inside of it.

Half a year has passed, in which time she has begun to smile. Cold little expressions. He wonders, sometimes, if it pains her, if that’s why she abstains. And he remembers her in Rhysand’s court. The chill that hung about her. Her solemn eyes.

The house is warm, and lovely. He tells her so. She smiles.

On their wedding day he pressed his mouth to hers and pulled away the moment he felt the touch. Half a year has passed. He has forgotten that touch, now.

She takes long, long walks. She’ll leave for hours at a time, winding up into the hills and down again, returning with wind-bitten cheeks and loose hair.

They dine together. She tells him stories from her childhood if she's feeling well.

She moves her hair out her face, one sun-tanned shoulder rolling.

He lays in his bed with his head turned to the side, so he might see the stars. But it’s cloudy and he can see very few. It’s at this moment that she knocks. He sits up.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she says, in her low, cool voice. “May I come in?”

“Please.”

In the dark she’s a haze of loveliness, all loose hair and bare shoulders and ankles moving pale in the moonlight. For a moment there is no noise but the quiet shifts of her nightgown as she gets into bed. Then, the sound of her breathing.

#GISELE I WANT YOU TO KNOW I THINK ABOUT COMFORTER NESLIN EVERY SINGLE DAY

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callsignthirsty · 3 months

Text

Chapter 2: On the Roof

Shit weather can only stop me for so long! Here's chapter 2

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: The boys receive their commendations, and you keep your legs crossed. Should be easy, right? Wrong. Word Count: 3680 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving) Chapter: 2/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

“Sooo,” Maria Cortell leans as far forward as her bump will allow, drawing out the word with a smile on her lips. It’s become apparent that you’ll be waiting a while for your stolen tablemates to walk onto the stage and receive their commendations. “Are wedding bells ringing?”

Your poor heart, which had only just slowed, skips an unsteady beat. Maria’s question, for as simple as it is, packs one helluva wallop.

The thought hasn’t crossed your mind. You haven’t even said I love you—not for a lack of love, but because you’ve lost many of the ones you love over your life. Admitting the depth of your feelings—whether for family, friends, or beaus—always seems to precede an abrupt departure of said person from your life. But now that Maria has mentioned it, what are you supposed to do?

Distracted, you twist your cloth napkin between clammy hands. It’s not like you can marry Ice and Slider, but you can’t date Ice forever, either. especially not if he’s trying to climb the ladder. He’s expected to marry. To have kids. The white picket fence experience. A wife to come home to.

“They must be,” Merlin’s wife jumps in.

Maria nods with the enthusiasm you wish you felt. “Bill and I were looking at houses after three months. I’m sure you’ve at least talked about it.”

Goose throws back a full glass of wine.

They think they’re being supportive, and it would be nice if it weren’t so terrifying. “I–”

“And now’s the perfect time,” Maria doesn’t even realize she’s cut you off. “Who knows how long he’ll be stationed at Miramar?”

“Ooh! You could get married on the beach.”

Cougar catches your lack of participation. “Don’t scare her off, now,” Cougar says, placing his hand on top of his wife’s to get her attention.

“Oh please,” Laura brushes Cougar aside, “they’ve been practically wrapped around each other all night. Ron said they’ve been inseparable.”

Maria sighs. “Poor Ron.” Carole chokes, but the only one who pays her any mind is Goose, who smacks her between her shoulder blades and refills her water. “I remember how close he and Tom were at Pensacola, must be hard for him to watch his friend settle down–“ something must flit across your face because she hesitates mid-sentence, her eyes widen a little as she realizes the insinuation, and she all but lunges for the distraction of her sentry of a water glass, “–but, um, I’m sure you have a friend you could set him up with?”

“Oh,” Goose interjects loud enough to turn a couple of heads and incite a stern look from Jester, “I think this is them.”

It isn’t.

“That would be fun,” Laura coos back to Maria without skipping a beat. “Think of the double dates.”

“Come on,” Goose tries again, “you don’t want to set someone up with Kerner, do you?” And didn’t Goose know it. He squawks when Carole catches him in the ribs with her elbow, but Maria and Laura are off to the races, passing the idea back and forth and painting a picture of your future while you struggle to keep up.

“You’ll always have someone to keep you company when they end up on a carrier halfway around the world.” Maria.

A sly look from Laura. “You know, if you time it right, your kids can grow up together.”

“Community is so important,” Maria agrees, ducking around a waiter’s arm as dinner plates are settled.

“Sam and I were lucky enough to be stationed near my family when we had the girls.”

“I don’t know what I’d have done without the wives’ group while I was pregnant with Robbie.” Maria gives her husband a tender smile and smoothes a hand over her belly. Whatever she says next is drowned out by applause.

This time—as Goose breathes an “Oh, thank god”—a familiar group of flyboys are led onto the stage. The commander keeps it brief; says some words about the Layton mission and the courageous efforts of the aviators who defended the boat from enemy MiGs. Everyone gets a pin on their lapel before they’re all ushered off the stage. Your legs are crossed by the time they make it back to the table.

The rest of the dinner passes without issue. Plates are cleared. The program comes to a close with the cutting of a cake. A cacophony of music and conversation erupts as the masses are released from their seats and the event finally catches its second wind. More immediately around you, the flyboys spill into the space between their tables and continue catching up.

Hollywood and Sundown introduce their dates—fiancée and wife, respectively—to the larger group. Jester and his wife sneak off, presumably to find Viper but definitely different company. It’s a relief to gain more social padding between yourself, Maria, and Laura, well-meaning though they may be.

It’s while you’re reacquainting yourself with the rest of the group when Hollywood asks Slider if he’s flying solo these days.

“What’s it look like?” Slider grumbles.

Wolfman slings an arm around his fellow RIO’s shoulders to pull him close. “Aw, man. What happened?”

Slider gives him a half-shrug, looking otherwise unaffected. “You know how it is. Couldn’t handle the job.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chipper chimes in. “You’re still at Miramar.”

“So she dumped you?” Wolf’s winces as he looks up at Slider, taking his silence for confirmation. “Yikes.”

“Hey, it wasn’t like that–”

“Don’t mind them,” Sundown says, an arm wrapped around his wife. She beams at him when he assures Slider,“The right one will stick around.”

And the conversation could’ve ended there. Wolf, Chip, and Sli could’ve spent the rest of the night wingmanning each other until it was time to turn in and Slider would slip into your quarters.

Maria Cortell had other plans. “Don’t be ridiculous! We were just talking about how the future missus must have a friend she can set you up with.” Cheeks flaming, you tuck into Ice’s side in an attempt to escape his gaze. “Future missus?” His tone gives nothing away, but the stiffening of his arm beneath your hand speaks volumes.

Beside Ice, Slider raises a brow. “Were you, now?” This is a conversation you were hoping to avoid.

“Please,” Pete scoffs. “I wouldn’t wish Kerner on anyone.”

Slider sneers, but it doesn’t have any real heat behind it. “Bite me, Mitchell.”

And bless Carole Bradshaw because she sees Pete opening his mouth to say, “Which one?” from a mile away and deploys a very loud countermeasure: “I wanna dance!”

Goose grabs his wife’s hand and pulls her to sit across his lap. “Great idea, honey!” he crows, earning a kiss on the cheek.

For as long as you’ve known him, Goose has always been a darling. Everyone knows it, too. The sun is hot. Water is wet. Everyone loves Goose. His close call on Hop 31 only cemented that last truth. Nick Bradshaw is magnetic in a way few others are, and he could pull a crowd just as easily at the piano as he could, apparently, at his wife’s beck-and-call.

The display of eager, honeyed affection drawing the eyes and smiles of the group.

“C’mon, Mav, give us a push!” Goose loops his arms around Carole as she makes herself comfortable in his lap for the taxi to the dancefloor. “Should be a—what did you call it?—a target-rich environment.”

“Wait. You not seeing Blackwood anymore?” Hollywood asks, receiving ‘oohs’ from the rest of the men. Pete’s shoulder’s bunch, but otherwise, he ignores his friends. Though she was a civilian contractor, Charlie did work for the DoD, and after her relocation to D.C., Pete was technically on her turf tonight.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Ice deflects.

Pete grabs hold of Goose’s wheelchair, finding it more difficult to maneuver with two passengers. “I wonder if Penny’s here.”

Carole throws her head back with a guffaw. “After your little joyride? I’d be surprised if her daddy lets her within a thousand feet of you!”

The group doesn’t stick together much longer, inevitably breaking up as they go their separate ways.

“What do you say?” Ice asks, nodding after the group headed to the dancefloor. Eventually, Ice needs to go back to rubbing shoulders with the brass, but there’s no harm in a quick dance or two to break up the monotony.

“That’s okay, Ice,” Slider butts in, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. You repress a shiver when the same hand that had been between your legs squeezes your shoulder, fingers ghosting over the velvet near your collarbone. “You go keep Mav out of trouble. We’ll grab dessert and meet you there.”

The twitch at the corner of his lips gives away how hard Slider is fighting to keep the wolfish grin off his lips. Your ears burn, but Ice’s only reaction is an unenthused, dismissive sound. Both of you know what Slider is playing. That doesn’t stop the pinpricks of arousal from returning as you imagine Slider’s hands—both of them this time—working to finish what he’d started under the table.

“How long have we known each other?” Ice asks Slider.

“Going on ten years.”

“And I can count the number of times I’ve seen you eat cake on one hand,” Ice muses.

Undeterred, Slider offers you a lopsided, wolfish grin, his fingers tracing down your arm and raising goosebumps in their wake. “Who said anything about cake?”

“There it is.” Ice flicks Slider’s fingers from their path and threads his fingers through your own. The same Iceman mask he wears around the tarmac is firmly in place when he levels Slider with a look. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re pissy because I had this in the bag before I was interrupted.”

“And how were you planning on getting away with it?” Ice hisses with a glance to make sure the three of you are well enough alone. “Sitting at a table full of people.”

“I had a plan,” Slider scoffs.

“A plan to get caught with your hand up her skirt.”

“You’re just upset you walked right into it.” Ice clenches his teeth. He doesn’t have a responding quip, and Slider knows it. Ice had been too excited by the sudden appearance of Cougar to realize Slider was gunning for a quick win. “All it takes is one mistake,” Slider needles.

Wearing down the competition with technical precision is a page straight out of Ice’s book and his fingers twitch ever so slightly in your grasp, Slider rubbing it in his face that he’s fallen prey to his own game. It’s a mistake he won’t make twice.

Ice takes a deep breath and looks to the barrel-vaulted ceiling as if he’ll find the answers he’s looking for among the gold leafing. “We’re leaving now.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Slider taunts, but Ice is back on his game. He serves Slider a smug look as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Goodbye, Kerner.”

In the dance hall, you’re a single drop in a rolling sea. The band is louder here, the floor tacky with spilled beverages, but you find a pocket of space as the music slows. Pete hangs onto the edge of the crowd with Goose and Carole, his face pressed between Goose’s shoulder blades as he helps his best friend stand to dance with his wife—Carole, you’re sure, is crying.

Gentle hands bring your focus back to your partner as he encourages you to step with him to the rhythm. When you look up at him through your lashes, you almost forget the rest of the room. Taken by the flint of his eyes in the low light. A smile bubbles to life on your rouged lips is an inevitability.

You spin beneath his arm and let Ice reel you in until his breath tickles your ear. “You’re stunning.” You glow under the praise, fingers playing with the short hairs at his nape. High praise.

It makes you wonder: does Ice even know what he looks like?

The ever-present tan of his skin highlighted by the contrasting white of his uniform. The smarts. The confidence. A beauty mark on his jaw. High cheekbones. The way he moves.

He has to know. Not for vanity, but for fact.

“How’re you holding up?” He must pick up on the restless twitch of your muscles or maybe the flutter of your heart in your palm.

You paint on a smile. ”I’m fine.”

You can’t suppress the shudder that wracks you or the sharp intake of breath when he lifts your chin with a finger, lashes brushing your cheeks as a kiss is pressed to your forehead. When he tugs you closer, you go easily, but you’re unable to fully relax into the embrace.

“Did you know you only say you’re fine when you aren’t?” He shifts his hold so it feels more like a hug, a soft quirk to his lips. It’s easier for him to hold you like this when you fade into the crowd. There’s less pressure. Fewer eyes on him when his hand shifts lower, dexterous fingers tracing over the knobs of your spine and raising goosebumps beneath the luxurious drape of your gown.

The band does wonders to mute your gasp, but Ice doesn’t miss the way you jerk in his grasp. Sensitive.

“Was it…?” He doesn’t finish in an overabundance of caution for who may or may not be eavesdropping. The hand you’d let linger near his nape comes to fidget against his chest as you lay your head against his shoulder and nod while focusing on the ba-dum of his heart. “Do you need to leave?”

“No.” Sure, you tingle with each brush of skin on skin. Yes, you’re eager to soak up each touch. But, as you meet his eyes, you mean it. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” you fib.

Slider may be pushing the boundaries of decency—may have definitely blown past them during the dinner— and you may be wound tight after so many days without either of their company, but you can do this. Tonight is about Ice, and you intend to see it through.

“But I don’t want to leave.”

Ice keeps you close as the song fades out and the band counts in a fast-paced number. “Look,” Ice concedes when you break free of the dancing. Playtime is over, you can practically see the cogs turning in the metal of his eyes as Ice comes up with a revised plan. “There are still some people I need to talk to, but after, I’ll get us out of–”

“Just the man I was looking for.” Ice stops so abruptly that you stumble into him. “Admiral John Benjamin,” Penny’s father introduces himself, taking Ice’s hand in a firm shake. “Really good stuff on the Enterprise.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The praise, though sparing, is well-deserved. But the obsequious nature of his comment is revealed in the way the admiral’s eyes scan the nearby crowd. Ice isn’t his target.

“Say,” the admiral drawls as he drops all pretenses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where your wingman is? I want to congratulate him on a job well done.”

You very much doubt that, but as you glance over to where Pete had been with Goose and Carole earlier, he’s long gone—Carole helping her husband back into his wheelchair, the only evidence Pete had been there at all. And Ice knows enough through retellings of Pete’s past run-ins with Admiral Benjamin that you trust him not to sell your brother out. At least, not if he doesn’t have to.

“I haven’t seen him since we received our commendation.”

“Of course. Congratulations again on those,” Benjamin clips. “But you must have some sort of idea of his whereabouts.”

“I–”

“Ice. Admiral, sir.” It never ceases to amaze you how someone as large as Slider can so easily fly under the radar when he wants to. “I need to borrow her for a minute,” he says before Ice can say anything, and because he can’t do anything when Admiral Benjamin continues to squeeze for information on Pete, Slider steers you out of the dance hall.

It had been a crisp 66 degrees in DC, the setting of the sun taking what remained of the day’s warmth with it. The cold creeps beneath your skin as Slider beckons you up the roof access, shimming the door with a wad of folded cocktail napkins so you can slip back to the party later.

Though shrouded in darkness on the flat of the rooftop, the bright lights of the capital might as well be a hair’s breadth away. Too close for comfort. Before you can protest, Slider engulfs your hand in his and looks for a more suitable, more private corner. It won’t do to be caught, though Slider doubts anyone will come looking. But it pays to be cautious.

“You have any idea how good you look in this?” Slider rumbles, voice resonating from deep within his chest in a way that makes your insides quake. He lets you know with a demanding kiss, his lips lightly stained with your rouge when he pulls back so you can suck in a breath.

“Sli.” The wind carries your whine toward the street, where it’s drowned by the brassy horns of street traffic. When goosebumps erupt along your arms, your fingers scrabble for his shoulder boards in a bid to keep him close.

It takes next to nothing to convince Slider to give in to your plea. Crowding close as he smears kisses and color down your neck. “It’s been so hard to keep my hands off you.” Said hands grab fistfuls of you over the velvet of your gown; the smooth rasp of the fabric over tender skin makes you gasp.

“You didn’t,” you point out.

“No,” he agrees, fingers reacquainting themselves with the gusset of your panties. “But can you blame me?”

“Who else would I blame?”

Dizzy with desire, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep a heady whine locked away when fingers slip between your pussy lips to tease around your entrance. “Do you want me to stop?” Slider asks with a lopsided, teasing grin.

“Don’t you dare.”

Instead of giving you what you want—two fingers to fill you where you feel hopelessly empty—Slider’s hand withdraws from your panties. You’re a second from demanding he put his hand right back where he had it when Slider lowers himself to the ground. “Wait–!” you exclaim as his first knee touches down on the unkempt rooftop floor “–your pants.”

“Don’t worry,” he says as both of his hands slip under your dress, eager fingers drawing the lacy elastic of your panties down your legs. “That’s what drycleaning’s for.” But his other knee stays decidedly off the ground.

Slider scoots himself closer, impatient hands rucking up your tight-fitting dress until he can take advantage of the slit in your skirt. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, soft skin exposed to the night, but you’re far from cold as he chases the fabric with scorching kisses up the inside of your thigh. Deliberately leaving marks where no one else at this stuffy party will see them.

His hair is just long enough that the tips begin to curl. You spear your fingers through the short waves and fist what you can. Normally, you’d hold him close as he litters your hip with hungry kisses and sharp, rosey blooms, but with the way he’d worked you up earlier, you pull his head toward the apex of your thighs. You can go back to being Ice’s pretty trophy girlfriend after you cum on Slider’s tongue.

Slider lets out a gruff rumble of a chuckle as if he’s read your mind. A nip makes your leg jump in his grasp, your heel knocking against his back, but he’s as eager to get this show on the road as you are.

Face half-obscured by black velvet, Slider’s tongue laps over your clit. Eyes slamming shut, whole body pulsing in time with your heart, head thunking back against the wall. Slack-jawed, you encourage him to do it again with a shuttered but wanton noise in the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” Slider encourages, his other hand reaching up to massage your ass and drag your hips forward in a slick grind against his mouth. You tremble in his grasp as he continues to roll your hips against his face before he opts for a new angle of attack.

A quick reposition of the leg over Slider’s shoulder grants him better access for a more thorough assault on your cunt, and your back arches when his tongue prods at your entrance. Blood roars in your ears while your walls clench around nothing at the promise of his tongue, but it only teases at your lips.

You try to drag him closer with your one leg, letting go of Slider’s hair with one hand to steady yourself against the wall. Sli takes that moment to dive in, tongue finally fucking into you and his nose bumping into your clit in a way that has your heart stuttering and limbs shaky. Your hips jolt at the touch, back arching off the wall.

It’s messy, the pinpricks of Slider’s stubble eased by the mix of arousal and spit coating the apex of your thighs. The barely muffled slurp as he parts your lips and delves his tongue inside before engulfing your clit in the wet heat of his mouth and giving it a suck.

Slider’s eyes are half-lidded when he meets your gaze. “You’re close,” he breathes, calloused fingers petting up your leg directly to your clit and drinking in the shiver it knocks loose, your lips red as you bite back a moan. “Don’t worry,” he says, two fingers dipping the slightest bit into your cunt before drawing back to rub at the opening, “we’ll get you there this time.”

Against your back, the wall rattles as the roof access bangs open.

Next Chapter

#thirsty's fics #fic: stuck in the middle #fic: stuck at the navy ball #chapter 2: on the roof #tom iceman kazansky x f!reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #ron slider kerner x reader #female reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #nick goose bradshaw #afab reader #carole bradshaw #the '86 flyboys #because is fucking your rival-turned-friend's sister even fun if you don't have to be over-the-top sneaky about it?

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lovely-vanserra-sunshine · 3 months

Text

Fanning Flames

Eris & Lucien Vanserra ao3

Summary: After his mother gives birth to her seventh son, Eris tries to navigate how to be the big brother to a secret half-brother born in the Autumn Court.

Chapter 5 is out now! Read it here!

Or check out the chapter preview below the cut:

Eris huffed and threw the door to his bedchamber open. The sentries stationed outside straightened immediately and bowed their heads in acknowledgement. They didn’t dare utter a word. They knew, and saw firsthand, the amount of stress the Autumn heir was under.

All week, Eris prepared the Forest House for this council meeting, and frankly, he was beyond ready for it to be over. The endless tasks and errands given to him were grating. The scheduling, the organization, the invitations, discussing with the servants and sentries, ensuring there were enough seats and lodgings arranged for everyone. All of these never ending tasks were significantly playing a toll on Eris.

Meanwhile, Beron sat at his desk, raising only his finger to shoo everyone away from his office. He had “better and more important things to do” than organize for a council meeting.

It was impossible for Eris to keep a straight face when he said that.

Taking one last stroll through the Forest House, Eris made sure everything was neatly in order. His head was pounding behind his eyes and he’d do anything to get just a moment’s rest. In his haze, he very nearly ran into Lucien in the hallway near his room.

The young boy was dressed in formal Autumn attire, a forest green vest buttoned up around his crisp, white shirt and brown trousers. The clothes were form fitting, and made him look older and more mature, somehow. Even his boots, normally dirt-covered and filthy, were pristine and polished. Lucien looked, in every way, the son of a High Lord.

It was almost startling to see Lucien look so refined. Being the seventh son of a High Lord had its perks at times, and being able to explore the court in long tunics and loose-fitting trousers was one of them.

Eris hummed in approval and then stopped short when he saw the red, tangled mess atop his youngest brother’s head.

Eris frowned. “Your hair is a rat’s nest.”

Continue reading here.

#eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #vanserra brothers #lady of autumn #beron vanserra #acotar #pro eris vanserra #eris acotar

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fieldofdaisiies · 10 months

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Ars Amatoria | prol.

Elucien AU word count: 604 warnings: death of a family member summary: With their father's passing and amidst the intense conflict between the Vanserra and Hybern bank, Eris assumed the role of family head, shouldering the responsibility of both his lineage and the bank. The need for allies becomes vital, prompting a crucial decision: Lucien, Eris's younger brother and Second in Command, will have to take over responsibility — meaning, he has to alter his lifestyle and take a wife. His destined match is Elain Archeron, the daughter of a prominent and influential merchant from Venice.

masterlist

The curving staircase, crafted from stone and neatly polished to make it glow in the later afternoon sunlight, seems endless, and with every step Lucien takes, his heart drops a little more.

His hand glides over the railing adorned with delicate carvings. He holds onto it. It steadies him as what he is about to witness will alter his life completely — all their lives, actually. Beads of sweat trickle down his brow, he has been running for the past twenty minutes or longer. At full speed. Through half of Florence.

His legs ache, muscles screaming, as Lucien presses on. The air in his lungs is no longer enough, almost like he is getting suffocated. His surroundings merge, and the windows alongside the faded paintings on the walls turn into a blurry picture of creamy white.

With a final burst of energy, Lucien reaches the top, tumbling a little, before running once again— through long and winding corridors. His heart is frantically pounding in his chest, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck and dread sinking icy claws into his skin.

He takes a sharp turn around a corner, blazing past some huge white stone columns, past a sentry who looks startled. And almost drops her things at the sudden appearance of Lucien Vanserra running like a berserker through the family house.

Lucien feels the cool air burn in his windpipe with every sharp inhale he sucks in. The big oak doors are open, there is only a candle burning on the nightstand.

He comes to a quick halt, his mother’s pained eyes pinning him with a look. Her lower lip quavers, her hand holding their father’s. Eris sits on the bed as well, but he does not turn to Lucien, he is fully focused on their father. The priest, who is here for the Anointing of the Sick, is standing close to the curtain-framed bed, the bible open in his hands, his voice low, but steady.

“Per istam sanctam Unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam adiuvet te Dominus gratia Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Amen!” the family repeats in unison and it gives way to a shudder coursing through the youngest Vanserra brother. He leans against the doorframe, his shaky hands folded behind his back. Something inside of him restrains him from moving closer to his father.

Beron has never been a good father — at least not to him. He hasn’t been a good husband either, so Lucien has difficulty understanding his mother’s tears, her shallow sobs. But maybe loss somehow always hurts. Loss always does things do your body, to your heart and to your brain. Loss means change, and some people can handle it better than others. Some worse. And right now, nobody really knows how to deal with it. So Lucien keeps distance between himself and the bed, the bed where his father makes his last cough, his chest heaving for the last time and then Beron Vanserra’s eyes close forever. It is only then that Lucien pushes off the doorframe and meanders up to his brother’s side. His jaw is clenched, his face reveals nothing.

“So, I guess you are the new head of the family now,” Lucien says matter-of-factly and squeezes his brother’s shoulder. Eris glances up at him over his shoulder, a vacant look on his face.

“The new head of the bank as well.”

Outside my troubles are colder But in these eyes the melody smolders I know the whispers they hurt sometimes They swell and fracture my view of light But can't you see the sanity in my epiphany Let me cure these blackened hearts

~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof@acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

for @elucienweekofficial 💛

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elain x lucien #acotar #acosf

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paperbackribs · 7 months

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The Gift (7 of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 6 Help a Friend next: Chapter 8 Unravelling the Thread Content: steddie fic, 2.2K words

Last chapter, Eddie reassured Steve that on top of being a total smokeshow he is the protector of the group and nothing like Vecna. This chapter, its finally movie night with just the two boys and Steve is curious as to what made Eddie so easily swallow the marble back in the Upside Down.

Chapter 7 Answering the Question

The smell of popped popcorn blooms in the air as Steve safely moves the bloated jiffy pop off of the stovetop, the silver of its top reflecting in the soft kitchen lights. He rests the snack on the counter before grabbing the pizza box and a handful of paper towels to join Eddie in the living room.

Pulling out a slice with plenty of mushrooms on it, Steve hands it to an eager Eddie sitting on the right side of the mustard-yellow couch.

He looks far more relaxed, Steve contentedly thinks, comparing the scene to the first time Eddie had visited his house. His armour of leather and chains is gone, replaced by a simple Hellfire t-shirt, black jeans and white Reeboks, which Eddie has already kicked off. His grey socks casually propped up on the living room table as he enthusiastically digs into his pizza.

“Thanks, where’s Buckley? I know she’s seen it, but I thought she was looking forward to the movie too.”

Steve grins, moving over to push the tape into the VCR. “Miss Robin Buckley has a date tonight.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open, showing a half-chewed slice. He swallows hastily, “Vickie?”

“Vickie,” Steve confirms.

“Good for her,” Eddie hums in satisfaction for his fellow queer in small-town Hawkins.

“My girl has game.” Steve drops heavily onto the couch on Eddie’s left side, the force of it jostling the other guy against him for a moment. Eddie laughs in response and pushes him back with a friendly shoulder, the warmth of it branding through Steve's shirt for a fleeting second.

But, as he fast-forwards through the FBI warning, Steve notices Eddie fidgeting. Not his normal expression of energy; he’s biting his lip while nervously picking at his pizza slice.

“What is it,” asks Steve, concerned that he’d missed some nuance to their conversation earlier.

Eddie side-eyes Steve for a moment before warily saying, “Speaking of game, this is like the fourth? Fifth? Movie night we’ve all had, I thought these evenings would be precious real estate for your own date nights.”

“For me?” Steve points to himself surprised, the idea had honestly not even occurred to him until Eddie mentioned it.

He mulls it over, thinking of recent opportunities he had easily overlooked at Family Video. The... not exactly repulsed, but certainly a feeling of aversion to the idea of moving beyond a light flirtation with girls and a boy or two over the counter. Whenever he had thought to allow himself to go beyond simple appreciation a wary feeling had usually overcome him. A warning that this was not the path he was truly interested in.

“Since the Upside Down, I’ve just enjoyed being with all of you guys,” which is true, but perhaps not the whole of the matter.

He reflects back on his quiet conversation with Robin by the RV as they pondered finding love in the face of the world ending. “I think my sense of romance sort of went out the window after the whole,” he gestures towards himself again.

“Stevie,” Eddie frowns in concern. “You’re still a good-looking dude.” He waggles his eyebrows, “The best in Hawkins, one might say.”

Steve laughs lightly, “No. Not the eye and scars.” Not only that, he adds silently, not wanting to start a conversation he thinks he has no chance of winning tonight. “I was just really... tired. I feel like I’ve been on sentry duty since '83. Anytime everyone drew a breath of relief over it ending — Will being found, the Russians being defeated...”

Eddie silently mouths ‘Russians’ to himself.

“I Knew it was coming back, but I couldn’t tell anyone. Well, not until Robin. I was a bit of a flirt when I met her back at Scoops, but I was trying to distract myself. You know,” he smiles wryly, “get a date and forget the night sort of deal.”

Steve feels the intensity of Eddie’s gaze on him, like what Steve is saying is important, that he has meaning to him. “And now it’s all over, I’m just taking a breather.”

He lets his head fall back, looking over at Eddie who’s not as far away from him as he thought. “So, all of that took a back burner and I’ve allowed myself to spend time with the people that matter.”

Eddie runs his hand over his hair with one hand while the other grabs the remote from Steve before he can fast forward over the beginning of the film.

“Okay, no date night for Stevie. The Bolrag it is then.”

Eddie starts the video and Steve stifles his laughter at the dramatic introduction of Fantasy Film Presents, keeping in mind that this movie is important to Eddie.

The music marches on and Steve wonders whether Tolkien had known more than readers would think: between the ideas of elders, the use of threes, and an understanding of the malleability of personal items like jewellery, Steve would willingly accept that the author had at least some knowledge about Witches.

More amused as the movie proceeds, Steve thinks that he would be Robin’s Sam any day, despite the weird voice of the little guy. However, the Balrog in the film reminds him uncomfortably of a cross between Vecna and the demo-bats if they wielded fire.

It’s also adorable, Steve decides later, watching the guy devour popcorn with enthusiasm, how Eddie looks like a squirrel with its cheeks bulging. The movie plays on in the background, but Steve has to ask now that he’s reminded of it. “Why did you swallow it?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion, gulping down a mouthful with a swig of his beer. “Swallow what?”

“The marble,” Steve clarifies. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I’d been living on Yoo-hoo and Honeycomb, maybe I was hungry,” Eddie says cagily.

“Shut up. Why did you?”

Eddie pauses, considering his response carefully. He reaches out and takes Steve’s hand, his fingers slightly buttery from the popcorn. He traces Steve’s lifeline gently and Steve suppresses a shiver as that peculiar hum of their connection intensifies like a sweet song weaving through him.

“Wayne had this 'friend,' a few years ago. He’s, uh, like us.” Steve’s mouth forms a little ‘oh’ in understanding. “They didn’t last since Jack wasn't around long, just moving through, working at the Hideout.” His grin is lightning fast leaving Steve a little lightheaded. “It’s actually how the band got our connection to play there later.

"Jack was into the ‘woo woo,’ as Uncle Wayne would say. He’s never had much patience for it himself, but he usually respects other people’s beliefs, so I learnt a little about tarot and Jack read my palm once too.”

Eddie's lips kick-up as if holding onto a private joke, "Stevie Nicks was real popular for a while there."

Steve tries to focus on Eddie’s story, but the sensation of Eddie’s thumb gently brushing over the meat of his palm is distracting.

“He said I’d come to a crossroads, a moment of crisis that would be the answer to my question.”

Curiosity piqued, Steve asks, “What was your question?”

Eddie’s smile becomes crooked, “Whether my life would ever be worth anything to anyone.”

Steve’s hand tightens instinctively, closing around Eddie’s as if to anchor him to the mortal plane and remind Steve that Eddie sits here healthy and happily stuffed full of popcorn.

“Why would you even think that,” Steve asks worriedly, concerned for an Eddie who would ever think it was okay to disappear from his life. “Of course your life is valuable.”

Eddie laughs bitterly. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m coming to know that now. But this was just a couple of years after my dad took us on a joyride in a stolen car. He didn’t care that I was there, right up to the point that he totalled it. Immediate death on contact, apparently. Mom skipped out not long after. And Wayne took me in, but it took a while to trust that he cared, that he loves me.” He exhales a heavy breath as if the weight of his history is being unloaded along with his words.

“Eddie,” Steve says without thinking but urged on by the burning need to persuade him of his irreplaceable worth and importance in all of their lives. “You’re loveable. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a bit jealous about how the kids raved about you. They’re crazy about you.”

Eddie tugs at his hair as if to draw it further over his ears, “I’m starting to see that. You, ah, helped me see it actually.”

Steve's eyebrows fly up in surprise, "Me?"

"What we talked about in the kitchen — when I asked you why you would risk your life for me."

Eddie's lips are still crooked, but his eyes are sincere, "Understanding what you can do, the sheer power of it, you know. And then having you focus so deeply on my surviving only to use that ability to see and tell me that there are people who love me, who would miss me if I was gone... It's hard to discount something that meaningful."

Steve feels his breath catch, maybe he'd had Eddie wrong in that conversation all those weeks ago. Eddie hadn't been looking at him with reservation and repulsion for Steve being a Witch but, rather, had been reflecting a prism of his own fears and doubts as to Steve's motivation behind saving him.

With a gentle finger, Steve coaxes Eddie's dimple out with a touch, wanting to make sure that this lesson becomes stamped in Eddie's heart. Wanting to make him smile once more. “And you know Robin and I love you too, right? You’re one of us, and you’re not getting rid of her or me.”

There’s something odd to the look in Eddie’s subtly mismatched eyes, but he squeezes Steve’s hand before letting go. “Thanks, Stevie, I’m starting to get that too.”

He grabs their beer bottles in one hand and shoves Steve’s into his now empty palm, the sweat of the condensation unpleasant after the dry warmth of Eddie’s skin. “Drink up, we’ve yet to get to the end. It’s a killer.”

Steve settles back against the plush cushions of the couch, feeling like he’s missed something crucial. But at least he’d said it. It is important to him that Eddie know how much he means to them and how necessary of a friend he’d become to Steve in such a short amount of time.

He realises suddenly too that this might be an opportunity to figure out whether the other night was for real.

“And Wayne, how’s he going with all this.” Eddie had mentioned early on that he told his uncle the whole truth of the Upside Down. “It must be weird being in the trailer.” Steve scratches at the bottle’s paper under his fingernails but sees Eddie slowly put down the remote in the corner of his right eye.

“It’s funny you say that. We’ve just decided that we’re going to move house. It’s, ah, a bit hard being right there. You know, where Chrissy...” Eddie blows out a shuddering breath. “It’s all right if I hole up in my room, but every time I have to come or go, all I can see is her, there, floating, an— and cracking.”

Steve can’t stop himself, even if he’d wanted to. He reaches across and pulls Eddie into his arms, reminiscent of how Wayne had hugged Eddie through Steve’s eyes the other night. He pulls him firmly into his embrace and Eddie’s hands creep around to hold tightly onto Steve’s striped blue and white polo.

For a beat or two, Eddie simply breathes hotly into the corner of Steve’s shoulder. Then he clears his throat. “Ol’ Uncle Sam offered Wayne compensation at the beginning of this. He’s a proud man so he wasn’t originally going to take what he thinks of as charity. But I convinced him the other night that it’d be a good F You to the bastards who were responsible for all this mess.”

“Good choice,” Steve murmurs, thinking he should put together a little herbal pouch that helps to promote peace.

He wonders how Eddie’s been sleeping, being right next to what was once an open door to their own personal cursed dimension. Curses at himself a little too for not thinking of how Eddie must have been coping, earlier.

Eventually, they settle back to continue watching the film. Steve is indignant that it’s a cliffhanger and possibly hams up his outrage a little more once he hears the first giggle from Eddie.

They hadn’t drunk much, but Eddie takes the couch and Steve makes sure to pile all the softest bedding on top of him before saying goodnight.

It’s not until he’s drifting away to sleep, satisfied that he had at least figured out he wasn’t imagining the vision from the other night, that he realises that Eddie still hadn’t told him why he’d eaten the marble. He thinks he needs to circle back to it later, but at the back of his mind the faint strings of a violin urge him on to an easy, dreamless sleep.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :) If I've missed you, definitely tell me because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bestwifehaver

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@everyrandomthing

@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

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@matchingbatbites

@mightbeasleep

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #any unexplained references are detailed in chapter notes on Ao3 #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

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amber-laughs · 25 days

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Most anti lc!Jon people cite him being naturally suspicious/isolating to a fault as a leadership flaw which seems to hold up for marsh and the officers, however I'm on a reread of his dance arc and he's like...

Weirdly open about certain plans? In the scene where he sends Val to look for tormund, it mentions that Ed and Mully are both close enough to hear everything they talk about, as well as multiple unnamed sentries straight up watching them leave.

Val also mentions the baby switch THAT NO ONE COMMENTS ON implying that Ed and Mully already knew????

yes both great points, iirc it’s implied that melisandre knows about the baby switch too and i don’t think the men of the nw have any reason to suspect they’re switched and therefore don’t need an explantation. i don’t get that criticism either sometimes. i understand it in Feast for Crows when his friends are ragging on him for not spending time with them anymore and they’re right jon could communicate better with the people who have saved his life and been there for him when he felt more depressed than he ever had. but that’s more an emotional flaw rather than a political one.

"Once the free folk are settled in the Gift, they will become part of the realm," Jon pointed out. "These are desperate days, and like to grow more desperate. We have seen the face of our real foe, a dead white face with bright blue eyes. The free folk have seen that face as well. Stannis is not wrong in this. We must make common cause with the wildlings." - A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

he’s speaking to bowen marsh here and tho bowen goes on to disagree with him it’s no secret that jon is going to do it anyway and he just told him why. there are some things he keeps to himself, mance rayder chief among them, but what would have been gained from people knowing that? surely it just would have caused more chaos. and the loan from the iron bank, well iirc he didn’t have much time to share that info before all hell broke loose and even if he did, he is lord commander and is allowed and expected to make many decisions on his own especially regarding food and financing.

most importantly he’s more than clear about what the Real threat is.

"Winter is coming," Jon said at last, breaking the awkward silence, "and with it the white walkers. The Wall is where we stop them. The Wall was made to stop them … but the Wall must be manned. This discussion is at an end. We have much to do before the gate is opened. Tormund and his people will need to be fed and clothed and housed. Some are sick and will need nursing.” - A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

this is the quote i chose but it’s not an isolated one. he’s never shutting up about these walkers of his. Old Nan would be so proud.

so does jon have trouble communicating? emotionally yeah. politically? not really, he could do a much better job of selling his point but he’s kind of a dickhead (affectionate) so he’s crisp and to the point but no, the night’s watch knows his reasons for wanting the wildings there, they just don’t like it. some of them for valid reasons might i add, they’re concerned about infighting and starvation, i understand them and am sympathetic but so is jon and that’s why he desperately wanted stannis’ men gone and a loan from braavos.

#asks #jon snow #night’s watch

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queenaryastark · 1 year

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So Gendry lived in a house/workplace in King’s Landing with doors of weirwood and ebony:

The man they wanted was all the way at the top of the hill, in a huge house of timber and plaster whose upper stories loomed over the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved in ebony and weirwood. A pair of stone knights stood sentry at the entrance, armored in fanciful suits of polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn. Ned left his horse with Jacks and shouldered his way inside. -- Eddard VI, AGOT

Arya finds refuge in Braavos in a temple with doors of ebony and weirwood that becomes her home and workplace:

At the top she found a set of carved wooden doors twelve feet high. The left-hand door was made of weirwood pale as bone, the right of gleaming ebony. In their center was a carved moon face; ebony on the weirwood side, weirwood on the ebony. The look of it reminded her somehow of the heart tree in the godswood at Winterfell. The doors are watching me, she thought. -- Arya I AFFC

It even has ebony and weirwood decor:

Their tall chairs were carved of ebony and weirwood, like the doors of the temple above. The ebon chairs had weirwood faces on their backs, the weirwood chairs faces of carved ebony. -- Arya II, ADWD

And Daenerys encounters doors of ebony and weirwood in the House of the Undying:

Finally the stair opened. To her right, a set of wide wooden doors had been thrown open. They were fashioned of ebony and weirwood, the black and white grains swirling and twisting in strange interwoven patterns. They were very beautiful, yet somehow frightening. The blood of the dragon must not be afraid. Dany said a quick prayer, begging the Warrior for courage and the Dothraki horse god for strength. She made herself walk forward. -- Daenerys IV, ACOK

This door is used to trick her and hide the true path Dany is meant to go on:

She took a step forward. But then Drogon leapt from her shoulder. He flew to the top of the ebony-and-weirwood door, perched there, and began to bite at the carved wood.

“A willful beast,” laughed a handsome young man. “Shall we teach you the secret speech of dragonkind? Come, come.”

Doubt seized her. The great door was so heavy it took all of Dany’s strength to budge it, but finally it began to move. Behind was another door, hidden. It was old grey wood, splintery and plain … but it stood to the right of the door through which she’d entered. The wizards were beckoning her with voices sweeter than song. She ran from them, Drogon flying back down to her. Through the narrow door she passed, into a chamber awash in gloom. -- Daenerys IV, ACOK

What does this mean? I don't know. But it's interesting.

#arya stark #daenerys targaryen #gendry #asoiaf

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 3 months

Text

“Blessed”

Pairing: Éowyn/Faramir

Others: Aragorn

Themes: Soft | Fluff

Warnings: Nothing

Wordcount: 500+ words

Summary: Faramir speaks with Aragorn on the day of his wedding to Éowyn.

This ficlet was inspired by @thelien-art piece on Faramir and Éowyn.

Also available on AO3

Aragorn came to his chambers at the appointed hour. “The others have all gathered in the Court of the Fountain. Come, my friend, let us not keep them waiting.”

Faramir joined his king as they made their way down the long, vaulted halls he once played in as a child. “Never would I have considered such a day possible, your grace,” he pondered aloud. “And with such a lady, no less.”

“The Valar have indeed blessed you,” the king remarked, smiling. “Éowyn is a fine woman and a fierce warrior. She will make you a splendid wife.”

The steward smiled in return, his sense of anticipation only growing when two sentries opened the high, wide doors to the gardens. There were guests aplenty: members of the new king’s court, nobles from Rohan, even the queen’s brothers. Elladan and Elrohir were to remain in the city for a while before they left on one final hunt to cleanse the lands of Sauron’s fell servants.

And then they will join their grandfather and follow their father and grandmother on the watery path they took to the Blessed Realm. Faramir wondered if Arwen would miss her brothers dearly. He knew he missed his own, and fresh grief clenched in his heart when he realized Boromir did not live to witness their great victories or what came after.

I wish he were here, Faramir thought while he walked toward the White Tree. I wish Boromir was here to share my joy. Father too.

Faramir mourned his father as much as he mourned his brother. No one told him of Denethor’s end or the manner in which it came about until much later, after he had left the house of healing and was strong of heart.

“I wish you and Lady Éowyn nothing but joy in the many years to come,” Aragorn said, before turning to join his wife and the others that stood to bear witness to the exchanging of vows.

“My thanks, your grace,” Faramir returned, before turning to face the city elder who would preside over the exchanging of their vows. Then a minstrel strummed a soft refrain on his harp, a signal that the bride was making her way to the groom. Faramir found himself overcome with joy. It only grew when he turned to see Éowyn walking toward him, her arm around her brother’s.

She is as fair as the queen herself. Éowyn was garbed in white, with no other adornment save for a belt of pearls wrought in gold. Her eyes were fixed on her intended husband’s, as bright and warm as the summer sky. Faramir was enraptured.

“Greetings, husband mine,” the lady smiled, her face flushed with excitement.

“Greetings, my darling wife," answered Faramir, bowing respectfully to both her and her brother. Éomer bowed gravely before placing a kiss on his sister's cheek.

"I wish you nothing but happiness," the king of Rohan whispered, before he too turned to join the others.

When she placed her hand in Faramir’s they turned to face the elder. He beamed at them while he wrapped a delicate white sash around their hands, binding them together in the sights of the Exalted Ones and all those who had gathered in the courtyard. Then the ceremony truly began.

#valentine event #faramir #Éowyn #Faramir x Éowyn #lord of the rings #💫a world of whimsy writes #writing challenge #fanfiction

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stellamancer · 1 year

Text

don’t, if you value your life (one-sided nier x reader)

notes: i have had the idea of this fic in my head ever since i finished replicant like a year ago. of all the things i expected to write on my days off, this was absolutely not one of them, but at midnight a demon possessed my body and puked out the fic. though i think of it more of a writing exercise since anyone knows me knows that my typical genre of fic is completely on the other side of the spectrum of this.

contains: angst (no happy ending), canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, suicide ideation, very minor stalking, character death, largely un-beta read, language (Kainé is present after all).

wc: 3.9k words

if you read this and think i need to add a tag, please tell me.

Don't go into that village.

Don't go near it.

Don't, if you value your life.

The words of your elders are etched into your brain— your mind. It's a mantra, a hymn, a warning. The village in question is a quiet place, nestled in verdant hills, built upon the ruins of the old world. They say it's peaceful there, pretty even, but the village houses a great and terrible monster. One that will kill on sight— without hesitation, without mercy.

When you were younger, the curiosity, morbid and insatiable clawed at your heart. Maybe the elders were over exaggerating, maybe they were mistaken, maybe there was no monster at all. You thought about it sometimes, thought about tempting fate and visiting the forbidden village. Someone said that there's a library there and you'd love to see one, even just once. However, everyone who ignored the words of elders— who set off to see that village never, ever returned.

That, in of itself, was enough to prove the monster was real.

And so, you stayed away.

You didn't need to see a library, the view of the ocean near your home was beautiful enough to fill your heart and mind, leaving no room for thoughts of merciless, bloodthirsty monsters. For the most part, your existence has been quiet and peaceful.

At least it was, until the monster left its village.

Until the monster came to the seaside town you called your home.

Truth be told, it's not the first time the monster has appeared in your hometown, but its visits were well communicated— the sentries stationed outside the town quick to inform everyone to hide for the monster was on the way. Those visits were spent in the shadows hiding with bated breath— hoping and praying the monster would never notice. Your mother had hidden you well away, afraid that even laying eyes on the monster would condemn you to a fate far too sad. So you didn't know, you didn't know—

The screaming through the town is sudden and shrill, the sound running chills down your body. It is a siren biding you to run if you value your life. You and those around you act on instinct, running, scampering across the streets. Some run further into town, some toward the harbor, you run toward the lighthouse, abandoned since its caretaker died some years ago. You think it will be safest. The monster is said to be indiscriminate with its slaughtering, but also intelligent— surely, it won't come looking for murder in a place where no one is supposed to be. And if it does… you can choose to end it yourself rather than at the monster's bloody hands.

You ascend the lighthouse, two steps at a time. The cacophony of carnage is muffled here— distant, but still ominous in the background. You quickly reach the top of the tower and the town is so saturated in the stench of death that not even the salty sea breeze that's filling your lungs can displace it. From here you can see it all, your peers running in all directions, scattering like petals in the wind.

It is here, for the very first time, you see the monster.

If not for the large, bloodied greatsword in his hands, you would think him more a man than a monster. You cannot make much of his features from atop the lighthouse, save for his hair, shimmering like a beautiful white pearl in the sunlight. A strange, morbid frustration tears at your stomach as you strain your eyes in efforts to get a better look at this monster. He rushes at a group, too slow, too unfortunate and looks to effortlessly cleave them, slicing their bodies into ribbons.

You should be horrified. Disgusted. Afraid.

Instead, you are transfixed.

Your body is stock still as you bear witness to the monster's massacre. He is every bit as cruel as the elders said— there is no hesitation, no mercy in the swing of his sword as he fells your neighbors and friends one by one. You are lucky that you ran to such a secluded area, just as you figured, the monster of a man doesn't bother to come your way. You wonder if he thinks there is no carnage to be found in such an abandoned place.

Do monsters even think?

You remain there, rooted to the spot until you see the monster, a bloodstained pearl, wander toward the town's entrance. Once he's gone, your legs finally give out from beneath you, the weight of it all hitting you like a tidal wave. Eventually, you crawl your way down the steps of the lighthouse and into the town proper to find any survivors.

After a few hours, everyone is rounded up. Only just a fourth of your small community remains. No one is without loss— friends, family, lovers are all victims to the monster's rampage. Your heart seizes in your chest when you realize your mother is among the lost. She had been home when the disaster came to pass, waiting for you to return from an errand she had sent you out for. Had she come looking for you when all hell broke loose? Was she searching for you when she drew her last breath? Was your unconfirmed safety what cost her her life?

Despaired and disgusted, you retch.

You should have run home instead of to the lighthouse. Because you didn't, your mother is dead. Or maybe, if you had gone back, you would have perished together, you holding your mother in a shielding embrace as the monster brings the sword down. Or, more morbidly, the monster taking your life before your mother's eyes before claiming her life as well. You don't know. You throw up again.

The remaining shuffle to the beach, erecting crude graves of shells and stones there. One of the older members of the community recites a prayer, something reminiscent of the olden days before the ebbing tide washes the graves away.

In the days after the slaughter, the community is especially quiet, mourning. You don't know what to do in the absence of your mother, most of your friends were among the deceased as well: you have no one left. Some of the few remaining turn to anger in their grief: marching off to the forbidden village to claim what all know to be suicide disguised as declarations of revenge. You think it's because they don't know what to do either.

There is almost no one left in your small seaside town and the decision is made to find another community. You follow wordlessly, carrying nothing but your memories of your quiet and peaceful life because they are all that you have left.

Fortunately, there is another community close to your seaside town, sequestered in a building large enough to home at least a dozen families. From the outside the building looks like a fancy mansion, but the interior creeps you out– it's too quiet, too eerie. To make matters worse, the community lives beneath the mansion, in what seems to be a mad scientist's lab. You almost feel like at any moment you're going to become an experiment. Some of the members of this new community seem like they already are one.

The only good thing about your new home is that there is a library. Shelves and shelves of books line the wall. It is the only place in the mansion that has character, but there are rules that restrict visiting the library. You don't care. The rules don't matter much any more.

Nothing really matters much any more.

It is in the library where you see the monster a second time.

While perusing what appears to be some kind of fairy tale you hear footsteps in the hall and you instinctively scamper off into a hiding spot. You're not in the mood to be caught and lectured by the guards for breaking the rules tonight. The doors swing open and it's not the guards who walk in but the monster himself, accompanied by two— three others?

You watch from the shadows as the monster and his comrades move about the library. As he chats with them, you can't help but think of him as more of a man than a monster. He banters with… a floating book? How strange. How interesting. You'd love to see the contents of a talking book one day.

It is much easier to make out the man's features in such close quarters. You think that he can't be much older than you. He's handsome, much more handsome than a monster has any right being. There's some odd urge to get a better look at his face pooling in your stomach. Your instinct is to act on it, to just get closer and look and look and—

Don't go near it.

Don't, if you value your life.

The old mantra holds you still like a spell, the warning coursing through your veins, keeping you taut. But still you keep watching the man, the monster. He laughs with what you have come to realize are his friends and you think he almost seems human. Is this really the same monster that wreaked havoc on your little town a few months ago?

The man and his friends soon leave the library, the talking book bickering with the man's lady friend about her choice in dress. When you are sure that they are gone and not coming back you emerge from your hiding place and settle yourself in with the fairy tale book you had been reading. Hours pass before you've read your fill and you make your way back to the cold, metal depths your community calls home.

What you find upon arrival is not the low, but comforting chatter of your new friends and new neighbors, but dozens upon dozens of bloodstains— fresh and sticky. The stench of death is thick in the air, a sickening and stifling miasma. Before you can think, your feet are racing through the halls, screams reverberating against the walls as you search and search and search.

But you find no one.

You are the only survivor.

No one is left and you don't know what to do with yourself. There is a distant thought bidding you to return to the library, to drown yourself in books, in stories of another land, another time, another place where things matter and happy endings exist.

There is another thought, closer, louder and it is of the man. The handsome man. The terrible monster. Something in you desires to seek him out. Not for revenge, because you know that would be pointless, but merely because you want to get a better look at his face before you meet your inevitable end.

You make it your goal— your reason to live. At this point, you're not even sure if you can call what you're doing living. You leave the mansion with this goal; it's all you have left.

The journey to the forbidden village is not that long, it only takes a day on foot. But when you get to the edge you hesitate, unsure.

What if the monster of a man isn't here?

You shake your head. Nonsense. This is his home. No other monsters have come to destroy it for he is surely the strongest one in all the land. He will definitely be here.

Shuffling past what looks to be an abandoned camp, you make your way toward the village gates. Naturally, there are guards, but you manage to hop the fence, avoiding their attention.

The village, despite being forbidden, is fairly peaceful. Quiet. It reminds you of your seaside home. You keep to the shadows as you steal past a row of merchants, watching as a few children play tag around a cobblestone fountain.

Now that you're here, you realize you have no clue where to find the monster of a man. But there is one building, sitting atop a grassy hill above all the rest. You think it's a good idea to start there.

You slink your way up the hill and you spot a few more children playing in the grass. To your surprise, a couple notice you. Surprising you further, they wave. Shyly, you wave back before bolting toward the tall building, not wanting to remain in the same spot lest the children go running to their parents. When you reach the top of the hill, you look back. The children are still playing and you breathe a sigh of relief before entering the building.

It turns out that this is the famed library of the forbidden village. The feeling of joy, strange yet familiar, bubbles pleasantly in your stomach. You’re here to find the monster, but surely it’s fine if you take a detour. This library is much bigger than the one at the mansion— there are more books to bury yourself in, more stories to fill the void in your heart that’s been growing ever since you left your seaside town. You peruse the titles on the shelves and when you find one you don’t recognize you pull at it, freeing it from the shelf and watching as it falls to the ground, the smack echoing throughout the otherwise silent library. You freeze, fearful that someone will come running to find the source of the noise. When no one does, you scoop up the book and scamper off to a quiet, dark corner of the library to read.

Part way through the story, the main doors of the library slam open, demanding your attention and you look up from the top of your book only to find the monster of a man. But it doesn’t look like he’s here to read, instead he briskly walks the length of the lobby. Your eyes remain glued to his form as he runs up the stairs and disappears onto the library’s second floor. The thought to follow him crosses your mind, but you remain still. He will have to come back down the stairs when he leaves— you will follow him then. You turn your attention back to the story, a little saddened that your attention is divided: it was just starting to get good. Maybe you’ll get a chance later to reread it, give it your full attention.

Some time later, you hear footsteps again and quietly close your book. The man appears, descending the staircase, his handsome face marred by a scowl. Idly, you wonder what happened to make him upset like that, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter. You stare from your dark little corner, waiting for him to leave before you follow after him, sure to keep yourself out of sight, sure to keep yourself at a safe distance.

Don't go near it.

Don't, if you value your life.

The monster heads toward a house, fenced in and half-dilapidated. Despite that, there’s something about the home that is warm, cozy. A stark difference from the terribly violent image of the monster that the elders painted for you. You watch, hidden in the shadow of a nearby building, as the monster tends to a flower bed next to his home, watering and weeding them before he heads inside. Through the window you see the glimmer of light, and once you’re sure he won’t suddenly come out and kill you where you stand, you draw closer to the house.

Curious, you examine the flowers. You are not an expert on plants, but they look well cared for. It’s strange. Why would a monster so lovingly tend to plants? A monster by nature, by definition, is a creature of destruction, so why? You don’t understand.

But you want to, against all instinct, against all odds, you want to.

You start to follow after the monster as he goes about his business, or more accurately, the business of others, running errands for them: delivering packages and messages, fishing, committing atrocities against your people. You’re always sure to stay a safe distance away— close enough to observe, yet far enough to not get wrapped up in the carnage. But sometimes, a reckless rush runs through your veins and you steal closer, listening in on his conversations with his comrades, his friends. You learn their names, their personalities and while they become more human in your eyes, their images are still blurry in your mind’s eye; you are not yet foolish enough to get close enough to get a good look at their faces. You are not yet foolish enough to delude yourself into thinking of them as friends.

One evening, at the camp you hear the scantily clad woman— Kainé, very, very loudly announce that she is going ‘to go take a piss.’ The talking book— Weiss, complains loudly about her crudeness, disgusted, as he always is, with her choice of language. She scoffs, dismissing him with a wave before walking away.

Walking toward you.

You scamper away, running toward a large, nearby bush and hiding within. She shouldn’t see you, or at least you hope she won’t. She approaches another bush and you look away, respecting her privacy as much as you can.

“Come out, I know you’re there.”

Her voice is a low growl, and you think she can’t possibly be talking to you. While your observations have led you to believe that there is a soft core to her brash outer exterior, there is little doubt in your mind that, much like the monster of a man, Kainé would slaughter you on sight.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all fuckin’ night.” She stomps over to your bush, and you’re sure she can’t see you, but still she leans in and whispers, her voice both seductive and violent, “Or if you want, I can just end your miserable existence right damn here.”

Instinct takes over and you run out of the bush, away from her.

“There you are, you little fucker,” she snorts. You back away slowly, as she straightens herself out. Kainé eyes you like a bug, one that she is about to crush beneath the heel of her shoe. You swallow thickly, unsure if you should try to run or not. The only thing you are sure of is that if you do run, you’re dead.

“So, why’ve you been following us, huh?” Kainé demands, arms crossed over her chest, frowning. She must know that she could kill you in an instant, must know that you couldn’t lay a finger on her if you tried to attack her. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed a fucking shade like you lurking around us for weeks.”

Shade. That’s what they call you and your people. Shades— condemned to the shadows, unable to live peacefully with the humans, or, as the elders called them, the replicants… whatever that meant. You eye Kainé warily, wondering why she is asking you a question when it is known that humans can’t communicate with shades, can’t converse with them— if they could, then maybe the monster of a man would just be a man, his beautiful hands devoid of the blood of your friends, your neighbors… your mother.

“Hey!” Kainé shouts. “I’m talking to you, the least you can do is answer.”

She’s right. Even if she can’t understand, she probably can hear the words from your Shade mouth. You take a deep breath and speak for what feels like the first time in an eternity. “...it’s because of… him.”

Your voice sounds so strange in your ears, a sound more foreign than silence itself. Kainé stares at you, scowling like she knows, like she can understand the Shade tongue with which you speak. It’s hard to tell, and you take one, two, three steps closer to look in her eyes, risking your life more and more with each forward step that you take. You’ve read that the eyes are the window to the soul, so maybe if you can see them clearly, you’ll be able to tell, to know, if she really, really understands.

Fortunately for you, Kainé doesn’t move, nor does she speak, but still you hear a voice— not hers, erupt in a manic fit of laughter from her body. Her scowl deepens, clearly annoyed, but it seems that it’s not directed at you.

“How cute, the little shade has a crush!” the voice howls, mocking you.

Your face scrunches in bewilderment. The source of the voice… is Kainé herself, but she is clearly not speaking… You shake your head. No, that’s not right. This isn’t a crush, this isn’t infatuation, it’s merely curiosity. “No… that’s not… that’s right. I’m just… I just…”

The laughter grows louder, more derisive, “Oh don’t fucking delude yourself. You’ve been stalking after us for how long? It’s frankly kinda gross if you ask me!”

Kainé mutters something under her breath that you can’t hear, presumably at the mysterious voice making a mockery of you.

Your stomach churns violently, a grotesque concoction of fear and unease. He’s not wrong though. It is kind of gross how you’ve been following this group around like a pathetic puppy. Watching them at a distance, wanting to get closer, to satiate your curiosity, yet staying far away because that’s the only way you can coexist with the monster and his friends.

You think of the monster, terrible and cruel in his extermination of your people, the Shades. You think of the man, gentle and kind as he tends to the flowers by his house. The images in your mind overlap. Terrible and gentle. Kind and cruel. The images blur.

You can only see the smile he’s offered to his friends.

It’s all you have left now, and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

You are not one of his friends, the image of his smile is something you’ve stolen, held in the shadows, kept like a treasure— a secret that should have never been yours.

In fact, it never was.

“Hey Kainé?” A third voice enters the fray and you feel as if you have been drenched in ice water, thrust into the icy depths of the ocean, your entire body freezing over. “You’ve been taking a while, Emil and I were—”

He stops short. You know it’s because he sees you.

Don't go near it.

Don't, if you value your life.

Everything happens so fast, before you can run, before you can even blink. The spear that was affixed to his back is now in his hands, its tip embedded deep into your abdomen. The pain is mind shattering as it spreads throughout your body, like a wildfire in a forest.

The monster is close, closer than he has ever been, than he ever will be, the view of his face clear, and unmarred by distance. He is devoid of expression as he draws even closer, plunging the spear impossibly deeper into your fracturing body. Rather than the pain, you focus what attention you have left on his face.

It’s what you wanted, to get a better look at his face before meeting your inevitable end.

But now that you’re here, you realize, regretfully, that you maybe want a little bit more.

You want to live in another land, another time, another place, where you’re not just a Shade and you can have a happy ending.

With what sense you have left, you focus on his eyes. They’re clear, and blue as the sky on a cloudless day. As your consciousness ebbs away, fading rapidly from existence, you distantly think that at least the last thing you get to see is breathtakingly beautiful. It would have been nice, if you had had longer to enjoy it.

You have nothing left.

You are nothing but a bloodstain on the monster’s spear.

#nier x reader #nier x you #brother nier x reader #brother nier x you #uh #not sure what else to tag this #i honestly feel like i just barfed words onto a doc #so i don't know if it will have the emotional impact i'd like to have #this is so out of my element lmao #well i hope the three readers who read it like it anyway lmao

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