#Second Bay Tradition

[anastasiaamrhein]

Henry Hill, “Herspring House,” 1945, Kentfield, California

#Second Bay Tradition #henry hill #international style #decade: 1940s

[daisynik7]

Afternoon in Heaven

Word Count: ~800 words

cw: smut - vaginal sex (missionary position), breeding kink, pet names (sweetie, honey), explicit language – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You and your husband spend a relaxing afternoon together. 

Notes: I’m ovulating, so this is why I’m writing this LOL. Title inspired by the song Afternoon in Heaven by Magdalena Bay, listen to set the mood right. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks for reading! 

Sunday afternoon is your favorite time of the week. This is especially true ever since you’ve been married to your husband, Kento Nanami. It’s become a special tradition to nap during this window of time, with the sunlight streaming through the curtains, cuddled in each other’s arms, letting the worries of the upcoming work week dissolve even just for an hour or two. It’s been a while since you were granted a lazy Sunday, what with all the recent events you’ve had to attend. Birthday parties, family reunions, hanging out with friends. A weekend afternoon feels just like heaven when you need to relax and unwind. 

This is especially true when your husband is fucking you into your king-sized mattress, sending you into total, utter bliss.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. So beautiful when you take me like this,” he says, voice laden with lust. He has you spread apart, one leg propped on his shoulder, the other sprawled on the bed. He kneels between your thighs, pumping his cock in and out of your wet cunt. 

You reach down, fingers trembling towards your clit. He smirks. “You want to come already?”

You nod, biting your lip. 

“Let me watch you, then. Come on. Play with yourself while I’m deep inside you.” He thrusts his hips forward, staying pressed to your pussy, not moving, staring at you from above. “Go on, honey. Make yourself come.”

“Oh fuck, sweetie,” you moan, rubbing your needy clit while he has you stuffed full of his dick. “Oh fuck.” You orgasm, tightening around his thick cock buried inside you. He watches you touch yourself until your bud is too sensitive, and you let up. With a satisfied hum, he starts fucking you again, slowly. He turns his head to place a wet kiss on the inside of your knee, still resting on his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, honey. My beautiful, perfect wife.”

“I love you, sweetie,” you breathe out, reaching for him, longing to feel his fingers entwined with yours.

“I love you too, honey,” he says, holding your hand. “You want my cum inside you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy?”

You giggle, squeezing him. “Yes.”

Ever since the two of you decided to try for a baby, Nanami has had the nastiest breeding kink. Today is no exception. He increases his pace, penetrating you deep, balls slapping noisily on wet skin with each brutal thrust.

“You’re going to make the perfect mother, you know that? Can’t wait till your pregnant. I’m going to spoil you rotten.”

“Yeah?” you ask lazily, placing his palm to your chest. He pinches gently at your nipples, causing you to whine in pleasure. “How will you spoil me?”

He grins, placing another smooch on your leg. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Foot rubs, massages, late night cravings. I’ll do whatever to make you happy.”

“I don’t need any of that. I’m already the happiest I can be because I’m with you.”

The smile on his face grows as he slides his hand down to your swollen bud, caressing it tenderly with his thumb. “You’re my everything,” he whispers, pausing his thrusts. He helps you lower your leg from his shoulder, your thighs still spread wide for him. He pulls out, leaning forward to be on top of you, guiding his cock back in easily. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him on the lips. 

“I want you like this,” he growls, his mouth grazing your ear. 

You coil your legs around his waist, bodies molded together seamlessly. He’s hitting your sweet spot, your puffy clit brushing against him ever so slightly, stimulating you into your second climax. His erratic breathing and rapid thrusts indicate that he’s close too. 

He faces you once more, slipping his tongue inside your mouth, greedy for your spit. “I’m going to come.”

“Give it to me, sweetie. Breed me. Get me pregnant.”

He kisses you sloppily, hips jerking as he pumps you full of his cum. When he’s done, he doesn’t pull out, relaxing his body against yours. “You think we did it this time?” he asks, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“We’ll see,” you answer. You think about the date, trying to remember if you’re ovulating today. Too fucked out to process anything properly, you leave it to chance, enjoying the rest of the day pleasantly spent.

Two weeks later, on another lazy Sunday afternoon, you walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to show your husband two positive pregnancy tests. He picks you up and swings you around the room, ecstatic. 

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #Kento Nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk smut #jjk nanami #husband nanami #jujutsu kaisen #afternoon in heaven

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Rhaenyra's Victory

The "nobody won the Dance" argument is so ridiculous and just flat out wrong. Certain fans (read TG stans), constantly argue that, because Rhaenyra and Aegon both died, the Dance had no victor. GRRM clearly disputes this in both F&B and ASOIAF.

In F&B, the end of the Dance is clearly in favor of the Blacks, despite Rhaenyra's murder. Cregan Stark and the rest of the Black forces took KL, forced the last of the Green supporters to surrender, and placed Aegon III (Rhaenyra's oldest surviving child) on the throne. After that, the last of Aegon II's line died with Jaehaera, leaving Rhaenyra's as the only legitimate and surviving royal line. That means, in simple terms, Rhaenyra's family won the war. They were the survivors of the war and ruled for the rest of the Targaryen Dynasty.

Speaking of the rest of the dynasty, there's a second way GRRM makes Rhaenyra's victory clear, and that's through Daenerys Targaryen. Despite the Blacks winning the final conflict of the Dance, male primogeniture was accepted and reinforced throughout the following kings' reigns. Baela and Rhaena were passed over as options to be Aegon III's heirs before his marriage to Daenaera. Daena and her sisters were passed over in favor of Viserys II and his children. Vaella was dismissed in favor of Aegon V. The first woman to be named heir to the IT since Rhaenyra was Dany, something done purely because she was Viserys III's final surviving relative (no, the relatives in other houses don't count).

No matter the reason Dany was named as heir, she eventually succeeded her brother as the head of House Targaryen and the rightful ruler of Westeros. After becoming the head of the house, she awoke dragons from stone and became Khaleesi of her own Khalasar. Dany then began a conquest across Slaver's Bay and eventually conquered Meereen and became its queen. Thus she became a conqueror and queen in her own right.

Despite House Targaryen embracing the sexist Andal traditions about succession, the future of the house now rests on the shoulders of a woman. Dany is the final ruler belonging to the house, a queen regnant who overcame every man who stood in her way. Not only that, but she awakened dragons from stone, thus beginning to heal the damage done by the Dance and the greens' misogyny.

Dany, a woman, is the savior of House Targaryen and arguably one of its most powerful rulers to date. She not only is continuing its legacy, but is bettering it. Rhaenyra's legacy is her female descendant who will save not only the house but the whole goddamn world. Dany enacts radical social change in Essos, rules her city well (as much as she can with the slavers' interference), and brought dragons, the key to defeating the Others, back into the world. Daenerys is Rhaenyra's final victory over the greens' misogyny and treason.

#daenerys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #anti team green #team black #asoiaf #anti team green stans #anti rhaenyra antis #anti dany antis #house of the dragon

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #sagau cult au #genshin angst #hopefully one of you likes this #WOOO FIRST DEATH #of non you people i mean #im a little late but whatever #osial is a stud and you cant convince me otherwise #totally has the anime pretty boy muscles

[monzamash]

say yes to life — daniel ricciardo

daniel ricciardo x you (femreader) | 2.2k summary – a trip down memory lane. warnings – 18+ (sex, coarse language) prompt – 'you look good like this' from @percervall 💖 a/n – the third instalment of the #monzamashspecial and exists in the red desert universe (throwback to where this little blog began) x title inspired by the gang of youths song. masterlist

You wanted so badly to go back to the place you fell in love with him. Missing the way the campfire smoke blowing in the wind made your eyes water and the screams of elation coming from the water out in the distance. Daniel loved so freely; pottering around the campsite making sure everyone was happy, content, having the time of their lives. Especially you.

The two of you had only been seeing each other for a few months, a whirlwind romance turning all the traditional rules of dating on their head. He wanted to see you in his world, away from the lavish hotels and the fast-paced lifestyle that you both hated so much. Away from civilisation as you knew it, with him, alone in the wilderness with a case of Dry, singing around bonfires and sharing kisses hidden under the stars.

No manmade structures as far as the eye could see – just the handsome man who had picked you up and swept you off your feet to the other side of the world. Returning home.

“It’s so serene out here… Peaceful.”

Your unspoken wish was to stay out here forever with him, tasting the sea salt on his lips and feeling the sand beneath your sunburnt feet. Even though it was quintessentially Daniel, right down to the number 3 painted on the side of his buggy, it also felt like you. Like you belonged in his world, the missing part to life's puzzle.

Somehow, he had found you amongst the chaos, in the hoards of people taking everything from him. Every ounce of energy he had to give. But you never took anything. And he knew in that moment that this place would never feel the same without you in it.

You were his home.

“I knew you would love it.”

He whispered it into your windswept hair as you walked along the coast, hand in hand, watching his nieces and nephew splashing in the shallow water; zinc covering every inch of their little faces.

Daniel had promised you a night alone together before you left Perth for your road trip to Coral Bay, wording up his brother in law that the two of you would be sneaking off down the coast for some alone time.

I wanna show her everything, man; he'd confessed, feeling the pressure to make every second count, right down to the minute. You were laid-back and much to his surprise, his exact energy match but he wanted you to know him. Like, really know him. He wanted to tell you all of his silly little stories like the time he nearly cut his toe open on that rock over there, or when he swore he saw the ghost of Harold Holt out beyond the rip. He wanted to share it all with you.

And while he was worried about giving you the full Daniel Ricciardo experience, you were just basking in the chance to get to know him like this. God, it felt personal, intentional the way he pointed out little fishing spots that he and his dad would sit all day in the summer holidays, chasing the shade and shooting the shit; almost always catching nothing.

“One time I caught a crayfish but it was undersize so had to throw it back… Absolute heartbreak and I lied to everyone at school when we got back in Jan – said it was this big.”

Daniel held his arms out as wide as they would go, chest out and a smile as bright as the glowing sun above, “They all saw straight through me.”

Those small, insignificant stories he thought he was telling meant the world to you. It was a glimpse into the life of a man you were falling in love with, getting closer and closer to with each passing moment. They were off the cuff tales of his childhood, mentions of Michelle and his mum making lime cordiale icy-poles, homemade no less and each one made you smile wider. Buzzing with the thought that maybe, right now, you were making memories that you would pass down to your kids.

Someday.

“Are you ready for this?”

“Maybe we should have a safe word…”

“The same one we use when we...”

You didn’t need to stop his sentence, knowing that he knew better than to finish it with his 8-year-old nephew sitting on his lap – the smirking face showing his hand. The deadpanned look you were giving him made him laugh as he leaned down and turned on the van, shoving the gear stick into place so you didn’t plummet to your death down the cliffside.

The feeling was evergreen when you casted your mind back to that day, remembering the way Jonty jumped down from Daniel’s lap and all your travel companions waved you off, hollering I miss you already and don’t get lost as the two of you drove off into the red desert, even further from civilisation. You'd all been joined at the hip for over a week now, the idea of going it alone terrified you - until you remembered that all you needed was sitting right beside you.

Ready to show you what real adventure meant.

And boy, was it an adventure, weaving through saltbushes and spotting kangaroos from the passenger seat.

“Reckon you could fight one?” You’d ask Daniel, curious to know where the boundaries of his confidence lie, “Easy.” And part of you believed him – he could do it all, fearless as he drove up and over salt plains, making you squeal as the van hopped up a 90 degree cliff, all you could see was the clear blue sky above.

“You trust me, yeah?” He asked, looking down at your hand white knuckling his thigh, long nails digging into his bare skin. I do, you whispered with conviction because you did. Wholeheartedly, but that didn’t mean your heart wasn’t in your throat the entire time, wheels screeching as the van bumped it’s way over the ledge, revving red dirt and creating a cloud of dust.

“We’re here,” Daniel cheekily announced as the dust settled and you were met with a picturesque view of the ocean – waves crashing into the cliff side, already lulling your racing heart. It was adrenaline, pure and simple. You were dazed and confused until you felt Daniel’s hand on yours, clasping your fingers with his and asking if you were okay.

You were more than okay.

“I am… that was exhilarating.”

You were wide-eyed, stunned at how beautiful it all was; how beautiful he was. You didn’t even think twice, frantically unbuckling your belt and launching yourself over the console into Daniel’s body. He could see in your eyes how charged up you were when he grasped your face in his hands, desperate to have you close after a couple of long hours of driving. You melted into his kiss until your knee accidentally nudged the gear stick, lurching the van forward.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Daniel gasped, a loud laugh following closely behind as you held onto him for dear life. Whoops, he chuckled as he turned the van off and grabbed a handful of the flannel material hanging loosely over your shoulders, matching his. In one smooth motion, he was dragging you over the gear stick again; carefully this time and making sure you were settled in his lap before he captured your lips in a strong kiss, continuing what you started.

“What a view.”

Daniel’s compliments always made you blush, still to this day but back then they washed over you like a wave of reassurance, that he felt the same way – desperately in love. Almost. They were never obnoxious or over the top, just small little words of affirmation sealed with a kiss to some inch of your skin, noses brushing from the nearness. And now every time you felt the tip of his nose tracing down your neck, breath hot on your skin, you remember that day. Like it was yesterday. The way his hands pushed up your shirt, fingertips searing across your hips and holding you up so you could really feel him.

“Thought about this all week,” He whispered as your hand made quick work of his jeans, shimming him out of the thick denim and the boxers hugging his delicious hips. Me too, you barely hummed as you arched your back and tried to rid yourself of your own shorts, accidentally pushing back on the horn and making the two of you erupt in laughter.

Daniel wrapped one arm around your waist and leaned to look under his seat, roughly pulling a lever that sent him backwards and you forward over his shoulder, a quiet squeak slipping from your lips. He could do it all and looked even sexier doing it.

“That’s better, ey?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned back in his seat and slid his warm hands under your shirt, squeezing your sides so that you knew he had you. Always.

“Much,” You simply sighed as your fingers danced down his own buttoned up flannel shirt. One by one, each button revealed more and more of his strong chest, mouth agape at the sight of the man you were falling for, head over heels. He did the same to yours, pushing the soft material from your shoulders and reaching behind your back, unclasping the latch on your cotton bra, the feeling of his fingertips sliding it from your warm skin sending chills down your spine.

“You look good like this.”

That was the first time he muttered those words to you but now it was something he told you every single day. They were the first words he would whisper in your ear in the morning as the dawning sun-rays stretched across your rosy cheeks and they were sometimes the last words he’d groan into your neck as he came undone above you, shortly before you fell asleep wrapped up in his arms. “You look so good.”

“Show me,” You whispered against his parted lips, “Show me how good I look.” It was a simple request, one you hoped to god he would fulfil. It was your first time having sex in the driver’s seat of a car, but not your last as it happened. Daniel was nimble, able to shimmy himself into the perfect position, teasing you with his slick tip, glazed with the promise of you wrapped around him. It turned out that he loved taking you like this; in a van, in his HiLux, on the back of a motorbike but especially in his Porsche. Seats back, windows steamy.

You were two pieces of a puzzle, cut from the same cloth and it made you emotional thinking back to the early days. The way his cologne mixed with your perfume was like an amalgamation of pure love, the scent to this day making your heart flutter. And it always transported you back to that day in the van, so many years ago now. The taste of his tongue colliding with yours as he swallowed you whispered moans, hyper aware of how pin-drop quiet your surroundings were. There was nothing but ocean and desolate land each way – solus.

“No ones here, darlin’ – we can be as loud as we want,” Daniel reassured you, circling you back and forth on his cock, filling you to the absolute limit as you held onto the steering wheel behind you, needing to grip something as he set your body alight.

“Don’t think I can be quiet when you touch me like that.”

A moan slipped from your lips as Daniel licked the pads of his fingers and found your clit. Visions of that day come swirling back every time you touched yourself, conjuring a memory of him pushing you to the edge to help you along on those lonely nights without him. The angle, the intensity, the intention to get you off as quickly as humanely possible, knowing round two would be taking place in the back of the van shortly after – desperation spurred you on.

The darkness in his eyes as he watched you squirm, rutting on his dick without a single care in the world but to make yourself feel good. That vision of you above him inspired his own high to build, the knotting in his stomach undeniable as you lurched forward and licked the soft skin below his ear, curls damp from sweat, skin salty and freckled from your day spent under the sun. It was unforgiving, the way your orgasm began to crescendo, riding it out slow.

Wanting this moment to last. Etched in your memory forever.

“I’m coming, Dan.”

You didn’t really need to say it because he knew. He knew from the way you gripped the roof of the car and controlled the way his hips moved with yours, holding your ground and keeping that toe curling pace he’d been teasing you with. He also knew from the violent blush creeping up your bare chest and the way your eyebrows stitched together in concentration. Identical to his, mouth left agape and in complete awe of how fucking unreal it all felt. Heavenly.

“I’m coming too, baby. Fuck, right there...” Daniel’s breath was jagged, curls unkempt from your fingertips doing their worst. Tangled and dark, a mess pressed between your foreheads as you leaned down and kissed him through your high, aching to have him close as you came undone, hips rolling and squeezing everything you had to give and taking back just as much. He always had a lotta love to give.

“I love you.” You whimpered in the afterglow. And it was the first time you’d ever said that to someone like him, someone you genuinely loved with your entire heart. Someone who, without a second thought, said it back; I love you more.

There were a lot of firsts on that trip to Coral Bay, ones that you cherished until this very day, standing in the spot where it all happened. 10 years of memories all rolled into a camper van and a couple of swags. Reams of sheets messy from reliving it all, indulging like you did as young twenty-something’s, now with real life responsibilities and on the precipice of your whole life changing.

“I can’t wait to bring her here.”

Daniel swept your hair behind your ear as you cuddled into his side, the same sound of the waves lapping against the cliff below like they did back then, lulling you into serenity again. He smiled and cradled your cheek with one hand, and your growing belly with the other. Enamoured beyond comprehension, speechless by how strongly he felt and content with where his future was headed. With you and the family you were starting together.

“I know she’s going to love it. Just like her mum.”

But for now, you could be those kids again. Dumb and falling in love. Sharing kisses under the starry night sky, holding each other close, reliving the good times and most importantly, saying yes to life.

Just like you did back where it all began.

a//n – it's danny ric week so it felt fitting to release this on the eve of the ausgp. thank you to mar and the anon who requested the prompts used in this fic. love ya's x masterlist | askbox

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo one shot #monzamashmasterlist #the monzamash special #dr3 #f1 writing

[moonlightsapphic]

I just want to announce that I think this is the sexiest moment in S1. The music, the lighting, the choreography and framing. The sudden, sharp eye contact. The entire football field scene is perhaps the most gorgeous part of the show, but I never fail to get goosebumps every time this particular bit comes around.

The music in the background drowns out Wille and Simon’s dialogue. The words they are saying (“Pull yourself together.” “I don’t want you to be mad.” “Come on.”), while heartfelt, are secondary to what is really happening. The lyrics Let’s start a revolution ring out as Wille swings his hair out of his face—and for a fraction of a second, Wille seems completely sober. There is a sense of profound clarity in his gaze, while Simon meets his eyes in a frenzy of panicked concern.

Simon looks incredulous at his impulsive decision to bike all the way to school in freezing temperatures in the dead of night—all to rescue a boy who had effectively dumped him earlier. He is bewildered and upset by Wille’s physical state, and his state of mind. Simon has every reason to avoid men who engage in substance abuse. Despite his anger and annoyance, something in him intuitively trusts Wille, and in Wille’s abilities to respectfully accept support from him.

Each boy is suddenly discovering the staggering extent of their affection for the other; it feels real now, and the enormity of a potential affair crashes into them.

Wille has been fighting to keep thoughts of the collateral damage of his feelings for Simon at bay for so long, but right now, he looks immune to his anxiety. He has finally admitted to himself that the conventions and traditions that his family and late brother cared deeply about were simply made up. In a world where everything is fake—where he mostly tolerates his life by dissociating—Wille’s feelings for Simon are so tangible that suppressing them have been driving him over the edge. The surety he feels (towards his authentic identity, his wants, his needs) when he is with Simon has grown to become his anchor, the only thing that might keep him sane. With Simon, he feels relief.

They face each other directly across the scene, and we watch closely from behind as an audience peeking in. With their stance and the way they take up space, the music and lyrics egg on a sense of victory. This is a turning point in both their lives, but not because they decide now that they will truly commit to a revolutionary relationship—It’s altogether too soon for that.

This moment is just a simple, beautiful, wondrous realization: I would start a revolution, with you. For you. It would be worth it.

#young royals #wilmon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #gay #i just love this show so much #i have never seen a scream for revolution that is so quiet and so loud at the same time #lisa ambjörn #bi #lgbt #queer #lgbtq+ #lgbtq pride #unlabeled #young royals s1 #yr s1 #yr season 1 #netflix yr #yr netflix #wille young royals #omar rudberg #edvin ryding #friends best #achillean #mlm #men loving men #elias #young royals clip #omar and edvin #edvin and omar

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for the House of Finarfin

Earwen: a sailor. Yes, I know, the Teleri are the sea elves, but while most of them can manage in a rowboat, only a few are true sailors; able to navigate the Teleri's finest ships, even in rocky bays or stormy waves. And Earwen was the best of the best. She was particularly fond of venturing out where no one had before, seeing everything there was to see on the ocean, though she always turned back to Valinor eventually.

Finrod: a bard. While Maglor's focus was always on the oral history of the Quendi, Finrod preferred to learn folktales and lays, which were often preformed more casually and retold with somewhat improvised lyrics on the fly. By the time of his death, he knew more myths and legends (elvish, mannish, and dwarfish) than anyone else, though most of it remained unwritten and died with him.

Angrod: a spinner. Well, he didn't just spin wool into thread– though he did keep a few sheep, and was very fond of them. He spun thread and yarn from various materials, and then hand made dye to turn it various colors. He valued his work for its rich hues and remarkable resistance to fraying. He was basically the only person whose thread was high quality enough for Caranthir; the two of them really bonded over fiber work.

Aegnor: a dancer; more in-line with traditional Vanyar work than most Noldor crafts. He had the strength and precision for the most complex dances, though he was sometimes a bit awkward when it came to dancing with a partner. Some speculated that he would swear his service to Nessa, as one of the few dancers skilled enough for a place in her halls, but he never did. He always felt there was more for him in life than endless routine.

Orodreth: a gardener. Look, a garden is an amazing work because it's always growing and changing, and it's made in collaboration with nature. Orodreth loved that sense connection with the world around him, and tried to make garden that looked more natural and weren't bound to beds or boxes. His favorite flowers were always tulips. Though it was underground, Nargothrond still had beautiful gardens thanks to some creativity on his part.

Galadriel: a baker, like Finarfin. As a child, she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps and make something that everyone would be able to enjoy; she learned a lot of her craft directly from him. Aredhel would often bring her fresh ingredients from the Valinorian woods. After going to Middle-Earth, she set her craft aside because she had no use for fancy craft work when she had to deal with fighting hordes of orcs and trying to deal with Sindar-Noldor political relationships. Also Finarfin and Aredhel weren't around anyone. She came back to it in the Second Age, and was able to find peace and happiness in her craft once again, although she never lost any of her warrior's skill.

Bonus! Although he wasn't aware of it, Finrod actually managed to make his way into legends and folktales throughout the peoples of Middle-Earth. Though his story was changed over time, he's always remembered as a faithful friend and a ray of light in dark times– and as having a rather impressive amount of fancy jewelry. He learns this all in Valinor, from his conversations with another famous keeper of tales: Bilbo Baggins.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #house of finwe #house of finarfin #noldor #noldor crafts #finarfin #earwen #finrod #angrod #aegnor #orodreth #galadriel #caranthir #aredhel

[alphabetboyluvr]

something borrowed | jjk

VIBES | first loves, a lil angst, a lil... infidelity (don't scream at me!!), no smut (a little teeny lips to kitty moment but no actual smut) jungkook's nose be doing things (smelling <3) cause when is it not?, mafia au

SOUNDTRACK | moth to a flame - swedish house mafia, the weekend ; mirage - elina

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) was in a tiktok hell hole of moth to a flame edits, and this is the product of it loool. posted on wp first!!

WORD COUNT |  2.8k

GLOSSARY OF TERMS | all relating to korean gangs 

Gyeongsang - the ancient name for what is now known as the Yeongnam district of Korea. It includes Daegu, Busan, Ulsan, and both Gyeongsang Provinces. It's essentially the South-East of the country.

Honam - the district of Korea which includes Gwangju and both Jeolla provinces. Essentially, it's Yeongnam's counterpart - the South-West of the country.

Pa - the term for a 'mob' in Korean, often affixed to regions or identifiers of specific gangs

Jopok - a term for someone involved in a gang 

THEY SAY you never forget your first love; that it's some sort of earth-shattering, universe-bending, life-debilitating experience. You learn from it; how to behave, how to act, how to break a heart, and - sometimes - how to heal one, too.

They're a funny thing, first loves.

Virginities are given and taken in all aspects of life; sex, declarations of affection, scathing remarks in the midst of arguments.

Jeon Jungkook has all of your firsts, and you all of his.

It had been a too-hot summer, and you'd been rebelling.

Fresh-faced, and terribly bored of the confines put in place by your father, Jungkook had seemed like a safe bet. 

Jungkook had always been a rebel. You made no change to that.

You'd gone to Busan looking for trouble. Like father, like daughter. He usually went there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies who didn't know their left from their right; to remind them that what Honam-pa may lack in their underground history, they made up for in their sheer moxie.

You'd gone there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies, too, just in the literal sense. You were on the cusp of nineteen, and still being held prisoner to Honam-pa hierarchy, or so it felt.

An easy target was found in the form of a boy skimming rocks against a settled bay. Leather jacket and a face of thunder, Jeon Jungkook had wanted nothing to do with you. Heard the tone of your dialect and knew you were one of them.

"Ain't no place for Honam bitches," he'd told you. Had made you laugh.

"And who are you?" You'd replied, voice condescending, eyes innocent. "Too scrawny to be Jopok."

He had smirked. Shook his head. "Yeah, and you're too vapid to be asking questions like that in a city that ain't yours." The pebble he sent hurtling into the ocean skipped once, twice, three times before sinking. He turned to look at you. Sighed. Figured you were at least a little bit more interesting than pebbles. "What's your name, Honam?"

As you stand in front of a mirror, seven years since that summer, you know Jeon Jungkook will be getting all of your lasts, too.

You're smoothing down a dress; white, lace, and everything a girl dreams of.

Well, everything a girl who wants a traditional wedding with all the bells and whistles wants.

You've always considered yourself an elopement kind of girlie; last-minute charity shop dress for you, and second-hand tie for your groom, in a city worlds away from 'home'. That's what you would have liked.

But you're Honam's Princess. 

This was always gonna be the way.

You'd never expected yourself to have a Gyeongsang-pa groom, but sometimes life works out in funny ways.

"It's bad luck," you say quietly as Jungkook approaches the doorway. It's a little before noon. Nuptials are at two. You've sent away your ladies in waiting, favouring these final moments alone.

"To see the bride?" he questions. He's not even started getting ready yet. Still in a pair of sweats and an old shirt that you remember from that very first summer. You wonder if he's wearing it deliberately now; if it makes him feel like he's young again.

He'd been so fresh-faced back then. His broad back hadn't yet been tarnished by a dragon, and his eyes had seen far less violence. His hands, too.

You nod. "Remember? I told you. You shouldn't see the bride on the morning of the ceremony."

Jungkook just shrugs. Pushes the door to, and walks further into the room to stand behind you. It's warm, but his presence gives you chills. It shouldn't do. Not when you know him as intimately as you do.

His fingers reach up to toy at the vintage clasp of your necklace. He asks, "Something old?"

You're silent as you study him in the mirror. He's not aged a day. Not really. Not in his eyes. The scar on his cheek looks a little deeper from his face filling out, and he wears his hair differently - he doesn't subscribe to the Gyeongsang-pa standard of short sides, long top anymore - but his eyes are just the same.

"Something old," you nod.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and lets the very tips of his fingers trail down your spine, until they reach the fabric of your dress.

"Your Grandmothers," he says. "I remember it."

You don't hide your surprise.

"What?" he smirks, when he notices the tiny little hum of confusion you do. "Was that first summer. You left it in my car once. Was karma for you chatting shit about your sister inheriting the opal ring."

"It was too small for her fingers!" you immediately protest, still standing by the fact it would have been cherished by you - though you do have an opal ring, now. 

It normally sits snug on your fourth finger, awaiting a dainty silver band to keep it company, but it's off today. Symbolic. Your wedding band is to be threaded on first, held in place by your opal forevermore.

"The necklace suits you," he offers. 

Thinks it really does; a small silver chain, links twisted with a single teardrop pearl resting on your chest. It goes back generations. Is a status symbol. Losing it in Jungkook's car had left you terrified for you both, no matter who would have found it - Gyeongsang-pa goonies or Honam-Pa. Would have been fucked either way. Fraternizing with the enemy was one thing - but fucking them?

Your father would have had Jungkook's head on a butcher's block within an hour of finding out.

Funny, how things change.

He strides over to the dresser, where a white shoe box sits open. Tissue paper sprouts from the packaging, and nestled inside are a pair of heels that he thinks are befitting of you. They're white, to match your dress, with ornate silver leaves trailing up and around the heels. You'll be a good few inches taller with them on, but he'd still dwarf you if he were to stand across from you.

A little taller than he was that very first summer, Jungkook is far more confident, too. Not in a brash, false bravado kind of way, but in such a way that he's learned his worth. Knows where he is in the pecking order. Works so much harder than you ever will, and yet will never be of equal status. Not in Honam Pa, not in Gyeongsang-Pa.

He sits on the chair beside the mirror and holds a shoe in each palm. His legs are spread, smile arrogant, as he taps the shoes together.

"Something new?"

"Careful," you say, not looking at him, tweaking a little bit of your hair back. "Yes. Something new."

He raises one of shoes, and nods to where the skirt of your dress pools on the floor. "May I?"

"Shouldn't even see-"

"See the bride, yeah, yeah, I know," he says softly. "Next time I see you, you're gonna be one of us. Let me at least spend a little time with you while you're still Honam."

"You've always hated that I'm Honam," you remind him.

He doesn't deny it.

"Just let me help you get ready for your party," he says, stern but gentle. He's always been like that with you.

He calls it a party, because he refuses to call it a wedding. Wedding is too romantic. Too foreboding.

You don't want to smile. He's so abrasive at times, so frustrating. You wonder how you ended up here; eyes full of adoration as you nod. "Alright then, Prince Charming."

You lift your leg just a little bit, but Jungkook knows your body, so doesn't give it a second thought as he reaches down to leverage it up. He strokes at your ankle, the heel of your foot, the arch. Smiles to himself when you shudder a little when his fingers ghost across the tiny ticklish section.

"Don't," you smile. "I'll fall."

He just shrugs. "I'll catch you."

That's the thing about Jungkook; he always does. Trusty, dependable, reliable. 

Sure, maybe occasionally he would be the one to tie your laces, but he would always catch you.

You've no laces on now. Any falling? All of your own doing.

Jungkook doesn't let the sentiment linger. Asks, "Something blue?"

You look down at him as he slides the second shoe onto your other foot, and wonder if showing him really will be pushing your luck - but hey.

He's already seen the bride.

What harm would it do if he sees a little more?

He holds on to your ankle for longer than he really should. Strokes his thumb across the top of your foot. Smiles. You press the pad of your now-heeled foot into the tiny space between his spread legs, keeping it elevated, and give him a look that grants him permission to explore.

Both of his hands stroke up your raised leg, smooth and silky, the fabric of your dress moving to reveal what's hidden beneath. He reaches your knee. Leans forward a little. Presses those lips you know so well against your skin. Keeps stroking upwards, hands spreading across your thighs before reaching a roadblock. Chiffon and lace intertwined, a baby blue garter is hooked around your leg.

Jungkook's lips trail from the top of your knee to just shy of the material that stopped him from venturing further.

"Something blue," you whisper.

He nods. Lets his nose rest against it. You've sprayed it with your perfume. He fucking loves your perfume. You've been wearing the same one since he met you, and it always gets him a little heated at times he shouldn't be. 

Isn't his fault though. He thinks you conditioned him. 

And yeah, maybe you had sprayed it in his car vents on more than one occasion, and maybe you had deliberately layered a pheromone-infused oil beneath it that entire first summer. Not your fault he happened to like it a little too much. Not his fault the scent always takes him back to those stolen moments with you.

Jungkook's teeth sink into the material. Draw it back. Let it ping against your skin.

"Kook," you whisper, as if your hands aren't in his hair.

His hands push further up your legs. Both of them, now. They reveal the lacey white underwear you purchased especially for the big event. It's a matching set.

"Thank God it's not a Church wedding," he husks, a sigh exhaling. His breath tantalisingly chills your now-wet folds. So inconvenient. "You'd burn the second you stepped inside."

Jungkook's lips trail further. Leave little evidence. He's learned how to do that over the years. Has left no traces of himself, well, ever.

There's hustle and bustle in the garden out of the rear window. A traditional-style wooden screen preserves your dignity; hides your Gyeongsang-pa goonie from sight.

The venue wasn't your choice. It's Gyeongsang territory, for a start. Your father had said it would be good. Would help with the treaty. Very little about your 'party' has been planned by you. Like most of your life, your father has an iron vice on proceedings.

Your underwear was the one thing you had total control over. Had even considered wearing none at all, as a bit of a 'fuck you'.

Jungkook pauses. Takes in the sight of you. Grips the flesh of your upper thighs. Curses to himself. 

It feels like he's staring at your lace-covered cunt for an eternity before his lips finally press against it. Your grip in his hair tightens.

You'll need to change your underwear before you walk down the aisle. That's fine. This underwear was never intended for anything other than this, regardless.

Because while yes, the groom shouldn't see the bride ahead of the ceremony, it's not like that matters here. Jungkook was always going to see you before the wedding.

His lips are slow as he withdraws, and simply says, "Something borrowed."

The implication is heavy; heart-stopping. Cataclysmic.

"By you?" You whisper, as his deep dark eyes meet yours.

He looks so pretty in defeat. It pains you - but you both know this is the least painful outcome for you both.

Jungkook shakes his head. Let your dress gather by the floor. Smooths it over. Reclines into his chair.

"By Min fuckin' Yoongi."

Neither of you speak for a moment. Hearing his name, especially uttered from Jungkook's lips, makes your blood run cold. For so long, you've avoided the topic.

It's impossible, now.

See, it doesn't matter if Jungkook sees you before the ceremony.

He's not your groom.

Yoongi is.

He's your counterpart; the son of the Gyeongsang-pa King. A marriage born out of a sacred treaty between the gangs; the promise that together they'll obliterate Sudogwon's unruly mobs that have been making their way south in recent years.

"It's not too late," Jungkook whispers.

But it is, and you both know it. You've come too far to back out now.

Negotiations have been made. Peace treaties signed. Deals across clans finalised.

You're Honam's Princess, but one day you'll be Gyeongsang-pa's Queen.

Jungkook will only ever be a pauper chasing after the big boys.

So you'll say your vows and exchange your rings, and Jungkook won't object.

He'll sit quietly, like a good boy should, and watch you seal your fate.

Will watch Min Yoongi slide a wedding band onto your ring finger.

Will smile to himself when notices your engagement ring holding it in place a few months from now.

Will remind himself of the old tales that go hand in hand with opal engagement rings. If the legends are anything to go by, you'll be a widow within four years. He can wait that long. Has waited far longer, already.

And if, by four years, his time still hasn't come?

Kings can be overthrown. Jungkook is as Jopok as they come. He'll fight dirty.

For you?

He thinks he'll fight to the death.

"You're too good for Gyeongsang," he tells you, neck stretched, the crown of his head resting between his shoulder blades. You're scratching at his hair, looking at him.

With a smile, you shrug. "I'll still be Honam. For you, I'll be Honam."

Jungkook nods. Closes his eyes. Leans into your touch.

"My Honam girl," he says quietly, and it makes you wish that you had just run away with him that very first summer. You'd suggested it after you first thought you had lost your necklace. Thought it would be the only way to keep one another safe - until Jungkook found it between the seats.

You'd thanked the God that you don't believe in at the time. Clutched the necklace over your heart, head tipped to the heavens, all while Jungkook looked only at you. Lucky, he'd said, unaware that it was the worst possible outcome for you both.

You should've run.

Should've fuckin' run.

"Go," you whisper, knowing it's too late for any of that now. "We've got a party to attend, and you can't show up in a pair of sweats."

He likes that you don't call it a wedding, either. Nods. Also knows he can't be caught sneaking from your room. There'd be hell to pay.

Jungkook gets to his feet. Kisses your cheek. Tell you how pretty you look. Slowly walks to the door, then turns to look at you one final time. Spares you from a final remark that could make you feel even worse about the situation.

"Kook?" You call, just because you can't bear to let him leave. Not yet. It's too soon.

He hums a response. Doesn't open the door just yet. Waits for you to speak.

"I wish we never met."

Jungkook looks at his feet. Smiles. Nods. 

"Me, too, babe."  And then, just because he needs it to be known, "I love you."

You don't turn to face him.

"I love you, too."

#jungkook fanfic #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #mafia!jungkook #mafia au #bts fanfic #jungkook mafia #jungkook mafia au #looooool #i hate tagging so much #it's just jungkook being sexy what more do u want ??? #byholly

[imagineteamfreewill]

Gentle and Kind

Title: Gentle and Kind

Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)

Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.

A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.

When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.

You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.

Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 

You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.

“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”

In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.

“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.

You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.

The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.

Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.

“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.

Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.

You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 

You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.

You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.

Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.

“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.

The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.

Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.

“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”

“As pleasant as can be expected.”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.

The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.

Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.

“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.

He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.

“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”

You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.

Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.

“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.

Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”

Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”

You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.

The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.

“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 

“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”

“You? Not your father?”

Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”

“I see.”

You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.

“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”

He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”

“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.

You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.

“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.

“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”

If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.

“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”

You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.

The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.

“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.

“Very.” You don’t say anything more.

“And handsome, too,” she prods.

“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”

She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.

“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”

You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.

Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.

The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.

Both men stand as soon as they see you.

“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.

“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.

Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”

Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.

His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”

“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.

“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.

“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”

He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”

“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.

“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”

Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.

“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”

You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.

The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 

Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.

You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.

“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.

“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”

“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”

You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.

As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 

“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.

“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”

“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.

“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”

“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.

There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.

John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”

Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.

“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.

“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.

You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.

“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”

She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.

You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.

“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”

He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 

Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”

Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”

A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.

You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”

Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.

You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”

This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.

“Nice?” Charlie teases.

You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”

Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”

She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.

“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.

“Shall we?” Sam asks.

You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.

You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.

“Would you like to skate?” he asks.

“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”

Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 

You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”

He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.

“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.

It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.

“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.

“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”

You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”

Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”

Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”

“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.

“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.

He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.

You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.

Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.

You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”

He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”

Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.

You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”

“I did,” Sam replies.

You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.

He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”

Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.

You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.

After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.

Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.

A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 

“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.

“Do you like to paint?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”

“What would you like?” he asks.

You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.

“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.

The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.

“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”

He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.

“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.

He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.

“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?

Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.

The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.

“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”

“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.

“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”

“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”

You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.

“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”

Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.

You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”

John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.

The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.

“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”

The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.

“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”

The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.

“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”

Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”

You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.

The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 

Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.

Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.

“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.

“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.

“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”

Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 

“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”

You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.

Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.

“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”

You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”

He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.

“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.

“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”

“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”

He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.

“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.

“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”

At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.

“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”

John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”

A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.

“You called for me, Father?” he asks.

“I did.”

John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.

“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”

“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.

Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.

You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.

John scoffs. “Samuel—”

“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.

Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”

He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”

John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”

Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?

There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 

“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.

A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”

He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.

“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”

“Did you dream of marrying someday?”

Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”

“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.

“It’s my duty as queen.”

Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.

“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”

Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.

“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”

Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”

“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 

“I don’t wish to force you—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”

You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.

“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”

Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.

“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”

You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.

“Y/N?”

Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.

“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.

“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.

She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.

“He’s a good man,” she tells you.

“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.

“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.

This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”

She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”

Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.

Finally, you nod and stand.

She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”

“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.

“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”

A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.

Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.

“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.

“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.

Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”

She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 

The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 

A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.

“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.

Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.

Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.

“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.

“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.

“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.

“But your father—”

Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”

You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”

He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”

You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”

“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 

Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.

“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”

Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.

John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.

“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.

“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”

Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.

“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.

You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”

Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.

Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.

Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.

The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.

Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.

After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 

The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.

“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.

“Let me go!” you bark at him.

He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.

Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.

You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.

While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,

“Make way! The Queen is here!”

There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.

When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.

“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”

After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.

“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.

You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”

“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 

“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”

“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.

“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”

He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.

Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.

“Let me show you my home.”

Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.

You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.

As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.

Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.

“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.

Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”

You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”

He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 

You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 

Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.

“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”

“And I am prepared to face them.”

“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”

“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”

You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.

When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.

You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”

He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?

“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”

“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.

“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.

Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.

“So it is,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“We’re married,” you murmur.

He hums. “So we are.”

“What do we do now?”

“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”

You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”

Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.

“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and Castiel.

Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @alexwinchester23 @shaelyn102 @lyarr24 @supermoonpanda @ultimatecin73 @musiclovinchic93 @shamelesslydean @mlovesstories @ellie-andthemachine

Sam: @fandomoniumflurry

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fic #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagines #spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x plus size reader #sam winchester x female reader #christmas #medieval au #royalty au #sam winchster fluff #jared padalecki #supernatural imagine #supernatural imagines

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

The Five Naughty New Years

A collab between @vanwritesfan-fiction and @w1ldthoughts

A series that follows Jack and the readers relationship through five years of celebrating New Years together in the naughtiest ways.

Year Two

Warnings: smut, language, dom x sub relationship

Written by @w1ldthoughts

“Baby we HAVE to be quiet, please promise me.” You whisper yelled, lightly closing the door behind him. Jack scoffs, “tell that to yourself cause I got this. You were the one begging me to come up here.”

“I begged you? Jackman please. You’re the one that was all ‘we should fuck in your childhood bedroom. That’d be hot.’”

“Okay first of all I do not sound like that. And second of all, take your damn clothes off and keep your mouth shut or I won’t you cum.”

To make up for last year, Jack had arranged to spend New Years with your family, in your childhood home. The last couple days had been really enjoyable, full of family traditions, baking cookies and everything that made you appreciate this quality time at the end of the year. And this time it was that much more special getting to share it with your boyfriend. Jack had blended in with your family seamlessly, cracking jokes with your dad and helping your mom set the table. It warmed your heart to know that they saw what you saw in him.

The two of you had been in your childhood home the last four days and you’d been admittedly very good. Only quick makeout sessions and not even an ounce of heavy petting. The fact that the two of you were staying in different rooms at night helped the situation a little bit but it also did a number on your wandering mind.

You almost begged him to take you right there on the couch after seeing him carry in firewood with your dad. There was this lumberjack fantasy that ran through your mind and—needless to say, here you were in the bedroom that once housed several Jonas Brothers posters, asking Jack to wreck your insides while your entire family was asleep mere doors away. Not your finest moment but a girl has needs and your man was more than happy to oblige.

You smiled to yourself, taking your clothes off and trying to keep the excitement at bay. Something about him manhandling you in the bedroom but treating you like a princess everywhere else turned you on even more. He interrupted your thoughts once again by wrapping you up in a wet, sloppy kiss and you found yourself laying in bed without even realizing that you’d moved.

Completely lost in the moment you found yourself gripping the sheets with a moan as he sank two fingers in your seeping hole. Jack quickly covered your mouth while curling his fingers around your g-spot.

“You know what those pretty noises do for me mama but you gotta be quiet for me tonight. Can you do that?” His voice was low and his eyes were full of hunger and all you could do was nod. He knew how to apply just enough pressure to have you falling apart at the seams, edging you near your peak and just as you were about to let go he replaced his fingers with his pulsing shaft, easily gliding in and out of you. “Such a good girl.”

He nibbled on your ear as you hissed with pleasure, feeling the slight ache of his cock framing your walls to its shape. Your body began to tremble underneath him as the familiar feeling in your lower belly took over. Jack kissed you through your joint orgasm, groaning into your mouth as his thrusts began to slow in vigor.

A small whine left your lips as he pulled out, your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears. You turned over in his arms and took a look at his face. “What’s got you cheesing so hard?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just thinking about how no man has ever fucked you as good as me. And that’s just a fact.” The giggle that leaves you earns you a glare but you can’t help it, you’re feeling on top of the world right now.

“You’re right J, no one has EVER made me feel like this. And I’m so glad it’s you.”

“I’m glad it’s you too, baby. Wouldn’t want to sneak around with anyone else. Let’s just hope we don’t get any dirty looks at breakfast tomorrow.”

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#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

[thevelaryons]

CORLYS + RHAENYRA - Power Dynamics

There is a constant power fluctuation that happens between these two, both before the Dance and for its duration. They each have an advantage over each other: Rhaenyra is the Crown Princess/Queen and Corlys is the richest man in Westeros. It's because of these factors they can exert influence over each other. Though it's worth mentioning that they only act when the other is in a vulnerable state.

The first instance is in deciding the names of Rhaenyra's sons with Laenor. Jacaerys & Lucerys are given Velaryon names because Corlys decides it and Joffrey is only given a non-Velaryon name because Corlys relents to Laenor's wishes. Rhaenyra has no say in this matter and it is Corlys' will that rules here:

Laenor’s wish to name the child Joffrey was overruled by his father, Lord Corlys. Instead the child was given a traditional Velaryon name: Jacaerys (friends and brothers would call him Jace). [...] Meanwhile, back in Westeros, Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son late in the year 115 AC. The child was named Lucerys (Luke for short). [...] In 117 AC, on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra bore yet another son. Ser Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

I say this because the book specifically emphasizes when Rhaenyra finally does have a say in deciding the name for her child:

As the year waned, she brought forth a small but robust son, a pale princeling with dark purple eyes and pale silvery hair. She named him Aegon.

Rhaenyra's first three sons are bastards and she would be well aware that she needs to appease Corlys in order to have him accept her sons as Velaryons, so the choice of the boys' names is left to him.

There's a lot more political tension underlying their dynamic when it comes to the Driftmark sucession.

When Lucerys was around 11 years old, Corlys fell ill from a fever. Up until this point, Corlys had not named any of Laenor's sons by Rhaenyra as heir to Driftmark. As I've mentioned before, Corlys is the type who views being a Velaryon as separate from the position of family heir. Although his grandchildren have already been betrothed to each other by this point, it's not a firm solution to the problem of the family succession in Corlys' eyes. This is evidenced by the fact that Rhaenyra has to go out of her way to request Corlys to name her son as heir:

That same year, across Blackwater Bay, the Sea Snake was stricken by a sudden fever. As he took to his bed, surrounded by maesters, the issue arose as to who should succeed him as Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark should the sickness claim him. With both his trueborn children dead, by law his lands and titles should pass to his eldest grandson, Jacaerys…but since Jace would presumably ascend the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra urged her good-father to name instead her second son, Lucerys. Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

Rhaenyra is able to exert her will here, through threat of force, and does seem to have succeeded in getting Corlys' to agree with her wishes. Once again, I'll emphasize that Rhaenyra and Corlys are able to act upon their wishes when the other is in a state of vulnerability.

After Rhaenys' death, Corlys is quite furious with Rhaenyra. It is Jacaerys who works to appease him this time (acting in place of his mother). Corlys is named to the position of Hand and when the Red Sowing occurs shortly afterwards, he brings Addam/Alyn forth to claim dragons. Just going off the timeline of events, it's clear that "Laenor's bastards" was part of the conditions promised to Corlys to retain his loyalty. No doubt, it is also the reason why Jacaerys is so willing to speak up for Addam as the new heir to Driftmark, knowing full well that the next in line would have been his own brother, Joffrey. I've already talked about the politics at play in deciding the succession between Addam vs Joffrey, so I'm not going to get too into that. Though it's worth mentioning that Rhaenyra only agreed to the succession change after Jacaerys urged her to do so. Meaning she must have been reluctant at first:

Not long after Addam of Hull had proved himself by flying Seasmoke, Lord Corlys went so far as to petition Queen Rhaenyra to remove the taint of bastardy from him and his brother. When Prince Jacaerys added his voice to the request, the queen complied. Addam of Hull, dragonseed and bastard, became Addam Velaryon, heir to Driftmark.

Speaking of Rhaenyra's reluctance, it makes sense why she would feel that way. It does not matter that Laenor was gay and neither he nor Rhaenyra had an interest in each other. What matters is the public perception of events. Rhaenyra was Laenor's legal wife. Marilda is claimed to be his mistress. It is Marilda's bastard son that is being placed ahead of Rhaenyra's son who is called trueborn. For any noblewoman, this would be an unthinkable turn of events. In Rhaenyra's case, she's not just any noblewoman, but a Queen. Nevertheless, she must swallow her pride and agree with what Corlys wants. Despite taking action to ensure the succession in favor of Lucerys, Rhaenyra does not do the same for Joffrey. Corlys is the one who holds the power now and Rhaenyra must bend to his will.

It is explicitly mentioned that everyone in Rhaenyra's court plays along with the story that Addam/Alyn are Laenor's bastards. Why? To appease Corlys of course:

Many and more at Queen Rhaenyra’s court must surely have suspected the same. If so, they held their tongues.

Throughout most of the war, it is Corlys that is able to exert power over Rhaenyra, even in matters concerning the succession of other houses. And so it is Corlys' authority that Rhaenyra has to obey, because she cannot risk losing his support, or that of other such lords:

Their deaths left her with a nettlesome problem of succession, however. As it happened, each of the “faithless friends” left a daughter; Rosby’s was a maid of twelve, Stokeworth’s a girl of six. Prince Daemon proposed that the former be wed to Hard Hugh the blacksmith’s son (who had taken to calling himself Hugh Hammer), the latter to Ulf the Sot (now simply Ulf White), keeping their lands black whilst suitably rewarding the seeds for their valor in battle. But the Queen’s Hand argued against this, for both girls had younger brothers. Rhaenyra’s own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters. It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon.

That's not to say, Rhaenyra is entirely powerless. As the Queen, she does have the final say in matters. Especially in discussions concerning the Greens, it is Rhaenyra's decision ultimately to decide what is to be done. Of course, she does hear Corlys out first before making her decisions:

The Lannisters and Baratheons should be destroyed as well, so their lands and castles might be given to men who had proved more loyal. Grant Storm’s End to Ulf White and Casterly Rock to Hard Hugh Hammer, the prince proposed…to the horror of the Sea Snake. “Half the lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two such ancient and noble houses,” Lord Corlys said. It fell to the queen herself to choose between her consort and her Hand. Rhaenyra decided to steer a middle course.

One of the descriptions that GRRM himself gave for Rhaenyra is that she never forgets a slight. So I do think part of the reason she was quick to believe the worst of Addam is because the circumstances in which he became heir to Driftmark were already a huge insult to her. The book doesn't mention whether it was Rhaenyra or Corlys that had Addam residing at the Dragonpit but the fact that he was kept out of her sight is an interesting detail. When Addam is suspected of treason, it does give Rhaenyra an opportunity to let out her own grievances.

Corlys and Rhaenyra can't really be described as being particularly fond of each other. However, they do share grandchildren/children in common, and it's obvious they care about them. So it would make sense to say Corlys and Rhaenyra tolerate each other and keep their personal grievances mostly to themselves. Corlys' outburst after Rhaenys death in which he was very quick to wish death upon Rhaenyra certainly says a lot about his own opinions though. But most of their actions are them trying to play nice with each other.

Rhaenyra's exercise of power is almost limited (part of that does have to do with her position as a woman trapped in a war because her authority was questioned on account of her womanhood). Corlys is a man and a wealthy noble too, so he can use that to his advantage many times. Rhaenyra as a woman does have to appease him for this reason. But since she is a Queen too, she can exert her own will if she chooses to do so, even if doing so means risking losing Corlys' support.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #corlys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #corlys & rhaenyra #meta #reposting my old twitter meta here #I decided to expand on more points

[yui-kuromori]

Okay, sure, Lucerys gets sea sick the moment he steps on a ship. That's a truth. He does, however, take the time to learn the name of every sailor who has sailed with him. To learn their stories. To befriend merchants, be a good diplomat and watch over the daughters of his grandfather’s friends.

Sure, Lucerys is not yet a great sailor, but he stood bravely in storms and held the hands of the frightened when thunder struck too close. He used Arrax's fire to keep his companions warm. He never disregarded their traditions, the sailors's culture. He learned about it with the utmost respect.

So, when his grandfather nears death and Lord Vaemond calls for the driftwood throne, in front of all court, just as his grandfather sits on the Iron Throne ready to defend his mother, the hall's doors burst open and in walk in a hundred captains of a hundred ships of the Velaryon fleet.

They cannot demand Lucerys as their leader. They know that not even in numbers they can convince the noblemen of their wishes. So, they turn to the one thing all men, even Targaryens bow under. Faith.

They turn to their god, the one that holds their lives everyday when they launch at sea: the Drowned God.

A hundred captains call Lucerys Velaryon to be trialed by the ocean. Lucerys attends the call.

In front of the king, his uncles, parents, grandparents, siblings and cousins, in front of all court,a thousand onlookers on Kingslanding bay and hundreds of sea men who followed their captains, Lucerys Velaryon is held under sea water until bubbles break the surface and he stops moving.

They pull him out of the water, gray and unbreathing, and watch wide eyed as a long moment passes.

Then, the young prince's eyes snap open, murky water pooling out of his mouth, as he takes a huge, gulping breath and his pearly scaled dragon lets out a roar so loud, it can be heard from the red keep. A thousand sea men roar in celebration. The Royal family watches wide eyed. Vaemond knows better than to go against the men he once hoped to rule.

One hundred captains of a hundred ships declare, they will follow Rhaenyra's second born son and no one else.

Lucerys Velaryon's birth right is never questioned again.

Update: Part 2

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house velaryon #hotd #lucerys velaryon #vaemond velaryon #viserys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #luke velaryon #lucerys targaryen #lucerys #lucemond

[liaromancewriter]

Stardust

Premise: Ethan and Cassie’s skating date plans go awry, but all hope is not lost.

Fandom: Open Heart/Choices Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,965 Day/Prompt: @12daysofchristmas Day 9 - “I like it out here. It’s peaceful.”

A/N: For @choicesholidays "Best Christmas Ever" prompt, @choicesprompts Holiday rewrite event: inspired by Virgin River's S5 Christmas special where Mel and Jack celebrate their first Christmas and make their own holiday traditions, including the ice skating scene. Also submitting to @choicesdecember2023 prompt "Christmas" and @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday event.

I'm using @choicesflashfics week 64, prompt 1 (in bold), and fluffy dialogue prompt 1 from Second Day of Gift-Giving by @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills.

Growing up in New England meant ice skating. One of Ethan Ramsey’s earliest memories was holding his father’s hand as they stepped onto an outdoor ice rink. Light snow fell around them like stardust, and he tilted his head back to catch a snowflake on his tongue.

His father taught him how to skate that night, gripping Ethan’s hand lightly and encouraging him to lean forward and alternately stroke and glide on the ice, letting the blades do the work.

He remembered his father’s deep laughter and his mother’s cheers from the sidelines as he let go of the hand keeping him tethered. Feeling the wind on his face and watching colors blur from the festive lights strung up around the rink, everything in little Ethan’s world was perfect at that moment.

Many years later, Ethan still loved to skate but didn’t have as much time for it. As head of diagnostics at Boston’s Edenbrook Hospital, his duties kept him much too busy. But something about the holidays made him nostalgic for simpler times.

“Earth to Ethan. Anyone there?” Cassie Valentine snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Ethan shook his head to clear the memories clouding his thoughts. “Sorry, I was miles away. What were we talking about?”

“Okay, that was some trip,” Cassie commented, giving him a strange look above the rim of her wine glass. “Holiday traditions from our childhood. You were telling me about skating with your parents, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Ethan said, feeling his face flush.

For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was. He glanced around his apartment and the holiday decorations they’d put up a few days ago, scratching the back of his head as he tried to collect his composure.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay — the first one they bought and decorated together — tinsel and fairy lights winking against the dark. Presents had found their way underneath the tree at regular intervals in the last couple of weeks.

This was their first holiday together, technically second as a couple, but he’d been in Providence last year, and she’d been working. Somehow, without realizing it, he found himself in a relationship that was more serious than anything he’d ever had before.

What else would you call meeting each other’s families and planning together what presents to buy for their respective relatives?

“Do you still skate, or is that in the past?” Cassie mused, her legs curled up beneath her on the couch.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Ethan confessed, picking up the near-empty wine bottle to top up their glasses. “A few years ago, a bunch of us started getting together in the community center rink for ice hockey. Nothing formal, just pick up games to blow off steam.”

“Why am I only finding out about this now?” she said, somewhat disgruntled. “We’ve known each other for almost three years!”

Ethan rolled his eyes at her dramatic response. “Because I have other, more pleasurable things to say and do when you’re around. Besides, I had Naveen’s condition to occupy my mind that first year, and then my mother’s return and addiction last year. This is the first normal holiday season for both of us.”

“You have a point,” Cassie conceded with a regal nod before twisting in her seat to regard him thoughtfully. “I bet you’re a goalie. You’ve got the build for it.”

“You’d lose that bet.” Ethan raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I play center.”

She harrumphed and then tapped her index finger against her lips. “Remember how we talked about making our own holiday traditions when we decorated the tree last week? Let’s add skating to the list. The Boston Common Frog Pond rink is open for the season, and it always looks fun when I go running past it.”

“I’ve been, and it is fun,” Ethan said. “How about Friday? You’re working a double before that, so should be post-call, right?”

“It’s a date,” Cassie smiled, intertwining her fingers with his and nestling against him. “This is going to be the best Christmas season ever!”

When Friday came, Ethan was run off his feet. Herb, one of his oldest patients, had been admitted with an unknown infection. He spent the entire day running tests, frustrated when the results didn’t reveal anything useful.

Deciding to return to the beginning, he sat behind his desk, switched on the monitor and pulled up Herb’s medical history. He wasn’t leaving here until he figured this out.

“You’re still working?”

Ethan looked up at the intrusion, eyes unfocused, the screen’s glare reflecting off his reading glasses. Cassie stood inside the sliding glass doors, wearing a pink long-sleeved sweater beneath a puffy white vest and black jeans. A knitted cap with white and pink stripes sat atop her long blonde hair.

He wondered whether she coordinated her outfits or if it was an innate style. Maybe even both.

He noted the small duffel bag in her hand and cursed internally. He’d utterly forgotten their skating date, and judging by Cassie’s amused expression, she knew it, too.

“You’re important to me. And I want you to know that,” Ethan said, coming around from behind the desk to stand before her. He took her hand in his.

“I do know that, but thank you for telling me,” Cassie chuckled, lightly swinging their clasped hands before letting go. “What’s going on?”

Ethan quickly explained the situation, running frustrated fingers through his hair, his inability to solve the case coming through in the irritated tone of his voice. Before he knew it, he started brainstorming Herb’s condition with her, pulling up test results and walking her through his thought process.

Herb wasn’t the diagnostic team’s patient, but it helped to have someone he trusted from the team working with him.

“Could be GI. Have you considered….”

“…barium follow through?” he said, reading her thoughts as perfectly as she could his. He frowned as he tried to connect the dots to the other symptoms.

“I thought I saw something in his chart,” she said, nudging him out of the chair to take control of his keyboard, her eyes scanning the electronic medical records. “Aha, there it is. Small bowel obstruction, managed through a steroid protocol, so no biopsy was done to rule out Crohn’s or colitis.”

“Good catch,” Ethan said, reading over her shoulder. “I’ll put in orders for a barium test tomorrow. Nothing more we can do today.”

Her light floral scent drifted into his nostrils, and he sighed in disappointment. Date nights were already hard to organize with their erratic schedules. He couldn’t help but feel he’d wasted this one.

He turned the office chair around, placed his hands on either side of her and leaned in. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I not only messed up our plans tonight, but I pulled you into this after you’d already worked a double shift. I heard about the clusterfuck that was last night.”

“That would be an apt word to describe it,” she murmured. “Not sure how I got home this morning, but at least it was quiet in the apartment with everyone else on shift.”

“Still, tonight was supposed to be the start of another holiday tradition for us,” he insisted.

For the first time in forever, he resented work coming in the way of his personal life.

Cassie framed his face between her hands. “I’m here with you. I’m right where I belong. Doing what I’m good at with the man I love and one who taught me that patients come first.”

Ethan closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a slow, sweet kiss, thanking her for understanding with the promise of more to come. Cassie locked her hands behind his neck, and he tugged her out of the chair, reversing their positions without breaking the kiss.

They slowly drifted apart, foreheads touching. Cassie smiled softly, her fingers trailing down the side of his face. “Raincheck on our date?

Ethan checked his wristwatch and noted it was almost half past eight. Where had the last few hours gone?

“We could try to get to the Commons before the rink closes at nine,” he offered, mentally calculating the distance, traffic and parking situation.

“It’s okay,” Cassie said, getting off his lap and stretching her arms upward. “Another night. Besides, we’re doctors. Disrupted plans are par the course.”

“There are other rinks in Boston,” Ethan said, standing beside her. “Let me google what’s open. Tonight doesn’t have to be a total loss.”

“Actually,” Cassie said, taking her phone out and unlocking it. “Rafael’s old neighborhood has a small rink that’s open all night. He invited the Roomies there last year. It’s no Frog Pond, but it was nice. Let me text him.”

While she did that, Ethan tidied up his desk, closed out files and powered down his computer.

“Yes!” Cassie pumped one fist in the air. “It’s still around, and Raf is sending directions.”

An hour or so later, after stopping by his place to change and pick up skates, Ethan parked in the lot on the other side of the community park from where the rink was located. They walked hand in hand down the walkway, the soft glow of street lamps a welcome relief against the shadows around them.

The rink was small, as advertised, and empty, given the lateness of the hour. And yet Ethan liked it all the more for its relative privacy versus other public rinks.

“I like it out here. It’s peaceful,” Ethan commented as they sat on a bench and strapped on their skates.

“It’s popular with local families, so it can get busy early in the day,” Cassie explained, her voice muffled as she bent down to tighten her laces.

Ethan flicked the light switch, the red and green lights bright against the darkness. He stepped onto the rink, gliding effortlessly on the ice, feeling the familiar rush of wind rushing against his face.

“Whoops,” Cassie giggled behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking back to see her arms flailing before she caught her balance.

“I’m good,” she said, carefully holding herself still.

He laughed as recognition hit. For all Cassie’s bravado, she was not as comfortable on skates as she pretended to be.

“You think it’s funny?” She lifted her chin mulishly, spreading her legs wide and turning her skated feet inward.

“Yeah, I do,” Ethan smirked, skating in a loop around her.

He took her hand as she continued to struggle and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Because I finally found something that Cassie Valentine isn’t good at.”

He grinned as Cassie pretended to be offended. She started to push against his arms, but her skates slipped, and she clung to him like a barnacle. Within seconds, they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

“You figured me out,” she confessed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she swallowed back her laughter.

She placed her gloved hands on his upper arms, her green eyes sparkling as they gazed into his. “I suck at skating. No matter how much I try, I will never be more than passable.”

Ethan brushed his hands down her arms and folded her hands in his. “Then it’s a good thing you have me to hold on to.”

He lowered his face as Cassie stretched on her toes, and their lips met in a kiss that chased the cold away. They looked up as snowflakes started to fall from the sky, sprinkling over them like stardust.

And under a starry, magical night with snow falling around them, Ethan looped Cassie’s arm through his and skated them expertly around the rink, making another holiday tradition just for them.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @debbiechanclub

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate @zealouscanonindeer

#open heart #open heart choices #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #12daysofchristmas2023 #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

Daenerys is 14

And she does stay in Slavers Bay and try to rebuild the economy. Source: A Dance With Dragons.

She spends much of the book trying to negotiate new trade deals with the Lhazarene and the Qartheen, trying to plant new olive groves and bean fields, trying to reform the guilds membership so former slaves can earn proper wages as skilled craftsmen. She tries to assimilate with Meereenese culture to ease a peaceful transition of power, she consults with their priestess, she adopts their religious rites and their uncomfortable traditional dress, she agrees under pressure to marry a Meereenese noble (she doesn't force anyone into marriage at dragonpoint like in the show). And she goes out personally to feed and care for the sick and starving refugees at her door, she tries to set up quarantine zones to slow the spread of infection.

And yeah she falls short. But the odds are stacked against her. She's 14, for starters. And before she arrived the slavers burnt all the olive groves and salted the soil so she couldn't use them, and as she calculates it will take 30 years before the land will be truly productive again. She also has the Meereenese slaving class working very hard to sabotage her by funding domestic terrorism within the city. And she has to deal with a refugee crisis, a famine, a plague, and an alliance of pro-Slavery states forming a blockade around Meereen and threatening to siege the city.

True the refugee crisis is arguably due to her leaving Astapor. She set up a new government, but she should have stayed longer to consolidate it. But she is only 14, and her main adviser/parental figure is too busy being a pro-slavery pedophile.

And the fall of Astapor isn't completely on her shoulders. She left adults in charge, people with qualifications and who knew the land and people better than she did. They had political agency and responsibility. As did Cleon. He could have chosen not to overthrow the Council and name himself King. He could have chosen to heed Daenerys when she told him "don't start a war with the Yunkai". And the Yunkai could have chosen not to slaughter Astapor and chase the refugees to Meereen. They could have simply removed Cleon and then recognised Daenerys had no part in his actions. The Yunkai could have chosen not to then declare war on Meereen.

The institution of slavery is complicated to overthrow and complicated to replace and even complicated in the ways it reasserts itself. Daenerys isn't the only actor here who determines the fate of Slavers Bay (though if she unleashes her dragons she can certainly become the most decisive actor again). The entire point of ADWD is that it's much more complicated than that - its GRRM's answer to "what was Aragorn's tax policy?". She is a 14 year old child who does her best against impossible odds, and who explicitly puts any dreams of Westeros on hold indefinitely. Time and time again she is offered the chance and means to sail for Westeros, and she turns it down each time because she knows she can't leave the people of Meereen behind to die.

And hopefully the lesson she learns by the end of ADWD is that she has to stop being conciliatory towards the slaving class. She spares the lives of hostages, she opens the fighting pits for them, she gives up her body in marriage, and still they try to poison her to install Hizdhar as King. Mercy isn't a weakness, but the people who have a vested interest in slavery aren't going to stop just because you ask them nicely (like that garbage show GOT seems to think). She's got to use her dragons.

No, critiquing her failures isn't the same as defending slavery. But claiming that she never tried, and ignoring the odds stacked against her, is false. As for blaming her for Slavers Bay falling into chaos and suffering... First off, again, she isn't the only responsible actor with agency - I maintain that the fall of Astapor was pretty much out of her hands. And second, it ignores the massive scale of human suffering that already gripped slavers bay. The daily violence inflicted on slaves - the families torn apart, the lives destroyed, the children mutilated, the thousands of dead babies killed to initiate the Unsullied, the tortures and crucifixions and whippings and executions and rapes.

Ignoring that isn't that far off from defending slavery. Claiming that the violence that overthrew slavery is worse than the violence that is slavery isn't that far off from defending slavery. Should no one ever dare strike off a slaves chains just because they can't account for the violence that could come after? Is the crucifixion of child-murdering Slavers worse than the crucifixion of innocent children?

Or to bring up another literary scenario with more moral equivalency and ambiguity - was the Tenth plague upon the firstborns of Egypt worse than the mass culling of infant slaves? Who do you blame for the Ten Plagues of Egypt? Should Moses have left well enough alone?

#fandom nonsense #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #breaker of chains #daenerys defense squad #meereen #daenerys meta #dany meta #dany #dany defence squad #pro daenerys #pro daenerys targaryen #anti got

[tokidokitokyo]

千葉県

Japanese Prefectures: Kantō - Chiba

都道府県 (とどうふけん) - Prefectures of Japan

Learning the kanji and a little bit about each of Japan’s 47 prefectures!

Kanji・漢字

千　ち、セン　thousand

葉　は、ヨウ　leaf, lobe

県　ケン　prefecture

関東　かんとう　Kantō, region consisting of Tokyo and surrounding prefectures

Prefectural Capital (県庁所在地) : Chiba City (千葉市)

Chiba lies on the Bōsō Peninsula on the east coast of Tokyo Bay, about 20 miles (30 km) southeast of central Tokyo, and boasts many international facilities such as Narita International Airport, known as the gateway to Japan); Makuhari Messe, one of the most prominent convention centers in Asia; Kazusa DNA Research Institute, a world leader in cutting edge research; and Tokyo Disney Resort, with two theme parks that draw in 30 million patrons each year. It also boasts beaches for swimming, surfing, and diving and was the location for the first Olympic surfing games. Historically, Chiba was a castle town controlled by the Chiba family in the 12th–15th century, and during the Edo (Tokugawa) period (1603–1867) it served as a post-station town for several major roads. After the construction of a railway connecting it to Tokyo, the town began to grow in the second half of the 19th century.

Recommended Tourist Spot・おすすめ観光スポット Mt Nokogiri - 鋸山

Mt. Nokogiri - Hyaku-Shaku Kannon carved into stone cliff

Mt. Nokogiri is named for the zigzag shape of a traditional handsaw that its topography resembles. Along with Mt. Kanozan and Mt. Kiyosumi, Mt. Nokogiri is one of Chiba's three most famous mountains. It stands at 330 meters high and features a grand lookout point as well as a temple complex containing one of Japan's largest Buddhas. The mountain is bare granite and has been a quarry since the Edo Period, providing stones for many of Tokyo's most iconic sites, such as Yasukuni Shrine and Waseda University. You can reach the top by an easy hike or via a ropeway to the top. Hell Lookout (地獄のぞき) is a lookout point at the top of the mountain that hangs over the edge of the cliff and offers a stunning view of Tokyo Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and the distant forests and hills of the Boso Peninsula, and on clear days, Mt. Fuji.

At the southern base of Mt. Nokogiri is Nihonji Temple (日本寺), an officially designated Important Cultural Property. There's a stairway leading from the top of the mountain down to the vast, picturesque Soto Zen Buddhist temple that dates back 1300 years and is still used to train young monks today. A giant daibutsu, or Buddha statue, is carved into the granite on the side of Mt. Nokogiri about midway up the mountain. It is 31 meters high and one of Japan's largest Buddhas, even larger than Kamakura's famous daibutsu at Kotokuin Temple. The statue was built to pray for world peace and most of the statue was carved over three years beginning in 1780.

In addition to the giant daibutsu, there are around 1500 small statues of various Buddhist deities around the temple grounds. Unfortunately, many of the smaller statues were beheaded during the anti-Buddhist movement that accompanied the Meiji Restoration, but there are ongoing efforts to repair them. This part of Nihonji was a spiritual sanctuary built over 21 years in the 18th century by craftsman Ono Kangoro and his students. Towards the top of the mountain stands a 30-meter tall Hyaku-Shaku Kannon, depicting the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. Carved in 1966 into a stone cliff, it is dedicated to those who died in wars, of sickness or in accidents. The Kannon is also worshiped as a protector of transportation due to its protected location surrounded by rocks.

Regional Cuisine - 郷土料理 Sangayaki - さんが焼き

Sangayaki (source)

Namerou and sangayaki are well-known Chiba dishes, especially along the Bōsō Peninsula. Namerou (なめろう) is a dish usually made of minced horse mackerel and sardine mixed with miso, perilla leaves, and leek. When grilled and wrapped in perilla leaves, it is called sangayaki (さんが焼き). The name "namerou" may have come from the fact that namerou is so good that you want to lick your plate clean (nameru means to lick). The name "sangayaki" may be from the fact that the fishermen ate the dish along a river tributary, or sanga, and the word yaki means to grill (like yakisoba or yakitori). Namerou can be cooked in other ways, such as being shaped and grilled like a burger, or being coated in breadcrumbs and fried.

Chiba Dialect・Chiba no hougen・千葉の方言

Note: Chiba dialect is sometimes called Bōsō-ben (房総弁), after the peninsula. Chiba dialect is actually a family of three dialects: Bōshū-ben (房州弁), Tōsō-ben 東総弁, and Noda-ben (野田弁).

Bōshū-ben (房州弁)

1. おいねえ　oinee　not good

はしけえでおいねえや (hashikee de oinee ya)

Standard Japanese: かゆくていけないよ (kayukute ikenai yo)

English: This itches so badly

2. くわっせえ　kuwassee　please eat (command)

ばーさんほら、わーかでいーがらくわっせぇよ (baa-san hora, wa-ka de iigara kuwassei yo)

Standard Japanese: おばあさんほら、少しでいいから召し上がってよ (obaasan hora, sukoshi demo ii kara meshi agate yo)

English: Grandma, come on, please just eat a little bit

3. やんべえ　yanbee　health; condition (often used in a greeting)

いいやんべえだねえ (ii yanbee da nee)

Standard Japanese: こんにちは (konnichiwa)

English: Hello; Good day (lit. "you are in good health today")

Tōsō-ben 東総弁

1. あじょうだぁ　ajyou daa　how is it

あじょうだぁ？ (ajyou daa?)

Standard Japanese: どうですか？　(dou desu ka?)

English: How is it?

2. ねっけぇ　nekkee　warm

今日はずいぶんとねっけぇね (kyou wa zuibun to nekkee ne)

Standard Japanese: 今日はずいぶんと暖かいね (kyou wa zuibun to atatakai ne)

English: Today is fairly warm, isn't it?

3. わんらー　wanraa　you (informal, not very polite)

わんらーよー！んなことやってねーよ！ (wanraa you! 'n na koto yatte nee yo!)

Standard Japanese: あなたねえ！そんな事しないでよ！ (anata nee! sonna koto shinai de yo!)

English: Hey you! Stop doing that!

Noda-ben (野田弁)

1. こわい　kowai　difficult, taxing, bothersome

風邪ひいででまーだこわいだよなぁ (kaze hiide de maa-da kowai da yo naa)

Standard Japanese: 風邪を引いていてまだ身体がだるいんだよね　(kaze wo hiite ite mada karada ga daruin da yo ne)

English: I have a cold and my body still feels listless

2. はらくち　harakuchi　full

はらくちだよなぁ (harakuchi da yo naa)

Standard Japanese: お腹いっぱいだよね (onaka ippai da yo ne)

English: I'm full

3. やっこら　yakora　soon

やっこらいくべ (yakora iku be)

Standard Japanese: そろそろいこうか (sorosoro ikou ka)

English: Shall we go soon?

#japanese prefectures #日本語 #japanese #japanese language #japanese langblr #langblr #studyblr #都道府県 #千葉県 #chiba

[jamtland]

After seeing your post about Sweden's human name, do you mind explaining what your favorite human names for the other Nordics are and your reasoning?

Especially Norway -- I'm still rather fond of Lukas for familiarity's sake, but would love to have a better alternative! I understand why people don't like Bondevik after a quick search. I've seen people use Thomassen recently and have started using that instead

Sure! I'll also add links to posts made by users from these countries if you need a more reliable source (except Iceland, I haven't seen an Icelandic Hetalian on Tumblr yet).

Norway

If you're looking for infomation about anything relating to Norway, not limited to names but also history, traditions and modern culture, YOU NEED TO TALK TO OUR RESIDENT NORWEGIAN @ifindus. They have done university-level research in Norwegian history and I am constantly learning new things about Norway from their posts, which says a lot as someone who has half his family from Norway. It's thanks to Findus that I learned about a very common misconception about Norwegian names that I will explain below!

Unlike people from English-speaking countries, Danes, Swedes, and Finns, Norwegians do not use "middle names" in the sense of "alternative first names that are mostly ignored except on official documentation". It's very common for creators to give Norway a name like "Lukas Øyvind Haugland" with the idea that he goes by Lukas in daily life, and Øyvind is a mostly unused middle name. But that's not how it works in Norway! Instead, both Lukas and Øyvind will be recognized as his first names of equal priority, and he will be referred to using the double name Lukas Øyvind. Findus can explain this better than I can, but you cannot simply smash two names together to form a Norwegian double name, as many name combinations, such as Lukas Øyvind, sound ridiculous. Paraphrasing Findus' words, there are no definite rules that make certain double names realistic or silly, it's mostly a feeling that the name "sounds good". There are however common patterns, such as the first half having less than or equal syllables to the second, both names having the same "vibe", and not having too many consecutive consonants.

Thanks to Findus' advice, I recently changed my name for Norway to drop the "middle names", cutting it down to Sigurd Fjellanger. Sigurd, an Old Norse name meaning "victorious guardian", is the most popular first name among Norwegian creators because of its uniqueness to Norway and use in all time periods. Fjellanger is my personal choice, as I want a nature name for Norway that refers to his home region. Nature names in Norway often indicate where a person's ancestors were from as they were historically chosen from names of towns and farmland. Fjellanger means "mountain fjord" and is associated with coastal western Norway, which is where my Sigurd's hometown is. Findus uses the last name Nordvik which means "northern bay" and is not associated with a specific region (their Norway moves around the country and does not have a fixed hometown). Patronymics (names ending in -sen) don't have strong regional associations and Thomassen is a common, neutral-sounding name.

It seems like I have unintentionally written a long post again. Other characters under the cut.

Sweden

The other Nordic countries use "middle names", but like in real life, these extra names will never be seen outside of these name posts. My full name for Sweden is Björn Axel Johan Stjernqvist because he's my country and I can make fun of him. Björn is a very Swedish Old Norse name meaning "bear" while Stjernqvist, meaning "star branch", is a lame reference to his Hetalia name that also contains the word "star". 95jezzica is from Sweden and recommends the classic Svensson as his last name, but I personally avoid giving very common names to characters in case I know or will meet someone with that name. I also prefer to choose nature names unless there is a meaningful (parental) connection to the name in the patronymic. Double names are also used in Sweden, but they are much rarer and are associated with the older generation. Swedish double names are connected with a dash rather than a space, like Lars-Erik.

Denmark

My beloved Denmark has the name Søren Mathias Holgersen. Mathias is not an Old Norse name. It originates from Latin and means "gift from God", which is what he is to me. Holgersen is a reference to the legendary Danish hero Holger Danske. Some creators think that the name Mathias is inaccurate for Denmark in all periods, but that's only true for the pre-Christianization era. There are 22,7k people currently named Mathias in Denmark in 2023 (this is not including the alternate spellings). In fact, none of the popular alternative names for Denmark that begin with M, Mikkel and Magnus, are of Old Norse origin either. But that's alright, because Denmark was the most strongly influenced by continental Europe culturally and has the weakest Norse influence out of the Scandinavians. This post by someone-you-do-not-know from Denmark discusses what's wrong with the Hetalia name suggestions for Denmark and offers additional suggestions. The OP has a personal reason for disliking the name Mathias, but the name is otherwise alright to use.

Finland

I unfortunately don't speak Finnish and don't know much about Finnish naming traditions, so I use a name that has been personally recommended by Finns and is quite close to the Hetalia name: Timo Kalevi Väisänen. The middle name Kalevi was randomly mentioned by ask-finny from Finland and I'm not particularly attached to it either, so I'm open to changing it. Nordickies is also from Finland and has made two very helpful posts about analyzing Finland's Hetalia name and resources for researching Finnish names.

Iceland

Iceland has a very strict naming law which could make choosing his name easier or more difficult depending on how you look at it. The first name Emil is permitted on Iceland, but it's a modern trend name that doesn't have an Icelandic history, its use began after the release of Astrid Lindgren's book Emil i Lönneberga. Steilsson is illegal as it would mean that Iceland's father was named Steil, which is not a permitted name (nor did it ever exist in the Nordic countries). Like Finland, I kept his Hetalia initials and gave him the name Eiríkur Stefánsson.

#ask #hetalia #hws denmark #hws sweden #hws norway #hws finland #hws iceland #aph denmark #aph sweden #aph norway #aph finland #aph iceland #character development #the more you know #long post #I just noticed the coincidence of Stjernqvist because names like these were created by smashing two often unrelated words together #but in the modern day Star and Branch are related terms #in the context of Star Branch Clone Fork Pull Request that is #Björn is a software engineer to me and I'm laughing so hard at his tangentially programmer name