#simply my friends it is about fealty.

[delfiore]

you drew stars around my scars, but now i’m bleeding [part i]

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x hightower!fem!reader

synopsis: the reality of life at court for nobles tears two best friends, sometimes more, apart.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: basically the dance of the dragons through otto hightower’s second daughter’s eyes. i’m trying to build a character around this y/n so this might involve some relationship building with alicent and otto. some time jumps might be different as well.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were one-and-ten when you swore your loyalty to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Godswood, red leaves all around and above you, was your favorite spot to spend time with her and your sister.

You and Rhaenyra liked to play tickle, and you always found yourself yielding to her.

Rhaenyra was a year older, small for her age but possessed great strength for her frame.

“Yield! I yield!” You shouted out, your laughter dying down, as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You can’t out-tickle me,” Rhaenyra said proudly, arching her eyebrows. She had made no effort to move from you.

“I said I yield, didn’t I?” You smiled.

You knew how to wield a sword, a small sword albeit, but a sword. Your father has seen you drag around a sword a knight had lain next to him while he ate supper one day. Your tiny, seven-year-old body was barely big enough compared to the weapon, yet you held it up and pointed it at the knight, whose heart was about to leap out of his chest at the likelihood of the small lady injuring herself with his belonging. You started training with Ser Harrold Westerling ever since. Your strength was superior compared to the princess’, yet you would yield over and over if it meant seeing that bright smile upon her face.

“And frankly, your father would have my head if I hurt you,” you said simply and shrugged.

“You can’t hurt me, Y/N, not in a million years.”

“You’re right, and I would hurt anyone who dares try to hurt you, badly.” You said. “I’d tackle them to the ground and stab them with my sword. No merciful death for anyone who dares to harm the princess.”

“Oh, my knight in shining armor! How chivalrous of you,” Rhaenyra announced dramatically. “Perhaps you should be my sworn protector.”

“If I could, I would,” you said, looking at your sword, which was rested against the tree, “I’d guard you with my life. You’re my best friend.”

“And you mine. You and Alicent both. I can’t imagine a life without you two. It’d be so dull, so depressing.”

“Then perhaps you shall keep us with you forever, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” you then got on one knee much to Rhaenyra’s bemusement, “I, Y/N of House Hightower, do hereby swear fealty to you. I pledge my sword and my life to defend yours, from this day until my last day.”

“Rise, Lady Y/N Hightower, as my sworn shield,” Rhaenyra held her chin high in attempt to stay earnest, but soon broke out into giggles with you.

Under the Gods’ eye, you had made a promise, as young and callow as you were. It had been forged into place. Your heart as well as your sword was hers.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were two-and-ten when you realized that you had feelings for Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Tears had clouded your weary eyes as you sat, curled up on a bench in the gardens. Your little heart was beating fast after the outburst you’ve just had, yanking out flowers and leaves from plants nearby and tearing them apart. Adults walked past, but they didn’t dare to say anything because, though you were only a child, you were higher in station than most of them.

“Y/N? Oh, Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You felt arms wrapped around you, instantly put you at ease. You were still seething with anger, but you weren’t overcome with these emotions anymore. You felt like you could kept them at bay, at her sweet voice and her warm embrace.

“Alicent,” you said, hiccuping, “we fought, and she said that I was the spare daughter, that Father would do just fine without me.”

“Oh, Y/N. That’s not true, look at me.” You obeyed your princess. There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her. “Alicent was wrong to say that. You know who wouldn’t be fine without you? Me, Y/N. You’ve made this place so much better, with your witty charms, and your good manners—to the point that it drives me crazy how good you are. I need you, Y/N. I’ll always need you.”

“Really?” You said.

Rhaenyra smiled, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Really.”

This time, it was you that hugged her, but it felt more like a cling of desperation. The Princess was your only friend, even your sister would be envious, you were sure of it. Your heartbeat was fast, but it was warm with love. You were warm with love.

You never expected anything to come to your name, as the youngest child of the Hand. Certainly no lands and titles—for you were no man—no riches and gold either, not of your own anyway. Instead, you spent your days training with your sword, and sharpening your mind with books. You were committed to becoming the most capable person your circumstances allowed you.

But there was a lot that you didn’t know about life at court. How could you? You were only a child.

You had been training with a dummy in the courtyard with Westerling, when you noticed the old knight straightening up, his armor plates rubbing against each other in metallic dissonance.

“My Prince,” he said, bowing his head.

You looked up in awe. He stood there in all his Targaryen glory, with his long white hair, tall frame, arms folded behind his back regally, and a princely smirk. You’ve heard tales about him, how he had slain half of King’s Landing for various petty crimes. You’ve heard Rhaenyra talk about him too, yet none of it prepared you for the nervousness of meeting your hero.

“Training hard, I see, Lady Y/N.”

Your mouth hung open, as you thought of what to say. But Ser Harrold had nudged you with a stern look before you could think.

“Y-Yes, my Prince.”

“Spar with me,” Prince Daemon extended his hand to the weapon master for a wooden sword.

“My Prince, she’s not ready—“ Ser Harrold attempted to intervene. Little twelve-year-old you was still in awe at the white-haired man.

“Come, now. Let’s see what you’re made of, Hightower.”

The Prince circled you, a blunt, wooden sword swirling in hand, but he looked like an apex predator nonetheless, ready to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t back down, though, and embarrass your House. You were Y/N Hightower of Oldtown, daughter of Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King.

The movement came to you like muscle memory, everything Harrold taught you suddenly moving you as Daemon delivered blow after blow. You knew he was holding back, but you didn’t want him to. You were strong enough to take on the Prince.

You had had him right there, with a feigned lunge forward to make him dodge and then you would knock the sword out of his hand. But Daemon was quicker, and switched his weapon to his free hand to push you to the ground. When you looked up, Daemon Targaryen would have buried his sword in your throat in a real fight.

“Good movement.” He extended a hand and pulled you up with ease. “Does that hurt?”

He pointed at your reddened palm that has since scraped up with blood. “No, my Prince. A scratch.” You said, puffing your chest, and hiding your wounded hand behind your back.

The Prince nodded. “We’ll make a warrior out of you yet,” He handed you his sword, then he was gone.

When you returned to your father’s living quarters to read, he had been there to wait for you, unlike most days. You were too giddy to pick up on his disdainful frown.

“Father!��� You called happily, running towards him to bring him into a hug. “I fought Prince Daemon! I fought him in hand-to-hand combat in the courtyard!”

Your father only pulled you from himself, and examined the scratch on your hand. “Did he do this to you?”

“Yes, but Father, it’s alright—“

“You are no longer to speak to that man, ever, do you understand? He is no good person, and he will hurt you again.” The Hand said firmly. “You are my daughter. You are Y/N Hightower, and you ought to remember that. Daemon Targaryen is not our friend.”

You looked down at your feet, you didn’t know why Father was making such a big deal of it. Injuries were bound to happen in combat, and Daemon is not a bad person.

“Do you understand, Y/N?”

“Yes, Father,” you said meekly, steadying your voice so as not to show him that you were crying.

You didn’t tell Rhaenyra of the incident the next time you saw her coming back from flying with Syrax, and you never did. You just stopped idolizing the Rogue Prince from then on.

“You reek of dragon,” you teased, scrunching your nose, as she walked towards you.

“Careful,” she removed her gloves, “Syrax doesn’t like people talking about how she smells.”

“To the Godwood?”

“Always.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were three-and-ten when Rhaenyra Targaryen was named heir to the Iron Throne.

Seeing her there at the foot of the throne in all her glory, as all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms swore to defend her succession, you couldn’t be prouder. No matter what happens, you knew you’d always be by her side to council her, comfort her, be her shoulder to lean on when ruling the realm gets difficult. You had sworn an oath that you meant to upheld.

Rhaenyra looked nervous though, terrified even. You could only stand aside and shoot her an encouraging smile, to which the corner of her mouth pulled up slightly.

As soon as she was released from her duties, she stuck with you and Alicent all night. Even while the handmaidens were undressing her, removing her hair updo and helping her into her nightgown, she insisted you stay with her.

It was only when the handmaidens had left, and Alicent was called to your father’s chambers, had Rhaenyra hesitantly asked you to stay the night.

“Rhaenyra,” you said, “it is the biggest day of your life, but why do you seem so sad?”

“Do you think I’ll be a good queen?”

“Of course,” you said matter-of-factly, “you were born for this. You’re the blood of the dragon.”

“No,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Do you think I’ll be a good queen? Me. Not a Targaryen, not my father’s daughter, just me.”

Her questioned surprised you. You would never think someone as self-assured as her would question her own inheritance.

“Rhaenyra, I know you’ll be a good queen,” you said, placing your hand over hers. “You’re what the realm needs, a resolute mind and a gentle heart. Come your time to rule, they will see that you are as fit to lead as any man.”

For the first time that night, she smiled, albeit tearfully. “I can’t do this alone, Y/N. I’ll always need you by my side.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand before bringing it up to kiss it. “Always. However long you need me with you, I will be.”

The night had come in the Red Keep, the darkness giving the princess an usual courage. She dropped your hand, and leaned over, pressing her palms on the bed. You let it happen, you didn’t breathe because you had wanted this for so long. It was merely a second or two, then she pulled back.

You kissed her again, naively, your lips puckered to touch hers, and you can’t remember a life before it since.

The morning light peaked through the windows when you opened your eyes. You smiled, and let out a sigh of contentment, careful not to wake the Realm's Delight in your arms as you got up. The walk back to your chambers was quicker than usual, mostly because you were giddily skipping and running for most of it. How good it was to love and be loved. It was all you cared about, and all you wanted to care about.

Two years went by, and Rhaenyra was growing into the young woman she was always meant to be. Beside her, you were also growing, as her companion, and her best friend. Your father has been bugging you about marriage, something you found no appeal in. He proposed a betrothal with House Blackwood, Crakehall, Reyne, and Lefford, but none of the prospects interested you.

“You’re almost a woman-grown, Y/N. You must marry, as I did, as your mother did, and as did most noble person in this realm before you,” Father countered.

“Why does Alicent not have to marry? Why does she get to stay?”

Otto Hightower held your gaze lowly, “Alicent will do her part.”

“Father, I don’t wish to be married.” You said firmly. “I wish to stay here, with my family, with the Princess. I’ll be her lady-in-waiting that’s what it takes.”

The flame flickered on his face, as he came closer to out his hands on your shoulder.

“Loyalty has always been one of your best qualities. You're like your mother in that way, that fire in your eyes is what I admire about you.” He spoke softly. “But you need to remember who you must be loyal to. Your family, Y/N. Your family is the only people that will never abandon you, in this world of those who are ready to trample you to get what they want. And the more people we make our family, by marriage or otherwise, the more people we have to protect us.”

Your father pulled you into his arms, and pressed a kiss to your head.

On your way back to your room, your mind was clouded with thoughts. You didn’t see ahead, and the person you bumped into. You looked up to find your sister, looking as if she was in a haste.

“Watch where you’re going,” she said crudely.

“You ran into me,” you retorted, “where are you going anyway?”

“It’s none of your business. That’s bad manners, you know?”

“What is?”

“Inserting yourself in other people’s affairs when it doesn’t concern you,” Alicent said, “Seven Hells, Y/N, you’re not a child anymore. You need to learn to take some responsibility for yourself. If not, then for Father’s sake.”

Alicent has always been what your father preferred in a girl, virtuous and ladylike and obedient. She was what he wished you'd be more like. If only he could see who she really was. Some people you must tolerate, only because they're family . . .

Your sister pushed past you and hurriedly rounded the corner. You waited until there was a sizable distance between you before following her, up the stairs, through Maegor's Holdfast. She was going to the King's apartments. You ducked behind a wall, as Alicent turned around to spot any prying eyes before a Kingsguard granted her entrance into his chambers.

You feared the worse.

The next time you saw your sister, it took all of your might not to let your recent discovery dictate your behavior. It was difficult though, as your distaste for her had been present even before you knew what you knew. Rhaenyra was laying her head on Alicent's thighs as they read together in the Godswood.

"There you are. We've been looking everywhere for you," Rhaenyra rose with an excited smile; Alicent, not so much.

"I was training in the courtyard," you said.

"Don't worry about her, she's always off swinging a sword around." Your sister voiced. "That's just Y/N."

Ignoring her words, you sat down on the grass. "Where were you two?"

"In the Sept," Rhaenyra said.

"Why?" A scornful laugh unapologetically escaped you.

"We thought some prayer might do us good," Alicent replied.

"And did it?" You asked, looking at Rhaenyra incredulously. She only shrugged.

"I thought it was good for . . . releasing any emotions I've had to hold back," the Princess fumbled with her ring, the one with the Arryn falcon imprint she started wearing ever since her mother passed.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"You shouldn't be so hostile towards your sister, you know?"

"Why not? She's stupid, and prissy, and a hypocrite and—" you stopped yourself before you could say more. You released the clover you had been rolling between your fingers.

Rhaenyra watched you tentatively with a soft smile. "She means well."

"I don't know why she loathes me so much. All I've ever wanted was to just . . . be her sister," you confessed lowly, "instead she treats our relationship as some sort of race. She always has to come out on top."

"I think you would benefit from telling her these things yourself."

"I'd rather drive a sword through my own heart," you rolled your eyes.

This elicited a laugh from the platinum-haired. "You love each other, I know it. A little kindness goes a long way, Y/N."

"I'd rather spend all my kindness on you," you leaned closer with a smirk and kissed Rhaenyra on the cheek.

"And I would not complain about that," she tilted your chin towards her lips, and kissed you slowly.

Your good mood was quickly snuffed out when on your way back to your chambers for the night, you thought you heard quiet cries behind the door next to yours, Alicent's.

Your sister's face was red, blemished, and blotched with tears when she looked up at you, very unlike the face she uses to present herself as a proper lady. In truth, even you yourself had never seen her like this before.

"Father wishes I be married," Alicent hiccuped through her tears.

Your worst assumptions held true, and you couldn't help but feel pity for her. You approached your sister slowly, extending your arms. She looked confused at first, but you pulled her into your arms, and her cries grew louder into your shoulder. You didn't know how you were supposed to break the news to Rhaenyra, or even if it was yours to do so.

Everyone would know, whenever the Crown Princess was angry. Syrax, as if feeling her rider's fury, would let out the most monstrous of roars, her wings brushing past the roofs and darkening the sky as the beast flies past. You needed to see her, so you waited near the Dragonpit until you heard Syrax's screech in the distance. And furious she was.

"Rhaenyra!"

She ignored you, and kept stomping away, Ser Harrold following behind her. So you insisted.

“Rhaenyra, wait!”

“Did you know?”

“What?”

“Did you know, Y/N? Be truthful.”

“I'd only assumed. I-I—" You held out a hand, but she pulled away.

"My father and my best friend," Rhaenyra smiled bitterly, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. "And she never said anything, you never said anything."

"Rhaenyra . . ." you pleaded. "I couldn't say anything when I wasn't sure, it is treason to speculate such things."

“Men have spoken over smaller matters,” she said lowly. “You would not speak the truth if it does not benefit you. I thought I could entrust that from you of all people. You’re just like the rest of them.”

The truth was, deep down, you were trying to protect your sister, and maybe yourself too. You were sparing yourself and Alicent of Rhaenyra’s wrath, that now as you were seeing it, looked more like disappointment.

“Do not seek me out. I do not wish to see you anymore.”

The Princess walked away before you could utter a word of apology. In the distance, Syrax huffed and she was led back into the Dragonpit.

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen imagine #rhaenyra targaryen imagines #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #milly alcock x reader #emma d'arcy x reader

[john-macnamara]

It took us a little while to find the file for this, but we wanted to successfully wrap up PEIP's infamous portal incident. As you know, the Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional Phenomena division of the United States' Military interrogated one Johnathan S. MacNamara after the incident. He was twenty-four at the time. We thought it would be beneficial to share this portion of the story. Give all you loyal followers the full picture.

cws: implied torture, degradation, drugging, implied sexual assault

Interrogation Records: Major Johnathan S. MacNamara; Feburary 15, 2006.

Interviewer: Lt. Gen Joseph N. Brown (JB)

Interviewee: Maj. Johnathan S. MacNamara (JM)

Purpose: Prove connection to ex-Colonel Wilbur R. Cross, now under alias Uncle Wiley

At 2:38 AM, MacNamara was forcibly removed from his bed and taken to interrogation room C. He was confined with handcuffs in case of an escape attempt, and injected with 0.7 ml of flunitrazepam combined with 5 ml saline solution. As soon as the injection was completed, the interrogation began.

[Begin Transcript 00:00:05]

JB: What is your relation to Wilbur Cross?

JM: I don't see how this has any relevance to our current problem. Nor how you have any right to request that information. Sir.

JB: You've still got a mouth on you, huh? Don't know what I expected. You're that street whore we hired, are you not? Of course your mouth would be the most important part.

JM: I'm not sassing you, sir. I'm simply stating my misunderstanding of the situation. If I was woken up in the middle of the night for this, I'd appreciate knowing why I happen to be important enough to question.

JB: You don't need to know that. Simply answer me. What is your relation to Colonel Wilbur R. Cross?

JM: He is- was my friend. Is that all you wanted from me? Can I go now?

JB: Oh, a friend you say? Well you weren't his only friend, and yet you were the only one unharmed yesterday. Why is that?

JM: I don't know, sir.

JB: I'm sure you know something. You went to him first. You could have very well had something to do with the attack.

JM: I would never. I am loyal to this organization above all else. I have been nothing but loyal to you. I swear on my life.

JB: Swearing on a traitor's life doesn't mean much.

JM: I'm not a traitor, you fucking pig! ...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry sir. I'm so sorry.

JB: Board him. He should know how to address his superiors with respect.

JM: Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

[Indistinct]

[00:11:56]

JB: Do we have an understanding, Major?

JM: ...yes, sir.

JB: Will you refer to your superiors by anything other than "sir" or "ma'am"?

JM: No, sir.

JB: Good. Now, would you like to truthfully answer my previous question about your relationship to Wilbur Cross?

JM: My apologies, sir, but I thought I already did? We were friends, and then he swore fealty to whatever resides beyond that portal. Now we're not.

JB: I was looking for a concise answer, Major.

JM: Sorry, sir.

JB: Are you telling the truth about your relationship? There was nothing romantic there, no hidden feelings that may have lead to assisting him after he left?

JM: Of course not, sir.

JB: I don't believe you. Tell me the truth, or we'll put you under the water again.

JM: I'm not lying, we had nothing between us except for a friendship and a mentorship. I promise, sir. If we had anything else together, I'd have told you as soon as it occurred.

JB: Alright boys, you know what to do.

JM: No. Please-

[Indistinct]

[00:18:31]

JB: Would you like to tell us anything yet?

JM: I...

JB: Yes? Spit it out.

JM: I was in love with him...

JB: There we go! Look at you, finally admitting something. At least you have some sense.

JM: I swear to you, sir, that just because I was in love with him doesn't mean I would have betrayed PEIP for him.

JB: Well, I don't know if I can trust that. But I'm nice, so here's what I'm going to do. We're going to dose you with something that'll make you more... malleable. You'll be more likely to tell the truth and to cooperate. Don't try to resist, it'll be easier if you let it take effect.

JM: I- yes sir.

[JM dosed with 150 ml sodium thiopental]

JB: How ya feeling, soldier?

JM: 'ired...

JB: Good. Where are you?

JM: Uhhhh... I dunno? Sorry...

JB: Wow, you just fall right under this shit, huh? I bet I could do anything I wanted to you, and you wouldn't even know. Maybe you'd even like it, you slut.

JM: Mhm...

JB: But that's not what we're here for. Tell me the true nature of the relationship between yourself and Colonel Cross.

JM: Uh- righ', Wil. Yes. We'r frens. I love him, he doesn love me. Simmle.

JB: We already got that part. What was your relationship to him after he went through the portal?

JM: Oh, sorr'... I aven seen 'im ince the portal.

JB: So you weren't lying to me, then?

JM: No sir.

JB: Were you in cahoots with any entity from beyond that portal since he entered?

JM: Nosir.

JB: Well, considering I don't think you can lie in this state, I'm going to assume you're telling me the truth. Our apologies for the misunderstanding.

JM: Issok.

JB: There must be something we can do to make this up to you. What would you like?

JM: ...sleep?

JB: Well that sounds very nice. Unfortunately, we can't let you go to sleep until the drug wears off, you see. But I do have an idea of what we can do while we wait. Does that sound nice?

JM: Mhm, sure...

JB: Now, if I asked you to do anything right now, you'd do it. Isn't that right?

JM: Yessir...

JB: Wonderful. You all may leave, I have something to do here. Now, stay still, pretty boy, and open up your mouth.

JM: [Indiscernible slurring. Reminiscent of protests]

[End Transcript 00:32:17]

#hatchetfield rp #hatchetblr #peip leaks

[tar-maitime]

back to back, birds of a feather

For @maedhrosmaglorweek Day 3: Himring and the Gap Prompt: Fealty and loyalty

“But my lord...” Amlach swallows hard, then dares to continue his question. “How did your sister come to be the head of your House?”

It is not that it is unheard of among Men for a woman to take up leadership. Lady Haleth of the Haladin is probably the best-known instance - and she went into battle, too, as Lady Maedhros does. But  Haleth had taken up leadership after her father and brother had fallen and there was no one else available. Lady Maedhros has six living brothers, the eldest of whom Amlach had mistakenly addressed as head of the House of Fëanor until Lord Maglor, surprised, had told him he had the wrong person.

Fortunately, Lord Maglor does not seem offended by the question. “The Eldar, for the most part, do not divide the duties of male and female as Men do,” he says simply. “My sister is the eldest of us, and of a mind to lead, and so the headship is her right.” He pauses. “And in truth, even if it were not her right by the custom of our people, I would still cede the command to her, for she is made for it and I am not.”

Amlach considers this. It is not a perspective he had ever thought of before. He has no sisters, elder or younger, but those of his friends who do would not, he thinks, take so easily to such an arrangement.

“Does it not chafe you, to be thus under your sister’s dominion?” he ventures, since Lord Maglor has been so gracious with his queries thus far. “Or does she deal more easily with you, since you are kin?” Or perhaps, he thinks, Lady Maedhros holds no real power at all, and is merely a figurehead while her brother is truly in charge, but he does not say this aloud. 

Lord Maglor laughs, shaking his head. “My sister does not dominate, as you put it. Those who give her their loyalty do so gladly and freely, and while she commands, she is no slave driver - that is the work of the Enemy in the north. As for me, I would hardly describe myself as subjugated to her. She has my loyalty, and I have hers, and it is the same with our brothers, though they are further off and more difficult to manage. And I begrudge her my loyalty no more than I would if she were my brother, if that was what you meant to ask.”

Amlach ducks his head slightly, a little ashamed at having been seen through.

Lord Maglor claps him on the shoulder, and offers him a small smile. “Come, rest from your travel a while. When my sister returns, you shall meet her, and judge her character for yourself.”

Amlach, his thoughts still adjusting, follows, now more curious than ever about the strange Lady of Himring.

#silmarillion #maedhrosmaglorweek #maglor #amlach #long peace #drabble #roots compliant

[grangertrash]

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When a Lioness Fights by kayly silverstorm Hermione Granger x Severus Snape Words: 416k+ Chapters: 80 Hermione Granger, master spy, and Severus Snape, spymaster to the Order. An unlikely partnership, forged to defeat the Dark Lord on his own ground. But to do so, they must confront their own darkness within. Spying, torture, angst and love. AU after fifth

The Last Marauder by Resa Aureus Hermione Granger x Remus Lupin Words: 238k+ Chapters: 78 In the wake of the war, Dumbledore's portrait gives Hermione a task that could change the course of history if she succeeds, but unravel time itself if she fails.

Mon Couteau Aiguise (My Sharp Knife) by gillianeliza Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 169,542 Chapters: 99 “And you understand, I assume, the implications of wearing a piece of jewelry such as the one you have around your wrist?” Professor Snape asked. Hermione looked down at the bracelet in question, remembering the warm and joyful sensation of it first being clasped around her. The words Draco had spoken – will you have me? Will you accept me? “I do, sir,” she answered in her best impersonation of confidence. “But Miss Granger… I must ask – do you understand the cost?” Her brows pulled together. “The cost, sir?” “The Dark Lord will return, girl... When he returns, Lucius – and I for that matter – must resume our places at his side.” Hermione still said nothing, which she could tell surprised her potions professor greatly, so he continued. “What do you think will happen to Draco when his father once again becomes a follower of the Dark Lord?” The sticky dread clawed its way up her throat, as if choking her. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she thought of the implications. “So I ask you again, Miss Granger, do you understand the cost?” This work is a dark, Death Eater Hermione AU that begins during third year. Eventual canon divergence.

The Green Girl by Colubrina Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy Words: 150k+ Chapters: 22 Hermione is sorted into Slytherin; how will things play out differently when the brains of the Golden Trio has different friends? AU. Darkish

Send me your favorite and I'll add it!

#harry potter #hermione granger #hogwarts #draco malfoy #dramione #severus snape #remus lupin #severus snape x hermione granger #sevmione #snamione #hermione granger x draco malfoy #remus lupin x hermione granger #remione #dark hermione #death eater hermione #death eater!hermione #dark!hermione #dramione fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #antonin dolohov #augustus rookwood #hermione granger x antonin dolohov #antonin dolohov x hermione granger #augustus rookwood x hermione granger #hermione granger x augustus rookwood #hermione x antonin #antonin x hermione #augustus x hermione #hermione x augustus

[muddyorbsblr]

sworn fealty part 1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: When Lady Sif and the Warriors Three conspired to travel to Midgard and bring Thor home, you attempted to stop them in fear of the wrath of the just appointed King Loki. When they inevitably subdue you and your fellow soldiers, you're the one tasked to relay to him the unfortunate turn of events.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: violence; broken flanges; Reader putting herself through pain; Lady Sif & the Warriors Three being shitty friends to Loki & Reader; brief talks about flogging & public punishment; implied/almost smut (so minors & pearl clutchers i better not see you around you have been warned) [let me know if i missed anything!]

"Of course he won't lift the banishment on Thor," Sif seethed as she paced through the common hall designated for the warriors of Asgard. "That little miscreant has always been jealous of him and always will be and now that he's King--"

"Sif," you hissed. "Stand down. Would you really speak of Asgard's new King this way?" 

You heard a mirthless chuckle from your far right. "Of course you would be so quick to defend your new king," Fandral taunted. "Y/N, you've harbored your infatuation with Loki since we were in training. It was endearing before, but if it will stand in the way of us bringing home the rightful King of Asgard by birthright, it is a nuisance." 

"I am simply stating that we are now dealing with an occupant of the throne who wields his magic as if it were an extension of his own limbs. He has ways of listening everywhere and I would not risk speaking ill of him even when he is not in our evident company. My friends, I implore you, stand down." 

"You wouldn't speak ill of him even if his powers were dampened and he be locked in a prison cell," Volstagg huffed at you. "We are bringing Thor home. We refuse to believe Loki's lies that the Queen herself forbids his return. We must bring him back before his brother makes a mess of the entirety of the realm." 

He wouldn't, you protested inwardly. You simply have written him off as nothing but a troublemaker that you doubt his ability to rule before he even be given the chance to prove himself. "I was there when he ascended the throne," you spoke slowly, calmly, trying to mask your frustration toward the people you struggled to call your friends at this moment. "The Queen herself called in the Einherjar to present him with Gungnir. Shouldn't that count for something?" 

"It doesn't," Sif hissed from her position. "The Queen has always had a soft spot for Loki, that is beyond any doubt. Asgard needed someone to rule in Odin's stead as he succumbed to his overdue periodical rest, and he was the only choice left. That doesn't mean that he deserves it." 

You bristled at her faithless, spiteful words. "To go against the wishes of the King, the wishes of the Queen Mother, is treason." 

"I sincerely hope that you will not take our actions in bad faith, Lady Y/N," Hogun spoke solemnly. "And that once these matters conclude you can still find it in your heart to call us your friends." 

The four warriors drew their weapons pointed at you and your fellow soldiers. Fandral spoke once more. "But if you will not join us in recovering Thor from Midgard and bringing him home, where he belongs…"

"Then you are against us," Sif finished. Her eyes softened a fraction before speaking again. "I do not want to hurt you, Y/N." 

You gave her a sad smile in response. "If you are determined to stay this course, my friend, then you must." You drew your weapon to defend yourself.

It didn't take long for the three warriors to disarm and restrain the other warriors who chose to stand in their way; they were after all given their reverence in their own special titles for a reason. That left you and Sif, facing off, your blows almost evenly matched with her ferocity--most definitely stemming from her own unconditional fealty to the god of thunder--giving her only the slightest advantage. 

"Yield, Y/N!" she cried as she charged towards you once more, her strikes slowly diminishing in strength as you deflected her blow once more, the metallic clangs of your weapons clashing echoing throughout the hall. "For once in your life relinquish your fealty to Loki and do what's right!" 

You threw your first offensive blow throughout this altercation, following through with your whole body as you knocked her shield from her arm. A few more blows that the lady warrior had barely parried and she was disarmed. "Yield, Lady Sif," you ordered once she was without her weapons. "You've been bested, it's time to yield." 

"I'm so sorry, my friend," she said softly as two pairs of hands grabbed at your arms and extricated your weapon from your hand. You looked on either side of you, the faint twinge of betrayal stinging at you as you spotted Fandral and Volstagg holding your hands in place, as Hogun placed your wrists in chains. Sif kept her posture straight and tall as she walked over to you. "Your loyalty to Loki will be your downfall one day, my friend. I beg you to see reason. At least give us a few minutes head start before you go running to your King." 

Once they had you restrained and seated far from the other soldiers, they turned and left the hall, no doubt to head toward the Bifrost to retrieve the blond-haired god. 

"Someone will come for us, Y/N, do not worry," one of your fellow soldiers, Daario, tried to reassure you. "They'll send for someone to set us free. They're our friends. They wouldn't just leave us here." 

"By the time someone comes for us, it will be too late," you hissed, your fellow soldiers agreeing with you. "The King finds out that we didn't inform him and we'll all suffer the consequences. He'll have us thrown in the dungeon for conspiracy to treason or some other absurdity. We have to find a way now, while there's still time." You struggled against your cuffs, trying to contort your hand to slip through the restraints. 

"It's no use, milady," one of the newer recruits addressed you. "Our thumbs simply make it impossible." 

With a resigned exhale, you accepted that this newcomer had been correct. But it wasn't impossible. There was one way. It was particularly painful, but the punishment that the King might have in store for you and your entire troop would be undoubtedly worse. With a deep breath, you began to bend your thumb against the joint, in a direction that it did not yield to, groaning in discomfort until it came to a point so painful that you were screaming.

"Y/N, stop!" Daario bellowed at you, but you didn't listen. Not until you felt a pop at the joint and your thumb hung limply from your hand. Now you were able to contort your hand just so and slip it out of the cuff. You leveraged your other thumb against the wall to free your other hand, fighting back the tears that pricked the back of your eyes as you did so. 

Once your hands were free, you made quick work to haphazardly set them back into place and free two of your fellow soldiers. "Free the rest," you barked at them. "We'll make faster work this way." 

"No, Y/N," Daario protested. "Go inform the King. We'll work on freeing the rest. He will appreciate your haste, perhaps not be too harsh on your punishment. I'm sure he'll take your fealty into consideration and not have you be publicly flogged." You blanched at his words. "You're the toughest one of us all. What ever he may have in store for you, you can take it. Go." 

You ran to the King's chambers as fast as your feet could take you, your heart hammering in your chest from both the effort and the terror sinking into you as his tall armored frame came into view. "My King," you said shakily as you sank down to one knee in a bow, making your presence known.

The haughty sound of his sharp exhale made you flinch, the sound of his boots on the marble floor as he turned to face you making you tremble down to your very soul. "Darling Y/N," his dulcet voice crooned as he stepped toward you. You felt his fingertips touch the top of your head, slowly moving toward your cheek. "You're shaking. Stand up, my dear little soldier." He tucked his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to face him with a gentleness that jarred you. 

"I apologize, my King." Your eyes dared not meet his; you didn't want him to see the weakness in them as the tears welled up and threatened to escape. "Lady Sif and the Warriors Three have left the palace. They said they were going to Midgard." 

The softness in his eyes gave way to unbridled fury as he looked away from you, his jaw clenched as he breathed deeply through his nose. "How long ago?" 

"Minutes. If you make haste you may still catch them en route." 

His eyes snapped to your face, making you flinch again, and his fury faltered as he saw the marks of a skirmish all over your face. The little cuts from where Sif's weapon had struck you, the gash by your temple from her shield; when his hands traveled from your shoulders to your hands, you let out a pained yelp when his fingers made contact with the tender joints of your thumbs, making him raise your joint hands to inspect the damage further.

"What have they done to you, dear soldier?" He framed your face with his hands as he tucked the locks of hair that broke free from your braids behind your ear. 

"There was a fight as we tried to stop them from leaving the premises," you explained in a rush. "The four of them held me still and cuffed me. I broke my thumbs in order to break free and I tried to--" 

"Breathe, my darling," he cut you off, his voice deceptively calm. "You did everything you could." 

"My King, you must hurry if you still wish to catch them--"

"I will deal with them once I've taken care of you." He ran his fingertips lightly over the cuts on your face. "Why do you look so afraid, little soldier?"

Your words came out rushed again. "The other soldiers they talked of public flogging and told me that if I hurried then perhaps only I would bear the brunt of your frustrations and that…Well, they said that they thought I could take it."

His jaw clenched once more as he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "They pushed you my way to avoid punishment for themselves?" You nodded your answer, too afraid to speak. "Is this why you balk from my touch, darling?" You nodded again, a stray tear defiantly rolling down your cheek as you did so. "Oh Y/N. My dearest. My beautiful  soldier," he cooed. "I would never harm you."

"Y-You're not angry?" you asked shakily. 

"Oh I am," he answered sharply. "But not with you, Y/N. Never you." He smiled at you softly. "Let me take care of you." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. "Would you let your King heal his little darling soldier?" 

You looked at him carefully, searching for any signs of his usual devious nature, any sign that he might be lulling you into a presumed sense of vulnerability in order to subdue you and bring you toward an actual punishment. You'd been around him long enough you could find faint whispers of it, but now you found none. You decided that was enough, and nodded slowly, a brilliant smile of relief gracing his face. 

He proceeded to press his lips to various spots on your face, spots that you recalled Sif's weapon grazing you throughout your altercation. And then he pressed a lingering kiss to the skin next to the gash from her shield, his hand cradling the back of your head with a protectiveness that seemed so out of his character. "My precious girl," he whispered as he pulled away, gently taking your hands in his and raising them to his lips. 

"My King, you needn't—"

"Shush, my darling." He pressed a tender kiss to each joint, your eyes widening as you began to feel your hands righting themselves. Then he cupped your face, an almost rueful smirk on his face as he looked upon your lips, undoubtedly at your split bottom lip. "Much as I would enjoy healing this particular wound, I should have Sif's head for even marring your face this way. Perhaps once I apprehend them, I will." 

"Don't," you whispered. "Please. She simply did this because she's sworn her fealty to Thor." His eyes met yours, as if he expected you to continue, as if he was anxiously waiting your next words. "As I have sworn mine to you." 

"My Y/N," he breathed, leaning in to press his lips briefly to yours and you felt your split lip righting itself as well. You felt his arms wrap around  your waist, pulling your body roughly to his as he rasped, "Mine" before pressing his lips to yours more firmly and wrapping his arms around you in a lover's embrace. 

As your lips moved against his in near perfect sync, he moved you both further into his chambers, until the backs of your knees softly bumped against the edge of his bed. Once you did, he laid you down gently until your back hit the mattress, his lips never once leaving yours, sighing into each other's mouths. 

"My darling soldier," he groaned against your skin. "I've longed for this, to have you, for centuries." He trailed his lips down to your neck. "But I want to take my time with you. I must savor you." He kissed along the edges of your armor before working his way back to your lips. "Wait for me. Right here. I will deal with the warriors, and your troop. Do not worry, my love. You will not be flogged." He kissed your lips once more. "Unless of course you want to be," he chuckled darkly against you. "Your comrades were right about one thing, though. What I have in store for you when I return? You can take it," he growled into your ear before rolling his hips into yours, his trousered hardness brushing against you, causing you to let out a wanton moan that echoed around his chambers. 

"My King--!" you cried out before his hand gently closed over your mouth, cutting off your words. 

"No, Y/N. Not here. In this room you are my equal, is this clear?" You nodded under his hold, his hand gently moving from your mouth. "When we are here, you call me by my name. Here, you call me Loki. Understood, darling?" 

"Loki…" you breathed out, testing the name on your lips. As his face broke out in a brilliant grin, you could feel a smile of your own tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

"Good girl," he chuckled. "I look forward to returning to you, and having you scream it wantonly for the entire realm to hear." You whimpered under him as he continued to roll his hips against yours. "You will wait for me here. Do not remove any piece of your armor; I wish to do that myself." He pressed his lips to yours once more. "I wish to worship you when I return. I did not long for you since we were children only to have my fill of you within minutes of having you. Do I make myself clear, my little darling soldier?"

"Yes, my--" He gave you a playfully pointed look. "Loki," you corrected yourself.

Your words made him smirk. "Your Loki," he muttered, kissing you once more. "I quite like the sound of that." 

With a final kiss, he pushed himself off the bed and strode toward the door, his cape fluidly moving with every gliding step, looking every bit like a King on a mission. Before he crossed the threshold out of his chambers he turned to you once more, his look of fury and determination softening as your eyes met. "I love you," he whispered. 

Your heart soared at his words. The very ones you'd only dreamed of hearing from him ever since you two began training together. The ones with the power to bring the joyful tears that flooded your eyes at this very moment as you whispered back, "I love you, too." 

A/N: Welcome to the story that resulted from a brain worm that made its presence known when I encountered this post. There will be a part 2 to this eventually that will loosely follow the events of Thor The Dark World, but for now it's just this because I wanna either get back to my chaotic horndogs from 'relinquish the crown' or start working on one of the requests…

Taglist:

Everything: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606

Loki taglist: @calumance @severuslovebot

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfic #muddyorbs writes

[blackjackkent]

Followup conversation with Shadowheart, post-All-of-That-Nonsense.

"My parents. I saw them, spoke to them... and let them go. It's... it's more than I can take in just now. Give me a night, to try and get my head together."

OK, so not really a conversation, just a line, but still. Poor Shadowheart. :( Jennifer English does a tremendous job with these moments where Shadowheart's really conflicted or upset; she gets this little catch in her voice that makes me want to pick her (Shadowheart, that is, though maybe Jennifer English too, idk) up and take her somewhere safe where she won't have to make that sound anymore.

Hector feels really terrible about the whole business, and there are a lot of layers as to why.

a) Shadowheart is upset, and Shadowheart is his friend and sorta-kinda-protege(?) and does not deserve all the shit that Shar has put her through. b) Shadowheart has met and lost her parents simultaneously. Hector has never known his and can't decide if that's better or worse, because there was still something oddly compelling about the expression of pride that her father gave her before he died. c) Hector has met Shar in the "flesh", spoken to her directly - the precise manifestation of everything he was trained to fight against. (And meanwhile, his own goddess has never once spoken to him directly.) d) On some level, even though Shadowheart is free of the curse, this feels like Shar has won simply by the amount of pain she has caused Shadowheart. e) According to the dogma Hector was raised with, it should be considered a victory for Selune instead! She has two new martyrs! Shar's curse has been thwarted! But he can take no satisfaction in that because of what it did to his friend in the process.

Let's get the fuck out of here. Quick glance around the room first.

The only thing of major significance in here is the Mirror of Loss at the back of the room, which presumably was the mirror used to steal away Shadowheart's memories repeatedly:

Narrator: A huge, polished disc looms before you. A mirror - one used by the Sharrans to plunder memories from the minds of others.

"This feels familiar to me somehow. I'm sure I've stood before this mirror before... many times, perhaps..."

Interestingly, one of the options here is a Selunite-specific one to pray to the mirror. I'm not sure why anyone, least of all Hector, would think this would do anything positive, but sure, why not:

[SELUNE][RELIGION] Offer a prayer to the mirror.

We get disadvantage on this because Hector is Selunite, apparently, and it's a DC25 check.

LOL. I could try and spend inspiration on this but honestly this makes more sense under the circumstances.

Narrator: Your prayers fade away into the nothingness of the mirror, unacknowledged.

Sad Hector face! D:

OK, I am actually curious what happens if we succeed this, so backing up, casting Enhance Ability on Hector, and savescumming like crazy.

Narrator: You feel a presence, dark and ancient. It approves of your fealty.

OK, that's not the kind of prayer I thought Hector was offering based on the [SELUNITE] tag, lol. RELOAD.

We also have the option here to offer memories to the mirror; @zenjestrr tells me this would give us a +2 to any attribute, even going over the normal cap of 20. But Hector, obviously, is not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

I think we're done with this place. Let's GTFO.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle

[vigilskeep]

Harker Harker Harker what is Alistair and Kier's relationship like? Like, "Hawke's warden friend" is hilarious when it's Loghain because we're all aware how Kier feels about Ser Betrays-a-Lot (not particularly broken up about his death, understandably peeved about Ostagar, working together out of necessity, etc) but ultimately they both want what's best for everywhere that isn't Orlais and both have generally grumpy demeanors (and soft spots for specific blondes). And that's delightful! We love grouchy bastards in their get-along-disaster

But like.

Warden Alistair and Kier are bound to have some spicy dialogues simply on the "I hate Templars/the Chantry" and "my best beloved is a sketchy mage that the Chantry would want burnt at the stake if they could catch them" fronts. Bls tell us about that working relationship

Love your worldstates and your OCs they make me deeply unhinged ❤️❤️❤️

one of the things abt keir i find personally most entertaining, and that i was not actually even responsible for, but just kind of happened, is that he’s... a theirin apologist LMAO. bc like, i played him in a worldstate where alistair is on the throne, king alistair shows up, and it’s like oh fuck wait this guy is the king. keir is a fereldan loyalist and when the king of ferelden appeared i was like no yeah this is the actual king of keir’s homeland and he really believes in that as something he owes loyalty to. now we don’t have time to unpack all of that

of course if alistair’s here as the warden representative in this slightly different worldstate, it’s a different setup. keir’s not so far gone that he thinks of alistair as the true king or anything if he’s not crowned, keir’s, again, a fereldan loyalist, so if the landsmeet says anora’s the queen she’s the queen. (though he wouldn’t be quite as loyal to her, i think, because of the association with her father’s crimes.) but he would still feel a kind of respect owed to warden alistair as king maric’s son and king cailan’s brother which would be a hugely funny and interesting dynamic to play with for me, especially because this is the worldstate where alistair has most successfully distanced himself from that. that respect doesn’t necessarily stop keir being as gruff with him as he is everyone else—that’s just how he talks, and this is ferelden, where nobility get fealty not necessarily deference—but it would for sure register especially bc keir is typically so antagonistic with grey warden leadership

i don’t think the templar thing is toooo much of a barrier in either scenario because, regardless of whether alistair ever counts as one in the first place, in these two worldstates keir meets him as either a) a king actively pushing for the eradication of the circle of magi (once again, cannot express enough how crazy this is) or b) the loving long-term partner of an infamous maleficar, so it’s like... we’re obviously past that point. but it might come up. i would say alistair’s far far more likely to object to keir’s criticism of the grey wardens than his criticisms of the templars

#keir hawke

[thesinglesjukebox]

ARIANA GRANDE - "WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS (WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE)

Not a Robyn cover?...

[6.47]

Hannah Jocelyn: This is “Dancing On My Own (Ariana’s Version)," so the floor is pretty high. It’s honestly so close to being a masterpiece on the level of “Into You” but it's undone by the Robyn-shaped elephant in the room and some truly bizarre chorus phrasing. "Pre-e-e-tend" is not that many syllables! The original isn’t perfect; the chorus has little to no impact because it’s nearly the same arrangement as the verse. And yet, this remake has its own issues: the backing vocals are so absurdly loud they overwhelm the synths and the actual lead (maybe an attempt at Dolby Atmos-style depth), and when the Aris disappear we’re just left with empty space — not negative space, empty space. You have a whole orchestra at the end, use it! The lyrics are definitely not as memorable as “DOMO”, either; that song endures for its universal sentiment as much as its melody, and this is most interesting if you’re invested in Ariana Grande's life. She is giving it her all, particularly with a soaring bridge straight out of Ellie Goulding's Halcyon, but between this track and its inspiration, I’m not sure this is the song I’m taking home. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I abjured this sort of thing when Georgia brought it to me; I cannot quite resist Ari's own offering to the same extent (it has an actual hook, at least), but it still feels slightly hackish to make this sort of song in 2024. We simply must have some better way to convey the complex cocktail of melancholy and defeated joy that accompanies remembrances of loves just slightly out of reach than doing Body Talk cosplay, right? It's been more than a decade! There are kids starting high school this fall who were born after "Dancing on My Own" came out! Let the past die; abandon the sophistipop trappings of this stagnant cultural moment; keep the bit where you say "silence" and then the beat stops, it's cute! [5]

Tim de Reuse: A catchy, flattened synthpop preset that never reaches for greatness or shows any restraint trudges along with all the emotion of an industrial process. For every moment of insight there is an Ariana-ism ("At least I look this good?" Come on, how is that relevant?) that flicks us away again. Paint-by-numbers unremarkable — and yet, somewhere in the glossy chorus there is the imprint of something truly pathetic; nothing in her delivery of "wait until you like me again" implies that things are ever going to get better, and for a moment the dullness congeals into something. We get a true, insistent flash of the horror of anhedonia, the dead-behind-the-eyes dread of a lonely weekend, the sisyphean task of rewiring yourself to no longer want. I don't know if it's deliberate. But it's compelling, strange, sad. [7]

Mark Sinker: Ariana has a kind of implacable wax-figure dizziness which is probably what I do think makes for good music, even when it distresses me a bit in people.  [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A Robyn track with none of the pathos, "we can't be friends (wait for your love)" is all shallow signification. Grande's voice is too airy to be emotive, and she delivers every line with too much consideration for phrasing. Strangely, it doesn't seem like she even cares what she's saying, though though. And even the beat seems vacant. [4]

Alfred Soto: In another demonstration of her newfound fealty to mild sentiments set to milder beats, Ariana Grande scratch-coos through a closing door that she leaves open at the last second. "You cling to your paper and pens" still stands out on the twentieth play — is it this kind of weirdness that redeems her boy? [6]

Michael Hong: The line about papers and pens is funny — strange enough to make you believe it's specific without actually being much of anything. Not contracts and whatever the hell a real estate agent does because maybe Grande couldn't figure out how to fit that into song or maybe, like me, she just doesn't know. All throughout "we can't be friends," she hangs on this idea of herself being misunderstood: "I didn't think you'd understand me" or "you got me misunderstood." She craves the feeling of being understood, liked, and loved, without reciprocity in her mind. Perhaps that's why sitting in her car right outside the club doesn't feel like a revelation but a reminder of the vacancy that needs to be filled in. To that end, the strobe synth is a comfort, a sharp first breath away from the noise, a couple minutes of pleasure before the loneliness settles in. [7]

Anna Suiter: Even if I had a huge crush on Elijah Wood as a teenager, I never actually watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Now I think I don't have to. [7]

Jackie Powell: When assessing the chart performance for both of Ariana Grande’s Eternal Sunshine singles, Chris Molanphy astutely compared the general public’s response to Grande’s "Yes, And?" to Taylor Swift’s "Look What You Made Me Do." He explained that both singles didn’t last on the charts or in the cultural zeitgeist because they weren’t relatable to listeners. To complete the comparison, “we can't be friends (wait for your love)” has the potential of Swift’s “Delicate,” which was also produced by Max Martin and achieved incremental "narrative changing" success. The recipe is there: "we can't be friends" is more introspective, vulnerable and polysemous than its predecessor. The track, heavily influenced by Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own,” is less catty than Grande's last single; it reveals that she has the capacity to express and perform complex emotions. An issue I take with Grande as an artist is her struggle to lean into her performance, connect with her audience, and emote; she’s often just focused on how she sounds technically. (This is yet another reason why I believe she was miscast in Wicked.) She often struggles telling her story compellingly when she performs live. On “we can't be friends,” however, there’s more of an effort to make the listener internalize the sadness and the longing. Her enunciation helps. When Grande performed “we can't be friends” live for the first time on SNL, she was stiff and awkward and refused to look at the camera with open eyes — a trend during most of her live performances — until the final chorus, which seemed like a turning point for the track as SNL seemed like one for her career. Is this a preview of what’s to come this November in Oz? We’ll have to wait and see.  [8]

Leah Isobel: Yes, Ariana, I also think "Dancing On My Own" is a great song! [7]

Nortey Dowuona: I hope Davide Rossi has made back his money, because if I get credit for playing the violin, viola, and cello and have most of my work drowned out by Max Martin and Ilya Salmanzadeh’s limp, ED drums and only get 26 seconds of my hard arrangement to play, I’m going to be pissed. Oh, and if I hear it and it’s bad, I'm disavowing it completely. [3]

Katherine St. Asaph: Everyone thinks this sounds like "Dancing on My Own." They are wrong. What this sounds like is a "Hang With Me" chimera: the synths of Robyn's track with the uncathartic energy of Paola Bruna's original. For this reason, and others that don't need elaborating here, I can't remember the last time I was so disappointed by a song. [5]

Ian Mathers: I mean, genuine kudos to Grande for making a kind of passive aggressive breakup song with the press (and/or stans?) so genuinely affecting. I hope those crazy kids can make it work. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: On paper, an anthem about a "break-up with the media" seems too-cute-by-half, a way of trying to hijack our neural pathways in order to smuggle in sympathy for one of the most inherently unapproachable pop star problems. But if "we can't be friends" is nothing other than an attempt at manipulation, of getting the listener on Ariana's side, it isn't any more underhanded than all the little manipulations we use on each other on a daily basis. In fact, it's surprisingly candid. There's some diagetic honesty in her trying to critic-proof her message by attaching it to a more blatantly Robyn-derived template than anything Carly Rae's ever put out, a move that expresses deference more than defiance. And the telegraphed moment of silence, though I laughed the first time I heard it, is a nice way of actualizing the meditative, acceptance-focused vibe while also, through the piped-in urban ambience, hinting at the unsettled feelings that still lie beneath. The grandiose strings of the finale, which in other contexts might ring false, are here used to show just how seriously Ariana takes all of this -- a head-held-high defense of her own confessions of dependence and neediness. There will always be room for songs that admit we actually do care what the haters think of us. [8]

Isabel Cole: Ariana at her most ethereal and Max at his most shimmering and sparkly make this aggressively me-bait, and that’s before the Robyn-reminiscent closer in which the synths fade to let the strings swell send us out. The track is just stupidly gorgeous, a lush soundscape made up of parts meticulously arranged exactly as they should be, each piece necessary, none of it overplayed. Ariana delivers her lines with almost no affect at all, steadfastly refusing to differentiate the lines in tone or intensity, which would normally be a deficit but in this case allows her voice to simply take its rightful place as one of many lovely noises making something wonderful; I like that her high note in the bridge is a little weak, a pleasant jolt of humanness in the midst of this impeccable construction. The lyrics are irrelevant, both because she could not sound less invested in them (compliment) and because every time that warm bass kicks in the language centers of my brain shut down to better appreciate details like that first descending synth line that kicks in partway through the first verse or the twinkling effect in the bridge; having looked them up, I have to say there are worse strategies for dealing with the haters than offering them the aural equivalent of a warm bath dotted with rose petals. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#ariana grande #music #pop #pop music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

[sugaryapplepie]

🦉Twin Chrysanthemums🦉

Pairing: Huntsman & Xingshen Tags: Non-romantic, angst, grief, drabble, comfort, S3

The night was quiet aboard the airship. Huntsman hadn't been able to sleep, not with the manic grins of skeletons and the screams of his queen filling his head. Everything had happened so fast...too fast. He needed a break. The spider demon made his way to the large deck of the ship, and there he'd see her. A familiar tall figure wearing white, her long black curls hidden in a cloak. How could he forget? She must be hurting too. Before he could turn and leave, he heard her rich voice speak to him: "Do not go. Stay with me."

It was such a simple request, how could he say no? Huntsman made his way over to her by the railing, looking up at Xingshen's face. Ever since the queen's death, Xingshen had lost the iron authoritative aura that kept those around her grounded. Now she looked hallow, as if stars soul had been carved from stars body. Her golden eyes looked heavenward. The night was clear, allowing the masterpiece of the cosmos to act as their ceiling. Yet she saw not its beauty.

"You could not sleep." Huntsman startled a bit when she spoke. "No, my princess. I-" "You do not need to explain. You miss her just as much as I. Not to mention your friends."

The screams of the dead filled the void between them. Huntsman shuddered. No- don't think about it. Don't think about how if you'd been there, if you'd been faster, if you'd only-

Suddenly, something was draped over his shoulders. Xingshen's cloak. "We are high up, you must keep warm." It was such a simple gesture, but it hurt something in Huntsman. He didn't pretend to be a man of 'sappy' emotions. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, anger at Syntax trying to show him up in front of the queen and princess, the glow of accomplishment and satisfaction when his queen gave him that delighted smile. He wasn't used to loss. It was all-consuming, soul-shattering, it ripped the ground from under him and left him falling back into a dark chasm he couldn't escape. But...he wasn't alone. Someone was falling with him, and though they didn't know where they'd land star was willing to offer even the slightest bit of comfort.

This realization made him feel he had to speak. "My princess..." He faltered. What could he say? He had lost a queen, but she had lost a wife.

"I think about that, you know," Xingshen said, still looking at the sky. "By rights of inheritance, now with Zhizhu...gone... I inherit her queendom. Her titles. What a cruel joke the gods have played on me. I wonder, is this to be my fate? Queen of two dead queendoms? My vassals shall be naught but corpses, and the slaughtered are the only ones left to sing my "praise". What a heavy crown to wear."

Oh boy he was really out of his depth here. Xingshen had barely opened up about anything, and it made her sudden bout of sharing that much more jarring. Just how much did Huntsman not know about the monarchs he pledged his fealty and life to? What was Xingshen like before she met the queen? He'd never known. They were as parents are to a babe, they simply always Had Been. The Queen and the Princess, those whose approval he would seek above all others. But they'd been more than that. It made the loss of the queen so much worse. Could he have learned more about her? The Spider Queen had once had a mighty empire, but that was about all Huntsman knew. His musings were broken by Xingshen speaking once more. "Forgive me, I should not be ruminating in such a bleak manner. There is still battle to be done. She may yet be saved, may yet be avenged." But her empty eyes said star held no hope. Even if the Bone Demoness was slain, that would only leave the two of them.

There was only one thing Huntsman could think to do. He reached out a hand, gently grabbing hers. Xingshen's expression morphed to one of shock as she looked down, but soon it became one of understanding. Slowly, she pulled Huntsman into a hug. Huntsman tensed, his first instinct being to shove back, but he made himself relax.

The ocean. Xingshen always smelled like the seaside...

He felt tears pricking his four eyes, and before he knew it his princess was knelt in front of him, letting him bury his face in her chest. Star sushed him, holding him close and wrapping her cloak tighter around him, whispering reassurances that star would not leave so long as star could help it. Promises that they would make it through. Star swore it.

After he was too tired to cry more, Huntsman just sat there, clinging to Xingshen. He felt like an idiot, bawling like a spiderling, but his ravaged heart didn't care. While in those maternal arms, he felt a resolve forming. The Queen was gone, they might not be able to get her back, but there was still Xingshen. There was still his princess. He could still protect her, even if he died in the attempt. He'd continue his duty and deal with the confusion- the grief- once she was safe.

#lmk #lmk oc #hong xingshen #xingshen #huntsman #lmk huntsman #angst #grief #comfort #lmk huntsman angst #lmk xinghsen angst #lmk hong xingshen angst #lmk drabbles #lmk s3 #lmk huntsman comfort #lmk xingshen comfort #lmk hong xingshen comfort

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

OOUUGHHH THE CHILL THAT SETTLED UPON MY BONES WHEN READING ABOUT RAINFALL'S DEATH...

Another spoiler question: how does Rustfire die?

YALL HAVE NO IDEA HOW FUXKIN BADLY I WANT TO ACTIVELY WRITE IT OUT-

Perhaps I will just. Start writing random scenes out of order… I’ll think on that…

Much more, ah, simply… He goes out the way he came in: by the claws of Scourge.

The two face off in the aftermath of a horrific battle between the fealty and the Bloodbound. Both are battered and weary; Rustfire’s leg was pinpointed as a weak spot and savaged, Scourge’s throat was slashed and his mask shattered. They face off, eyes burning…

“You’ve changed.”

“And you haven’t.”

And they leap, a furious bundle of former father and son, brothers once bound by something outside of blood, and, when everything settles, Scourge’s still claws rest buried in Rustfire’s throat, and while Rustfire heaves, his friends, his family - Sandstorm, who’s entire ear had been ripped off. Minktail, who’s eyes had been irreparably damaged during the battle. Bearbelly, who was now a loyal member of the Riverward, Drizzledance at his side. Ravensong and Jackdawclaw, both sobbing openly - surround him, huddling close, soothing him while his life drains away.

#ALSO THE DIALOGUE IS MEANT TO BE VAGUE AS TO WHO SAID WHICH #old faces new dawn #ask #warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #thesilliestofgals #ofnd: rust #fireheart #firestar #yes most of these deaths will be carried over into ailurocide….. #this death hits the hardest for me #I hope y’all enjoy it

[gealach-in-a-misty-world]

Deklyn Delonir , Captain of the Order of the Redemptor and Knight of the Hawkeron Kingdom, has spent his entire life serving his goddess and realm to earn redemption for his past sins. Everything he does is in service to his King and the people under his protection and leadership. For his entire life, Deklyn pushed away the deepest desires of his heart, burying them and praying that they never come to the surface. When his King calls on him for the most important job of his career, one that would put an end to a war against an unknown enemy simply called The Corrupted, Deklyn doesn’t think twice before readily accepting it. Once the job is completed, the war will end and the people Deklyn swore an oath to serve will be safe and the bloodshed will end. Crown Prince Kai of Hawkeron has never known what freedom feels like. Everything has been lain before him before he was born. Swayed by the whims of a fate outside of his control and duty that is inescapable, Kai doesn’t know who he is. Kai is a political entity, used for his father’s gain. When his father calls on him to fulfill his duty as the Crown Prince, Kai knows he is defeated. He will be sent to a neighboring kingdom to marry its princess to create an alliance that will provide his father’s military with the resources needed to put an end to the war they waged against The Corrupted. Knowing that his failure to complete his duty would lead to the deaths of many people and the annihilation of the Hawkeron Empire, Kai resigns himself to his fate.

"A knight’s oath isn’t something that should be given lightly". Taylor Hubbard's A Corruption of Souls is a standalone romantasy with minimal worldbuilding and a pretty straightforward plot. We have an older honor-bound paladin, a young prince with a duty, and more than half of the book is spent on the journey to get to the kingdom where the prince is going to get married to secure an alliance. To add to the cast there's a second knight escorting the young prince, friend to the paladin and often the voice of reason as the feelings between the prince and the paladin grow into something that cannot be ignored.

The plot truly is minimal. There's an attempt at a twist that could be seen since the first pages, but at least the execution doesn't stumble. The ending is abrupt and doesn't seem to resolve the bigger problems - namely, this kid is going to have to have heirs. His father's treatment of him isn't analysed past a few remarks. The fealty trope, on the other hand, was well-executed, but the age difference made some things uncomfortable. This book is certainly heavier on the romance part than on any kind of worldbuilding, although there were some interesting things with the figure of the paladin's goddess patron.

A Corruption of Souls is a solid romance that could work better with a bit more focus on the fantasy aspect.

✨ 3.5 stars

.

📚📚📚 IF YOU LOVE THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE:

* Reforged, by Seth Haddon

for: fealty, guard/royal romance

[You can find more of my reviews about queer speculative fiction on my blog MISTY WORLD]

#taylor hubbard #a corruption of souls #lgbtq books #queer lit #queer books #queer #sff #sff books #queer sff #books #book reviews #reading #gealach reads #gealach writes

[beantothemax]

Darkness. As far as his eyes could see, there was darkness.

Crick took a step forward, and the shadows fell away, clearing a path for him.

It was one he did not want to follow, but did anyway. Maybe he’d get to the bottom of this strange, starless night.

He took a step, then another, and soon he was racing down the shaded road, towards the Wildlands and Crackridge’s anchorage. He felt drawn there, as though it would take him somewhere important.

The next step he took, he was in front of the steps into Flamechurch. How did he get there? He didn’t go to the anchorage at all. He had barely made it out of the Leaflands. Something about the sleepy little town called his name, and who was Crick Wellsley to ignore a summons?

He climbed the steps, ran into the town, and paused at the road to the cathedral. He needed to be there, he knew it. But why...?

He had no time to think. Only to act.

So he ran. He ran until his legs felt like they would give out beneath him, up and up and out into the square in front of the cathedral.

There, he was met with a terrifying sight. The Sacred Flame, granted by Aelfric himself, was out. Gone. Extinguished. And by the brazier stood a woman quite familiar to him.

“...Sister Mindt? What- what is happening here?” He asked, taking a shaky step forward. Mindt approached him, an odd gleam in her dark eyes.

“Oh, Crick... You poor, brave knight...” she coo’d, placing a finger under his chin. It was an odd sensation, quite unwelcome. He suppressed a shudder as she spoke again.

“Don’t you see? Change is upon us. You of all people should know this.”

Change...?

“...Mindt... Why is the Flame out? What did you do?” He asked urgently, his mind doing backflips in its attempt to process everything.

“I stole it, silly. You won’t be needing guidance from the gods anymore. Just me,” Mindt replied. Crick wanted to sob.

“You are no Sister. What are you!?” He took a step back, glaring at the poser. She simply smiled at him.

“Clever as ever, Crick,” she said. “It’s quite simple.”

Mindt spoke again. “Surrender yourself not unto silent dusk....”

Crick recognized the line. “For the light shall fade. And soon night shall fall... What are you playing at, Mindt!?” Anger bubbled in place of fear. He did not know what Mindt’s ultimate goal was, but if what she said about the Sacred Flame was true, then she was his enemy. She was everyone’s enemy.

“My name is not Mindt. It is Arcanette, and you would do well to remember it, little knight. After all... I am making you an offer,” the woman in the clerical robes said. Crick’s blood ran cold.

“An offer...? What could you possibly give me!?”

“I shall grant you ultimate power. You could protect all your friends, your loved ones, everyone. And all I ask... Is your renunciation of the gods. Denounce them, swear fealty to me, and I shall give you all you ever wanted. You shall thrive under the veil of eternal shadow!”

Crick took a step back, hand on the hilt of his axe. This woman... No, whatever she was... She was nothing but an ill omen.

“No. I question the gods, but I do not renounce them,” he said, his voice quivering.

Arcanette turned her gaze from him to the sky. “...Our time together is waning. Remember my offer, Crick. For as long as we remain separate, it shall stand. You have until our reunion to consider the weight of it. Farewell, my little knight~”

Crick sat up in his bedroll, noticing the others doing the same. They had to know. This couldn’t have just been a dream.

It had to be a sign. An omen of death yet to happen. Perhaps even an omen of fates worse to come.

WHHAAH HHWHUH WHAT?????? HUH!??!!!!!! MAV WHY WAS ARCANETTE IN HIS DREAM. HAS THE DAWN ALREADY BEEN TAKEN. MAV

#asks #adventures-of-turnabout #inbox fic

[sulky-valkyrie]

For DADWC and the friends to lovers prompts - accidentally blurting out “i love you” during a conversation. Any pairing you see fit :)

For @dadrunkwriting , very possibly riddled with typos, and occurs more or less simultaneously with this

~~~

Alistair was king.  When had that happened?  Why had that happened?  He looked around for Theron desperately, or anyone to help make this make sense, but instead all he saw were men who’d have spat on him the day before rushing to shake his hand and swear fealty.  Anora watched him coolly, not quite hostile, but not particularly kindly either.  That made sense though; even if she were madly in love with him, which she certainly wasn’t, he had just advocated for the execution of her father.  Maker knew what she would’ve done if he’d actually been the one to wield the blade.  Poisoned him in his sleep, most like.

He smiled until his face hurt as he kept looking for someone to rescue him, then suddenly realized, If I’m king, I’m in charge, right?

He clapped a hand on Bann Eddlebreck's shoulder and cheerfully said,  "I'm certain the queen knows far more about that than I do; right now I've got to go, so let's make an appointment to discuss it further after an archdemon isn't breathing down our necks, hm?"

With that, he pushed his way through the crowd, politely at first, but increasingly firmly until he was almost knocking people down to get away.

"Going somewhere, your majesty?" 

Alistair groaned softly and reached out for her hand without looking.  "Leli, don't you start too.  I've already had my fill of well wishers and ass kissers and . . ." he trailed off as he rubbed his thumb against hers.  "And some other witty phrase.  You're a bard, make one up."

"Sycophants?" she suggested, stepping close.  "Hangers on?  Glory hunters?"  She wasn't wearing armor right now and the dress was doing distracting things to her figure.  Maker, was he blushing?  Were kings allowed to blush?

"Suck-a-whats?" he asked.

She laughed quietly.  "Not even crowned, and you’re already propositioning the peasants?"

His cheeks felt like they were on fire. "No, I -

"Relax, my lord," she murmured.  "I'm simply teasing.  All proper royalty should have a -"

"I love you!"  The words escaped his lips unbidden, and he clapped a hand over his mouth a half a second too late.

Leliana stilled next to him.  "You're going to marry Anora tomorrow."

"I know," he said miserably and stared at his boots.  "Don't remind me."

"It's almost a fairytale." Her hand brushed across his cheek, then down to his jaw tilting his face to look at her.  "But a fairytale requires a kiss."

"I -" he stopped.  Swallowed.  Was this, did this mean she was, that he could, that it was okay if he -

"Perhaps I can finish the story myself.  I am a bard, after all."  Then her lips were touching his and Maker, they were so soft, but of course they would be, she always was, at least in all places that she wasn't sharp,  and then he was kissing Leliana and his hands were around her and she was walking him backwards into a hallway and -

A quiet sexy needy gasp that wasn’t from her caught his attention.  He looked up to find Theron pinning Zevran to the wall and just couldn't stop himself.  “I - oh, is this hallway occupied?”

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age #fanfic writing #alistair theirin #leliana #alistair x leliana

[whimsyqueen]

Heads Up Seven Up!

I was also tagged in a fun heads up seven up game by @aohendo (thank you, friend!)

Here's a small little bit from another little project I've been working on, titled A Knight of Little Worth. Y'all can figure out what this one's about based on context, I think...

When the boy came with his posse of knights, asking me for the sword, they crowded the edges of my lake, stinking it up with their horses and banners and colors of the kingdom. I was particularly used to young fools coming by and demanding what they thought was rightfully theirs, but none with quite so full a following. They expected me to understand, to immediately hand over the blade and embrace my new king. To pull myself out of the mud, get down on my knees, and swear fealty to my lord. 

I am governed by no king, my waters part of no kingdom. I simply exist, waiting to decide who the true ruler should be, to hand over my sword and tell the lucky bastard that they happened to be good enough to run an entire kingdom and everything in it.

I told the foolish boy to come back when he was certain he was worthy. He did not like this, because he was certain he was worthy right then, right there, and that he was to claim his birthright. There was a minor amount of yelling, which ended when I informed him that no true king would be so desperate if my sword was actually his. He left.

For this, I'm tagging: @aninkwellofnectar @hekteros @druidx and anyone else who wants to take part! Consider yourself tagged!

#tag games #heads up seven up #writeblr #my writing #writing #writing community #knight of little worth #lady of the lake #fiction #fantasy #my wips #my ocs

[goz4h-da-goz3r14n]

[They have been back in Summerville now for....a day? Possibly more? The days are starting to blend together for the Sumerian god, not that they are in any state of mind to recognize or even care about such a thing. Now fully caught up in their Destructor persona, they have been causing havoc around the town for as long as they can care to remember. Nowhere near the level of what Rocket is likely familiar with, but still slowly escalating--violent storms with lightning more vivid and bright than anything any of the local farmers can recall seeing, fires being set to abandoned structures, and more. The part of Gozer's brain that would ordinarily tell them that such displays are taking five steps backward on their path to redemption is now completely silenced. There is only the Destructor now. And they will do what they have done best in the past. They will rule.

Rocket and the purple one have likely taken notice of such occurrences by now. If not, the ear-splitting voice that suddenly rings out, summoning them to the temple built for Gozer, certainly will catch their attention.]

𐎢𐎮𐎬𐎤 𐎧𐎨𐏂𐎧𐎤𐎱, 𐏀𐎮𐎸 𐎥𐎮𐎮𐎫𐎽, 𐎨𐎥 𐏀𐎮𐎸 𐎽𐎤𐎤 𐎨𐏂 𐎥𐎨𐏂 𐏂𐎮 𐎠𐏂𐏂𐎤𐎬𐎯𐏂 𐏂𐎮 𐎢𐎧𐎠𐎫𐎫𐎤𐎭𐎦𐎤 𐎬𐎤.

[And once the two arrive at the temple--well, they will simply be greeted by a Gozer looking fiercer and far more savage than anything they have exhibited thus far. Wicked spines grow along their back, with fangs longer and sharper than any human has a right to exhibit sprouting in their mouth and claws ready to slash and tear where their fingernails normally would be. A long and pointed tail lashes from side to side as they sit on their throne almost too casually, and as they rise languidly to their feet to greet the two that they had once called friends, wings unfurl from behind Gozer's back, adding to their intimidating stature as they stride forward.]

HELLO, FRIENDS. I MUST SAY THAT I'M A BIT DISAPPOINTED BY HOW LONG IT TOOK FOR YOU TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY RETURNING REIGN. BUT IT IS OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE NOW.

[Their eyes narrow as they stare imperiously down at Rocket and the purple one. Where there was once understanding and concern, now their gaze only shows a cold kind of indifference.]

I GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE. EITHER GIVE UP THE POWERS THAT MY SISTER HAS GIVEN YOU AND SWEAR FEALTY TO ME, OR I WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE I SHOULD HAVE THE MINUTE I ENTERED THIS PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A REALM.

@summervillesrocket @the-blonde-egon

#OOC: HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE #ghostbusters rp #gozer the gozerian #roleplay blog #closed rp

[woolyfaye]

I guess since twitter is dying I ought to remind folks I don’t just shitpost here and reblog fandom stuff. SOMETIMES, I write.  Anyways an unedited bit from The Tailor’s Kiss, since I plan on finishing it once my degree is completed.  For new followers, this follows the life of Betony Redyng, an alderman’s daughter, as she wards off her unsavory suitors in the spring and summer of 1381, when the pressures of the Poll tax lit London aflame and threatened its independent rule. 

“Hmm, yes. May I walk you home?” He nodded, though his eyes did not focus on her face as Edward’s did. He was partially turned away, despite the older man offering his arm to her. Walter’s red face was less flushed than usual, making the lines forming around his eyes and lips stand out slightly. It seemed his time serving the city as an enforcer of the law was wearing on him. Beneath her touch, his forearm was hard with muscle. It was a firm reminder that for all his talking, he was very much a man of action. He was, as a nobleman might say, preux.

  Betony tried to keep her touch as light as possible. He started without a verbal acceptance, the brush of her fingers enough to set him walking. Idly, she wondered if she’d have to get used to that, for with Geoffrey dealt with, Sheriff Walter Doget was the only man actively pursuing her. Betony didn’t want a life of her word being worth nothing, especially in the places it mattered. He at least purposely slowed his step for her, and he finally smiled down at her. He seemed more interested in her throat and brooch, his eyes only rising to land on her lips as he asked, “Have you heard much of the goings-on outside of London?”

  Betony’s brows rose. That was the last subject she’d expected him to ask about. She tilted her head to the side, grasping for the gossip that traveled through the city’s network of women. That word traveled slowly, but there was always some woman whose cousin in the countryside had heard about something from a traveler, or had heard something from a friend. By the end of it, of course, the tale had warped into the exaggerated silhouette of monsters and scandal, but Betony loved that about gossip. Now she almost hated it. “Many are refusing to pay the poll tax. Some I’ve heard have taken up arms.”

  Walter snorted. “Fat chance there is of that happening here—forgive me for my language, Miss Redyng—but I’ve made ensuring the tax is paid a very personal endeavor.” He seemed to puff up with pride, even as they stepped out into the unseasonably cold rain.

  Betony was glad her entire dress was a waterspot, or else this would certainly have ruined her dress. She grimaced slightly at Walter’s words, a shiver traveling up her spine. She’d trust that to be the rain’s fault, but the poll tax might have been another reason. “May I ask how you’ve managed to do that, goodman?”

  “I’m certain the details would bore you.” Walter laughed. Betony’s insides twisted. Her touch grew firmer on his arm only so she might imagine what it might feel like to twist his arm in the same way—but violence was not ideal, especially not towards the enforcer of London’s laws. An act like that would be just as bad as fighting the mayor. “I’ve simply ensured that those who don’t comply with our good king’s tax face certain difficulties, as they haven’t obliged the laws of the city.”

  This time, she was certain, the chill was not from the rain. She expected talk like this from Venetians, who never said what they meant and always tried to impress their audience, but not a good Londoner. Even worse, a Londoner so respected by the civic government that he’d been named Sheriff at the age of thirty. Betony let out a chuckle that half caught in her throat. “I thought the king’s men would do that for you.”

  Doget made a dismissive noise. “Bah, you know the king’s men. Too afraid to interfere with our city’s independence.”

  “London still owes fealty to King Richard.” Betony replied. The young king had yet to impress her, but she was fully aware of that. The city’s writ of self-governance had been threatened—revoked, even—in the past, and she would not see it revoked again by riots. “Perhaps a gentler hand might—“

  Sheriff Walter cut her voice off with a laugh that echoed across the streets. It seemed lent had left few of the ladies hungry for dancing, for the square outside the church was nearly empty. Sound carried further than she’d ever seen it go her whole life. He looked down his sloped nose at her. “Kindness doesn’t pay taxes.”

  Betony bit back a retort. Her face felt hot for all the wrong reasons, most of all her thoughts on the state of the city being outright dismissed. Goodman Doget was certainly well-connected, but as a man who’d been unmarried all his life, he seemed to have no connections to the word spread through the women of the city. That meant he missed the words of the women outside the city as well. Those who were widowed with young children by the ongoing war with France were the most affected by the tax. The crop hadn’t been good enough to pay it. But Betony couldn’t risk a larger blow to her reputation to argue.

  Instead, she looked about the streets for a way out. Betony knew none of the people they passed well enough to excusably break away. With a thin smile, she instead prayed to Jesus, Mary and Joseph that another might approach her or the sheriff, and the excuse of conversation could give her an exit. Betony would find her prayers unanswered. As her hazel eyes searched every dampened face and the depths of each doorway, she was met only with the frowns of others. “Are you taking me another route? This isn’t the way my kin take to Knightrider.” Betony asked. By now, her veil was entirely plastered to her head. Moving her head one way or the other was an effort, with the drenched linen heavier than any of her sins.

  “I thought I’d show you a new way.” Goodman Walter said.

  The chill was certainly from the cold.

  Betony found it much harder to keep up her smile now. She loosened her grip on the sheriff’s arm just enough so she could break away easily. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I’d like to be returned home quickly, goodman.” Her voice shook as she spoke, “I’ve a dress to finish for Easter. You are aware that the Guildhall has agreed we’re all to wear purple during Easter mass.”  

#the tailor's kiss #Betony Redyng #Walter Doget