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historiaxvanserra · 5 months

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Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: After his mate and the mother of his son abandons them, The High Lord and Nyx are left alone and wanting.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

The sky is painted in hues of lavender and mauve and the flowering ivory clouds shade Velaris in a perpetual state of dusk. The silvery light of the waxing moon seems to cast you in a gentle opal light as you approach the opulent manor. The High Lord’s townhouse is nestled in the heart of the city of starlight and wreathed in the colors of twilight; a slate facade that looks as though it is crowned in green, climbing ivy and night-blooming jasmine frame the large bay windows on the ground floor. From here you can see the large stained-glass window on the top floor, light refracts and it casts a myriad of dancing light onto the stone below-- dappled pinks and roses that fracture and give way to amethyst and indigo.

You spare a look to your aged companion as she breaches the threshold of the High Lord’s residence and, on unsteady feet, approaches the ornate wooden door and knocks thrice.

You remain for a moment a solitary figure at the entryway of the property, contemplating the series of events that led you here. Mother above, you chastise yourself. The thought occurs to you then, that perhaps you had made a mistake in coming here; that you should have given yourself more time, that you should have remained in the quiet solitude of the library where the world seems like a bitter memory.

“Come, girl.” Madja’s voice is tired and impatient as she beckons you closer with the wave of a crooked finger. “Don’t just stand there.”

You swallow thickly, bowing your head in obedience and you notice how her eyes soften as you approach the door tentatively.

“Nervous?” the old woman asks, you feel her eyes on you-- examining and critical.

“A little,” You admit, eyes downcast as you loose a shaky breath, “I haven’t left the library besides for training in quite some time.”

You stare down at the sleeves of your faded pewter robes as they billow in the evening breeze; the silver embroidery around the cuffs has begun to fray and the layers of fabric gather about your waist, the pleats have been poorly ironed and the heavy fabric falls over the curve of your hip haphazardly and pools to the floor in a swathe of heavy cotton. Shame pools in your stomach at the sight of your slippers as they peek out from the skirts of your robe.

It’s about time you asked Clotho for a new set of robes you think.

“You’ve met him before, no?” Madja’s voice breaks the tenuous peace you have found in those moments. You look up at her and a deep set frown graces her weathered face, “when you first came to Velaris?”

The visions fall on you like night; the Moonstone Palace saturated in onyx and jade, the reflections of your face in the marble of the throne room floor, the sentries as they dragged you before the High Council. The sounds of your screams and a sea of rubies and pearls as the bodice of your dress is torn away from your heaving chest-- all that red. Terrible and red.

Hewn City had always been cruel to you. You, a useless daughter to an ambitious man. The dreams are less vivid now but the sound of footsteps on marble still haunts you.

“Yes, it was him who brought me to Velaris-- after-afterwards,” You acquiesce to her questioning, eyes set on the light beyond the frosted glass panes of the onyx doorway, “though I doubt he remembers.”

Your avenging angel.

Madja looks at you carefully, taking account of you before she nods to you in silent acknowledgement.

The door to the High Lords townhouse opens with a flourish to reveal Morrigan. She’s more beautiful than you remember, radiant even as the dark shadows of sleep cling to her. Her golden hair hangs in loose waves over the delicate curve of her shoulder and though the deep umber of her eyes meets yours in a warm inviting stare as she utters your name.

She knows your name.

“Come on in from the cold.” she beckons you with the curve of a slender hand. You smile politely as you cross the threshold of the house. The wards fall away as you pass through into the foyer and the smell of mandarin and night blooming jasmine flood your senses.

The foyer to the townhouse is truly beautiful; a testament to the fine artistry and craftsmanship that seemed to define Velaris’ art district. The walls are paneled wood, painted in a shade of twilight that can only be found here, in The Night Court, and the burgundy carpet so rich in color that it reminds you of a blood moon, the oil paintings that hang on the walls seem to exude an air of majesty unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

In this room night reigns triumphant and you behold it all with a sense of wonder and awe. A careful deference to the love and care contained between these walls. It is a home that has been truly cherished by the people that live here.

“Did Madja tell you why you had been summoned here?” Morrigan’s voice is soft and sweet and the feeling of her hand on your robed arm pulls you from your thoughts.

“Sorry - I - uh” I stutter, glancing between her hand on my arm and the unyielding warmth of her gaze. “No she didn’t, only that there was a position in the High Lord’s household that Clotho recommended me for.”

“It was my recommendation actually,” Morrigan smiles proudly, letting her hand drop to her side idly. “Clotho just happened to agree.” The words leave her lips with the ghost of a smirk as she recalls the conversation between her and the High Priestess.

The last time you had spoken to Morrigan would have been in Hewn City, all those years ago. You abandon yourself to those days; when you had been the cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. The girl you were died under that mountain. The woman that stands in her place had been forged of blood, and splintered bone-- made strong by violence and tempered by time.

You nod solemnly and cast a glance to Madja who watches on in quiet curiosity.

“Rhys is upstairs,” Morrigan says softly to you both, gesturing up the staircase to the upper level of the house, “I’ll fetch him down”.

You notice then how troubled Mor looks. The rings around her eyes are pale purple and blue and her skin, once radiant, has become pale and sallow. She begins her ascent up the stairs with a small wave of her hand signaling Madja to follow. From here you can see a singular light that pierces through the blanket of the dark that shrouds the upper levels of the house.

Mor regards you once more as Madja passes her on the stairs and points towards the ornate door that leads to the antechamber at the heart of the house. “Go on in, we won’t be a moment.” In a flourish of golden blonde hair and crimson Morrigan winnows away and leaves you to linger in the foyer for a quiet moment.

The smell of cherries and marigold shades the air in her absence.

Voices, disembodied and distant from the upper levels of the house draw you into the heart of the house.

The antechamber of the High Lords townhouse is a beautiful living room, plunged into near darkness spare the slivers of jade light that dapple the dark walls from the emerald chandelier, even in the darkness you can make out the dark marble of the hearth that is draped with moonflowers and ivy. The low backed chairs are elegant and worn from use and there are books strewn about the room and a small library contained neatly in the alcove.

Your eyes find the painting hung above the hearth; immortalized on oil and canvas the High Lord of Night and his Lady. The High Lord is painted in a deep navy tunic and the silver paint mimics the delicate embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors in The Rainbow. His violet eyes shine bright against the dark.

He is a thing of dark beauty, you think.

In this light, his High Lady looks as though she is wreathed in starlight as smiles down on the antechamber from her place above the hearth. You observe the pointed curve of her nose and the upturn of her cerulean eyes and something aching and jealous festers in you at the sight of her beauty.

Otherworldly and ethereal.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The low tenor of a man calls out from the darkness of the room, the voice is measured and devoid of any emotion as it permeates the dark. The male cuts an intimidating figure in the low light and all thought and sound eddies from your mind. You’re sure the sound of your heart like an echoing war drum is loud enough to shake the mountains as he takes a step towards you.

“High Lord?” you question. He steps further into the light and you regard him pensively; his skin is pallid and his eyes are ringed with dark circles of amethyst that trouble you. His onyx hair is left tousled and the ends have grown long enough to curl away from the harsh lines of his face. The sharp junction of his jaw has become obscured by the smatterings of coarse, black hair that grow there.

Even still, even in the unforgiving jade light, he is the most beautiful male you have ever seen. He smells of night blooming jasmine and violets undercut with something inherently masculine. Pine and whiskey perhaps.

His presence is something truly captivating; dark and intoxicating. When he looks at you there is only dark in those violet eyes.

The High Lord sinks into the worn armchair by the hearth with a deep sigh and for a moment he allows his eyes to flutter closed as he breathes deeply and all you can do is surrender yourself to that dark magnetism. The dying fire in the hearth warms him and in this light you notice the golden hues of his skin and the dark inky trails tattooed across the planes of his chest where his shirt opens.

“You’re staring--” The High Lord’s violet eyes falls onto you. In those liminal spaces between the seconds, when he is looking at you, all ceases to be. You tilt your chin downwards, hoping to avert his gaze, as you offer him a courteous bow.

“My apologies High L-” the apology is cut off by the High Lords gentle protests. None of that, Love.

You pray to the mother that he doesn’t notice the flush along the tops of your cheeks or the wild fluttering of your heart at the pet name.

“Sit down,” The High Lord gestures simply to the seat across from him by the hearth and his whole demeanor is somehow softer when you deign to look at him again. Wordlessly you comply with his request, a careful hand runs down the length of your robes to smooth out the lazy pleats in the skirt as they fan out around you in the low backed chair and while you don’t dare to meet his eyes directly you can feel him looking at you.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes though his voice is distant, despondent even and his eyes find the painting that looms over the hearth. “The portrait-- It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses, tipping the rim of his whiskey glass towards the portrait.

“Very beautiful, High Lord.” you agree, smoothing the heavy material of your robes again. He watches you then with a curious glint in his eyes and he takes a few moments to assess you.

“Just Rhysand will do,” He smiles lightly, though there's a sense of apprehension as he regards you playing with the threads of your sleeves for the third time in so many moments, “there’s no need for such formalities when it’s just the two of us.”

“No of course not,” You agree and look at him through thick lashes and offer him a small smile in return, “forgive me, I’m--” you extend a hand to him over the small end table between the arm chairs and he takes it in earnest shaking it lightly. A calloused pad of his thumb rubs an absentminded circle into the skin of your hand before he brings your hand, trembling and slender, to the sulk of his lips and places a chaste kiss against the knuckles.

“I know who you are, Priestess,” he says lightly-- playfully. You offer him a polite laugh in return and nod your head again.

Something dark burns in his eyes in those moments; silver and violet. Like the darkness between the stars. He smiles to himself then, a soft beautiful thing. A secret shared between him and the dying light in the hearth as he picks at an errant threat on the stitching of his shirt.

“Why am I here, Rhysand?” You ask, inhaling deeply, hoping that his answer might assuage the anxiety that has been coiling in your stomach all afternoon. The door to the antechamber opens then and light, golden and radiant spills into the room all at once. The radiant light reveals the room to you fully, you observe the emerald velvet chairs and the dark wood furnishings, the landscapes hung on the walls and the rare manuscripts and novels bound all in black that line the walls.

This house is something truly breathtaking.

It feels like a home you realize.

“There you are!” Morrigan's velvet voice smothers the morose tension in the room as she comes into view. She’s since shed the tiredness that plagued her before and you notice the way her hair frames her face like a halo of gold in the soft ochre light. In her arms, swaddled in sapphire spider silk, is the High Lord’s son.

“We were beginning to wonder where you had gone.” Mor coos at the bundle in her arms as she approaches Rhysand who takes the babe in his strong arms.

As if he could get any more beautiful-- the man looks as though he was carved by The Mother.

It’s wrong, you know. He is your High Lord and you are…

The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord, you remind yourself.

Rhysand glances at me hesitantly and I meet his eyes briefly before focusing on the babe in his arms. He’s since broken loose from the swaddling and his chubby fist clutches at his fathers shirt. I can just see the top of his little head, it's all tufts of curly blue-black hair and pointed pink ears. You smile fondly to yourself as he continues to wriggle in his father’s grasp.

Gods, it’s been so long since you had smiled that wide without the feeling of guilt that usually attends it.

“You used to be a governess, didn’t you?” Mor says by way of explanation for your summons. To her credit her smile never falters even as your demeanor hardens against her, “Clotho said you had talked about it a few times.”

“Yes. I was,” You admit swallowing thickly, your voice comes out strained like the words themselves pain you to speak, “that was a long time ago though.”

That had been long before him.

You must have only been a youngling yourself. You had been happy-- that much you remember. Those were the happy recollections of your old life; summers spent under the opal lights of The Moonstone place, children’s laughter like birdsong that breaks apart in the humid air as you danced and sang long into the nights. Of dark autumns and smoky air, a bonfire and a small hand that holds your own with such gentle reverence.

“Clotho said you wanted to leave the Library?” Rhysand questions you, his eyes are dark and filled with a thinly veiled darkness that draws you into their depths as you speak to him without pretense.

“I do,” You answer him honestly, your voice wavering only a little, “I don’t want to spend my days rotting in the depths of that House.”

Rhysand considers it carefully and his face twists into a pained expression that almost breaks your resolve. You hadn’t meant to hurt him-- never. But you’re done hiding in the dark.

The world is a cruel place and full of cruel men. It always had been and it always will be. There is nought you can do to change that. So why should you cower from the world any longer?

You want to live.

The whining of the restless babe in Rhys’ arms rouses your attention and something akin to longing gathers in your chest as you regard him. You pull a lip between your teeth as he fusses and Rhysand struggles to soothe him. The babe looses a cry that comes out as a pitiful howl and you can feel a small ripple of power permeate the air.

“May I hold him?” The words take everyone in the room by surprise and the High Lord only nods easily and stands to pass the babe into your arms.

“I’m grateful,” You continue as Rhysand stands before you and transfers his son’s weight into the crook of your arm, “To you and your court for providing me, and girls like me with somewhere to heal but--”

“But you weren’t meant to cower in the darkness of the library forever.” Rhysand’s words come out as little more than a whisper and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin is something entirely perverse.

You shake your head, mouthing an inaudible ‘no’ before lowering yourself back into the chair by the hearth, hoping to hide the rosy blush that spreads across your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t retreat back into his armchair like you had thought he might and instead sinks to his knees before you and allows one of his son's fists to wrap around his ring finger. The babe seems to quieten then in your arms as he nuzzles against your chest, one balled first clinging to his father and the other pulling at the neckline of your robes and he smiles sleepily in your arms.

Looking at him now you are overcome with the realization of the absence that had stained this family’s happiness. Rhysand had given himself completely to a woman who had changed her mind. And their son-- their son; all cherub cheeked and big blue eyes framed with dark lashes-- had been abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love him without condition. Before the ghost of her had been an abstract thing. Something intangible and errant, a whisper or a memory, but now, as you look between the babe in your arms and the woman immortalized about the hearth you feel nothing but biting fury. A dangerous wrath only tempered by the stilling of the High Lord beside you.

It is Morrigan’s movement at the side of the room that rouses you from thought. “Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement?” The smile that graces her lips is brilliant and calculating and the sparkle in those umber eyes tells you she is genuine in his intentions.

“An arrangement?” You ask hesitantly, raising one arched brow to her.

“Yes.” The High Lord nods in agreement as Morrigan approaches you all casually, sauntering over to snatch a glass of wine from the decanter, “you’re free to leave the Library at any time but--”

“Help me take care of Nyx,” The High Lord beats you to it, his voice is soft and gentle and one of his fingers runs along the curve of Nyx’s ear as he begins to doze in your arms.

“High Lor-” You start, and you’re torn between declining outright and trying to dissuade them altogether, “Mor, I haven’t cared for a babe in well over 60 years.”

“Listen to me,” Rhysand’s violet gaze is unyielding and when you can no longer avert his gaze he takes on of your hands in his own and all but pleads with you, “take care of Nyx, for one year-- just until I get used to doing it on my own-- just until he starts his pre-schooling.”

The thought of him raising his son all alone pains you, a physical, bone deep ache that settles over you. You mourn for him then, for the love he thought he had, for all that he lost and then you mourn for the babe in your arms. For the son who will grow up without knowing his mother’s love. The High Lord looks at you through dark lashes and you note the tiredness in his eyes and the desperate sadness that seems to radiate from him these days and yet, he smile softly at you. As one might smile at something lovely and precious.

“And in return?” You ask peering down at him with sympathetic eyes when his whole body goes lax.

“I’ll help you get set up somewhere-- anywhere you want.” The words come quickly and if you were a cruel woman you would see what more he would offer you. But when he’s looking at you like you might just be his last hope you can’t find it in you to do anything but allow yourself to be persuaded by him.

You see a home; a cottage maybe, made of ancient stone and covered with climing ivy and jasmine. On the outskirts of Velaris, away from the artisans and market stalls of the main square, but close enough that you never feel truly alone. A home and it smells of mandarin and moonflowers, the sound of children laughing, and a garden blooming with violets in the garden in the leonine yellow heat of high summer. You smile wistfully and you swear you feel the gentle caress of a hand in your mind's eye.

“You can live here with us in the meantime” Rhysand continues gesturing to the house around you.

It’s warm and inviting and your body sings in response to the prospect.

“I don’t think that's a good--”

“Just until you find somewhere of your own.” He assures you standing to his full height before you. He casts a morose glance to the portrait that hangs about the hearth and you can see the moment his violet eyes meet painted cerulean.

“Rhys--” You warn gently.

“Please,” He turns to you again and the desperation in his tone has you yielding to him further, a gentle sweep over your face before settling on the sleeping babe in your arms, “please.” He repeats it once more and you swear your heart breaks just a little bit for him.

He had saved you once, you think. You had only been a girl then but you remember looking at him in that light; he looked like the shadow of some dark winged God-- avenging and angelic.

Perhaps this time the girl can save the God.

“A bargain then.” You muse lightly holding out a pinky finger to him.

Rhysand huffs out a laugh and curls his finger around your own. Nyx’s hand seems to flex in response, his own tiny pinky finger outstretched in agreement.

“A bargain.” With the simple confirmation you feel the gentle burn of a promise as it kisses its way up your wrist, and you see Rhysand’s own inky sigil as it glows faintly on the skin of his outstretched arm.

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #rhysand imagine #rhys acotar #rhys fanfic #rhysand headcanons

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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

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Rainy Season - Part 7

Final Chapter and Epilogue

Everybody’s Got Somebody but Me

Azriel Eris x Reader

Azriel pleads his case to his mate before the Inner Circle, an unexpected interruption sheds additional light on the situation, Y/N makes a decision.

Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

The room thrummed with erratic energy as everyone awaited the arrival of the Shadowsinger. Eris watched intently as Y/N kept a collected facade before the present group, but behind her eyes a tumultuous storm raged. She hadn’t seen her mate since she’d left - since he’d betrayed her - and maybe she was a coward for facing him before an audience of his loved ones but she was done tip-toeing the line, done praying that the words falling from her mate’s lips were truth when he’d done nothing but spin ugly lies from that beautiful mouth. She wanted the real story, the whole story, and Truth Teller itself couldn’t extract it better than the audience before them.

Her gut-wrenched with his nearing presence, the doors would open any moment as guards would bring him in, before her, before his family, before Eris and her sister.

The only missing parties in the space were Amren who had stayed behind in Velaris to keep a presence in place and Nesta who had other matters to attend to. Mor’s attendance was welcome but not required, given the obvious histories between she and Eris - her mate.

Eris kept an amused facade beneath his own surface, though he was anything but. Y/N looked resplendent seated at the lone chair at the head of his table. Seated to her right, he kept a respectful distance, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and warm her shaking hand under the table.

And Eris couldn’t be certain by the flat expression on his face, but he could have sworn the slightest gleam of amusement glimmered in Lucien’s eye as the mechanical one focused in on a clearly unimpressed Camila who was unabashedly taking stock of the middle Archeron sister at his side.

The door unlatched, all traces of civility falling from Rhys’ face as Azriel stepped into the now darkened room.

Azriel looked terrible, the purple bruises and dark circles under his eyes draining the remaining life from his sallowed skin, eyes red and puffy.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, burying down the instinct doing its damndest to get her to run to her dejected mate.

Azriel looked straight past every single person at the table, not even sparing a glance to the seething High Lord staring daggers in his direction. His hazel eyes blew wide as they honed in on his mate. His perfect fucking mate. He truly had drained so much from her, hadn’t he? Never once stopping to notice the signs.

Now, before him was a divine female - full in all the places he’d once gripped so fervently, her complexion radiant, hair lustrous, lips so delectable he wanted to bite them. There was no broken female here, this was a female who has been living a life of love and joy. The only thing missing was her bright smile, now absent in his presence.

Another thing he’d taken from her.

“Y/N”, Azriel mouthed, no sound coming out as the guards kept the cuffed hands he tried to outstretch in her direction restrained.

Her pointed silence and the clunk of the guards boots filled the room as Azriel was lead toward his space between Cassian and Rhys at the table. Y/N now noting the correlation between the bruises on Azriel’s face and a few scattered on Cassian’s.

Rhys’ voice entered her mind. “Azriel started a fight with Cassian that led to us finding out about he and Elain. When Cassian realized, he went feral on him. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen those two fight like that. By the time Cassian was done with him, I couldn’t in good conscience lay a hand on him.”

“They shouldn’t have fought over this. But I bet you not laying a hand on him though he knew you wanted to hurt his ego more than any punches would have.”

Feyre joined in the mental conversation, adding “He’s just lucky Nesta wasn’t there when they found out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, assuming that Nesta would have remained neutral in the ordeal. Not out of cruelty, but given her love and protective tendencies toward Elain as well as her friendship with Azriel and their Valkyrie training.

Azriel looked to his mate, once again wordlessly mouthing. “Y/N, please.” Finally taking in the crowd before him, he paled further.

“Cat got your tongue, Shadowsinger?” Eris mused. Fury lined Azriel’s features at the smug tone. Rhys only let out a bitter chuckle though he found nothing funny about the predicament they’d found themselves in, his violet gaze narrowed in on his brother. “You found a work around with our bargain by finding your mate outside of the Summer Court, but couldn’t find a work around on the matter of being barred from communicating with her? Just how did you expect this whole plan to work out?” He didn’t wait for a response to the question as he waved to the bargain tattoo. “I rescind the bargain tattoo, you may speak to her for as long as she’ll allow it.”

Azriel paid no mind to Rhys, his chest heaved as he frantically spouted out, “Can we speak in private, my love? Just you and me.”

Eris bristled internally at the pet name but Y/N didn’t falter as she replied “You lost the right to call me that the moment you took another female to bed.”

Elain fidgeted in her seat, eyes downcast. Camila bouncing her murderous gaze back and forth between she and Azriel.

To his credit, Azriel took the blow. This was a bed of his own making and he knew it, they all knew it. There was no sense in trying to deny it.

His mate’s head remained held high as she continued, “By the grace of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the consequences of your attempted infiltration of this keep have been resigned to your own High Lord.“

Shame flooded Azriel’s face but he let her continue.

“As for me? All I ever wanted was your love and commitment. I gave so many chances and when it finally seemed like you might get it - you’d squandered that opportunity as well. I am before you right now because I want to know why. And because you have not given me a reason to trust you, I have brought this council of individuals who have somehow found themselves so intertwined with our relationship when it should have only been you and me.”

Azriel spat the bitter words before he could stop them from leaving his mouth. “If Eris is not issuing consequence, there is no need for him to be here.”

Despite his exceptional ability to bait, Eris remained silent. A show of respect to the female at the head of his table.

“I was a guest in his keep when you decided to make our separation everybody’s problem and breached the wards.”

Azriel, damn him, couldn’t stop the next hateful words either. “I hardly call emissary business the equivalent of being a guest.”

Eris forwent anger over the blatant disrespect already rolling off of Azriel’s tongue when she didn’t owe him a second of her time, he knew this force of a female by his side well enough by now - biting the inside of his lip to hold back the involuntary smirk creeping its way up to the corners of his mouth as he sensed the words before she spoke them.

“You’re right, Azriel. But I am not here on emissary business, I am here as a personal guest of Eris, who has found himself intertwined in this relationship.” She then looked to her sister “Along with Camila, as they BOTH found themselves putting in considerable time and effort helping piece back together the parts of me that I couldn’t quite place myself. Do you have further question on the members in attendance today that you’d like for me to elaborate on?”

Camila, seated to the other side of Y/N, gave her sister a reassuring squeeze of the hand under the table. Silence once again filling the room, Azriel’s shadows in conjunction with Rhys’ raging darkness rendered him barely visible.

Perhaps her words to her mate were harsh but they were far kinder than the venomous “I’m here on the business of fucking the brains out of the Autumn Court High Lord who, by the way, is just as well endowed and far more bendy than you.” that she wanted to spit back at him.

As if Eris read her thoughts, he loosened the reign on that wicked smirk he’d held back.

“Now that the matter of why we’re all here is settled,” Y/N continued, “I will hear you out, Azriel. If at any point I do not wish to continue this discussion, you will leave immediately. Do you understand?”

Her stoic mate, the revered Spymaster, simpered at the words, giving a slight nod. “Yes.” Eris thought to himself in that moment, heart filled with pride, “She would make a fine High Lady.”

“Great. We have a bargain.” Her fist clenching as the tattoo formed on the back of her neck. “Please proceed.”

Azriel stood, looking to his mate. Crestfallen he began. He held himself in submission to his mate but with enough confidence for her to see that he was sincere in whatever he was about to say.

“Y/N. I love you. I have loved you since before the bond ever snapped. You are - You’re everything. Fuck, I know that what I did was terrible but, it’s not what it seems. You were so good, too good, I didn’t deserve you. I never have. You are everything good and I do nothing but bring pain and hurt to others, and now I’ve done the same to you. Words can never express how sorry I am but… I can at least share what happened.”

He looked to her, praying she’d speak, give any encouragement. Her bright eyes only stared through him, straight into the tattered soul he’d tried so hard to conceal from her.

The table remained silent. Camila biting back a scoff and Elain fidgeting with her dress.

Realizing she wouldn’t speak until he’d told her everything he continued.

He began speaking of how insignificant he’d felt in comparison to her. How he’d buried himself in work, in training with the Valkyries, helping Elain recover. He then pleaded to her, giving recollection of how he’d stopped feeling her through the bond. Giving account for everything leading up to the night he’d slept with Elain.

He recounted how he’d just wanted to get through the night, how he’d chosen to go to dinner instead of staying in, drowning himself in alcohol in an effort to get through the night, how he’d planned to tell Elain that he could no longer spend so much time with her.

It was then that he turned a violent glare to Cassian. “Tell her. Tell her, Cassian.”

Cassian let out a sigh. “Y/N, I am so sorry for the mistake I made. Nes and I, we’d stopped into a new apothecary along the Sidra and found a unique new aphrodisiac. We’d done a parting shot with Azriel and Elain after everyone else had gone out and I -“ his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I accidentally gave the shots we’d mixed the powder into to Elain and Azriel instead of Nes and I. I had no clue until yesterday, we just assumed it was a faulty batch.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled with rage as he picked up where he’d left off. “I went to find Elain afterward, to break things off but the aphrodisiac hit so hard, so fast, and I was so terribly intoxicated. One moment I was trying to speak, the next she was kissing me.” He shook, choking on the next words. “The next morning, I knew I could either tell you, inflicting more pain upon you, or I could carry the pain myself and make sure it never happened again.”

Lucien gritted his teeth at the admission. He’d known they slept together, she’d come straight to him afterward. Choosing to make his best effort to do right by his mate, telling himself that what had happened evened out the playing field between them. Of course it hurt, and hell, he was livid. He found himself fond of the Shadowsinger’s mate, forming a comfortable acquaintanceship with her the few times they’d attended the same events with the Inner Circle. She deserved so much more than a mate that cheated on her.

But Elain was his mate, he needed to at least try with her now that she’d finally shown up. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and had spent the past six months spending what time she deigned to give him with her. He’d hoped at the very least it would keep Azriel away from Elain and with his own mate. He’d felt awful when he heard she’d left.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Azriel’s next words and the corresponding pained gasp from Elain, and the thrumming power of Feyre as she seethed from both embarrassment of the ordeal and the careless words about her sister. “Y/N, Elain means nothing to me. She was a mistake. I don’t care about her beyond the fact that she’s my High Lady’s sister, I don’t love her - I only love you. I only want you. She is nothing.”

Elain clutched her chest, eyes welling with tears as she let out a whisper that may as well have been a damning scream. “But - you’re my mate.”

Time stood still as everyone turned to her in shock. Everyone, except for Rhys whose raging power dimmed momentarily, heads turned from Elain toward him as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You idiot.” Feyre turned toward him. He’d pay for that comment later, though only mildly as she was inclined to think the same of her sister. “That aphrodisiac that you were given, it is designed to imitate the mating frenzy. He’s not your mate, you were just horny.”

Elain turned ghostly, sinking in her chair at the revelation. Y/N felt sympathy for Lucien as she noted his gritted teeth. Apparently whatever she’d told Lucien, she’d left out the important detail that she thought she had another mate.

Camila’s body shook, fighting back laughter, and failing. Her laughter filled the space. “Oh my gods!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t mean to… but this, this is too good.” Her laughter only increased. “How humiliating!”

Even Y/N bit back a smile. Camila never was good at hiding her emotions, laughing in the most unstable of circumstances. And she couldn’t stop. Finally she placed her palms on the table pushing herself up. “I’m so sorry. I’ll excuse myself.” Lucien was next to stand, Elain tightly grasping his wrist. “Lucien” she whispered.

It was Lucien’s turn to let out a small laugh. “I suddenly find that I am not at all intertwined with this mess. Enjoy your mate!” He mused, a saccharine smile forming on his face as he pulled his arm away, catching up to Camila. His footsteps and the distant sound of “My lady” as he extended an arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

Elain stood eyes darting between Azriel and the door. Taking far too long to come to the decision to chase after her actual mate. Her foot moved out, pivoting her toward the doors when Rhysand commanded, “Oh no, you will stay here and finish this discussion.” She gasped looking to Feyre who only gave a solemn nod of solidarity with her mate.

Elain fell back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest, glaring daggers at Azriel.

As the room once again settled, aside from the roaring heartbeats at the table, Y/N spoke impassively, “If there’s anything else you wish to say, now would be the time, Azriel.”

He stared wide eyed, clearly still blown away by the bullshit with Elain.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never would have slept with her had it not been for the aphrodisiac. I never meant to hurt you. I have so much darkness within me to reckon with, so much that I’m terrified to bring up, so much I never wanted you to see. I need you to understand that. You were never the problem. It was me. It was always me. I can tell you how sorry I am, I can tell you how much I love you, but it won’t matter unless I can show you. Please give me that opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Y/N sat still. Processing all of the details Azriel had given her. She felt his desperation barreling through the bond. Her hands again began shaking under the table without her sister there to steady them. Discreetly, Eris reached his hand to Y/N, the quivering receding at his warm touch.

Azriel’s shadows rose to whisper in his ear, his eyes instantly honing in on where their hands were joined, as if he could see right through the table.

And Y/N didn’t know if it was by a stroke of luck or the absolute lack of it but at that moment, the doors flung open and Nesta. Fucking. Archeron. stormed in.

“You.” She pointed to Azriel. One word. One action. So much damnation behind it.

Rhys’ darkness flared in the presence of his wild card sister-in-law. Cassian merely raised an eyebrow, the slightest upward curve tilting his lips as he took in his mate who could command a room full of power.

She looked over both High Lord’s at the table with an unimpressed sneer before turning that deadly, piercing gaze toward Azriel.

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise at the Valkyrie striding toward him. “What. The. Fuck. Is. This?”

His brows knit and she opened her fist, grasping a chain with two of her fingers to display a dangling necklace.

Azriel’s face paled.

“You know, the strangest thing happened this afternoon. I was talking to my friend, Gwyn. We got to talking about flowers and Elain’s garden. Gwyn began speaking of how she loves roses, clutching at a lovely little pendant around her neck.”

“And I thought to myself, something about this necklace seems so familiar.”

“And then I recalled a solstice not too long ago where my sister came crying to me over a male who had given her a lovely necklace of the same description. How they’d pined for each other, never going further than a brush of the hands. Until the night they almost kissed, the scent of his arousal heavy in the air between them, then pulling back from her and stating ‘this is a mistake’ and leaving.

At the point Rhysand turned to his brother. “You’re fucking joking, Azriel.”

Y/N looked to them beginning to anticipate where this was going.

“When asked who gifted it to her, she stated that Clotho told her it was left for her from an anonymous admirer. So, I went to my friend Clotho, who keeps to her word very well. She’d sworn to the source she wouldn’t tell. But you know, the House of Wind is a sentient entity. Persistently tugging me toward Rhys’ belongings that remain scattered around the house.”

Nesta turned her glare from Azriel to Rhysand. “So, Rhysand, something tells me you know about this.”

Rhys lowered his head with shame hesitating as he searched for the right words.

“Y/N…. I’m so sorry. A couple of years ago, on Solstice, I caught Azriel placing a necklace on Elain.” He looked to Elain and then back at Azriel again. “I monitored the situation, hoping I was wrong, but as their lips were moments away from touching, I used my daemati abilities and summoned Azriel to my study. I truly thought whatever happened was over between them as the tension between the two seemingly faded in my presence. Until yesterday, when we found out about he and Elain sleeping together.”

Cassian glared to his brother with rage, “You gave a necklace meant for Elain to Gwyn?”

“She wasn’t supposed to know.”

Before he could dig the hole further, Elain whispered, those doe eyes peering at Azriel through her lashes, “So, you didn’t really think it was a mistake?”

Feyre broke her silence letting out an audible groan of exasperation. And Azriel broke his own silence,

“It WAS a mistake, Elain. All of it. Rhys tried to stop it. I should have listened. You were a mistake.”

Elain gasped, tears lining her eyes. And if looks could have killed, the glare Nesta gave Azriel would have ended him on the spot. But it was Elain who made the mistake of reading her sister’s rage toward Azriel as sympathy toward herself, leaning into her sister, turning her head into her side to catch her dramatized tears.

“No, Elain. I am so disappointed in you. You were completely wrecked when Graysen left you and you were only engaged. Imagine the pain Y/N felt losing her MATE.”

Eris who had been taking in the cluster fuck surrounding them mused, looking toward the door Lucien had earlier exited, “Oh, I don’t think she’ll have to imagine much.” Earning a laugh disguised as a cough from Cassian, another sigh from Feyre, and a scowl from Nesta as she chose to ignore the barb - looking again to Azriel, “You have a lot of amends to make.”

She looked to Elain, “You do too.”

With that she grabbed Elain by the arm and drug her out of the room. With a wave over her arm and a shout of, “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been through, Y/N!”

Y/N took a breath as the room regained its composure, the tension again thickening. “Is there anything else, or are you done making excuses, Azriel?”

“They’re not excuses. Y/N. I love you. I was wrong. It’s always been you.”

“I’m tired.” She spoke softly. And it was the truth.

“I spent so much time waiting for you. Praying that one day it would all become ‘right’ again. I dreamed that you’d come walking through the door, and remind me what it was like to feel your love. My Azriel, my mate, all I wanted was you.

But, this, Azriel. You are not the male I fell in love with. And I think… I think the most heartbreaking part of that is that what I loved most was those dark depths of your soul that you tried so hard to hide. You were never a monster, you were always worth loving. You wouldn’t have broken me. Shutting me out is what broke me. And I told you that, so many times, in so many ways. But you never listened.

And the reason you couldn’t feel me through the bond? The further you pulled away, the more I closed it off from my end. I hoped that it would give you time to work through whatever it was you were facing and refused to share despite my pleas. Until I eventually grew so numb that I just shut it down completely. A courtesy you never once extended to me during my time away. Do you know how hard it was to recover after I left? I felt your guilt and rage barreling through me at all hours.

And you fucking Elain? Nobody but you and Elain are responsible for your actions. Cassian is not your excuse. You chose to go that night, you chose to drink all evening, you chose to wait until that night to tell her you wouldn’t be spending time with her like you had been. You had the entire week away and chose to wait until the last minute.

The affair started long before then. I think we can agree that despite your cold treatment of her before me today, that you two were engaged in an emotional affair long before you ever went to bed with her.”

She reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment.

“And then, you attempted to court Gwyn in my absence - which, fair, because I’m the one who left. She really is a lovely female. Although, I hear it didn’t quite work in your favor.”

Azriel’s eyes grew wide in panic. “The necklace didn’t-“

She laughed. “I’ll save you time and effort of your excuses, Azriel. Gwyn may not have known the necklace was from you but she did extend the courtesy of writing to me and I was rather surprised by the details of the demise of our relationship that didn’t quite line up - specifically the cheating aspect.”

She placed her hands on the table, looking her mate directly in the eyes. “I made my decision long before your attempt to break into this Keep, before the truths were unveiled today. I appreciate everyone for coming but I have heard enough. I ask that you leave now, Azriel.”

Tears filled his eyes. “Wait! Please, Y/N.” His brothers began to pull him away but Azriel fell to his knees.

“Please, baby.” He begged. “Just come home.”

She stared at the pleading male before her. A pang of sympathy for her broken mate ran through her. She wasn’t cruel and sympathy was not a weakness. This was her choice to make and nobody would blame her if she went back to her mate.

“Come home, please.”

Holding her head high, she stepped around her chair.

Eris sat expressionless, carefully avoiding any inclination of the devastation he’d feel if she chose to leave. He would support her either way.

Azriel remained focused on her every movement, his erratic breathing the only sound cutting through the tension of the room.

She took a step, and one more, before halting. Gently taking the hand of the red-headed male beside her whose eyes lined with silver as he looked up to her.

“I am home.”

EPILOGUE

The time he showed up:

Lucien suffered when his bond with Elain was severed. She did not agree to breaking the bond which left slim to no opportunity to move forward with the breaking of it. After months of intense research, Helion was able to find a tricky workaround that did not require both parties to be present. It was incredibly painful due to the negative effects being concentrated to one individual instead of split between two but fortunately not lethal.

Eris never pushed me to sever my bond with Azriel but as time went on it felt important to put that part of my life behind me. I’d extended the courtesy of writing to Azriel regarding my intention to sever it, informing him that I would be going through with the incantation that Helion had conjured. He did not reply but I knew he received the letter based on the muted feelings of grief that seeped through crevices of the walls I had placed against his end of the bond for several days afterward.

Eris traveled to the Day Court with me, having decided nobody could aid in my recovery better than he. To my shock, upon arriving, Azriel was there. Demurely, he stated that it was only right for him to share the weight of this burden. I was inclined to agree but only thanked him for showing up. He bristled at the sight of Eris but the males said nothing to eachother and we went our separate ways until Helion was ready for us. With Azriel’s presence and the pain being shared, the physical recovery on both of our ends was expedited and manageable for both of us.

We were both held in separate suites to recover until Helion gave the all-clear to leave. When the pain became less debilitating, I decided to take a stroll through an exterior walkway, soaking in the sun while Eris bathed. Apparently Azriel had the same idea as I turned a corner to find him sunning his wings, head hung low.

Right as I made to pivot, his head whipped in my direction, eyes locking with mine. Even without the bond I could easily read the pain in his eyes, the grief that surrounded him. His shadows fought to come to me but he kept a tight reign on them. His breathing was rapid, his eyes fighting to turn away but his gaze lingered.

He opened his mouth to speak, a weak sound escaping his lips before he clamped his mouth shut, jaw tensing.

I kept my gaze soft, maintaining eye contact for another moment but he didn’t try to speak again. With that, I walked away and we did not encounter eachother again during the stay.

It was later I realized that he likely wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing left to speak between us.

The sister-in-law:

After recovering fully from the severance of his bond, Lucien cryptically invited Eris and I to a lakeside home in the Day Court.

“Dress for merriment.” His only details.

Upon arriving, we found a couple of beloved faces from my life, along with Feyre, Helion, The former lady of Autumn (now the lady of Day), Jurian, Vassa, and even Tamlin at the home. We were all escorted to the grounds where an absolutely beaming Lucien stood at an altar beside the most radiant female I’d ever seen.

That was the day my sister became also my sister-in-law. It’s a very strange thing to say aloud but makes sense if you think about it.

The first heir:

Eris cried the day our son was born. Not from the relief of having an heir, not from any upset due to the child being male, certainly not from any disappointment of being a father.

The birth was as smooth as one can be, he held my hand throughout, praising me, and whispering words of love. He didn’t even mind the curses I threw his way as I pushed. He only let go of my hand once the babe was carefully handed to me by the midwife, allowing me those first precious moments to cradle our little flame to my chest and relish in the life our love had created.

Eris cried when that tiny babe was finally passed into his arms and the little red-haired beauty grasped his finger. That touch immediately tethering a connection straight from the child in his arms delicate soul to Eris’ heart, the heart that once beat beneath layers of armor now laid bare before his son.

Never would this child know pain at his fathers hand. Never would he limit the love he could show for fear of being seen as weak. And never, ever would he question his fathers love for him.

The coronation

Azriel

Sitting here lonely at a table for two, watching lovers being lovers

Azriel sat shrouded in shadow in a quiet corner of the decorated throne room. Happy chatter rang throughout the room as attendees anxiously awaited the crowning of the High Lady of the Autumn Court.

Feyre and Rhys; Cassian and Nesta; Helion and the former Lady of Autumn; Emerie and Mor; Tamlin and his new wife, Briar; Lucien and Camila; and even Gwyn and Tarquin sat cozied up in pairs throughout the crowded throne room. Nyx had seated himself next to his best friend Alex, Camila and Lucien’s son.

From what Azriel had heard Lucien treated Alex as his own from the moment he met him, adopting the boy immediately after he and Camila married. He seemed to be a fine young man and a positive influence on Nyx, who kept Rhys and Feyre on their toes these days. Perhaps karmic justice for the hell Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian put Rhys’ mother through in their youth.

Three little girls ran through the room, two with vibrant red-hair, tan skin and freckled golden cheeks; one with dark hair, fair skin, and her mothers eyes; their giggling rang out above the chatter filling the room as an older child, a boy of eleven years old - Azriel still remembered the day the announcement arrived to the Night Court of the birth of the first Autumn Court heir - walked in a straight backed, lordly posturing behind them, a crease forming between his brows as he focused intently on his little sisters.

The boys long strides kept up with his little sisters as he reminded them to mind their paces. Lost in their merriment, the girls ignored his warnings until the boy finally let out an exasperated sigh. Stopping for a moment with his arms crossed, he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head, murmuring gods knows what frustrated curses. Knowing his mother, it was not the typical frustrated language of a child.

Azriel gave a small, sad smile at the memories elicited.

When the boy looked up, the girls had disappeared from his sight. He grew frantic for a moment until his Uncle Lucien walked up to him, pointing to his wife and the three girls pressing kisses and talking animatedly to her round, very pregnant belly. The boy gave his uncle a smile, shoulders sagging in relief. Lucien bowed down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The boy took his hand and walked back toward Camila and the sisters.

Azriel placed a hand to his chest at the wave of grief that rang through him. The mating bond may have been severed but he never could get over the love that he squandered. The family that could have been his.

“You don’t have to be here, brother.” Rhysand’s voice invaded his mind.

Azriel swallowed, willing his thoughts to a tone of neutrality. “She’s the High Lady of the Autumn Court, we’re immortal, we will have to be comfortable in spaces together. It comes with the territory.”

I miss you. Without you I just don’t fit in.

He didn’t have to say what his brother already knew. That yes, he was broken when she left. Broken further when she confirmed he was no longer her home. He’d hated himself for what he’d done, for what he put her through. For a long time, he’d been a shell of the shell of himself that he’d already become. Eventually, he’d taken to seeing one of the counselors in the House of Wind’s library. He was too far gone at that point to consider such an option but Rhys had coordinated with the priestesses and mandated it. Either he got help or lost his position in the Night Court.

Even after the countless hours of counseling sessions he’d attended over the years, that “savior complex” of his remained. Seeing Y/N thriving with someone else was fucking hard but not as hard as living in a world where he never looked upon her face again. As she assumed the title of High Lady, a target would lay on her back, just as one was on any other High Lord or High Lady’s back. He’d never forgive himself if his stubborn pride kept him from attending any court events she attended and something happened to his own High Lord or Lady… or if something happened to her.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find another you.

So here he was, alone at a table, in a now quiet throne room, watching the love of his life step out onto the dais in all of her resplendent glory, kneeling down before the male she loved. Eris’ eyes lined with silver as her own lifted to meet his gaze, her chin held high as she awaited his next move. Carefully, he lifted the emerald and ruby crested crown, with one large diamond centered between two golden leaves, off of the plush pillow it sat upon. Eris’ previous words rang true through Azriel’s head “Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.” The people of this court were truly fortunate to be under the rule of such a resilient and kind ruler. The shining diamond of Autumn. She would love them deeply and do right by them in a way so few leaders were capable of.

Azriel couldn’t contain the pride that welled up in his chest, tears threatening to spill over his thick lashes as the crown was placed upon her head. And yet it was Eris who looked at her like she was the very air that he breathed, as if nothing existed in that moment but the female at his fingertips, like the only reason he himself was brought into existence was to find and cherish her for eternity. And despite his disdain for Eris Vanserra, Azriel finally understood that this was where she belonged.

Everybody’s got somebody but me.

————————————-

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series! I loved writing it and I hope you are pleased with the ending. Some may ask, “What about Elain?” and to that I say, “What about her?” I find great satisfaction in the fact that she didn’t get either male, was embarrassed in front of the IC, and became so irrelevant that she was barely mentioned in the epilogue (aside from Lucien breaking the bond). Clearly, she’s still bitter considering she refused to sever the bond with him but he still found a way out (albeit painfully) and got his dream girl! Stay mad, Elain.

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@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern @existingthroughwords @mybestfriendmademe @strangersunghoon

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thewordfortheday · 2 months

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Psalm 34:5

‘Those who look to Him are radiant with joy; their faces shall never be ashamed.’

There is something different about people who trust in the Lord Jesus. As they trust in Him, something about the way they look changes. People around them begin to see the change in them. There is peace and joy instead of despair and hopelessness. That’s because they don’t look at their circumstances, but look to Jesus in every situation. The verse, "You will keep him in perfect peace, Whose mind is stayed on You, Because he trusts in You." (Isaiah 26:3), is true of them.

PRAYER: Lord, I lift up my eyes, above the troubles that are around me, and I look to You. You are my hope, You are my salvation and You are the One Who comes and lifts up my head. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

#bible verse #daily devotional #christian quotes #bible quotes #inspiration #daily devotion #christian quote #christian life #scripture #bible #beauty

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sukunasdirtylaugh · 4 months

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tags: gojo x f!reader, bridgerton au. (unedited) word count: 1.29k

it seems as though lady whistledown had taken a liking to you. born out of a prestigious lineage, your name was untainted, holding no negative connotation other than the envy your perfectness shone over anything.

like a porcelain doll, as the queen has once referred to you as on your first visit.

your mother and grandmother before you married as 'pure' with little to no scandals involved, yet it was your mother in her time who caused the biggest uproar in suitors to pursue her. even today, you had grown up with maids, nannies, and people well acquainted with your mother, and your mother at times who would share details over her diamond years. 3, to be exact.

now you felt an obligation to live up to the family name, to honor the work your mother has preserved before you so that you could comfortably live a life with no shame, and you swore that you would do the same for your own children.

if, you decided to bear them.

tonight, you stand in a glorious dress, embedded with the stones your mother and trusted modist claimed to make you look radiant. yet that seemed to be the opposite for you. 4 dances have occurred in your presence and only one man approached to talk to you. the worst thing was that he was unsuitable, and your mother had to intervene, breaking apart the association and taking you to another.

"he was boring," you whisper shouted at your mother who eyed you, aware to not make a scene as you stopped by a secluded balcony. "it seemed everything I told him, he would restate it or make it obvious. it was like talking to myself! if I wanted to, I would have sought company from my mirror."

"how frustrating." you nod in agreement with your mother.

"have all good men gone to waste mama?" you ask, stress and tears welling in your eyes. "If this is the first man I encounter, I cannot bear to think what the rest of them might be like. Or is it I am just ugly?"

"hush, child." your mother holds your shoulders, then cups your cheeks. "you're not acting like yourself tonight. don't let one bad apple ruin your basket. you are young, gifted, and come from a name. you are something because you came from me. have I not taught you well?" she caresses your arm in comfort. "come, wipe those tears that are threatening to fall. you will cause a scandal on your own if you are seen crying tonight. let's find you an honorary man."

that night you only danced with two men. they remained respectful, yet not enough to provoke intrigue in you. though you would never outwardly admit that to your mother, at the end of your second dance, you went for a beverage. opting for some time for yourself.

"I couldn't help but wonder if you were running from that man after that dance, or if the conversation was that good you needed to excuse yourself for a beverage." the voice snickers, standing beside you, "he was terrible, right?"

"I wasn't, I was just dehydrated." you remark, careful with your tone as you defend your doings. as you stand beside him, you cannot see his face as he is taller than you. lifting your head up would raise even more spectacle as you saw one woman and what appeared to be her sister point at you with the mysterious man at your side.

"so do they just dehydrate fair maidens now? seems like a trick to get you to marry the first man you see,"

you don't answer him quick enough.

"lord higurama is a good choice. he has a fair name and a inheritance to obtain, however, be wary of his drinking problem. heard he leaves bars at ungodly hours of the morning with holes in his pockets."

you can't help but gasp softly, almost in disbelief as the man beside you spoke so poorly of the men you danced with. it might have been a given that you needed to get out of here after those girls pointed at you with shock on their faces. have you just ruined your reputation?

"I respectfully fail to see how that is any of your concern, sir." you state, imposing a formal limit, "I have no desire to engage in talk if it pertains to stain the reputation of others."

"please," you hear him snort beside you and you freeze, feeling yourself slightly become smaller. "his reputation is done for. I'd be doing you a favor

"and your reputation, good sir?" you counter, but when you hear silence from him, you fear you have crossed the line. it isn't until you are pulled by mother you see this man. white hair adorns his features while stunning blue eyes decorate his face. the hold your mother has on you let's you know to stand well, and be presentable.

"Lord Gojo," your mother bows, slightly forcing you to bow with her, "what a pleasnt encounter to find you here. my condolences to you and your family after your father's passing."

"lady levington, you are too kind." he man before you bows, offering your mother a charming smile you can't help but hold back a jaw drop at his sudden charming behavior. "I assume you are enjoying your time at the final winter's ball?"

"indeed," your mother smiles charmed, "we were just enjoying our time at the ball. this is my daughter, lady levington. she is of the age to begin looking for a suitor," your mother states, "wouldn't you agree?"

"well I find it difficult to believe that your daughter will struggle to find a suitable partner given her agreeable nature," your jaw slightly clenches, "I suppose you have a large list of eligible bachelor's for your daughter?"

"oh yes," your mother smiles, "but I tell my daughter we must select carefully. it is growing rather difficult to choose an honorable man for marriage, yet modern problems always continue to arise with the passing of time. wouldn't you agree?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself," he smiles, "finding a husband has been growing to be tedious by the years, yet that is why we must be careful in selecting. london is unfortunately filled with lots of ineligible bachelors starting off with lawyers with questionable drinking and spending habits. a poor reflection on our society, wouldn't you agree?"

"it is unfortunate indeed," you mother sighs softly, "but we shall look carefully to ensure a positive outlook for the future."

"that is always a pleasure to hear," smiles gojo, offering a bow. "if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way. it has been a pleasure to find you in good health, madam. and the best of my wishes to your lovely daughter as well."

after some concluding exchanges, your mother stands proudly with a smile on her face. "you will not believe who we just spoke to." she says, moving you away from the drinking station. "we must bid our farewells and leave as soon as possible."

"why?" you frown, "the dance doesn't end until-"

"-we've already met an eligible bachelor," your mother smiles, "you should've seen the look on everyone's faces. you will surely draw attention now, my dear."

the following day, you wake up to the following news from lady whistledown, having written an article about you.

"at the winter's ball, lady levington's beauty could be seen from a mile away, drawing the attention of lords. standing with such poise and grace, lady levington has proved herself to start off as an indestructible force with honor as her first name. will she perhaps be named diamond of the season? or indestructible diamond?"

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amongemeraldclouds · 2 months

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better than revenge | chapter eight: silver lining

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter eight summary: Going to a ball with Enzo, you play a game to keep things interesting. 1k words.

Warning: Fluff, no use of y/n, suggestive.

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“My lady,” Enzo smiles at me, arm outstretched to take my hand, the other poised behind him.

I giggle and take his hand. “Why, thank you my lord.”

We walk up the stairs into the ornate ballroom, glistening in white and gold. The place is flush with velvet, silk, and other fineries adorning the room and guests with their bright smiles and heads held high.

“It’s been years since I’ve been to one of these,” I remark, taking in the grandeur.

“I promise it will be a fun evening,” Enzo reassures me. “Why has it been so long?”

“My mother loved these events and used to take me with her all the time,” I smile at the memory. “When she passed away, her memory haunted me whenever I tried to go. It wasn’t the same anymore. She was radiant, Enzo. An unforgettable woman,” I gush.

“She must be,” he agrees, “to have such a wonderful daughter take after her.”

I lean into him, “oh come now, no one will hear our conversation. No need to say that for The Book.”

“Okay,” he says, “but I mean it.”

I grab a champagne flute to try to hide my blush.

After greeting everyone we knew, we settle into a corner of the ballroom. “So how exactly are we going to make it fun?” I ask.

“Let’s play a game of guess the conversation. Let’s pick people chatting together and try and guess what they’re saying based on how their lips move.”

The champagne fizzing on my tongue makes me bold. “What if we take it to the next level? Would you be able to guess what I say if I move my lips against yours?”

Enzo meets my eyes and visibly blushes. I grin at him, “maybe that’s should be our game,” I say, moving my lips to his ear. “Who can make each other blush the most?”

Mischief glints at the corner of his eye, “oh you’re on.”

“May I have this dance?” He asks as the music starts up.

We make our way to the dance floor and join the crowd. Enzo places his hand on my waist and holds my other hand. I rest my free hand on his shoulder and we move to the music.

“I’ll go first,” Enzo says. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Okay, new rule. You must only say what’s true and not for the sake of the game. Deal?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “I still stand by what I said.”

“Well you’re not too bad either in that suit. You look very princely, but I bet those clothes would look better on the bedroom floor.”

He chuckles, “oh we’re going there? Well, I think if you call me a prince…instead of calling you my princess, would you rather I call you a good girl?”

“Hmm that depends, you can’t call me a good girl when I want to do bad things to you.”

Enzo closes his eyes and groans. “You know bad girls get punished, how would you like to learn your lesson?”

“Using mnemonics,” I quip. “Which, as we’ve established, is not a made up word.”

Enzo laughs at my change in subject. “Thanks for coming here with me tonight. Now everyone in high society knows I’ve claimed you as mine.”

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I did not wink, unless you’d like me to?”

I smirk and focus on our dance. Beneath the glowing chandelier and the intoxicating buzz of champagne in my veins, it’s getting more and more difficult to rein in my restraints.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

“Thank you,” I tell Enzo after he walks me to my dorm.

“I should be thanking you, this phase of The Book is a success.”

“A lot of words were said tonight,” I begin and Enzo blushes at the memory.

“We don’t have to actually do anything, words can just be words,” he says gently.

I nod and wish him good night. As he turns and takes a few steps away from me, I hesitate. “Wait, Enzo.”

He looks back at me expectantly.

“Will you help me with my dress? It’s quite complicated to untie by myself.”

He visibly gulps and nods as I lead him to my dorm.

After closing the door, Enzo moves behind me and starts working on untying my gown. String by string, pieces of silk come undone at his touch. I feel his warm breath at the nape of my neck and welcome the sparks of electricity that bloom where his skin grazes mine. I remind myself to breathe.

In the darkness of my room, alone again with Enzo in our own world, I can no longer keep lying to myself. “Enzo,” I breathe out, surprised by how touch starved my voice sounds.

“Yes?” He replies in an equally breathless voice.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I confess. His fingers freeze at my sudden declaration as he waits for me to go on.

I turn around and meet his eyes, “when this all started a few months ago, I was angry and looking to get revenge on Mattheo. I never expected -” I falter and gather myself.

“I never expected to get to know this amazing guy who’s funny, kind and is the best fake boyfriend. I never expected I could feel happy again after everything that happened. Enzo?”

“Hmm?” He asks encouragingly.

“You’re my silver lining.”

Enzo’s face lights up at my confession, “I thought I was the only one who felt something.”

I shake my head, “how could I not? I feel at home with you.”

He smiles, “falling for me, dear?”

I laugh, leaning into him, “actually yes, I am Enzo.”

He pulls me in for a hug. “I caught you, darling,” he says and we both giggle at how cheesy we sound.

When we pull apart, I look into his eyes and admit, “Enzo, I want this to be real.”

“I think it’s been real to me for a while,” he confesses.

I smile and kiss him. Just like that, the sweetness of the moment is ignited with heat.

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A/N: Alexa, play Dress by Taylor Swift. The next chapter will be pure smut!

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221 @s0urw00lf @helpimhopelesslyinlove

#lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #slytherin x reader #slytherin x slytherin #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 days

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Okay, I lied. One last post before I take that much needed mental health break.

A post that I always swore - back before you could turn off reblogs and mute comments and basically make the lives of would be trolls very pointless, because you will never see what they say - I would never be stupid enough to make.

I leave you with my essay on…

Why Sparkly Vampires Make Perfect Sense, Stephanie Meyer Just Went About It All Wrong

Let's face it, humans don't always know what we're looking at. As an example, I was reading a book about poison use in royal courts. In the section on cures, in the subsection on unicorn horn (alicorn, for the technical term), it mentioned how the people who procured this rare substance were somewhat baffled by the fact that at the end of their lives the unicorn (which lived in such places as Africa, Persia, India, etc.) would migrate to the far north to die on the beaches of the arctic sea. Now, in their defense, it's very unlikely that any of these individuals would be well traveled enough to have even the opportunity to see both a live unicorn and a dead one. If they had, they might have had an easier time realizing 'these are two different animals!'. But the point still stands.

Humans don't always know what we're looking at.

Now, if you go through folk lore and mythology, you will, of course, find horrible blood sucking fiends that drain innocents of their life. Vampires. You will also find lots of entities which emit an ethereal luminescence or radiant glow, entities which possess powers beyond mortal understanding, who can be benign or terrible, and who are known to abscond with humans, although we're certain these humans are safe and happy on Olympus or under the green hill, not dead like they'd be with those blood suckers.

No one who had not seen both Apollo, God of the Sun, and the horrible vampire who chowed down on the neighbor two doors down would realize: they're the same entity.

To make it even harder for the poor mortals (and easier for the vampires!), vampires look different in different lighting conditions. After all, something that sparkles in the sunlight will also sparkle in the moonlight, the firelight, etc., it's just a matter of degrees. So some vampires would hang out in moonlit glens, for that 'fairy of the moonlight' feel, while others would set themselves up in temples with a many fires as they could manage. I mean, if you're going to call yourself Apollo, God of the Sun, you had better be all sparkle all of the time! Top all of this off with mind reading ability that lets traveling vampires fit into the local not-vampire-vampire mythos and yeah, the humans don't stand a chance.

It's great! Things are wonderful! Even if someone does see you devour a hapless victim and run screaming 'vampire' in the town, you can always just eat them next. No big deal. Only the stupid and careless are in real danger.

And then…

CALAMITY!

The head of the Roman Empire, that militant mass of well armed testosterone (and a bunch of less important people), converts to Christianity and proclaims there's only one god who is…not you.

Well shit.

Of course, if you're a lesser known vampire you can pass yourself off as an "Angel of the Lord" in a quick pinch, as long as you're talking to a peasant who's too illiterate to realize you're lacking in the eye and wing department (good news - this is most everyone), but you can't do that too often. And if everyone knows you as Apollo, God of the Sun?

Sucks to be you. You now have a bunch of very militant fundamentalists armed with sharp, pointy implements of destruction chasing after you with cries of 'demon' and 'false god'. Even with your supernatural speed, getting away from them is made far more difficult by the fact they can see you glittering from the other side of the market.

This is where vampires went nocturnal, since moonlight is less sparkle inducing than the sun. Then, since even that gets risky, they slowly moved into caves and cemeteries and the occasional creepy old castle that no sane person would enter without an explicit invitation to dinner, or for a real estate job. Something like that.

The next millennium was pretty dire. The millennium after that was…okay, also pretty dire, until suddenly, at the end of the twentieth century, a miracle! A remarkable shift brought about a change that would once again free vampires from their castles and cemeteries and allow them to walk safely among humans!

But they wouldn't go creeping off to the sun starved, water logged boonies of the Olympic rain forest. Oh hell no! They would go to the cities, to Soho, to Broadway, to places where they could strut proudly down the street to the envious stares of mortals and cries of "Damn, I wish I looked that good in body glitter!"

#okay NOW i'm on a mental health break

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shunsuiken · 9 months

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WELCOME HOME, RASCAL! (a SAGAU)

synopsis. kamisato ayato, a character you’ve been waiting for the past eight months is finally rerunning on the limited-character banner. your luck on the last banner had left you devastated but this time, after being isekai’d into the world of genshin impact, should bring it up a notch.

tags. gn!creator!reader + fluff + implied reader x ayato + but technically this whole concept is like the genshin men x reader lmao + reader is physically affectionate

warnings. none

wc. 1.3k

an. this was inspired by my successful and expensive ayato pulls from last year <//3 also i KNOW the reader is the creator and could technically “pull” for ayato even without wishes but ykw lets say this creator!reader wanted to do the dirty work so they could have the satisfaction when they pull for him (take a fucking shot every time you read pull omg </3)

you’re staring at the sky, inhaling and exhaling heavily. there’s a thin sheen of sweat down your back which makes your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. a breeze blows past your nose, gently tickling you.

venti, i’m fine i promise. you sigh in your mind, knowing where that gust of wind came from. seems like he’s visiting mondstadt today.

for the past few minutes, you’ve been having a staring contest with the sky. your acolytes—your companions—grow worried at the sight of you. you’re unmoving and it also looks as if you’ve stopped breathing.

“your grace?” albedo calls out to you, giving you a soft smile. “the skies are ready for your command.”

you sigh, nodding your head. “yes, i’m aware. i’m just a little—” worried. you finish your sentence in your thoughts.

it’s been a while since you pulled on the limited-character banner.

you’ve been saving for ayato, specifically.

you have exactly sixty wishes—yes, you’re aware how risky it is to pull because if all goes wrong there is no backup plan. you’re tapping your finger against your lips to contemplate your decision again.

“your grace, if it makes you feel any better, i’m happy to remind you that you are the commander of the stars,” thoma’s voice pipes up and your expression shatters with a nervous smile.

“thank you, thoma. i appreciate it.”

“my lord will heed your words, you can count on it!” thoma encourages you, nodding his head like a puppy and you almost coo if it weren’t for the current situation.

you maintain your composure, lifting your hand to pet thoma’s head fondly. “i hope you never change.”

itto, who’s vibrating on the side next to shinobu, is ecstatic to hear about the homecoming of his best bro. honestly, he was just about as sad as you when he didn’t come home the last time. “hit it, your grace!” he yells in excitement.

you turn to the skies that are now a grand mixture of oranges and gold in your abode. “what the oni said!” you grin, voice loud and clear.

your other companions normally watch from the sidelines as you command the skies—or to modern day language—while you make a ten pull for kamisato ayato. there are cheers of excitement and simple “good luck’s” that are thrown into the air, easing the atmosphere and your nerves.

the holographic button shines, the “wish x10” button stares back at you and when you tap on it, a mesmerising shower of blue and purple stars rain across the sky. it is certainly a sight to see. it rivals the meteor showers from your home world. and only those in your abode get the opportunity to witness such a moment. you watch as the blue stars fall in front of you, wisping away and materialising into three star weapons.

you also receive a few constellations for some four star characters including kujou sara and rosaria but other than that, there hasn’t been any sighting of gold in the sky.

“your grace, look up!” tighnari calls you out of your thoughts and your eyes immediately capture the colour of a radiant gold, the dissipating tail of the star glitters like a sunset on the horizon.

you don’t even realise how your feet take you to where the star lands on the grassy field of your abode. you gasp for air to keep up with the excitement but you can’t deny the apprehension that crawls up your spine in anticipation.

“delighted to serve you, your grace.”

you gasp. this voice-

lo and behold, the yashiro commissioner himself appears before you, expression cool and posture poise. only he could ever uphold such grace and elegance.

“ayato! how are you? how was the journey? how do you feel?” you plaster your hands onto the man’s cheeks, checking to see if there were any scars while you bombard him with questions. your hand briefly holds onto his biceps before straightening down his outer coat endearingly.

it’s to everyone’s knowledge of how much of an honour it is for you to physically touch somebody, you are their creator for goodness sake! your hands are delicate yet so powerful at the same time. just a snap of your fingers could erase the existence of teyvat.

so the normally composed commissioner in front of you is rather stunned by your actions. although the experience he’s gained from spending years in politics and serving higher authorities, none of those moments would have ever prepared him for somebody above his rank to react the way you did. he’s stuck in place. you’re so… affectionate. and you carry it with you so boldly too!

goodness me. ayato panics, pursing his lips to contain his smile that desperately tries to reveal itself. “i… i am very well, thank you, your grace.” he avoids your starry-like eyes, voice quieter than usual.

thoma has to use his whole body to stifle his laughter at his lords’ face. how many times are you—is anybody ever going to see the yashiro commissioner so flustered?! oh, he’s never going to hear the end of this from thoma.

“my lord! it seems you’ve been received well.” thoma gives his lord a bright smile and ayato’s eye twitches at the short snicker that comes after his retainer's words. if only my lady were here, she would be giggling along so much too! thoma adds in his mind.

ayato clears his throat, “of course, it’s an honour to be received directly by their grace.” he bows his head towards you and you feel your heart skip a beat at his respectful gesture.

but it’s not the time to be feeling like this. you need to steel your heart. there is still a part of you that wants to scold him for not coming home earlier. “don’t scare me like that again! you had me so worried eight months ago.” you smile through your words but it doesn’t fool the yashiro commissioner.

“that was an oversight on my part, your grace.” heh, figured he’d say something along those lines. “how can i make it up to you?”

hm, how can he make it up to me? you put your chin between your thumb and curled index finger. actually, does he even have to? he’s already here and that’s good enough for me.

“well if you could make yourself comfortable in my humble abode, it’d ease my worries.” you turn your head towards the estate before looking back at him, noticing a strand of his soft blue hair flying in the air. you smile fondly, raising your hand to pat it down.

his eyes animatedly look up to follow where your hand went, and he huffs another soft chuckle at your actions. he’s only been blessed by your appearance once during an official meeting with the raiden shogun and other inazuman officials but who knew you were so loving and gentle in person?

they’re so… adorable. yes, that’s the correct term for them. ayato thinks to himself.

“might i ask if your grace could give me a tour around?”

your eyes sparkle as you nod your own head. “of course i can!”

ayato follows your lead around the abode, listening to your constant chatter, never missing a single word you say. he also gets introduced to everyone in the abode, giving them all a brief introduction with some simple exchanges in between.

you have to hold in your laughter when itto refers to the commissioner as ‘my bro’ again. it seems it still hasn’t occurred to the oni of “his bro’s” identity.

“your grace, i would be delighted to invite you over to the estate for some tea if you have no schedules in the upcoming week,” ayato suggests with a small smile on his face.

you raise a brow. “are you busy right now?”

ayato hums, going over his mental list of things to do. “actually i don’t have a meeting until tomorrow morning.”

“then it’s settled, we’ll have some tea right now!” you offer your hand out to him and he takes it, who is he to decline?

with a soft grunt that leaves his lips from your stronger-than-expected tug of the hand, ayato lets you lead him into your abode.

#ayato x reader #sagau x reader #sagau fluff #ayato fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader

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dinoshimaaa · 9 months

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some day, someone will like me like i like you. (pt 2)

this damned feeling. a curse laid upon him for all of eternity. unescapable, tormenting, torturing. first it was disappointment he felt in himself for succumbing to it. but that feeling of shame was soon washed away by the bliss that accompanied the fluttering feeling in his chest, its intensity so strong that it overpowered every other emotion in him, to the point that he only ever thinks and feels of you when you are near. what a shame that you do not feel the same. (feat. wanderer, tartaglia, lyney, gn! reader) (pt 1 here)

or: their heart will always be yours, but you…

(p.s. scara for @seveninchesfrominsanity 😎 and gingey for my best boro @souglias 😍 good luck to everyone on their child pulls!!!!!!!!)

(p.p.s. 8 year-old tartaglia refers to reader as a princess once, but it’s gender neutral otherwise + archon quest and lyney story quest spoilers)

the wanderer of sumeru is all but lovely. he is “hat guy”, the mysterious vahumana scholar who showed up out of nowhere just days ago, already gathering an infamous identity for being scornful and anti-social. he is lesser lord kusanali’s assistant, a thinly veiled title to mask the fact that he is a prisoner under her watch. many do not know him because he refuses to work in the spotlight, much like the acting grand sage, and those who do don’t always have the best impression of him.

and even lesser truly know of where he had come from: his mother who is raiden ei, his origins in tatarasuna, his affiliation with the fatui, his obsession with the electro gnosis, and what he once was to sumeru: a false god, a monster, the near-cause of the land of wisdom’s destruction.

but the lack of something will always be attracted to an abundance of something. you are nothing but lovely; the loveliest, if anyone had to say. you are dazzling and you are beautiful, turning heads towards you when you walk the street. you are kind and generous towards the stray kittens on treasure street, and cheerful and easygoing with the store owners when you visit them. people sing praises of you everywhere wanderer goes, and to say he hadn’t had his own experience with you was incorrect.

he remembers himself fighting wave after wave of fatui soldiers, and himself slowly getting more exhausted by the minute, when you came in like a saviour angel from above, plunging on the last of enemies with your bow. he recalls your hits being barely a fraction of how hard he can slice through an enemy, yet when you assisted in defeating those annoying fatui back then, you turned around and asked if he was okay with the brightest smile imaginable.

(to the traveler or nahida, he would’ve given a sarcastic reply. to any ordinary civilian, he would’ve ignored them and been on his way. that day, he recalls being utterly speechless, while the rising sun glows behind your head, giving you a halo, illuminating your smile further. you are the most radiant sight he has ever seen.)

he seeks you out secretly like a stray cat following the only kind soul who fed it milk. sometimes, he watches over you in the air, making sure you’re safe. other times he just observes your interactions with others, ever so relieved to see that you are loved by sumeru just as much as you have shown its people love. more often than not he catches himself drifting off to a dream filled with you, being flustered and ashamed of such pathetic behaviour. but sometimes he also gets too lost in his thoughts, melancholy overtaking his face when he thinks of the shining star that you are.

wanderer’s hands are decorated with filth and blood. they show, sometimes, after an exhausting fight with the fatui. in his peripheral vision, hallucinations of that kid, that blacksmith, and the doctor come and go. in the dead of night, when sumeru sleeps soundly and all that is to be heard are the rustling of leaves in the wind, wanderer looks at his shaking hands and closes them in a fist, wiping them harshly, trying to rub off the sins stained on them. he is a terrible person to others. he is a terrible person to himself.

he is not a lovely person. you are the embodiment of ‘lovely’ itself. he couldn’t possibly deserve to be with you, lest his filth and sinful hands taint your pure being. it would simply be unconscionable for someone like him; damaged past, wreck and ruin, an empty soulless shell, to be close to your brightness. no one, not even himself, would forgive him if he were to ruin who you are: sumeru’s loveliest, the one who loves sumeru, and the one whom sumeru loves.

it is yet another night of watching you enter your house safely, staring at your front door for a few moments more before heading back to his residence (nevermind that he was the one to clear all the enemies in your path ahead, while you weren’t seeing). if nahida ever pointed out the lingering fond look in his eyes, or if the traveler teased him about having a possible crush on someone, there would be no need to blush madly and scamper away like a schoolgirl, for he knows that there is zero chance of “us” with him and you.

there are many fairy tales that are popular in morepesok village, most of which ajax have heard in his childhood many times. his distant memories include his mother, still youthful and full of smiles, reading him one of such fairy tales to lull him to sleep. he remembers her warm caress, the pulling of a quilt over his tiny body, and the soft flicker of the candle beside his mother, waiting to be blown out for the night. he also remembers you, his childhood best friend, his sleepover buddy, his other half, tucked into bed right next to him. if he searched hard enough, he might find some candid pictures of you and him, cuddled next to each other in the bed, in his childhood home.

“so then, the prince and the princess ended up happily ever after again?” 8 year-old ajax yawned, a sleepy smile on his face.

“they did, again,” his mother’s warm chuckle resonates throughout the room, through his ears, into his heart. he stores her laugh like a cassette tape in his memory, wanting to play it over and over again in the future.

“i can’t imagine a fairy tale where the prince and princess don’t end up together,” you murmured beside ajax, as his mother tucked the two of you in.

“that should be us, then,” ajax turned to face you and grinned, “so we’ll never be apart. let’s pinky promise that you’ll always be the princess and i’ll always be the prince!”

“why do i have to be your princess?” you complained, only to be shushed by ajax’s mother before she blew the candle out, signalling the end of pillow talk and the start of dreamland.

(all three of you knew it was impossible for you and ajax to be completely silent after lights out. the giggles that progressively get louder and harder after his mother leaves the room are testament to that.

this time, however, ajax is deadly silent, and you reach out to cup his face to ask what’s wrong.)

“sorry,” ajax holds the hand you cupped his cheek with. “you don’t have to be the princess, it’s okay. but i want to be your prince. i want to rescue you from the bad guys and defeat bad guys in your name. i’ll even do a pinky promise to prove it.”

even though you don’t give him a verbal answer, you hold his hand as he sleeps. it brings enough reassurance to 8 year-old ajax.

such peaceful times are unreachable now, ever since he fell.

ajax has not seen you for ten years. you have seen tartaglia for none.

when he returns, his familiar fluff of ginger hair in front of your doorstep, you have to do a double take. gone is the scrawny boy you knew, that got sick after every ice fishing trip, and cried over the smallest of scratches; in front of you now stands a fearsome harbinger, the tsaritsa’s vanguard, a killing machine with no life in his eyes.

(that is not ajax, any longer. that is tartaglia. that is a fatui harbinger. where is your ajax?)

you cannot bring yourself to smile when he presents you with a bouquet of pink roses, despite how beautifully preserved and fragrant they are. your heart doesn’t soften even when he greets your parents politely, plays with your siblings, cooks your family dinner, and helps with the dishes. that is not ajax whom you’ve let into your home, in contrast to what the rest of your family believes. that is a stranger who has intruded your safe space.

it hurts childe more than it hurts you to be on the receiving end of haunted eyes and hostile stares. he knows that he is vastly different from the childhood best friend he was to you ten years ago, and no matter what he does now, you will always see him as tartaglia, childe, the vanguard. you love ajax, but ajax is who he once was. ajax had been forced to throw himself away to survive. it wasn’t his fault that ajax is dead, but he cannot blame you for defiantly wanting your ajax back.

so when he kneels in front of you, the snowy wind feeling a lot more colder than usual, he ignores the way your hands tense when he holds it. he wants to cry when you attempt to pull your hand away even though he kisses it as gently as gentle can be. if an outsider were to witness this, they’d call this a romantic scene, between a prince and his beloved. but both you and ajax know that the fairy tale you yearned for in your childhood is completely unreachable now.

(“give me back my ajax.”)

(“i’m sorry.”)

to say that the great magician lyney is fully authentic in his shows would be a bit of a stretch, for he is an actor on the stage before he is a magician, however hard or long he may rehearse the day before the show. every smile had been sculpted and practised for hours until it was deemed perfect enough to be seen by his audience. needless to say, ‘the great magician lyney’ is merely a farce, an identity of its own. he wishes not to confuse that lyney with ‘fatui lyney’ and just ‘lyney’.

you were just supposed to be another face in the audience, an unsuspecting fellow he was meant to charm, attract, and never remember the face of. but you show up to a show once, then twice, then thrice, and soon you become a familiar face that lyney notices in the audience every now and then.

(that’s what lyney says, at least. lynette knows that he secretly seeks out your face behind the curtains, and the moment he finds you, his smile widens a tad bit, and his voice is a little cheerier as he steps out on stage.

by the way, since when did he start using rainbow roses in his performances? ugh, darn charlotte.)

but it is not easy to always be just ‘lyney’ with you, for he is called to be the great magician by day, and fatui by night. rarely is there time given to him to be his true self in front of you, to let the curtains fall and the farce fade. you can’t remember the last time he was allowed to let his shoulders slump, his face be bare of makeup, and his head rest under your chin as you kissed his tears.

and it seems you won’t be seeing those ever again.

lyney feels his blood run cold the moment father mentions your name in a mission, so casually, almost as if she had let your name slip out of her lips innocently and accidentally, if he hadn’t known any better. but lyney has been her loyal servant, her ‘favourite child’ for years, and he knows that the mere mention of your name is but a warning to him.

“i seem to be craving coffee recently. no one brews it quite as well as [name] does, i fear,” is what the knave says.

that person seems to be distracting you. i will eliminate them soon, is what she means.

lyney cannot afford to let anymore people close to him get hurt. his parents, who passed when he was very young… lynette, whose life had been endangered too many times to count… cesar, who taught him everything and treated him with love even in just ten days…

you shouldn’t need to fall into the same trend as well. your life is peaceful, precious, and untainted unlike his. so, it should remain untouched. and lyney decides that this is when he does what he has to do.

on the day that you return home and see lumidouce bells on your doorstep instead of lyney, you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your gut turns and folds nastily, and stars increasingly flood your vision while a silent plea rings in your head, but there is nothing logical that refutes the contents of the letter that lyney had left you. that is all you have left of him.

the rest is to be expected. feeling betrayed and abandoned, you lose all feelings for lyney, not wanting to be associated with him again. his gifted trinkets left in your house are all thrown out. you can’t look at a magic show advertisement for more than two seconds. it takes only a little while to get over this heartbreak, but once you are fully free of all emotional attachment to lyney, you never think about him and his rainbow roses ever again.

lyney’s plan goes exceptionally well. of course it does; it was as meticulously planned as all his performances are. he returns to the house later that night to report back to father, submitting his response to her threats weeks ago: [name] is nothing to me now. hence, you cannot hurt them.

(however successful his plan was, he cannot bring himself to smile in response to the knave’s satisfied one.)

later, on the same night, when he slips out of the house, he finds himself wandering towards the place where he usually picks his rainbow roses from. a gentle pluck, a flick of his hand; a lumidouce bell takes its place instead. he smiles at his own trick bitterly, before pressing his lips to the blue flower and intertwining another rainbow rose with it.

a moment of hesitation comes, followed by a few minutes of uneasy pacing, until lyney makes the decision to squeeze the petals with his gloved hand. the crumpled pink and blue petals fall to the ground. lyney only gazes as they do so.

(he wishes he could do the same to his own heart, but that is barely a fraction of how he made you feel. he will look for more ways to punish himself, then.)

#CAN YOU BELIEVE FEIYUE POSTED AGAIN. WHAT #DURING EXAM SEASON TOO ❓❓❓❓🔥🔥🔥🔥#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney #lyney x reader #childe #tartaglia #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #dawg why all these fatui bitches have so many names

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taki-yaki · 1 month

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Prompt: Tav that knows absolutely 0 offensive spells and skills, like she only knows buffs or healing spells. I don’t know what class she’d be, or if she’d be an ordinary civilian, but I don’t know if she’d be the leader. I’d like to think she’d jump at the chance to create an alliance with Astarion once his vampirism is revealed.

I think the closest for a zero-offensive Tav would probably be a life cleric of sorts who just has support spells and nothing else. So spells such as bless, Healing word or cure wounds, shield of faith etc.

Astarion x Pacifist Tav

You were never the fighter sort of Cleric. Seeing yourself as a travelling cleric, healing those in need, instead of fighting in dungeons. Mainly making a small profit by offering ceremony rituals or simple blessings whether they pay you in the end or not, it’s all out of the kindness of your heart.

Even if along the road, a bandit chose to target you only, you would attempt to paralyze or slow their attack, whether it was a hold-person spell or a blindness. Anything to stop you from using physical brute force.

Despite all of your talent, you question how it came to be that the others within your group saw you fit to lead and find a cure for the tadpole in your skulls. Despite your protests of not being the frontline fighter type. However, Astarion offers a solution to your predicament, he’ll keep you safe from harm as long as you do the same for him.

In exchange, he sees you as the perfect person to kill his old master. Besides what else is a vampire lord's weakness than the radiant glow of a cleric, even if you can’t fight with offensive spells, you could perhaps summon an orb of light on par with the power of the sun that will burn him to a crisp.

From what you recalled of vampires during your monastery education, they told you to avoid them as they were nothing but bloodthirsty creatures of the night, hungering for the lives they lost upon their conversions. But Astarion looked different to what they spoke, as if he needed your help, just like those you’ve helped on your travels.

During your fights, you would stay far from the clash of swords, healing and supporting from afar. Ready to heal him whenever he gets hurt, even if it was a small scratch.

Of course, Astarion would tease you over your fussing with him, but deep down he does enjoy the comfort you provide for him that he thought he would never receive after centuries of torment.

At times he does offer to teach you how to fight offensively with a simple blade, but after continually somehow making the blade slip out of your grasp and hesitate to even land a simple swipe upon a training dummy, he relents choosing not to pull you out of your natural comfort zone.

Whilst traversing through the shadow-cursed lands, when the warmth of the sun is out of his reach due to the chilling touch of the shadow curse. You summon small orbs of daylight, emitting the familiar glow of the sun for him to feel the familiar warmth of the sun once again.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanons #baldur's gate 3

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miquella-everywhere · 3 months

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God there so much going on with the trailer so lemme jot down the things that i thought were notable:

i wish this trailer had subtitles 🙃 im struggling to hear half the stuff being spoken

Edit: Finally got subtitles 😂

The cocoon is the DLC point, go figure 😂

Miquella is pure and radiant and weilds love (which is so wonderful) The guy talking says that it's terrifying and this could just be his opinion not fact, because I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing

the shadow world is so prettyyyyy~ 😭

the person sitting in the chair seems to be in an area that looks similar to the eternal cities, could they be a nox priest or high ranking official????

Snake man is obviously important lol his name seems to be Messmer the Impaler

(could he have a relation to rykard, or is he also a follower of the world devouring serpant, or is he just his own thing?)

"Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death. In the embrace of Messmer's flame." Okay so to me this heavily implies that Messmer might be a kind of Tarnished hunter or executioner of sorts????

And also to quote Messmer: "Mother, wouldst thou truly Lordship sanction, one so bereft of Light?" Sounds to me that Messmer is calling into question the legitimacy of a Tarnished being Elden Lord.

This also implies that Marika may be his mother, so is Messmer a Demigod? Could he be one of the Souless Demigods who fell during the night of the Black Knives? Who is his other parent?

Miquella Malenia Messmer secret triplets reveal???? lol jk unless 🤔

LEECH MAN VORE LEECH MAN VORE

so many crucible enemies 😳 good for the crucible it finally gets to shine more

"I presume you too are keen to know, just what (kind?) Miquella is doing here."

i REALLY wish this trailer had subtitles So it was kind, Kind capital K too, its a descriptor for Miquella. which is so cute 🥺

The man in the painting and the skeleton pulling a knife out of his face are the exact same person

i see that death blight swamp miyazaki

i see it 🙃

and finally

MIQUELLA 😭

HES THERE AND HES SO SHINY ✨

also important: before we get Miquellas reveal we hear a voice of someone who sounds very young and they say, "Come now, touch the withered arm and travel to the realm of shadow. I will not be far behind, may we meet again." This could potentially be Miquella saying this or it could be someone else entirely

but if it is, then companion Miquella is looking likely 🥹

#i cant wait for the analysis video vaati is gonna drop in few days lol #uri posts #elden ring #miquella the unalloyed #shadow of the erdtree

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 9 months

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Demiurge - Fair & Just Seraphim SB Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I made the reader a seraphim (picture included; I imagined it as a mask or helmet.) instead of a regular angel since I believe that would be the highest evolution of an angel. Reader controls the justice system. I also used my new format for this one. I hope you like this, I did my best! —Benny🐰

💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎

💎 Out of all 41 of the Supreme Beings of the guild Ainz Oal Gown; only two had decided to stay in the Tomb of Nazarick. Those two being the guild master, Momonga, and the other being [UserName]. The other 39 Supreme Beings had abandoned the Tomb of Nazarick and it's denizens without looking back.

💎 While Momonga, now taking the name Ainz Oal Gown, was the now disbanded guild's Leader, a certain arch-devil couldn't help but turn his gaze away from the elder lich and towards the radiant [UserName].

💎 To say he respected them was an understatement; Demiurge was infatuated. Their beauty was ethereal yet unfathomable to the eyes of a being as lowly as himself. Due to their holy origins, merely being in their presence would slowly eat away at his, shaltear's and Albedo's life.

💎 But Demiurge, despite the possibility of death, just couldn't stay away. [UserName] was glowing pillar of judgement, passion and truth; enveloping the denizens of Nazarick in their never ending cheerful disposition. While Lord Ainz was leading Nazarick with an iron fist composed of fear and brutality; [UserName] was visiting the newly conquered territory, spreading order and elation.

💎 It was only natural that the humans, the worms, would favor them in the end. Even if, going by their standards, [UserName] was no better than Lord Ainz at times. [UserName] didn't make the justice system, they were the justice system; they made sure that every single individual was abiding by their law. If anyone, undead, beastman, elf, human etc. breaks a law the punishments are quite severe.

💎 Back to Demiurge, though. He waites on them hand and foot when they let him and if he can stay near them long enough without his health deteriorating to critical condition. He'll literally drop what he's doing and run across the entire tomb if he thinks they need him.

💎 Of course, [UserName] notices Demiurge's borderline obsession with them. But do they do anything about it? No! They embrace it with enthusiasm, sometimes even giving him special treatment since he's such a loyal little arch-devil. They view his infatuation as devotion and are very pleased with it... well... At least that's what Demiurge heard from Lord Ainz. [UserName] themselves hardly even give him a passing glance.

💎 Sometimes [UserName] will bring Demiurge into the courtroom and have him cart away a law breaking human or two to his happy farm. Always seeing him off with a "punish them well, Demiurge". It always gets him euphoric when you say his name, but that might just be you're natural aura pulling that reaction from him.

💎 Overall, it's mostly just Demiurge fantasizing about them and them strait up ignoring him most of the time.

"Yes, Your Radiance. I shall see to it that they're punished thoroughly enough to meet the standards of a being of your stature."

💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎•♡•💎

「A visual example of a biblically accurate Seraphim. Props to the artist who made this artwork (I can't read cursive), It's really nice.」

Seraphim; an angelical being, regarded in traditional Christian angelology as belonging to the highest order of the ninefold celestial hierarchy, associated with light, ardor, and purity.

Ardor; great enthusiasm and/or passion.

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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targaryentorture · 9 months

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Second Born (Daemon Targaryen)

Part 1 Part 2

The heat radiating through kings landing that day was almost unbearable. Just as the anticipation of Visenyas return felt for Daemon. The family had gathered to greet the princess, smiles and excitement engulfing them all.

A slight screech could be heard from a distance, a familiar hue of bronze scales dancing along the horizon. It was her.

Her once pale Targaryen skin was now kissed by the sun, glowing and radiant. A few small braids fell down her back keeping her long silver hair from falling in her face, the rest of her curls cascaded down past her narrow shoulders. The same shoulders daemon had pressed soft kisses to the night they had shared together. She had matured greatly. A pale dress adorned with gold details clung to her now womanly frame as she straddled Vermithor, it was clear she had become accustomed to a different choice of clothing on her travels. But it suited her well. In that moment, when he saw her fly towards the castle on dragon back, Daemon ached for her. The same way he had ached for her for 2 years prior. He had spent two years imagining how different things could have been if he had not left her bedside that morning. But when she climbed off Vermithor and their eyes met, the cold expression on her delicate features told him that the morning in question was something she clearly hadn’t softened on over the years or forgotten. As she climbed down from Vermithor, she stroked his face lovingly which earned a soft growl and huff of appreciation from the large dragon. She first greeted her father, embracing him almost immediately.

“Daughter.” Viserys smiled, cupping his daughters face with both hands. “I thank the gods that you’re here for this momentous occasion.” The king was gleaming with happiness.

“Oh father, how I’ve missed you.”

Her gaze soon adverted to daemon, who stood beside the king confidently. He couldn’t quite read her expression.

“Kepus” She smiled at daemon sweetly, careful not to show her true distain towards the prince.

“Dārilaros” He greeted her. “Nyke ūndegon se jēdri emagon treated ao sȳrī byka mēre.” I see the years have treated you well little one. Daemon tried desperately to mask his attraction to the young princess in his complement, his gaze piercing into her.

“Nyke jaelagon nyke could ivestragon keskydoso syt ao kepus.” I wish I could say the same for you uncle. She spoke with a devilish smile, turning away from the rogue prince.

Daemon smiled to himself. She had always been fiery, but he could sense change within her. She held herself with such poise and grace as she greeted the rest of the family, something he thought perhaps may have diminished throughout her travels. The blood of the dragon runs thick with her, he thought to himself. No matter her condition or style, a sense of royalty pools from her.

“Let us celebrate the return of my beautiful daughter.” Viserys cheered. “A feast awaits us, come.”

The king had much interest in his youngest daughter, the topic of conversation he frequently diverted back to her and her travels. She spoke vibrantly of them, divulging into stories which earned many laughs and gasps from those in the room. As they all sat at the banquet table, fawning over the princess, his gaze never left her. Daemon could see that Visenya made a conscious effort to sit as far away from him as possible. He knew she most likely would not engage with him at first, but to almost deny his existence in the room offended him greatly. He intended to make himself known.

“I believe a toast is in order.” Daemon stood cockily from his chair, raising his cup. Everyone turning to look at him with concern. He was unpredictable. “To Visenyas return, and future at Kings Landing.” He paused. “May she now be wed the same as Rhaneyra, to a wonderful lord husband and birth lots of healthy Lannister offspring.” He knew the mention of her fate would spark rage within her. It was always a power play. Push, and pull and never let anyone get the upper hand.

“Thank you, uncle. For your kind words.”

“Now a toast to you.” She paused. “For your victory in the stepstones.” She nodded to him, raising her cup the same. “And for finally redeeming yourself before the king. I hear you submitted to him so gracefully. I know that must of been a great challenge for you.”

Daemons fists pounded harshly against the table; his jaw clenched shut. Almost unable to control the rage coursing through him. Watching her uncle become so enraged at her words excited Visenya, she intended to hurt him as he did her. In any way she could.

“Daemon.” Viserys snapped, standing himself now. Eyeing him angrily.

Daemon backed down with a glare. Taking his seat at the table once again, shovelling his now cold food into his mouth and drowning into his cups.

When evening had come, Daemon had become quite drunk. He stumbled across the gardens aimlessly, tripping over his feet and mumbling to himself. He wasn’t angry at her. He couldn’t be. After all, it was he that left her chambers that morning.

And there she was.

Visenya was perched under the big oak tree, twirling her silver coils around her fingers as she was engrossed in a read. A book with seemingly no title, the cover plain and simple but looked to be well loved by her. She turned the page with her index finger, not noticing her uncle’s presence. Unbeknownst to the prince, the material Visenya was in fact reading was her diary from those few years ago. Pages and pages of unspoken devotion to her uncle, she grimaced at the thought, the image of her white linen sheets stained with her virtue never left her mind.

As he saw her, he took a moment to look at her out of sight, guilt rushing over him as he remembered the adultery that took place between them beneath the very tree she was perched under. Her eyebrows knitted together as she studied the pages, in horror of the memories they were teasing out of her.

“An interesting read?” He slurred. Daemon’s presence took the princess by surprise, she closed the book immediately. Standing to her feet and brushing down her dress.

“Something of the sort.” She muttered uncomfortably.

“No need to leave.” He walked towards her cautiously. “I wish to speak with you.”

“What could you possibly need to speak to me about Daemon?” She sighed. “I think it would benefit us both greatly if a lot of things between us remain unspoken.”

“What are you to do, visenya?” Daemon questioned her. “Your father will have a sea of young suitors sent here by the morrow and your freedom is regrettably ending. You’ll be betrothed before your sister speaks her vows. Is this what you want?”

“I was not aware that what I wanted mattered to you.” She looked up at him. Still challenging him.

He moved frightfully close to her, not backing down. “They will all bore you senseless and you know it.”

“Perhaps my betrothal bothers you, uncle.” Visenya smirked, inching closer to him and placing her hand on his toned arm. She knew the power she had over him, knowing this her tone changed. She seductively whispered in his ear. “You once had enough power over me to put a stop this.”

And with that she walked away. Leaving Daemon alone.

#daemon targeryan #daemon targeryen x reader #game of thrones #house of the dragon #rhaneyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

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weemssapphic · 1 year

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Her Favorite Dance

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

This is basically a rewrite of the ball that Brienne’s father threw for her to find her a suitor except instead of Renly swooping in to save the day, it’s reader, because I need to rewrite canon to heal my heartbreak. I aged Brienne and reader around 16 years old here because it felt right and anything younger felt ~wrong~.

Not 10000% happy with how it turned out but that's just the way the cookie crumbles 🍪

Warnings: mentions of bullying

Words: ~2.2k

ao3 link in title

tags for those who may be interested: @afeatherformills @sapphicsbeloved @scumppa @zephyr-is-tired <3

The Sapphire Isle is buzzing with excitement. Tonight’s ball is thrown by Lord Selwyn Tarth on behalf of his only daughter, Brienne, in hopes of finding her a potential suitor. You are there as a family friend to the Tarth family, having grown up alongside Brienne as your father is one of Lord Tarth’s most trusted advisors.

The two of you had spent many summer afternoons by the sea, laying on your bellies as you listened to Brienne talk of becoming the first female knight of Westeros, of riding horses into battle and traveling the Seven Kingdoms. You love the glint in her eyes as she spoke, the smile that lit up her entire face. You’d watched from the sidelines as Brienne trained with Ser Goodwin, always cheering her on whenever she landed a hit.

Sword fighting is not for you - you are far too clumsy, and more comfortable in your role as a lady - but you’d always admired her for it. You know it’s an escape for her, that she’s desperate to prove herself in some way, having felt as though she failed as a lady for not meeting Westerosi beauty standards - though you don’t share her sentiments. You think she is the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.

You love her sandy blonde hair, the way it falls onto her cheekbones and the way she brushes it back in irritation. You often find yourself wishing you could tuck it behind her ear for her, but then you would blush and chastise yourself at the thought. You love her cerulean eyes, expressive and kind, framed by soft, blonde lashes that flutter gently like the butterflies in your stomach anytime she smiles at you for a moment too long. You love her legs, far too long for any girl of your age but it doesn’t matter, you are entranced when you sit side by side and feel her thigh brush against yours. Most of all, you love her honor and loyalty. You love that she is still kind, even when so many are so unkind to her.

The ballroom of Evenfall Hall is decked out in an opulence tonight. Tapestries line the walls, the marble floors shine in the light of the fire blazing forth from dozens of torches, bathing the room in a warm, welcoming glow that bounces off the gilded hammerbeam roof.

Dozens of young lords from the Stormlands are lined up at one end of the room, dressed in their finest, talking amongst themselves in urgent, hushed tones. At once, the group of boys stop snickering and all stand a little taller, straightening their backs a little more, their heads turning towards the front of the room.

You crane your neck to see and sure enough, there she is, accompanied by her father. Brienne wears a dress today, a rare sight. The dress is a deep shade of blue, sapphire to match the waters of the famed Sapphire Isle, or perhaps to compliment her eyes (those eyes that you had gotten lost in more than once), you aren’t sure which.

It isn’t that Brienne doesn’t look beautiful in the dress. Oh no, you think she looks radiant. It hugs her slim frame in all the right places, accentuating her broad shoulders and sending a shiver down your spine. It’s more so that she looks a bit awkward, like a fawn taking its first steps, unsure of how to move about the world just yet. Her blonde hair is slicked back, away from her face, which gives prominence to the smooth, pale planes of her cheekbones and her soft jaw. She looks up to the group of suitors lined up for her, then gives her father a glance - you can tell she is nervous, you know her well enough.

She looks out to the crowd watching her and catches your eye. You wave, smiling brightly, hoping to help soothe her nerves. She smiles back then rolls her eyes slightly, as if to say “can you believe what they’re making me do?” You only grin wider and wink at her, enjoying the light blush that colors her cheeks.

Lord Tarth and Brienne reach the far end of the ballroom and, after a short speech from the former, the ball begins. A group of singers and lutists begin to play a lively tune and the mood is joyful and light. Wine is poured and the crowd moves fluidly across the dance floor, swept up in the grandeur of the evening.

Every so often, you catch a glimpse of Brienne, and with each glimpse you find it harder and harder to tear your eyes away. Her gangling figure moves across the dance floor with practiced perfection. She can dance, she was taught how to, as were you all as young girls. Her frame only makes it look a bit clumsy as she towers over the boys chosen as her potential suitors. You are captivated by each step of hers, finding yourself wishing it were your hands on her waist, your lips upon her ear, as each of the suitors leans in to whisper something to Brienne.

Brienne smiles giddily at their words and you wonder what they could be saying to elicit such a reaction, a strange, unfamiliar jealousy gnawing at your insides with every giggle she lets out, every blush that creeps across her cheeks. You see her father beaming down at her from where he sits, pride evident on his face and you suppose you should be happy for her, if she really were to find a suitable husband tonight. Brienne had spoken often enough about how she wished to make her father proud.

A commotion to your right brings you out of your sullen trance. You snap your head around and see the group of potential suitors, waiting for their turn to dance, huddled up, pushing at one another and snickering again as they had been before Brienne had arrived. You sneak up, curious, and hide behind a nearby marble pillar, attempting to eavesdrop on their whispered conversation, which is getting louder with every drop of wine they are consuming.

“Who’s next?” “I already had my turn with the great beast!” “You should go next.” “Do I have to?” “Oh come on, Brienne the Beauty is waiting!”

Your face is hot, heart pounding sharply in your chest. You step out into the open and prepare to cuss the boys out as you hear a sharp intake of breath next to you. Whirling around, you see Brienne standing behind you, mouth agape. It’s too late. She’s heard everything.

The boys burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh look,” says the one who has just finished his dance with her. “Is the great beauty going to cry?” Brienne takes off, her shoulder bumping roughly into yours as she rushes to exit the festivities.

You can’t help yourself. Before you realize what you’re doing, you feel your hand connect with the boy’s face, leaving behind a stinging sensation on your palm. You turn on your heel and rush after your friend, just in time to see the sapphire cloth of Brienne’s dress disappear around the corner.

By the time you catch up with her at the cliffs overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, you’re out of breath and panting. She stands at the edge of a cliff, looking out at the horizon, her back toward you. She is hugging herself, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, and you can see her shoulders quivering.

“Please leave,” she says harshly as gravel crunches under your feet in the quiet of the night, betraying your presence. You can hear the tears in her voice and it tears a fissure in your heart.

“Brienne, it’s me,” your voice is low, gentle, an olive branch that you pray she will accept.

“Oh.”

“I hit him,” you offer, coming up beside her and placing your hand on her arm. Brienne looks down at you, her sniffles stopping for a moment, brow furrowing.

“Why?”

You laugh, as if it’s the most absurd question you’ve ever heard, because it kind of is. “Because he was cruel to you. Because he deserved it. He actually deserves way more than that but I wanted to make sure you were alright first.”

Brienne looks at you in wonder, tears still welled up in her eyes. Her gaze is so intense it’s almost too much to bear - you’re afraid if she looks into your eyes for just a second longer, she’ll know all your secrets, that she’ll somehow find your love for her, laid bare right there for her to see, and so you break her gaze and look out over the water. Moonlight dances on the ripples of the waves, a light breeze sends a shiver down your spine.

“You looked happy tonight,” you whisper finally, unable to hide the trembling in your voice.

Silence, save for the lapping of the water on the cliffs below.

“It seemed like you were having a nice time. The suitors seemed really nice, until the end there.”

Brienne shudders next to you.

“Yes. I finally felt like I was making my father proud.” You could hear her voice wobble.

“I think he is proud of you, in his own way. I mean, I would be, anyway.” You say this last part quieter, hoping Brienne won’t hear you, but of course she does. You can feel her eyes upon you and you refuse to meet them, training your gaze on the starry skies above you.

“They talked of marrying me. Of whisking me away to their castles. I thought maybe I could finally be the daughter my father always wanted.”

“What about you though? Did you want them and their castles?” You can’t help the question from slipping through your lips.

You look up and watch as Brienne seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose I want to be wanted. Doesn’t everyone?” She hugs herself tightly again, hunching over slightly as if to make herself smaller.

You feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you hope desperately that Brienne cannot hear it. Your palms are sweaty, your head swimming. Your heart aches for her, you know how badly she wants to be loved, you’ve always known, and yet here you are, loving her and unable to tell her and so you think it instead. I want you, Brienne.

“What?”

Your eyes widen in shock, your stomach drops. Had you said that out loud?

Brienne’s wide eyes mirror your own. You had said it out loud. Fuck.

“I want you,” you whisper, stepping away from Brienne and gritting your teeth, steeling yourself for rejection.

Brienne’s arms drop to her side and she takes a careful step towards you. You have to crane your neck to look up at her, as she is standing directly over you now.

“You aren’t… making fun of me, are you?” Brienne asks wearily. Her eyes are guarded, her chin trembles. There are dried tear tracks running down her reddened cheeks and you suddenly feel your thumb twitch, wishing you could raise your hand to her face to wipe them away.

“Brienne…” a soft sigh escapes your lips, you reach out a hand and lace her fingers in your own. A blush blooms across your cheeks as you mull over your next words.

“I have long admired you, my oldest and fondest friend, you know this. Seeing you tonight…” your voice catches in your throat. Brienne watches you curiously, cheeks pink, blonde lashes fluttering lightly in the way you so desperately loved.

“You look beautiful.” You scratch at your neck, eyes darting to the ground. “I was terribly jealous of those stupid boys and their castles. I wished it could’ve been me, dancing with you. You know, in a way, I have always been yours.”

A low chuckle breaks the silence and your gaze snaps up to meet Brienne’s.

“And I have always been yours, Y/N,” she says, a smile finally tugging at the corners of her mouth.

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“If that is so, then may I kiss you now, my lady?”

Brienne snorts at the formality, then finds herself nodding shyly.

You push yourself up onto your toes and tilt your head back and Brienne leans down, meeting you halfway to brush your lips together in a soft, chaste kiss. Her scent envelops you, fresh cut grass and the soap from the bath houses blending with the salty sea air, and no amount of pining over Brienne could have prepared you for this moment. For the feeling of finally coming home.

“Well since this is a ball, and it would be a shame for our gowns to go to waste, what do you say, Lady Brienne? Would you like to dance with me?” You grin up at her, giddy and lightheaded.

“There’s no one I’d rather dance with. I think this will be my favorite dance of the evening,” Brienne smiles widely and snakes her arm around your waist, allowing you to rest your head against her chest as you sway to a rhythm only the two of you can feel.

#brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth #gwendoline christie #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #got #x reader

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saphirered · 7 months

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for the prompts candlelight fluff with helion??

Ask and you shall receive! Tooth rotting fluff. 😘

Unlike the season courts Night, Dawn and Day adhere to the rules of this world. They do not remain a constant. As such the nights grow longer and the days colder. The rays of the sun become rarer and more distant. The radiant heat does little to warm cold bodies and when the light fades, what more is there to illuminate the darkness? Thousands of lanterns light the paths most often traversed. Candles litter the hallways and chandeliers in the homes and palaces casting that warm golden glow. Despite what Prythian might expect, the people of Day welcome the colder days. Where the sun is lacking they bring warmth of their own. Their High Lord is no different. He finds when the cold settles within him, when his glow is less bright, there you are, like the will o’wisps guiding the lost back where they belong.

Even now, Helion has been hitting the books from dawn to dusk, until the words dance before his eyes and he can see no more the scribbles of ancient texts. The keepers of the palace have begun their journey, replacing the old lanterns and candles, and lighting those still usable. He rubs his eyes, pushes back from the stacks he collected and rises. His back hurts, his neck too and his head rings with a dull pounding. He hears your warning echo through his head. You’d told him to move every once in a while, to get up and put the books aside. Instead of heeding that warning he had binge-read what he could and couldn’t remember when he last got up from that chair since dawn. You’d give him hell for it. Helion missed your company and he supposes even your scorn would be a relief at this point. He’ll bear it. Not that you’ll be mad at him, nor will you remain upset. You’ll be more likely to look at him with a hint of exasperation. Nothing a kiss can’t fix.

Wandering among the familiar halls is but a haze, his mind has floated off somewhere far beyond and he is but a ghost stuck in the same routine until that familiar door comes within sight. No light bleeds from under the crack. No sound emits from beyond that carved mahogany. It’s just dark, light and lifeless. Still Helion wanders in, the door falling shut behind him. Was he not so familiar with this space the complete darkness might have had him tumble and fall over the furniture but this had become a habit, was it not for his exhaustion or whenever you had yourself occupied with his lips, your fingers in his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you. He’d become quiet used to navigate the space without the need for sight. This time it was not your glorious being that required him to use that memory. This time Helion finds himself without the energy to make it to the bedroom and instead unceremoniously allows himself to drape over the couch, making himself comfortable among the pillows as much as possible. He lets the darkness carry him off and dreamless sleep enter his soul for some rest at last.

You were late. You got carried away in some ongoings and plannings for the upcoming months, dealing with correspondence and ambassadors who did not so much adjust to your schedules it seemed but still you handled yourself graciously. You’re tired and glad to finally be on your way home. If anything, you don’t know how he does it. Helion doesn’t know you took on more of the tasks set out for him but you’d seen him struggle between helping his friends and running his court. You might not be as well-versed in the ways of healing or be able to pick the exact book you need off of any shelf within those endless libraries, but you know you can put up with people and so you did, for his sake. He’d been so engulfed in his research he hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, let alone the seemingly endless list of responsibilities suddenly needing less attention. You’re glad for it.

It is days like these where you follow the lanterns until you enter the palace. The staff and residents have long since lit the candles that line the halls creating the every lasting golden glow you’re used to, now even more prominent in the darkness of night. In a way it reminded you of the muted glow you’d woken up to on many occasions, when that power of Day bled through the restraint its wielder kept. It never failed to bring a smile to your face. You know at times he’d do it on purpose if only to see that very smile and it had simply remained an unspoken truth.

You approach the doors you’re all too familiar with but do not see that golden glow from within. Instead you see a basket of candles set out at the door, some wicks too. You shake your head to no one in particular as you pick up the basket and are met with darkness. You have the mind to light one of the candlesticks from one of the flames outside, that very source of light being the only one to illuminate your path. You don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary and thus simply make your way through. Setting the basket on the side table the glow of that singular candle illuminates the fae shape on the couch, the peaceful features and gentle rise and fall of the chest.

Helion is fast asleep. You kneel down to brush some hair from his face and take the blanket from the back of the couch to gently drape it over him. Quietly you make your way around to the other side of the room and light the candles already set out and replace the burned out ones, collecting the wax remnants in the assigned bowl. Slowly but surely the room is cast in that same golden glow you’re used to. The cold air begins to grow warmer. Every once in a while you’ll cast a glance over your shoulder to still see the High Lord fast asleep. You hum to yourself as you move through the room until your task is complete.

A gentle melody guides him back to consciousness. No more does he feel that night cold within. Even behind closed eyes Helion notes the light that was not there before. The air feels different, more alive and more welcoming. The smell of melting wax and firewood enters his senses. With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes. Your steps are featherlight as you illuminate the path you take, candles sparking to life in your wake. When you turn and see him, eyes as golden as the glow around you smile and Helion melts inside. You set the last candles. Alight like a halo behind you, like a truly angelic being you close into him as he rises onto his elbows. You catch onto his slight wince as he rises.

“What did I tell you about reading for too long like that?” You scorn playfully.

“I will better heed your warning next time, my love.” He all but grumbles, sleep still heavy on his voice. You chuckle as he sits up fully and you sit next to him letting your fingers lace with his as a mere force of habit. He brings it to his lips and kisses your hand watching the flush spread through your cheeks. Beautiful.

“Promising words yet no true promise I hear.” You retort. He looks at you through his lashes in a way that admits guilt. “Move over. Turn your back to me.” You order. Helion raises an eyebrow you just roll your eyes. He does as he’s told either way. You have half the mind to mutter ‘good boy’ but keep your comment to yourself lest this turns a certain way before you get to do what you intend to do.

“While I’d prefer to see your face, I’m curious to see-“ His words are cut off by his own moan when your skilful fingers work the muscles of his back, starting right between his shoulder blades. Damn does it feel good. He can feel the tension release as you go, working down his spine, across his shoulders and up the back go his neck into his hairline where you hit just the right spot that makes him feel lightheaded.

“Please don’t stop.” Helion breathes when your hands pull away.

“Not so opposed now, are you?” He can hear the smile and satisfaction in your words. The candles dance in his vision, their warmth and light pulsing with his own and it takes him a second to realise he is glowing too. When he goes to snuff the flame within him you stop him.

“Opposed to your touch? Never.” He muses with a deep sigh. You keep working, untangling every muscle that burned throughout the day, washing ease and calm over him until his shoulders slump and head hangs lower. Only then do you stop. He makes a sound of disappointment but is quickly sussed when you get up from your spot and push him back among the pillows on the couch. Your hand on his shoulder, he takes your wrist.

“Now rest a little while longer.” You go to step away but he keeps his hold just light enough to make it noticeable. With a gentle pull, You sit on his lap and feel his fingers dance up and down your spine. You’re not opposed to his advances, in fact you welcome them but you do grumble when you bring your lips to meet his, when his arms wrap around your waist and hold you close until you’re laying on top of him. Even when the kiss ends and he tucks your head beneath his chin, where you can hear the ease of his heartbeat, when you melt into his warmth, he glows like the candles and so do you.

#helion x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #helion x you #helion spell cleaver #helion acotar #high lord helion #a court of thorns and roses #sjmaas #sjm fic #sjm fanfic

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